Chapter Text
There are only 2 reasons Jason Todd-Wayne will ever call his older brother for anything.
- Dick Grayson-Wayne is being a total ass and ignoring everyone else's phone calls, leaving Jason as the one with a brain cell to try and coerce the oldest into being a reasonable human being. This is a rare occurrence, and usually only happens when Dick and Bruce start an argument neither is willing to back down from [also a rare occurrence nowadays].
- Jason genuinely needs help and is desperate for the aid of his older brother. This doesn't happen often, once a year at most. He's only called Dick for this reason 6 times in the 4 years Jason's been alive [again].
Today, as Jason stares at the two infants fast asleep in a shared crib, within the spacious and suspiciously empty apartment of a woman whose name he's only just learned today, Jason really really needs Dick to answer the phone.
"Jaybird! What—"
"I need help," Jason blurts out.
Real cool, Jay. Totally doesn’t scream “Hi, I’m desperate!”
Fighting crime is easy. Interrogating scumbags is easy. Putting on a smile for galas that Bruce makes him go to now and then is annoying, but easier than when he was a kid.
Facing down two babies is terrifying, and he has a sinking feeling he knows why the encoded text message brought him to this penthouse apartment.
"What's wrong?" There's noise on Dick's end, he's clearly now rushing to start the drive to Gotham. "Jason, you gotta talk to me, I'm about to freak out a little from—"
"I'll explain when you get here," Jason assures, but his voice is tense and he can't help but tell Dick, "Just hurry up, please."
"Okay." His brother sounds frazzled, almost as much as Jason feels. Granted, how often does Jason Todd say please? "Where are we going?"
There's the sound of someone else talking, and Jason remembers that Tim was spending the weekend in Blüdhaven for a case. He'll be joining.
Whatever. That’s fine. Cool. Totally not going to stress about that too.
Jason prattles off the address, mentioning that they should remain in civvies.
When he hangs up, he lets himself fall onto the plain mattress, a forced and strained whine escaping his lungs as he thinks about this stupid situation.
I should– I should look for clues?
The idea is more of a question. His senses are on overdrive. After all, someone had managed to find his personal cellphone number. They sent him here using a code that was, frankly, very easy to break. They knew his full name.
And, instead of the ambush or secret intel he thought he would be rushing into, Jason instead found an empty apartment.
No food, no decor, and hardly any furniture.
Everything about this apartment is plain. Desolate. The only thing marking it as a place someone lives in is the cradle and collection of baby care things. The container of baby formula is half used, so clearly these children didn't just appear here and maintain themselves. The only living beings are the two infants that had startled him when one began to wake. He hadn't expected two babies in a crib, especially not in such a bare place, but there he had been: staring down at two babies with an envelope tucked between them, the words Jason looped in cursive.
The letter had, unfortunately, been the nail in Jason's second coffin.
Thought I would share a gift with you.
Yours to keep. Do whatever you want.
―Jane Doe
The sad thing is, Jason knows Jane Doe. It's the name a woman from this one bar in Metropolis used when Jason had drank a little too much on a night where he was a little too sad and with a little too much money in his wallet.
Even then, he had found it suspicious, the name, even through the fog of the seven Singapore Slings [He caught wind of the drink while reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and it has become a fast favorite of his — sue him]. Still, when Jane had laughed at his obvious recoil and suspicion, she had shrugged and waved it off:
"I don't like strange men having my real name. What if they try to find where I live?"
And, after another drink and some drunken thinking, Jason decided that he understood her reasoning well enough to let it slide. He decided it was a good excuse.
And now it has possibly come back to bite him in the ass.
One of the babies fusses again. Jason sits up, terrified that they might cry. He doesn’t know what to do if they do cry. He’s helped kids on the streets, but that’s when they can move, think, and talk. Babies are an entirely new species for him to deal with.
The one on the right is waking up. Their nose scrunches up and tiny hands clench as they're raised in an attempt to rub away sleep from their face. They make a small noise, tiny and whiny, but don't cry.
Small, tired eyes look around, blinking lazily as sleep tries to pull them in again. Dark red-brown ringlets of hair stick up in small wisps after however long they’ve been sleeping.
It's... adorable.
And, without fully knowing what he's doing, Jason stands up to peer down at them, hands holding onto the side of the crib.
The baby lazily looks back up at him, squinting through the fog of sleep. They don’t cry. He doesn’t know how he feels about the baby’s eyes being such a similar shade of blue as his.
A yawn breaks through the quiet, just as tiny and cute.
I shouldn't be here, is what he tells himself. This is something meant for someone softer than him. Someone who knows what they're doing. Someone who can smile softly and lower their voice to a careful whisper. It's meant for someone who isn't a vigilante or crime lord.
And yet, as the baby yawns again and falls back asleep, he sits back down and waits anxiously for his older brother to help him figure this mess out. He’s not going to leave. Not yet. He’ll wait and things will go back to normal soon.
Two diaper changes [after a panicked Google search] teaches Jason that the twins are girls. Another Google search helps him make two bottles of formula to stop the girls from wailing. And a third Google search helps him find something entertaining and safe for the girls to do while he waits.
Now quiet and satisfied, the girls are situated on the carpeted floor of the bedroom with a small collection of toys he had found in a diaper bag that had been stuffed under the bed. When he realizes the girls have terrible balance and cannot sit up on their own, he lays down on the floor with them, his arm shooting out pretty often to stop one from tipping over or landing face first into the carpet.
Baby A, the louder of the pair, is busying herself with soft, plastic letter blocks that she keeps shoving into her mouth, biting, and growling at. When she takes the block out, she sets it down with a giggle and moves on to the next. She'll glance over now and then, sputtering a babble of baby words he doesn't understand, and then returns to her blocks with vigor.
Baby B, the calmer of the two, finds no interest in any of the toys, and instead is spending her time enjoying the buttons and buckles on Jason's leather jacket. He has to stop her from nearly smacking herself with the metal buckles every now and then, and then has to stop her from shoving it into her mouth, but she doesn't complain when he interrupts her plans.
A peek at his phone offers some hope. Tim's messaged to say that he and Dick are twenty minutes out. The text arrived about fifteen minutes ago.
He messages back with one hand, sending over a reminder to not rush over and alert anyone around.
The anxiety returns. He was supposed to spend the hour and a half of pre-brother time to think about how to explain this mess, a mess he isn't sure is even his.
In a selfish way, he hopes Dick will look at the girls and laugh, telling Jason about what a dumb attempt someone made to try and baby-trap him. Can you be framed for something like this? Is he being framed?
In an even more selfish way, he wants Dick to look at Jason and say they'll figure it out. That it’ll be fine, there’s always a solution.
And in the most selfish way, Jason wants someone else to just solve this problem for him. Any one else would be better suited to do this, so why had it fallen onto him? Jason Todd was, by far, the least talked about of the Wayne sons. With his public history of having gone to military school after a run in with the mob [a wild story, courtesy of Bruce], no one in their right mind should want to be around him. After his public return to Gotham, he had been in the limelight for just a few short months. When people never got a single word out of him, they moved on.
He catches Baby A from slapping her sister with a block, sighing as he wonders what the hell brought him to this point. [Alcohol. He knows it’s alcohol. If this is all true, he’s going sober.]
Jason knows his brothers have arrived when he hears a loud SLAP! on the front door of the unit, followed by open handed knocks. Knowing his brothers pretty well, he assumes Dick didn't slow down enough to stop himself from speeding into the door.
The loud knocking persists while Jason stands up, picking the girls up with each hand using the back of their onesies. They both squeal and babble until they're deposited back into the crib. Before they can fully protest, he drops in his jacket after pocketing the clasps, and then drops in the blocks.
The girls are satisfied with this, and he rushes over to the front door.
He yanks the door open, fully catching Dick from falling in, and shakes his head.
"I said you should act normal," he snips.
Dick, the dramatic man that he is and always has been, grabs Jason by the shoulders. His eyes scan all of Jason, up and down until he looks at his face. Some of the worry leaves, smoothing his expression out. "Are you okay," he finally asks.
Tim is behind Dick, looking just as confused. "You said you needed help."
And Jason does need help, right? He has two infants in a crib with plastic blocks and his leather jacket, a letter from a woman he slept with over a year ago gifting the pair to him, and an empty apartment.
He doesn't know how to explain it all, though. It requires admitting that he’s in trouble that he can’t fight out of. It means admitting that he pulled a Brucie Wayne and slept around [though, he knows those are just stories and not entirely true].
He doesn’t want to see either brother look at him with such real disappointment for something mostly out of his control. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the blood on his hands or the way that Death and Pain chase after him like hellhounds — something that only carries despair and shouldn’t be here. No one has ever looked at him and thought about him as a parent, as someone tender enough to care.
The reveal is made by one of the babies as a shrill, angry shriek springs from the bedroom.
Tim and Dick both tense up, looking as if they've heard a cry for help. The hero within them both jumps to the front of their expressions as they look ready to pounce, and it almost makes Jason laugh at the sight. Jason instead sighs and taps his fingers quickly with his bubble of anxious energy. He has no words, but he closes the door and walks to the bedroom, his brothers following.
"Behold," Jason grumbles, fanning an arm in the direction of the twin girls.
His brothers freeze at the sight. Dick, the closest, is open mouthed and his eyes keep bouncing between the pair and Jason, small noises leaving him like he just can't find the words to say. Tim is just as shocked, eyes wide and full of confusion, but quiet about it.
Baby B screeches again, shoving one of the sleeves to Jason's jacket into her mouth, inciting Jason to react quickly as he lunges forward to pull the damned thing out.
"Jay," Dick mumbles. "Jay… Jason... Jason, why do you have two babies?"
For what it's worth, Jason knows he's a little bitch even without trying. Which is why he grins and just says, "I stole them."
That elicits a reaction from his brothers. The pair turn on Jason and begin piling their thoughts and arguments onto him, drowning each other out with their worry and confusion. He lets them stumble on words for just a moment longer, the chaos he's caused soothing some of his worries.
With a wave, he shushes them, raising his voice just over their own, and says, "I'm joking! Jeez, I'm not Bruce!"
Dick and Tim both fall silent, looking equal bits of relieved and exasperated with him.
"Then why do you have them," Tim asks again, sounding tired.
"Well," Jason crosses his arms, using one to pinch the bridge of his nose. "That's where things get a bit fuckin' muddy."
He explains the situation, except he presents it as a case. If he can think of it as a case, it'll be easier to focus logically on what needs to be done.
Jane Doe needs to be found. The girls need to be watched over while their mother is found. Jason needs to give up some blood for a DNA test; he doubts he's actually the father, he hardly remembers much of his escapade with the mysterious Jane Doe, so he can't be the father [he tells himself that as he continues explaining his case]. Then they’ll need to— well, he isn’t sure how DNA tests go for infants.
Is it unethical to take blood from someone this young?
Jay, why the hell do you care? Focus!
Regardless of what a DNA test may say, they need to help the girls' mother with whatever she may be struggling with. Obviously, something led to her giving up the girls. If she was in some form of trouble, Jason could help. Money, protection, or time — there's solutions.
And, if worse comes to worst, Jason knows a few good foster homes.
Bruce is one of those.
By the time he's done presenting his case, his brothers are sitting on the bed with their own contemplative expressions.
Jason absently stops Baby A from chewing on her own foot. "Well?"
His older brother sighs and shrugs. "We'll need to access the Cave for the DNA testing, unless you want to wait hours at a clinic. Think you can work around Babs and keep the test a secret, Timber?"
With a roll of his eyes, Tim says, "Of course. I can also start tracing the message you got, ." The young man holds his hand out, and Jason hands over his personal cellphone. "You'll also need to help me get some blood samples from the girls."
“Saliva works just as well as blood, T,” Dick muses. “It’d be cruel to poke a baby.”
“I know, but there’s two finished bottles on the table.” Tim looks at Jason then, and asks, “They ate recently, right?” When Jason nods, Tim continues, “We’ll have to wait a full hour before we can use saliva for a good test. The window for having the Cave isolated and everyone gone is closing.”
The older pair nod. Tim’s right. He usually is, but that doesn’t mean Jason will say that out loud anytime soon.
"What's their names," Dick asks, changing the topic.
Jason crosses his arms. "I've been calling them Baby A and B."
His brothers both groan at that.
Dick shakes his head, standing up and picking up Baby B, who screeches in discontent. “They need actual names! No biting, it’s rude. Didn’t they come with names?”
“Didn’t they come with— obviously not if I’m calling them A and B!” Jason presses his palms onto his eyes, feeling his temper slowly rise. He called Dick for help, but of course it’s going sideways. “Just-” He hffs and says, “There’s still a chance this is a fucked up misunderstanding. So let’s first go ahead and, I dunno, maybe start looking for answers first?”
“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said today, Jay,” Tim mutters, digging through his utility belt [that he pulled out of god knows where]. He then grins. “However, the one Dick is holding is giving me the same look you gave me when we first met on Titan’s Tower, so I vote that they're actually yours.”
The observation is remarkably true. Baby B has an upset look on her face as she stares at the fifteen year old, her mouth biting down on Dick’s shoulder. Anytime Tim looks at her for a moment longer than she wants, she screeches and babbles angrily, burying her face into Dick’s shirt. Her face flushes red each time, brows knit together, and the smallest of huffs when she realizes Tim has yet to move out of her line of sight. It's comical, and yet somewhat endearing. Not that Jason will say that.
Tim, each time, smiles warmly, unoffended to the girl’s clear frustration. When the girl buries her face in Dick’s shoulder, Jason watches as Tim’s own shoulders shake from silent laughter. Each time it happens, there's a genuine smile on Dick’s face and a softness in his eyes, softer than when they had first met Lian Harper as a baby.
And, Jason thinks this is okay. Maybe he doesn't need anything other than to take them both home, and the blanket of peace will settle over his family and it will warm them enough to fix everything.
Yet, he knows that's only a fantasy. He can't keep this moment. He can't hold onto security like this. He's a crime lord. He's a vigilante. His family is full of vigilantes, of danger. Unless he were to completely uproot the life he's built for himself since returning to Gotham, he can't be a safe person that kids would need.
“aaahhhHHHHHHHHH!!”
The trio of brothers flinch at the noise, heads whipping over to look at Baby A, who's shrieking as she lifts the heavy leather of Jason's jacket above her head with a look of determined pride on her face. Her baby strength gives out, her arms and the jacket falling down, the leather dropping onto her with a rumpled foosh! and an annoyed squeal from the girl as she’s swallowed by the fabric.
Jason moves quickly, lifting his jacket and huffing. “Don’t try to kill yourself, now.”
The baby screams in anguish at the loss of the jacket, looking at her empty hands, and then up at Jason. “Ah!”
“I think she’s mad,” Tim points out.
“You don’t say,” Jason shoots back with an eyeroll. He takes his jacket out and looks back at his brothers. “We should get moving.”
The spell of warmth is broken as his brothers agree.
The next few minutes go by quickly. Tim finds what he wanted to find in his belt: three needles and vials, band-aids, disinfectant, and sterile gloves. With Dick and Jason carefully holding each kid, drawing blood goes as smoothly as it can go with infants who don’t quite understand pain and medicine yet. The girls are quickly soothed [mostly by Dick, who is somehow a genius with children], which frees Jason up so he can give up his own blood [he argues that it’s been three hours since he last ate, so saliva would work just as well, but Tim refuses because “I don’t trust your gross mouth”].
Dick tosses his keys over to Tim, and the youngest brother heads off to start his side of the case.
“You drove together?”
The oldest Wayne son grins. “It’s rare when you call asking for help. He left the Redbird a few blocks too far from my place and just scrambled in with me. We still have an ongoing case together, so I’ll drive him back when we’re done here.” Taking on a more somber tone, Dick says, “You scared the hell out of us, Lil’ Wing. What’re you thinking?”
And isn’t that the question of the hour?
What is Jason thinking?
He thinks this is crazy. He thinks that the girls, now back in the crib, should go to someone better than him. He thinks he’ll be nothing but relieved or overjoyed when this turns out to be a mistake. He thinks that he will be able to find somewhere safer for them once this is over. He thinks Dick is only being kind because that’s who he is. He thinks Dick is really just upset over this, but that ooey gooey mushy kindness that comes with being the oldest brother is hiding his true emotions.
He knows that he’s mildly terrified of what the next few hours will bring.
Instead of having to feel foilsick by admitting anything, Jason simply muses, “I think that I’m getting hungry. Have you eaten?”
The knowing look on his brother’s face shows that Jason’s change of subject isn’t subtle, not that he was trying to be subtle. Still, the pair settle down onto the only seating in the room while Dick takes his phone out and looks up food nearby.
And, in the sheltered peace of the few hours that pass, Jason can’t help but keep thinking about what comes next.
As Dick places their order and then joyfully moves up to play with the twin girls, who he has resorted to calling Amy and Bamy [Jason shakes his head at that, but it's better than calling them A and B], Jason checks out mentally.
He knows thinking about the two kids any longer will make him spiral in what ifs, so he thinks about his current open case. He’s been looking into what may soon have to be labelled as a serial killer. The evidence points to someone who is targeting young men who live in and around Crime Alley. The three men so far have been found dead; their bodies were gutted, emptied of their entrails. Jason was supposed to go find two other men who he’s heard may have had run-ins with the killer, but escaped by sheer luck and chance. There’s also two other men who fit the profile who are officially missing.
His personal phone is with Tim, but his Red Hood phone isn’t. All of his files and contacts to the underground are opened within moments, and he begins going through what little evidence he has. Names, locations, details that many may call unimportant but could be a key clue, all of it displayed on his small screen while time passes.
He’s reading through the file of the second victim, a 22 year old who had been returning home from school, when Dick stands up with a groan and stretch.
“Food’s downstairs. I’ll be right back. I think the girls are starting to wear down, so if you can make them their bottles, I’ll be back to help.”
Jason nods, pocketing his phone and beginning the task given to him. Bottles, water, microwave 30 seconds, shake, check temp, add formula, check temp again, set aside to cool a little longer, repeat with the second. Easy.
He’s checking the temperature of the two bottles again when Dick comes back up, two plastic bags in his hands with bright yellow smiley faces printed on them and a bright red Thank You! printed over them. The bags are set onto the kitchen counter, quickly forgotten as Dick wanders back to the room with an easy smile.
“Let's get them to bed, and then we can eat,” the older man says, quickly plucking up one of the bottles, and then one of the fussy babies. “Hey Bamy, food time.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s Amy,” Jason grumbles, following Dick’s movements and picking up the real Bamy.
Dick, now with his voice lowered as he begins to feed the girl in his arms, scoffs. “I named them, so of course I know which is which.”
Jason rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. He’s lucky that Dick has experience with kids. When the girls finish the bottles, Dick shows him how to burp a baby correctly, and it’s an awkward experience for Jason who’s only ever held Lian after she turned five and could very well eat solids. But, despite the sour look on his face, Jason is grateful for Dick’s guidance in a field he’s never needed to learn.
But, will you need to know now?
An amazing question that he won’t think about until Tim calls or comes back.
Right now, there's Chinese food on the counter and he’s starving.
The two men return to the warm containers of Chinese food in the kitchen. Dick talks quietly about how much Lian has grown since he last saw her and Roy as the food is shoveled around and chopsticks are found. There's a third container of food and a Zesti for Tim when he comes back. Jason listens to Dick interrupt the silence while they eat, occasionally leaving space for chewing and Jason to share his own updates.
They’re halfway through eating and talking about one of the cases Dick recently closed when Dick’s phone rings.
“Hey, Baby Bird, what’cha got for us?”
They can’t see Tim, but they both know him well enough to feel the eyeroll through the phone. “I have like three good news updates, one bad news, and one that you can take however you want.”
“Start us with the—”
Tim interrupts Dick. “I’m starting with the good news. First off, I was able to crack through the message you got and track the person who texted you today, Jason. Her name is Kaye Medina, a travel journalist. The second piece of good news is that her DNA sequence is on medical files, so I was easily able to confirm that she’s the mother of the girls you found.”
“Medina,” Dick hums. “Never heard of her. Anything interesting on her?”
“Well,” Tim says, clearing his throat, “From what I found originally, she’s really normal. I traced her back to Metropolis in the timeframe Jay was there, she wrote an article for the Star City Sun about a new restaurant out there. But yeah, other than being suspended once in high school, her record is clean.”
“Huh,” Jason thinks aloud, “Then why would she give me a false name if she really is just a normal person.”
When Tim answers, he sounds strained. “Well, that’s where we get into the bad news and debatable news. The bad news is that… she was declared dead four hours ago. TOD at 12:17pm, dead on scene. Investigation is still ongoing, but right now the word is that it was suicide. Jumped right off an apartment tower in the Upper East end.” The older brothers both look at each other, lost on what to say.
Tim continues. “This made me dig even deeper into her life and, lo and behold, she was in a police file. The reason it wasn’t flagged at first is because she wasn’t mentioned as a suspect or criminal. In fact, the police report is from her reporting that she suspects that she has a stalker. This report was made two years ago but an actual investigation was never opened, and that’s when she began using the name Jane Doe on many of her articles. Tracing her phone records since that police report, she’s made several 9-1-1 calls declaring that she feels unsafe and like someone is following her, but most of those calls weren’t further investigated or discussed by any PDs that answered.”
Jason is tense. “So, her telling me that she was using an alias because she was worried someone may follow her home…”
“Was based on her having a stalker,” Dick finishes.
Tim hums in tense agreement. “Right… And, from what I could find, she was right about this stalker. Once I knew what to look for, it was easy to find that there was someone trailing after her and harassing her. Comments on her articles, emails, strange texts and calls, and even letters to her permanent address in Star City and her employers. She was let go from the Star City Tribune three months after the police report, and was almost fired from the Star City Sun because of these letters.”
“We should go—”
Tim interrupts Jason. “I’ve asked Bart to lend us a hand and check it out for us.”
“He’d go to Star City for us,” Dick asks.
There’s a snort from Tim. “He’d run over here just for a hug, if I asked. But, we have that front covered. I’ve already sent Green Arrow a heads up about him checking out the scene for us, just to prevent any issues. Once I hang up here, I’ll be calling Bart to see if we can find anything in Medina’s apartment or workplace. I’ve started a trace to see if I can find who this stalker was, but it may take a while since I’ll be using my own servers so that Oracle and B don’t find out for now.”
“Smart.”
“Anyway, by the time I finished up all of that, the lab results were ready. I confirmed that Medina is the girls’ mother and the results we were finally waiting for are the debatable news.”
“Well,” Dick urges, looking ready to run back to the Cave if Tim didn’t answer fast enough.
Time is like syrup whenever Jason is nervous. It feels like Tim spends hours silent before he finally speaks again, when it’s really only been about three seconds. With how high strung he feels, the words Tim says sound slow and sticky, like someone has slowed time down to drag the fear out longer.
“You have two kids, Jay. Congrats. I think.”
Nothing with any significance is said after that. Tim hangs up, saying he’ll be back soon once he covers his tracks in the Cave. This leaves Jason and Dick alone, and the oldest of the pair has said nothing about the news, seemingly choosing to let Jason gather his own thoughts while working on something on his phone. And Jason feels conflicted, to say the least.
The heavier parts of his mind argue that this is horrible news.
The lighter parts of his mind argue that this isn’t terrible, but simply an obstacle.
The smallest part of his mind, the part that is still Jason Todd from before his death, thinks this is another form of real magic — bright, sparkly, a light to guide him. A chance to be something he couldn’t have.
And yet, despite how much he has always wanted to reach out and feel magic again, magic like what Robin once was, he turns away and focuses on what he’s currently calling Undeniable Facts. All these Undeniable Facts are bitter truths.
Red Hood is, to put it mildly, a criminal with several murder charges [they deserved it], arson charges [they also deserved it, except for one which was an accident and he’s going to blame Tim], and currently also drug peddling [he can explain that one, he just doesn’t have an hour of time to do so]. To top it all off, being Jason Todd isn’t anything easier.
Being the wayward son of Brucie Wayne isn’t that glamorous. Everyone thinks he’s got some connection to the mob [he does, but that’s only as Red Hood], and that the real reason he was sent to military school in Europe was to tamp down his violent tendencies [he has to admit that that is a pretty good story to cover up his very real death and resurrection, but how dare people think that of him]. On top of the rumors, there’s the simple fact that being related to such a public billionaire means there will always be people watching and waiting for the opportunity to take what isn’t theirs. All three Wayne sons, and Bruce himself, have either been kidnapped or been part of an attempted kidnapping.
A warm hand jolts him from his drowning thoughts, settling on his shoulder. Dick isn’t smiling, but there’s something close to sympathy on his face.
“Serious talk time,” he says. “I’ve texted Tim to do some chores. He’s going to get some things set up at one of my safehouses nearby. B and the others don’t know the address, and it should be cozy enough while you figure things out.”
“Figure out…”
The eldest rolls his eyes. “This, Jay. You can’t expect me to make a choice in this. I can help you out, but ultimately the decisions are yours.”
“There’s no logical solution-”
“Because you don’t make this choice based on logic.” Dick steps away with a frown, crossing his arms and looking away. “You get all sorts of wrapped up over facts that are more than just facts. You think you’re making choices off of just logic, but you’ve always wrapped those facts with emotion. Ultimately, that’s what has led you forward. Your need to survive brought you to us, your joy in the role I left behind made you Robin, your sense of justice and wonder brought you to help Crime Alley as Robin, your want for a family took you away from– to–”
To Ethiopia, Jason knows. They don’t have to say it out loud. They both know.
Dick huffs. “You make choices because you’re emotional. Whatever works you up the most is the choice you make. Right? So, tell me, what the hell are you thinking?”
It takes so much to not yell. Three years of working on how to control the Pit’s influence on him, and he still struggles to not snap back. Every fiber of his being wants to shove Dick out the door, to yell, to completely defend himself from words that are true, but that he doesn’t want to face. It feels like an attack on who he is, like he should pull out a gun and aim.
So, he bites his fury and anxiousness back, swallows them down, and vomits up words close enough to the truth. And, as he begins telling his thoughts, it becomes easier to just continue with words that are true. He becomes almost desperate to admit that he doesn’t know what to do or how to feel. He’s terrified, somewhat horrified of what will happen. He admits, not even realizing, that he doesn’t want to become Bruce or, much worse, Willis. He doesn’t want to potentially ruin two kids, simply because he’s selfish enough to hope that he’ll be good.
And that makes him vomit words about how hopeful the idea makes him, being a parent. How magical it seems to love someone so willingly and openly and without fear. He admits it's haunting to know that he’d one day have to tell Bruce that he’s sorry because, if he’s being honest, he isn’t ready to admit that he wants to not view Wayne Manor as a mausoleum to who Jason Todd once was, he wants it to be a home again. As it stands, the Manor is a mirror only doomed to reflect his past — the boy who died — and it has yet to reflect the warmth of a home that he so desperately craves.
Because if he apologizes, he has to face the reality that he misses Bruce more than as just a coworker out on the field, more than he can ever openly admit to himself. He wants his dad again, but his anger and the pain of feeling betrayed makes it hard to cross the river towards full forgiveness.
The scariest part is, what if he becomes the man who does the unforgivable? What if he accepts to become a father, take in these kids he didn’t know he had, give them all of his attention and soul and energy and joy, and they see him in the light Jason sees Bruce in.
Someone irredeemable. Someone who lacks sanity and good judgement. Someone they crave attention and love from, but who will never fully be able to get it. What if he’s so blind to his own ways, that he doesn’t realize he’s screwed up in a way so irredeemably horrible.
These aren’t just random infants found around Crime Alley, these are genetically a piece of Jason. That’s horrifying because what if they become the worst of him. What if he is so rotten that he’s screwed them up before they even get a chance to be better than him. He was revived time and time again in the Lazarus Pits, so what if these girls are just as infected as he is? Would that repulse the others? Would they tip-toe around the girls their whole lives, waiting for the day that they too snap and kill?
And when the words run out, Jason is left standing there like a man flayed open. No tears, no breath, just a corpse cut open for all to see and examine [again].
Dick says nothing, but his face is twisted into that sad look he so often gives Jason — the look of a brother with no real answers, despite wanting so badly to have one. He’s always looking at Jason like that; like he wants to change the world for him, but simply lacks the means to do so. He’s already Atlas, holding up a family that is so fragile and unstable, and Jason doesn’t know how to help with that either.
He’s a good brother, now that they have gotten closer. Dick was decent before Jason died, but has made up for it now that he’s alive again. They used to be rather cold to one another. He isn’t perfect, but Jason can’t find a single true flaw in the man.
“Sorry,” is all Jason has left to say. He slumps over the kitchen island, mind buzzing with numbness, drained of everything.
“Then,” Dick whispers, just loud enough for Jason to hear, “what about simply making sure they go somewhere safe? Somewhere outside of Gotham? Find someone who you know can take care of them, settle your worries with just that?”
It isn’t an idea Jason hasn’t thought of. Prior to finding out that, yes, Jason is biologically their father, he had been thinking the same thing.
The idea doesn’t feel like a bad one, but also not a good one. It feels like he’ll simply wash his hands clean.
He could. He has resources that he uses when helping out the kids from Crime Alley, the ones who fear the Gotham foster systems and who simply want to escape the gloominess of the city, or who have no real means to contact relatives who live elsewhere. He’s done it countless times, smuggling kids to families who he can tell will raise them with nothing but joy and love.
It would be easy.
And yet, a new fear is lit by that idea.
A new fear that he will kill these girls by letting them go.
After all, isn’t that what led to his death? The desire to meet his biological mother, a woman who had given him up long before he could hold memories.
Jason Todd died chasing after a woman he didn’t know, who had given him away for a reason unbeknownst to him, and then died alongside him. He died wanting to know his blood-mother.
Would this make me just like her?
With a strangled laugh, Jason cards a hand through his hair. “Shit.”
He could use a drink.
Maybe not, since that’s what got him into this mess in the first place.
If he had to choose between being someone like Bruce or someone like Sheila, Jason could at least admit that he loves Bruce.
“Let’s settle one thing, Dickwing,” Jason says, the decision becoming clear. “I’m not naming Amy and Bamy if Tim can’t find birth certificates.”
Dick smiles.