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Jason Peter Todd liked to think he was pretty well-versed in the ways of the world. Sure, he was only seventeen but trust me, he'd seen and experienced things no normal seventeen year old could even imagine.
But no amount of dying and resurrecting could have ever prepared him for two (and a half) year old demon spawn Damian Al-Ghul.
Here he was, finally about to finish 'The Great Gatsby' - a well earned reward after the hell they had put him through in training today - when he felt a weight being dumped onto his lap. The weight of a toddler to be exact.
He slowly closes his book, eyes widening when he sees an equally wide eyed Damian staring back at him. What the fuck?
His head snaps up to face the culprit. Hassan, one of the younger members of the league (and yet still older than Jason), who was standing there with a sheepish smile on his face.
"You." Jason hissed, eyes narrowing as he pointed a menacing finger at him.
"Me." Hassan only grins. As you can imagine, this only makes Jason's eye twitch.
"Anyways, a bunch of us are sneaking out for some uh… entertainment… the demon brat was supposed to be my responsibility tonight but y'know," he pauses, shrugging, still fucking smiling. "Better plans came up."
"So you dump him on me? And what fucking entertainment could you possibly be going out for at this time? " Jason asks incredulously, sending a sideways glance towards Damian. He was still staring at Jason. The fuck was his problem?
Hassan makes sure to avoid answering Jason's second question.
" Listen, you're underage anyway so you can't come with us. And if Ra's or Talia find out we've left the kid alone - we'll all be done for. Just… think of it as extra credit."
"This isn't high school. Plus Ra's and Talia aren't even here??" Ah Jason, ever the smartass.
"So that's a yes then? Great, I owe you one!" And before Jason could open his mouth for another retort, Hassan had already slipped out the door.
For a minute, Jason's eyes are fixed on the closed door. Wondering what the fuck just happened. Realising he'd just been left alone with a fucking two year old. What if it explodes? Do they combust spontaneously?
He's snapped out of his thoughts when he hears a small thud. Damian had tumbled face forward onto his chest, chubby little fingers immediately reaching out to grab Gatsby out of Jason's hold. He cracks open the book, flipping it upside down, letting the pages flap around.
Jason's heart nearly gives out.
"AYO WHAT THE F-" Well at least he has the common decency to censor himself. He snatches the book out of Damian's surprisingly strong grip, clutching it tightly to his chest with the face of a Medieval woman who's just had her ankles exposed. "NO. Nononono! You cracked the spine-" Great, the kid's got him whining now. He sucks in a deep breath and glares daggers at Damian who was once again trying to reach out for the book.
"DON'T. Even think about it. Keep your grubby little hands to yourself, dude." Don't tell anyone but he was close to tears.
Damian only blinks his emerald eyes back at Jason. Points to the book and says something that had Jason wishing this kid didn't exist.
"Boring. No fighting."
Jason stares.
“Boring? This is a fuc- flipping classic!”
Damian tilts his head, stares at Jason for a solid minute and then with as much audacity as a two year old with a lisp could muster. “No thword.”
“Well yeah… no swords,” He raised a brow, speaking slowly, almost apprehensively as he gently placed the book down on the arm rest. “It’s pretty much just rich people ruining their lives.”
“Ruin?” Jason swore he saw the kid’s eyes sparkle.
“You know what… maybe you might actually like it.” He shrugs, settling further back into the couch, getting as comfortable as he could whilst balancing a toddler on his lap.
At this, Damian wastes no time in lunging for the book again. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” An embarrassing yelp escapes Jason’s throat, now holding the book above his head. His ears flush red, and he thanks his lucky stars that there was no one else around to see him like this. It’s not like Damian would remember this anyway… He clears his throat, schooling his expression into one of composure. “You’ve done enough damage, kid.”
Damian’s lower lip trembles.
Jason freezes.
Shit.
Shitshitshit.
He’s been through many things in his rather short lifetime. He had survived his fuckass childhood. Survived Bruce Wayne’s terrible cooking. Survived the League’s ridiculous training programmes. Hell, he even clawed out his way out of his own fucking grave.
But this? A crying toddler? This was entirely new territory. One that he doesn’t think he can survive.
Damian’s brows furrow, a deep V forming on his forehead as his tiny hands ball into fists at his side. And then.
Thud.
He’s just been punched in the stomach. “You. Mean.”
If you looked close enough, you would have probably noticed Jason’s soul leave his body.
“I am not mean.” The argument was rather weak in Damian’s eyes since all he did was squint up at the teen. He does this dramatic little sniffle, turning his nose up, crosses his chubby little arms as best as he could and proceeds to throw himself back against Jason’s chest. You would think he’s been wounded in battle.
“You’re not even crying.”
Damian pauses mid sniffle. Clearly thinking very hard, judging by the confused pout on his face. Then pushes out the most forced, theatrical “WAAHHH” known to man. Someone give him his Oscar right now.
Jason takes in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking up at the ceiling, waiting for some sort of divine intervention. It didn’t come. “This is ridiculous.” He mutters under his breath, eliciting an even louder wail. Mind you, the tears haven’t even been formed yet.
Damian chooses to burrow himself further into Jason’s chest anyway, fisting the front of his shirt with a surprisingly tight grip. Jason hesitates at first, but then reaches out - very, very awkwardly patting the top of Damian’s head.
“There, there…” He grimaces as he looks down. How the hell does one comfort a kid? “Err.. truce?”
Damian sniffles one last time for extra effect. “...Fine.”
Before he can stop himself, Jason snorts out a laugh as he runs his free hand through his hair - the other now just resting on the back of Damian’s head.
Thud.
He’s just been punched in the stomach. Again.
A small finger points towards the forgotten book next to him. “You. Read.”
He doesn’t know what he was expecting to hear, but it most definitely was not that. So here’s how he found himself reading the Great Gatsby out loud to a two year old. And judging by the silence and steady breathing coming from the bundle of terror, he could only assume it was a decent enough bedtime story for him.
By the time Hassan makes it back, he finds a sleeping Damian curled up on an equally asleep Jason’s chest, both of their mouths parted to let out soft snores. One of Jason’s arms was wrapped around Damian, securing him to his chest and the other was hanging off the side of the sofa, fingers barely holding on to the book. Meanwhile, Damian had made it a point to keep his fingers tightly wringed into the front of Jason’s shirt.
It was far too sweet a sight to behold in the League of Assassins’ territory.
“Strange” Hassan thought, leaning against the doorframe as he watched the pair. “You could almost mistake them for brothers.”