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She came to her people, carrying him. They exclaimed: “O Mary! You have come for sure with an unheard of, mighty thing.”
Surah Mariam 19:27.
—
Gotham’s nights were cold. Tim was lucky he didn't have to wear the Tinkerbell shorts and freeze his legs half to death, was Jason’s resentful thought as he glanced at the teen in the Robin suit. Thankfully, his own helmet and heavy gear insulated his body well enough that the only risk was overheating, which was fine for the notoriously eiskalt Gotham. And Jason ran cold anyway, so he’d rather be warm than cold. After all these years, he still could not comprehend why the original Robin suit had the shorts instead of full body coverage.
It's a leotard, Dick had chided. Male gymnasts have tights on theirs, Jason had retorted. His brother had rolled his bright eyes—enough light to dazzle all of life. It’s not inspired by gymnasts, idiot.
“Hood!”
Oh, right. Patrol. They weren’t here to reminisce.
It wasn't often that Jason patrolled with Tim. Not just because of their rocky history and differing opinions, but especially now, after the difficult year they’d been through.
The Bats mourned in vastly different ways—but they all mourned, mostly in the self-isolating, aggressive way they tended to. Patrolling together after avoiding each other meant remembering why they had been doing so. Then they’d go back to mourning and avoiding each other, and the cycle would begin anew.
You shouldn’t isolate yourself, Dickhead had said. Your family cares about you.
No offense, Jason had told him, but you're the biggest hypocrite ever.
Dick had laughed. That’s how you know we’re brothers!
But Alfred had invited them all to dinner that evening, and nobody could refuse Alfred. The same Alfred had also commented that Jason and Tim should patrol together, lest they forget how to fight compatibly by the time the next supervillain made their debut.
So, patrolling with Tim. Jason was a grateful optimist, however. At least he hadn't ended up with Bruce. That asshole would’ve definitely gotten on his nerves in his classic, rage-inducing Batman fashion, as though his own worldview was an obvious given and everybody who ever said otherwise was just incapable of thinking logically.
Admittedly, Jason's fuse had been shorter than normal in the past months, so he preferred teaming up with the more amicable Tim rather than the brooding, Batman-shaped alternative.
He ran after Tim and caught up with him after jumping over a rooftop.
Jason paused to look up at the sky. Gotham smog from the factories normally made it impossible to see the night sky. Thanks to the cool weather, however, the gas must have sunk down. The sky had cleared, stars and moon glowing vividly. Still, Jason had the impression that it was darker than a year ago. Perhaps because Gotham’s brightest star had faded.
“See, Jay,” Dick had said during one of their first patrols as the newly debuted Nightwing and magical Robin, “that’s the North Star. Sailors would navigate their way home using it.”
Jason, thirteen and wiser than he had ever been, had scoffed. “Duh, everyone knows what the North Star is.”
“Oh yeah?” Dick had said. In a move too fast for Jason to evade, one arm wrapped around him like a python strangling its prey, the other attacking his hair with a vile noogie. “Let’s see you navigate home after this then, dizzy, dazzling Robin!”
In the last quarter of the round, they grappled over rooftops heading back to the Cave.
“Hood,” Tim called over comms.
Jason turned to him, wondering the reason for the halt. Tim nodded to the right, where a silhouette stood on a rooftop a few blocks ahead.
“Potential suicide?”
Better safe than sorry. Jason nodded, and they changed route toward the figure.
They landed on the roof and made an effort to keep their steps audible. Panic tended to make people less willing to be talked down.
There was something familiar in the way the figure held themself. Approaching them hit Jason with a strange wave of déjà vu he couldn't explain.
“Hello!” Tim called. “Is everything alright?”
Now only a few meters away, the figure turned. Raven waves swayed in the night wind, electric blue eyes too alive to be real, crinkling under a widening smile as he recognized them.
Jason felt like the roof crumbled beneath his feet.
The Dickhead was back.
Jason supposed none of the Bats stayed dead for long, but God, it still hurt. He had mourned his brother, who now stood in front of him—posture unusually stiff, almost military, wearing a gray shirt with black belts and cargo pants, holding an oddly shaped bundle close to his chest.
Jason snarled. His brother—his first, his closest—had let them believe he was dead. Left them in shambles. And now he showed up like this?
Jason lunged.
Dick hesitated, tightened his grip on the bundle, and flipped backward. Classic Dick.
Jason was going to kill him for real this time.
He raised his fist again—
“Stop, Jason! Not now! We might hurt the baby!”
The fucking what?
Jason nearly tripped, thrown off by the words. Dick stepped back, clutching the bundle closer.
“Dick,” Tim said, approaching carefully, “what’s inside those wrappings?”
Dick paused. Opened his mouth. Closed it again.
The blankets shifted.
It wasn’t a what.
“Dick,” Jason said, voice dropping, “who is in those blankets?”
Dick glanced down, then stepped forward and turned the bundle toward them.
A baby. Tiny, only a few weeks old, swaddled in white and gray. Big dark eyes stared up at the sky.
“Well,” Dick said, chewing his lip, “I haven’t really thought of a name yet. I didn’t think I’d be the one taking her.”
“Is…” Tim swallowed. “Dick, is this baby yours?”
“I don’t know—kind of, I guess.”
The baby whined. Dick rocked her gently until she settled.
Jason inhaled. “And where the hell did you get this baby?”
Dick laughed softly. “Hell is about right. Arabian Desert. Might’ve been hotter.” There was a look in his eyes that Jason couldn't quite place. "It’s a long story. I came a long way. Can we talk somewhere else?”
“We can go back to the Manor,” Tim offered. Dick’s face crumpled.
“I have a safehouse nearby,” Jason said quickly. “We can go there.”
A tiny sneeze interrupted him.
“Bless you,” Tim blurted. To the baby. It would've been mortifying under any other circumstances.
“Alright,” Dick nodded. “Safehouse sounds good. And—maybe we can go shopping tomorrow? For her. We don't have any diapers or anything left really.”
“Of course,” Tim said. “We’ll make a list.”
After we talk went unsaid—but even the baby could have filled in the blanks.