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Jason flashed his eyes as he heard his cell door open. He felt like Jacob Marley from “A Christmas Carol” with the way he had to moan and groan and rattle his chains. He knew what they expected of him. He knew the term they threw out. Pit Rage. And sure, he was mad. But his head was remarkably clear. Clear enough to know that Talia was feeding him a bunch of bullshit and trying to manipulate him.
He growled as he felt a presence draw near but then stilled once he got a good look at the figure. That…that was a child. OH. OH SHIT. THAT WAS A CHILD! What the fuck, Talia. What in the ever loving FUCK was a child doing down here, in the deepest depths of the dungeons? Jason thought that the woman had finally lost her mind. (Not that he ever thought she was sane to begin with. After all, her dad was a hundreds-years-old quasi immortal who regularly dunked himself in the forbidden mountain dew and DID have all of the associated rage issues that went with that.)
Jason closed the book he’d been allowed (he’d overheard his trainers chafe at the fact that reading calmed him when it shouldn’t have) and studied the child. The boy was draped in dark green robes with matching trousers. Jason waited patiently for the kid to approach since he wasn’t in the business to scare children.
“Mother tells me that you know my Father,” the kid said in such a proper voice with such proper diction for such a tiny body.
“And who is your father?” Jason asked softly.
“I don’t know,” the boy responded. “But I am called Ibn al Xu’ffasch,” he continued with a proud sniff.
Jason took a moment to process the foreign words. Ibn al Xu’ffasch “Son of the Bat,” he said out loud. The boy nodded. Jason then looked at the boy, really looked at him. He could see traces of Talia: the almond-shaped green eyes, the shape of his nose, the way his jaw and fists clenched. But Jason also saw something else. The shape of the boy’s cheekbones and jaw. And although the boy was small now, Jason could tell that he would grow into his size, even larger than Talia, possibly as big as Jason had grown post-Lazarus Pit dip.
“Batman’s son,” Jason nearly growled but stopped himself just in time.
“Mother calls him ‘Detective’ and ‘The Bat’,” the boy said with another sniff.
“Do you have a name? Beyond Ibn al Xu’ffasch.”
“Mother says you may call me Damian, as long as we are within the confines of your room.” Yet another gods-be-damned sniff. Jason was going to throw something just to prove those watching him right about the Pit Rage.
Jason trained hard over the course of the next few weeks, and Damian would come to visit him at the oddest hours. When Jason had finally “calmed” down from his supposed Pit Rage, his watchers allowed him to be moved from a cell into a room, although Jason was VERY surprised that he was moved into a room close to the Family Quarters. He didn’t think that Ra’s would have allowed him so close, but then again, Talia probably pulled some strings.
Once his watchers deemed Jason “safe”, Damian no longer had to sneak to visit him. Jason began teaching Damian things about life outside of the League. Jason taught him about the stars, about nursery rhymes (even if the kid pretended to scoff at them), about Shakespeare, and about some of the great literary classics. And then Damian made the mistake of sneaking Jason a book. Not just any book. A well-worn copy of “The Secret Garden”.
Jason and Damian cuddled up against wall under the window (it was a full moon) while Jason read out loud. Damian was squished against Jason’s side as the older boy’s rough voice softly filled the room. Damian could see the garden hidden behind the wall. And he felt how lonely Mary must have been when she arrived at Misselthwaite Manor (after all, it wasn’t that much different from his life).
“Two worst things as can happen to a child is never to have his own way - or always to have it.”
The quote jolted Damian out of the sleepy haze that Jason’s voice had induced in him. The small boy frowned as something resonated within him quite deeply with that quote. He clenched his fists in his lap and burrowed into Jason’s warm side. Jason put the book down and carded his rough and blistered hands through the child’s hair.
“What are you thinking, gremlin?” Jason asked in thick silence.
“That boy, Colin, and that girl, Mary, they…are much like me, aren’t they?” Damian hadn’t realized just how much that quote affected him until he spoke and heard how small his voice had gone.
Jason stilled and looked, really looked, at the much smaller and younger boy. He’d grown up with almost nothing until he’d met…him…Willis had been an alcoholic abusive bastard, and Catherine had tried when she’d been able to stay clean. But she’d never been able to stay clean for long, and in the end, she’d succumbed to her addiction. And Willis had been killed by one of Two-Face’s goons.
He had been good, in his own way, and he’d tried. When he wasn’t yelling at...Big Wing. Jason couldn’t even think the older man’s name; the one who might have been his brother before he…Before.
But Damian was still looking up at him with those green, doe eyes expecting an answer. “Yes, they are, in their own ways. Mary, because she thought she was better than everyone else but also left to her own devices. Colin, because he was sequestered away from everyone and given everything he could ever ask for without knowing that sometimes he didn’t even want those things. But, Xiao Bat, the thing to remember is that both Mary and Colin learned to change. Mary learned to let people in and to trust others, and Colin learned that sometimes being told no was ok.”
Damian listened to Jason before responding. The thought that Mary and Colin could change was surprising. The fact that they did even more so. Damian listened intently as Jason droned on about the Spring coming to the Misselthwaite Moore and the Secret Garden. By the time Jason had reached the end where Colin had walked into the arms of his Father, Master Craven, Damian had grown even more silent and pensive.
The next few days continued in this manner. Damian would watch Jason as he trained in various subjects; they would have their midday and evening meals together; and at the end of the night, Damian would sit next to Jason as the older boy read to him. The book after Secret Garden was a “A Little Princess” by the same author. As much as Damian felt like he connected with Mary and Colin, there was something about Sara that resonated with the younger boy.
Damian knew he wasn’t an orphan. He had Mother, but she was away more than she was here, and Father was like the Indian Gentleman, ephemeral and untouchable. It was…it was nice. As the days passed, Damian came to look at Jason as something more. Something like how Sara looked at Lottie, Ermengarde, and Becky. As his akhi, his brother.
And then Talia appeared.
Like a storm cloud appearing on the horizon during monsoon season, she appeared in the doorframe of Jason’s room, merely watching Jason reading to Damian. Damian stiffened in Jason’s arms as the older boy lazily closed the book he’d been reading.
“Damian, you are excused to your room,” Talia said calmly. The child immediately jumped up and practically flew out of the room, without even so much as a backward glance. Fear of his mother was greater than his concern for his akhi.
Talia looked, really looked, at Jason. He seemed to be flourishing. Reports from his trainers stated that he was exceeding in his courses, especially those in ballistics and explosives. He did have a propensity for hand-to-hand, although his trainers despaired his brawlers’ style of combat even if it worked well for his larger frame. Jason, for his part, didn’t seem too concerned with her appearance. He was more annoyed that she’d sent his little brother away.
“I have you a group of instructors that could help you with your Pit Rage,” Talia began without preamble.
Jason tensed. He didn’t want to be away from Damian, but at the same time, he also recognized that there was little else that the League instructors had to offer him in the way of instruction. He was…torn…That was the best way to describe the feeling he was experiencing. He wanted to stay and continue reading “A Little Princess” to Damian. But he wanted to leave and grow.
“Tell me, Jason, what are your plans for revenge? For Gotham, upon your return?” Talia asked, instead of pressing for him to continue the line of thought for him to accept her offer of advancing his training.
Jason had, indeed, thought long and hard of what to say when, not if, Talia had asked this particular question. Talia had been feeding him a bunch of hogwash and bullshit about being replaced. About Jason needing to take his revenge against his replacement. But Jason saw through it. Jason recognized the boy from the newspaper clippings and photographs she’d brought him. Timothy Drake, a mere slip of a boy. Talia had tried to frame it as though Bruce had replaced him before he’d even gone cold. But Jason knew better.
Jason had been able to get actual news reports and old Gotham Gazette clippings smuggled into him. He’d seen that Bruce, Batman, was becoming someone he didn’t recognize. He’d seen that not even Nightwing was making himself present in the gothic cityscape that he once called home. Batman was becoming, in short, a monster. He was close to crossing a line that once crossed could never be uncrossed. It would break the very foundation on which Batman stood. That was until a new Robin appeared. A new Robin in the form of one Timothy Drake.
But according to Jason’s intel, the boy didn’t stay at Wayne Manor, instead trudging back to Drake Manor at night, sometimes limping and beat to hell after a rough night. Jason wondered how Bruce let an injured Robin walk away, but then he would reread the clippings of how drunk Brucie acted, and knew that it wasn’t an act at all. Or how violent Batman got that night. It all made sense. Batman never noticed. Jason wasn’t replaced because Batman never noticed that the smart, sassy boy that was the Wayne’s next door neighbor wasn’t Jason Peter Todd.
But Talia was waiting for an answer. And Jason was nothing if not a theater kid at heart. “My plan is to become Red Hood, an old Joker moniker.” That much was true at least. “Then, when I get to Gotham, I’m going to take over the drug trade, and if I have to behead a few cartel lieutenants to get my point across, then so be it.” Jason wasn’t really sold on this point, YET. “Then, I’m going to chase and threaten Robin while simultaneously dropping hints to Batman about my identity.” Jason was going to do that part. “Batman will be so paranoid that he’ll ship Robin off to that fancy tower in San Francisco, Titan’s Tower. Once the Baby Bird is all alone in the Tower, I’ll play with him a bit. Break a few bones. Slit his throat. Write my name in his blood. Break him for good so that Batman knows he shoulda never put another kid in MY colors.” Jason nearly threw up at the thought of hurting a kid, even if that kid was Robin. For once, the Green seemed to be in agreement.
“Good. Once the Drake boy is out of the picture, Damian will be able to take his rightful place as the Son Of The Bat,” Talia purred. It took everything in Jason not to throat punch her.
But. There was a piece of Jason that had come to see Talia as something of a mother figure. She had provided him a second chance at life. She had been truthful (enough) about the details of his resurrection. That she had found him catatonic and wandering the streets of Gotham. That she had hired the best doctors and specialists to attempt at returning his mind before dunking him in the Lazarus Pit, and even then, the dunk in the Pit had been unsanctioned, and Talia had had to face the wrath of her Father. And even after facing down the Demon’s Head, she’d still provided the best trainers and tutors to a Pit Mad Jason.
“When do I leave?” Jason asked after a few moments of constipated silence.
“In the morning. I will give you a moment to say goodbye to Damian. I expect you train hard and not return till you have completed everything Ducra has set for you. I do not say this lightly, but I am proud of you, Habibi.” Then she was gone just as quickly as she appeared. Jason sat in stunned silence.
The dawn came bright and clear, as it usually did that high in the Himalayan mountains. He made his way to Damian’s room and tapped gently. The door opened without much fanfare. For as opulent as the Family Wing was, Damian’s room was as threadbare as Jason’s. There was a bed, a small table, a chest for his meager belongings, and wardrobe for his clothing. There was an attached ensuite that was definitely more prison bathroom than anything resembling wealth or money. Jason hated it.
“Xiao Bat, I have to leave for a bit. I should be back within a year. Will you wait for me?”
Jason noted how Damian’s lip wobbled ever so slightly before he shoved it down because “The Heir to the Demon’s Head and the Son of the Bat” doesn’t cry. It made Jason want to kill the fuckers who’d told Damian that. But he’d, fortunately, restrained himself. Jason, after all, had a plan. Granted that plan had been somewhat waylaid with him going off who knew where with this new batch of training. But it was still a somewhat viable plan. Jason WOULD get it back on track. It was just a small detour. Nothing more.
Damian nodded, and Jason’s ruffled his hair before given the child a small hug. Damian practically melted before remembering to restrain himself. Jason hated it. He hitched his duffle bag up on his shoulder and gave the boy one more hair ruffle before disappearing out Damian’s door.
------------
“Damian.” Came a rough voice. Damian groaned and attempted to brush the voice away. “Damian.” The voice came again, a little more urgently. Damian swatted the hand away that was shaking his shoulder. “Xiao Bat.” Damian’s eyes snapped open. There was only person who dared to call him that name, and even then, he had only dared to call him that when they were in either of their quarters and had ensured that there were no listeners nearby. He jolted upright, and his head collided with the older teenager’s nose.
“Shib, Dabiab,” Jason slurred around the blood dripping from between his fingers.
Jason had been quick enough to grab a tissue from his pocket to staunch the flow of blood the moment he’d felt Damian’s head connect with his nose as he suspected his nose was likely broken. Jason pinched his nose hard, which brought stars to his eyes from the pain and leaned forward to prevent the blood from running down his throat. It was uncomfortable as hell, but he bore with it for a few minutes while he waited for the feeling to stop.
After a few moments, Jason looked into worried green eyes and gave the smaller boy a smile. He gently prodded at his nose and realized that it wasn’t broken after all, just badly bruised. He reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair for good measure and old times’ sake. Damain batted his hand away.
There was a muffled noise that drew both of their attention, and Jason cursed again. “Right. Forgot about that. Time to go. Grab whatever you can carry and pack it into this bag,” Jason quietly explained as he held up a black duffle bag. Damian opened his mouth to question his akhi, but Jason stopped him. “No questions, Xiao Bat. Someone out there is causing a ruckus, and I want to go home. You’re coming with me. Now, pack.”
Damian didn’t need to be told twice. Jason, his akhi, was taking him to his Father and older brother. Maybe they could even convince Father to adopt the Drake boy since the Drakes were doing such a poor job of parenting him. Damian flitted about his room and grabbed several changes of clothes, his katana and matching wakizashi, and both books that Jason had read to him before leaving for his training.
Once Damian was done packing and his swords secured, one on his hip and one on his back, Jason cautiously opened the door and looked around. He made sure that the coast was clear before signaling to Damian to follow behind the older and much larger boy as silently as possible. Damian nodded, and a hand drifted to his sword in a tight grip. The two boys drifted through the halls like ghosts. Occasionally, Jason would signal for Damian to stop because he’d either heard or seen.
They nearly made it.
But Talia was waiting for them at the entrance to the compound. Her arms folded across her chest, and her green eyes narrowed warning. Jason stilled. Green-blue (or was it blue-green) eyes met emerald. Privately, Jason could see where Damian got his eyes from. Damian stood by his akhi’s side, torn between staying with his akhi and meeting his new family and going to his Mother.
Finally, the small boy called out. A single word. “Ummī?”
Talia jerked like she’d been shot and then knelt in front of her biological son. “Habibi. One day, you will grow into a fine young man. Though I wish I could see it, Jason will take care of you in my stead. Do you understand?” Damian nodded.
“Jason, you are also my Habibi. Please take care of him.”
Jason nodded. And then she was gone. Much like her disappearance when she’d given Jason his last training mission. Jason stood there in…awe…wonder…shock…he wasn’t quite sure. Eventually, he felt a small hand slip in his. Jason shook off his stupor and resumed making his way through the compound. At the front gates, he found a package from Talia. It contained several thousands of dollars in multiple different countries’ currencies, including about fifteen thousand dollars in USD, and several different passports for both him and Damian.
As they left the compound, several explosions rocked the mountain. Damian shuddered next to him. Jason wanted nothing more than to pick him up and run, but he knew two things. First, running would only draw unwanted and unnecessary attention to them. And second, carrying Damian would wound the smaller boy’s pride, and that was a battle Jason wasn’t going to win just then. That was something they could work on once they were safely back in Gotham. Jason also didn’t comment how Damian’s hand shook in his.
Their first stop was a small village at the base of the mountains. There, they changed out of their League clothing and into some non-descript clothes that Jason found in the market. The pants were large on Damian, and the shirt was a little small on Jason, but they would work. Damian’s face scrunched as they moved through the streets as though the clothes were uncomfortable. Jason thought that perhaps they were since they were an unfamiliar texture and as different from the League as possible.
After they changed their clothes, Jason secured them passage to the nearest port via a vehicle that called itself a bus. GOTHAM had better buses, and it was Gotham. The thing was rusted out and missing several window panes and had NO AC. Jason was sweating through his shirt by the time the ten-hour drive came to an end. He tipped the driver rather handsomely and then they made their way to the cargo ship that was waiting in the harbor.
Over the next few weeks, Jason and Damian went from cargo ships to trains. They played several different parts. On occasion, they were brothers as they actually were. Once, Jason was tutor taking his young charger to his family. Once, Jason was Damian’s uncle. And once, Jason was Damian’s father. That one had made both boys cringe. But finally, they were boarding a plane at Heathrow in London heading to JFK International in New York.
It was a little hard to smuggle both of Damian’s blades on board the plane, but they managed. They were seated in first class for their eight-hour flight. Damian was playing the part of Jason’s shy little brother. It was part that they’d practiced and had the most experience with. It almost meant that Damian didn’t have to do much speaking. The air hostess brought their food tray and drinks not long after the captain announced that the plane was at cruising altitude. Then, Jason pulled out “Little Women” and began reading it softly to Damian.
This book hit Damian differently than “Secret Garden” or “A Little Princess” had. The book described each of the sisters. Meg, the eldest, Jason had ascribed to Dick. Jo, the second eldest, was much like Jason. Beth, the third child (even if the Drake boy wasn’t or hadn’t officially been adopted yet, both Jason and Damian had resolved to fix that) was shy and resourceful. And the youngest, Beth, artistic and occasionally spoiled, was reminded of Damian. Not that Damian had a chance to get into the arts, but he wanted, and Jason had promised that when they reunited with Bruce, that he would indulge in Damian’s skills. After all, the man had built Dick an entire gym specifically for gymnastics and a library for Jason which was in addition to the main library.
“You are doing so good with him,” the air hostess cooed at Jason as Damian napped on his shoulder.
“Thanks,” Jason replied as he carded rough hands through the smaller boy’s hair.
Jason slipped into an uneasy, light sleep for the rest of the flight. As soon as the captain came over the speaker system announcing that they were approaching JFK Airport in New York City, Jason jerked awake. He gently shook his brother awake, and they were both fully alert by the time the plane touched down. They waited until everyone else offloaded before they got off.
Their bags were already waiting for them at baggage claim since they had taken so long to get off the plane. The next obstacle was how to get to Gotham. Jason didn’t have a driver’s license; Talia hadn’t provided one for him. So, his options were to either fly from JFK into Gotham International, take a taxi, or see if he could get a rideshare.
However, that was proving problematic. Ride shares weren’t willing to travel that far, and the few that were weren’t willing to travel to Gotham. He was running into the same problem with taxis. The problem with getting a flight wasn’t getting a flight. It was the security that they had to pass through. Security into Gotham was tighter than even Fort Knox. Jason wasn’t too surprised, considering the sheer number of rogues and villains that the city seemed to produce. The problem with that was that Damian wasn’t willing to part with his beloved swords.
Then, Jason had the brilliant epiphany. In the newspaper clippings he’d been gathering of the new Robin was also a new Super who went by the name of Superboy. There hadn’t been much about Superboy, but Jason was willing to bet that Superboy had many of the same powers as the Big Blue Boy Scout.
Jason led Damian to a secluded alley and then called for the Super. They only waited for a few minutes before there was a crack of wind signaling the arrival of a Super. Jason was even pleasantly surprised to see that he was NOT alone. On his back like a damn spider monkey was boy clad in traffic light colors.
Perfect.
Jason felt Damian stiffen next to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Xiao Bat. They’re friendly,” Jason said softly, even though he knew that the Kryptonian could hear him.
“Who are you? And why did you call?” The Super asked roughly as he crossed his arms over his chest. Jason thought he was trying to look bold and intimidating. Too bad for him, Jason had literally fought ninjas souped up on the forbidden mountain dew with rage issues for the first six months of the last year, and then, after that, he’d been trained by a woman who made Lucifer look like a gerbil hyped up on caffeine.
Before Jason could answer, the newest Robin answered for him. “Robin. Jason Peter Todd-Wayne. How are you even alive?”
Jason spluttered. How did this kid even know who he was?!?! Granted turn about was fair play since he knew who the new Robin was, but Jason had been dead. And when he revived and subsequently dunked in the Lazarus Pit, he knew some fundamental things about him had changed. Like the color of his eyes, the white stripe in his hair, and his height and weight. How the little menace recognized him was beyond him. But Jason had other things to worry about.
Then, something niggled in his brain. A long-forgotten memory of a tiny stalker kid with a camera hiding behind a camera with bright blue eyes. He’d once saved the kid from braining himself on the sidewalk when the fire escape he’d been perched on gave way and collapsed. The two of them had gotten ice cream afterwards.
“Wait a damn minute. You’re the little stalker kid. The one with the camera. I knew that the name sounded so fucking familiar!” Jason exclaimed. Damian and Superboy looked between the two like they were watching a tennis or ping /pong match.
“This is great! Once B realizes you’re back, I won’t have to be Robin anymore,” Robin said with a forced and fake kind of cheerfulness.
“Not so fast, Shrimpy!” Jason said, folding his own arms across his chest. Both Robin and Superboy recoiled. Apparently, Jason looked a teensy bit more intimidating than Superboy did. Dressed as an assassin would do that, even if they weren't wearing their League issued clothing any more.
“See, I’ve actually been keeping tabs on you. And I know for a fact that the Drakes are in Turkey right now, and they’re not expected to return stateside for another three months.” Robin was the first to look away. “That’s what I thought, shortstack. So, here’s what’s going to happen. Superboy, here, is going to take us all to the Manor. Once there, you kids are gonna go play somewhere, while me and the Old Man have some adult conversations. Once that’s all said and done, you, Robin, will be a new member of the family. Officially. While me and B are talking, you, Boy Scout, are gonna go fetch Dickwing. Robin can tell you where he lives, if he’s not already at the Manor. Do you have any questions?”
“I have one. Who’s the kid?” Robin asked, noticing Damian for the first time.
“This is a conversation better held in a place where privacy is a thing,” Jason deflected. Damian nodded. He wasn’t too keen to be introduced to his new brother in a dingy alley in New York.
It was awkward as hell to get the three of them situated in the Super’s arms, but they eventually figured it out. Jason rode on the boy’s back while he carried Robin and Damian in his arms. They weren’t flying far, and the Kryptonian wasn’t going to fly at superspeed so it would suffice. He would also be flying low, although Jason hoped it would be that liminal space that was high enough to NOT be noticed but low enough to avoid detection. He hoped that the ages old adage that people didn’t look up would continue to hold true, at least for however long it took them to get to Gotham.
Bruce must have installed some kind of Kryptonian sensors on the property because as soon as they were within what could reasonably be considered Wayne estate airspace, Superboy reported that both Bruce, now in the Batman suit and Alfred were waiting for them on the front lawn. Superboy also reported that Alfred was sporting a 12-gauge pump action shotgun.
Superboy landed and immediately all three of his passengers held up their hands in the universal “I surrender” motion. Batman signaled to Robin to step away from the intruders. Jason felt a wave of irritation, but he understood the caution. Robin stepped over to Batman, and Superboy went with him.
“WHO. ARE. YOU?!?!” Batman demanded.
“Geez, Old Man. Don’t even recognize you own son?” Jason sneered. Damian stood quietly next to the older boy as this was all part of Jason’s plan. They had discussed it before they had arrived in Gotham. Batman’s eyes narrowed; Jason could tell even with the cowl. But Jason was ready to be inside and wrapped around some of Alfred’s hot cocoa. “Jason Peter Todd-Wayne. Code R06241211211980.”
The code would let Batman know that it was indeed Jason. That he was not a time traveler. That he wasn’t there because he was being mind controlled or coerced. And most importantly that he wasn’t a clone. Jason watched as Bruce went through the five stages of grief in a flash before he rushed Jason and grabbed him in a bear hug. Jason grunted with the impact of the man who he considered a father since the man stood shoulder to shoulder with Jason.
The thing with the code, it had been drilled into all of the Robins’ head to hide the code in the deepest part of their mind so that it couldn’t be copied or found by mind readers. Bruce had even worked with J’onn to make sure their mental fortitude would hold up. So, the code that Jason just rattled proved beyond any doubt that Jason was who he said he was. It was why Bruce was now sobbing into Jason’s shoulder like Jason was something precious.
“Ahem. If the Masters will relocate inside the Manor, we can continue this discussion properly,” Alfred intoned dryly.
Bruce separated from Jason with suspiciously wet eyes. Jason nodded and nodded to Damian. Alfred gathered their meager belongings. Before they could get too far, there was another crack of wind indicating that Superboy had returned. Dick Grayson was not quite screaming profanities from the Kryptonian’s arms, but he was pale, shaking, and disheveled. He was wearing a pair of light gray sweatpants, and a Nightwing t-shirt, and he looked like he’d just woken up. So, it was a safe bet that having a Kryptonian essentially kidnap him had probably scared the almost literal shit out of him.
Dick took a few seconds to orient himself and look around. The moment he locked on Jason’s face he launched himself across the yard and tackled his little brother with a cry of “Little Wing!” with absolutely zero hesitation. Jason landed with an oomph, and Dick was wrapped around his bigger, little brother in one of his famous octopus hugs.
Before Dick could say anything else, Jason called out. “Timothy Jackson Drake, get back here. I already told you, you were staying here!”
The boy in the Robin costume froze as though he’d been caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. Four pairs of eyes turned to Robin to see what he was doing. Three sets were confused, as they had no idea what Jason was talking about; the other was politely interested as Damian had heard what Jason had said to the boy on the roof.
Alfred gave another cough and accompanied that with a raised eyebrow to indicate that everyone should move into the Manor post haste. Which, honestly, should have been five minutes ago, thank you very much.
Once everyone was ensconced within the family’s favorite living room, Alfred disappeared to make refreshments. It seemed that sandwiches and other finger foods, hot cocoa, hot tea (for Jason), and several smoothies for the Kryptonian boy. When Alfred reappeared in the living room, Jason and the smaller boy (who could pass as a miniature Bruce but with green eyes) were seated on a small love seat with the younger boy basically huddled into Jason’s side. Bruce was sitting in armchair, and Kon, Dick, and Tim had taken up residence in the sofa that was across from the love seat. Alfred placed his tray of drink on the table so that he could pass out each person’s favored beverage. He returned to his rolling cart and placed several plates of food on the coffee table so that they were within reach of each person, should they want. Then, he disappeared back into the shadows.
“Ok. Let’s start with introductions. I’ve already established who I am. The kid next to me is Damian al Ghul, son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne. Yes, Old Man, you can run your damned tests when we’re done.” Jason glared at Bruce as if daring the other to say something.
“Hn,” Bruce merely grunted.
“Glad we got that sorted out. Next thing. I really did die in Ethiopia. DO. NOT. ASK.” He said with a grimace and clenched fists. He made eye contact with everyone in the room and waited until they had all nodded before continuing. “I was dead for about six months when I woke up in my grave. I dug myself out and roamed the streets of Gotham practically catatonic. Talia found me roughly eighteen months ago. A year ago, when nothing she was did was working to restore my mind, she threw me in a Lazarus Pit.
I came out of the Pit and pretended to have Pit Rage. Talia then tried to manipulate me into turning against Bruce, and specifically against the new Robin. I think she thinks that I would eliminate him to make way for Damian. But I knew that she was full of shit.”
“Language, Master Jason.”
“Sorry, Alfie. Anyways, I fed her a bunch of lies of what I would do when I got back to Gotham. Six months ago, she sent me to train with the All Caste. That was…intense to put it lightly. Three weeks ago, I completed my training with the All Caste, and decided that I didn’t want to wait for Talia to bring Damian to you on her time. Someone just so happened to be revolting at the same time so I snuck him out and brought him here. Talia caught us close to the front gates but didn’t stop us.”
They sat in stunned silence for a few moments trying to digest Jason’s word vomit. Whatever Bruce had been expecting…it wasn’t THAT. Bruce didn’t even have the words to describe what he was feeling, other than pain as he could feel a migraine beginning to blossom on the right side of his head just behind his eye. He could even see the aura beginning to form. Bruce shook his head. That didn’t matter. What mattered was his two sons sitting in front of him.
“What’s this about Tim, Jaylad?” Bruce asked instead of the million other questions he had in his head.
“Oh right. Like I said. Talia wanted me to kill the little Robin to make room for Damian or some shit. What’s actually going on is that Tiny Tim’s parents leave him alone in fucking Gotham for months at a time.” Jason gave it a minute to let his words sink in. He watched as horror dawned on both Bruce and Dick’s faces. “OH, but it gets better. Dickwad, did you know that while you were happily oblivious in Blüdhaven, Timberlina over there has a tendency to walk home to an empty Manor. No, he doesn’t stay here. He walk to Drake Manor and…TENDS. TO. HIS. OWN. FUCKING. WOUNDS. Some of which were caused by Bruce during training. Superboy…”
“It’s Kon,” the Kryptonian interrupted.
Jason merely nodded at the correction. “If you don’t mind. Take the youngsters out and go find Alfred. Me, Dickwing and Bruce need to have some words.” Kon stood up and grabbed a deeply scowling Damian and a frowning Tim under each arm. “Kon, I know I can’t stop you from listening in, but whatever you hear, don’t repeat it just it.” Kon bobbed his head once as he walked out with two wriggling bundles under his arms.
Jason waited until he was absolutely certain that the Super was in the kitchen before he began his carefully planned tirade. “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING? HE IS A CHILD, BRUCE! HE SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN PLACED IN THE POSITION TO BE THE ADULT! I DON’T CARE HOW MUCH YOU WERE GRIEVING! YOU SHOULD HAVE PULLED YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR OWN DAMN ASS!!!”
“Little Wing…”
“DON’T YOU ‘LITTLE WING’ ME YOU FUCKER. YOU’RE JUST AS BAD. FROM WHAT MY SOURCES HAVE TOLD ME, YOU BARELY EVEN VISITED GOTHAM, AND WHEN YOU DID, YOU DIDN’T EVEN NOTICED WHAT BRUCE WAS DOING TO THE KID. YOU NEVER EVEN NOTICED WHEN BRUCE SENT THE KID TO BE TRAINED BY FUCKING A FUCKING NINJA ASSASSIN.”
“Ninja assassin??? What ninja assassin? He was supposed to be trained by monks in Tibet?” Bruce spluttered.
Jason stalled. “So, him getting trained by Lady Shiva wasn’t your idea?”
Bruce stared at Jason who stared at Dick who was staring at both his brother and father-figure in stunned silence. No one knew what to say. Jason felt like his carefully planned trouncing was being flushed down the toilet like that one scene from “Flushed Away” where the toads were trying to drown the rats in the sewers during the FIFA World Cup.
Jason recovered first, but he seemed to have lost his steam. “Anyway. I have a file so that you can take the Drakes to court and full custody of Timbo. If you don’t, I have about three contingencies to get custody of the little shit myself. Capisce?”
And that was how, a week later, Bruce Thomas Wayne announced that his family had grown by three. One son previously thought dead was mistakenly misidentified. He’d been in a coma, and the authorities had identified the wrong body. The Drakes had tried to fight the custody changeover, but Bruce had provided too much evidence. That, and for once, he wasn’t afraid to throw a little money at the problem, even if it meant bribing a few officials. And Damian’s bloodline had been announced as well.
The backstory for Damian was as close to the truth as possible. Bruce didn’t know he existed until his mother reached out to Bruce, saying that she thought Bruce would be better able to take care of the boy. Not quite the truth, but not quite a lie either.
In the picture and article that was published by Clark Kent, aka Superman, Dick, Jason and Tim had the brightest smiles. Damian had a small smirk that was mirrored by Bruce. It was a happy picture, especially with Tim sandwiched between Dick and Jason. Alfred immediately had it framed and placed several copies around the Manor and Batcave.