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Jason traced the Y-shaped scar on his chest with his unevenly trimmed nails, he wanted nothing more but to tear apart his skin until the scar was covered in scars that Jason could remember. Scars he could remember getting. They had no right to pull him apart and sloppily stitch him back up again, not caring about the marks they’d left behind. But hell, who could blame them? No one expected that fifteen year old kid to have to live with that mark.
His fingers worked their way up his abs before splitting across his collarbone, following the branches until he reached the end of their trail. His eyes met his reflection’s and he clenched his jaw tighter than he had been tensing it before. He missed his dusky gray irises, the dark storms that seemed to become three-dimensional in the sunlight.
Now, his eyes were just a reminder of his death. A reminder of the eyesore that coated his chest. A reminder of the white streak he’d tried relentlessly to color or stain back to its original ash black. A reminder that he would never get to taste the joy of being magic again.
A reminder that he was a monster.
Today was August 18th.
He was born twenty-three years ago, to a father who tried his… well, certainly not his hardest, and a mother who left quickly after his birth, only for a new one to take her place. Willis, Sheila, and Catherine.
Some fucked up family that turned out to be. It’s not like the next one was much better.
Or maybe it was.
Jason tried not to think about them much.
One homeless kid, two dead parents, three stolen wheels, four years of being magic, five days in Ethiopia, and then… six feet under. Whoever said math wasn’t used in everyday life?
Jason used to hate math. There was no flexibility. No different views. Math was a yes or no question. Much like…someone’s morals.
His pertinacious, unyielding sense of morality that stopped him from… from doing what was needed.
What Jason needed.
What his son needed.
All this to say, Jason loved English. Not the language specifically, he could, and would, read books in all sorts of languages. Arabic, French, Spanish, and sometimes Russian if he was feeling frisky. Jane Austen was always a safe choice if he was bored, but there was always the occasional book he’d stumble across in a local thrift store.
Family dramas, mysteries, and romance novels were always his favorite. He’d never forget the day that… B had gifted him a book that he’d thought Jason would like. It was a perfect mix of romance and mysterious rogue serial killer, but Jason never got to the ending. You see, Jason liked romance, but it was clear that his father figure hadn’t completely done his research on the book. Seemingly, after a quick skim of the back cover, he’d plucked it off the shelf and put a pretty little bow on it for Jay’s twelfth birthday.
Jason had gotten halfway through the book when the main love interest started to get a little bit too romantic in the workplace janitor’s closet. He’d made it to the undoing of buttons on lab coats before he’d slammed the cover shut and shoved it into his sock drawer.
As far as Jason was aware, it was still sitting there.
Jason blinked his acid green eyes, finally breaking eye contact with the stranger in the mirror. He quickly shook his head and dosed his face with the coldest water his shitty apartment’s faucet had to offer. His hands found his red hoodie and slipped it over his soaked head of hair.
Thinking about the past only left him with a bigger hole in his chest than the one that was stitched back together all those years ago. He’d tried to plug that hole with the bubbling anger that fueled his every waking moment.
At least he liked to think it was anger.
He wasn’t quite sure what or how to feel anymore.
Jason was, without a doubt, lost.
No one else needed to know that though. Jason would figure himself out eventually. It was just like reading a book; he just needed to crack open the cover of his mind, figure out what was going on, and eventually he’d reach that happy ending he craved.
Or, maybe it would be like Sense and Sensibility. Maybe Jason was never destined for the happy ending, just– the one that worked. It was possible that Jason never got that sweet taste of belonging on his tongue again.
It was better than dying in a warehouse, he supposed.
Or, maybe that was how his fate was set in stone. Perhaps he was destined to repeat his mistakes. For all anyone knows, he could go out with a bang once again, subject to the same sick idolization, and then used as an example for the next kid in his combat boots.
The truth was, he wasn’t mad about the way his first book ended.
He would’ve been happy to spend the rest of his days in the comforting void of death, with only the peachiest of memories keeping him company as he waited for the rest of his self-proclaimed family to join him.
It was the second book that rubbed him the wrong way.
Jason let out a weighted sigh, once again separating his memories from the present, and his scarred hand began to reach for the door handle. Just as he did, however, there was a distinct creaking noise that sounded distantly, but unmistakably from his floor. Jason quickly grabbed the handgun he kept underneath the sink and shouldered his way out of the bathroom.
He silently rushed to the end of the hallway, peeking around the wall into his living room and kitchen area. Jason’s unfamiliar eyes scanned across the two rooms with a calculating glare. At first, the man saw nothing out of place, but as he glanced over the table next to the couch…
There.
Where there would usually sit only a cheap reading light on the decrepit side table he’d picked up off the street one night, there laid an unsuspecting box. After another quick inspection, he also noticed that the window directly next to the lamp was cracked ever so slightly. The dim morning sky crept out of the shitty blinds and danced around his living room. As Jason got closer to the foreign object, he could make out a crimson red ribbon and blue paper sloppily wrapping around the box.
Jason pulled the chain on the lamp, illuminating the box and revealing the true nature of it. It was a present. A letter was sandwiched between the ribbon and tacky, poorly wrapped, blue paper. He undid the neat red bow and plucked the letter out from its bindings.
To : Jason
From: Dick
Jason’s hands went stiff around the envelope, sending waves of wrinkles along the surface. He quickly loosened his grip at the realization of the damage he was causing.
It's not like he cared about the stupid letter or anything…
Because he didn't.
Jason ignored the sentimental thoughts pulling at his nerves and slowly tore open the seal of the paper. He sat down on his old, stained couch while he read.
Hey, Littlewing!
Happy Birthday! I hope you like the present; I tried to get you one that you didn’t already have but it’s a lot harder than you’d think! Lol. I know you have a bad history with people giving you books on your special day, but don’t worry I think you’ll be quite familiar with it.
If you want to actually, I don’t know, celebrate your birthday you know you’re welcome in the manor anytime. It would be nice to have the whole family there again sometime, plus, it would be a nice birthday gift for Alfred. Everyone had a blast last year during Christmas, even if you left halfway through. (Yes, we noticed, Jay.) Even if you just want to hang out one on one in a coffee shop or get burgers sometime, my number is always open. (xxx-xxx-xxxx, if you lost it, seeing as how you haven’t texted me back in a while.) I found a nice coffee shop back in Blüd, if you’re open to a trek, but I’m sure you know a place a little bit more convenient for you. Just… text me, alright? I’m not too busy these days.
Miss you, Jay. -Dick
P.S. Alfred said something about going on a walk earlier. I’m sure he would like some company. He misses you too! (Plus you’re still definitely the favorite grandkid, if that changes anything.)
Jason closed the tear-speckled, colorful birthday card and slid it back into its envelope. He folded it back up, nice and neat, before reaching over to the side table and grabbing what he presumed was a book. With a single hand, he ripped the decorative paper away from the book and felt his face go red at the sight of the worn cover. He nearly dropped the thing before he realized, that if he dropped this, he’d never fucking forgive himself.
The book was pretty small, as far as books went. But it was covered entirely in leather, with the bordering leather being a natural light brown, and the main piece of leather in the center resembling something not unlike the feathers of a Scarlet macaw. The edges of the book were fairly worn down and damaged, but what else could one expect from a book that was first published in 1833?
Although the front cover had nothing written on it, he could perfectly picture the golden font that would meet his eyes, now sparkling with awe, if he were to flip it over to show the spine. And, sure enough… his memory served him well. There, in his hands, written in faded gold lettering.
PRIDE & PREJUDICE
Jason was holding a first edition of fucking Pride & Prejudice in his scarred, callosed, trembling hands.
Holy FUCK.
He carefully set the treasured book on his coffee table and lifted his hands. He couldn’t believe that Dick didn’t put this in a fucking box before he wrapped it and swung it across Gotham in the humid fucking post-rain enviroment. Jason couldn’t believe he just touched that thing without gloves. The oils from his hands would damage the book over time if he held it too long.
Jason sped off into his room and returned to his living room with an old Doc Martens shoe box. He lifted the book off of the blemished coffee table with his fingertips, like a record off a record player, and gingerly placed it inside the shoebox that he’d lined with some old blanket he’d bought before he realized it was too small for his bed. He carefully folded the blanket over the book and shut the box. He’d feel more comfortable having it on display once he brought it to a shop to be properly cared for.
Maybe with a protective sleeve too.
He threw the letter onto the box and slid it into the drawer of his side table. It was then when he heard yet another creaking sound. This time, however, it came from his room.
Jason rolled his eyes, but quickly got up and followed his hallway until he reached the bedroom. He still kept his handgun stowed away in his waistband, but his fingers weren’t as tense as they probably should’ve been.
He walked through the cracked door and rolled his eyes once again at the sight of another, smaller, present sitting on the foot of his bed. This one was wrapped with little to no flaws in plain, dark green wrapping paper. A black ribbon wound around the present and was tied into a perfect bow on the top of the box. It was simple, but it looked nice.
Jason strode across the room and swiftly lifted the box from the sheets, revealing a black envelope that had been sitting underneath the package.
To: Jason Peter Todd-Wayne
From: Damian Al Ghul Wayne
He bit back a light chuckle at the professionalism and tore the envelope open, dropping the box gracefully onto the bed. Jason joined it, sitting on the edge and unfolding the thick letter.
Ahki,
It has come to my attention that you didn’t intend to stay at the manor for your birthday. (The birthday of which you didn’t alert me of.) I understand that father’s family is rowdy and unkempt, but I have managed to put up with them for the last few months. I’m sure that you can deal with them long enough to attend your own birthday celebration. Pennyworth has declared that, if you arrive in time for dinner, he will make a special Neapolitan ice cream cake. If you don’t plan on showing up for your own reasons, at least consider the fact that you would be robbing me and the rest of the family of a new recipe of Pennyworth’s.
Attached is a gift. I’ve been informed by Drake that gifts are an important tradition of birthdays. I will be researching birthday traditions further to prepare for your arrival this evening. Five-thirty PM should suffice.
Sincerely, Damian.
This time, Jason failed to suppress a laugh. If Damian thought Jason would be stepping foot in the manor, especially on his birthday, the kid must be more childish than he led on. Jason did sometimes miss the kid. He was the only one in the manor –besides Alfred– that couldn’t care less about Jason’s falling out with Bruce, specifically the killing part. Jason had met the kid in the league, if only for a few weeks. But the kid latched onto Jason the second they’d met.
Yeah, he did miss Damian a little bit.
And he might miss Dick a little bit too.
He definitely missed Alfred.
Jason blinked away the longing and shoved it into the back of his mind. That was a problem for another day. Afterall, it was too late to go back to his old home now. Now, it was time to open his second –and probably last– present.
He pulled the bow loose and stripped the paper from the small, square box. Damian seemed to be smart enough to actually put whatever his gift was into an actual fucking container. Jason cut a line down the tape with his set of keys from his bedside table and lifted the cardboard flaps.
Sitting inside, swallowed in a sea of white tissue paper, sat a medallion. It was gold, and bore a twisted knife, not unlike Jason’s from the League. It was attached to a deep green, cloth ribbon and practically glowed in the small amount of light that made its way through the window. A note fell out from the box as Jason lifted it up to get a closer look. It read,
I forged this before your departure from the League of Assassins. You left before it was fully finished. I hope you will accept it as a token of gratitude for you keeping me company back when I required it most. I hope you have a pleasant birthday and I will be expecting your appearance tonight.
Jason smiled. He quickly cleaned up the mess and stored the letter in his bedside table. He tied the medallion around his left wrist and rubbed his opposite thumb across its textured surface as he thought about what he wanted to do with his day.
He decided that he was going to stay home. The last thing he needed was to run into someone and get guilt tripped into going to a party no one wanted him to be at.
Besides Dick, maybe Alfred, and Damian. (To be fair, Damian only wanted him there so he’d get extra fucking sugar.)
Jason kicked up his feet in his living room and cracked open his own, more recent copy of Pride & Prejudice. What could he say, Dick’s gift had made him want to reread it. However, just as he got comfortable on his ratty couch, a brick was thrown through his fucking window.
Someone. Threw. A. Brick. Through. His. Fucking. Window.
Jason leapt off the couch and pulled his gun out from his waistband. He shot at the next thing that came through the window, sending a splintering bang through the musky air. Jason couldn’t quite make out what it was, but it looked pretty brick-shaped at the time. Blood roared in his ears as he ran towards the window to see who the fuck threw not one, but two goddamn bricks into his window.
On his birthday, no less.
He made it to the window just in time to see a blur of purple disappearing into an alleyway across the street.
“JACKASS!” Jason called after the blur before retreating back into the ‘safety’ of his apartment. He pinched the bridge of his nose and started scooping up glass from his creaky floorboards. It took him a moment to see the brown paper bag that sat in the center of the shattered glass.
The bag was one you’d send your kid to school with for lunch, or one you’d pick up at the park for free lunches on the weekends. It mostly just looked like a normal brown paper bag. Well, except for the bullet hole and the purple bow that adorned the exterior.
He picked up the bag with a sigh and tossed the handful of glass away. Jason also picked up the brick, fully intending on throwing it back out the window, but instead, he discovered a note duct-taped to it.
SORRY ABOUT THE WINDOW, HAD TO ONE-UP DICK AND DAMIAN
Well, at least whoever did this was apologetic about it.
He turned his attention back to the poorly decorated bag, sitting back down on his couch and ripping it open. Yet another note sat on the top of a bunch of crumpled newspapers.
Happy birthday dead Robin #1!
I know your birthday doesn’t technically line up with your age anymore, but it’s still an excuse to make matching shirts and fuck with the rest of the family. (I understand, I mean– my birthday still matches up but I now officially age 3 minutes later than the time on my birth certificate! In other words, I totally understand your struggles, and sympathize with you, fellow dead Robin.) Jokes aside, I hope you have a good birthday! We should totally go out and celebrate tonight! I know you’re probably not going to show up to the manor tonight, BUT if you do. You should wear this, so we can match ;)
-Dead Robin #2 (Stephanie for short) (Steph for shorter)
Jason set the sheet of notebook paper off to the side and started to pull out the newspapers. Once he got to the bottom, he reached in and fished out what felt like a T-shirt of some kind.
Sure enough, he lifted a pretty shitty quality shirt from out of the shitty quality bag. It was just your average T-shirt, but Steph must’ve gotten it custom-made because on the left side of the chest, in big bold letters, it said, DEAD ROBIN #1
On the back of the shirt, was a poorly drawn bird with big red X’s over its eyes and its tongue sticking out. The robin was accompanied by the words, “DEAD ROBIN CLUB” underneath it.
Jason snickered. He completely forgot about the window as he took off his hoodie and slid the shirt over his head. It was a tiny bit too small for him, but it was just an excuse to show off some of his muscles.
He started back towards his room to hang up his hoodie. As he pushed open the door, he revealed a short, slim, dark figure hunched over his dresser, fiddling with something. At last, someone fumbled the bit.
“I have a P.O. box,” Jason announced, “You know that right?”
The figure flinched so hard that Jason could’ve sworn he saw it jump a couple inches in the air. “Holy shit!” It yelped, before promptly launching itself out the open window.
Jason let out a deep chuckle as he placed his hoodie on the hook of his closet door and walked over to his dresser, where the ‘mysterious figure’ had been messing with something.
On his dresser sat a gift bag and a card. The card was folded into an upside down V so it stood up on its own.
From: Tim
To: Jason
Poor kid. Jason probably scared the shit out of him. Granted, Tim was in Jason’s apartment.
Just like all the others, Jason flipped open the card and began to read.
Happy Birthday!
I know we don’t talk a ton, but it would be kind of messed up if I didn’t get you something, huh? After all, I did stalk you while you were Robin. (Thanks for that btw, I was beyond bored during those times. You were easy to follow.) I did learn stuff during that time though! I can only hope that you still have the same favorite Justice League hero. (and that you still drink coffee and/or tea)
Hope you come to the manor tonight!
-Timothy Drake
P.S. Steph said sorry again for the brick. She also said that there better not be a bullet hole in the gift or she’ll have to order another one, and you’re paying for the shipping this time.
Jason folded the cardstock back up and placed it upright on his dresser. He peeked into the red gift bag and pulled out a mug from the matching tissue paper. It was mostly white, the only thing that wasn’t was a big gold, blue, and red W on the front.
As much as Jason didn’t love the company of his replacement… he had to admit, the kid was a good stalker.
And it wasn't like Jason was going to let a perfectly good mug go to waste.
A couple minutes later, Jason had a fresh cup of almost black coffee. He only liked a couple douses of milk in his coffee. Not too sweet and not too bitter. Once he was done with finished creating his perfect cup of joe, he picked his book back up off the coffee table, sat down, started reading again, and was just about to turn the second page when–
His doorbell rang.
He didn’t have a fucking doorbell.
How the fuck was his doorbell ringing?
Nevertheless, Jason shut his book and stood up from his comfortable spot. He slowly trudged his way to the door and peered through the eyehole. After seeing no one there, he cracked open the door and noticed a pretty well-sized package sitting in front of his door in the center of the apartment complex’s hallway.
Jason snatched the present and quickly shut the door, looking left and right beforehand. The present was another purple themed one. Although this one was a box, actually wrapped, and had a golden bow embellishing the top of it. It also had a little black, paper tag hanging out from under the bow. Someone had written on it in gold ink.
To: Jay
From: Barbie
This was the first one that sparked a bit of excitement in Jason. Dick’s had given Jason about two separate heart attacks, Damian’s was nice, but Jason wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to expect, Steph’s was… expressive from the very beginning, and Tim…
Tim was Tim.
Babs on the other hand?
A whole different story.
Jason practically skipped to his counter and began tearing the good quality wrapping paper to shreds beneath his fingers. His heart leapt when he read the name on the box.
HARD N’ HEAVY BOOTS: NEW ROCK COLLECTION
Another black piece of paper was placed next to the company’s name. The message was written in the same, dazzling ink.
Jay,
I may have gone through your search history to find these, but I hope the present is enough to make up for it! I’ll be at the manor tonight, (hint, hint, nudge, nudge.) I understand if you don’t show, but we seriously miss you! Dogging on Dick just isn’t the same without you there.
There was a devastated looking sad face drawn next to the last word.
I hope this present was delivered well! (I know Tim’s going to mess his up. He’s been getting real cocky about how he’s going to outdo all of us.) I can only hope he followed my delivery instructions. Happy birthday, Jay. Enjoy the boots.
P.S. If this reaches you before Steph’s gift, just… beware. She’s snickering in the corner of the clocktower writing on her letter. She had been crazy secretive about it.
Jason cast the letter to the side and slid the lid off of the shoebox. Inside, laid two black, leather, combat boots. The laces were held tight with dark silver clasps, interchanging with four buckles strapped across the front of the foot, and had matching metal aglets dangling loosely from the top latches. On the side of the boot, coming up from the thick rubber soles, was a black zipper. A thick black tongue stuck out from the front of the boot, a corresponding metal emblem was pressed into the leather, reading: NEW ROCK, BOOTS & SHOES.
He could cry.
Hell, he almost actually cried when he slipped his feet into them and found that they hugged his feet perfectly. Not too tight and not too loose. He could wear these perfect shoes for the rest of his life if he had to.
He wouldn’t even have to be forced to.
Jason already never wanted them to come off.
He kept them on as he walked back to his sofa, this time, after about five pages of his book, it was clear that no other presents were coming. Jason propped his heavy boots up on his coffee table and took a long drink out of his coffee while he flipped to the eighth page.
A half an hour passed before he felt confident enough to pull out his earbuds and flip his rock/loud playlist on, racking the volume up as high as it would go. He bobbed his head along to the music and eventually, sometime during Punk’s Dead he nodded off with his arm hanging off the side of the couch. His book still remained lightly held by his limp fingers.
Jason woke up a couple of hours later, the sun was high, meaning it couldn’t have been later than three. He sat up on the couch, wiping away the small amount of drool that had been forming on his cheek. His hands reached for his earbuds, still playing Nirvana but beeping to let him know the battery was getting low. Jason wasn’t entirely sure how he slept through the music blasting in his ears.
Once his earbuds were safely stored away, he stretched his shoulders back and his arms to the ceiling. A couple satisfying pops sounded from his stiff back and he let go of the tension with a sigh.
It was only then he noticed a strange crackling noise coming from across the room, and the smell of freshly cooked bacon, and the subtle smoke that filled a room as one cooked.
And then he saw the slim, tall physique standing by the stove, his back turned to Jason. Despite that, Jason knew exactly who it was.
“Alfie?”
The old man turned his head to convey that he was listening, while still keeping an eye on the pan in his hand. “Yes, Master Jason?”
Jason blinked. “Wha…”
“I’ve taken the liberty of preparing you the ingredients to your original spin on the traditional B.L.T., sir. I just need to finish crisping this bacon and it shall be ready,” Alfred spoke over his shoulder, like Jason was the one who was lost.
“What are you doing in my house?”
“It is your birthday, Master Jason,” Alfred stated matter of factly.
“How did you even…”
“I make lunch for my family on their birthdays. I always have, and I always will,” Alfred explained, “You’ll have to behead me before that fact changes.”
Jason smiled. “I guess it’s a good deal. Someone would have to behead me before they laid a finger on you though.” The young man stood up and stretched once again before walking over to the kitchen and cleaning up a bit.
“We’ll see about that,” Alfie said with a lot more seriousness than Jason was prepared for.
Jason pulled out two plates and threw four pieces of bread in his toaster. They worked in silence for a bit before the sandwiches were finally finished and they sat at the counter stools to eat their lunch.
“Shall I prepare you a plate for this evening?” Alfred asked inevitably.
Jason looked down at his plate. “I uh… I don’t think so, Alfie.”
The older man rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Is there a specific reason why? I will not pry if you wish to keep your privacy, but know that your father’s doors are always open.”
Jason looked back up at Alfred, locking his unsettling, green eyes with Alfred's calming, blue-gray ones. Alfred’s eyes reminded Jason of his old eyes. Maybe that’s why we felt so comfortable looking into them when he was lost. Which nowadays, was all the time. He hadn’t seen Alfred in about three months, if he had to guess.
“They don’t want me there, Alfie,” Jason whispered.
Alfred pulled his face muscles taught, and tilted his head. “It sure doesn’t look that way, Master Jason. I cannot speak for your siblings –or Stephanie– but I certainly wouldn’t be sending gifts and begging my grandfather to go fetch a brother whom I hated.” Alfred used the hand on Jason’s shoulder to turn him in the chair, making their bodies face each other. The man placed the hand from his shoulder down to the space in between his second and third ribs. “You were a great boy–”
“I'm not that boy anymore, Al.”
“Let me finish,” Alfred glared, silencing Jason by pressing his finger harder against Jason’s chest. “You were a great boy, but you’ve grown into a greater young man. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”
“Well, people do. Bruce won’t ever see me the same. I’ll never be his son again.”
“You are, and always will be, his son. Jason, no matter how hard you try, you will always be a part of our family.” Alfred stood up and stacked their empty plates together before heading around the counter towards the sink. “Now,” he continued, “are you going to enjoy the rest of your special day? Or are you going to continue to whisper lies in your own ear?”
Jason couldn’t believe he was doing this.
Standing in front of a house had never been so intimidating.
Alfred went in before him with the promise of keeping Jason’s possible appearance under wraps and getting to work on the neapolitan ice cream cake.
Jason was still wearing his ‘Dead Robins Club’ T-shirt, his new boots, dark gray jeans, a light black jacket, and the medallion wound snug around his wrist. He stepped up to the door and lifted his closed fist, ready to knock.
Someone behind the door beat him to it.
That someone was Damian.
“You’ve arrived,” the kid observed, a hint of surprise in his voice.
Jason smirked, “Alfred is convincing.”
“Indeed.”
“How’d you know I was–”
“Alfred pulled the tri-colored ice cream from the fridge.” Damian turned around and began walking away, looking back as he continued, “It doesn’t take a detective, Todd.”
Jason laughed at the irony and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Things were smooth sailing so far, but he could sense a storm up ahead. The storm, being a bunch of shouting coming from the lounge where they kept all the gaming consoles and cards.
He took a deep breath, and followed Damian into the third door on the left.
It was a relief to Jason that everyone’s faces lit up as soon as he entered.
A feeling of dread quickly followed as Dick shot up from the couch, threw his controller in the general direction of an armchair, missing completely, and launched at Jason. Within seconds, Jason was victim to an octopus hug from the prince of octopus hugs.
“Umph, Rhph– get off,” Jason managed.
“You came,” Dick smiled into Jason’s shoulder.
“I’m here aren’t I?” Jason pushed Dick away and held him at an arm’s length. “Now, where’s my controller?”
Jason had just finished whooping Tim, Barb, and Dick's asses in Smash Bros when he heard a familiar deep voice from the entrance behind him. “Does anyone know if Jason is coming? I wanted to give him this in person, but if he’s not–” It paused, for just a beat. “Jason.”
Bruce rounded the couch therefore revealing a smile on his face from ear-to-ear, pointed directly at Jason. Jason stood up and handed his controller off to Steph, who took it gladly. “Hey, old man.”
“It’s… nice to see you, Jason.”
Jason swallowed a toothy grin. “Yeah, it’s nice to see you too, B.”
“Take your daddy issues somewhere else!” Steph hollered, “I can’t see shit with over six feet of dude standing in the way!” She kicked at Jason’s knee and he dodged it by sliding off to the side.
“Jackass,” he remarked.
Bruce cleared his throat, “As I was saying, I have something for you.”
Jason turned his attention back to B. “Whatisit?” He said, sounding too excited for his liking.
“Come with me.”
Bruce led Jason into the manor’s garage, where all the cars Jason and Bruce worked on together laid untouched for half a decade. Eventually, they reached something that was covered with a black tarp. It looked smaller than a car, but it looked suspiciously like a bike.
“Would you like to do the honors?” Bruce gestured to the tarp.
Wordlessly, Jason pulled the tarp away from the bike, revealing a black-plated beauty.
The bike was one of absolute perfection. It had a light up gauge cluster with all the dials and switches one could ask for and more. The black exterior was flawlessly shiny and could function as a mirror if Jason needed to fix his helmet hair.
Bruce reached over to one of the switches and flicked it upwards.
Suddenly, the bike went from a dark black, to a deep crimson, the side mirrors expanded, revealing smoke bomb projectors, and the back of the bike transformed to expose three massive accelerators, which glowed a bright red. It was almost unrecognizable, everything had shifted and moved to form a completely new looking bike.
Jason almost died again right there and then. His jaw fell slack and he knelt down to inspect it further. “This is fucking sick.”
Jason heard a light chuckle from Bruce. “I’m glad you like it. I saw your old one was due for an upgrade. The display should explain all the modes and non-lethal options the bike has to offer.”
“Non-lethal?” Jason squinted. “Not my style, B.”
“I– I uh–” Bruce babbled.
Jason broke out into laughter, “B, I’m kidding. Thanks.”
“Of course, son– Jay.” Bruce winced and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry–”
“Son works.” Jason spoke unevenly. “Thanks… dad.”
“You’re welcome, son,” Bruce beamed. “Now, how about a joyride before Alfred gets done with your cake?”
Jason couldn't help himself from wrapping his arms around his father and pressing his face into his collarbone. "I'd like that."
Bruce's arms surrounded Jason and gave a comforting squeeze around Jason's racing heart. "I... I missed you Jason."
Maybe Jason wasn't such a monster after all.
"I missed you too."