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Chapter Text

"Relax, Dean," says Sam, scoffing at his brother's theatrics. "We can leave once we've wrapped this case up."

"I know. I know," Dean mumbles, folding his arms across his chest and letting out a sigh – a pale white vapour fills the night air. "Damned city's still giving me the creeps, though."

"You can say that again."

"Y'know, there's a reason that no other hunters ever come here." Dean kicks at the ground with a glare as if that will somehow spite the city. "It's because Gotham is a freakshow."

"I'm not arguing with you on that," Sam replies, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them. "I heard that there's some murderous clown that runs around the city." Sam physically shudders at the thought. "Can you imagine that? A clown. Only in Gotham."

"Seriously?" Dean's voice is somewhere between amused and incredulous. "I thought that a guy prancing around in a bat costume was as weird as this place got."

"Yeah, the Joker, or something," Sam says. He stares up into the night and his smile falters. "He actually killed the Bat's son a few months back. Robin, I think his name was. Poor kid never stood a chance. Psycho had him chained up in some warehouse in Africa for weeks and then blew him up."

"Oh, god..." Dean mutters. "I can't even imagine what he... What kind of father would let their kid do something like that? Going out there against people like..." He doesn't have to see Sam's face to know that he's going to cut in. "I know that dad wasn't perfect, but at least he waited until we were older, y'know, before throwing us into the deep end. Especially not against that. People are just... The monsters, I can get. But people always make me wonder."

Sam nods, though his expression is still something hard and cold. "Dad waited until I was older. He started teaching you to hunt when you were six."

"Sammy," Dean says placatingly. "Please, just... I don't wanna do this now. Let's just finish-"

A pained cry erupts from the darkness, somewhere behind them, and they both immediately run towards it.

A kid – early teens – is clawing his way out of a distraught grave. He's managed to pull himself halfway out, and there are broken streaks of tears and blood on his face that glisten in the torchlight.

Dean grabs under the boy's arms and Sam begins to dig out his legs. They eventually tear him free and he immediately stops struggling, lying limply in Dean's arms and shaking as muffled sobs rack his small body. The kid's fingers dig into Dean's back as he clings desperately to him, smearing blood over the leather of Dean's jacket. He wraps his arms around him tighter, in an attempt to comfort him, and rests his chin on the crown of the boy's head, rocking back and forth gently.

"You're okay. You're okay," he says quietly. "You're okay." He looks over to Sam and mouths, "What do I do?" 

"Take him back to the motel," he replies. "Call Cas and see if he knows what the hell is going on."

"What about the case?"

"I can handle it." There's a flicker of hesitation over Dean's face. "Trust me."

"Hey," Dean murmurs to the boy, who appears to have calmed down a little. "I'm gonna take you somewhere real safe, 'kay?"

The boy nods faintly and Dean picks him up carefully, beginning to weave between the headstones and towards the car.

The drive is nerve-wracking. Dean's not sure whose breath is shakier – his or the kid's. He keeps glancing in the rear-view mirror to make sure that the kid isn't going to suddenly wake up and try to kill him. When the Impala pulls into the parking lot, he can hear his own heartbeat.

The kid fell asleep the second that Dean laid him down in the back seat and, honestly, Dean can't blame him. He knows how tiring digging out of a grave is. But, still, it leaves him with a dilemma: how is he supposed to get the kid inside without waking him?

For one, the boy is horrifically injured – moving him forces out little pained gasps and Dean can feel the kid's ribs popping out as he breathes. His face is littered with little cuts and bruises and scars, and the rest of them probably is too. Dean will be surprised if he doesn't have any more broken bones (or any internal injuries, for that matter). The poor kid looks like he died in a car crash.

He's not heavy in the slightest – which is both relieving and incredibly concerning at the same time. It makes him easier to carry, but he feels like nothing but skin and bones through his suit. There's also the possibility of the kid being a demon that could wake up and tear his throat out at any moment.

Well, he probably isn't, so Dean's much more concerned with getting him help as soon as possible.

Dean fumbles with his keys at the door and very nearly drops the kid. He kicks the door shut behind him, grimacing when it closes rather loudly. He carefully lays the kid down on the couch, moving the kid's hair out of his face.

In the borderline fluorescent lights of the motel room, he can finally see him better. Two things immediately stand out:

One, he's tiny – maybe five feet tall and barely even seventy pounds, if Dean's being generous.

Two, his face is riddled with little white burns marks and there are no doubts about the broken bones now – his ribs and his left ankle, judging by the awkward angle it juts out at. There's also a thin, crooked 'J' burned into the flesh of his right cheek. It's raw and poorly healed, and it makes Dean's stomach twist.

The boy stirs slightly in his sleep and Dean sighs; he can't call Cas without risking waking him. He slips through the door, propping it open a little with his foot.

"Cas?" he calls out. "Cas, I need your help."

Almost immediately, there's the all-too comforting ruffle of wings behind him, followed by a low,

"Dean."

"Hey, Cas," Dean returns, spinning on his heels.

"What do you need my help with?"

Dean pauses. God, how is he gonna explain this without sounding completely crazy?

"We found a kid in a graveyard." Dean grimaces at his own choice of words. Still, it could have been worse. It also could have been much better, but whatever. This is all new – he gets a free pass on this one.

Cas cocks his head to the side. "I'm not sure that requires my help. Surely you should hand the child over to the proper authorities."

"Let me just show you," Dean sighs, leading Cas into the motel. "We found him digging himself out of a grave. I think someone made a deal."

"Oh." Cas steps forwards, reaching for the boy, and Dean stops him.

"Don't wake him up. Poor kid's been through enough."

"I can assure you, Dean," Cas says, "I am more than capable of not waking him."

He pulls his arm away and rests a hand on the boy's forehead, frowning gently. Dean watches as he begins to stir again before slipping back. "What is it?"

"He's radiating power," Cas mumbles, turning to face Dean. "You said he was resurrected?"

"Maybe? Probably? I don't know, Cas. Is he a d-"

"No." Cas stares back at the boy contemplatively. "Whatever brought him back was certainly not a demon either."

Dean relaxes and then Cas speaks again: "But I'm afraid that he might not live for much longer."

"What? Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Aside from the obvious physical injuries," Cas says in an unsettlingly flat voice. He glances over the boy, stopping at his mangled ankle with a slight frown. He rests his hand on it – a bright golden light coming from his palm – and then he returns his attention to Dean. "The power that brought him back is fading and I don't know whether he'll survive when it's completely gone."

"Well, what are we supposed to do? We can't just let him die again. There has to be something."

"There is... one option," he says, grimacing as soon as he does. "But it's not... It's dangerous."

"What is it?"

"Ra's Al Ghul."

"Raysha-what?"

"Ra's Al Ghul," Cas repeats slowly. "The owner of the last Lazarus Pit in existence."

"And that would be?"

"It can heal any injury and resurrect the dead."

"What's the catch?"

"It has the potential to drive anyone exposed to it permanently insane."

Dean sighs. Dammit – what right does he have to decide whether the kid loses his life or his sanity. He shouldn't care. He doesn't even know the kid's name, for god's sake. The kid hasn't even been conscious for a full minute.

But...

Dean looks down at him. The kid looks so small and young – too young to have gone through whatever he had. He deserves to have a life. He deserves to live.

"Great," he mutters bitterly. "Just great. Well, we've gotta try, haven't we?"

Cas nods. "I need to ask Ra's for permission to use the Pit. I will return to collect the boy in a few hours."

He smiles softly at the boy before disappearing. Dean's sighs, going over to the cabinets and idly pouring himself a drink. God, why does he always have to get himself wrapped up in crap like this? Why does he always have to make all the tough decisions?

Is it fair to risk the kid's sanity? Is it fair to just let him die? Again?

Sam clears his throat behind him and he all but jumps out of his skin.

"Woah, there," says Sam, holding his hands up. "Just me."

Dean rakes a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I-I was just..." He gestures to his drink and Sam nods.

"I was thinking about doing some research on the kid – seeing what we could find. Uh, his name's Jason, or at least, that was what was on the headstone," Sam says, gauging Dean's reaction. There isn't one – Dean hasn't even looked up from the bottom of his glass. "But I think that I can handle it. How about you go get some sleep?"

Dean doesn't even try to argue as he would normally. "Cas stopped by a second ago. He's gonna be back for Jason in a few hours. Said that he wasn't a monster and wasn't brought back by a deal. Also mentioned something about Lazarus Pits and some guy – Ra's or whatever. You think you could look into that."

Sam nods, and Dean stops to check on Jason before going into his room. He's out before his head hits the pillow. Sam stares after his brother for a moment before sitting down at the coffee table with his laptop.

He types in Jason's name.

Surprisingly, there are quite a few results. Mostly for tabloid articles and there are lots of mentions of a Bruce Wayne – which makes sense, considering that Jason had been buried in Wayne Cemetery.

For the first few pages, all the links are about Jason's death – in late April of that year – and about various charity projects that Bruce had started in Jason's honour. Sam skims through a couple of them; they're heart-warming in a tragic kind of way. They're also not quite what Sam is looking for, though, so he keeps searching.

Jason's death happened in Europe – the cab he was in was rammed off a bridge by a drunk driver, and both Jason and the cab driver were killed almost instantly. He was thirteen. Thirteen.

But, as awful as it is, there isn't anything supernatural about it as far as Sam could tell.

Maybe there's something else in Jason's personal life that can make this a little clearer. Maybe something that can explain that mark on Jason's face.

It's remarkably hard to find an article that says anything potentially relevant about Jason. Sam now knows that Jason was adopted, and that he had been on his school's athletics team, and that he was a straight-A student with a penchant for classic literature and for stealing his dad's hoodies (they definitely weren't Jason's, anyway). There's also a rather sweet video of a thirteen-year-old Jason playing the guitar and singing at some kind of event. But none of that was all that helpful.

He sighs and clicks on another link.

Bruce Wayne's Newest Son?

It's a (thankfully) short article from a website called 'the Gotham Gossip.' Everything about the website makes his eyes hurt.

Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne has brought another orphan under his wing. Ten-year-old Jason Todd was adopted by Bruce earlier this week, after reportedly living with the billionaire for the past year, followed shortly by the official adoption of Bruce's oldest son, Dick Grayson (16)

Below the text, there are a few photos.

The first was of Bruce and Jason exiting some building and Sam can't help but feel sorry for the poor kid. He looks so out of place and sickly – just this pitifully tiny child, almost cowering away from the cameras. Bruce is shielding him from the hordes of press hounds with one hand and waving out to the cameras with the other.

The next looks to be a school photo, with Jason, sat in front of a grey backdrop in a school uniform. This time, he looks happy, grinning widely. His black hair is more neatly styled and his eyes are brighter – an almost electric shade of blue. The colour seems to have returned to his skin and there is this liveliness and personality that hadn't been there in the other photo. Sam can see a resemblance to Bruce now – dark hair and a charming smile. The logo on his blazer can just about be read: 'Gotham Academy.'

The third and final photo is outside some official-looking building. Jason is stood, grinning, with papers gripping tightly in his hands. Bruce is stood behind him, hand resting on his shoulder, and looking down at Jason with a small smile. There's an older boy next to Bruce, Dick Grayson. also holding papers – though he doesn't seem as happy.

There's another paragraph underneath:

The question on everybody's mind: how will Jason compare to his predecessor? Although Jason doesn't quite have the natural flair for the spotlight that Dick does, you can't help but fall in love with the adorable bad boy aura surrounding the former Crime Alley inhabitant.

Okay, that's a good place to stop. He's uncomfortable enough about digging through the poor kid's life without having to read this abomination of journalism. He hesitantly bookmarks the page and moves onto the next subject: The Lazarus Pit.

Fountains of Youth (also known as Lazarus Pits) have been mentioned throughout history, through various myths and fables. The legends surrounding them differs slightly between cultures and from one time period to another. In most accounts, they are capable of healing, resurrection, and granting immortality.

The Pit's power was often believed to come from the liquid in the Pit as opposed to the location itself. The substances that make up the liquid varies between each iteration of the story. During the Renaissance, for instance, it was said that Pits were made from the grace of angels slain by demons, as depicted in many paintings and statues. Many of these accounts also tell of fountains fading away or losing their abilities. This was thought to be what caused the formation of caves or underground lakes.

Several middle eastern cultures reference Ra's Al Ghul as the owner of the last Lazarus Pits. Al Ghul is said to be centuries old and is often referred to by these stories as 'The Demon's Head.'

Sam marks the page to show Dean later and opens another tab. Dick Grayson was mentioned a lot, so maybe they can try to ask him about Jason – considering that Bruce Wayne is the CEO of an international, multibillion-dollar corporation and probably has better things to do than being harassed about his dead son by two literal strangers.

He glances over at Jason, sound asleep and wheezing softly. The kid isn't a monster, but that doesn't narrow it down all that much. Maybe he's an angel – can angels take dead vessels? How would that even work? Why would an angel pick some dead kid to be its vessel?

Sam doesn't know. And that's honestly the worst part. 

Chapter Text

The second that Cas appears in the cavern, he feels the cold point of a blade held firm to his spine and a hand grips his throat, dragging him back.

"Who are you?" a sharp voice hisses in his ear. It's distinctly female but muffled by something – a mask, perhaps. One of the League's assassins, then.

"I need to see Ra's," he says flatly. The blade digs into his back slightly, but it's not as though she can actually hurt him. "As soon as possible."

"What business do you have with him?" There's the faintest trace of an accent in her voice. It's also extraordinarily dark in the cave – it's impressive that she reacted so quickly.

"Shiva? What are you doing?" says a voice to Cas's left – more authoritative, but softer, motherly almost. He turns his head, met by the blackened silhouette of a tall woman in a scarcely lit hallway. Her head cocks to the side as she looks at him. "Castiel?"

He has some vague memories of being down here before, but those were... His head had been wiped clean more times than he could count, but that voice. Where did he know that voice?

Then it hits him. The memory of a young girl, eyes like jewels, staring up at him. Her hand clutches his tighter. A name flickers through his mind and, before he can even comprehend it, it's echoing through the room. "Talia."

"It is you," she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. Her head snaps up sharply. "Shiva! Release him. Immediately."

The blade is lowered and he's let go, followed by a begrudging, "Yes, Lady Talia."

"You're here to see my father, correct?" she says, turning her attention back to Cas. He nods and she turns on her heels. "This way."

She led him through a long, winding corridor, lit by burning torches dotted along the walls. Eventually, it spills out into a huge room, lined by two rows of marble pillars. Talia strides forwards, pushing past a pair of armed guards. Cas attempts to follow, but it knocked back by the guards.

"Let him through." That... that's not Talia.

An older man appears through a gap between two pillars and the guards immediately drop to one knee.

"Castiel," the man greets, nodding curtly.

"Ra's."

"What do you want, Castiel?" The corner of Cas's lip quirks at the sharpness of his voice – Ra's Al Ghul was never one to mince words and it's almost comforting to see that some things remain unchanged.

"I need to use your Lazarus Pit." Ra's visibly stiffens and Cas can hear the armour of the guards clanking behind him.

"For the boy, I presume," Ra's says, nodding. "Jason, I believe. The fallen Robin. If my memory serves, he was murdered. It was a rather... tragic affair, even by my own standards."

Cas doesn't know what the name 'Robin' has to do with Jason, but he files it away for later. "How do you know..."

Ra's looks at him wryly. "Even if I allowed you to use the Pit, there isn't any guarantee that he'll survive the process. The restoration of his higher brain functions alone could send him into shock. The mere memories of his death could cripple his mind."

"But with Sam-"

"He wasn't in possession of his soul when you brought him to me. It was still trapped in the Cage, with Michael and Lucifer. When he was healed, he had no real memories of being there. He doesn't even remember being brought to me. It was a miracle that he survived his soul being returned. The boy likely won't be so fortunate."

"He was clearly brought back for a reason," Cas tries.

"I know," Ra's sighs, somewhat tiredly. "But that reason has yet to come to light. The boy may very well be destined to bring about some great evil if he falls onto the wrong path. I am not going to risk the world for the life of a boy."

"What if I could guarantee that Jason would be protected?"

"Perhaps, I could consider it." Cas feels slightly more optimistic at that. "I presume that you will be keeping him with the Winchesters – they would be suitable guardians. Although, you would be required to keep me updated on the boy's condition."

"Of course."

"Be careful, Castiel. If the boy does fall into the wrong hands, I will not hesitate to do what must be done," Ra's says, his voice low and stern. "And, angel or not, I will have your head."

"Understood."

"Then," he says, turning away, "I will grant you access to my Lazarus Pit."

"Thank you."

-

It's been a couple of hours since Cas left and Sam had fallen asleep, half slumped over the table. Cas appears behind him and Sam woke with a start, yelping and crashing to the ground.

The commotion wakes Jason with a start and the look of pure fear in his eyes is reminiscent of a deer in headlights.

"S'okay, Jason. I'm okay," Sam mutters, pulling himself up. Jason stares at him, frowning ever so slightly, and is unconvinced. Sam holds his arms out, letting Jason check for himself. "See? I'm fine. Really."

Cas clears his throat. "Where's Dean?"

"He went to his room after you left." And, as if on cue, Dean stumbles out of his room.

"Morning, Sammy. Hey, Cas," he says, yawning. Jason watches Dean and it's clear that the cogs in his head are trying desperately to turn. Dean chuckles at him. "Good morning to you too, Jason."

Jason seems pleased enough with this and, surprisingly, forces himself up and rather unsteadily follows

Dean into the kitchen. After a few minutes, Dean emerges carrying a mug and a bowl, with Jason hobbling closely behind. He sets the bowl down at the table, pulling out the chair for Jason. "Come on, kiddo. You've gotta be starving."

Jason looks between Dean and the bowl hesitantly, before clearly deciding that his hunger outweighs his apprehension. They all stand in silence as Jason wolfs down his cereal and Dean finishes off his coffee.

"I need to take Jason."

"Okay," Dean says quietly. "Just bring him back in one piece, alright?"

"Of course. You have my word."

Dean kneels beside Jason, who's staring blankly into his empty bowl.

"Hey, Jason," he says. Jason looks over at him, frowning slightly like he was trying to remember something. "Cas is gonna take you somewhere special. You're gonna be fixed right up." Jason's eyes widened briefly and there's a flicker of emotion in them. Fear? Excitement, maybe? "But no one's gonna make you, okay? You don't have to go if you don't wanna."

There's a pause and Dean can see Jason slowly processing what he said. Then, he gives a faint nod and Dean beams at him. Cas steps forwards, reaching for Jason's hand. "I'll take him back to the bunker when it's finished."

Jason takes Cas's hand and they both disappear.

-

They appear in the same room that Cas had left. The guards jump to attention, surrounding them, and Cas feels Jason's grip on his hand tighten.

"At ease," Ra's steels, waving his hand dismissively.

Talia smiles widely at them and Jason seems to recognise her, staring intently. She leads them over to the end of the room, where two wooden doors tower over them. The guards swing the doors open and a sickly green light falls through the opening.

The Pit is massive – hundreds of metres wide in a lopsided ring – and the liquid is still, like pale green glass. It's horrifying and awe-inspiring all at once. Cas is reminded of the first time that he saw the true form of one of the archangels.

Ra's walks to the very edge and Cas follows him. Jason is torn away and, with a pained yelp, is thrown in.

"What are you doing?" Cas says.

"Do you think he would have gone in willingly?" Cas remains silent, fuming, and turns his gaze to where Jason had gone in. For a while, nothing happens.

And then, a few bubbles break the surface of the water. It quickly grows more and more intense, until Ra's and Talia need to step back to avoid being splashed. A tormented shriek fills the air as Jason bursts through the surface, dripping wet and panting. An ivory streak has been painted in his hair and his eyes are a vivid, burning shade of green. They dart around the room before locking onto them and the animalistic glint in them is making Cas uncomfortable.

He lets out a guttural scream and runs at them.

Talia and Cas manage to dive out of his way, but Ra's isn't as fortunate. Jason pins him to the ground, both hands clamped around his throat. They desperately try to pry him off, but he isn't budging.

Cas presses two fingers to Jason's forehead and he collapses on top of Ra's. Cas scoops Jason up whilst Talia helps her father to his feet.

"Keep him out for at least a week," Talia says. "His mind needs time to heal. And don't put too much stress on him when he wakes up. It could cause his mind to shut down."

"I understand," Cas says, turning towards Ra's, who is staring at Jason warily. "Thank you." 

Chapter Text

"No, he's still asleep. Yeah, of course. See you soon. Bye." Kevin sets the phone down with a tired sigh. It's been a little over a week since Cas brought Jason to the bunker. He also asked Kevin to look through the Men of Letters' archives to check if they had anything on something powerful enough to resurrect Jason in the manner that he had been. So, that's what Kevin had been doing – fruitlessly, he might add. Fruitlessly.

He's leaning towards some pagan god or primordial deity. Hell, if he didn't know any better, he'd say that Death himself brought Jason back and be done with it. But, unfortunately, he does know better, so he has to keep looking.

Death doesn't just bring people back. Not like that either.

Cas also mentioned that Jason wasn't brought back by a demon and Kevin ruled out anyone Jason knew bringing him back.

The whole situation makes his head spin, but Charlie accepted it all immediately. She's grown pretty fond of Jason, especially after Cas mentioned something about robins to her.

Though her celebration is cut short by the very depressing realisation of how Jason had died. Charlie still has the paper that came out when the news broke and it broke her heart.

It began in April of that year. Robin disappeared and then, three weeks later, his broken, beaten body was found buried underneath the charred rubble of a warehouse in Ethiopia. The next day, Jason Todd was killed in a car accident in Europe – though that was largely overshadowed by the death of Robin.

The story dominated every headline in Gotham for weeks, as a city mourned a hero and a father buried

his son.

After combing through the whole of Gotham, top to bottom, she finds something – a network, an entire system mainframe, hidden in the buzz of the city. She missed it the first few times; it's so well disguised that it's almost like it's not there at all.

It takes her a good few hours to break into it. She reads through a couple of files and nearly yelps when she realises what she's done. The batcomputer – she's just hacked into the batcomputer.

There are files on every major villain in the city, but those are just reading material for another day – not quite what she's after at the moment. She keeps scrolling until she's reached a file simply named 'Jason.' It has quite a bit more encryption than the others but she slips past it relatively easily.

The first thing that pops up when the file loads is a photo of Jason – a little younger, maybe eleven or

twelve – with a wide, toothy grin that makes her smile too. Underneath this are Jason's details.

Full name: Jason Peter Todd

Alias: Robin

Status: DECEASED

Date of birth: August 16th, 2002 (age 13)

Emergency contacts:

Bruce Wayne

Dick Grayson

Alfred Pennyworth

Diana Prince

Clark Kent

NOTES:

[January 5th, 2011 – 22:47] Entry 1: I took in a child last night. His name is Jason – he's nine-years-old and he has been homeless for the past two. I caught him trying to steal the tires from the batmobile and he told me that he'd once planned to rob Wayne Manor.

I don't know why I've decided to house him, but I can see real potential in him. He deserves a good life. I'd take him in myself, but he's already shown clear signs of abuse and I'm not equipped enough to help him. Especially not after Dick. He'll be staying at the manor until I can find him a good home.

[January 6th, 2011 – 22:34] Entry 2: Jason is significantly more comfortable speaking to Batman than Bruce Wayne. I suspect that this stems from an abusive history, most likely from a paternal figure.

Jason has also started to exhibit other odd behaviours. He slept on the floor underneath his bed last night. He also hasn't put his bag down since he arrived, and he stashed food in his pockets during meals. I can only hope that he doesn't run away before I can find him a home.

...

[February 19th, 2011 – 22:10] Entry 35: Jason has started training today. I'm not sure if letting him be Robin is a good idea, but he was insistent. He's already picking up on the combat aspects, but he's significantly more aggressive than Dick was at that age.

...

[February 20th, 2011 – 23:01] Entry 46: Jason and Barbara met for the first time. It appears that she's warming up to him.

...

[April 27th, 2011 – 22:47] Entry 72: Jason and Dick met for the first time today. I wasn't present for the meeting, but Alfred informed me that it didn't go well – they got into an argument about Jason staying in Dick's room and Alfred had to break up a physical fight. Neither of them was hurt and Dick went back to Bludhaven. I'd like for Jason to have a good relationship with Dick, but I suppose that I'm not exactly setting a good example.

...

[May 2nd, 2011 – 22:39] Entry 76: Jason has completed most of his training and has taken to the role very well. Though, at home, Jason still seems withdrawn and anxious. He only speaks to me about things related to Robin and doesn't seem to be settling in at all. He still has caches of food and supplies stashed around the manor and keeps a fully stocked bag under his bed. I'm doing something wrong, but I don't know what else to do.

...

[July 9th, 2011 – 22:41] Entry 105: Jason has started to open up and appears more comfortable around the manor. His academic studies are progressing very well and he will be able to start school in September. He has shown a clear skill for languages – he is fluent in English and Spanish, and has shown some proficiency for Italian and Portuguese. I am personally tutoring him in Arabic and Mandarin.

...

[August 11th, 2011 – 22:58] Entry 128: Jason has communicated a desire to play an instrument. Alfred is teaching him to play the piano and I have bought him a guitar for his birthday.

...

[August 30th, 2011 – 22:06] Entry 147: Jason's temper needs to be managed – he snapped at Dick and threw a paperweight at him. His anger issues likely stem from past trauma. Perhaps I should send him to therapy.

...

[December 1st, 2011 – 22:38] Entry 189: Jason has been attending Gotham Academy for three months now, but doesn't seem to be making any friends. Though he has joined the athletics team and the book club. He has been seeing a school counsellor once a week for the past month and it seems to be helping. Though only time will tell.

...

[December 15th, 2011 – 18:17] Entry 203: Jason got into a fight at school today. He didn't start it, but he should have known better. With all of his training, he could have seriously injured the other boys and he's lucky that he didn't get himself hurt. He's been suspended for two days and I'm benching him. He hasn't left his room since we got back.

[December 16th, 2011 – 04:49] Entry 204: Jason has run away. Alfred went up to his room to give him dinner and he wasn't there. I've been searching all night and haven't found anything. Selina, Dick and Barbara are still out looking for him. I hope he's okay.

[December 16th, 2011 – 17:08] Entry 205: Selina found Jason. He told her that he thought I didn't want him anymore. I need to show him that he's more than just Robin – he needs to know that he's more than that to me.

...

[January 4th, 2012 – 22:37] Entry 216: I've officially adopted Jason. I don't think that I've ever been surer about a decision and I hope that Jason knows that.

...

[March 30th, 2012 – 22:56] Entry 240: Jason met Talia for the first time today. I don't believe that she poses much of a threat to him – she actually seems quite fond of him. Though I'd prefer if he didn't ask so many questions about our relationship.

...

[July 19th, 2012 – 22:56] Entry 304: Jason's Arabic has improved a great deal, though he's still struggling with the complexities of Mandarin. He's maintaining A's and B's in all of his classes – his favourite subject is still English, but he's slowly coming around to Math.

...

[August 16th, 2012 – 22:41] Entry 232: Jason met the Justice League for the first time today. He likes Diana and J'ohn more than me, but he told Clark that I'm cooler than he is so I think I'll survive. He managed to steal Hal's ring twice.

...

[January 7th, 2013 – 22:58] Entry 380: Jason took his first solo patrol today. I asked Barbara to shadow him and he passed with flying colours.

...

[November 25th, 2013 – 22:38] Entry 573: Jason went on a mission with the Titans. He seemed to have enjoyed himself, and I'm glad to see that Dick and Jason are finally getting along.

...

[July 7th, 2014 – 22:42] Entry 732: I let Jason try out one of the motorcycles. He almost drove it into a wall.

...

[August 15th, 2015 –22:45] Entry 1059: Jason has asked for his own motorcycle. He drew up his own designs. They're impressive but still require some fine-tuning and I need to convince him to get rid of the flame decals and the rocket launchers. Otherwise, there are no problems with aesthetics.

...

[September 28th, 2015 – 22:34] Entry 1072: Jason drove the batmobile under my supervision. It was more successful than anticipated. He is still not budging on the design of his motorcycle and has already given it a name: 'The Flamebird.' I am slightly less opposed to the flame decals, but the rocket launchers are unrealistic and have very little practicality.

[September 29th, 2015 – 22:57] Entry 1073: Jason has been hoarding scrap pieces of motorcycles in an attempt to build his own. I suspect that he's been bringing them into the attic for the last few weeks, and I'm impressed that he's managed to sneak them past me and Alfred.

He's constructed the outer casings and is partway through his engine. As far as I can tell, he isn't aware that I know. He also doesn't appear to have noticed the few pieces that I've slipped into his hoard.

...

[December 23rd, 2015 – 22:38] Entry 1107: Dick is back at the manor for Christmas. So far, he and Jason have been civil towards each other. It's nice.

[December 24th, 2015 – 22:01] Entry 1108: Dick and Jason got into a fight. Jason was trying to defend me and it was stopped before it got too out of hand. He's thirteen; he shouldn't have to fight my battles for me.

...

[April 1st, 2016 – 22:06] Entry 1189: When I came home today, Jason wasn't there. He left a note and some of his clothes were missing. He said to give him a week. I don't think I should, but Jason is responsible and he'll be fine. I trust him.

[April 5th, 2016 – 22:57] Entry 1190: Jason is in Ethiopia. I found his birth certificate on his desk and some notes on a woman, Sheila Haywood. Jason believes that she is his biological mother.

[April 9th, 2016 – 22:45] Entry 1191: Jason didn't come home yesterday. Alfred is sure that he's fine, but I don't know.

[April 10th, 2016 – 22:57 – 05:23] Entry 1192: The Joker has Jason. I need to find him. I can't let anything happen to him.

[April 15th, 2016 – 22:57] Entry 1183: There aren't any signs of Jason. I'm not going to stop until I find him.

[April 26th, 2016 – 23:57] Entry 1194: Clark found Jason. I'm on route to the warehouse. I hope that he's okay.

[April 27th, 2016 – 06:33] Entry 1195: He's dead. Jason is gone. The warehouse was rigged to explode and I was too late. I'm so sorry, Jason.

[April 30th, 2016 – 22:56] Entry 1196: The Joker recorded everything that he did to Jason. I have to know what he went through. I need to know.

[May 1st, 2016 – 22:56] Entry 1197: Jason, I'm sorry. I failed you. It's all my fault – I should have been there. I'm so sorry.

MEDICAL FILE

CORONER'S REPORT

DEATH CERTIFICATE

VIDEO DRIVE

"Nope. Not gonna open any of those," Charlie mumbles, frowning at the links and getting out of her chair. Jason's room is on the same floor and reading that makes her want to check on him again. She wipes the tears out of her eyes as she leaves her room.

Sometimes when she checked on him, he would be tossing and turning in his sleep, muttering under his breath and crying out. She'd sit by him, in the armchair next to his bed, and read to him – it seemed to calm him down and eventually, she read to him every time she checked on him. They're halfway through 'The Hobbit.'

She snatches her book up off the desk and makes down the hall.

-

Green.

It consumes his mind – the violent, alien glow against night-black rock. Then he's drowning. His chest floods with the vile liquid as every inch of his body goes painfully numb.

He can hear voices hovering on the surface, soft murmuring. His mother, Catherine. Bruce. Alfred. Barbara.

The soothing tones deform into a piercing cackle and the calm is torn away from him. He can feel his lungs burning as they cry out for air; he can feel his bones breaking – hear them snap – and he can feel warm blood trickling down his skin and the sharp stings of fresh wounds.

A shadow looms over him and rusted metal glints in the dim light. It brings its arm up, ready to strike him again.

And then... then he's alone again. But he can see it – the countdown, the flashing red.

Four. I'm not going to make it.

Three. I'm going to die.

Two. I'm sorry, Bruce.

One.

Jason gasps for air and his entire body is shaking. His mind is completely blank and he can hear his heartbeat – he is alive.

"Come on," he mumbles to himself, drawing his knees up to his chest. "You're okay. You're okay.

You're okay."

He stays there, statue still, taking painfully slow breaths until he hears the faint click of footsteps outside and the fear returns like a knife in his stomach. He has a few seconds if he's lucky.

His eyes dart around the room, searching for anything. There's a lamp, small but hefty, to his left and he grabs it.

-

Charlie walks down the hall, humming to the steady rhythm of her shoes against the hard floor. Jason's room is two doors away.

She reaches the door and, without a moment's hesitation, opens it. The door noiselessly swings open and Jason feels his heartbeat stagger. With a cry, he leaps forward and the intruder crumples under the lamp.

He glances back as he runs. Red hair. Why... why is that so familiar?

He sprints down the hall. He has to get out.

-

The Impala pulls into the garage, slowly coming to a stop. Dean gets out first and Sam follows shortly after.

"D'you think the kid's woken up yet?" Dean asks, for what has to be the millionth time since they left Gotham.

"I doubt it. Kevin said he'd call if he did."

They walk down towards the library – that's probably where Kevin is. There's a shout, and they both break out into a sprint.

Kevin is desperately trying to chase a blur of black and white. Jason attempts to make a break for it, diving between Sam and Dean.

Dean grabs him. "Not so fast there, kid," he mutters, tossing Jason over his shoulder. Jason begins kicking furiously at his back in retaliation.

"Let go of me." Each word is punctuated with a solid kick at Dean's back. He's (thankfully) too short to hit his kidneys, but that isn't going to stop him trying.

"Or what?" Sam says. "You'll bite our ankles?"

Jason stops and glares at Sam, muttering heatedly under his breath. His accent is noticeably thicker as he lets out a stream of curses.

Dean looks over to Kevin, who is laying on the floor, breathing heavily. "You doing okay down there?"

Kevin turns his head, looking at Dean blearily. "Yeah," he says, giving a weak thumbs up. "I- I just- Just gimme a minute."

Jason has apparently decided to start kicking Dean again. Great.

"Knock it off, Jason," he sighs. "We aren't gonna hurt you."

It sounds like Jason is about to retort, but instead, he lets out a strangled cry and begins thrashing around. Dean's eyes flickering over to Sam, concern plastered across his face.

"He might be faking?" Sam murmurs, not wholly convinced of that himself.

Tears begin to spill from Jason's eyes.

"I don't think he is," Dean says, setting Jason down on the floor. Jason kicks out the second that his back

touches the wood, narrowly missing Dean's head.

"No," he screams. "Don't touch her!"

There's a moment where everyone is too stunned to move. Jason flinches like he's been hit and it's like everyone is unfrozen.

"Cas! Cas, get down here!"

Cas appears in front of Dean, clearly very confused. He's about to speak before he spots Jason. He rushes over, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on Jason's chest.

"What is it?"

"His soul," Cas whispers, frowning. "It's like it's been shredded. There are... tears in it."

"Is there anything we can do?" Dean asks, trying to pin down Jason's arms. It only seems to exacerbate

Jason's panic.

"I- I can try to fill the gaps," Cas mutters, not looking at him. "But he might not survive it."

"What?"

"For it to work, he has to be conscious and it'll be agony. The pain alone could kill him. And even if he does survive it, it might not last. Anything could cause him to slip."

Dean hesitates for a moment. "Do it."

Jason's screams echo through the bunker and a blinding white light fills the room. By the time that it subsides, Jason is pale and dripping with sweat.

"It's done," Cas says solemnly, standing up. "He should be fine. Just give him time to rest. He should wake up in a few hours. There are... other matters that require my attention. I-I need to go."

Cas vanishes before any of them can ask anything.

"What the hell was that?"

The three of them turn. Charlie is by the door, leaning against the doorframe and clutching the side of her face.

"Long story," Dean says, waving dismissively. "What happened to you?"

"Jason decided that the décor has other uses," she says, sounding tired but surprisingly good-natured.

"Dean, why don't you help Charlie? Kevin and I can handle Jason," Sam says, brushing his hands off on his jeans.

"You sure?"

The two of them nod. "Positive."

Dean leaves with Charlie and Sam scoops up Jason. He's concerningly light. Kevin leads him to Jason's room – a door or two down from Dean's and just around the corner from his.

He lays Jason down onto the bed carefully. "What about clothes?"

"What?"

"For Jason," Sam says. "I think he'd appreciate having a change of clothes. Maybe you could lend him something? It probably won't fit him, but it's better than nothing."

"Clothes," Kevin sighs, going over to the wardrobe. "Clothes will not be an issue. Charlie may have gotten just a little excited." He opens the wardrobe, which has been completely filled with clothes – stuffed is probably a more accurate word. "She wasn't sure what he liked so she got him everything."

He picks out a few pieces and then shuts the wardrobe – a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with the words 'you only live twice' written on the front in red.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"I know. Custom print, too." Kevin shakes his head. "This isn't even the worst one."

He folds them up and places them down on the bedside table.

-

Dean digs through the freezer. Where is that damned icepack?

"Aha!" he says, pulling it out triumphantly. He tosses it over to Charlie, who is perched on the counter and she holds it to her head, wincing at the sensation.

Sam and Kevin come in.

"How's the head?"

"Better. Just a little sore," she says, wrinkling her nose. "How's Jason?"

"Good," Kevin replies. "Well, he seems fine, anyway. But I guess that we'll see."

She nods and a heavy silence falls over the kitchen. Dean is staring blankly at the floor again.

"How about," Charlie begins, hopping down from the table, "Sam and I go grab some more things for Jason? You and Kev can hold down the fort."

Kevin gives a small snort of laughter and mutters something under his breath.

Dean looks up at her, blinking. "Yeah, sure."

Charlie drags Sam out with her, both casting concerned glances back at Dean.

-

An hour and a half later, Jason wakes up. For a good twenty minutes, he lies there, staring at the ceiling as tears streak down his face.

He sits up, casting a glance around the room. It's the same room that he woke up in last time. His eyes rest on a bundle of clothes next to him and, without hesitation, he grabs them.

Exactly a minutes later, he exits the room, staring intently at the white streak in his hair. His shoes are scuffed to hell and back, but it beats having to walk barefoot. He vaguely remembered the path that he'd taken last time – though, he's mostly relying on pure luck.

He smiles to himself when the corridor opens out into a familiar room. Dozens of tall bookshelves line the room and two tables sit in the centre. A man is sat at the furthest one, with his back turned to Jason.

Jason freezes, eyes scanning over him. Over six foot. About 175 pounds. Athletic. Late thirties, at most. He's planning on turning back around and slowly creeping away, but then, the man speaks.

"It's rude to stare, y'know," the man calls out, taking a swig from the mug in his hand. His voice is deep and oddly familiar – reassuring, almost. He glances at Jason and pushes the chair opposite him with his foot. "Take a seat, Jason."

Jason hesitates for a moment, considering running, before walking over to the man and sitting. He has to stop himself from flinching as the chair screeches against the floor as he shuffles forward. His legs swing awkwardly, barely grazing the floor and his hands grip the sides of the chair tightly to stop them from shaking.

"I'm Dean," he says, smiling at Jason. Jason nods, feeling himself going red. "You must have a lot of questions. Go ahead."

Jason thinks for a moment. It's like he didn't have any questions – he has dozens, all bouncing around inside his head. He can't decide which one he wants to be answered first.

"I was dead," he says quietly, eyes flickering down to the table, "wasn't I?"

"Yeah, you were," Dean replies, because that's all he can say to something like that. "Do you remember..."

"I don't know." Jason shrugs, drawing his knees up to his chest. "I saw a timer and I knew that it meant I was going to die, but I don't remember why it meant that. I keep trying to remember anything before that, but I can't because it's all..."

"Scattered?" Dean offers. "That's normal. It'll start to come back, but don't try to force it. You'll give yourself a headache."

"You've died before. Haven't you?"

"Yeah. A couple of times," Dean says. Jason nods thoughtfully.

"How'd you find me?"

"You dug yourself out of your grave." Jason's face twitches slightly and Dean realises that he probably remembers it – or is, at least, aware that it happened. "We found you."

"And then you brought me here?"

"To put it simply, yes," Dean says, gulping down the rest of his coffee.

Jason is hit by the smell and his stomach aches. He suddenly realises that he can't remember the last time he ate. The growling of his stomach breaks the silence and Dean chuckles. "How about we get you something to eat? Then I'll tell you whatever else you want to know. Sound good?"

Jason nods and Dean stands up, leaving the room with Jason trailing nervously behind him.

-

Sam and Charlie drag bag after bag after bag through the door. They step into the kitchen and are met with the most precious sight.

Jason is perched on the very edge of the kitchen counter, leaned so far forward that he's barely staying up there. He's staring at Dean, completely engrossed, as Dean regaled some story with broad gestures.

Two plates of half-eaten food are left on the table, forgotten.

Just as Dean's story comes to a close, he notices Sam and Charlie stood in the doorway. "Oh, hey."

Sam stays there, staring at his brother. He'd been left with Jason for a few hours and he's already in dad-mode. Typical.

Charlie, on the other hand, strides over to Jason, who immediately backs all the way up to the wall, almost hiding behind Dean.

"Hey, Jason," she says softly as she approaches, giving him what she hopes is a friendly smile. "My name's Charlie."

Jason finally looks at her, though his eyes flicker between her shoes and her shoulders.

"Uh, hi," he mumbles, bringing his knees up to his chest and pushing himself further into the wall. He glances at the bruises on her face. "I'm sorry about hitting you."

She stands up straight and he tenses like he's expecting her to shout at him.

"You don't need to apologise," she says, smiling at him again. "I get it – you thought you were in danger."

Jason nods slowly, but doesn't uncurl himself, obviously still uncomfortable. Dean steps forward, slightly in front of Jason, and places a hand on his shoulder. "Jason's decided that he wants to stay here. With us. Isn't that, right?"

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, untucking himself.

Charlie beams at him. "Well, then, it looks like you're a Winchester now, Jason," she says. "Part of the family."

Family. He likes the sound of that. Family.

Chapter Text

It takes Jason a while to start to settle in. Initially, they took to treating him a little like a stray cat. They were decidedly against forcing him to interact with them, but if he does try to approach them, they're going to be as accommodating as possible. He's traumatised enough as it is and they want to make sure that he sets the pace.

After a few days, Jason manages to build up the nerve to leave his room for longer than the time it takes for him to dash to the library and back. He still mostly avoids them, tucked away in some alcove that he discovered, but it's good that he's comfortable enough to stay out there.

Unsurprisingly, the first person that Jason approaches is Dean. It happens about two weeks after Jason arrived.

"Oh, sh-" He leaps back and Jason flinches at the sudden movement – the poor kid looks like he's going to cry. Dean takes a moment to compose himself. "I- I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry," Jason says, eyes dropping to the floor. His voice is small and catches in his throat slightly.

"Don't worry about it," Dean says quietly. Some part of him wants to rest a hand on Jason's shoulder, but he decides against it. He's not sure how Jason will react to it and he doesn't want to freak him out. This is the first time that Dean has properly seen Jason in a few weeks and he doesn't want Jason to retreat back into his room. "It's good to see you, actually. How are you feeling?"

Jason mumbles something that sounds like "fine," and Dean notices that he's staring at something. The wrench in his hand. Oh.

Dean slips it back into his pocket, making a show of doing it as slowly as he can. The situation stirs some memory of being in Jason's position with John that he pushes away. This isn't going to end as that did. There's the ghost of an ache in Dean's jaw at the way that Jason's hands are balled up into fists around the hem of his black hoodie to stop them from trembling – to stop him from looking weak. Dean is not his father.

What would Bobby do? What did Bobby do? The first time that he noticed that Dean flinched when he moved too suddenly or that his eyes glazed over when he raised his voice?

"I'm working on some of the cars in the garage," he says, forcing himself to keep his hands where they are. Jason looks like he's waiting for Dean to hit him, resigned to it almost. Dean is not his father. "They're all vintage and kinda... broken. I could use a hand fixing them, actually. The others aren't any good at this kinda thing, so I've just been doing what I can by myself."

Dean watches as Jason's face forms into a slight frown as he works over what Dean said. Then there's a flicker of surprise as he realises what Dean is asking. "Really? You want my help?"

"Yeah. You seem like a smart kid," Dean says, crouching down in front of him. "But you can say 'no' if you want to. There's no sense in forcing you to do something you don't wanna."

"Yeah, I'd... Yeah." Jason nods.

Dean beams at him. "Great." He walks Jason to the garage and then over to the car that he'd started on.

"This one's not so bad," he says, patting the hood. "There are a few kinks with the engine and it needs new wheels."

He hands Jason a tire iron. Jason turns it in his hands, glancing between it and the car.

"I was thinking that you do the wheels and I'll see what I can do with the engine?"

Jason nods. "I'm good at taking the wheels off."

"So, I've heard," Dean says, laughing.

Chapter Text

"What- What are you doing?" Kevin mutters, staring at Charlie as she practically vibrates.

"It's nearly Christmas," she says, looking at him like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"And..." he says – though he has a feeling where this is going. Every year, Charlie begs everyone to celebrate Christmas with her. It always ends with her and Dean sat in front of the TV, watching the Doctor Who Christmas Special and drinking mulled wine. Now that Jason was here, she might just have enough leverage to guilt-trip them into going all out.

"We should celebrate it."

"What should we celebrate?" Sam asks as he walks in. He settles on the table beside Charlie.

"Christmas."

Sam pulls the same face that he always does whenever Christmas is mentioned. It's a small, disdainful frown paired with a quiet sigh. "Why?"

"Because," she says, leaning back in her chair, "it'll be fun."

Sam doesn't look moved in the slightest.

"And, I'm sure that it'd be nice for Jason – y'know, to do something like a normal kid."

Sam makes a show of thinking over her point, but it's obvious that Charlie has won. Especially after she dropped the J-bomb. She looks at Kevin with a wicked grin.

"Fine," Sam sighs, getting up. "We'll do Christmas."

She winks at Kevin and mouths something that looks like, "Hook, line and sinker."

-

Three weeks later, it's Christmas Day. Jason wakes up at the same time he always does, 6:30 am. He's greeted by the light morning silence.

In the darkness, he cranes his neck to look around his room, just able to make out the rectangular silhouettes of photographs stuck to the wall above his desk. Jason found an old polaroid camera in the garage and had actually become quite fond of photography. He's not particularly good at it and he hasn't exactly gotten any better at taking them – the photos are always blurry and weird-looking – but he was bored and annoying Dean is fun.

It also gave him something to do in the time before he started school. There was one a couple of miles away from the bunker and he was honestly quite excited to go.

After a while, he decides to head down into the kitchen to grab some breakfast, maybe some eggs and toast. No one else ever gets up this early, so he can do whatever he wants. Though he may bump into Charlie, who sometimes stayed in the library all night, binge-watching TV shows.

When he reaches the library, it's empty. Jason can just about make out the profile of the gargantuan Christmas tree that he, Charlie and Dean spent hours decorating. He reaches for the light switch, groping blindly along the wall until he hits it.

"Surprise!"

Everyone is stood in a huddle in front of the tree with huge grins on their faces.

"Merry Christmas, Jay," Charlie says, beaming at him. She runs over to him and pulls him into a hug. Kevin and Cas both smile and him, and Sam and Dean take turns making his hair even more unruly.

Under the tree, there's a huge pile of gifts that Jason eyes cautiously.

"We all pitched in," Dean says, ruffling Jason's hair again. "Go nuts."

Jason doesn't move. He isn't sure that he remembers how to, or how to breathe for that matter. "I- I- um." His eyes flicker up to their faces, watching him patiently, and the tightening in his chest falls away. He swipes a hand over his face, catching the tears that had welled up in his eyes in his palm. "I got you all something too."

And with that, he leaves, ambling back across the library and down the corridor. He isn't sure what he's supposed to think, so he decides that it's best to just not. Thinking always has a way of making things complicated and right now, he just wants to enjoy the moment.

He retrieves the pile of gifts that he'd hidden underneath his bed. There's a slight rush of anxiety that he pushes away as he walks back – he hopes that they like what he's gotten them. He hasn't had much of a chance to go out and buy them anything, so he's had to make do with what he could.

When he returns, the others haven't really moved much. They look at the bundle of painstakingly wrapped gifts with similar looks of confusion. He sets them down on the table and takes the present at the very top.

"Charlie," he says, handing it over. She carefully peels off the packing paper that he used. It's a little black jewellery box, and inside it, is a thin, gold necklace with a single white pearl.

"It- It was my mom's," he explains, shifting nervously. "I thought that it'd look nice on you."

Charlie hugs him, tears welling up in her eyes. "Aw, thanks, Jay. It's beautiful."

"I remember that you told me that you play the cello," Jason says, handing Kevin his gift. "So, I thought that, since you can't bring it here, you might..."

It's a record labelled 'Sol Gabetta.'

"So that was what you were looking for last week," Kevin murmurs, turning it in his hands. "Thank you, Jason."

He goes over to the record player and slowly slotted it in and the dulcet sounds of cello filled the library.

Jason shuffles over to Cas, who's looking kind of aloof. "Here," he says, handing over a thick, squarish-looking parcel.

Cas opens it cautiously – it's a pocket-sized album. He glances between the album and Jason's hopeful face. "This- This isn't necessary, but thank you."

"It's so you always have something to remind you of us," Jason says thoughtfully, taking it out of his hands. "See? It's got all these pictures of us in it."

He slips the album into Cas's pocket and walked over to Sam, his head barely reaching Sam's chest.

"Here," he says, holding it up. When Sam takes it, Jason looks up at him expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Sam tears off the paper much less carefully than the others had. It's a huge stack of folders and Sam looks at Jason for an explanation.

"You know how you said that your grandfather used to be a Man of Letters. Well, I went looking through the members' archives and this is everything I could find on Henry Winchester."

"Seriously?" Sam says, examining the folders. "How'd you get so much?"

Jason looks at him. "Ace detective, Sam. Ace detective," he says, grinning. "And by that, I mean that Bobby helped me when he came over."

Sam flicks through the papers and Jason sneaks over to Dean, shoving the last present into his hands. It's an awkward shape, but very thin, like a credit card.

"Open it," Jason urges.

Dean rips the paper off and the look of pure joy on his face is priceless. It's a batarang.

"I found it in my suit pocket," Jason explains cheerfully. "I don't really need it, so..."

"Awesome," Dean says, staring at it. "Let's go try it out."

Dean pats Jason's shoulder as he leaves and everyone else follows him into the shooting room.

-

Dean spends twenty minutes trying and failing, to hit anywhere near the target. He would throw it and then, it would curve or veer off or sometimes just drop out of the air. Kevin and Sam took refuge behind Sam after one of Dean's throws rebounded off a wall.

"You aren't doing it right," Jason repeats, arms crossed, for the hundredth time. Dean sighs in defeat and hands over the batarang. Charlie and Kevin peer out from either side of Sam. Jason turns to the target and throws it lazily. It strikes the chest of the target.

He turns back to Dean with an eyebrow raised. "It's all in the wrist."

Before Dean can retrieve his present, Sam intervenes. "How about we let Jason open his presents? Then he can help you with... that."

Dean nods and they file out.

"You almost took Charlie's head off with it," Jason snickers.

Dean shoves him playfully. "Shut it, short stack."

-

Jason spends a good while, far longer than necessary, deciding which present he wanted to open first.

There are six in total – one from each of the five of them and one from Bobby.

He decides to open Charlie's one first – a bundle wrapped in vibrant green. It's an assortment of t-shirts with all manner of awful puns on them and a handmade sweater. Jason pulls it on over his pyjamas.

Next, is Kevin's, wrapped in plain white. Jason tears it off. There are three books and Jason stares at them.

"How the hell did you get these?" Jason asks, looking up at him. "These are all first editions."

He sorts through them, running his thumb over the covers.

"A magician never reveals his secrets," Kevin says, grinning when Jason scowls at him.

He places them carefully down on the table before rushing back over to the tree. A small, heavy one is next, messily wrapped in newspaper and duct tape. Jason recognises Cas's handwriting instantly. He wrestles with the wrapping for a few minutes before Dean steps in to help. The gift slips out of the paper as he tears through it. Instinctively, Jason dives to catch it, landing flat on his back with the present held to his chest. It's a digital camera.

"I was informed that you enjoyed taking photographs," Cas explains. "A digital camera is far more suitable than the one you have now."

Jason leaps up. "Everyone get together," he orders.

There's a brief pause before everybody moves. As soon as they settle into their places, a blinding flash

hits them.

"God, how about a little warning next time?" Dean mutters, blinking in an attempt to regain his sight.

Jason grins sheepishly. "Sorry."

He picks up another gift from under the tree. It has Jason's name written across the top of it. Other than that, there are no other markings or anything to indicate what Bobby had given him. Jason is struggling to keep it up so sets in on the table to unwrap. It's a leather-bound book.

"A Guide to the Supernatural: Hunter's Edition," Jason reads, frowning at the book and carefully lifting the cover. A corded necklace is tucked into the fold of the first page. He hooks the necklace onto one finger and looks at it – on the end, there is a little wooden carving, far too small for Jason to clearly see it, but there's a little set of horns sticking out of each side. Jason puts in on and begins to flick through the pages, running his hands over the drawings and text.

He reaches under the tree to grab the last two presents. Sam's is the smaller of the two, but it's significantly heavier. He tears off the wrapping – it's a smartphone covered in layers of bubble wrap.

Once he works it off, he examines the phone, turning it in his hands.

"It's got all of our number in it," Sam says. "Plus a few extra. So, you'll always be able to contact someone if you need it."

Jason looks quite happy with it and slips the phone into his pocket. He sits down beside Dean's gift, a cardboard box that's almost as big as he is, with his name scrawled across the side of it.

Jason pries it open and immediately frowns, reaching into the box and pulling out a dog collar. "Dean?" he says, glancing at him. "What is this?"

"It's a dog collar."

"I can see that," Jason says. "Why would you- oh. Oh."

"Yep," Dean says, looking pleased with himself. "There's a dog shelter not too far from here. I'll take you there tomorrow."

-

The rest of the day consists of various Christmas festivities, including several dreadful attempts at charades. Dean insists on helping Jason in the kitchen and it's then that he discovers that Jason has a temper than could rival Crowley's.

Dean is forcibly ejected after an hour and Jason refuses to let anyone else in, because they 'wouldn't know good cooking if it tap-danced on them with ice skates.'

But it's worth it in the end because Jason comes out with a three-course meal that tastes like heaven.

Christmas in the Winchester household ends in its usual fashion: watching every Doctor Who Christmas Special. Sam finds them all asleep in Charlie's room, slumped over each other.

Huh, he thinks, Maybe Christmas isn't so bad after all.

Chapter Text

The next day, Jason woke Dean up at four in the morning and they've been at the animal shelter since ten.

That was about three hours ago.

"How about this one?" Lisa, the woman who's been showing them around, asks, pointing to a black dachshund. Jason stares at the dog and the dog stares back.

"I don't know," Jason says eventually.

"It's an awfully difficult decision," Lisa agrees, in that chipper tone that's driving Dean slightly mad.

"Shame you can't take all of them, right?"

She laughs and Jason turns to Dean with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"No, absolutely not," is Dean's response to Jason's unasked question. There's a hint of amusement mixed in with the slurry of fatigue and irritation, and Jason pouts. "One."

They continue down the corridor and past a particularly ugly, hairless cat that hisses at them. Jason and Dean both stop to stare at it, glancing warily at each other.

Another hour passes and Jason still hasn't decided. They'd walked around the shelter a dozen times and Jason wonders ahead of Lisa and Dean when Lisa starts to flirt with Dean.

Well, at Dean. He's far too tired for any of this, so he's feigning ignorance to her attempts. She seems nice enough and Dean probably would if he wasn't about to pass out from exhaustion.

Somewhere, from around the corner, Jason's gasps and the pair of them speed off to check up on him. Jason is sat on the floor, petting a large German Shepard, grinning. Both Jason and the dog look up at Dean when he rounds the corner.

"That's The Colonel," Lisa explains, pulling a huge ring of keys from her pocket and unlocking the cage.

"He's a retired police dog, but he's perfectly friendly." She crouches down to pet him. "A bit of a troublemaker, though. Aren't you?"

"I think he's the one," Jason says, trying to fend off the Colonel's attempts to lick him.

"Fantastic," she says, smiling warmly. "How about me and your dad sort out all the paperwork and you can play with your new friend in the waiting room?"

Jason nods and they walk down to the reception desk. The Colonel stays by Jason's side the entire time.

In the waiting room, Dean fills out a clipboard of papers whilst Jason plays with The Colonel.

A loud thud breaks the relative quiet.

Dean glances up – Jason's chair had been knocked over, with Jason still in it. The Colonel is stood over him and Jason is cackling. Dean can't resist taking a photo. The camera flash immediately draws their attention. "What the hell was that for?"

"What was what?"

Jason glares at him, but it doesn't carry much weight, considering the position that he's in. He reaches over the coffee table, snatching a handful of papers and screwing them up before launching them at Dean. "Haven't you got paperwork to do?"

-

Jason sprints ahead of Dean as they leave, with The Colonel hot on his heels. "Race you to the car, TC!"

By the time that they all reach the Impala, Jason is lying on the pavement, having gunned it across the football pitch-sized parking lot. He'd managed to stay with TC for the first few metres before he began falling further and further behind – though not for lack of trying, considering that Jason looks like he's about to keel over and die.

"You okay there, Jay?" Dean calls out as he approaches.

Jason nods, yawning. TC is laid down beside him, with his head on Jason's chest.

-

The car ride is loud, but not unpleasant. Jason sits in the backseat with TC, happier than Dean has ever seen him – grinning and shrieking with laughter like a little kid.

Good, Jason deserves to be a child. 

Chapter Text

Summer rolls in before any of them can comprehend it and it's about time that Jason learns about the 'family business.'

Sam drew the short straw and is given the herculean task of initiating him. Needless to say, Jason is not having any of it.

"Ha. Ha," Jason says flatly. "Monster hunters? You couldn't come up with something more convincing?"

"Well, what do you think we do?"

Jason thinks for a moment. "You're always... You're obviously- oh, wait, no that doesn't make... You're- You're... I-I got nothing."

Sam looks at him.

"No," Jason says, swatting at Sam's arm. It doesn't really hurt that much, or at all for that matter, but Sam can actually feel it, which is an improvement. They tried desperately to get Jason to put on some weight and clearly, it's worked at least little. "You do not hunt monsters. Stop being an idiot or I'll tell Bobby."

"How about I prove it?" Sam says, immediately realising how stupid this is. "I'll show you a real demon."

Jason looks at him for a long time, before obviously deciding to just humour him. "Fine."

-

The last ingredient falls into the bowl and it erupts into smoke. Jason coughs, waving the fumes away from him. "That was anticlimactic, wasn't it?"

"This has better be important, moose," a voice behind them drawls. Jason turns sharply, wooden spoon at the ready.

"Crowley," Sam says curtly. "This is Jason. Jason, this is-"

"Do you actually expect me to believe that he is a demon?" Jason cuts in, looking rather unimpressed.

"You could have at least summoned someone like Etrigan. Now that's a demon."

"Crowley," Sam orders. "Do the eye thing."

Crowley sighs, but his eyes flit red for a moment. "I have better things to do than being insulted by some insolent little brat," he mutters. "Compare me to some halfling charlatan like Jason Blood? The nerve."

"I grew up in Gotham," Jason says simply. "If you want me to believe you, you're gonna have to try a little harder than that."

Crowley looks genuinely offended at that. "You want more? Fine."

He waves his hand and sends Sam and Jason flying across the room. Jason rolls neatly, springing to his feet, and Sam takes out a shelf.

"I guess that was kinda cool, but," Jason says, watching Sam pull himself up, "did I mention the woman that can control plants?"

Crowley scoffs, completely affronted, and then disappears right in front of them. He reappears behind Jason, who glances at him nonchalantly. "What about the guy made out of phosphorus?"

Crowley takes a deep breath, absolutely seething. Sam runs, trying to tackle him, but it's too late. Red smoke pours out of Crowley's mouth and forcing its way down Jason's throat.

"Well," Jason mutters bitterly. "This one's rather important, isn't he? If this doesn't convince him, I will kill him." His eyes flash red. "Though I doubt that it'd stick."

The red smoke erupts from Jason's mouth. He falls to his knees, grasping his throat and coughing violently. "Okay. Okay. I believe you. Just don't... do that again."

Chapter Text

There's something up with Cas and Jason wants to slap himself for not noticing it earlier.

At first, it was just catching things that could've been explained as Jason being paranoid and reading into it too much. Then, it got weirder.

He'd spot Cas staring at him (which, wasn't that strange, too be fair) and occasionally jotting stuff down in a pocket notebook. He'd even overhead a few phone calls and Jason's Arabic, though a little rusty, was good enough to know that Cas was talking about him.

This would go on for a few weeks and then Cas would disappear for a couple of days. Then, the cycle continued.

Enough was enough and Jason wants answers, but confronting Cas is more difficult than he anticipated.

Every time that he got close, Cas would vanish.

After several failed attempts, it's time to call in backup.

"Hey, Dean," Jason says, as (un)casually as he could manage, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Hey, Jace," Dean returns, rooting around through the fridge.

Jason has a tiny moment of panic. How is he going to work this into a conversation? Why didn't he think of anything to say beforehand? Why is he such an unprepared idiot?

"So," he begins, already hating how awkward he sounded, "have you noticed anything weird with Cas?"

Dean stops, peering around the fridge door. "No. Why?"

"I'm sure it's nothing," Jason mutters. "It's just..."

"Gut feeling?"

"Yeah," he says. "He just seems kinda off. Y'know?"

-

"Hey, Cas," Jason says, peeking out from behind the doorframe. "Can you help me get this book? I can't reach it."

"Of course." Jason grins and disappears. Cas gets up and follows after him. He leads Cas down the corridor, talking animatedly about the book he wanted. They reach the room and Jason quickly steps away from him.

"Now!"

Dean emerges from behind a bookshelf and drops a lit match – a ring of flames rise up around Cas.

"What- Dean, what are you doing?"

"Relax, Cas," Dean sighs. "We just want some answers. Jay?"

Dean steps to the side to let Jason take over. "Why have you been acting so weirdly? You've been keeping tabs on me and I wanna know why."

Cas hesitates. "I'd have told you immediately, but Talia advised against it."

"Talia?" Jason says, frowning. "As in Talia Al Ghul? What has she got to do with this?"

He recalls meeting her once – Before – but what did she... Ra's.

"Her father," Jason mumbles, more to himself than anything. "The Lazarus Pit. It's why I keep seeing green."

Cas nods. "He allowed you to use it, but in return, I was to give them updates on your progress. Talia seems to be quite fond of you."

"Then why didn't she want me to know?"

"She was concerned that you would relapse."

"Can- Can I see her?"

"I don't know," says Cas. "Knowing is one thing, but seeing her? I'll- I'll ask but I wouldn't be too hopeful."

Jason nods and turns to Dean, gesturing for him to put out the fire. Dean grabs the bucket of water he had by his feet and empties it over the floor.

-

"Castiel," Shiva greets coolly. It's obvious that she doesn't trust him, but she's becoming more civil with each interaction. "Why are you here? Your visit isn't due yet."

"I need to see Talia," Cas says. "It's about Jason."

Shiva's stance tenses slightly at the mention of Jason. "Lady Talia is training with her son in the courtyard," she says, sighing. "But I'm sure that she'll see you. Follow me."

She leads him down the same pathway that Talia does on every visit. It opens out into the same courtyard it always does. In the distance, he can vaguely see two figures sparring against the harsh sunset.

"Lady Talia," Shiva calls out. "Castiel is here."

Talia walks over to them, her son trailing behind her. "Castiel," she says, smiling. "You're early."

"Jason knows," Cas says, slightly distracted by the small, scowling child beside her.

"How?" She sounds surprised but not angry like he anticipated. "You said that Jason was unaware of our meetings?"

"He figured out that something was going on."

She thinks for a moment. "I assume that you're here because he wants to meet me?"

"Mother? What is going on?"

Cas frowns at the boy – he can't be any older than five or six.

"Hush, Damian. This doesn't concern you," Talia says, placing her hand on his shoulder and then turning back to Cas. "Very well, then. You may bring Jason to me."

-

Dean leans against the back wall of the storage room, with Jason sat on the floor beside him, fiddling with his shoelaces. When Cas reappears, he leaps up. "What'd she say? What'd she say?"

"She said that I can take you," Cas says, smiling as Jason beams at him.

"So, when are we going?" says Dean, pushing off the wall. Cas frowns.

"I believe that only Jason is permitted to go."

"Like hell," he says, "is he going by himself."

"I'll be there too, Dean," Cas reminds.

"You know damned well what I mean."

"Uh, I'd like Dean to come too," Jason chimes in. "Only if that's okay though."

Cas considers this for a moment. "Then I'm sure that Talia won't mind."

-

Dean's head is spinning when they appear. Jason, on the other hand, is completely unaffected, or he's far too engrossed in the scenery to care.

They're in a gigantic courtyard, bordered in by white marble walls, covered in thick vines. The grass is

bright and almost unnaturally vibrant, despite the unbearable heat. Just to their left is a huge bonsai tree, casting a shadow large enough to shield them from the brutal sun.

Jason is awestruck, his mouth agape and his eyes wide. A small gasp escapes as his eyes settle onto what lies just over the wall. An enormous palace of white stone that glows against the open blue sky.

He jumps when a hand rests on his shoulder. A tall woman is looking down at him with an amused expression.

"Jason," she says softly, smiling. It's a very pretty smile too, but it doesn't quite fit on her face. He saw a lot when he was younger, on his mother. It's happy but bittersweet. "My name is Talia."

Jason glances behind him. Dean and Cas are watching them; Dean's hand is resting on his gun and Cas is gripping his shoulder, stopping him from going over there. He realises that Talia is watching him, her expression patient. "Uh, hi." Very articulate, Jason. "I-I..." He coughs. "I've met you before, haven't I? Before."

She nods, thankfully understanding what he's trying to say. "Yes. You and I met when you were Robin."

"I remember pieces... of Before," he says, not quite sure why he's telling her this – especially when he hadn't spoken anyone else about this. "I remember my mom and living with Bruce and I remember dy... dying. But everything else is blurry."

"Sometimes, our minds try to protect us from our pasts. Perhaps it's for the best." Jason frowns – he wants to remember. "Or, perhaps, it will come back to you with time. Either way, you mustn't push yourself too hard."

"Can you tell me what I was like?" Jason asks, looking up at her. "As Robin?"

She smiles, and this time her eyes light up. "Of course."

She leads him to a bench under the tree and began: "You were a marvellous Robin – selfless and so very brave. You worried your father sick because you would injure yourself trying to protect others. You'd come back from patrols covered in bruises and cuts, but you'd be smiling – you were always smiling.

Being Robin was your everything."

Chapter Text

To Be a Hunter.

Once Jason found about the family business, he was very adamant that he should go on hunts with them – something that Sam and Dean are very against. But Jason is very persistent and, eventually, they settle on a compromise. Jason will learn about hunting and everything that it entails, and, if he still wants in, they'll take him hunting after he finished school. If he decides that he doesn't, they'll send him off to college.

"Four, over a week, throats torn out. No organs missing. Authorities assume that it's animal attacks,"

Sam prompts. "What is it?"

"Vamps," Jason answers firmly. "Pretty large nest too. A couple dozen, maybe more."

"Good," says Dean. He's learning very quickly. "How do you continue?"

"With extreme caution. Do not engage without back up."

"Perfect. Let's move onto tools," Sam says. "Salt?"

"Demons and ghosts." That's something that Jason learned himself, via the many, many books that Bobby had sent over on Jason's request. Sam can't remember all the times that he found Jason sat on the library floor with all of his notes spread out in front of him and TC sprawled out quite happily next to him.

It's just the way Jason is, Sam supposes. He throws himself wholly into everything.

Bearer of Bad News.

Everything is going exceptionally well that morning.

Until Jason throws down his newspaper and storms off. Kevin, being the only other person in the kitchen, follows after him. He finds Jason in the shooting room – firing rounds off into the chest of a target.

"He replaced me," he says, sneering as he empties the gun.

Oh, no. Angry Jason is never easy to deal with.

"Timothy Drake," Jason says, voice bubbling over with anger. "The bastard probably already made him Robin too."

For a while, they stand in silence – Kevin doesn't know what to say and Jason seems content with quietly seething.

"I-I knew," he sighs, voice cracking – and he suddenly sounds like the fourteen-year-old that he is. "I knew that he'd... eventually. But I..."

"You didn't think it would hurt so much," Kevin finishes, keeping his voice low. Jason nods, tears welling up in his eyes.

"It's- It's not just... He was considering it a month after my funeral. A month." Jason runs a hand through his hair and the tears stream down his face. "The dust hadn't even settled on my grave and he was already trying to replace me. Like it was nothing."

"That doesn't matter anymore, Jay," Kevin says, placing a hand on Jason's shoulder. "I know that it hurts, but that's okay. You have every right to be angry, but you don't have to be. What happened, happened, and there's nothing any of us can do to change that. But you'll always have us. I promise." He pulls Jason into a hug. "We love you. Don't you ever doubt that."

Jason smiles and wipes away the tears in his eyes. "I love you all, too."

Don't You Forget About Me.

TC wakes Charlie up that night, barking and sprinting around her room. When she gets up, he begins pulling at her sleeve and she tiredly follows. He leads her through the corridors to Jason's room and she quietly opens the door, grimacing when it creaks loudly.

Jason is shifting in his sleep, muttering desperately, tangled in his covers. As she approaches, she can make out what he's saying. "Please- Please don't leave me here. Don't go."

His breathing his shaky and tears are running down his face. She perches onto his bedside table and gently places her hand on his forehead, running it through her hair – repeating the motion until his breathing steadies slightly and he stills. His eyes open slowly and she smiles at him.

TC clambers onto the bed and under his arm. "Charlie? What are you doing?"

"You were having another nightmare, weren't you?"

"Did I wake you?" he asks, voice small.

"No," she says. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

He pets TC's head nervously and mumbles something that she almost doesn't catch, "I don't wanna bother you."

"Jason Peter Todd," she says, taking his hand. "You could never bother me. Come on, talking about it might help."

Jason's the little brother she never knew she wanted, but for some reason, he can't get past the idea that he's somehow a burden to them.

"Do you guys care about me?"

"Of course, we do," she answers as soon as he finishes. She doesn't even have to think about it.

"So, you wouldn't forget about me... if I died again?"

"Is that what this about?"

"In- In my dream, he found me again and he- he had me under Arkham." He swallows roughly, eyes glazing over, and TC pushes himself further into Jason's chest. "Then- Then you guys showed up, but you didn't save me. You were right there and you just... left me."

By the time that he finishes, he's shaking.

"Oh, Jace," Charlie sighs, leaning over to hug him. "We would never leave you. I promise."

He nods. "Don't tell Sam and Dean," he mumbles into her shoulder. "Please."

"Sure thing, Jay," she says. He shuffles over and she moves onto his bed. "You wanna watch some

Doctor Who?"

"Yes."

Sparring.

Jason's always been a fighter – he's always had to struggle to survive. Years of living on the streets of Gotham hardened him and his training with Bruce sharpened him.

Combat came naturally to him. He didn't have Dick's grace, but Jason was quick and Jason could be downright mean when he had to be. Dick's fighting style was something that Jason hadn't been able to replicate, but that hadn't been much of a loss.

Dick's Robin was youthful – childish laughter and bright smiles – and when it came down to it, that wasn't who Jason was. His Robin was bloodied grins and bruised knuckles – he was Gotham, through and through. Sure, when it came down to it, he was still a child, but he wasn't naïve.

The criminals didn't care that he was a kid – they'd kill him if they got even half the chance to. Jason would gladly break bones if it meant taking them off the streets.

It was that particular mindset that caused many a conflict between Jason and Bruce. They usually ended with Jason sulking in his room and Bruce taking out his frustration of training equipment. Alfred normally intervened – and, with a bowl of chocolate-chip ice cream slipped into Jason's room, and a few stern, but careful words with Bruce, all was forgiven.

Quite frankly, Alfred firmly believed that the only reason they argued was that they were so alike – horrendously stubborn and with a love of helping others. Even if it entailed dressing up in ridiculous costumes and beating thugs to a bloody pulp.

When Dean marches into Jason's room and declares that he's going to teach Jason to fight, Jason almost bursts into tears. Through peals of laughter, he manages to choke out a few sentences, "I was Robin. I can fight just fine. Thank you."

Dean is very insistent that Jason learns to fight 'the hunter way' and Jason eventually caves.

"I'll go easy on you," Dean laughs. Jason rolls his eyes and slips into his fighting stance. Dean does the same.

"Try not to break your hip when I drop you, old man," Jason says, grabbing Dean's arm and flipping him over his shoulder. Jason steps onto Dean's back and begins bowing to an imaginary audience.

Dean pushes himself up and Jason jumps down. Despite being fed ungodly amounts of food, Jason is still absolutely tiny and weighs barely anything. "Not half bad, Dawn of the Dead."

"Oh, why, thank you," Jason says, bowing again.

A Day in the Life of Jason Winchester

Jason groans when his alarm goes off. He rolls over and blindly gropes at the air above his bedside table until he hits the off button.

He stumbles into the kitchen and Sam is already sat at the table, eating.

"Morning," he says, smiling when Jason grunts in response. For whatever reason, Sam finds the fact that Jason is absolutely not a morning person hilarious. Jason wanders over to the coffee machine, dragging his feet.

It's already half-full because, as funny as Sam finds it, he wants to deal with tired Jason for the least amount of time he can help. He pulls out a mug and roughly pours coffee into it. Some spills over the edges but he ignores it – awake Jason can deal with it.

He shuffles across the floor and back out of the kitchen, chugging down his coffee.

Twenty minutes later, he walks back into the kitchen, fully dresses and awake with TC on his heels. He reminds Sam of Dean – a slightly more punk Dean. Black t-shirt, black jeans, black combat boots and the leather jacket that Dean gave him for his birthday.

It fits him much better than when he first got it. He hit a massive growth spurt about a month or two after his sixteenth birthday and had practically grown a foot and a half overnight.

He's around Dean's height now and probably isn't going to stop anytime soon. Jason runs a hand through his hair and adjusts his jacket; despite his best efforts, the white streak isn't going anywhere, so he's learned to live with it.

"Morning, Sam," he says, voice brighter but still heavy with sleep.

"Good morning."

He reaches into one of the cupboards and retrieves a dog bowl and a zip-lock bag filled with dog food. He empties the bag into the bowl and places it onto the floor. TC begins to wolf down his food whilst Jason begins to make his own breakfast.

He rather ungracefully sits down at the table with his food.

It still surprises Sam how much Jason can eat sometimes – two bowls of cereal and three slices of toast.

He dumps his bowl and plate into the dishwasher and clears everything else away, grabbing his school bag off the table before he left. Sam follows him out, pulling his car keys out of his pockets.

Jason's high school is a good few miles away and, despite Jason being able to drive, Sam still drove him there. On occasions where Sam was on a hunt, Kevin would take over or Jason would go by himself.

The school day passes as well as it does every other day. Contrary to what Sam (and many people before him) expected, Jason loves school – or rather, he loves learning.

His favourite subject is English Literature (with Mr Shurley, whom Jason adores), but he does well in all of his subjects. He's settled in remarkably – he's well-liked, which isn't much of a surprise. Despite his rather intimidating appearance, Jason has a heart of gold and a smile that could melt steel. All of his teachers love him; he's on the honours' programme, and he's on the athletics team.

He'd only gotten in trouble once, though they were more proud than angry when they'd realised why. Jason had gotten into a fight with another boy, who had been harassing one of his classmates – a girl named Gloria.

Dean thundered into the principal's office, ready to fight tooth and nail for Jason. The boy – a complete giant of a senior – was sat with a black eye, a bloody nose and a fractured wrist. Jason, sporting his own black eye, looked like he regretted nothing and was glaring fiercely at the boy.

Once the issue was resolved, and after a great deal of shouting from both sides, they both got off with a week's suspension. Outside the principal's office, the girl thanked him and kissed him on the cheek.

Dean and Sam teased him mercilessly the entire journey home, but not before they stopped for ice cream.

The school bell echoes behind him as he leaves his group of his friends and makes his way towards the parking lot. His eyes scan over the cars until they settle on the one that he's looking for. A wicked grin spreads across his face as an even wickeder idea slips into his head.

Dean shrieks when Jason's hands smack the glass of the passenger side window. Jason cackles as he slides in and Dean swipes at the back of his head. He pulls out of the parking lot. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. I'm telling you – I'm too damned old to be scared like that. My heart could give out at any time."

Jason snorts. "Drama queen – you're barely forty. And if anything is gonna kill you, it sure as hell won't be something as boring as a heart attack. You'll die doing some stupid crap, just like the rest of us."

"I like the sound of that," Dean says, grinning. "So, what'll it be today? Ice cream or pie?"

"Both."

"That is the correct answer, Jay."

Chapter Text

"What about this?" Jason says, sliding the newspaper across the table. It's a picture of a teenage girl suspended in the air by a piece of chandelier through her chest. "Couple comes home from an anniversary dinner to find their babysitter impaled on the chandelier. Kids were sound asleep and neighbours didn't hear anything."

"How is that our thing?"

"How is it not? She was dragged thirty-something feet into the air and was just left up there." Sam closes his laptop and puts it to the side.

"How'd she die?" Dean asks, glancing at the paper. "There's not much blood."

"Oh, yeah, that's where it gets weirder." Jason's finger hovers over the corresponding part of the article. "She was alive when she was impaled – it punctured both lungs and she basically suffocated."

"That's just..." Dean sighs. "Looks like we're heading to Texas."

-

"No," says Dean. "Jace, we talked about this. You can't come with us."

"I don't know what the issue is," Jason says, leering at himself in the mirror. "I could so pass as an FBI agent."

"Sorry, Jay," Dean replies, ruffling Jason's hair. "Maybe when you don't look like such a frat boy."

Jason looks like he's about to argue with that comment, but one look in the mirror silences him – for a few moments, at least.

"Well, what am I supposed to do, huh?" Jason says, throwing himself onto the couch. He undoes his tie and launches it across the room. "Come on, D. I was willing to wear a tie, for god's sake. A tie. You gotta give me something."

"Ask around. See if anyone knows anything," Dean says, chuckling when Jason groans. "Or," Jason perks up at this, "there's a store down the block. Feel free to get anything. Just stay away from the scene, okay?"

Jason sighs loudly and collapses back onto the couch. Dean scoffs and tosses his wallet to him. "See you later, Jay. Don't do anything stupid while we're gone."

Jason waits until he can't hear the Impala's engine anymore before moving. He grabs his tie off the floor and put his coat on before running out the door.

It takes him twenty minutes or so to run over to the crime scene and another minute to catch his break and compose himself. He runs a hand through his hair as he walks into the area. Showtime.

"Daily Planet," he mouths at the officer who looks over at him, holding his press pass up. The police officer eyes him carefully – not quite sure what to make of him. He's dressed the part and if he were any older, she wouldn't have given him a second glance, but he couldn't have been any older than eighteen.

"Ain't you a little young, honey?" she says.

"That's what I said," he replies, "but no one else wanted to come, so here I am."

She shrugs, beckoning for him to follow her. As she turns, he catches a glimpse of her badge but can't quite read the name.

She leads him through the house and into the dining room, lined from top to bottom with police tape.

The house itself is nice, roomy even, but in Jason's opinion, hideously furnished – a wretched concoction of lace doilies and plaid wallpaper, and the carpet, that carpet...

They enter the dining room and Jason fights to keep his stoic façade in place against the nausea bubbling up in his stomach. He wants to go back into the other room – back to the damp stain beige carpet – because the scene is worse than the newspaper photo had given credit. The girl is hanging from the

chandelier, skin tinged blue and blood streaked through her blonde hair.

"Poor girl," the officer sighs. "She's only still up there because they can't figure out how to get her down." She claps loudly and Jason very nearly jumps. "Anyway, if you need anything, you know where I'll be."

Jason nods idly, unable to tear his eyes away from the girl's face, contorted in agony. He feels sick.

"Come on, Jay," he mutters to himself, finally moving. "You've seen worse than this."

From across the room, Jason can see Sam and Dean, talking to a detective. Sam looks up and catches Jason's eye, but says nothing, returning to the conversation. Jason pulls out his camera and glances around the room. If he's going to be here, he has to try to blend...

"Hey."

He turns around.

"Hey."

There's a girl stood in the doorway – Jason's age – beckoning him over. He glances over his shoulder at

the babysitter – still hanging from the chandelier – and then back at the girl.

"You're a ghost," Jason says quietly. "Abby."

"You don't seem very surprised." Abby glances over him curiously. "Although, if I were you, I suppose that I wouldn't be either."

Jason shrugs. "I guess it comes with the territory. This is new, though."

"No one's been able to see me," she says sadly, looking behind him. "Except for you."

"You must have been lonely."

"I've been here for three days. I've had to look at that for three days." Suddenly the air feels cold and heavy. Abby's face goes blank and Jason can breathe again. "You're here to find whatever killed me, aren't you?"

Jason nods. "Yeah, I want to help you."

"Well, I want to help you too, then."

"Do you remember it?" Jason says, trying to keep his voice low. He probably looks like a madman – stood in the corner, talking to himself. "What happened before you died."

"The lights started flickering and then I heard this voice – a woman."

"What did she say?"

"I couldn't understand it at first. I thought it was one of the kids. But then... she said that he was coming and she... she had to hide or he would kill her." She isn't staring at Jason anymore. She's staring straight through him. "And then I felt it... Hatred. There was so much anger and-"

"Jason."

He freezes at the familiar voice. Sam – crap.

He glances behind him and, sure enough, Sam and Dean are stood there. When he looks back, Abby is gone. Double crap.

"In the other room," Dean says, taking hold of Jason's shoulder and walking him out.

When the door shuts behind him, Dean turns around. "What the hell are you doing?" he hisses.

Jason smiles sheepishly, shrugging. "Asking around?"

Sam looks amused, but Dean is, quite obviously, not. "At the crime scene?" he says. "I told you to stay away."

"I just... I wanted to be useful," he admits, shoulders drooping. "I wanna help."

"I know," Dean sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. God, he remembers being just like this with John – so desperate to prove himself that he'd do anything, even disobey orders. However, unlike his father,

Dean isn't going to blow up and scream. "I know, and you are, Jason. Trust me, you are. It's just that..."

"You don't trust me," Jason finishes.

"No!" Dean says. "God, no. Of course, I trust you. I just- I just wanna make sure that you're not going into anything you aren't completely ready for. I don't want to have to worry about you. Especially after what happened with..." Bruce.

"Oh," Jason sighs. "So, what do we do about..." He waved his press pass.

"Go back to the motel and wait," Dean replies, patting Jason on the shoulder. "When we get back, we can talk about this."

-

"The house has some pretty dark history," Jason says, turning his laptop to them. "In the 1800s, it was owned by a wealthy family – the Starlings. And then, they were all found dead. Kids had been poisoned, the mother was stabbed to death in the bedroom, the nanny was hanged in the dining room, and the

father shot himself. They were all buried under the house."

"So, what are you thinking?" Dean asks, scanning over the text. "Father kills the family and then ganks himself?"

"Maybe?" Jason says, frowning. "I can't think of what else Abby could have meant."

-

Jason groans as he stands up. He picks up his fireplace poker and is ready to swing again.

The spirit throws him across the room like a ragdoll. This time, he goes through a bookshelf and a thin drywall. The family – protected in a salt circle – screams.

He noticed that they did that a lot. It's annoying, but he can't help but feel sorry for them. Poor idiots brought a house with a mass grave in their basement.

"'Why don't you come with us,' they said. 'It'll be fun,' they said," he mutters, pulling himself to his feet. "' We'll only be a minute, Jason.'" It appears behind him and he swings at it. "' You'll be fine, Jason.'"

He swings angrily at it as it reappears and clambers back through the hole that he'd made in the wall. He waves at the family and they shriek again. Jason rolls his eyes and makes his way over to his bag. "If anyone in this godforsaken place should be screaming, it's me. I get thrown through all this ugly furniture and they have the nerve to scream like they're not in a damned salt circle."

He pulls out his shotgun. It's oddly quiet.

A cold breeze runs through the room and gaps begin appearing in the salt line. He groans. "Oh, for the love of- I can't catch a break, can I?"

The ghost of the nanny appears in front of him, grinning viciously. She takes a stilted step forwards, a hand clamped around a pair of scissors, and Jason can't move, feeling the air being pulled from his lungs.

Once she's about an arm's length away, she slashes at him, cutting his cheek. He falls back, still unable to move and she brings her arm back, ready to strike again. Before she can bring it down on his, she's dragged to the floor.

She bursts into flames and whatever tackled her stands up – it was the father. He smiles at Jason, nodding, and then, he too is engulfed in flames.

Chapter Text

"Uh, hey," Jason says, trying to sound casual, "would- would it be okay if, maybe, I took the next case by myself?"

Sam looks like he isn't quite sure that he's heard Jason correctly and Dean is trying to pretend that he's not choking on his coffee. "If you really want to, I don't see why not. Right, Dean?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure," Dean says, voice growing increasingly strained. He coughs and then attempts to correct himself. "I mean, you're nineteen, so yeah, sure. Why not?"

Jason and Sam both look at Dean like they're expecting him to spontaneously combust. They know how protective Dean can be, especially towards Jason. Having Jason go solo on a case is probably the last thing that he wants.

"Have you got a case in mind?" Sam asks, ignoring Dean's internal meltdown.

"There's this vamp case... in Gotham." Jason shows Sam the newspaper article that he'd circled and annotated in red. Sam skims over it.

It's a classic case of vampires, and, as much as he doesn't want Jason to go there, he has to admit that Gotham is the perfect place to train a rookie hunter. The crime rate is through the roof, so the GCPD is almost certainly too swamped to notice a hunter. If they did look into anything, it would probably get chalked up to one of the city's gangs.

There are also more than enough 'crazies' to scare off any other hunters. Any hunter worth their salt knows that going to Gotham is a useless attempt at something they're better off leaving to the vigilantes that protect the city.

"Vamps," Sam says, nodding. "Good choice."

"When are you going?" Dean cuts in, his voice coming out a little louder than he intended. Jason stares at him. "Okay, look. I'll admit that I don't want you to go, but it's not up to me, is it? If you want to go, then you should."

"Seriously?" Dean nods and a grin spreads across Jason's face. "Hell, yeah!"

-

"Come on, Dean," Jason says, throwing a couple more bags into the trunk of the Impala. "I'll be fine."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I can't worry," Dean mutters, passing Jason another bag.

"Aw, my little zombie is going off into the world," Charlie sighs, coming up to him.

"Who are you calling little?"

Charlie ignores him and continues, "I remember when I was a foot taller than you. God, you were so small. I miss it."

"You gonna hug me or..." Charlie grins at him and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

When she pulls away, she points at him. "Jason Peter Todd, you have better check in every day if you know what's good for you."

"Yes, ma'am," Jason says, saluting. He kneels in front of TC and resting a hand on his head. "Okay, look, TC. I am trusting you to make sure that they stay outta my stuff whilst I'm gone. And, also, leave my clothes alone. I don't care that you don't approve of my fashion sense – out of my wardrobe, got it?" TC cocks his head to the side innocently. Jason sighs and absently plays with his fur. "I didn't think so. I'll see you later, buddy."

Jason pats his head one last time and then stands up, turning to Sam. "I'll call you when I get there."

"You better." Jason grins and goes to hug him. "Good luck, Jason."

He goes over to Kevin, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's your job to keep TC out of my wardrobe."

Kevin nods, already resigned to his fate. He's the only other person in the bunker that TC is behaved with – well, kinda anyway. With Sam and Charlie, he'd pretend that he couldn't hear them, and Dean swore that TC moved things around to mess with him. As of yet, no one had caught him doing anything incriminating (of that nature, at least), but he did have a concerning habit of appearing out of nowhere and scaring the hell out of everyone.

"Just get back in one piece, okay? I don't wanna be stuck with your dog if you die – he's too much like you for me to handle," Kevin says.

"Don't worry, Kev," he says, grinning. "It's vamps. Easy in-out job. I'll be back in a week or two tops."

"I guess," Kevin says, shrugging. Jason chuckles and takes the bags that Kevin was holding. He tosses them into the car.

Dean comes up behind him, resting an arm across Jason's shoulders. "Good luck, Jace. You'll do great."

Jason turns and throws his arms around Dean, burying his face in Dean's shoulder.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "I know that you don't want me to go, but this is something that I need to do, so thank you for not stopping me."

Dean nods at Jason's admission, fighting back his own tears, and they separate but Dean's hand remains of Jason's shoulder. "Stay safe," he says, smiling. Jason grins back. "You had better bring the car back in one piece."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Jason says, patting the hood of the car and getting in. The sound of the engine drowns out Charlie shouting goodbye at him. Through the rear-view mirror, he can see them all waving and smiling as he drove away.

He can feel his heartbeat shaking his entire chest. God, what was he doing?

Gotham – he left Gotham a long time ago. There's nothing there for him, not anymore. But, maybe, that's why he needs to go so badly, why his entire being seems to ache for the life that was buried with him. Some part of him, deep, deep down, is still clinging to it and he hates it.

There's nothing left in Gotham for him and he has to prove that to himself. He's going to Gotham to let it go.

Chapter Text

The Batcave is quiet – the only noises are the tapping of keys and the occasional sound of Tim's coffee cup being set down.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. This case is really starting to get to him. Bruce told him to just let it go for now (which is rich) but he can't. The specifics of the case just don't sit right with him. Three victims, each missing within two small puncture wounds in their necks. He's tempted to call it vampires, just so he can sleep.

Unfortunately, Tim is a reasonable and (arguably) sane member of the human race, who knows that vampires do not exist. Neither do any other mythical creatures – be they angel or demon or whatever – the only exception to that rule is Bruce's son, Damian, who is absolutely, scientifically evil.

The little brat was dumped on them by Talia, who spewed some crap about Damian being Bruce's son and apparently, because he was the heir to the League of Assassins, he just has to train with Bruce. He's been at the manor for about a year and a half and is very close to pushing Tim to break Bruce's rule.

Obviously, Tim wouldn't outright murder the little monster, but if Damian's grappling line were to 'mysteriously' snap mid-flight, he wouldn't look into it too much.

Bruce had also made Damian Robin after a week. A week. Tim wasn't allowed into the batcave for a year and the little brat gets to waltz around the manor, unmonitored and unsupervised. Because, clearly, thirteen-year-old Tim – who had never fought anyone in his entire life – was a much bigger threat than the son of a literal assassin.

Dick made the unfortunate mistake of asking how things were going with Damian and making an off-the-cuff comment about how he wasn't as bad as Dick thought he'd be. Poor, unwitting Nightwing received a half-hour long, rage-induced rant about the brat's arrogance and utter lack of disrespect towards anyone other than Bruce.

Tim jumps when a hand rests on his shoulder. He heard Barbara's light laughter and he relaxes. "How do you always do that?" he mutters, trying to still his racing heart.

Barbara pushes herself forwards so that her wheelchair is in line with Tim's chair. "A magician never reveals their secrets," she says, winking at him. "Still working on that case, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," Tim mumbles. Barbara snatches the keyboard away from him and closes all of the tables he had open. "Hey!"

He dives at her, struggling to grab the keyboard, but Barbara keeps it firmly out of his reach. "Go to bed, Tim. You need to sleep."

After another failed attempt, he finally caves. "Fine."

She escorts him to the elevator and they both go up. When they get to Tim's room, she barges past him and scoops up all the electronics off his desk and places them onto her lap. Tim is about to argue, but a look from Barbara silences him. She leaves, shutting the door behind her.

"Good night, Tim," she says from the other side. He waits a few minutes before slowly cracking the door open.

"Nice try, Tim. Go to sleep."

"I will. Just after I do this one thing."

"Now."

-

Jason collapses back onto the motel bed; he'd arrived back in Gotham a few hours ago and he already hates it. Nostalgia has blatantly clouded his memories. Gotham sucks. Maybe it's because he's homesick, or maybe it's because he expects something to change. It most certainly has not.

Gotham is exactly the same city it has been almost six years ago. Cold. Harsh. Miserable.

He spends the late hours of the night walking the blackened streets in desperate attempts to spark the love he once felt for Gotham. He just can't. He only returns when it begins to rain because as he remembers, it doesn't rain in Gotham. It pours.

There's nothing for him in Gotham – nothing that's worth staying for. Good.

Chapter Text

The morning goes as well as expected. Jason wakes up feeling like death incarnate. After rooting through all his supplies, he's thoroughly disappointed to find that he has absolutely no food. And more importantly, he has no coffee.

Deciding that this is utterly unacceptable, he plans on shopping for some basic things later, but right now, his main concern is what he will eat right now. Jason spotted a café on his walk around Gotham and was already planning the most efficient route possible. He slung his bag over his shoulder and slammed the door behind him as he left.

-

Dick Grayson has been working for the GCPD for about a year and, at the ripe age of twenty-six, is the youngest officer on the force. He actually lives in Bludhaven, so, every morning, he drives up to Gotham and stops off at the same café in central Gotham before walking over to the GCPD building.

He stops his motorcycle in the parking lot and walked inside. He orders his usual and glances around. It's normally pretty full at this time in the morning and today is definitely not any different. The only free seat is opposite a teenage boy.

He's probably a year or two older than Tim, and a little taller than Bruce is, maybe about as broad. He looks familiar – maybe it's something about his eyes – but Dick can't really place it. He doesn't know any punk-looking nineteen-year-olds, unless Kon has had a serious makeover.

He walks over to the table. The boy looks up at him and his eyes widen slightly. Dick assumes that it's because of the police uniform. "Hey, is this seat free?"

"Uh, yeah." The boy coughs. "Help yourself."

Dick sits down and the boy tries to return to his book, 'Pride and Prejudice.' Huh, guess you really can't judge a book by its cover.

They sit in an uncomfortable silence and Dick tries his hardest to not look up whenever he feels the boy's eyes on him. Eventually, Dick has had enough. He looks up and the boy instantly looks away.

"Hey, my name's Dick," he says, putting on his friendliest smile. "Dick Grayson."

"Uh, Jason... Jason Winchester."

-

Jason internally cheers when Dick ends the conversation and finally leaves, saying something about being late for work. Of all the godforsaken coffee shops in Gotham, Jason just has to pick the one that Dick Grayson frequents. He very nearly had a heart attack when Dick approaches him.

He hadn't seen Dick in years and while he knew that he couldn't possibly go into Gotham without hearing about the city's illustrious white knight, Bruce Wayne, he had genuinely thought that he could avoid any other members of his old family.

Their conversation bothers him a lot more than he cares to admit. Seeing Dick again had really unnerved him. One thing that had really riled him up during the conversation was the way that Dick had talked about Tim Drake. He'd struggled to keep his face and body language impassive when Dick had first mentioned Jason's replacement.

It isn't what Dick actually said, or how he said it. It was more the whom. When Jason was Robin, Dick was only courteous because he had to be. Bruce, for some unfathomable reason, had insisted that the two at least try to get along, but honestly, the idea resulted in little more than the two grating against each other until one of them lost it and snapped.

But still, part of him envies that glint of fondness in Dick's eyes when he talked about Tim – part of his longs for a life that he'd never had the chance to live.

Chapter Text

Tim presses rewind and the footage restarts. Another victim was taken, but, at least, this time, they have a recording. However, much to Tim's dismay, it's absolutely awful. Barbara worked her magic and managed to get it up to more than four pixels.

The video shows a woman getting out of her car and then being jumped by a gang of people and dragged away. They aren't wearing anything to obscure their faces, which actually surprises Tim quite a bit, but the video is too distorted to make out any faces anyway. As of yet, Tim counted four people. He actually thought that one of them was a child, but he immediately pushed that thought away.

He loosens his school tie and leans back in his chair as the tape begins again. His blazer is strewn over one of the posts of his bed, alongside his bag. Tim had attended Gotham Academy for five years now, since Bruce had adopted him, and, at seventeen, he was a senior and growing close to being able to work at Wayne Enterprises full-time. He already visits frequently enough to warrant Bruce giving him his own office, right next to Bruce's. He's even set to inherit the company, which incensed Damian.

Tim found Damian's fit hilarious until the lamp was thrown. He smiles absently at the memory of Alfred walking in and disdainfully looking between Damian and the shards of the antique lamp.

The augmented screams of the woman in the recording snaps him back. Someone hacked into the security camera system and messed with the tapes before he managed to get his hands on it – he's sure of it. Tim assumes that the gang is responsible and Barbara is trying to locate the exact position, which she's already narrowed down to somewhere in the city. She also said that the hacking method wasn't one that she'd come across before and that it probably meant that the gang was well connected.

-

"Yeah, it worked."

"Well, duh, I was telling you what to do."

"I don't know who I'd ever live without you, Charlie."

"Damn straight. It's a miracle that you've lasted this long by yourself."

Jason rolls his eyes. "How is everything going back home?"

"Good. Good. Sam and Dean are on a hunt. It's a ghost or whatever. Kevin went to visit his mom – he also said something about not being able to stand your dog."

"Speaking of TC, has he eaten any of my clothes yet?"

"Nope, nothing yet. I think that he's waiting until... Hey! What are you- Come back here with that!" Over the phone, there's more, indistinct shouting and the sound of Charlie running. "Bye, Jace. I gotta go."

She hangs up and Jason smiles at the image of Charlie chasing TC around the bunker. He probably has one of Jason shirts. He really doesn't seem to like Jason's shirts. Jason isn't about to take fashion advice from his dog, but he's going to have to do something.

He sits down on the bed, staring at the map of Gotham that he'd stuck to the wall with pushpins. He spent that day gathering intel and has, so far, come to two, quite helpful conclusions.

One, the vampire nest is probably only a dozen or so vamps, which he can just about manage alone.

Two, Batman and co. have caught wind of the killings and are investigating.

Jason was walking through Park Row, asking the working girls that he passed if they'd seen anything, and then, he stumbled across a crime scene were another body had been found.

Everything was a mess of caution tape and spotlights, as in classic GCPD fashion. Somewhere in the crowd of police officers, he saw Bruce, in full Batman get-up, talking to Commissioner Gordon and another police officer who Jason was sure was Dick, but couldn't quite see.

And, stood next to Bruce, was Robin. He looked too short and too young to be Tim – who's only a little younger than Jason and probably around 5'8 in the suit. This kid was maybe ten and like four feet tall. This was probably Damian, Talia's son.

He certainly had Talia's presence – Jason wasn't sure that he'd ever looked that comfortable around that many officers. But then again, Jason was a street kid and distrusting cops was like breathing to him back then.

The Robin costume was almost unrecognisable. For starters, it wasn't those hideous, scaly green shorts that Jason had been forced to wear. Sure, it hadn't been for long, but the week that it took for his costume to be made was more than enough to mentally scar him.

There was also something strapped to the kid's back that all of the officers kept glancing at wearily – a sword.

Bruce let a ten-year-old carry around a sword. God, the old man really was losing it in his old age. Next thing you know, he'll be letting Robin drive.

Jason ducked into the shadows when Bruce glanced in his direction, deciding that would be the perfect cue to leave. He wasn't sure whether Bruce saw him, but he wasn't going to risk it. Slipping into an alley, Jason escapes, unseen and unnoticed by almost all.

Chapter Text

Bruce glares at the screen – he has this feeling, but he can't place it and it's driving him mad. He reviewed the tapes from the crime scene a dozen times until he finally spotted it. Someone lurking in the west end.

The camera caught enough of the person's face for Bruce to run it through facial recognition. It comes up with a whole lot of nothing. Absolutely nothing. It intrigues and infuriates him all at once. He knows that face.

He glances over his shoulder when he hears the elevator whirring behind him. The doors slide open and Dick steps out, with an annoyingly bright smile and his thumbs hooked on his belt.

"Hey, B," he says, vaulting himself over the banister and then waltzing down to where Bruce is. "What'cha up to?"

"Looking over security tapes from the crime scene," Bruce responds roughly, not looking up. Dick nods.

"Is this about the person you thought you saw," he asks, leaning on Bruce's chair.

"I did see someone," Bruce says, handing him the video frames that he'd printed. "Facial recognition came up empty."

Dick examines the photos with a slight frown. "Hey, I know this kid," he says, putting the photos down. "I talked to him in the café across from the station. He said his name was Jason..." Dick snaps his fingers as he tried to recall the rest. "Winchester. That's it. Jason Winchester."

Bruce is already typing it in. There's one result and Bruce lets out a sigh.

"What is it?"

"It's a fake name. Records only go back five years." Jason Winchester had attended some high school in Lebanon, Kansas. There's no mention of any official parents, though the school listed two phone numbers as emergency contacts.

"Sam and Dean Winchester," Dick reads out. "Sounds familiar."

"It should." Bruce brings up another page. "Sam and Dean Winchester," he says, gesturing to two mugshots. "Wanted for murder, mass murder, kidnapping, grand theft auto, arson, assaulting police, multiple prison escapes, desecration of graves, desecration of corpses, breaking and entering, credit card fraud, and impersonating government and local officials, including the FBI, the CIA, Homeland Security, the CDC and local authorities. They've been presumed dead multiples times."

Dick lets out low whistle, raising his eyebrows. "Wow. You think they've got something to do with this?"

"I don't know yet."

-

It took Barbara a week and a half to track the location of the hacker – a little motel on the outskirts of Gotham. She insisted that the hacker was definitely experienced enough to move location, if not leave the city, but Bruce was still adamant that they check, and Tim tags along, because a break in the case is something that he's not going to miss out on.

As it turns out, the motel isn't a complete bust after all. The owner doesn't recognise the name, but her description of the hacker matches Dick's description of Jason Winchester. She also says that Jason checked out over a week ago, but he mentioned something about finding a more central location.

Which means that Jason Winchester is still in Gotham. And Bruce is going to catch him.

Chapter Text

It's another two weeks until Bruce catches a glimpse of the elusive Jason Winchester again, and it's by complete and utter accident.

He's on his way to help Robin with a robbery when he spots Jason, walking down a street in the dark. He's in jeans and a hoodie, both of which are covered in blood. In his hands are two blood-covered machetes, at least it's what it looks like. He's panting, each breath appearing as a pale white vapour in the night air.

Bruce marks the location for later and drops down onto the street. Jason must hear him land because he bolts down the street, dropping both of his weapons. Bruce sprints after him.

Jason is surprisingly fast and seems to know the area better than Bruce does. So, when he rounds the corner to find an empty alley, he's sure that he's lost him.

Then he hears the yelling.

About a block away, he finds Jason, pinned to the ground by a snarling, monstrous creature. Jason is fighting back with a hunting knife.

Bruce pulls out a batarang and throws it. It bounces harmlessly off its back and the creature stops, turning slowly to face him.

Its face is covered in wiry patches of hair – it almost looks like a wild dog, but its eyes... its eyes are human. There are shreds of clothing clinging to its body. The thing lets out a howl and charges at Bruce, who barely manages to dive out of the way in time. It charges at him again and again and again.

Eventually, it manages to knock him to the ground. It snaps and snarls at him and he can barely keep it back. Bruce can feel it clawing at his legs and chest, and its weight is cracking his ribs.

Suddenly, it lets out a loud yelp and collapses on top of him. He can barely breathe and is feeling lightheaded. He can make out the silhouette of someone stood over him, against the dim moonlight. They hesitate for a moment before bending down and pulling him up. They groan as they adjust to his weight and then, a breathless voice says, "God, do me a favour and lay off the bat-doughnuts."

Bruce must have blacked out, because the next thing he remembers is the sound of an engine starting, followed by a hasty, "Try not to bleed out back there, yeah?"

The voice is strangely familiar and comforting. Bruce can't keep his eyes open any longer and he passes out.

Jason glances in the rear-view mirror at Bruce's unconscious form, sighing. He's changed the costume – it's darker and the Kevlar is different. His belt looks like it packs more dangerous weaponry now. Even with the gaping, bleeding slashes across his chest, Bruce looks terrifying.

He's not entirely sure why he's helping Bruce. He could have just left him with the werewolf – it wasn't like Jason owed him anything. But he just couldn't.

He should have just killed the werewolf and left. Maybe, to soothe his conscience, Jason would have activated the emergency signal and Dick or Babs or whoever would have collected him.

He doesn't know why he did what he did, but he does know that he has to come up with one hell of a good cover story before he gets to the manor.

Chapter Text

It takes Jason ten minutes to drive to Wayne Manor. He probably could have gotten there faster but his memory about this part of Gotham isn't exactly great. He remembers the East End like the back of his hand, but everywhere else is still blurry.

Once he arrives, he spends a second or two just looking at the place. There isn't a single light on, and, in the darkness, it doesn't look like much has changed. Jason can remember the first time he'd come here. He froze, completely awestruck and feeling like the air had been knocked out of him.

He can't imagine how different it must be inside. Nearly six years has passed and the manor has two new residents.

Jason frowns at that thought.

He glances into the Impala – Bruce is still out like a light.

"God," he murmurs to himself, "what am I doing?"

Despite the painful ache in his chest whenever he thinks of his old life, some part of him hoped that he would have the chance to see his old family again. The rest of him wants to dump Bruce on the doorstep and leave.

Bruce stirs slightly when Jason pulls him out of the car and Jason prays that he won't wake up. He drags Bruce up the stone steps and hesitates by the door. This is his last chance to turn back around, go home and pretend that none of this ever happened. But he can't bring himself to do it.

Jason takes a deep breath and knocks on the painted wood. After a few moments, the door is unlocked and then opened. A boy, a little younger than Jason, is stood in the doorway. He gasps at the sight of Jason and Bruce and immediately stands aside to let him through. Jason limps over to the couch and throws Bruce down onto it. He sits down on the coffee table, hissing at the sharp pain in his sides.

The front room hasn't changed much – as far as he can tell, all that's different is a new coat of paint. Now that he's in the light, Jason has a better view of the boy that let him in. He's a lot shorter than Jason and skinnier too, though not scrawny; he definitely has some muscle there. Jason recognises the Gotham Academy uniform.

Ah, so this must be Jason's replacement. Tim Drake.

If Jason were younger, he'd be at the kid's throat in a heartbeat. He may still punch Bruce, though – just for the hell of it.

He's not sure how he feels about Tim, though, now that he's actually in front of the person Bruce replaced him with. Had this been fourteen-year-old Jason, Tim would probably be dead.

But Jason has a family of his own now.

Tim, Jason notices, hasn't moved from the spot and his hand is still gripping the side of the door. His eyes keep flickering from Jason to Bruce and then back.

"You just gonna stand there?" Jason calls out, lifting the side of his hoodie to examine his ribs.

Without a word, Tim nods absently and strides out of the room.

Jason runs his hands over the left side of his ribcage and feels blood as his fingertips graze over a cut. He thinks back to the attack and how he just managed to shake Bruce when this werewolf came out of nowhere. He was careful to make sure that it didn't bite him, but he can't be certain that it hadn't bit Bruce.

Jason glances over to Bruce, who is stirring slightly, and Jason really doesn't like the thought of him waking up. Especially if he has been turned.

Jason will have to kill him. He doubts that anyone will believe him if he tells them why. Actually, he doubts that they'll believe him about anything. He isn't even going to reveal who he is unless one of them figures it out.

It doesn't seem like they will anyway. Dick talked at him for an hour without realising and Bruce doesn't seem to either. What is he supposed to say anyway?

'Oh, I'm not actually dead. I was adopted by a group of wanted criminals and now I hunt monster for a living.'

That'd go down a treat. He'll be thrown in Arkham before he can even get to the monsters.

Oh, no, the vampires. Bruce is going to be pissed when he finds out about that. Jason is gonna be beaten up for sure.

Jason is pulled away from his train of thought when he hears footsteps. He picks out Alfred's voice and can feel himself tearing up. The door opens and Tim steps in first, followed by Alfred.

Jason's head snaps up when the tray of medical supplies crash against the floor. Alfred is staring at him, pale. "Master Jason..."

Jason grins sheepishly. "Hey, Alfie."

Chapter Text

Alfred froze.

Jason. His Jason.

The Jason that followed Alfred around the manor like a lost puppy – with a million and one questions that he wanted to be answered. The Jason who begged to help in the kitchen, and followed every instruction to the letter. The Jason that Alfred had spent hours tutoring – the boy that loved learning. The Jason that ran around the batcave in his Robin costume, grinning like the devil. The Jason who would chatter about his night whilst Alfred tended to his wounds.

The Jason that died. The one that he buried. Stood right there, in front of him.

No. It... It can't be. Alfred carried his coffin and watched as they buried him. He stood in front of a crowd of black to speak about Jason, though words could never do him justice.

He still placed flowers on Jason's grave on his birthday and, when he could stand being there, tended to the weeds on the weekends. On bad days, Alfred sat beside his gravestone and just talked, for hours sometimes. He knew it was a foolish endeavour, but it helped. There was a comfort that still came from talking to Jason, even if he'd never get an answer.

He has to be dreaming again. The second that he touches Jason, he'll evaporate into thin air and Alfred will wake up, doomed to spend the rest of the night staring at Jason's memorial in the cave, echoing in the phone call from Bruce in his mind. "The Joker, he... I was too late. Jason's... he's gone, Alfred. Jason's dead."

After receiving that call, Alfred stood paralysed and then he broke down. He was never going to see Jason again. He was never going to hear Jason's voice again. The boy that he loved like his own was gone.

Jason was a child when he died. He still clung to Alfred's coattails during parties. That was the version of Jason that Alfred dreamt of most. A thirteen-year-old with electric blue eyes and a lopsided smile. Never any older than that.

He'd seen every variation, from the rough little street kid who first set foot in the manor, to the sweet young man who'd left it. The Jason that stood before him was most certainly not a thirteen-year-old. He looked at least nineteen, but every bit like his Jason.

Admittedly, the white streak that run through significantly more tamed hair is slightly different to what he remembers, and his eyes are a few shades closer to green now. The sharpness in them, though, that screams Jason. And, like that, his mind is made.

Jason stands, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around uncomfortably – he doesn't really seem to know what to do with himself. Alfred snaps out of his stupor and strides across the room to embrace Jason, who tenses at the sudden contact, but relents.

"I missed you, Alfie," he mumbles into Alfred's shoulder. He's tearing up a little because he knows that Jason means it.

Alfred was the person that Jason spent the most time with. Bruce was usually busy at Wayne Enterprises; Dick didn't come around too often when Jason was there, and Barbara, although she tried to come as often as she could, wasn't there much during the day. So, in the long days at the manor, Jason spent time with Alfred.

Jason trailed behind him as he went about his daily jobs, leaping to offer his services whenever he could. He was a clumsy child but Alfred always appreciated the help. Even if it meant that, occasionally, he had to help tidy up the remains of a china plate.

What Jason really enjoyed doing, though, was cooking. He had to provide for himself and his mother, in every way. That, naturally, meant that, from a very young age, Jason had to learn how to cook. His method of cooking was very different to Alfred's, however.

Jason's cooking was a very much a 'throw it all in and hope for the best' affair – lacking in all the finesse and precision that Alfred was accustomed to. There was potential, though, that was undeniable.

Especially when compared to Dick. Alfred was almost certain that, before he had been taken to the manor, Dick had no idea how his meals made their way to his plate. He hadn't exactly enjoyed the idea of cooking either. The entire process seemed to bore the boy.

Jason, on the other hand, took to cooking like a duckling to water. Sure, he had the tendency to get frustrated when things didn't go quite right, but with enough encouragement, Jason learned a lot. He also revealed a penchant for baking pie, and whenever Alfred pressed him on this, the response would be the same: "Pie's a good, reliable food stuff. You've gotta admit it, Alf, anything you can have for dinner and dessert is something to behold."

Alfred pulls away and looks up at Jason, examining him. "How?"

"That's a long, long story, Alf," Jason says with a smile. "I'll tell you everything, I promise. But you should probably help Bruce. Old man's not looking so hot. And when you're done with that, I also have a couple of things that need looking at?"

Alfred smiles. "Of course, Master Jason."

Alfred collects the medical supplies, placing them neatly back onto the silver tray. He walks back over to Jason and shoos him off the coffee table.

"So," Jason begins, settling carefully into an armchair, "what's gonna happen when he wakes up?"

"You needn't worry about that, Master Jason. I will handle Master Bruce," Alfred replies, not looking back from his work. He takes off Bruce's cowl and Jason can't help staring. Bruce looks so much older and darkness seems to have settled into the hard lines on his face. God, he can feel the memories resurfacing.

"Thanks, Alfie," Jason says, looking away.

"You are very welcome, Master Jason."

Jason tries to focus on anything other than Bruce, or the sharp pain in his side. Tim is still stood by the door and Jason can feel him staring.

He can't quite believe it. It's Jason. Jason.

The Robin before him. He'd never gotten the chance to meet Jason, but he's sure that he would have like him. Tim's parents refused to let their 'precious' child near a street rat.

He still caught glimpses of Jason at events. Most of the time, he was with Alfred or Bruce, discretely trying to remove his tie before being scolded, only to try again a few minutes later. It brought a little light to the otherwise painful events.

And then Jason died.

Bruce never seemed to get over it, and even now, Tim would still catch him staring blankly at Jason's memorial. He can only imagine how Bruce will take it.

Chapter Text

Bruce wakes up about thirty minutes later and it doesn't go well. At all.

He marches up to Jason, despite both Alfred and Tim's protest, pins him to the wall and snarls, "I am going to give you one chance to tell me who you are and how you know my identity."

He has his forearm pressed against Jason's chest and is slowly applying more pressure, which is only aggravating Jason's injuries. He tries to push Bruce off, but Bruce has the advantage in the position that they're in. Bruce pushes down even harder and repeats himself.

Jason doesn't answer and, instead, forcefully headbutts Bruce, sending him stumbling backwards. Alfred is about to step in and diffuse the situation but Bruce recoils, lunging forwards again. He grabs Jason arms and throws him against the wall. Jason crumples against it and falls to the floor. Bruce pulls him up by his collar and begins hitting him.

Tim and Alfred rush over and tries to pry Bruce off Jason. Bruce shrugs them off until Alfred says, in a very stern voice, "That is quite enough, Master Bruce. You need to let us explain."

He lets go of Jason and allows Alfred to pull him back. "Who are you?"

Jason slides down the wall, breathless. He rubs the blood off his face and runs his tongue over his teeth to check that Bruce hasn't dislodged any. "I'm surprised that you haven't recognised me yet."

"I have no idea who you are," Bruce says, stepping forwards. Alfred places his hand on Bruce's shoulder, just in case he goes for Jason again. "How could I possibly recognise you?"

Jason sighs, pulling himself up. Bruce moves back defensively, bringing his arms out to push Alfred and Tim behind him.

"You really have no idea. Do you, Bruce?" Bruce stiffens at the mention of his name, but Jason shrugs it off, starting to pace. "Then again, neither did Dick. I even had a damned conversation with him. Well, I'll admit that it was awfully one-sided. You know how talkative Goldie can be when he really gets going – he practically told me his whole life story." Jason stops. He's digging his own grave, but damn if this isn't satisfying. "It was nice, though, I guess. Hearing about the family and all." Jason pauses for a moment to examine Bruce's reaction. Not even a twitch. He can feel himself getting cockier. "I heard you have a kid. Like an actual kid. Damian, right? With Talia, too? I told you she had the hots for you, didn't I, boss?"

That sparks Bruce's memory.

[THE BATCAVE: March 30th, 2012]

"Would you ever... y'know, with Talia?" Robin asks. Bruce glances behind him.

"No. Talia and I are just working together for this case. When it's finished, she'll go back to the League of Assassins' base."

"Well," Robin says, throwing a kick into the air, "isn't that even more of a reason to go for it?"

"It's unprofessional."

"So? Personally, I don't see why you don't just go in for the kill. You obviously have a thing for her, and she clearly has the hots for you, and poor ol' Jason is over here, drowning in the sexual tension."

"Isn't it time you went to bed?"

"It's actually kinda disturbing. But it's still better than you and Selina," Robin continues, ignoring Bruce's implied command. By this point, he's stopped training and is now pacing the sparring mat.

"Go to bed, Jason."

"I mean, I like Selina and all. It's just that seeing you two go at it – you and anyone, really – is completely sickening. Not because I don't want you to be happy an' stuff. I just think that I," Jason thinks for a moment before adding, "and you, would be much happier if you both stopped dancing around each other and just fu-"

"Bed. Now"

"I'm just saying, boss." Robin cackles, climbing over the railing around the elevator. He yells a 'goodnight' over his shoulder as he steps in.

[WAYNE MANOR: present day]

Jason watches as Bruce's gaze on him softens. Good, Bruce finally recognises him.

His eyes rake over him. He knows how different he looks from the last time that Bruce saw him. He was also dead the last time Bruce had seen him, so there was that.

He can feel Bruce picking out all the similarities and he can see that his name is on the tip of Bruce's tongue and he's dying to hear it.

"Jason."

Jason grins wickedly. "Finally."

He isn't sure what pleases him the most – the fact that Bruce finally knows who he is or the completely hopeless look on his face as he tries to rationalise the situation. Jason can almost see the light bulb go off above Bruce's head as his eyes flicker between the white streak in his hair and his eyes.

"Lazarus Pit."

He shrugs noncommittally and waits for Bruce to make the next connection.

"League of Assassins."

His eyes flicker down to Jason's, looking for some sign of approval. Jason simply shrugs agains. He wants to see how far Bruce can go without his interference. Bruce is on the right lines but he's running out of track. There's absolutely no chance of him drawing the line from Jason's resurrection to the Winchesters or the world of hunting.

Which makes two things that he needs to fill Bruce in on – and he will, just not right now. He's enjoying watching the old man work.

Alfred and Tim watch the exchange silently, both more than happy to passively observe. Tim frowns as he slots together the new information with what he already knows. Jason must have come back sometime after his birthday, August 16th. The age gap between them is still relatively intact, so he couldn't have been dead for much longer than a year and, if he came back before August, Alfred definitely would have noticed that his grave was disturbed.

"You were with the League," Bruce mutters. He noticed that when Talia had last visited him, she constantly gave him these pitying sideways glances. He'd dismissed it. But, now... did she know?

Bruce chides himself for asking something so obvious. Of course, she knows. How can she not? The real question is why didn't she tell him? If Jason had been with them this entire time, why didn't she tell him?

Jason shakes his head. He steps forwards again, testing the waters. Bruce doesn't move back this time. Jason continues the conversation, slowly moving forward. "No. I didn't stay there long. Maybe an hour or two. I don't really remember much – it was a while ago." Bruce looks like he's going to interrupts but Jason stops him, anticipating the question. "But no, I wasn't alone."

Bruce is relieved by that. Jason spent more of his childhood having to take care of himself than any child should ever have to. When Bruce adopted him, he promised Jason that he would never have to be alone like that again. The thought of Jason having to struggle and fight to survive again was terrifying. At the very least, it means that Jason has somewhere to stay and friends. But it doesn't explain why he's here.

"Then why are you here?" Something flickers across Jason's face and Bruce only just manages to catch it. Hurt. He realises the implication of the question. What makes you think that you're wanted here? Bruce corrects himself, "If you had a life outside of Gotham, why would you come back?"

Jason pulls a face. "It's complicated. Let's just leave it at that for now."

Bruce looks like he's going to press Jason for more details, but a pointed look from Alfred makes him drop it. Alfred clears his throat and steps forwards. "Master Dick and Master Damian should be returning at any moment. Would you like to see them or would you prefer to rest?"

Jason is exhausted and in no mood to see Dick again. "You know what, Alf? Sleep sounds great."

"Very well then, Master Jason," Alfred says, nodding.

He leads Jason out of the room with Bruce and Tim following after. The corridors were familiar and an oddly painful sense of nostalgia washes over him. They walk up several flights of stairs and Jason instantly recognises where they are.

Jason's room is on the top floor of Wayne Manor, and it has always fascinated Tim. It's exactly opposite the library doors, but since the library is two floors, Tim rarely ever walked past it. The first few times he did, he didn't even notice it was there. When the plaque on the door finally caught his eye – the name 'Jason' engraved on silver – Tim's heartbeat skipped a beat. He cautiously made sure that no one was going to catch him and tried the door. It was locked and, like that, Tim's dreams were crushed and that was the last time he tried to enter Jason's room.

That week, anyway.

He tried to stay away – he really had – but the curiosity was killing him. No one ever really talked about Jason and that was probably the closest that Tim would get to meeting him.

What does it look like? What kind of stuff does Jason have? Is it as messy as Dick's room? Tim sincerely doubts that anything can be as messy as Dick's room.

Alfred often implied that the state of Tim's room said a lot about who he was. Since Jason was dead, Tim wanted to at least be able to see what kind of person he was.

Jason stops in front of the door to his old room. He's flooded by so many memories at once. God, when he picked the room out, he was still that rough little street rat with an accent so thick that he sounded like some cliché mobster from the 50's.

[WAYNE MANOR: April 28th, 2011]

"Are you certain that this is the room you want, Master Jason?"

"Yep." He strides through the door – the room's walls and floors are completely bare, and the only item of furniture is a wooden bed frame pushed against the centre of the back wall. "See? It's perfect," he explains. "It's as far away from Dickhe-" Alfred shoots him a pointed look. "Dick," he corrects, glancing up at Alfred apologetically. "Dick's room as can be, so you ain't gotta worry 'bout us going at it next time."

He walks over to the windows and peers out. He's barely tall enough and has to stand on his tiptoes. "And would'ya look at that, Alf. I ain't ever had a view like that."

[WAYNE MANOR: present day]

Jason can feel the anticipation filling his chest and pushing out any air. Alfred fishes a key out of his pocket and slots it into the lock. He holds the door open for Jason.

It's exactly like he left it. Not a single thing has been moved and, though a thick layer of dust had accumulated, there's still that overwhelming sense of order.

Much to everyone's surprise, Jason was never an untidy child. Clumsy, sure, but he always made sure to clean up whatever he broke. Bruce always assumed that it was because Jason grew up with very little so he learned to take care of what he did have.

The walls are painted red and one had been converted into a bookshelf – crammed with as many books as could fit into it. A worn armchair is tucked away in the corner with a small table and lamp beside it. There's still a book resting on it, with a piece of pastel pink paper sticking crookedly out of the side.

"You kept it like this?" Alfred and Bruce are looking at him with the same fond expression. "I thought that you'd..."

"Of course, we didn't touch anything, Jason." Bruce smiles – the vulnerability on his face is something that Tim hasn't seen before.

"I-I just assumed that..." Jason mumbles to himself, looking around again. "Wow. Everything?"

Bruce nods. "Everything."

"Perhaps," Alfred says, "it would be best if we left Master Jason to his own devices."

Both Tim and Bruce look like they want to argue, but Alfred is already dragging them through the door. "Good night, Master Jason."

Jason glances over his shoulder. "Night, Alf."

Chapter Text

Morning arrives much sooner than Jason would have liked. He wakes up at ten, after a grand total of six hours of sleep. It's the most he's had since he arrived in Gotham, but it still isn't enough after the night that he's had.

Deciding that there's little point in just lying there in the darkness, he gets up.

He looks down at his clothes and gags. They're covered in dried blood – some his own, most... not. Then he notices the neat pile by the door, with a small note placed on top.

Master Jason,

I assumed that you would prefer the luxury of clean clothing and thus, I took the liberty of acquiring them for you. Lunch will be served at noon in the dining room. Master Bruce, Master Tim, Master Damian, Master Dick and Miss Barbara will all be in attendance. Until that time, you may go about whatever other business you have.

Alfred.

Jason grins. "Oh, Alfie, you saint."

He picks up the clothes and examines them – a black button up shirt and slacks. Jason wouldn't be surprised if Bruce's entire wardrobe consists of formal wear.

Still, right now, Jason isn't in much of a position to refuse clean clothes. He stinks of god-knows-what... death, probably. So, reluctantly, he strips down and pulls on the clothes.

He looks around his room again. God, it really is how he left it.

He takes the time to examine everything, pacing across the floor with his bare feet dragging on the carpet. He ran his hand along his desk, feeling the smooth wood and taking off a strip of dust.

He remembers the hours that he spent there, desperately trying to keep up with the rest of the kids in his year. They all had a massive head start, but Jason wouldn't accept anything short of perfect. He refused to be known as the 'dumb street rat that got lucky,' so he gave those brats another reason to hate him. He was top of his class in everything and he'd rather die than be anything less. There were even times when he skipped patrols to finish class assignments or to study. Jason never told them explicitly but he had the feeling that Alfred and Bruce knew.

He drops into his armchair and is rewarded by the sound of the leather cracking beneath him. He picks the book up from the table and turns it in his hands. A thick film of dust had formed over it and he blows it off. 'Sense and Sensibility.' He never did get to finish that book. Perhaps he will, at some point, anyways.

He looks up at his bookshelf and a slight smile spreads across his face when he remembers the first time that he saw it. Bruce spent the entire day building it and refused to let Jason into his room.

So, naturally, Jason spent that time, sulking in the kitchen with Alfred, who merely told him that good things come to those who wait. Jason deeply resented the wry smile on the butler's face every time that he said that.

It wasn't until Jason actually laid eyes on it that he actually understood what Alfred had meant. He didn't really understand what it was, but damn, if it wasn't impressive. Bruce chuckled and tussled his hair when Jason quite bluntly what the hell it was, but then it struck him.

It was a bookshelf.

Jason may or may not have shed a few tears (but eleven-year-old Jason was far too prideful to ever admit that). Things were simpler back then.

Chapter Text

When Jason was younger, he formed the habit of wandering around the manor. He doesn't exactly know why – maybe it was because he'd never had so much space before – but sometimes, he'd find himself in some remote corner of the manor. The habit continued even after he came back.

He'd idly walk through the bunker, completely wrapped up in his own thoughts. Eventually, though, he grew out of it. But something about being back in the manor unearthed it.

After an hour, he finds himself in some forgotten corridor of the manor that he vaguely remembers. It's small, which is strange for Wayne Manor, and there's little more than a desk, an office chair and a filing cabinet.

There are a few open files scattered across the desk, the pages yellowed with age. A little silver photo frame is perched on the cabinet and he picks it up, blowing away the dust.

It's a sepia photograph of a woman and her son, stood in front of the manor. Marth and Bruce, Jason thinks immediately.

Martha has her hand resting on Bruce's shoulder and is looking at the camera with a soft smile. Bruce can't be any older than six or seven and is grinning ear-to-ear. He puts it back down carefully with a sad smile.

He looks around a little more thoroughly and wonders how long it's been since anyone besides Alfred has been in here. Though, swiping his fingers across the desk makes him doubt that even Alfred has been here in a while.

The air in the room tastes stale and he can make out tiny specks of dust drifting in the thin streaks of sunlight that broke in through the gaps in the blinds. Patches of the carpet have been dulled by the golden light. It has to be at least thirty years since the room was actually used.

There's a light tapping against the door and he turns with a start. Alfred is stood at the door, watching him. "Lunch is being served, Master Jason."

Jason sighs. "Everyone's gonna be there, aren't they?"

"I'm afraid so," Alfred says, placing a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Would you like me to escort you to the dining room?"

"Yeah, thanks, Alf." Jason forces himself to give a small smile. "I don't think that I remember how to get back anyway."

Alfred does the closest thing to a laugh that Jason has ever witnessed – a sharp exhale paired with a slight quirk of his lip.

They walk in comfortable silence, but, every so often, something catches Jason's eye – sparks some memory – and he tells Alfred about it.

Like the sapling that eleven-year-old Jason convinced Barbara to buy him from this strange old lady – it's in the garden now. Or, the time that Jason fell down the stairs and nearly pulled the entire railing out of the wall. There's still the little crack at the top of the staircase.

It's comforting in a way. Parts of him are still in the manor and he hasn't completely been forgotten. Though, that only makes him more anxious. He's going to have to face everyone and he has no idea what he's supposed to do, or what to tell them.

They're going to have questions and Jason isn't going to be able to answer them all.

'So, I haven't actually been dead for the past six years, and I've actually been living in this underground base that belonged to this ancient, secret society. There's also the two fugitives, the hacker, an actual prophet of the Lord, and an angel. I also hunt monsters for a living – oh, and monsters and demons and ghosts all actually exist.'

Because apparently, Jason is itching to have his face beaten in again. He'll be carted off to Arkham before he can even finish his first sentence.

He isn't even sure how they'll take the whole 'I'm not actually dead' part of the story (which is arguably the most believable part). It's frustrating, but he can't exactly blame them for being sceptical. He would be too. 

Chapter Text

The moment that Jason stepped into the room, he could feel the stares boring into him. He's yet to catch any of them actually staring at him, but he can feel it. It's almost painful.

Bruce, Dick, and Tim – oddly enough – are the ones that Jason suspects. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Barbara lean around Dick to look at him every so often, but her gaze never lasts more than a few seconds. Damian hasn't so much as given Jason a second look, which he is actually thankful for.

As much as it makes his skin scrawl, he can't blame them for staring. The last time that any of them would have seen him was at his funeral – until he appeared out of nowhere, saved Bruce from a werewolf (not that Bruce actually knew that) and then dragged him through the front doors of the manor covered in blood.

Jason isn't sure where he and Bruce stand now. They'd been very close before Jason died.

When Jason first arrived at the manor, he was so jaded and cynical and so, so mistrustful that Bruce wasn't sure what to do. He reminded Bruce uncomfortably of himself at that age.

Maybe that was why Bruce couldn't ever imagine himself giving up on Jason. No matter how hard it had been.

It wasn't Jason's fault. Bruce barely managed to raise a child who'd had a good home life. Jason was already more traumatised than any child ought to be.

He didn't know how to talk to a child who flinched whenever he moved too sharply or spoke too loudly. Jason was already waiting for the other shoe to drop – already waiting for a reason to bolt – and Bruce was terrified.

Getting Jason to trust him was a painstakingly slow process. But Bruce was willing to wait. Jason was a good kid and he deserved a good life. Bruce was willing to wait.

Jason was a better son than Bruce thought he deserved. He was thoughtful and compassionate in ways that Bruce hadn't expected. And there was nothing that warmed his heart more than watching Jason talk about something he loved.

He had some old videos of Jason reciting Shakespeare. If he remembered correctly, Jason had a morbid fascination with Macbeth and always made Bruce read Lady Macbeth's lines. There were also a few audio clips of Jason mumbling to himself on patrol – something from 'Alive in Wonderland' about caucus races and mock turtles.

Jason was a good kid and he deserved a good life. The wait had, decidedly, been worth it.

And then Jason had gone missing.

Bruce was at work and it was the one day of the year that Alfred took off. Bruce came home to an empty manor and a carefully written note.

Dad,

I'm sorry that I couldn't say goodbye in person, but you'd try to stop me. This is something that I need to do. Don't worry, though. I'm sure that you can handle patrols on your own for a week.

Love,

Jay.

Jason was a good kid and Bruce trusted him, so he waited. He waited for seven days – dutifully, patiently, like a father waiting for his son to come back from war. But Jason didn't come back.

On the night of the seventh day, Bruce stayed up until sunlight poured in through the net curtains of the front room. He lingered, watching the door and waiting for his son to come home. When the sun completely rose over the horizon, he went to the liquor cabinet and emptied a bottle.

Alfred found him, pacing and on the verge of tears. He coaxed Bruce's glass out of his hand and sent him to bed, and then left to make some phone calls. Jason was likely already back in Gotham, and was certainly wandering around, reminiscing – which he did concerningly often for a thirteen-year-old.

Within half an hour, Barbara, Commissioner Gordon, Selina, and Lucius Fox out looking for him. He stepped back into Bruce's room, only to fine Bruce drunkenly trying to dress himself. Alfred led him back to bed, which he did quite easily, with nought but a few slurred protests.

Although he was certain that, by the time that he got back, Bruce would be up again, Alfred left in order to search for Jason too. It was almost dark by the time that he arrived back at the manor, and, obviously, Bruce wasn't where Alfred had left him.

He'd, somehow, managed to stumble down to the cave and pull on most of the batsuit. Up on the computer, Bruce had a large photo of a blonde woman and several crooked scans of Jason's notes. As Alfred had later found out, that woman was Sheila Haywood – Jason's biological mother.

Apparently, she was doing aid work in Ethiopia and, Jason, obviously excited at the prospect of having a living relative, leapt on the first plane that he could to meet her.

He'd also managed to track Jason's phone. It was still in Ethiopia.

Bruce was much less worried at this. Jason probably just decided to stay a little longer. Yeah, that was it. Jason was a smart kid, and he could take care of himself. He was fine.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to check up on him. The next day (after Bruce sobered up slightly more), he paid a visit to Ethiopia. He went to where Sheila was supposed to be working and the manager told him that a kid matching Jason's description had visited Sheila about a week ago, but he hadn't seen either since.

There had also been something else.

A day or two before Jason showed up, someone else had visited Sheila. A pale man in a purple, pinstriped suit with a haunting smile. Bruce would never forget how sick he felt.

The Joker was in Ethiopia and he had Jason.

For the next two weeks, Bruce spent every ounce of energy searching for Jason. He had every member of the Justice League scouring the country to find his son. Eventually, they managed to track him down to an abandoned warehouse.

The building went up in flames, moments before Bruce could get inside. He furiously dug through the rubble and found Sheila – bloody and dying.

"I'm sorry," she said, and it wasn't until much later that he'd figured out why. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think that... Jason. He wanted Jason. He said that he'd kill me if I didn't. I- Jason tried to... He wouldn't leave without me. I'm so sorry."

Her eyes flickered shut and she died in his arms. Then Bruce dug Jason's lifeless body out of the burning debris. Something changed in him, as he looked at Jason, limp and bloody.

His son was dead. It was too late.

To his left, Barbara says something to Jason. He grins and replies, standing up. Bruce's eyes follow him as he and Barbara leave.

He'd lost Jason once. He isn't going to lose him again.

Chapter Text

Lunch gets even more awkward when Dick starts to talk to Jason.

"So," he begins, and everyone looks up, "Jason, what brings you to Gotham?"

Had Jason not been under the careful scrutiny of five other people, he most certainly would have rolled his eyes at the abysmal attempt to sound casual. Still, he has to say something. "There was something I needed to do," he replies shortly. Dick frowns at the vagueness of Jason's answer.

"What was it?" His head cocks to the side and Jason is instantly reminded of Cas. The comparison actually stuns him for a moment or two. In the excitement of being reunited with his old life, he forgot about his current one. Why did he have to make everything so damned complicated. He should have just dumped Bruce on the doorstep and left. But, no, he just had to go and screw himself over.

None of them even know about the monsters – none of them will even believe him if he did tell them. Then there's the whole deal with the Winchesters. Bruce won't take the fact that Sam and Dean are on the FBI's most wanted list lightly. He'll beat Jason's ass all the way back to Kansas, and-

The sound of someone clearing their throat snaps him out of his mental crisis. He panics slightly when he realises that everyone is staring directly at him (that and the fact that he had probably been pulling faces as he argued with himself).

"It was..." he hesitates for a moment, debating whether he should tell them, "nothing. Nothing important."

The moment the words leave his mouth, he instantly regrets it. He has the sinking feeling that it'll come back with a vengeance. He glances around quietly, and it's obvious that everyone knows that he's lying, but none of them mention it.

Dick hums slowly in acknowledgement and the awkward silence returns, suffocating the table again. Jason goes back to pushing the remaining pieces of food around his plate with his fork and desperately trying to ignore the stares. This is, without a doubt, the single most uncomfortable thing that he's ever done (beyond dying, obviously).

Barbara clears her throat and Jason glances up at her. "Jason," she says, meeting his eye steadily. There's a sly glint in her eyes tells Jason to just go with it. "The car out front – the black Chevy. She yours?"

"Nah," Jason replies, smiling slightly. "Belongs to a friend."

"Well, d'you mind if I take a look?" She quirks an eyebrow at him and Jason smirks back.

"Be my guest," he replies, standing up and hurrying over to the door, ignoring the stares from the others. Dick looks like he's about to interject, but a sharp look from Barbara as she passes silences him. The pair make their way down the hallway in silence, switching between avoiding being caught staring and trying to ignore the other looking at them. It's not uncomfortable, per say, just unsure.

Jason glances down at Barbara's wheelchair as they approach the front door. "Thanks," he says, holding the door open. "I thought I was gonna die in there."

"No problem," Barbara replies. "It was the least I could do, and I get to check out your ride."

She laughs lightly and Jason weakly joins in. He squints at the sudden brightness, but his eyes soon adjust to the sunlight. The gardens look like they did when he was a kid. Slightly more overgrown, but that was probably just him looking into it too deeply.

The two slowly approach the car at the end of the driveway. Jason relaxes slightly at the sight of it – at least, that's still here. He reaches into the pocket of his slacks and pulls out his keys, jogging up to the driver's side and unlocking the door, grinning as he slides in.

Barbara comes up beside and watches as he reaches into the glove box, pulls out his phone and checks it. There are some missed calls and a few texts. She turns away, deciding to give Jason some privacy, and looks more closely at the car itself, running her hand along the hood.

"She sure is beautiful," she comments, half-watching Jason's reaction. He nods, peering around the interior and then returning his attention to his phone. She takes the opportunity to fully take in Jason's appearance.

In the dining room, Dick obstructed most of her view of Jason and all she managed to get was a quick glance at him when he first entered the room. He's changed – a lot.

For one, he was tall – a good inch or two taller than Bruce, if she has to guess. It took her by surprise when she first saw him. Sure, she expected Jason to look different, but some part of her still expected him to be that tiny thirteen-year-old who whined when she held things over his head. The fact that Jason is now this six foot-something nineteen -year-old takes her back a little.

Though, in all fairness, Jason must have been just as surprised to see Barbara in a wheelchair. Barbara was batgirl for a few years before Jason became Robin. She immediately took it upon herself to make herself Jason's mentor. On Jason's first solo patrol, she shadowed him, ready to leap in to give him a hand should he need it. He was the little brother she never had.

She's happier about Jason's return than words could possibly describe. But she can't help feeling sad about it. Jason obviously has been living somewhere for the past six years. He almost certainly has a family of his own now and she's envious. Though, as long as Jason is happy, she can stomach the fact that he probably doesn't think of her as his big sister anymore.

That doesn't mean that she doesn't want to get to know him, however. She is absolutely going to grill him for every little detail about what happened (just maybe a little more tactfully than Dick had).

"I'm really glad you're back. We all are," she says. Jason snaps out of his train of thought and nods. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but what happened to you?"

Jason puts his phone down and sighs, dragging his hand over his face. "It's a long, long story. And, besides, I could ask you the same thing."

He looks down at her wheelchair.

"It's a long, long story," she says, shrugging and folding her arms across her chest. "Besides, I have time."

"Me too," Jason retorts, mirroring her and meeting her eye. Neither of them is going to back down and they both know it.

Barbara huffs. "Good."

Chapter Text

Batman leaps along the Gotham skyline as the last traces of daylight fade over the horizon. After over a decade, the inhabitants of the city had grown accustomed to the sight of their masked protectors running across the rooftops. Children would still huddle around their bedroom windows in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the caped crusaders. Though, instead of ushering them away, parents would stand beside them, looking out over the city and smiling at the joyous squeals at the sight of a silhouette sprinting along a distant roof.

Even the city's law enforcement warmed up to the Dark Knight. Poorly hidden scowls were replaced by polite nods and courteous smiles. It was almost certainly due to the emergence of Robin – though that changed slightly after Jason died.

Bruce caught more than one officer giving him pitying looks for at least a couple of months after his death was announced. They slowly melted away after Tim joined the ranks, but every so often something would be mentioned that hit a little too close to that soft spot.

Bruce is still treading lightly around the whole idea of Jason being back. At one point during the night, he managed to convince himself that if he were to walk up to the door to Jason's bedroom, he'd be greeted by the same locked door and empty bed. He honestly even considered digging up Jason's grave. Just to prove that he wasn't imagining things (he probably will, at some point, alongside many, many DNA tests).

Right now, though, he has more pressing matters at hand. He's a few minutes away from the warehouse where he first encountered Jason. The sinking feeling that something is horribly, horribly wrong grows as he draws closer.

He'd asked Dick to stay behind in case Jason tries to bolt. Damian will be there anyway, since he's been benched for two weeks after an unfortunate incident involving Tim's motorcycle, Dr Freeze and the Gotham harbour. Needless to say, Tim still hasn't retrieved all the frozen remains of his bike. Damian can probably handle it, but having Dick there is comforting.

He doesn't know much about the whole situation. He doesn't know where Jason was. He doesn't know who Jason was with. From what he found when he looked into the fake name that Jason gave Dick, he has every right to be suspicious. Not to mention that circumstances that reunited Bruce and Jason aren't exactly doing much to quell this.

The boy came out of an abandoned warehouse in the dead of night, covered in blood and wielding what looked like two machetes. He also hadn't hesitated to run when Bruce tried to approach him, so he clearly has something to hide. Then, there's that thing that had attacked him.

Jason has a lot of explaining to do.

-

Dick hums contentedly as he leans back in his chair, resting his feet on the interface of the batcomputer. His head snaps up when the communicator on his belt, strewn over the desk, beeps, and reaches over to grab it.

"Hey, B," he greets nonchalantly, glancing back at the screen.

"Nightwing," comes Bruce's rough voice. Ah, so he's still in Batman-mode. That's not a good sign. "Where's Jason?"

"Uh." Dick glances up at the computer screen, flicking through the camera feeds. Jason is pacing back and forth agitatedly with a phone pressed to his ear. It briefly crosses Dick's mind that Jason probably doesn't even know about the cameras – Bruce put them in all sometime after Jason died. "In his room. Why?"

"Bring him here. Now."

-

Jason nearly drops his phone when someone taps loudly at the door.

"Jace?" the voice on the other end asks. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean," he replies, staring at the door. "I'll... I'll call you back later. See you."

There's a slight pause before Dean responds. "Okay. Bye."

The line disconnects, and Jason sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket.

"Come in?" he calls out. The door creaks open slightly and Dick's head pops through the gap.

"Bruce just called," he says quickly. "Said he needs you."

"What for?" Jason says stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest. Bruce probably just wants to beat Jason's face in again – bastard.

"He didn't say." Dick shrugged, pushing the door open wider. "Sounded pretty urgent, though."

Jason glares at him. "Fine."

Dick nods, and Jason snatches his jacket off his bed and follows him down the corridor. Neither of them say a word to the other until they get outside. Jason can feel Dick's eyes dragging over his face the entire time.

The bruising is still pretty evident, but the swelling seems to have gone down significantly. Jason assumes that Alfred had told them all about his and Bruce's fight the other night, but it makes him more comfortable to think that Dick is assessing the damage and not looking at how much he's changed.

The night air is cold and their breath forms white vapour in front of their faces. Dick makes towards his car, a worn-down little Ford. "Come on, I'll drive."

"Like hell," Jason mutters bitterly, grinding his heels into the gravel and pulling his jacket around himself tighter, "am I getting into that death trap. I remember how bad a driver you are. I'm driving."

"Are you even old enough to have a driver's licence?" Dick retorts, moving back towards Jason. "And I'm not even that bad."

"You drove us into a wall," Jason says flatly, rolling his eyes as his fingers fumble with his keys. His eyes light up with victory when he finally slips in his car key and turns it with a small click. Dick watches as Jason swings the door open and immediately gets in before slamming it shut. He follows suit.

There's an odd smell coming from the back seats – like blood, metallic and slightly rotten. From his expression, Jason's noticed it too.

"Gotta get that cleaned up. Maybe I'll send Bruce the bill," Jason mumbles to himself. He peers out the window when he feels Dick watching him. He clears his throat. "Where to?"

-

Jason can feel his chest tightening as he drives, like someone has his ribcage in a vice and is slowly cranking it. He already knew where Dick would want him to go, but he'd still hoped that maybe, just maybe, Dick would direct him to some other part of Gotham.

He didn't.

Jason glances up at the warehouse and he thinks that he might actually throw up. He can only imagine how angry Bruce is.

"After you," Dick says politely, reaching for the door handle. Jason frowns and glances down the street. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he briefly entertains the thought of decking Dick and making a run for it. It's quickly dismissed.

He grimaces slightly before slowly entering the warehouse.

The room is surprisingly inconspicuous. Beyond a small stack of wooden crates in the corner and a mass of spider webs and dust on the floor, the room is empty.

Jason doesn't see Bruce, but he most certainly feels Bruce drop down onto him from the ceiling. He's then dragged up by his collar and thrown across the room. He can faintly hear Dick trying to pry Bruce away from his throat over the sound of Bruce's face pummelling every part of him.

A minute or two later, he feels the suffocating grip around his neck loosens and he slides to the floor, trying to regain his breath.

"What the hell was that?" Dick asks in an exasperated voice. God, everything sounds so echoey and muffled. Bruce grumbles something and Jason struggles to follow the sound of footsteps. He winces at the sound of a door being kicked off its hinges. Dick gasps loudly.

"I- I'm sure that there's an explanation for this," Dick stutters out after a moment. He walks over to Jason and taps him on the shoulder. "Jason?"

"Check their teeth," Jason mumbles, trying to stop the pounding in his head. He lurches to the side and retches.

For at least ten minutes, there's silence (besides the occasionally sound of Jason vomiting). Jason assumes that Dick is probably hesitant to pick up a severed head. And then...

"Oh my god. What the hell?"

Dick's footsteps grow closer and eventually stops in front of him. Something hits the ground and rolls up to Jason's feet. He glances up, squinting.

"Explain."

Jason hesitates. Lying crosses his mind again, but he thinks better of it – he's not exactly been getting away with it anyway.

"Fine," he says, voice coming out slightly slurred, as he heaves himself up. He staggers and falls against the wall, almost collapsing. Then he looks down at the severed head on the ground and kicks it as hard as he can across the room, immediately regretting moving so suddenly. His eyes flicker over to Bruce as he stumbles past and his entire body tenses. "You want the damn truth? Fine."

He barely makes it over to the door, trying to ignore the headache and the throbbing of... just everything. He pauses, holding himself up against the door frame, when he realises that neither of them were following him. Dick is frozen halfway through a step and Bruce hasn't even moved an inch.

"Well?"

He limps out into the street, hearing the light sound of footsteps behind him. It's all less ominous now; all that can be seen of the warehouses are the black shadows thrown by the cold moonlight.

He sharply pulls out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. It's been a very, very long time since he's actually smoked and the box is honestly more of a safety blanket than anything, and he almost feels bad about breaking his streak, but screw it, he's had a rough night.

As he lights one, Dick comes up from behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Dick glancing at the cigarette disapprovingly, before looking away. "So?"

Silently, he walks over to the car, hands stuffed into his pockets, searching for his keys. When he notices the dark figure stood over the car, he jumps – cigarette falling from his mouth and onto the wet concrete. Jason stares at it for a moment or two before dragging his boot over it. "Jesus Christ..."

He pulls his keys out and unlocks the trunk. Both Bruce and Dick are staring over his shoulder at the duffel bags that are crammed in there. He yanks one out and shoves it behind him. From the sound of it, Dick is already unzipping it and is about to be very disappointed by Jason's dirty clothes and mildly confused by the large box of salt that Jason had stuffed in there.

As Dick's distracted, Jason reaches down to the combination lock and undoes it. He rummages around for a moment or two before lugging out a huge leather-bound book. Without looking, he snatches the duffel bag out of Dick's hands and replaces it with the book. He tosses the bag back into the trunk and slams it shut.

He walks around to the driver's side of the car and slides in. In the rear-view mirror, he watches as Dick ambles around to the passenger's side. Jason waits for another moment before getting impatient. "Is Bruce gonna get in or..."

He peers out of the car into the darkness. Dick shrugs. "I think he's gone."

Jason starts the engine. "Good."

For a couple of minutes, they drive in silence. Dick glances between the book and Jason expectantly.

"Page 30," Jason says, not looking at him.

Dick stares at the book's cover for a moment. It's mostly readable in the flicker of passing streetlights – 'A Guide to the Supernatural: Hunter's Edition.'

"It's a little dark." Jason sighs loudly and forcefully opens the glove compartment and retrieves a torch, slamming it down on the book.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes whilst Dick flicks through the book.

Vampires are a race of blood-drinking creatures that are often depicted in popular mythology. Like lycanthropes, vampires are humans who have been 'converted.' There is no known cure for vampiricism.

Someone, presumably Jason, had crossed out the last sentence and written 'blood of maker – only if not fed already.'

Although little is known about the origins of most monster species, it has been theorised by many expert hunters that vampiricism arose as a result of some form of dark magic gone awry during the initial stages of mankind.

Jason had scribbled this part out and written 'monster come from Alphas – children of Eve.'

The only way to successfully kill a vampire is through decapitation. However, because it is the blood of vampires that turns humans, caution should be taken to avoid ingestion of blood.

Vampires are a social species, almost exclusively living in 'nests' which typically consist of one to two dozen members – although some nests may grow to be as large as several hundred vampires.

"Holy..." Duck mumbles. "You're serious about this?"

Jason brings the car around into an empty alleyway. "Yeah."

"So, this is what you were here for? Vampires?" The word feels foreign in his mouth.

"Yep. It's kind of what I do."

"Are there other types of... monsters? Or is it just the vampires?"

"Oh, god," Jason sighs, burying his head in his hands. "I wish it was just the vamps?"

"So, you... kill them?" Jason nods. "Are there others?"

"Yeah." Jason glances at a nearby streetlight. "From what I've seen, there's a lot of other hunters. Worldwide, if I had to guess."

Dick is about to ask another question when a blinking light on his belt distracts him. He plucks a small communicator from his belt and looks at it. "We'd better get back. You can tell me more later."

Jason yawns, nodding. "No problem."

Chapter Text

One hour. Dick and Jason were gone for an entire hour. Tim probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't heard a car pulling out of the gates. He is, admittedly, curious as to where they went, but he's too occupied with the case to care about it too much. Damian had gotten bored of bothering Tim about four hours ago and had probably gone to bed. Tim, being Tim, had decided to use this free time on something 'productive.'

He would've liked to be able to work on the batcomputer, but Alfred kicked him out on the premise of 'getting a full night's rest' or whatever. So, he took his laptop and a heavy blanket, and hid away in the front room in the dark.

He hears a car park in the driveway, and he shuffles over to the window and peers out into the darkness. In the moonlight, he can barely make out two figures stepping out of Jason's car. Dick has what looks like a box held to his chest.

Then Tim's eyes fall onto Jason, propped up against the hood of his car tiredly. When the two begin to walk towards the door, Jason seems to be suppressing a limp and is holding the side of his face. He watches Dick look around and come to the same conclusion.

He clambers back onto the couch and waits for the door to open, mentally recalling the location of the first-aid kit. The lock clicks and the door swings open. Dick and Jason enter.

Jason slowly makes his way over to a chair and all but collapses into it, his eyes falling shut instantly. He winces and gasps, clutching his ribs through his shirt.

Dick flicks on the lights and jumps slightly at the sight of Tim. Jason, on the other hand, either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

"Hey, Tim." Dick grins at him, then he looks over at Jason and his expression falls. It's like someone took a baseball bat to his face – just a mess of blood and bruising.

Jason's breathing is shallow and blood is soaking through his shirt – his stitches have split. How the hell hadn't Dick noticed that before?

Dick turns to Tim. Tim nods and silently gets up and leaves.

"God, Jason, why didn't you tell me? You look like you were run over."

Jason cracks open an eye, though his face is swelling horribly, and just stares accusingly at Dick. Tim returns and sits down on the coffee table beside Jason, who tenses and shifts away.

He gestures at the first-aid kit and Jason begrudgingly relaxes a little. Tim pulls out an ice pack and hands it to Jason. He digs through the kit again and Jason watches him intently.

He looks up briefly – Jason's gaze doesn't waiver – and assesses Jason's injures. There isn't much that he can do about the bruising and the swelling that the ice pack won't do. The deep cut across Jason's eyebrow, the broken nose, and the split stitches, however, Tim can fix.

"Hey, Tim?" Dick says. "Bruce needs me in the cave, so d'you mind if I..."

Jason stares at Dick accusingly as he goes to leave.

"Don't you dare leave me here," he mouths.

Dick shrugs apologetically and mouths back, "You'll be fine." And then he leaves. What a dick.

Once the sound of Dick's footsteps have vanished down the corridor, the two are stuck in an echoing silence, Tim digs through the medical supplies and Jason glances around awkwardly, looking at anything other than Tim.

"Before I- Before I start, uh, this is gonna be uncomfortable," Tim says, ignoring how his face flushes when Jason finally looks at him. "So, do you want, like, a drink or something?"

Jason stares at him for a moment, blinking slowly. "Why not?"

Tim nods and leaves. Jason settles back into the armchair – he's so screwed.

He's going to have to explain everything, and if Bruce's reaction is anything to go by, Jason's face isn't going to be able to take much more. Or his ribs for that matter. It's a miracle that he's only cracked a few of them so far.

Then Jason is going to have to stick around until the next full moon. He needs to make sure that a) Bruce hasn't been turned – the thought of which is already giving him a headache – and b) there aren't any werewolves in Gotham.

He also had to decide when he was going to drop the Winchester-bombshell on them. It isn't going to happen anytime soon, not if Jason has anything to do about it. Bruce hadn't reacted well to him – he's going to pummel whoever Jason brings over.

Maybe he'll start with someone who's less likely to provoke Bruce (though Bruce would probably try it not matter who it was). Cas? Yeah, Cas.

That... that's a good option. Even if Bruce does attack, it's not like he can hurt Cas.

Okay, that sorts that. Once Jason's introduced everyone to the whole supernatural thing (which is a whole other ballpark), he'll call Cas down. But he'll lay off on the whole 'angel of the Lord' thing.

Tim comes back into the room, arms filled with wine bottles, and Jason's gaze snaps up. He awkwardly shuffles across the room, obviously uncomfortable under Jason's gaze. Tim sets the bottles down on the floor by Jason's feet and drags the coffee table closer.

He perches on the edge and begins tugging on the lapel of his blazer, looking up at Jason.

Jason gets the idea pretty quickly and he shrugs off his jacket, leaving it in a heap on the floor. He then, slowly, begins to unbutton his shirt. His fingers are shaking slightly and he winces whenever the patches of dried blood on the shirt tug at his skin. Tim is desperately trying not to stare, instead digging through the kit and pulling out a small bottle and a cloth, and going bright red.

When Jason finishes, he balls up his shirt and tosses it over his shoulder. Tim can't help but look over Jason's chest. There's muscle. Lots of muscle. Lots of muscle. And blood. There's an awful lot of that too. Tim spies a tattoo on Jason's upper arm – a black pentagram in a sun.

Tim clears his throat and pours some of the bottle's contents into the cloth. It's a thin, clear liquid that reeks of alcohol vapours. He gives a small warning and then tentatively begins cleaning away the blood. Jason flinches slightly at first, but doesn't really react much after. He just kind of stares off into nothing and occasionally takes a swig from the wine bottle in his hand.

Tim goes to pick up a clean cloth and glances up at Jason. He wonders briefly how Jason had gotten so many scars and then he mentally reprimands himself.

His entire body is covered in small scars and even a few bullet holes – Tim has a few of his own but nowhere near as many. There's a little collection of x-shaped burns on his left side, right down by his hip, and there are a few electrical burns on his forearms. In the bright light, he can just about make out a crooked 'J' that had been burned into Jason's cheek, and there are a couple of thin, white scars on his face that Tim can only imagine came from the edge of a crowbar.

The worst of them, by far, is the autopsy scar – a huge 'Y' that runs across his chest and all the way down the centre of his torso. Just looking at it makes Tim's skin crawl. He can't imagine what it's like to actually have it.

"So," Tim coughs, because the silence is going to kill him. Jason's eyes become less distant and he looks down. "What happened out there?"

"Bruce," Jason mutters. "Again."

Tim frowns. "Bruce attacked you? I thought that... Why would he do that?"

"There was a..." Jason pauses, looking for the right word. "There was a misunderstanding. He thought that I killed fourteen people."

Jason rolls his eyes and then tenses, looking like he hadn't meant to say that last part. Tim isn't sure how to respond to that.

"Uh, did you?"

Jason shrugs. "Depends on what you define as people, I guess."

Tim swallows roughly and the silence returns. Once he's finished clearing the blood and is preparing to start stitching, Jason speaks.

"Do you believe in the supernatural?" Jason glances at Tim's confused expression. He doesn't know why he's talking to Tim, of all people, about this, but he feels like he has to tell someone. Maybe it's the alcohol. "Like monsters and ghosts and magic and stuff."

Tim shrugs, trying to regain his composure. "I- I don't know."

"Aren't there those two Justice Leaguers? God, what are their names?" Jason snaps his fingers and frowns. "Doctor Fate and Zatanna?"

"Yeah, but..." Tim shrugs again. "I don't know. I don't really think about it all that often."

Jason nods sympathetically and surprisingly soberly for someone who's just polished off their third bottle of wine.

"'S fair. I never did either. Not until I... y'know." Jason waves his hands around and pulls a face, and suddenly, he looks just as drunk as he is. Tim nods. "I wanted to believe that everything's all scientific and logical because, at least then, I was in control. But I've kind of gotten used to not being in control. We're all ants."

There's something dark and angry in Jason's voice that makes Tim shift uncomfortably. He moves to pull out a needle and some suture thread. "I- I always just work under the assumption that magic is just science we don't understand yet. Like how people didn't know what caused storms so they made up stories about gods."

Jason makes an impressed noise and Tim flushes slightly. "That's... That's a good point. But all those gods do exist. Wonder Woman is literally a demigod. Though, that's... that's a solid point about like magic and stuff."

This continues for the rest of the night: Jason debating Tim with remarkably articulate points for someone who's halfway through their fourth bottle.

At first, Tim assumes that Jason is just trying to start some sort of conversation. Maybe he hates the silence as much as Tim does. Maybe Jason, after having his head beaten in twice, losing a substantial amount of blood and then getting completely plastered on Bruce's vintage wines (not the greatest decision on Tim's part), decided that a philosophical question is the best way to start small talk.

But, as Jason's interrogating becomes oddly specific, Tim is starting to think that Jason completely and utterly believes what he's saying.

Chapter Text

Dean is not worried.

Nope.

Dean isn't worried at all. Jason is a smart kid – he could take care of himself. And it wasn't like he was halfway across the country in some godforsaken city infested with the literal human scum of the earth, hunting a nest of vampires with god-knows-what else lurking in every shadow, or anything.

Jason also hasn't called in a couple of days. But that definitely isn't because he'd had his throat ripped out by murderous, bloodthirsty vampires and is currently rotting in the corner of some abandoned warehouse turned vampire lair. There also isn't any chance that Jason had been cornered by some lowlife and then left to bleed out in some back alley where no one would ever find his body.

Okay. Fine.

Maybe Dean is a little worried. And perhaps, he's just overthinking it. But it's all perfectly possible – if completely unlikely, as Charlie helpfully adds every time that he brings it up. 

Dean is in the library when his phone goes off. It takes him a fraction of a second to recognise the ringtone and desperately scramble through his pockets.

"Jason!" Dean says, placing a phone to his ear.

"Uh, hey, Dean," Jason replies, drawing out his words. It's something that he did – especially when he was younger – whenever he's about to admit to something stupid that he's done.

"Jay, is everything okay?"

"Um," Jason starts, before taking a sharp breath – like he's going to say something before settling with: "yeah..." His voice rises a good three octaves during that one word and he coughs. "Yeah. Everything is good. Good. Completely good."

"Jason..." Dean says firmly; it's at moments like this when Dean realises how much he sounds like a parent.

"Yes?"

"What did you do?"

"What?" Jason scoffs. "What makes you think that I-"

"Jason."

"Fine. But, uh, before I tell you," Jason says, "promise you won't get mad?"

"It doesn't matter what you did, Jason. I just want to know what's going on."

"Okay, well, everything was all fine and dandy at first. I was working the case – just like you and Sam taught me. Y'know, I was asking around and following leads. Charlie even helped me get some security tapes. The vamps were hiding out in a warehouse near the harbour, so I went and dealt with them. And then I... I got chased by Batman." Jason waits hesitantly for a response.

"That's not your fault."

"Okay, but then I got attacked by a werewolf."

"WHAT?" Dean can practically hear Jason recoil on the other end and takes a deep breath. "God, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little bruised, s'all."

"What happened to it?"

"I killed it," Jason says. "The only problem is that I don't know if Batman got bit. I can try to figure it out because the only way to be sure is to-"

"Wait until the next full moon," Dean finishes, sighing. "Sam and I are going over there."

"You can't," Jason blurts. "Not yet. They... They don't know about any of this. Not even the vamps. Just- I need time to explain."

There's a loud knock at the door and Jason turns with a start.

"Jace? You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean. I'll... I'll call you back later. Bye."

"Okay. Bye."

He slips his phone back into his pocket and turns to the door with a sigh. "Come in."

Chapter Text

It's around noon when Alfred comes into the front room. He isn't very surprised to find Tim curled up on the floor with a blanket wrapped around him and his laptop tucked under his arm. He is quite surprised, however, to find Jason sprawled out over an armchair, shirtless and heavily bruised with four empty bottles of wine by his feet. There are several layers of bandages wrapped around his chest and a now melted ice pack rested on his face. His hair stuck up in all directions and there are a couple of clumps or reddish-brown hair in the streak of white.

Dick mentioned something to him about Jason coming back in pretty bad shape last night but that Tim had patched him up. He just assumed that Jason would be in his room, resting. Apparently not.

Alfred takes a moment to assess the situation.

Tim will not be woken up – he's long overdue more than three hours of sleep and Alfred will be damned before he gets in the way of that.

Jason, on the other hand, he will wake up. Dick showed him the book that Jason gave him and Alfred has a few questions to ask. He also wants to do a quick check over of Jason's injuries. It isn't that he doesn't trust Tim's medical abilities; it's just that Tim was previously running on about two hours of sleep and far too much caffeine to have a steady hand.

"Master Jason," Alfred says quietly, placing a hand on Jason's shoulder. He stirs slightly and the ice pack slides off his face. Alfred shakes him – Jason groans as he cracks an eye open.

"Alfie?" he croaks, squinting at the sunlight. His voice sounds uncomfortably like it did when he was younger. "What time is it?"

"It's almost time for lunch, Master Jason." Alfred smiles when Jason perks up at the mention of lunch. "How would you like to help me cook?"

"I'd love to." Jason grins – it's the same boyish one that Jason always had. He stands up suddenly then stumbles slightly, knocking over the wine bottles. "You wouldn't have any aspirin or something, would you? I think I'm a little..." He gestures haphazardly at the bottles.

"I think I have just the thing."

Alfred has this wonderful, wonderful ability to just be able to walk away during a conversation and whoever he was talking to would just follow him. Just like that.

The next thing Jason knows, he's trailing behind Alfred and into the kitchen. Out of everything Jason misses from his old life, being around Alfred is definitely one of them. He honestly misses having someone to cook with. As much as he loved them, his family lacked the finesse that Alfred has when it comes to cooking. The closest he managed to come to the experience was when he met Kevin's mom.

"Any dishes in mind, Alfie?" Jason asks as he glances around. Alfred was in the process of mixing a concoction of ingredients in a large mug. After a minute or two, Alfred turns suddenly and hands the mug to Jason. He glances into it – it's a thick, pale yellow liquid that sticks to the side of the mug as he turns it. "What's in this?"

"I think you would prefer not to know," Alfred replies.

"You sure this will work?"

"Positive." He smiles at Jason. "I developed the recipe for Master Bruce when he was your age. You do seem to be able to handle alcohol more graciously, though."

Jason chuckles, looking into the mug. "I never took Brucie for a lightweight." He gulps down the entire thing. Then he almost coughs it all back up. "Oh, god. What the actual f-"

He stops when he remembers Alfred is in the room. His head perks up slightly. "Huh, I actually feel better." His stomach rumbles. "How about that lunch though?"

"Of course, Master Jason."

Jason had really forgotten how skilful Alfred is in the kitchen. He finds himself flashing back to when he's younger – the first time that Jason made a proper meal with Alfred.

[WAYNE MANOR – May 2012]

Alfred picks Jason up from school at 3PM and the two go to the closest supermarket to pick up a couple of extra things for dinner. This isn't particularly unusual; Jason and Alfred often go into town in the evening to do various odd jobs that Alfred needed to do.

"What's on the menu today, Alf?" Jason asks, looking up at Alfred. He's jogging slightly to keep up with Alfred's quick pace and Alfred slows down to allow Jason to comfortably walk beside him.

"I was thinking that, perhaps, you would like to choose," Alfred replies. "And maybe, you could give me some assistance in the kitchen."

"Really?" Jason squeaks, grinning. Alfred nods and Jason takes off towards the supermarket.

Alfred reaches the entrance to find Jason, hopping from one foot to another with excitement, shopping basket in hand. Jason leads Alfred down the aisles, putting items into his basket (Alfred also occasionally places an item or two in there), whilst babbling about how excited he is to be able to cook).

Through the unintelligible stream, he manages to decipher the word 'spaghetti.' Whilst they are in the fruit and vegetable aisle, Jason begins to talk about what he would cook when he lived with his mother. Apple pie was something that Jason speaks particularly fondly of.

Throughout, Alfred keeps note of what Jason is picking – the way that he carefully looks at each item and grimaces slightly at the price – but doesn't mention anything. Jason is taking the reins on this one.

By the time they get to the checkout, Jason is struggling to carry the basket but keeps on insisting to Alfred that he can manage it perfectly find. The total comes to just under $50 and Jason lets out a low whistle as Alfred hands over the money.

Jason also insists on carry the two bags to the car and almost topples over several times. On the way back to the manor, Jason sits in the back seat (in a booster seat, as much as he protests to it) and talks about his day at school – his English project on William Shakespeare, how he got the highest score on his math test, and the experiment that he did in chemistry.

When they arrive back at the manor, Jason immediately sprints towards the manor doors, stumbling slightly with the bags. Alfred goes into the kitchen to find Jason frantically unpacking everything they'd bought – scrambling around with armfuls of food. It takes just over ten minutes for him to put everything away.

Jason turns to Alfred with wide eyes and an excited smile. "Come on!"

[WAYNE MANOR – present day]

Alfred watches with a small smile as Jason dices onions and fruitlessly tries to stop himself from crying. Some things never change, Alfred thinks. His eyes flicker over to the leather-bound book he'd left on the breakfast bar.

"Master Dick informed me of what happened last night," Alfred says, coming up beside Jason and placing a can of tomatoes onto the counter. Jason tenses slightly.

"What did he tell you?" he mutters, chopping slightly more aggressively.

"Master Bruce asked him to bring you to a warehouse by the harbour," Alfred says, beginning to prepare the other ingredients. "There were several dead bodies in the warehouse and Master Bruce... confronted you."

Jason lets out a small laugh. "That's one way to put it."

"On that note, I'd also like to check over your injuries," Alfred continues, looking worriedly at the cut above his eyebrow. "Whilst Master Dick didn't deny that it was your doing, he was very adamant that there was an acceptable reason for what you did. It was rather surprising, to say the least."

There's a moment of silence before Jason realises what Alfred means. He freezes, the knife clattering onto the counter. "He showed you the book, didn't he?"

"Yes," Alfred replies, adjusting his tie. "He did. But the book isn't what I want to ask you about."

"Oh." Jason sighs – he doesn't know if that's any better. "So, what do you want to know?"

"What do you know about the Men of Letters?"

"Uh." He didn't expect that. For a moment, he sits there in silence, attempting to form a coherent answer. "They... They... They were a, like, secret organisation that... studied the supernatural – monsters and demons and stuff..."

Alfred nods thoughtfully like Jason had just given him an eloquent explanation of the Men of Letters and not stumbled through it like an idiot. Jason hasn't looked up at him yet and he's picking at the hem of his shirt. "After Master Dick showed me the book, I took a closer look through it," he says, walking off somewhere behind Jason and picking something up. Jason finally looks up when Alfred drops a large book onto the counter.

"The book itself was very informative," Alfred says, opening the book. The section is on vampires, funnily enough. "But it was the added notes that interested me – more specifically, this symbol." He points to the small symbol that Jason had doodled in the corner of the page because he'd been bored. "An Aquarian Star: the symbol of the Men of Letters."

"Yeah." Jason nods, seemingly a lot more relaxed. He'd obviously expected Alfred's reaction to be more like Bruce's. "But, uh, how do you know about the Men of Letters?"

Alfred gives him a wry smile and Jason's eyes widen. "No," he says, standing up straight. "You were not a Man of Letters."

"London Chapter," Alfred says. "I left for the States in 1971."

"I thought you worked for MI6." Jason frowns, looking slightly disappointed.

"I did, briefly," Alfred reassures. There are a good few seconds of silence before Jason lets out a sigh.

"Oh, thank god for that," he mutters, leaning against the counter. "That's one less person I have to tell."

They return to cooking. Jason continues to interrogate Alfred, who is more than happy to talk to him.

About halfway through their meal, Tim wanders in. Jason looks up and raises an eyebrow – he looks awful.

His hair is an absolute mess – one side has been completely flattened and the other looks like he'd walked through a tornado. He's so pale that Jason is actually concerned that he'll pass out. Jason has pulled all-nighters before, but he's certain that he's never looked that tired.

"Hey, Alfred," Tim says, yawning. "Hey, Jason."

"Good afternoon, Master Tim," Alfred returns, not looking up as Tim passes by him. Jason mumbles back a greeting.

Tim ambles over to the counter. "D'you want any?" he calls over his shoulder, holding out the coffee pot.

"Sure," Jason answers. "Black."

Tim makes an approving noise and begins searching through the cabinets. After a few minutes, he sits down with two mugs – he sets the smaller one in front of Jason and begins to drink from the much, much larger one. Jason looks at it, slightly concerned; it is almost the size of Tim's head.

Alfred glances at the mug disapprovingly but returns to his food. Jason shrugs and does the same. 

Chapter Text

Bruce has been in the board meeting for about two hours now, to be perfectly honest, he'd zoned out about five minutes after it started. He occasionally glances around the room or shift in his seat slightly to give the illusion of focus. It's a technique that had been developed after many, many years of not paying attention in board meetings. It isn't like he's missing much anyway. He'll just tell them to get Lucius to check over everything.

Besides, he has much more important things to worry about. Like a warehouse full of decapitated bodies and his dead son and that thing that attacked him in that alleyway.

He's already made a little list of what he has to do when he finally manages to escape:

The first thing he was going to do was dig up Jason's grave. He just wants to make sure that the Jason currently in his house is actually his Jason. The thought makes him slightly uncomfortable, but it's the easiest way to catch 'Jason' out. It won't actually do anything to verify 'Jason' as his Jason, but it'll put his mind at ease for a small while, at least.

Then he's going to have to go to that warehouse and get some samples from some of the bodies. A head, and some blood samples would probably do. He's also going to have to clean it all up, and he genuinely has yet to think of how the hell he is going to go about this. There were at least a dozen bodies and decapitation is particularly messy.

Once he figures out how he's going to do that, he'd going to try and find the alleyway where that thing attacked him and Jason. It was dark and Bruce was tired and it was probably just a rabid dog, but Bruce just wants to make sure.

THEN he's going to attempt to convince Jason to give him some DNA samples and let Bruce test his fingerprints. Maybe he'll get Dick to ask for him (Jason is probably a little apprehensive of Bruce). He honestly not really sure of what he'll do if Jason isn't actually Jason.

"Mr. Wayne?" someone to his left asks.

"Sorry, what was that?" Bruce replies, glancing around the table. A woman across the table from him speaks.

"Are the changes okay with you, Mr. Wayne?" she repeats.

He glances at the board briefly – something about increasing exports. "Everything seems to be fine. Just check it all over with Lucius."

And just like that he can leave. Magic.

-

He drove himself home. Alfred mentioned something about wanting to keep an eye on Jason and Bruce didn't press any further than that – although he does feel that Alfred was too comfortable with Jason too quickly.

Speaking of Jason, Bruce has a grave to dig up.

-

It's a more tiring job than Bruce expected. He wanted to finish the job before sundown but there was a lot of traffic coming back, and he only just starts when it begins to get dark. Luckily, he manages to find a headlamp and some batteries and he continues.

A couple of shovelfuls of dirt later and he's already beginning to ache. By the time that he gets halfway, he feels on the verge of collapsing. There's this strange sensation of someone watching him and he turns.

Off in the distance, by the entrance of the cemetery is a tall figure – Jason.

One hand is in the pocket of his leather jacket and the other is down by his side, holding a lit cigarette. He brings it up to his mouth and the two make eye contact. In the light of the moon, Jason seems almost ghostlike, pale skin and dark shadows thrown across his face. Jason gives a short nod, tips his hand in a short salute, and turns on his heels, walking back towards the manor.

Bruce feels unsettled, but continues. Within a couple of minutes, he reaches the coffin.

It's caved in – Bruce feels his heart stutter in his chest. He crouches down and examines the hole. There are scratches in the wood – Bruce thinks that he's going to throw up.

Jason dug himself out of his own grave. He woke up in his coffin.

He stares up into the sky and tries to breathe – he has other things he needs to do. He makes a note to check through the security footage archives (because he has to see it for himself) and begins to fill the grave back in. His hands are shaking slightly, but he tries to ignore that.

It's past midnight when he gets back into the manor. He goes straight into the batcave – he doesn't want to have to think about it anymore.

-

The night air is cool.

A shadow flickers across the rooftops. There's a flash of a black cape and a small thud echoes down an empty street. The warehouse door creaks as he slides it open.

The pools of blood on the floor had dried into flaky stains on the concrete. There's an overwhelming smell of rotting flesh. He sighs, grimacing. He'd better get started. If he's lucky, he can be home by 2AM.

Bruce is not lucky.

It's around 4AM by the time he gets back to the cave. The smell of blood and rotting flesh has literally absorbed into his costume. His body aches and he can barely keep his eyes open. He drags himself out of the batmobile with the bag of DNA samples.

The sweet release of sleep will come soon, he can put the sample in the computer and then let it do the rest. He manages to get the analysis started and not much further.

On the way out, he decides that he'll quickly check on Jason. He takes a seat at the batcomputer monitor and brings up the camera screens. In the darkness, he can just about see the shape of Jason curled up under his covers.

He glances around at the other screens and everything kind of blurs, then fades.

Alfred finds him slumped over in his chair at six in the morning, but leaves him there. It's about time Bruce gets a full night's sleep.

Chapter Text

Jason's morning does not go well.

He wakes up and, in his tired stupor, notices a towering figure stood at the end of his bed in the darkness. The sight startles him so much that he ends up smacking his head off the headboard. He recoils, gripping the back of his head as he attempts to get out of bed.

"Jason?" the figure asks. Jason's pounding heart slows at the familiar voice – Cas. For god's sake. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Cas," he sighs, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm fine. You just scared me, s'all."

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to check in on you. Dean told me what happened."

"Ah," Jason tuts. He loves Dean to pieces but god did he worry sometimes. There's a moment of silence and Jason glances at the clock on his bedside table. It's stopped at forty-something past five. "Cas, you wouldn't happen to know what time it is, would you?"

Cas looks down at his wristwatch. "Four twenty-three."

Jason sighs, getting out of bed and flicking on the lamp beside him. "I'm probably not going back to sleep anytime soon. Do you want any food?"

There's no response.

"You're injured," Cas says, staring at him. Jason remembers the bandages and the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt – it kept riding up his back during the night so he threw it across the room before going back to sleep.

"Yeah..." he says, looking around for his shirt on the floor. It's about a foot away from where Cas is standing. Goddammit.

"Let me heal you," Cas says, beginning to walk towards him. Jason immediately clambers to the other side of the bed.

"No!" he says. Cas stops, slightly confused and a little offended. Jason calms down and waves his hand placatingly. "I just don't want to explain why my nose is suddenly unbroken."

Cas nods in understanding. "Then, at least, let me heal your body."

"Fine," Jason replies, climbing back over the bed. He perches on the edge of the bed and begins to unwrap the bandages, throwing them onto the bedside cabinet with a flourish. "Have at it."

He winces when Cas's cold hands graze over his stitches but is ultimately very relieved when the aching in his sides stops. "Thanks," he says, getting up and patting Cas's shoulder. "I'm going to get some food. You can stay if you want. I don't think anyone's awake yet."

Cas nods. "I'd like that."

-

Jason waltzes into the kitchen, sliding across the floor in his socks. Cas shuffles in behind him. "Do you want anything?" Jason calls over his shoulder.

"No, thank you," Cas says, looking around the kitchen, obviously stunned at the sheer size of it.

Jason shrugs, walking over to the counter. "Your loss."

He hums quite happily along to some song that Dean played in the car from time to time as he digs through the cupboards. Cas wanders over and watches over Jason's shoulder as he cooks.

After thirty minutes, Jason walks over to the breakfast bar with a large plate in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He perches on it and begins eating. "So," he says, through a mouthful of bacon. "How's everything been since I left?"

"Quieter," Cas says, coming over. Jason shifts over to allow him to sit beside him. "Dean and Sam took some cases after you left. They were in Texas when you called – demons, I think it was."

Jason hummed in response – he might have said something, but he's currently halfway through a slice of toast. The realisation that it's been almost two months since he's seen his family is also kicking in and he's currently having a minor crisis.

"Jason?" Cas says, looking over at him. "Jason?"

He waves a hand in front of Jason's face and the glazed look in Jason's eyes disappears. His head snaps up and he shakes his head. "Sorry," he mutters. "I'm still a little tired."

"I understand. It must be difficult having to deal with-"

There's the sound of a plate smashing by the door. Jason looks up and very nearly drops his own plate. Bruce is stood in the doorway, in full batsuit, eyes fixed on Cas.

Before Jason can even say anything, Bruce is storming across the room towards Cas and there's this glint in his eyes that Jason knows all too well. He lurches forwards and drags Bruce to the floor. And they struggle for a while, but Jason, having the size advantage and unbroken ribs, manages to pin Bruce to the kitchen tiles.

Until Bruce manages to headbutt Jason – in the face, and his broken nose...

Jason falls back, white spots flaring in his vision, and Bruce launches himself at Cas, who is still staring at them in utter bemusement. The seconds before Bruce makes contact seem to happen in slow motion, and Jason looks up just in time to watch Bruce bounce off Cas.

Whatever tension is in the room dissolves and Jason immediately bursts into a fit of laughter at the sight of the Dark Knight crumpling at Cas's feet. It almost distracts him from the agonising pain in his nose. He can also hear the sound of footsteps hurrying down the corridor. Jason is still dying on the floor, covered in his own blood and the half dozen eggs that he'd accidentally knocked off the counter

After a moment or two, Bruce slowly rises to his feet and attempts to lunge at Cas again. Luckily for Bruce, Dick speeds into the kitchen and is already grabbing onto Bruce's arm and pulling him away. Tim offers his hand to Jason who stares for a moment before taking it. It honestly doesn't help much and Jason very nearly pulls Tim over, but the gesture is still appreciated, nonetheless.

Alfred is stood in the doorway staring hopelessly at the complete and utter mess in his kitchen. Damian is behind Alfred, clinging to his coattail with one hand and rubbing his eyes tiredly with the other. Unlike the others, he's in his pyjamas and was probably woken by the commotion. He's also glaring at Jason, but Jason's almost certain that it's just a permanent expression.

Tim helps Jason over to the dining table before hurrying over to the freezer to get something for Jason's nose. Dick and Barbara are trying to placate Bruce, who is still struggling and yelling.

Alfred slowly manages to regain his composure and makes a b-line towards Tim, who is still trying to piece together what happened, and Jason, who has his face buried into a bag of frozen peas. He jumps slightly when Alfred sits down beside him and glances up. "I'm gonna have to tell them, aren't I?" he mutters quietly. Alfred nods sadly at him and he slams his face back into the peas with a groan (though, partially because hitting himself that hard was a bad idea).

Bruce's screaming finally dies down, and Barbara and Dick cautiously let him go. Cas vanished the moment that Dick and Barbara entered the room and Jason can't blame him. If anything, it should make explaining everything a little easier – since Bruce won't be at Cas's throat. He may be at Jason's throat (again), but he isn't going to think about that right now.

Dick comes over to Jason and taps his shoulder. "What happened?"

Jason sighs, standing up and clearing his throat. "Okay, everyone listen up because I'm not going to repeat myself. There's something you all need to know."

And he explains. But, god, does he want the earth to just swallow him whole.

-

Surprisingly, everyone takes to Jason's explanation of the supernatural reasonably well (Bruce only tries to attack him once) and he manages to stumble through a basic crash course.

"So," Barbara says, once Jason has finished his speech, "the vampires? They were why you came back?"

"Yeah. I was just finishing that case when..." He gestures between Bruce and himself – Bruce and Damian tense up. Dick clears his throat, clearly sensing the rising tension.

"What about in the alleyway? B said that something attacked you."

Jason sighs. "It was a werewolf. There's probably an entire pack that I need to deal with. It's the only reason that I haven't taken off." There's a glimmer of hurt across Dick's face and Jason could've sworn that he saw something on Bruce's. Barbara and Alfred nod in a sad sort of understanding. Damian actually seems disappointed that Jason hasn't left. "And..."

"And?" Tim interrupts. Jason glances at Tim before fixing his eyes on Bruce.

"Did it bite you?" There's an unsure flicker in Bruce's eyes that tells Jason everything that he needs to know. "And that's the other reason. I don't know whether Bruce was turned. I need to stick around until the next full moon to find out."

"What if he is?" Tim says. "What then?"

"I don't know." Jason's voice is dark and empty. There's a moment of silence and everyone glances nervously at Bruce.

Then the conversation turns to Cas, and everything goes downhill again – very, very quickly. Dick and Alfred actually quite readily accept that Cas is an angel, although Dick is honestly just down for the ride at this point. Jason could have told him that there are ten-foot-tall, bedazzled garden gnomes that live underground and he'd probably accept it without any hesitation. Barbara, Tim and Damian are, very clearly, sceptical (but, at least, none of them attack him).

"Cas?" Jason calls out, ignoring how completely insane he looks – yelling at nothing. He's still waiting for Bruce to try to cart him off to Arkham. "Cas? Can you please come back down?"

Jason glances around in anticipation, before the comforting flutter of wings behind him. "Jason."

There's a slight tremor in Cas's usually monotonous voice. Everyone gapes at how Cas had just appeared out of nowhere. Bruce looks like the human equivalent of a computer lagging and everyone else seems like they're waiting for Jason to tell them that this is all just a joke.

Dick is the first to snap out of his stupor and strides over to them, climbing up onto the breakfast bar.

Jason clambered up there to escape Bruce after he'd attempted to lunge at him and was too scared to come back down. He'd spent the last twenty minutes pacing back and forth, gesturing dramatically.

Cas steps behind Jason and Dick holds his hand out. Jason stares at him. Only Dick Grayson could make friends with the stranger in his kitchen.

"My name's Dick," he says with a grin. Jason cracks a smile when he feels Cas glance at him.

"It's okay, Cas," he mutters, stepping to the side slightly.

Cautiously, Cas takes Dick's hand and shakes it slowly. Everyone watches the exchange carefully – Jason is more than prepared to tackle Dick off the breakfast bar if he tries anything. They eventually part and Cas whispers something into Jason's ear. Jason looks at him with a slightly concerned expression, but then beckons Dick over to him, muttering something to him. Tim manages to read the words 'friends,' 'manor'... and 'bunker'?

Dick looks at Jason with the same expression that Jason gave Cas and Jason looks back at Cas with a 'see? I told you so' look. Cas stares back at Jason with the same flat expression and Jason lets out a loud sigh, turning back to Dick with an eye roll.

Dick ponders over whatever it was that Jason asked him and everyone can practically see the cogs turning in his head. There's something comically dramatic about the entire exchange; it's like a pantomime.

After a solid minute of glancing between Bruce and Jason, Dick gives an anticlimactic shrug. "I guess?"

Jason shrugs and hops down from the counter, making his way over to Alfred. He crouches down and whispers something into Alfred's ear. There's a flicker of surprise in the butler's eyes before he whispers something back to Jason. Jason turns back to Cas and gives him a thumbs-up before Cas disappears.

Jason perches on the dining room table in a manner that is far too nonchalant for Tim's liking. He begins picking at his nails and Barbara lets out a small chuckle. "Is this normal for you?"

"Pretty much."

Barbara nods thoughtfully before moving onto the question that's on everyone's mind. "What was..." she gestures between Dick and where Cas had been, "that all about?"

Jason pulls a face, looking at Alfred and Dick for some kind of backup. Luckily for Jason, Alfred speaks up. "Master Jason was requesting that he be allowed to bring some of his... family?" Alfred looks for some confirmation and Jason nods. "To the manor."

Silence settles over the room like a heavy layer of dust. Then...

"Can anyone hear that?"

Everyone immediately begins listening for something – a very low, very distant... barking?

Jason is up and out of the door like a shot. When everyone finally comes to their senses and follows him, Jason is sprinting down the hallway, full speed with heavy, thundering footsteps, to a large German Shepard that is bounding towards Jason.

It's rather reminiscent of those scenes from old romance movies where the two young lovers run to each other in slow motion across a flowery field. Tim can practically hear the cliché piano music.

The dog leaps into Jason's arms and sweeps him off his feet. Tim imagines the piano music coming to a screeching halt, complete with record scratching.

He groans and Tim has to stop himself from laughing at the sight of Jason lying flat on his back, completely limp. And the dog, practically the size of Jason – if not larger – stood on Jason's chest, staring down at him concernedly, does little to help Tim keep his composure.

"TC," Jason mutters, staring his dog dead in the eye. "Do not even think abou-"

The dog licks a huge stripe up Jason's face, leaving a large glob of saliva in Jason's hair. His expression turns from pure joy to abject horror (he's still very, very happy to see his best friend, he just... doesn't particularly like the taste of dog saliva) and he starts spluttering. Tim can no longer keep back his laughter and, fortunately, he can hear Barbara and Dick laughing over the sound of his own roars.

"TC!" comes a faint shout. They stop laughing.

Both Jason and TC's head simultaneously perk up at the sound. The dog barks loudly and the noise is followed shortly by the clumsy thundering of footsteps and more shouting.

The footsteps grow louder and louder until eventually, a woman with bright red hair stumbles around the corner, followed by an Asian man, and then Cas. Jason pushes himself to his feet and runs over. "Charlie! Kevin!"

The excitement in Jason's voice tugs at Dick's chest. So, this is it, he thinks. This is his family.

Once Jason has put Charlie down and stopped acting like a six-year-old at the zoo (well, less like a six-year-old at the zoo), Alfred strolls over and holds his hand out. Charlie stares at him, wide-eyed, and Jason elbows her. "You must be Alfred," she says, shaking his hand and grinning at him. "I'm Charlie. Jason's told us all about you."

A smile flits across Alfred's face and he turns to Kevin. "Kevin," he says, with a short nod, "sir."

Everyone else comes over and are very awkwardly standing behind Jason and Alfred. Dick is eyeing Bruce and looks like he's readying himself to grab him. Bruce... Bruce seems calm.

Something is wrong – horribly, horribly wrong. Hell has probably frozen over and the apocalypse is likely about to begin.

There's a good few minutes of terse silence and everyone glances nervously around. Even Cas is visibly uncomfortable.

Very surprisingly, it's Bruce that makes the first move, pushing past the group and holding his hand out. There's something very unnerving about the combination of his 'Brucie' smile and the batsuit (even with the cowl pulled back). "Bruce," he says.

Jason is tensed and prepared to launch himself at Bruce if he so much as thinks about hurting either of them. Charlie is clearly suspicious, but decides to take his hand, nonetheless.

"Charlie," she returns, voice slightly strained – all she can think about is all the nights that Jason cried himself to sleep because of him. Bruce turns to Kevin and offers his hand.

There's a beat or two of uncomfortable silence before Alfred speaks up. "Master Jason," he says, resting a hand on Jason's shoulder, "I'm sure that your guests would appreciate a tour of the manor. I'm certain that everyone else is exhausted from their late-night activities."

"That's a great idea, Alfred."

Alfred immediately moves to usher them down the corridor and Jason follows after them, glancing over his shoulder at Bruce.

"What was that all about?" Dick asks, nudging Bruce as they walk down to the batcave.

"What was what? They're Jason's guests; I was just being friendly," Bruce replies, tugging off his glove and pocketing it.

"You were collecting DNA," Tim interjects, "weren't you?"

"Maybe."

Dick rolls his eyes. Of course.

-

"So," Kevin whispers, "you gonna tell us who's who?"

"Like names?" Jason says. "You know Bruce and Alfie, obviously. Black and blue is Dick – yes, that is his name. Stop looking at me like that, Charlie. Barbara's the redhead. Oh, Charlie, you'll love her – she's into all that computer stuff too. Short, angry-looking one is Damian. Remember Talia? He's her kid. And the other one's Tim. I don't actually want to kill him. Go figure."

Charlie and Kevin glance at each other at the mention of Tim's name. Kevin shrugs – it's an improvement?

Chapter Text

It's midnight. Tim has been in the batcave since nine that morning. He was helping Bruce with getting DNA profiles of Jason's guests (as he'd done with Jason's a couple of nights before), but Bruce left for patrol hours ago so now he's alone. Again.

Sometimes, Tim thinks that people forget about him until they need something. His parents certainly had no issues with leaving their only son alone in that huge mansion that always seemed far too big for just three people. Sure, there were the maids and the cook and the butler and his nanny, but they didn't live there.

That was something that his parents made a point of – they were merely the servants, the workers, the help.

Not a part of the family, no matter how many times the scullery maid helped him with his homework when his parents were off on some 'business' trip; or how many times his nanny ruffled his hair and played catch with him in the gardens when his father was in his study 'too busy for such uncultured activities'; or how many times the cook slipped his favourite dessert into his room after he argued with his parents about going to a real school, with children his own age, and not having some stuffy history tutor who was probably old enough to have seen the pyramids being built and rapped Tim's knuckles with a wooden ruler when he got a date wrong.

These people weren't Tim's family for one very simple reason: they weren't Drakes – or, rather, they weren't 'worthy' of being Drakes. Family is your blood and nothing else. 'No amount of mollycoddling or trivial sentiment will ever change that, boy,' his father said to him once, after firing another one of his nannies. She was 'getting too close' to Tim, as his mother put it. So, she needed to go, lest their son be exposed to some kind of affection.

No, if Tim wasn't getting any love from his parents, he sure as hell wasn't going to get it from anyone else. He wasn't even sure that his parents knew his name – well, his father, at least.

There were too many occasions where his parents dragged him to some pompous event and his mother's nail would dig into his shoulder through his suit as his father bragged about 'how bright the young lad is.' Then his father would call him 'Harry' or 'James' or 'Brad' and his mother's grip would tighten so much that it'd leave marks the next morning and she'd hiss Tim's name under her breath. His father would turn and say, 'oh yes, dear! My mistake, my boy,' and ruffle his hair, heavy-handedly, 'it must be the champagne.'

Then his parents and their friends would let out the same fake laughter that they always did, and Tim would feel the same sinking in his chest that he always did, but he wouldn't let his smile falter because he was a good son.

'People like us do not have time for such weakness,' a voice that sounds awfully like his mother's would repeat in his head. So, he would bottle it all up, keep up that façade of perfection and happiness that his parents insisted on broadcasting to anyone and anything that would listen for long enough – nod and do all the things that sons were supposed to do and ignore the pricking of tears in his eyes.

Until he got home.

He'd hand his jacket to the butler ('do not thank him, Timothy, it is his job.') and go up to his room and change into the clothes that one of the maids placed out for him, all the while feeling desperately numb and hollow. His mother would come up to his room at 9PM sharp to tuck him in and Tim would ignore the smell of wine and cigarettes on her breath as she kissed him goodnight, and then she'd leave and Tim would lay in the darkness as the feeling slowly returned to his body, making him feel even emptier.

Sometimes, he'd just lie there and listen to his parents arguing, as they did, almost every night, in the living room – it always seemed to be about him. He'd wonder if his parents would be better off without him.

Sometimes, he couldn't hear them at all – their voices not quite carrying through the solid brick, or perhaps they were away, arguing in some hotel in Beijing or Belarus or wherever it was they'd left him for. Those were the worst nights.

He had nothing to distract him, to lull him off to sleep, and he'd spend the night repeating everything in his head, over and over and over, until one of the maids came in to wake him up, 7AM sharp. "Good morning, Master Drake," they'd say. If it was one of the younger ones, he might even be called Tim.

They'd place his clothes on his bedside table and their eyes would dart up to his, bloodshot and teary, but they would never remain there for long. Maybe, they would ask if he was okay, knowing full well that he would – could – only ever say 'yes' but it would soothe their conscience.

Breakfast would be quiet, as always. The only noises the gentle scraping of silver cutlery on fine china and the occasional flicking of the pages of his father's newspaper. Neither of them would acknowledge his presence as he came in through the door and at most, maybe his mother's eyes would flicker up at him if he sat down too heavily. His father would finish his coffee shortly after and he would get up to leave, Tim and his mother following dutifully after.

At the door, the butler would hand his father his coat and he would kiss Tim's mother on the cheek, and maybe Tim would get a pat on the shoulder if his father had his coffee Irish that morning.

Breakfast would resume, then Tim would spend the next couple of hours in his room, and his mother would come up at ten to tell him that his tutor was here and how he 'spends too much time glued to that screen' (to which he'd always think that, maybe, if his mother allowed him to have friends his own age, he wouldn't). His lessons would drag by, his focus being drawn by anything and everything else, only to be snapped back by his tutor slamming his hand down on the desk.

The butler would bring him lunch at noon and he'd eat as slowly as he possibly could, finishing around one, and then it was back to the tortures of trigonometry, or Shakespeare, or the Egyptians, or whatever else his tutor wanted to drone at him about. He didn't care anyway; the man clearly had no idea what he was doing and it gave Tim some background noise until six.

Dinner would be served in the same terse silence, and then Tim would return to the sanctuary of his room. A pretty boring day, right?

Six days a week, every day since Tim was old enough to talk. It was murder.

The galas and charity balls were actually the highlights of Tim's week because at least, he had the chance to interact with children his own age. Well...

The children of his parents' friends. Some of them were okay – not completely insufferable.

His parents also tried their damnedest to cosy up to Bruce Wayne (because, of course they would; Bruce Wayne was the richest man in Gotham – they'd be stupid not to), who was actually a genuinely nice person and wouldn't speak to Tim like he was a toddler.

In Tim's younger years, he spent a fair amount of time at galas with both Bruce and Dick Grayson (despite the Dick's more than humble beginnings, Tim's parents insisted that Tim spend as much time as possible getting into Dick's good books). Dick was as nice to Tim as a fourteen-year-old boy could be to a six-year-old. It was awkward but not unpleasant – at least Dick knew Tim's name.

Tim finally had something close to a friend, sure Dick couldn't be at every gala Tim was at, but Tim appreciated the company – someone to steal entrees with.

Then, that Robin had flown the nest and Tim was alone again. He sulked very dramatically in his room when Dick told him that he wouldn't be at any more galas and that he was moving to Bludhaven.

Although, this was short-lived when he found out why, Bruce adopted another kid – another Robin – and this one was closer to Tim's age!

Jason Peter Todd.

Tim may or may not have spent a great deal of time 'researching' (stalking) Jason and he was really excited , if somewhat nervous, to meet him. Jason was a Crime Alley kid, born and raised, and had already gained a reputation after snapping at a reporter.

He was hoping that Jason would tell him about what it was like on the east side of Gotham, since Tim had never actually been there before and since Tim seemed more than happy to tell Tim a million and one things about growing up in the circus.

But Tim never got to meet Jason. His parents strictly forbade that Tim be 'exposed' to such riffraff. Even at the cost of not being able to suck up to the illustrious Bruce Wayne.

Jason seemed like exactly the sort of kid that Tim could have been friends with. Though, admittedly, Jason was a little intimidating at first – scowling at anyone and anything that got too close. Tim couldn't really blame Jason for being hostile – the galas, at best, unbelievably overwhelming and exhausting, and, at worst, really, really insulting. Especially considering where Jason came from.

Jason, from the age of seven (if Tim recalled correctly), had literally lived on the streets and from the look of him, never had a decent meal in his entire life. Despite being two years older than Tim, Jason was tiny (four feet tall and like maybe forty pounds kind of tiny). It was impressive how such a small child could look so threatening.

He'd fought for things that Tim, and everyone else in that damned room, could never even imagine living without. Jason saw things that no child should ever have to see – people starving, struggling, suffering.

Whilst Jason's friends and family were on the brink of starvation, these people were here, holding lavish parties in ballrooms with crystal chandeliers in mansions that were far bigger than anyone could possibly ever justify, with more food than any of them could ever possibly eat.

The thought of that must have been infuriating to Jason.

None of them cared, or at least none of them cared enough to really do something. Maybe it was ignorance, they didn't really know what it was like, but – and this was more likely the case – they just didn't really want to know. Why worry about someone else's miserable existence when you can afford a yacht, right?

No wonder Jason looked angry all the time. They were lucky that he hadn't done anything more than glare at them and mutter under his breath. Tim was sure that, if he were in Jason's position, he wouldn't have been able to maintain the level of self-control needed to only bruise egos for the amount of time that Jason had.

Maybe it was because Jason was Robin, but Tim admired Jason immensely.

From what he'd overheard from the kids that went to Gotham Academy, Jason was smart – like crazy smart. He held the top grades in every class, despite being a minimum of two years behind everyone else.

Jason just also seemed like a genuinely nice person to be around. There were several occasions, too many to count, where Tim would look across the ballroom to see Bruce doubled over with shoulder shaking laughter, with a hand clasping Jason's shoulder as he grinned. It never failed to make Tim smile, but it also left this empty feeling in his chest.

It was around this time that Tim started sneaking out to photograph Batman and Robin.

Tim learned a lot about Jason through how he acted as Robin. The second Robin was, much liker Jason, rough around the edges – more aggressive than Dick had been. He was more like Bruce in that way.

The puns and one-liners morphed into sharp and snarky comments, still light-hearted, but different. Even their fighting styles were different. Dick was, at heart, still an acrobat; Jason was a brawler.

The people of Gotham adored this Robin as much as they had the first. There was a compassion, a goodness, to him that they'd fallen head over heels for. Jason sat with the victims whilst Bruce stalked the crime scene – he was good with them, patient, kind, understanding.

And, maybe it was because Jason did understand them. He knew what it was like – all too well.

When he died, Gotham mourned. More people than Tim had ever seen turned up to his memorial and the entire city stood still, felt the loss of a son.

None more so than Bruce.

There was a change in Batman, the night that his son's broken body came back to Gotham in a box. Criminals would be taken away in the back of ambulances instead of in police cars. No one mentioned it, not Gordon or Barbara or even, Dick.

Maybe, it was because they agreed with him.

After all, these were the people who stole and killed and raped, who could torment a good man, who could gun down a hero in her own apartment, who could kidnap and torture and murder a thirteen-year-old. And maybe, they deserved it.

But Bruce got worse – he was more impulsive and more violent than he'd ever been and it was all because Robin had been taken away from him, because Jason had been taken from him.

Tim wanted to help; he wanted to give Batman his Robin back. At first, he tried to convince Dick to take the mantle again, but he refused.

So, Tim did something stupid. He did something that was so illogical and dumb... and it actually worked.

He gave Batman his Robin. Sure, he wasn't Jason, and god how he wished he could be, but it worked. And if Bruce still stared at Jason's costume in the batcave, then so be it. At least he was Batman again.

But Tim would be lying if he didn't feel like he had enormously large shoes to fill, but he done his best and that was good enough (it was more than enough, but Tim would never let himself believe that).

He heard Bruce and Barbara and Alfred and everyone else (even Dick) sing Jason's praises and Tim just couldn't help but feel like Jason was just made to be Robin and that maybe he wasn't. Those were the days where he wondered how Dick and Jason had managed it and where he prayed for Jason to come back so that he didn't have to do this anymore.

Then he had.

By some miracle, Jason stumbled through those manor doors, alive.

Tim and Jason would have been great friends and maybe they still can be.

Chapter Text

Jason is not having a good morning (night? It's three in the morning and he doesn't really care anymore). All he wants is some time alone. He deserves that much, right?

It's only been a few days since he arrived in the manor and he's already done. He's started smoking again for god's sake.

Bruce attacked him several times. He was mauled by a werewolf. Dick kept trying to corner him and Jason was sure that he was going to try to force out some kind of explanation. He'd gone through the torture of having to explain the supernatural twice.

Charlie, Kevin and Cas are here, and, as much as he loved them, it just adds to the ever-growing list of things that he has to explain. He longs for the bunker – Gotham is cold and dark and miserable and just makes him even more homesick.

He's stressed and hungover and tired. He wants some peace and a pack of cigarettes. That's it.

But, apparently, he hasn't suffered enough for Fate's liking. Cas left to speak to Talia an hour or so after Charlie and Kevin arrived and the two of them went to sleep hours ago, but clearly, no one else has. Since Jason hasn't been able to find an empty room.

Charlie insisted on staying in Jason's room, which he doesn't mind, but it means that he has to go somewhere else to give himself lung cancer.

Bruce is in the library, and Jason would rather die (again) than go in there – he also refused to let Jason into the batcave and Jason doesn't particularly want to be beaten up again.

Dick is in the kitchen, doing god knows what to Alf's poor waffle maker, and Jason is already trying to avoid Dick, so he can't go in there.

Barbara is in the living room, going through cases. He actually goes in there and sits with her for a while. She doesn't say anything when he comes in, but she does start reading the case files aloud when he sits next to her. He leaves after an hour or so – to leave her to work in peace.

After doing a little more wandering, he finds Damian in the middle of the ballroom, playing the violin. He's actually really good.

He looks up when Jason walks in, scowling slightly, but never says anything or stops playing. Jason sits by the door and listens. Damian only occasionally glances up at Jason, who flashes a smile at him. Jason leaves after he feels that he's overstaying his welcome and he wanders through the corridors, lit cigarette in mouth. Until Alfred tells him not to smoke in the manor.

He's on the roof now.

It's wet and cold, but he can see the stars and god he can't remember the last time that he really looked at them.

He came up here all the time when he was Robin – after patrols, when he was too pumped up on his own adrenaline to sleep. He's almost certain that both Bruce and Alfred knew when he was up there, but neither ever mentioned it.

Wayne Manor is six stories tall, plus the attic (and the cave) and, from up here, he can just about see the tops of the skyscrapers in the centre of Gotham. It's peaceful and it gives him somewhere to go and contemplate whatever it was that twelve-year-old Jason Todd thought about. Shakespeare, probably.

Sometimes, he stayed up there long enough to see the sunrise over the skyline, bathing all of Gotham in golden light. And, for once, the city looked beautiful, pure even.

Maybe he'll be able to see it this time.

He shifts, tensing as he feels the tiles move slightly beneath him It's raining, lighter than it had been before – not enough to put out his cigarette – but heavily enough for him to be covered in a fine mist. He also wishes that he's had enough sense to bring his jacket up with him, but, alas, he was too stubborn to bring it then and he's too stubborn to do so now.

-

"Hey, Tim," Dick says, stepping out of the elevator.

"What's up?" he replies, not looking back.

"You wouldn't be able to check the security feeds, would you?" he asks. "Jason's kinda gone missing."

Tim pulls up the feeds on a monitor. "Maybe he's avoiding you," Tim mutters, smiling when Dick – ever the drama queen – gasps daintily.

"What? Why would he be avoiding me?" Dick says, only half-joking.

"You've pretty much been following him around like a lost puppy since he got here."

"Yeah, 'cause Bruce told me to keep an eye on him."

"I think Bruce meant discretely. You've practically been stalking him," Tim says, flicking through each camera. "Got him on the garden cams – on the roof."

Jason is sat by the chimney with what looks to be a cigarette in his hand. Dick goes to leave, but Tim stops him. "Maybe I should go instead?"

"Yeah, that's... that's probably a good idea," Dick says with a smile that falters slightly and then he sighs. "I just want to be a good brother, Tim. I messed up with him last time. I pushed him away because I was angry with Bruce."

Dick starts pacing and Tim sits back down.

"I didn't think of him as my brother – I barely even tried to get to know him. Then he died, and everyone started talking about how sweet he was. Jason... Jason was a great kid and I took my frustration with Bruce out on him. I said things to him, about him, that he didn't deserve." Dick lets out a shaky breath. "I mean, sure, he said and did plenty of things back, but he was a kid and he'd been through things that no kid should ever have to go through. He was homeless, Tim. He was homeless for two years."

Tim nods sympathetically.

"I know that... I watched my parents die, Tim, but I knew that they loved me and I never went without a roof over my head and food on the table, even after they... I've seen Gotham, Tim, and I can't even imagine what it would be like, having to live on the street. But Jason- Jason doesn't have to imagine." Dick throws his hands up into the air. "He was afraid of Bruce when he first came here. Bruce said that Jason kept a packed bag under his bed for months – he thought Bruce was going to hurt him." He buries his head in his hands. "I should've been there for him, Tim. He should have been able to talk to me. Who else was going to emotionally support him? Bruce? I left him. I left him to deal with all of this by himself. Sometimes I think that if I had been there for him, he might have told me about Sheila and I could have..."

Dick goes silent and his hands are shaking.

"I..." There's a flicker of clarity in his eyes. "I don't think that I've ever regretted anything more. I just want to make it up to him."

"And you will. In time." Tim rests his hands on Dick's shoulder. "You're a great brother, Dick. But you can come on a little... strong sometimes and Jason just isn't used to seeing that side of you yet. Give him time."

"But what if he doesn't-"

"He does want you around," Tim says. Dick looks up at him. "He hasn't told you to go screw yourself yet, and Jason clearly isn't afraid to say what he thinks."

"Yeah, Jason's always had a way with words." Dick laugh weakly. "Thanks, Tim."

-

Jason stubs out his cigarette on one of the roof tiles. He hears the windows creak open behind him but he ignores it. He sticks another one in his mouth and lights it bitterly. Goddammit. Dick's found him.

"Those'll kill you, y'know." That... isn't Dick. That's Tim. Jason isn't quite sure if he's happy about that. Relieved? Sure. Happy? Okay, maybe.

From what Jason can pluck from his drunken memory of the one night that he actually talked to Tim, he was alright – insightful, if a little quiet maybe, but that's honestly what Jason needs right now. He's also debating whether he should make a joke about his death and he's leaning towards 'yes' but subtly. Tastefully.

"Been there. Done that." Jason Subtle Peter Todd.

Luckily, Tim laughs quietly, unoffended, and clambers up the rooftop. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

Jason thinks and, for a moment, Tim thinks that he's going to say no and he's honestly more relieved than he likes to admit when Jason just shrugs. "Sure, why not? Brooding was always Bruce's schtick anyhow."

Tim slowly (and very gracefully, thank you very much) sits down and he definitely does not squeak and grab Jason's shoulder when he slips on a wet tile. Jason holds Tim's arm and helps him, grinning and laughing as he does.

"Smooth. Very smooth," he says once Tim finally sits down.

"Yeah, well, it's wet and cold," Tim mutters, staring at Jason in his rain-soaked shirt and jeans with his hair slicked back with water. "How are you not freezing? I've been up here for less than a minute and I feel like I'm about to develop hypothermia."

"It's not that bad," Jason mumbles, knowing full well that this is one of the biggest lies that he's ever told. He's freezing and his fingers and toes went numb an hour ago.

Tim also doesn't seem convinced of this, reaching over to press the back of his hand to Jason's cheek. He almost immediately recoils in disgust. "You're so cold – how are you not actually dead?"

Jason sways away Tim's hand. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Tim says. "You're like dead body cold. It's not normal."

"That's not an entirely inaccurate statement."

Tim's face goes blank for a moment. 'Tim, you IDIOT,' he thinks. 'Jason was DEAD. He probably doesn't want you reminding him.'

His mind continues to collapse into the downward spiral of the fact that Jason probably hates him and how he's essentially destroyed any chance of friendship. "Oh my god," he blurts out, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-"

Jason holds his hands up and Tim stops, biting his lip and waiting for Jason to tell him to get lost. "It's okay." Tim's expression is very similar to a fish on land. "It's not a sensitive topic." Jason takes a deep breath. "Well, the fact that I was dead isn't, anyway. Death's not that bad, really." Tim stares at him. "Don't get me wrong, dying sucks ass, but being dead isn't all that bad. It's kinda nice, actually. Isn't that depressing?"

"Do you..." Tim begins, his hands shaking slightly. Is this too intrusive? "Do you miss it? Being dead?"

Jason's smile fades and Tim's heart sinks. For a moment, Jason sits there, wringing his hands together, his expression pensive. "I did," he says quietly. "But I don't anymore."

There's a certainty in Jason's voice that Tim's sure isn't for him.

Chapter Text

[LEAGUE OF ASSASSINS’ HQ: Six years ago]

“Be careful, Castiel. If the boy does fall into the wrong hands, I will not hesitate to do what must be done,” Ra’s says, locking eyes with Castiel. “And, angel or not, I will have your head.”

“Understood.”

“Then,” he announces, making a sweeping turn, “I will grant you access to my Lazarus Pit.”

“Thank you.” Castiel disappears with an echoing flutter of wings.

“I have done as you’ve asked,” Ra’s calls out. “Are you satisfied?”

“You were a little harsh,” the man replies, leaning casually against a pillar, “weren’t you? And you didn’t have to be so difficult – you were going to let him no matter what.”

Ra’s huffs. “The day I give in so easily is the day that I drop dead,” he says dryly.

The man chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, thank you, anyway.”

“I must ask, though,” Ra’s says, coming closer. “Why him? You could have chosen anyone – why chose a boy? And a dead one at that.”

The man shrugs. “He wasn’t going to stay dead for very long, even without my interference, and this is the best way it could play out for him from here. And, call me sentimental, but,” the man sighs, “he reminds me of someone. I couldn’t sit back and let him end up like they did.”

Ra’s nods thoughtfully. “And you’re certain that he’ll be able to do it?”

“I think so.” The man glances at his watch and straightens up. “I’ve already interfered in this far more than I’m allowed. I need to go.” He looks between Talia and Ra’s. “Thank you, both of you. You’ve been more helpful than you could ever know.”

Chapter Text

A cold breeze slips in through the open window. TC rolls over in his sleep, stretching and kicking out with his paws. Somewhere downstairs, there’s the sound of footsteps and the light clanging of kitchenware and the smell of bacon drifts in the air. He gets up, yawning.

He pads over to Jason’s bed and he can smell Jason’s deodorant on the covers, but Jason isn’t there. Charlie and Kevin are fast asleep on the floor beside the bed, laying on the mattress that Jason and that nice older man (Alfie? Wasn’t that what Jason called him?) brought up.

Jason took him, Charlie and Kevin around the manor and it’s the biggest place that he’s ever been outside of the bunker. There are all these rooms and little nooks and crannies, and it’s honestly a mystery how Jason and Alfie knew where to go. They went left and right and up and down for hours and then Jason had led them to his room.

It’s like Jason’s room at the bunker, although much bigger – books crammed into shelves and completely spotless, except for the desk. Jason never could manage to keep his desk as tidy as the rest of his room; there’d always be something on it. Books and pens and pages torn out of notebooks for some project that he was working on.

It was honestly very confusing. One day, Jason would have his camera and hundreds of little photographs, and the next, he’d have books filled with post-it notes and little inky scribbles and TC would have to sit through Jason’s presentation on some woman called ‘Austen’ and all of her books. But it made Jason happy and that was all that mattered.

Jason single-handedly lugged the two mattresses up to the top-floor – on his own insistence, too. Alfie, Kevin and Charlie all offered to help, but Jason delegated them to carrying up blankets and pillows instead. He then helped Alfie make the beds and Alfie even folded up a duvet for TC to sleep on; he can see why Jason likes him so much.

They all went to sleep but Jason left to go on a walk, saying something about wanting some time to think, and just never came back.

TC isn’t too worried, though; Jason’s a tough kid and can take care of himself – as he has been doing since he left. Still, being concerned isn’t such a terrible thing.

And there’s also the matter of the bacon that’s being cooked downstairs.

He trots over to the door and, with some effort, manages to grab the door handle, pulling it open. There are huge two double doors opposite him, which he’s sure leads to the library, and a long corridor either side of him. The glorious smell of bacon has gotten even stronger now and he’s almost certain that he can now smell sausages.

He has no idea where he’s actually going, he’s just following his nose, and eventually, he manages to find his way downstairs and into the kitchen.

Alfie is in there and so is the woman in the wheelchair who looks a little like Charlie (her name is Babs. right?). Babs has a stack of plates on her lap and is taking cutlery out of a drawer, and Alfie is busy at the stove.

TC pads in through the door and both look over to him with kind expressions. He goes over to Babs first, resting his head on her knee.

“Good morning to you, too,” she says, smiling and petting him. “Where’s Jason then?”

He cocks his head to the side and for a moment, she swears that he shrugs at her. Her guess is just as good as anyone’s, then.

He wanders over to Alfie next, who’s plating all of the food on the counter, and stares up at him expectantly. Babs lets out a laugh.

“I think he wants something, Alfred,” she says.

Alfie glances down and him and drops down a slice of bacon, which TC wolfs down before looking back up at him hopefully. The man sighs, dropping down another piece and returning to his work. “Just like Master Jason,” he mutters.

Seemingly content, TC wanders around the kitchen for a while. Jason took them through here on the way to the ballroom and TC hasn’t gotten the chance to explore. He also wants to take a little look around the rest of the manor, but he wants to see Jason first.

If he waits long enough in the kitchen, Jason is bound to show up eventually – Jason would never skip a meal.

The kitchen is much larger than the one in the bunker, but it’s still ridiculously clean – that must be a habit that Jason picked up from Alfie – and the floors smell faintly like citrus and bleach.

By the door, there are two empty food bowls that haven’t escaped TC’s notice, as well as a large water bowl. There’s a cat, named Alfred, and a dog, named Titus – from the size of Titus’s bowl, he’s TC’s size or larger.

After a few minutes of idle wandering, TC trots back to Alfie, in an attempt to secure more of that bacon. He’s successful. Very successful.

Alfie and Babs begin to take the plates into another room, significantly smaller with a large wooden table that smells like polish. He happily follows after them, curious to explore this new room. Jason didn’t take them in here, though he did point it out when they came into the kitchen.

Alfie rushes in and out of the kitchen with armfuls of food whilst Barbara sets down cutlery and napkins – TC trails behind her complacently.

“Well, then, Alfred,” she says, smoothing out the table cover, “I suppose we should get everyone else down here.”

“Indeed, Miss Barbara,” Alfred replies. TC watches the exchange carefully – judging their body language, they’re comfortable with each other, but the stiffness in the way that Alfie addresses her seems to suggest otherwise. Maybe it’s just habit; Alfred always refers to Jason as ‘Master Jason.’ Barbara gives the same little smile that Jason does at the formality.

“Dick, Damian, and Bruce are still in the cave, but they should be coming up by themselves,” Barbara says, half to herself, as she moves towards the door. “I think Jason and Tim are still on the roof, so you’ll have to grab them. I can get Jason’s guests, though.”

TC’s head perks up at the mention of Jason’s name and Alfred gives a small tut at the fact that they’ve been on the roof all night.

-

The manor is a lot larger than TC remembers. It must be, because he definitely doesn’t remember this hallway, or the elevator that he goes in with Alfie and Babs. Still, he recognises this floor – Jason’s room is on this floor. Maybe he’s back by now.

From around the corner, voices can be heard – boisterous, carefree, happy. TC recognises one of them immediately and sprints towards it.

At the end of the hallway, climbing in through a large, open window, are Jason and another boy – Tim? They’re laughing as they drop down. Jason lands heavily, stumbling slightly as he steadies himself. The other boy cackles at him. “Smooth,” he says. “Very smooth.”

“Shut up, Timothy,” Jason replies, grinning. TC barks and runs to him, jumping up. Jason smells like cigarettes and rain, and his clothes and hair are wet. “Hey, TC.”

Behind Jason, Tim shifts, obviously uncomfortable. Jason looks at him, genuinely concerned. “What’s up? Are you afraid of dogs?”

“No,” Tim says, apparently a little too defensively for even his own liking, because he immediately straightens up and corrects himself. “I’m just… not fond of big dogs.”

That’s obviously not entirely true, but Jason nods as though it is. “Well, you haven’t gotta worry about TC. He’s harmless.” TC barks indignantly and Jason looks at him sternly. “You really gonna argue otherwise? You’ve growled at your own shadow.”

A momentary stand-off ensues and Tim laughs. “Dude, you’re arguing with your dog. He can’t understand you.”

“I beg to differ, Timbo,” Jason says, crouching down to pet TC. “Smart little bastard, aren’t you? Lull me into a false sense of security and then rob me blind, why don’t you?” TC looks at him innocently and then licks a huge stripe down the side of his face. Jason wrinkles his nose and nods slowly. “Didn’t think so. Watch your shoes, Tim. Don’t let them out of your sight.”

Tim scoffs, shaking his head.

“Master Jason, Master Tim,” comes a very stern voice from down the hall. Alfred is walking towards them, eyeing their wet clothes disdainfully. “Breakfast is being served. Perhaps the both of you would care to join us?”

Just before he can answer, Tim’s stomach growls loudly and Jason breaks into roaring laughter, doubling over on the carpet. Tim looks at Jason with a pursed smile. “Breakfast sounds great, Alfred.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, still slightly breathless, finally managing to calm down and hauling himself to his feet. “Breakfast is good, Alf. Good.”

Alfred nods curtly, glancing amusedly between the two of them before turning sharply on his heel and making down the hallway. Tim and Jason follow after him, with TC plodding along between them.