Chapter Text
Two blue strips.
Jason couldn't fucking believe it. He sat on the couch, blinking like an idiot, but the result didn't change.
Two blue strips.
All his life, he'd been terrified of a moment like this, and now that his nightmare had come true, all he could really do was stare at the display of the test and hope that it somehow transformed in front of his eyes. It didn't.
It was the third test of the day, because he wasn't willing to trust one breakable, fallible piece of plastic with the potential of destroying his whole life. After the first one, he had been sure it was a mistake. After the second, he had started shaking, clinging to the hope of a false positive until he couldn't anymore. Until he had to accept the truth.
Three tests from three different brands couldn't be wrong.
There was a thing growing inside him. He couldn't see it, couldn't even feel it, but it was there. Irrefutably. And soon enough, his body would bend and tear and break to sustain new life that he had never asked for, when it couldn't even sustain his own.
His vision blurred. Fingers dug into the cushion of his couch until the leather screamed.
The facts were right in front of him, laying on a second-hand coffee table in his dingy little safe house that could never qualify for the use of the word ‘apartment.’ Two blue stripes. God, he'd hate that colour forever.
What was Jason going to do? Kill himself. That's what he'd always said he'd do in a case like this, ever since he was a kid. Because in a way, he'd always known it would happen, sooner or later. It simply had to, with the way his life had been going. Once you hit puberty, there was a limited number of semi-consensual, sometimes unprotected, sex you could have before the consequences had to finally stick — beyond the self-hatred, trauma, and physical pain. Though Jason was sure he'd be getting an abundance of all three of those too, as a biological baby shower gift.
His life had always been heading here, hadn't it?
At least, the sex had actually been consensual this time. Gold star for him. He could still feel the hands of his one night stand roaming over his skin, pinching and pulling at all the right places. It had been a civilian, a stranger, which meant that Jason couldn't even tell him. It would just invite someone into a type of lifestyle they didn't belong to. A dangerous one at that. He couldn't do that to him.
“Shit,” Jason breathed out, his trembling hand running through his hair.
He had to deal with it. He was a goddamn crime lord, a trained assassin, an All Caste, for fuck's sake. He could take care of it, and he could do it by himself. Problem solving was a core part of his skillset, or else he'd never have gotten this far in life. And this particular problem could be solved through a doctor's appointment, nothing more. He'd done harder things, like crawling out of his own grave for one!
But he was... he was afraid. Of going to an OBGYN — he hadn't been to one since the league. Of the medical procedure itself. Of being turned away, left with no options. That one scared him more than the others.
What he was afraid of the most, however, was his former family finding out. Or rather, what they would do once they did. He knew about Stephanie's pregnancy — that she had carried a baby to term as a teenager — and he couldn't imagine that it had been her choice.
He knew Bruce, knew his politics, and was reasonably sure he was pro-choice. But maybe it was different when it was about the people close to him. Maybe it was different when it was about Alley people. Maybe Bruce supported abortion rights only when it came to the aftermath of rape. Many people were like that.
Or, maybe, it was only different when it came to Jason. That idea wasn't exactly a new one. Everything was different when it came to him. He was the only exception to Bruce's rules, in the positive and negative sense. He was the only family member who was allowed to have an active criminal career, even if it had been starkly toned down, but he was also the only one who Bruce had almost killed, the only one he'd let die in his place.
He was the only one without value.
Who's to say he wasn't also the only one who didn't have a say in what happened to his body? Not that that would be the first time either. Between his past on the street, being Robin, dying, resurrecting, and being dunked in the pit, Jason had never had control over his body. He'd always been a victim, or a symbol, or a weapon. He'd never been a person, and it had never been his body.
And perhaps, in the worst case scenario, Bruce would be happy about the situation. About Jason bringing new life into the world to atone for all the lives he'd taken from it. Maybe he wanted Jason to give birth with the idea that having a child would fix him, would give him a purpose beyond his current self. That it would calm him down. Domesticate him.
It wouldn't. Jason knew that. He didn't want a kid, and he definitely didn't want to have his own body break to make it.
But would Bruce care about what he wanted?
The risk was so very real, so all-encompassing. Even if there was a chance Bruce wouldn't react like that, there was no way for Jason to be certain. No, he knew he had to keep the secret. None of the bats could know. It was too dangerous. If one of them knew, they all would eventually, including Bruce. News spread in that horde like a wildfire. He couldn't take that chance. He'd sooner die than take that chance.
Laying his head in his hands, Jason had to breathe through the swelling of emotions in his chest. In for five seconds. Out for five seconds. Just like his dad had taught him. He'd been six and anxious about going to primary school for the first time, so Willis had taken him aside on the way there and taught him how to breathe through the nerves.
“Name something you can hear,” he had asked of him.
The steady humming of traffic.
“Something you can smell.”
The kebab spinning in the shop behind him.
“Something you can taste.”
The raspberry bubblegum from earlier.
“Something you can feel.”
His father's hands on his shoulders.
“Something you can see.”
You.
It was a nice memory. Long gone now, but nice nonetheless. If Willis were still here, Jason wouldn't hesitate to run to him. To hide in his large, warm arms. But without him…
Shit, if the bats couldn't know that meant no one could know, he realised. There was no way he could even text any of his friends, for fear his lines weren't secure. Oracle saw everything, after all. And as much as he liked Roy, Donna, and Artemis, their friendships had become strained, with him not being entirely innocent in that. He didn't want to make it worse.
Jason was on his own with this one.
He stood from the couch and filled a glass of water in his kitchen sink. His hands were trembling enough that he could only fill it halfway without spilling. He drank while he leaned against the counter. His legs couldn't support his weight by themselves.
First things first, he needed a doctor. That was easier said than done. Most clinics had ties to the funding program of Wayne Enterprises. All of Jason's current aliases were in the system, meaning that as soon as an entry with one of his names was made, both the batcomputer and Oracle would receive a notification. He could try to hack the batcomputer. He definitely couldn't hack Oracle.
So, most of the clinics and doctors in Gotham were out, including two out of three gynecologists in Crime Alley.
He couldn't go there. They'd know. They'd know and come get him and force him to deliver a child so he could finally be good for something.
Technically, he could go to Leslie. She wasn't a gynecologist, but she was better than nothing. He dismissed that thought as soon as it came to him. He trusted Leslie on paper, but not with something like this. She might not go to Bruce directly, but she'd probably tell someone, like Steph or Barbara, and then they would tell Bruce and then Jason's life would be over. Leslie was a good doctor, but she wasn't above following her own agenda.
He also... didn't want someone who knew him. It would be an uncomfortable procedure anyway, he didn't need the added complications of feeling shame in front of a woman he respected. He didn't want someone who looked at him and saw the little Robin on the exam table instead.
For the first time, Jason wished he was back in the league. They had the best doctors and would have let him do the procedure he wanted. They would've even been happy about it, since it meant they wouldn't need to force him. It would've been fine. He would've been fine. Talia would've made sure of it.
Even as Robin, it would've been fine, as Bruce definitely wouldn't have let a kid carry another kid to term.
Even on the street, it would've been fine, since he could've gone to an outreach clinic without having to worry about his name ticking off any alarms.
Of all the times in his life for it to happen, it just had to be the worst one.
Jason drank the water. It didn't settle his stomach like he'd hoped. Two minutes later, he was retching over the toilet bowl, emptying what was already empty. The only thing other than stomach acid that spilled against the porcelain were tears.
He was nineteen, and pregnant, and so alone.
Dick picked the electrical lock to Jason's apartment like it was a natural part of visiting someone. To him, it was, at least when it came to Jason. To his defense, it was born out of necessity rather than troublemaking. His little brother had the tendency to never open the door no matter how often you knocked or rang the bell. So, it was his own fault. Jason should really be grateful Dick had stopped coming in through the window.
He opened the door and entered, an enthusiastic pep in his step, not bothering for his break-in to be sneaky at all.
"Hey Jaybird," he greeted the faceless shape of his brother on the couch, buried under so many blankets, Dick could only guess that it was a person, "What's happening?"
The mountain of blankets moved and a head poked out, hair tousled and bags under the eyes. "What do you want?" The blanket creature grumbled.
Dick had to concentrate really hard to not ruffle his hair or coo or do any of the brotherly things he wanted to do. He wasn't trying to get shot today. "I asked you first."
"As you can clearly see, I'm very busy," Jason snapped, though it lacked energy, and laid his head back down.
Dick smiled fondly. There was something about a grumpy, tired Jason that reminded him of easier days. He took a few steps towards the couch and paused when his eyes fell on a plastic bucket on the floor, right next to Jason. His smile fell a little as he put together the facts.
Jason was exhausted.
There was a bucket next to him for very clear throwing up purposes.
And now that he thought about it, Jason had never allowed Dick to see him in a vulnerable state like that. Not in recent years. The fact that he hadn't chased him out with a knife yet was the most concerning part of it all.
Dick sighed softly. Jason was sick and hadn't alerted anyone else to his condition. It wasn't exactly a surprise, Jason was well known for not trusting others to take care of him — a trait that they all shared for differing reasons — but that didn't make it any less tragic.
Careful to keep enough space between them, Dick sat down on the other end of the couch, cataloguing his brother's state in concern. "Did you catch that stomach bug going around?"
Jason's eyes drifted to him again, but he didn't otherwise move. For a second, he looked like he might argue, before he sunk deeper into the covers and miserably admitted, "Yeah."
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
Jason shook his head, weakly but with ever-present decisiveness. "No. I'll be fine tomorrow."
Dick hummed, not quite believing but knowing direct disagreement wasn't the strategically advantageous move. "If you say so. Maybe I can run down to the pharmacy and get you something to help with the nausea."
"I already got meds. It's fine." Finally, Jason sat up, so he could be on eye level with Dick. He really looked like shit. Something cold travelled through Dick's body. "What'd you come here for, anyway?"
Dick shrugged and looked through the room as inconspicuously as he could, trying to see if he could spot said meds at all. He couldn't see any, but maybe Jason kept them in the bathroom. Definitely not enough evidence to accuse him of lying. "I was sent to personally invite you to family dinner this weekend. You know, since you keep ignoring our texts and calls about it."
Jason tensed at that. Dick wasn't sure why. He internally cursed his inability to understand what was going on inside that curly, undead head.
"Sent by who?" Jason asked provocatively, and suddenly Dick understood the tension.
He sighed, deep and tired. "By Bruce. But he's not the only one that wants you there," Dick defended. "We all do. Me, especially. C'mon, it's just one dinner."
Jason looked at him for a while with those curious green eyes that made Dick feel like he was being measured against the ideal of an older brother and found lacking. They also made him want to burrow his head in Jason's shoulder and cry and beg until Jason understood how sorry he was for never being what he needed.
Oh, that got a little too personal there.
He couldn't think those thoughts while Jason was here out of fear he might act on them. And that would not only be embarrassing, but would also scare Jason away for good.
He was living in brotherly hell, was what he was trying to say.
Jason seemed to have come to a decision and nodded faintly. "Okay. Whatever. I'll be there."
"Really?" Dick perked up.
"Whatever," he repeated, burrowing deeper into the blankets. "But I won't be there the whole time. Got work and shit."
"That's alright, Jaybird!" Dick beamed and threw himself at Jason, only to be kept away by a punch to the jaw that threw him off the couch. He didn't care, getting back to his feet immediately. "Almost everyone else will be there too. We'll finally have a full house."
"Great," Jason said sarcastically. "And now get out before I change my mind. Got drug deals and shit to do. You understand."
Dick's face fell a little. "Are you sure? I don't know if you should be alone in your condition."
Jason grimaced and repeated, "My condition," with disgust in his voice. "I mean it. Get out, before I punch you again. Even like this, I could beat your face in."
"Okay," Dick relented, chuckling a little at the image of a sick Jason trying to fight. It eased his worries a little. A combative Jason was a normal Jason. "Don't wanna catch what you have anyway," he teased with a wink.
Something behind Jason's eyes shattered, before his expression locked up into something carefully neutral. "Yeah. See you Saturday, I guess."
Dick looked at him in confusion, searching for something that he couldn't find. Eventually, he had to accept that once again, he had no idea what Jason was thinking and that, like always, he'd somehow failed him.
When Dick left the apartment, he did so with a ton of questions on his mind, a new excitement for Saturday, and a fresh bruise on the jaw.
It wasn't that Damian hated family dinners on principle, he did enjoy having everyone around once in a while, but he did hate that he was always made to sit next to Drake of all people. And he especially hated that vigilante talk was banned at the table by Alfred himself, meaning that the only thing people talked to him about was how school was going. It was fine! Could they finally talk about something important?
And he especially hated that pets weren't allowed to eat at the table, despite Damian's rather reasonable argument that they were full members of the family too. But Father hadn't been on the same page as him, though even he couldn't deny that Titus and Alfred the Cat were family members. Just apparently not the kind that were allowed at the table. Prejudiced, if you asked Damian. If Drake was allowed at a table, so should a dog.
Speaking of things that were inexplicably allowed at a table even though his pets weren't, Damian had been distracted the entire evening by Todd. He was sitting opposite him, between Grayson and Brown, picking with his fork at the pasta on his plate like he thought no one would notice he wasn't eating if he just moved the food around on the plate. Something about him was off. Not that Damian knew him enough to really tell, but his intuition kept bringing him back to attention. Perhaps it was the bags under his eyes or the fact his skin had taken on a weird grayish colour. But to be perfectly honest, that seemed pretty in character for him.
So did the grandiose way of talking.
"Right, so I was chasin' this guy," Todd recounted, gesturing around with his free hand, "And we turn the corner into an alley that we think is empty, because, you know, it's three in the morning. But then, we both freeze up because we hear noises from the garbage container, right?"
Brown and Thomas, who he was telling the story to, both nodded and urged him to keep going, on the edge of their seats. Damian for his part was unhappy that Todd was always allowed to talk about night business at dinner, despite the ban. Because everyone knew he'd leave if they tried to stop him. Maybe Damian should try that method of blackmail in the future, too.
"So I go to open it and see a cat and a fucking raccoon going at it."
"What?" Brown asked, mouth wide open. "As in...?"
"As in fucking. Yep."
"That's not right," Thomas whispered and shook his head. "No way that anatomically works."
Todd shrugged and took a sip from his water. "Didn't think so either. But man, I saw it. And I don't think I'll ever unsee it."
Brown scrunched her nose as she tried to imagine the described scene. "Nature is so fucked up."
"But who was the top, though?" Thomas asked, startling laughter from both Brown and Todd, who were practically falling against each other.
"The raccoon, actually," Todd explained between chuckles. "Which honestly makes the whole thing weirder since I didn't even know they had dicks."
"Me neither, but I guess that's not the sorta thing you learn in school," Brown agreed and then sighed. "Dude, the poor cat."
"I don't know, it seemed to be havin' a pretty good time to me."
Thomas asked, fighting through his wheezes, "and the criminal?"
Todd suddenly stopped laughing. "Ehm..."
"You let him escape?"
"I was too busy watching a miracle of nature!" Todd defended himself, gesturing around dramatically again. "Who in their right mind wouldn't be caught off guard by that?"
Brown raised an eyebrow, a dangerous smirk dancing on her lips. "Oh yeah? How long were you watching?"
Todd pointed an accusatory finger at her. "Hey! Don't make me sound like some creep!"
Brown only laughed at him and nudged Thomas with her elbow. "God, can you imagine what those kids would look like?"
"Real fucked up," Thomas asserted and Damian glared at him for his rudeness towards animals that really hadn't done anything wrong. "But honestly with where we're from, that's nothing new. I swear I saw a mix of a mouse and a cockroach once."
Brown made an exaggerated gagging noise. "Ew, can you imagine a cockroach being pregnant with mouse children?"
"Not better than a feral street cat pregnant with raccoon kids. Or is it pups? Kittens? Whatever they'd be. Something disgusting."
As Brown and Thomas continued giving their unasked for opinions about interspecies relations, neither of them noticed that Todd had become quiet and gone back to picking at his food without eating a single thing. But Damian noticed. How could he not, he was bored to hell. What he didn't understand, despite his best efforts, was the reason for his sudden crestfallen expression, nor did he know what to do about it.
But the downwards tilt of Todd's mouth made something uncomfortably sharp press against Damian's insides like a blade.
He kicked against Todd's shin under the table. The man startled and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "You bored, Day?"
He wanted to say something about Todd's obvious bad mood, but he couldn't find the words. So he mutely nodded.
Todd smiled mischievously and it settled something within Damian, the sharp feeling receding back into himself until it was almost too faint to notice. If Jason could still cause trouble, whatever was bothering him couldn't be that bad. "Wanna go down to the cave and spar a little? I brought my league sword."
Damian perked up at that, before halting. "We're definitely not allowed to do that," he pointed out, a little petulant. "Dessert hasn't even been served yet."
Todd shrugged, eyes glinting at the prospect of doing something he wasn't supposed to. "So what? It's not like they can stop us." With that, he stood up and every pair of eyes in the room turned to him as tension rose immediately, other conversations pausing in anxiety of what would come next. "You gotta excuse me and the little kid, we have some important league business to take care of," he announced proudly.
At the head of the table, Father narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean, exactly?"
Todd grinned innocently, acting unaware of the way every present person kept shifting their attention between him and Father, like they were waiting for a volcanic eruption. "It means that Damian and I have to go into the basement and hit each other with swords until one of us either cries or dies."
Father pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're having dinner right now, Jason.”
"And Damian's bored as hell." Todd stepped away from his chair and pushed it back under the table, before nodding at Damian. "Come on, Day, I wanna see if you've improved."
Damian shot up and bounced over to him, excited to finally have something to do that wasn't sitting at a table and talking about his classes for the fifth time in a row. "I don't need to improve, I'm already at top level."
Todd smiled again, more genuine this time, and led the way out of the dining room. "Is that what those old ass league tutors of yours said? You know I beat them all even before they dunked me in the pit? True story. I was brain dead and still better than them."
Damian rolled his eyes but followed him like a puppy about to go for a walk. "As if I'd ever believe a word you say."
As the door closed behind him, he could vaguely hear Father sigh the defeated word, "children," into the hand he had burrowed his face in.
The blade whirred towards him so fast that Jason only barely managed to dodge, taking a few strands of hair with it.
"Damn, next time I'll go to you for a haircut," he panted, raising his own sword. "Definitely cheaper than my barber."
Damian smirked a little, smugness shining in his eyes. His only response to the quip was another attempt at stabbing him in the throat. This was one of the many things he loved about Damian. The kid didn't go easy on him. He went for shots that could heavily injure because he trusted Jason would dodge them. It allowed Jason to let loose in a way he couldn't with anyone else. There was just something freeing about feeling like his life was on the line.
And he could tell Damian enjoyed it too. The kid had been taught many kill shots, and this was the only setting he'd ever get to use them in. There was an art in it, in the fighting style they had both been taught. It was an important tradition, something cultural to league members that was as dear to them as literature or paintings, like a shared language. It was the one thing that bound Damian and Jason together, despite their very few amicable interactions. Which Jason was partly at fault for. Mostly at fault for, actually. He had tried to kill him that one time, even if it had been due to a major mental health crisis.
Ah, well. The past. He could tell Damian had been over it for a long while. Nevertheless, Jason enjoyed every opportunity to get his little almost-brother to have some fun. And if that fun included trying to slit Jason open like a fish, then that was just an added bonus.
Damian attacked again, and Jason parried, forcing the boy back with a powerful shove. But Damian was well-trained. He lunged left, and when Jason responded to guard, he feinted and thrust his sword upwards, delivering a hard blow to Jason's chest. He lost his balance and had to take several quick steps backwards to not tumble to the ground.
Damian grinned victoriously, while Jason caught his breath. That had been a strong hit. Stronger than he'd thought Damian would go for. The skin of his chest throbbed in pain.
And for a second, he wondered.
If he could get Damian to aim lower...
To hit harder...
Could he...?
No.
Jason bit down on the inside of his cheek to distract from the thought. He wouldn't make Damian responsible for something like that. It wasn't right. He was just a kid.
Besides, Jason had his appointment tomorrow, with the only non-Wayne-associated gynecologist in Crime Alley. And then, the past week would be nothing but a bad memory. A start to something that almost could have been but thankfully never was.
"Do you give up, Todd?" Damian's haughty voice tore him from his consideration. He hadn't even noticed that he'd just been staring at the boy for a while.
Jason huffed and lowered his sword. "Wouldn't call it giving up, I just think we should stop before I hurt you."
"You hurt me?" Damian snorted, but sheathed his own blade. "Yeah, right. You couldn't if you tried."
Jason smiled fondly. That damn kid. Leaving the training mats, he put his sword back into his bag and shrugged his jacket on. "Let's go back upstairs, maybe they left some dessert for you," he called back to Damian, who had changed his shoes in the meantime.
When they took the elevator back up, Jason was satisfied with Damian's brighter demeanor. Freeing him from the confines of boring dinner had been the right decision. He truly looked his age when he wasn't constantly frowning and stuck in an environment where people had expectations of him.
"Do you not want any dessert?" Damian asked, his inquisitive green eyes blinking up at him. The very same eyes he had. The very same eyes he might pass down. He suddenly felt sick again.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
"Nah, but I might raid Bruce's rum stack," Jason joked, with no real humour behind it.
Damian was blind to his problems — thank God — and only rolled his eyes. "As if he'd ever let you. You're too young to drink."