Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

7:28 PM – Outgoing call: Bristol Livery Taxi Services

7:43 PM – Outgoing call: Bristol Livery Taxi Services

7:45 PM – Outgoing call: Bruce Wayne

“Bruce Wayne. Leave a message.”

“Hi, Mr. Wayne. This is Tim. Tim Drake. I—um—I know you don't want to talk to me, and I promise this isn't about what I was saying before. But I would really appreciate it if I could get a ride home. The taxi dispatcher won't send anyone and that other companies won't, either. He thinks it's a prank but it's not, I promise.

“I'm at the cemetery.”

7:46 PM – Outgoing call: Nora McIlvaine

“This is Nora McIlvaine. If you're hearing this message, I'll call you back when I can.”

“Mrs. Mac? It's Tim. I know that I'm only supposed to call for emergencies and I'm sorry to bother you. If you could come pick me up, I would really appreciate it. Please call me back if you can.”

7:47 PM – Outgoing call: Bruce Wayne

“You've reached Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Please leave a message with your name and phone number.”

“Mr. Wayne, this is Tim Drake. I promise I won't show up at your door again if I can get a ride home. I'm still at the cemetery and my only other option is the bus, which I can still do, so if you can't leave in the next few minutes maybe you can meet me at the bus stop closer to your house. It's about two and a half miles down the road. Please call me back.”

7:49 PM – Outgoing call: Bruce Wayne

“You have reached the Wayne Residence. Please note that all press inquiries should be addressed through the Wayne Enterprises public relations department, the Wayne Foundation media center, or Mr. Wayne's attorney. Please leave a detailed message with your name and phone number. ”

“This is Tim Drake. I'm trying to get in touch with Mr. Wayne. It's not about what I said last time. Mr. Pennyworth or Mr. Wayne, if you're listening to this, please come pick us up—yes, Bruce. Yes, I'm trying to talk to Bruce, I promise—at the bus stop down the road. We should be there in about five minutes.”

7:52 PM – Outgoing call: Dick Grayson

“Grayson. Leave a message.”

“Dick—um. Mr. Grayson? I know you're probably in Blüdhaven but. Um. Would you please try to get in touch with Mr. Wayne for me? I promise I'll stop bugging all of you after this. I don't know how much to say over the phone but please call me back. Or ask Mr. Wayne or Mr. Pennyworth if they can bring a car toward the bus stop down the road. Maybe a car where they won't be mad about the upholstery getting messed up.”

7:55 PM – Outgoing call: Gotham Tip Line

“You have reached Gotham's anonymous tip line. Calls are not monitored in real time and your number is not stored in the system. For a fast response, please call emergency services at 9-1-1. You do not need to leave a name or phone number but will not receive a followup message without leaving a phone number.”

“This is a tip for Commissioner Gordon. I know that you work with Batman sometimes, sir, and there's a case he needs to know about. It's in Bristol. Please call him.”

7:56 PM – Outgoing call: Bruce Wayne

“Bruce Wayne. Leave a message.”

“Mr. Wayne? Tim Drake again. I didn't want to call 9-1-1 because. Um. You'll see, I guess, I'm calling them next and those calls are public record. Sorry. We're... um... half a mile from the bus stop and can't go much further. If you could—what?—no. No! Leave us alone, we—”

8:02 PM – Outgoing call: Timothy Drake

“This is Tim Drake. I promise I'll call you back as soon as I can. Please leave a message.”

“Tim? Tim, this is Bruce. I'm on my way.”

8:14 PM – Outgoing call: Dick Grayson

“Grayson. Leave a message.”

“Dick? I need your help. Please.”

Chapter Text

Eighteen Months Later

Tim notices the group of people slowly gathering in the corridor. He pretends he only has eyes for Jason's sparring match against an unfamiliar opponent.

No one in the League of Assassins loiters. Assassins and servants move with purpose or they stay in their assigned place. They don't wander the halls and happen to stop just outside one of the larger sparring areas. If any of the assassins make small-talk or visibly have friends, they have never done that where Tim can see them.

Talia had summoned Tim and Jason again last week and made it clear that her patience has been exhausted. They'd both thought Jason would come back to himself in days or weeks. After a month, Talia had started bringing in specialists. After a few months, Talia brought in specialists that Tim didn't get to meet. Tim doesn't know what treatment is left but he knows he won't like it. If it was anything that would make Tim happy, Talia wouldn't have looked at him with sympathy.

The sparring match is going well. That's the only thing in Tim's favor today. Tim had ended up coaxing Jason through their morning routine via pantomime. Jason refused to listen to verbal explanations and wouldn't even respond to Bruce's name. Words are hard, sometimes. Jason understands fighting more than anything else.

Jason's still catatonic or something like it. Tim hasn't been able to get near a cell phone or a computer since the League took them from the side of the road and the few textbooks Talia has given him about neurology don't help. Tim can barely understand the concepts that the books describe. Even when he puzzles through them, he doesn't know how to apply the theories and possible treatments in the textbooks to Jason's case. Tim might never know if the brain damage is from injuries before his death or because Jason dug himself almost all the way out of the ground before Tim belatedly realized that the earth beneath Jason's gravestone was actually moving. The most Tim had been able to do was peel back the sod and loosen the soil. By then...

Tim should have called for an ambulance right away. It's a familiar lament and it helps keep his mind busy while he's ignoring the people standing in the hallway. Tim had wanted to get Jason straight to his dad and help them avoid the media circus as long as they could. Tim had been nervous about just how quickly rumors from an emergency services dispatcher could get to the tabloids and that the rumors could precede them to any hospital. Jason had been ready to follow Tim anywhere as long as Tim spoke gently and talked about Bruce. Tim had thought that they had time. He'd been wrong.

No one told Tim to try talking sense into Batman. No one told him to convince Nightwing to come back to Gotham. Nobody told him to go to a graveyard and try to apologize to a headstone. Tim could have minded his own business or just asked Mr. Pennyworth if there was anything that he could do to help beyond pestering his way into being the next Robin. Tim hadn't stayed home and hadn't given up.

That decision led to Tim standing at the edge of a sparring ring with his wooden quarterstaff in hand, watching Jason fight with a wooden practice blade and precision driven by muscle memory. He keeps his eyes on the fight and listens to the sound of approaching footsteps. They never take the same caution with Tim that they do with Jason.

Tim waits for the person sneaking up behind him to come into position. Tim spins, staff already up in block position, and doesn't stop the staff that he was expecting.

The hard-eyed man staring at him is holding a sword, and so are the two behind him.

Tim hasn't fought against someone with a true edge to their weapon before. Whatever Talia is planning...

Tim shifts back into a defensive stance and controls his breathing. His enemy assesses him for a moment and is still looking at Tim dismissively when Jason leaps over Tim's extended staff into the space between Tim and the assassin. Jason dodges the initial swing of the man's sword, lashes out with a flat hand in a nerve strike, and grabs the sword when the man loses his grip on the hilt.

There's a glint in Jason's eye, one Tim hasn't seen in weeks, and Tim turns his back to Jason. It's like they fight together every day and not once every couple months. Tim follows Jason's lead, spinning with pressure against one shoulder or the other or a tap against one of his ankles. Tim guards Jason's back and hits out at full strength with his staff. Most of the assassins' moves are straightforward enough for Tim to follow the patterns and know how to disrupt their next attack. Jason knows all of their moves and he's focused enough on the battle that some of Robin's flair is back.

When they are the only two people left on their feet, Jason steps away. Tim turns and knows what he'll see. Sure enough, Jason has traces of a crooked smile on his face, and that gleam of intensity that never lasts long after a fight that draws Batman's training out.

“Good fight, Jason,” Tim says quietly.

Jason looks at him, gaze still focused and blue eyes sharp, but doesn't speak.

Talia has said that she'll send Jason home when he's able to make decisions and wants to return to his father. She's only implied that Tim will go back to Gotham when Jason does.

Tim tries again. He's been trying for a year and a half and every single time he hopes that one more repetition will be enough. “Bruce misses you.”

Jason's smile fades. Sometimes, Bruce's name only makes him smile wider, but not today. The intensity is fading back as the adrenaline from the fight does.

Jason's expression is back to neutral when one of the servants enters the sparring ring. Her long dress with a split skirt is a dull shade of green, not the usual brown or khaki of a lower-ranked maid, and the loose pants below are dyed to match. Tim and Jason don't have anything more than a thin strip of matching green at the neckline of their shirts. She's wearing solid green from neck to ankles and steps over the unconscious men without a single hitch in her stride.

“You will follow,” she says.

Learning to speak the League's dialect fluently had taken the better part of a year. Learning to understand the basic commands and expected courtesies had taken a very painful few weeks.

“We will,” Tim agrees plainly.

After the third stairway leading them down, there is no more sunlight, and their way is lit by torches on the walls. If anyone in the compound has cell phones or computers or electricity, Tim hasn't found signs of it yet. They mostly stay on the upper floors near the sparring rooms lit by sunlight or torches. Tim had never been down this far. If Jason has been down this deep, it was during one of the times that Tim paced their small shared room until someone brought Jason back.

The maid stops in a doorway flanked by two torches and bows deeply. “My lady.”

“Thank you. You may go,” Talia replies. “Timothy. Bring Jason.” Without Talia's occasional visits to the compound, he wouldn't hear anyone say his name.

Tim steps between the torches and has to blink for a few seconds for the intense light to fade enough to see the glowing green water in front of him.

It's a Lazarus Pit. He knows that much, from rumors and the vivid shade of green he'd seen in Ra's al Ghul's eyes the one time Tim had seen him passing through the base. For a moment, Tim doesn't understand, but then his eyes adjust enough to make out the expression on Talia's face.

Talia is looking at him with open sympathy. Tim wants to grab Jason's hand and run.

“I gave permission for that little demonstration in the practice court for one last attempt at letting adrenaline fix what nothing else has. None of the doctors and their scans and tests give any hope for change. Telepaths and magic have failed him,” she says quietly. “This is his last chance.”

Tim looks down at the green water and shudders at the color. It doesn't seem like a natural green, even past the faint glow, and the air has a bite of sulfur over something that smells like mildew.

“The Lazarus Pit rage?” Tim's voice is barely loud enough to hear.

“Rage fades in time. The catatonia has not.”

Tim looks down at the water and tries not to picture weeks of killing rage on a hair-trigger temper. He's only heard rumors about Ra's al Ghul's last immersion in the Pit. He doesn't know if going into a Lazarus Pit a single time will be anything as bad as that. “When?”

“Very soon. You both will wait in a chamber nearby until I give the signal.” She reaches out and cups Jason's jaw in her hand. He looks at her blankly and she sighs. “I will do what I can to help you, Timothy, but you know that Jason is not my only responsibility.”

Talia has never explained her other responsibilities. Tim has never been brave enough to ask about them.

She shows them to a small antechamber with a hard wooden bench and nothing else. “Stay here and do not leave the room until I come for you. This is important, Timothy.”

Talia leaves without waiting for a response. She doesn't need one. Talia trusts that Tim will do what he can to keep Jason safe.

Tim sets his hand on the bench between them and smiles when Jason's hand touches his just seconds later. If the smile wavers, nobody else is around to notice. “This would be a good time for a miracle,” Tim mutters without looking away from the hallway. “You know. In case you have another one in your pocket. It's a lot to ask when you already came back from the dead.”

Jason doesn't say anything. Tim doesn't let go of Jason's hand until Talia comes back.

Chapter Text

Jason opens his eyes and the world is green.

He opens his mouth to shout and the green pours in, burning and sour, and he chokes. He's underwater but this isn't normal water. He kicks toward the distorted image of someone looking at him through the water.

The air tastes pungent and the coolness of it burns as he draws in deep gasps of air. The first gasp is reflexive and followed by spitting out all the green water that he can. It burns on the way out. The deeper breaths that follow finally calm the primal urge to breathe and let him feel like the air isn't made of fire.

He's naked, floating in a glowing pool of acid-green water, and for reasons somebody better explain quickly he's sharing a Lazarus Pit with Ra's al Ghul himself.

"Jason," a voice says sharply.

When he turns, he sees Talia al Ghul standing at the edge of the pool. He had seen her face through the water. "Come here and we will get you dressed."

Getting away from Ra's and having something to wear is incentive enough to cooperate. He struggles out of the water and tries not to look down again after he sees an old scar on his arm fading away under the Pit's magic. Ra's al Ghul is staring at him but if the old windbag is going to hold his tongue Jason can return the favor.

Talia smiles when Jason makes it out of the water and the minion behind her looks hopeful.

The minion doesn't just give Jason the long green robe he'd been clutching to his chest. He helps him into it like Jason's some kind of invalid that doesn't understand clothes. Jason allows the unwanted help because Talia seems a much more suitable target for the fury burning under his skin.

"With me," Talia orders when her minion finishes fussing with the robe's belt. Her voice sharp is again but it's her eyes that convince him to give her a minute. Ra's had looked at Jason like he was imagining the many ways Jason could be taken apart. Talia is still looking at him like he's part of a battle that she's going to win. She's likely to betray him after working to gain his trust, based on everything Dick said about her, but Ra's is not a better option.

Jason follows in her wake. Ra's al Ghul stares at him from the Lazarus Pit but Jason does not turn back. Talia's minion falls into place behind Jason and the three of them travel up several staircases until they finally reach a large, airy space with a meal laid out on a low table. Talia reclines on a cushion on one side and gestures to the seat opposite her.

"Food and an explanation.”

She isn't wrong to be confident. She knows he's going to accept. He takes the seat across from her and pretends to not notice that everything on her table smells sour and rotten, however nice it looks.

Talia turns to the servant. "A few minutes alone, please," she says. It's far more polite than he'd have expected from Talia but the servant doesn't seem surprised. "The quartermaster will have a new wardrobe ready and show you Jason's new chambers. Come back when you have it set up."

The servant doesn't look at Jason. He nods and walks away with near-silent footsteps.

Talia puts together a plate for herself and starts to eat. It's finger foods, nothing that requires a knife, but he's pretty sure she's got several knives in reach. Bruce rarely caught her by surprise. Jason won't manage to outwit her unarmed and with something unfamiliar and wild thrumming through him.

"Eat." She's already finished off her plate and doesn't look any more ready to start talking. "The food will help. Focus on the tastes, the textures. The different temperatures. Chew slowly."

Jason would rather fight. She's still staring at him calmly, though, and he's got no weapons and no allies and a bizarrely nice dark green robe. "Is this silk?"

Talia lifts a brow. "You will eat and then you will get answers," she says calmly. "If you are not done eating by the time he returns, you will wait to have answers to your questions another day. You are under my protection and I expect you to heed sensible requests, Pit rage or not."

Jason doesn't know much about Lazarus Pit rage other than it's one of the reasons that Ra's al Ghul is periodically angrier and more homicidal than usual. Jason does know that Talia won't explain until he gives in and eats. Jason resentfully focuses on tastes and textures even when everything tastes sour and dusty and the food all feels rubbery as he chews. He's almost ready to ask just why she bothered with so many options when one of the honey-drizzled figs suddenly tastes delicious and fresh. The shock of it cuts through the anger.

"There," Talia says, smiling. "That is the first step. The anger will not be a constant, Jason, no matter what it seems at first. The Pit did not bring you back from the dead, Jason Todd, and as of yet I do not know what magic did. You were strong enough to emerge from your own grave approximately eighteen months ago."

Only old reflexes honed with batarangs and grappling lines give him time to set the delicate plate down carefully. "A year and a half," he says, voice low and not quite a growl.

"You have been catatonic, or something like it." Her voice is crisp and nothing in her gives the slightest hint of pity. "I tried what I could, as did your attendant, but nothing brought you back to sensibility. You have been training with us since the night you came from your grave. I believe you will be impressed by your improved reflexes and muscle memory."

"My attendant," he repeats flatly.

Talia slowly raises a brow. "He has been very loyal to you. I have quite a few responsibilities, Jason, and could not dedicate my days to being sure that you would not wander off and get yourself into trouble. He made sure you arrived at your lessons on time and fetched meals and made sure that I did not have to worry about you. I expect him to continue doing the same."

"I don't want a servant.”

Talia sips her tea before replying. “He has spent a year and a half taking care of you and you would be a fool to dismiss his help. You do not know your way around this compound. You do not know where your chambers are or which fighting masters you have lessons with. I doubt you are fluent in the language spoken by most people at this base. Very few stationed here have any knowledge of English.”

Jason frowns but drops it. "Catatonia."

"Your mind was damaged. I paid several physicians and magic practitioners to make their assessments and their scans and tests found nothing that could be cured. I did not find any telepaths worthy of my trust." She sets the cup down carefully. "You generally would not respond to words but you were able to fight and to plan intelligently in brawls against many opponents. You responded well to routine and seemed quite fond of your attendant.”

Getting beaten half to death and then exploded could have caused the brain damage. So could somehow digging his way out of his own grave without Bruce noticing. He isn't sure that the rage building under his skin can handle hearing Talia talk about his dad.

"Pit rage," he says instead.

"It can be difficult to manage, even after a first immersion in the Pit,” Talia replies. “It will be stronger than it has been today, Jason. Be cautious."

Jason can ignore that it's Bruce's voice in his ear when he reaches back for memories blurred by time and death. Ra's al Ghul suffers from Pit Rage, as the League of Assassins calls it, every time he puts himself back into the Pit. The rage is potent enough that he might kill anyone in the room with him.

A younger Jason hadn't been able to understand why anyone would stay anywhere near Ra's al Ghul.

Sitting across the table from Talia and looking past her to a desert landscape, he can understand why leaving could seem impossible. He can't see anything but sand all the way to the horizon.

They had passed several training rooms on the walk from the Pits deep below Talia's sitting room. Nearly all had been in use by several assassins, some crowded with dozens learning to fight together. Everything was torches and open windows and clean-swept fireplaces that were ready to be lit when the night cool came.

There was no sign of a road out of Talia's window and no city past the compound.

"I do not live here," she says when he looks at her again. "I have other responsibilities, as I told you, and I am hopeful that you will become an asset instead of a liability. I do not want you to think of returning to Gotham until the worst of the Pit Rage has passed. I do recommend taking advantage of lessons that you may choose for yourself. Do note that any instructors or assassins with colored bands on their clothing are under someone's protection. If you kill one of them, their protector may attempt to kill you in vengeance. I do not want to see a year and a half of effort wasted."

"Your—” Jason stops. Not Talia's servant, apparently. "The servant. He's under your protection. His shirt has a green strip at the collar.”

"Correct." Talia shifts and gracefully rises to her feet. "He is under my protection, Jason, as you are. I expect you to keep him from harm when I am not present.”

"He's a shrimp," Jason says, uneasy. The distracting roil of green dominating his world doesn't seem to care. Jason had fought off the urge to shove the kid away when he'd been too helpful with the robe. He hadn't even cared that the likely direction of the push would have tipped the kid straight into a Lazarus Pit.

"Even so."

Jason takes his time when he stands up. When he isn't thinking, it's easy to reach for a piece of food or to gesture. Whenever he focuses on moving, his arms feel too long and his legs feel like they're in the wrong place.

"What's his name?" Jason asks.

Talia looks past him and smiles. "Prompt as ever, Timothy."

Jason turns. Away from the Lazarus Pit's green glow swamping the orange light from the torches, it's easier to make out details. 'Timothy' has pale skin, black hair, and blue eyes.

Timothy is cautious, all earlier hope buried under wariness and a politely blank neutral expression, but he meets Jason's gaze squarely.

Jason looks away first. “Thank you, Talia.”

“You are welcome, Jason.” She doesn't move around the table. “Avoid antagonizing my father and you both should be safe enough over the next week. I expect to return soon.”

“Safe enough?”

“My father is unlikely to seek you out but you should not venture beyond the areas that Timothy will show you. You also should do what you can to not seek my father's attention.” Talia's expression stays pleasantly blank but her words are heavy with meaning. “Stay in your room after nightfall, Jason, and listen to Timothy. He has kept you out of trouble this long. I will be very disappointed if you break his streak in a single day of conscious thought.”

Jason breathes slowly until the wave of green fades again. Talia merely raises a brow as if it should be easy to push back rage so strong it erases any thoughts that aren't violent.

Any words that he says will only be bitter and angry so he turns his back to Talia. “Let's go, then,” he says sharply.

The inexplicable, aimless fury keeps spiking on the long walk to an unfamiliar room. Jason almost wants an excuse to act on his aimless fury and hit something. Timothy doesn't say a word on the long walk through the base's narrow corridors. It's for the best but it only makes Jason feel angrier. Everyone else stays out of their way.

If this is the Lazarus Pit rage... it feels almost like a shark, circling and searching out a target. It feels like sooner or later, he's going to have trouble controlling himself whether or not he has a worthy target.

Chapter Text

By the time they leave the public areas filled with people that turn to stare at him and his silk dressing gown, Jason feels like he has the rage tamped down. He can think again and try to plan out how he'll ride out the next surge. Nothing he's read about the Lazarus Pit suggests that the effects will be any better in a week but Talia seemed confident enough.

Timothy opens a door to a small room with a single broad window that looks out over the desert. A low bed with a brown coverlet and small table are pushed up against the window. The entire room is maybe fourteen by fourteen feet with unadorned clay walls and a single circular brown rug barely big enough for him to sit on. There's a plain wooden chest at the foot of the bed with a sheathed sword resting on top. There are only two other things in the room.

Jason points at the pallet bed and smaller wooden chest tucked into a corner.

“Yours?”

“Yes, if it's okay with you.” Timothy waits for a moment, expression politely blank. When Jason makes an impatient gesture, Timothy keeps talking. “There are occasional assassination attempts. It can be helpful to have someone around. I've also gotten into the habit of waking early enough to be sure that you were on time for lessons.”

Jason breathes out slowly at the reminder that he doesn't remember a year and a half of his apparent second chance of life. He'd been catatonic and this kid kept him alive in the League of Assassins, Talia's distant protection or not. Jason isn't sure where the kid will sleep if not his room. He's pretty sure that kicking him out on the first night is not what Talia has in mind.

“You seem useful enough.” Faint praise is the best Jason can offer.

Timothy's polite expression doesn't waver. “Thank you.”

It's a little creepy. The lack of emotion reminds Jason of the people at Bruce's fancy society parties that would insult someone with a dazzling false smile on their face and the way that the offended party would laugh and retort with the most cutting remark they could say while smiling back with feigned warmth.

Jason forces down the urge to push until Timothy's polite expression cracks open. “So. I have a sword. What else?”

“You have more clothes in the chest as well as some shoes underneath the bed. There is enough room to exercise here, if you like. The previous room didn't have enough space for that to be an option.”

Jason wants a fight, not exercising, but he's also exhausted and doesn't want to pound the kid's face in. He pulls back all thoughts about just how good it might feel if his fist cracked right into Timothy's fine-boned jawline. “What time do I usually get up in the morning?”

“A half-hour past sunrise.”

Jason turns away. He's getting mad that there's nothing to be angry about and this won't hold. “First things on the routine.”

“Warm-up katas, stretching, a sword lesson with the training master, and then breakfast.”

“Good enough,” Jason says into the slight pause. “What do you call me, anyway?”

The long hesitation is answer enough. Whatever the answer had been, Timothy does not want to offend Jason. Worse, Timothy is probably right to be cautious.

“Whatever. Call me Jason. And you're Timothy?”

“I prefer Tim.” The retort is automatic and Tim freezes after the sharp words. It's the first time the kid hasn't sounded like a robot.

“You got it, Timbo.” Jason turns over his shoulder and grins at the offended look that breaks through the polite mask. It's a relief to know the kid has a personality under all the manners. “Roommates for now works for me, but no offense, I'm not likely to get attached. I want to get back to Gotham and take care of some unfinished business and the sooner Talia gets me out of here the better.” Just thinking about going back to Gotham lets the rage bleed over to better targets. Batman was all talk but parts of the city didn't get any action. Jason knows there are entire sections of Gotham he could claim as his own without Batman realizing for days or weeks.

Tim doesn't say anything. It's probably the right decision but everything is making Jason feel more on edge. Being someone that a kid has to placate makes him angrier. Nothing about this is going to get better with words so Jason turns away. The sun has already set and the room's starting to get dark. Going to bed is easier than thinking about going home.

Falling asleep is difficult when all he wants to do is find someone to fight.

Jason is alive. He remembers dying. He remembers enough about dying that he breaks away from those memories and only growing rage saves him from a panic attack. The rage doesn't make it any easier to sleep. He's awake and counting his breaths long after any noise from the corner of his room has settled to even breathing. The only other sounds are the quiet footsteps of assassins roaming the halls all through the night.

Jason dozes but he never fully sleeps. He's awake at dawn when light breaks on the horizon and he watches the sun rise on the distant horizon. Wherever he is, there is a lot of desert outside and his window doesn't overlook any roads. There are a few flatter places that might be roads but no signs of signal towers or telephone wires or electric lights at a perimeter.

Nights get cold in the desert. He goes through the trunk at the base of his bed in the twilight and manages to put together an outfit out of the piles of identical clothes. There is a mound of solid green linen shirts next to a stack of khaki-colored linen pants, smallclothes, and socks. There's enough for him to not need to bother with laundry for two weeks. The only other things in the chest are a leather belt with clips for a scabbard and a sword sharpening kit.

The sword is more interesting. He spends some time checking how to put the leather belt in place so that he can draw the sword out of the scabbard quickly. The blade is about two feet long, the hilt has room for one or two hands, and all of the sword feels solidly made. Jason had always cared more about practical weapons, not the historical classifications of any sword made, but it looks mostly like a gladius if he was going to guess based on the video games Dick left behind.

Jason keeps his eyes on the guards patrolling the close perimeter of the camp when the quiet, even breathing coming from the corner changes. The metronome-steady breaths had been useful and it hadn't taken much thought to match his own breathing to the kid's. He's a lot less sure what to do with the awake version of the kid so he keeps watching the guards. Jason is pretty sure he saw one of them wait for a sign from a more distant guard.

Peripheral vision is enough. He loses some of the details but the overall picture is clear. Tim wakes up and stands fluidly and for a few seconds nothing seems to be amiss. When he looks around, he seems to realize he's in an unfamiliar room. He freezes and doesn't move again for a few seconds. It's probably better that Jason didn't see his face and just what it might have shown. Whatever relationship they'd had before Talia shoved Jason into a Lazarus Pit, Jason isn't interested in anything more than tolerating a necessary aide. Jason is stuck with the League of Assassins, not the League of Well-Meaning Hug-Dispensers. Showing any weakness will only get both of them hurt.

By the time Jason decides he won't catch the patrolling guards' signal in the next few minutes, Tim has regained that robotic composure that looks more suited to a Gotham socialite's social secretary than an assassin's aide-de-camp.

“You said katas,” Jason says plainly. “When and where do we start?”

Jason shakes his head when Tim looks ready to offer more than the bare minimum of details. Until he knows just where the spies and saboteurs are in this place, he doesn't want any smalltalk. Jason doesn't understand the rules and right now having a child under his dubious protection is a liability, however much Tim knows. It would be too easy for someone to set up an ambush and leave Jason with the blame for the death of a servant in Talia's colors.

Jason has enough to worry about when it comes to keeping his brand-new Lazarus Pit rage issues under control. He doesn't know things that his body knows. It's infuriating. The sword feels familiar in his hand and he has calluses that perfectly fit to the hilt. When he doesn't think, he can move fluidly through patterns he doesn't remember learning. After Jason falters for the sixth time on a half-remembered motion, Tim picks up a wooden training sword from the rack and wordlessly starts the pattern of attacks and parries at half-speed. When Jason's following, Tim ups the tempo. Tim does the same for stretching.

“The training master,” Jason says on the way to his lesson. “Is this with practice weapons or live steel?”

“You've been practicing with live steel. Usually with quilted armor but sometimes without.” Tim pauses and continues when Jason waves him on. “He's one of the old hard-liners that thinks everyone here should be loyal to Ra's al Ghul and one of the few people here that speaks English. He won't be happy that Talia went against Ra's, even indirectly. She didn't ask permission to push you into the Lazarus Pit.” Tim's voice is quiet. It has to be when Jason can see the swordsmaster waiting for him just down the hall.

Jason's smile is vicious. “Well, such a shame if I disappoint one of Ra's al Ghul's finest.”

The man is disappointed. Jason is very disappointed because the swordsmaster was expecting to fight someone with muscle memory and rote memorization who apparently didn't have much going on upstairs.

The sword wasn't Jason's weapon when he died and katas are confusing. Fighting isn't anything like trying to remember smooth patterns of motion. It's attack and defense. His body moves faster than Jason can think. He decides to try a parry and his body's moving before he's done thinking. Jason will probably lose that speed soon, and will definitely need to add some time to practice if it isn't already on the schedule, but Jason managed to disarm the man with a move that is worth practicing for hours to know how to make it a little harder to counter. Jason isn't even out of breath enough to hold back on taunting. The insults probably hurt the man's pride less than knowing Jason didn't have to work hard enough to make running his mouth a challenge.

The swordsman bows, at the end of the lesson, and Jason is polite enough to mimic him.

Jason leaves the lesson smiling. Tim is frowning.

Jason rolls his eyes. “If I was supposed to throw the fight, Timbit, you should've told me,” he murmurs as they head to breakfast. “You look grumpy.”

“I told you that he is loyal to Ra's al Ghul and speaks English,” Tim says under his breath. “You kept insulting Ra's to a loyalist that understands what you were saying.”

Jason shrugs. The rage is still thrumming under his skin but it feels easier to control after winning the fight so readily. “You mean I shouldn't call him Cadaver?”

“In his base?” Tim stops and looks up at Jason. Jason's not that much taller than he was when he died but this kid is still half a head shorter. “You shouldn't insult Ra's al Ghul or his daughter. If anything, you should seem grateful for their hospitality and mention that you don't want to impose too long before you return to Gotham.”

The hallway is empty. Jason doesn't trust that it means no one is listening in. “Yeah?” He leans closer. The deeper voice with the hard edge had felt great when he was spitting out insults without a single worry that his voice would crack. Now... he sounds mean, and Tim's eyes are slightly wider as he looks up at Jason.

Jason clears his throat. He doesn't need to threaten Tim. “What happens to me if I don't tug my forelock just because I'm in Skeletor's secret hideout?”

Tim hesitates.

Jason tries to look like the kind of person that won't throw a punch if he doesn't like the answer. It's harder than he likes with Tim trying to decide if it's safe to answer a question. Jason turns away when he hears pointedly loud footsteps.

The swordsman stands in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest.

“There you are,” the swordsman says in English. He switches to the League's language when he sees Tim. Tim replies in kind as he moves forward to stand between Jason and the swordsman.

Jason looks between the two of them, frowning. Maybe relying on Tim for a week or two isn't the worst idea. He doesn't understand a word they're saying.

“Ah, of course.” The swordsman's smile is wide and shows too many teeth. “You do not remember, Jason Todd, and do not speak the League's language. I require your servant's presence. My own servant will escort you to breakfast and attend to you until your servant returns to his duties.”

“I apologize that I will miss your time working with ranged weapons after breakfast.” Tim looks like a Gothamite again, crisp and upright despite the fear toxin interrupting yet another gala. “I should be back in time to join you at the practice court for further independent work with the sword.”

The swordsman's eyes glint like he knows something that Jason doesn't. He says something else in the League's language.

Jason is going to be learning a few phrases, including whatever the heck that means, even if he ends up keeping both of them up late to understand a little more. Whatever the man had said, the words made Tim try to hide a flinch.

“Would you care to join us?” the swordsmaster asks. “It might be worth the disruption in your routine.”

Tim's hands are behind his back. Since the shrimp put himself between Jason and the interloper, that leaves Jason free to see Tim's slashing gesture that can only mean 'no.'

“Send him back when you're done, then.” Jason makes his voice bored instead of cruel. He doesn't know if he can sound happy and doesn't want to try. His voice is different and even the muscles on his face are set into unfamiliar resting patterns.

Tim turns to face him and Jason can't read his expression.

“I will return as soon as I can,” Tim says, voice distant and polite and all Jason could hope for if he's going to keep up the pretense that Tim is a tolerated and useful servant. He doesn't want to give the impression that anyone could hurt Tim to get to Jason.

Jason doesn't like it, but he watches Tim walk away. Whatever is going on here, it isn't something that Jason understands, and Tim had waved him off. They'll have time to sort it out later.

Chapter Text

Tim's replacement is useless. The only thing Jason trusts the swordsman's servant to do is stab him in the back if Jason lets his guard down.

Breakfast in the large shared space for meals is easy enough even without any more help than finding the dining hall. Jason points at the food that looks promising while he follows the line of people used to the routine. He's hungry enough that he's happy to eat whatever it is that ends up on his plate. He never gave himself the luxury of being a picky eater, not even when he went from the streets to home-cooked meals on Bruce Wayne's dime. He'd known that his luck could run out. If Dick was any example, Bruce was going to figure out eventually that he liked happy, obedient little kids a lot better than teenagers that started to think they could be his equal. Jason had thought he'd end up crashing on Dick's couch or camped out in a mostly-legal apartment back in Crime Alley. Jason had thought his mom would be an even better fall-back option.

He needs to think about anything else. Focusing on breakfast doesn't help. Trying to remember everything he's ever heard about archery is better.

The swordsman's servant is absolutely no help during the archery lessons. He leads Jason to the correct court and that is all that he has to offer. There is a single instructor for a long row of students. Muscle memory or not, he has no idea what he's doing and it shows. Maybe Jason should have taken Roy up on the offered archery lessons all those years ago. The instructor pantomimes the steps of drawing and firing a few times but that isn't enough. Jason can feel the strength in his arms when he draws the bow but he doesn't know how to coordinate the movements or aim the wooden arrows. Jason eventually hits the edge of the target and gets through the entire session without shooting anybody.

The practice court for sword should be better. It isn't. The borrowed servant stands to the side, looking politely disapproving the entire time, and it's uncomfortable to turn his back to the man at any point.

When Tim comes back, all Jason feels is relief. Keeping him at a distance isn't going to work. Jason doesn't know the culture, the language, or the layout. Tim knows all of the above and seems willing to help out without a single hint that he might stab Jason in his sleep.

Tim and the other servant exchange a few words in the League of Assassin's language before bowing to each other. The swordsmaster's bow is hardly deep enough to be called a bow. Tim looks just as stiff, not that Jason can blame him. He wouldn't want to bow to that twerp either.

The other servant leaves with a sniff after some gibe of his doesn't get a response. Jason's nerves appreciate it. He doesn't like being left out of the conversation.

“Could've used you, earlier.” Jason doesn't break from his kata when the pattern turns him away from Tim. He is working at quarter-speed, slow enough that it has to make his muscles burn, and it helps to focus on the burn of muscle instead of how much he wanted to slam the swordsman's smug servant against the wall. “Nobody at the archery range speaks English or can give me a single reason I should care about archery.”

“I thought I'd be back sooner.” Tim's voice is quiet. “You don't have anything else scheduled for the rest of the day. I didn't want to mention that in front of the swordsmaster.”

Jason's grip on the hilt of his sword loosens. “Probably wise,” he says. “Just how many days a week do I see that asshole?”

“Every other day. He will always react poorly to insults against the al Ghuls.”

Jason sighs and sheathes his sword. “I guess I can try manners. No promises, though. Self-control wasn't exactly my strongest point before Talia pushed me into a fucking Lazarus Pit.” Whatever his body has been doing while his mind has been checked out, it must have involved a lot of movement. He doesn't feel tired after a patrol's worth of exercise after a night without much sleep. “I need to learn some of the language. Is eating back in our room okay?”

Tim's stoic expression wavers just long enough for Jason to be sure that he would rather eat in their room. “Yes, it's fine. A lot of people do when they have the space.”

It only makes sense to trust Tim, Jason knows that, but it's hard to put it into practice. “Would you...” His left hand closes into a fist. He can start by expecting that Tim won't poison him. Jason deliberately relaxes. He can't manage a smile yet but he can try to look less angry. “I would appreciate it if you could get lunch for both of us. I'd rather avoid the crowd right now.”

Jason hadn't realized just how tense Tim was until Jason's less-angry expression wins a flash of a smile. “I can do that, yes. I will show you the way back to our room first, if you like. I—um—don't know if you're familiar with the food usually have here, but I know what you liked before.”

“Whatever food you get is fine. Just give me a couple pointers on directions and I think I know the rest of the way back to the room. If I can't find it, I'll backtrack to here so you know where to find me.”

Tim's directions are good. So is sitting on his bed with the door closed while he focuses on his breathing and no one stares at him. By the time Tim makes it to their room, Jason's still sitting on his bed but settled into meditation. He doesn't move for almost an hour after Tim sets a tray on the bedside table.

Jason eats his lunch and starts in with questions about the language. Tim does his best to explain but he's clearly never tried to teach someone a language before. There aren't great places to sit in the room and sitting on the floor gets uncomfortable after an hour. Jason dedicates a lot of his focus to keeping his temper in check when Tim corrects pronunciation several times in a row or struggles to explain the difference between similar words.

Jason cuts the lesson short the third time he gets too mad to think straight. Neither one of them knows what they're doing, not with teaching or learning a new language with no primer, and he needs a break.

Tim's reserved socialite-hiding-something expression distracts Jason from his first thought of finding an open practice court. Nobody else in the compound masks emotions like that and Jason has been paying attention. “So. What's your deal, anyway? Why did you end up with the League of Assassins?”

Tim hesitates again. “It's a bit of a long story.”

“Well, we've got some time.” Jason stands up. “Dinner isn't a formal sit-down meal here, right? It's the same as the other meals and isn't going to be closed down soon?” Jason waits for Tim's nod. “You can explain why Talia had you of all people looking after me while I was apparently catatonic.”

Tim stands up slowly. He looks nervous. Jason is ready for the worst. Maybe Talia wanted Jason to bond with this kid to distract him from his real life back in Gotham. Maybe she wants to keep him here longer and convince him to not try to get in touch with Bruce.

Jason is not ready to think about Batman, let alone his dad. He needs to focus on something else. Luckily for him, Tim's refusal to answer a simple question is a distraction even from Batman putting him six feet under and not realizing that Jason came back from the dead and apparently made it out of his coffin.

Tim backs away. It's probably a smart idea but the apprehension isn't enough to make Jason back down. Jason steps toward him. Tim's eyes are wide and he's careful as he backs up, sliding his feet against the smooth ground and only faltering when he finds the edge of the rug with his toe.

“Let's hear it, then.” Jason can't recognize his voice. It's not a child's voice on the edge of breaking or a rough rasp from years of hardly saying a word. He sounds more like Batman demanding answers than he ever has before. “All you've been doing is hiding things, Timmy, and I think it's time to be honest.”

Jason can see the rebuttals Tim doesn't say. There are the tiny ways that the muscles around the lips tense, signs of thoughts that he won't voice. He's nervous but he isn't afraid. Not yet.

“You've been working for Talia al Ghul for a long time. Why?”

Tim stops backing up inches away from the wall. He has to tilt his head up to keep making eye contact. “I'm from Bristol. I was at the graveyard when you were digging your way out and realized in time to roll the sod back and help a little. I never met anybody from the League of Assassins until I was trying to get you home and they found us.”

“You were at the graveyard?” Jason's eyes narrow. “Then maybe you can explain what Talia can't. There has to be a reason I'm alive, kid, and you're the new prime suspect. Necromancy? Magic? Stolen technology?”

“I—” Tim's breathing has picked up but he's still looking Jason in the eyes and his arms are down at his sides. He's not ready to defend himself with anything but words. “I didn't have anything to do with that. I was only there because I wanted to talk to you. Well, your gravestone. I didn't ever expect to talk to you. You don't know what it was like after you died.”

“Then explain it.”

“Batman was losing it. He was close to killing two-bit thugs that didn't deserve it and nobody could call him back. He needed you but you were dead.”

Jason stares down at him. “You were at my grave.”

“Yes. I tried to get you home to Bruce but the League of Assassins found us before I could manage.”

Jason doesn't have to think. His hand is wrapped around Tim's thin shoulder, shoving him back against the wall, all the better to loom over him and get some answers. “If you didn't know anything before the League picked you up, then tell me why you were at Jason Todd's grave because you were worried about Batman.”

Tim is usually pretty pale. Now, though, he's so pale that his skin looks chalky.

“Well?” Jason demands. He draws Tim forward a few inches only to slam him back against the wall. He looks like he'd snap in half from a real hit.

Tim flinches in his grip like a thud against the wall actually hurt him. “Quadruple somersault,” he gasps out.

Jason's grip falters. Something is wrong for Tim to be sheet-pale with his composure cracked right down the center after a light hit. “I—what?”

“There aren't many people that can do a quadruple somersault. Bruce Wayne adopted one of them. Robin landed one about six years ago and local media caught it on video.” Tim's breathing is unsteady and he isn't pulling away from the hand still clasped on his shoulder. “Dick Grayson was Robin and that made it easy to figure out Batman's identity. I know Bruce adopted you so it was easy enough to put it together when there was a new Robin. Bruce mourned you so much that it was breaking him but he was still going out as Batman. Gotham still needed him and he wouldn't stop but he was going to kill somebody.

“Bruce and Dick and Alfred know that I know, that's it. I never told anybody else. I talked to Bruce and Dick and they both told me to go away so I thought I'd talk to your gravestone.” Tim's rapid-fire train of words cuts off and he finally takes a full breath. “I didn't know what else to do but I don't have powers or magic or anything. I wanted you to come back but I don't think I could have made that happen.”

Jason's hand falls to his side and he steps back. He hadn't felt bone crack under his hand but Tim is still pale and looks like he would wrap his arms around himself if he wasn't too afraid to move.

“I... I don't think you did,” Jason says finally. “If you could raise people from the dead, you'd probably know. That sounds like something I should ask Talia, not you.”

Tim's eyes are blue. They'd looked almost green for a minute. Everything had looked green, even Tim's undyed linen shirt.

“I tried to get you home.” Tim is finally starting to regain some of his color but his voice is still unsteady. “You'd just made your way out of your coffin, though, and the taxi company thought that we were trying to prank them. Bruce wasn't answering any phone number I could find and Dick didn't call me back. I should have called 911, I guess, but those calls are public record and it would have been such a mess. I just wanted to get you home, first, but you were so tired and I couldn't carry you.”

Jason breathes out. The world stays normal and the thrumming sensation of fury is the lowest it's been since he woke up in the Lazarus Pit. He'd felt like his anger was something that could grow past his control before he died. Now, he misses the old bite of fury. That had nothing on Lazarus Pit rage and the way it felt so rational and sensible until it abruptly didn't.

“I'm sorry, Tim.”

That isn't enough and Jason holds up a hand before Tim can accept the paltry apology. It works. Jason's always the one that can interrupt and that's something else to change. “I shouldn't have hurt you or threatened you. The Lazarus Pit... I don't know how much you know. I'm not sure how much I know. But I'm going to do what I can to never be a threat to you again.”

“Not many people other than Ra's al Ghul have ever been in a Lazarus Pit,” Tim says. “Maybe it will be easier to talk about things now that you know that I know you're Robin. I wasn't sure how to tell you, before.”

Too charitable, when Jason had been setting the agenda, and Tim's breathing looks too regular. When he moves away from the wall, he won't put his back to Jason.

“Maybe I can go get us some dinner?” Tim offers. He's still backing away, however slowly, and doesn't turn away from Jason.

“I hurt you.” Jason's sure before Tim flinches. “Let me take a look.”

“I can deal with it on my own. I thought you...” Tim's voice trails off. Jason can't be sure how much fury is showing on his face but Tim looks ready to run. “I told you not to get involved,” Tim warns. “So it's not your fault. It probably looks bad today but it's going to be a lot better by tomorrow.”

Jason breathes out slowly. “Tim.”

Tim sighs and turns slightly. There are red lines showing in the linen on his upper back, almost perfectly horizontal lines of blood seeping into the fabric, and there hadn't been a trace of blood showing before Jason lost his temper.

Tim's careful when he strips the shirt off. Jason is too shocked to help. He'd thought that he'd bruised the shoulder or aggravated an old injury. He couldn't have caused that pattern of bleeding, not on a smooth wall, and his worst suspicions are proven right seconds later.

The swordsman. Tim trying to discourage any insults to Ra's al Ghul in front of a loyalist that spoke English. Tim's complete lack of surprise when the swordsmaster took him aside. Cane marks.

Jason can't bring himself to count the welts. Not yet.

“You have a first aid kit somewhere?”

“In my trunk. If you're offering...” Tim looks at him thoughtfully while Jason does his best to show that all his rage is directed in safe-to-Tim directions. “There's an ointment in a brown jar,” he says after a few seconds. “You were in some kind of catatonic state for a year and a half and wouldn't let most people near you. They let me keep a lot of medical supplies but we didn't need them often after the first few months.”

“Have a seat, then,” Jason says. He nods to his bed for lack of better seating. When Tim doesn't protest sitting down or Jason resting a hand on the top of the smaller trunk, Jason goes through Tim's things to find the right jar. Most of the trunk is filled with clothes and a stack of well-worn neurology textbooks. He finds rolls of soft cloth for bandages and a newspaper clipping before he can find the brown jar.

It's an obituary for Jack and Janet Drake. Jason stares for just a couple seconds and it's enough to register 'may be survived by their son, Timothy Drake (14).' The Drakes died without knowing if their son was alive.

“You can read it, if you want.” Tim looks tired. “Talia says that she didn't have anything to do with my parents' death and that there are no signs that Ra's did anything. I don't think she's lying.”

Jason puts the newspaper clipping back in place carefully. Tim's read or held the clipping enough times that the paper feels smooth and thin.

Jason doesn't even know what year it is. “Are you still fourteen?”

“Yes. Talia gave me the obituary four months ago and said it was from that day's newspaper. You died about two years ago.”

Jason doesn't have anything to say to that. He holds out the bandages and ointment instead. Tim lets Jason help work the shirt over his shoulders and doesn't make a sound when the cloth peels away from the open welts.

The ointment would have been hard for Tim to manage by himself that high on his back. It would be even harder since Jason's fingers start going numb long before he's finished. Maybe that was the point. Jason hadn't given any sign that he'd be willing to protect Tim.

Jason counts to ten silently. Ten welts and if they aren't cane marks he'll write himself a six-page essay about correctly distinguishing the cause of wounds by their appearance. Jason does not try to count the pale raised scars beneath the welts and lower down on Tim's back. He focuses on spreading a thin, even layer of the greasy ointment over the wounds and the way that Tim starts to relax even with Jason at his back.

Jason looks at Tim's stained shirt when the scars are too much to think about. Tim's shirt has the same strip of green at the collar and he has to ask.

“Does Talia know?”

Tim cautiously shrugs his left shoulder. There are the beginnings of bruises, there, faint red marks slowly darkening where Jason's fingers had been clenched around Tim's shoulder. “I don't know. I've never told her and this is the first time anything has happened in months.”

Jason closes the ointment carefully and sets it aside. His temper is not going to jeopardize the only painkiller he can access easily. Two of his fingers are numb enough that he's pretty sure Tim is feeling a lot better.

“Months,” he repeats flatly.

“Months, and you should drop it.” Tim twists to face him and the wary look is finally gone. He's looking Jason in the eyes to fight instead of to track a threat. “Right now, the matter is closed. The swordsmaster can't tattle to Ra's without going against his honor. He wanted to insult Talia more than he wanted to risk getting you in trouble with Ra's. Sometimes Ra's doesn't like it when people bother him about trivial things, sometimes Ra's decides to deal with insults personally.”

“We're telling Talia. You're under her protection. If she knows and didn't do anything—”

“I have her protection because I'm useful. That's what she said, I'd be more useful alive,” Tim protests. “She's not going to risk you or whatever her other priorities are over me.”

“You're under her protection.” Jason works to keep his hands from clenching. He holds up the roll of bandages, instead, and relaxes when Tim nods. Bandages are a better use of focus than punching the wall. “That means she should be protecting you and she's been failing at it.”

“It's not like they do any permanent damage.” Tim tries to twist to face him again but gives up when Jason pointedly unrolls the bandages. “The worst was in the beginning, when I didn't know the language and hadn't figured out how to wake up on time. She never seemed to notice and it's been a lot better lately. They figured out pretty fast that letting you watch only ended up with some people stabbed.”

Jason focuses on the bandages instead of just how many things happened that he doesn't remember. Tim doesn't need compression, just an even layer keeping the wounds covered. “What's the word for laundry, anyway? In the sense of 'please help me rinse this shirt out before the blood sets.'”

Jason works at copying Tim's careful pronunciation of a short phrase until the words flow correctly. It's close enough, anyway, especially since Jason will be carrying a bloody shirt and doesn't care who sees it.

“I'll get dinner and take care of your shirt.” Jason's ready to fight. He's less ready for Tim to look surprised and a little pleased. “I don't know if you want to deal with putting another one on, or...” Jason nods when Tim grimaces. “I wouldn't, either. If it's not weird for you, you can sleep there. It'll be easier to sleep on your stomach with the thicker mattress. Try not to fall asleep until I get back, though, because apparently this place is awful all the time.”

Tim still looks tiny, and the sheath of bandages around his chest is jarring, but he finally looks like he doesn't want to put on that fake social front he must have learned back in Bristol. “Thanks, Jason.”

When Jason gets back, Tim falls asleep gratifyingly quickly after eating. Maybe Jason hasn't ruined any chance of the earning the kid's trust. Maybe they can still make this work.

Chapter Text

Tim wakes up face-down on a soft mattress with blankets heavy on his legs and lower back. It's tempting to curl up and go back to sleep but something isn't right. He almost always wakes up a couple times a night to reach for the blankets he'd kicked aside or to walk a few circuits around the room before getting comfortable again. It feels like he didn't move a muscle all night.

Tim cracks his eyes open and tries to decide why he's so far away from the floor. Jason walks into his field of vision while Tim is sleepily trying to put together clues. For once, there's no sign of the usual dazed confusion when Jason wakes up before Tim.

“Good morning, Tim,” Jason says.

For a moment, Tim thinks he's still dreaming.

The last two days come back in a rush. Talia pushing Jason into the Lazarus Pit. Jason's lost and bewildered look vanishing in favor of anger that flared to rage. The swordsmaster being awful again. Getting caned for the first time in months. Trying to keep distance like Jason wanted but making him mad anyway. Jason going from being angry to being oddly protective in an instant and then insisting that they were going to trade beds for the night.

Tim tries to judge the time based on the sun's position. He can't. He hasn't slept this late in a long time. “What time is it?”

“Past the usual time for getting moving, maybe, but Talia said I can take the lessons I want to take,” Jason replies. “Today, that means nothing was going to get between you and sleeping. You look like you needed to sleep for a week. A few extra hours is a good start.”

Tim should probably get up. Jason looks like he's going to say something else, though, and Tim doesn't want to interrupt. He'd thought last night might be a fluke but maybe Jason will want to be something more than roommates.

“You were probably right to not tell me about this yesterday. That pisses me off but so does almost everything.” Jason's voice is calm and he doesn't break eye contact. “I don't know what happened between dying and waking up in a Lazarus Pit. I'm not sure how much of the anger is a side effect and how much is just me. Like almost everything else, that pisses me off.”

“Almost everything?” Tim asks.

Jason still doesn't look angry. “You're off the list. I'm sorry. It's hard to believe anyone involved with the League of Assassins but I believe you. I had a lot of time to sort myself out after convincing you to get some sleep. I should have asked my own questions instead of immediately assuming the worst.”

“You were being cautious,” Tim protests. He'd imagined a lot of ways that the past couple days could have been worse. Jason hadn't even been rough with him when he'd been furious. On a normal day, the thump agains the wall wouldn't have been a big deal. “It's okay, Jason.”

Jason looks at him thoughtfully. “Let's agree to disagree on that for now.”

Tim doesn't know what Jason is thinking. It's strange to peer up at him without getting off the bed and it's still hard to read Jason's expressions now. Tim had known him so well but now almost everything about the way he moves is different.

“I want to get another look at your back. Does the blue jar work like an antibiotic cream?” Jason holds up the jar in question, much smaller than the brown jar in his other hand. “I'm guessing by smell and texture but you're the expert.”

“It works like one. I didn't understand enough of the League's language to know what they were giving me the first time that one of the assassins hurt you.” Tim still doesn't like to think about the first few months. Talia had been furious when she came back to the base and Jason was still limping after a brutal week. She had made it clear that Jason was not to be harmed in or out of his lessons. If she ever said the same about Tim, he's never seen proof of it. He's never asked but he's pretty sure that she always expected him to look after himself as well as Jason.

Jason breathes out slowly. “Let's just get back to that one later. It sounds like I'm not going to like most of what I don't remember. For now... let me help you up?”

Tim's been on the other side of this before, coaxing Jason out of bed and helping with clothes. It's strange to have Jason taking care of him. Jason helps him up carefully and unwinds the bandage he'd fussed over the night before.

“Your back is looking better but I want to keep those covered again today.” Jason waits. He keeps talking when Tim doesn't take the chance to object. “Okay, help me out. Dosage on both of these if you were the one taking of me.”

Tim flushes. He's not sure why Jason said it that way. Maybe it's because Tim probably would have said once a day if Jason hadn't specified.

Jason still doesn't look angry, though. The little smile that keeps getting more prominent when Tim doesn't say anything looks a lot like his Robin-smile. Maybe that's why Tim can admit the truth and expect that Jason will care. “Twice a day for both.”

“Got it. Let me help you up, then.”

Jason doesn't touch the bruised area on Tim's right shoulder marked with the outlines of Jason's fingers or anywhere near the welts. It's uncomfortable to have someone focus on him. A week ago, he wouldn't have even blinked to have Jason at his back, but Jason is a stranger again.

When Jason's done with both ointments and another careful wrapping of bandages, he holds out one of his own shirts. It's solid green and much too big for Tim.

“Not accepting fights on this one, Tim.” Jason's gaze is steady and he still doesn't look angry. “You were supposed to be safe under Talia's protection but I've seen the evidence that it hasn't worked. They can try mine and see what happens.”

Tim nods, too shy to say anything out loud. It's easier to move his arms through the oversized sleeves and it's much looser against his back. Once the shirt is on, Jason turns his attention to getting rid of the old bandage and putting away the two jars.

Tim fights to keep his arms at his sides. He wants to wrap them around himself and doesn't know why he feels so raw and exposed. The numbing medicine has already seeped into his back and nothing aches. The shirt might as well be a neon sign that Jason is protecting him. Talia won't let anyone mess with Jason and Jason will keep everybody away from Tim. It should make him feel safe and confident and ready to walk through the corridors feeling untouchable. All he wants to do is go back under the covers and not move. He's only had two days to try impressing Jason and that probably won't happen now.

Even if it's just protection and not friendship, though, Tim can let go of one worry. Jason didn't set Tim up to get hurt on purpose. Jason hadn't guessed it would happen from whatever he knew about the League of Assassins before he'd died.

“How hungry are you, anyway?”

“Not very.” Food will probably taste like ashes. It usually does when Tim just wants to hide somewhere where nobody but Jason can find him.

“We already missed breakfast but we should at least try to get you to eat lunch.” Jason nods to the other half of the bed. “Mind if I sit?”

Tim draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. It leaves more room and makes it look a little less giving into the urge to hug himself. “It's your bed.”

“Alright.” Jason approaches slowly, like he thinks that Tim might be afraid of him, and sits on the bed leaving just a few inches between them. “So. Details later, but you've been taking care of me for a long time. I don't think anyone was taking care of you. Is there anything else you need?”

Tim stares at his knees. He'd had so many ideas about what would happen when Jason got better. Most of them had involved Tim filling Jason in on the escape plan that Tim had never figured out. In his daydreams, though, Tim put together something brilliant that worked perfectly. The two of them would escape together and get back to Gotham. Any dramatic pursuit from the League of Assassins would never catch them. Bruce would be so happy to see Jason and maybe he'd let Tim stay around for a few years. Tim's parents had left everything to him and he'd be able to get an apartment and figure things out once he was eighteen. Maybe Bruce and Jason would invite him to dinner, sometimes, because no one else knew the good stories from Jason's time in the League. Tim would be funny and confident and Jason would be impressed.

“I'm okay,” Tim says finally. It seems like Jason's waiting for a better response than that but Tim doesn't want to look up yet.

“Tim. If you... I don't know who else here you can talk to. I'm probably not the best person but...” Jason sighs. “I want to help you.”

Tim makes sure that he has his emotions under control before he looks up. “You already did help.” Tim does his best to smile. It's shaky and Jason doesn't look convinced. Tim's smile falters and he looks back at his knees. His hair is long enough that it hides part of his face and that's probably for the best. Everything feels like too much today. “I'll be okay.”

“It's okay if you aren't.” Jason's touch is gentle when he brushes some of Tim's hair back behind his ear.

Tim shivers. Other than the occasional hug from pre-Lazarus Pit Jason and his attempts to help with first aid, nobody's touched him outside of hand-to-hand sparring in a long time and not just since the League of Assassins found them. His parents had been out of the country for weeks before Tim found Jason in the graveyard. Neither of them were big on touch even when they were home between business trips and archeology digs. Leaving for boarding school meant a hug, sometimes, but it was a short embrace and not an excuse to be clingy. Mrs. Mac would pat him on the shoulders, sometimes, but always over his shirt. It always seemed like she was careful to avoid any contact with skin. Maybe this was why. Tim doesn't know what expression is cracking through his attempts to hold it back but he wants to lean into Jason and never let go.

“Tim?”

Tim holds onto his legs tighter. He tries to make it look like he just happened to shift away from Jason to get comfortable. It's the only alternative to grabbing onto him and not letting go. Tim needs to hold it together and maybe they can talk about escape strategies. He still doesn't know what Talia said to Jason or if Jason has seen any signs of a phone or a car or something other than candles and torches.

“I think I'm going to need a few words, Tim.” Jason's voice is soft. “It's okay if you don't want me to touch you. I'll probably argue my way into helping with the medicine again because I don't trust anyone else here. I might need to touch you if we get into trouble and I can't protect you fast enough otherwise. That's it, though.”

Tim forces his hands to open and lets his legs fall back down so he can turn to face Jason. “That's not it.” He doesn't know what it is, though. He hasn't needed to say anything that wasn't formal in a long time. “I've always been a little weird about touch. It's not new.”

Jason doesn't back away. Tim has seen pictures of Robin protectively hovering over someone while waiting for an ambulance. He's never seen that expression in person before. He never thought it would be aimed at him.

“It's okay if you don't want me to touch you. If it is okay, though... Dick insists hugs make things better when words aren't enough. He's a lot better at it than Bruce and I don't have that many other examples to fall back on. Alfred would cook for you, Bruce would look hopelessly awkward, Dick would go for hugs.”

It takes almost all the control Tim has left to keep his voice steady. “I'm okay with a hug.”

Jason takes that as permission to reach out and haul Tim closer, right against his side, and Jason's careful to keep his arms away from the welts on Tim's back.

Tim holds still, thinking that Jason will let go after a second or two, but Jason leans his head against Tim's and doesn't let go. Tim slowly relaxes and tentatively reaches out to hug Jason back. Jason makes an approving hum and doesn't pull away or stiffen up when Tim leans in a little.

Tim should let go. The weird shivering feeling is back, the one where he feels like he's vibrating under his skin, and he knows that he always gets stiff and awkward when that happens.

Jason doesn't let go. Tim slowly relaxes again.

The first few tears escape before Tim realizes that he's crying. He tries to stop but his control is already faltering. He doesn't want to let go but if he doesn't wipe his eyes and calm himself down soon, he's going to sob into Jason's shirt. “S—sorry,” he says when the tears escalate to a sniffle. “It doesn't hurt anymore, I can...”

Tim waits for Jason to sit up. He doesn't think Jason will make fun of him but walking away to get a handkerchief and let Tim have some time to calm down would make sense.

“You haven't had someone to keep you safe in a long time. If you feel safe enough to cry, I'm happy to hold onto you unless you want me to let go.” Jason's voice is quiet and Tim can feel the vibrations as much as hear the words.

Tim swallows, hard. The shivery feeling that always makes him uncomfortable is already fading away like an itch that finally got scratched. Jason doesn't let go when Tim stops holding himself up and fully leans against him.

“We're getting out of here together.” Jason moves one of his hands to start stroking through Tim's hair. It feels nice but the gentle touch and the certainty to the promise only make more tears well up. Tim doesn't know why he can't make himself stop but he doesn't want to pull away and Jason isn't mad. “You said I could read the obituary and I hope you meant it. I'm sorry, Tim.”

Tim doesn't need to go over to his things to find the fragile slip of paper. The last two paragraphs are still burned into his memory.

Jack and Janet Drake may be survived by their son, Timothy Drake (14). He went missing in mysterious circumstances almost a year ago (see page A18, Drake Heir Remains Missing). Prior to their deaths, Jack and Janet Drake gave several interviews seeking information about their son and asking for his return. The last of these interviews was taped two weeks ago and has been posthumously released (see page A18, Jack and Janet Drake's Last Interview). Beyond the reward for Timothy's return that the Drakes famously promised, Bruce Wayne reiterated his promised reward for any information leading to either Timothy Drake or his son, Jason Todd (see page A18, Jason Todd's Potential Resurrection Still Mystifies Investigators). More information about the reward is available in Bruce Wayne's open letter on the occasion of the Drakes' deaths (see page A2, Bruce Wayne's Letter to the World.)

In lieu of flowers, the Drake estate asks for donations to the Gotham Tip Line, now staffed 24/7 by trained dispatchers, or to the Gotham Skateboarding Park.

The tears finally stop. Jason doesn't let go and Tim doesn't pull away.

“They weren't home the night I went to the cemetery. They weren't even in the country. I thought maybe I could talk to your gravestone and... I don't know.” If there were other options, if Jason was still an option, Tim would have never tried to take his place. But Jason had been dead and Tim hadn't known if anyone but Robin could bring Batman back to himself. “Then you were alive and I wanted to get you home. I made so many phone calls but never thought of calling them.”

“Who did you call?”

“Bruce, mostly. I tried a few different numbers. Dick. My housekeeper. I tried to get a taxi but the driver thought I was trying to prank him.” Talking about facts helps him feel less shaky. No one's asked to hear this story, before, and he hasn't had to put it in order. “There was a bus that had a stop down the road from your house. You were so tired and it was a long walk. I should have called 911.”

Jason shrugs. “No way you were predicting League of Assassins in Bristol, Tim. You were already dealing with a surprise zombie.”

Jason doesn't sound angry and an old worry fades to nothing. Somehow, Tim had been so sure that anyone's first reaction would have been to tell him that he should have called 911 first. He's told himself that often enough.

“I thought that any call to the public dispatcher would leak to the news stations before anybody got Bruce on the phone. I just wanted to get you home. Bruce...” Tim doesn't know how to explain it. It was hard enough to find the words when he wasn't starting to feel warm everywhere. He hadn't felt cold before, exactly, but he feels so much better now. “Batman was out of control. He wasn't doing well outside of the cowl but he couldn't hold himself. Nightwing wouldn't come back to Gotham.”

“Dick and Bruce were pissed with each other. I can't imagine that fight got any better when I went and died.” Jason's hand pauses in the long strokes through Tim's hair. “When you say Nightwing wouldn't come back to Gotham...”

“I went to Blüdhaven to ask him.”

Jason sighs. The gentle touches start again, softer than before. “So you tried to call them, the night we both got snatched by the League. Did you talk to Bruce before, too?”

“I. Um. I-thought-I-could-replace-you-as-Robin.” Tim flinches, ready for disapproval, but Jason only hums. “It was probably a bad idea. I didn't have any combat training and he would have had to teach me how to be helpful but Robin gave people hope. Gotham didn't have enough of that and Batman wasn't getting any better. I showed up on Bruce's doorstep and he really didn't like hearing any of that.”

“He sent you away? Bruce, I mean. You tried to help and he told you to get lost.”

Tim nods.

“You vanished while you were trying to help him. Help both of us, really. Bruce probably had the guardianship papers filed the second he found out about your parents,” Jason says instead of anything Tim expected. “You and Dick can have the sympathetic and normal backstories that we talk about in public. I'm the middle child that stole the tires off the Batmobile.”

Eyes wide, Tim twists to see the look on Jason's face.

Jason grins. “Seriously. I'll even let Bruce tell the story for you because he tells it better and my memory is...” His eyes seem to flare greener for a moment before he breathes out slowly. “My memory is not great right now. I won't always be able to talk about B without losing my temper. Just thinking about Batman is a bit too much but talking about Bruce is fine. It doesn't make any sense but that's the best I've got right now.”

“It doesn't need to make sense,” Tim retorts. “Jason, Talia just pushed you into a Lazarus Pit two days ago. She was hoping you might be able to control your temper in a week.”

Jason relaxes. “Thanks. Speaking of Talia, I'm not sure we can trust her. If we can find a different way out, what do you think about trying an escape attempt on our own?”

Tim's escape plans have never progressed far enough to have a safe route out of the compound, let alone finding a vehicle to steal or a way back to a big city. “If you see a way out of here, I want to try it.”

“I'll keep an eye out. If we break out, we're probably going to draw a pursuit. Neither one of us has the resources to keep the League of Assassins away on our own. Bruce will help keep any assassins off our tail if we go to him. If you'd rather go somewhere else, I'll try to make it happen, but it's hard to turn down B's resources. The easiest way to make all that happen is a public adoption for you and a surprise-I'm-alive party for me. It would be hard for Talia to work against that much publicity. What do you think?”

“I—um. I wouldn't mind,” Tim says faintly.

“Brothers it is.” Jason sounds smug about the concept. He squeezes his arm around Tim's lower back one more time before standing up. “Let's go get some lunch. I skipped breakfast for you but I am hungry and the food here is really good.”

Tim can't reconcile Jason confidently calling them brothers with the part where Tim just cried a wet spot into his shirt. Jason doesn't even stop to change his shirt, he just grabs his sword and waits for Tim to push his way to his feet.

He'd hoped they could be friends someday. Brothers sounds even better.

Chapter Text

No thanks to Talia, Jason has the Lazarus Pit rage mostly under control. Mindfulness techniques aren't nearly as useful as giving the rage a target, first of all including anybody that tries to hurt Tim. The anger builds too quickly and he still can't be sure what feelings are his own and what are influenced by the Pit. He won't always have time to use a physical sensation to distract himself. He always has time to picture better targets and how he'll deal with them.

Even better, targets don't have to be rational. Jason doesn't have to try puzzling away Batman's accusations and Ethiopia and everything else that he can't quite remember. He doesn't have to understand why even thinking about Batman makes him furious but planning how Bruce can help keep Tim safe makes him feel calmer. It doesn't have to make sense if it works.

Jason has some belated sympathy for how angry Dick had always seemed with Bruce. At first, Jason had been dazzled by the idea of sleeping somewhere safe and having access to any snacks he wanted on top of three meals a day. He had Bruce signing him up for school and Batman's promise that the house was safe. Bruce gave him free access to the library a safe place to do his homework. Jason hadn't been able to understand leaving that kind of safety behind for Dick's cramped Blüdhaven apartment.

He also hadn't understood how Dick's fury with Bruce never touched Jason. Dick and Bruce could yell at each other for half an hour straight and then Dick would walk away and ask Jason if he wanted to play video games. Jason had been ready to see Dick's infamous temper firsthand but instead he had reassurance that Bruce was serious about adopting Jason and blanket permission to use all the video game systems Dick left behind.

Dick said that Jason could call whenever he needed him. He'd been in space with the Titans, Jason remembers that much. Checking his voice mail probably wasn't a priority and Jason had chickened out of saying just how bad things were getting. He'd left a couple messages but Dick might not have been able to access his civilian voice mail. If he'd told the Justice League he needed to put a message through...

Jason hadn't. He'd been angry and ready to push everybody away. Having the World's Greatest Detective assume Jason had pushed someone off a balcony with no evidence had been the last straw. Batman hadn't looked for proof because there hadn't been any proof. Jason wouldn't have thrown the guy off a balcony if he was going to lose his temper and kill. Jason wasn't going to let gravity take care of the dirty work if he was enraged enough to kill.

Jason will have to deal with Batman and arguments and dying eventually. Not yet. Tim's counting on him and Jason does not have time for a breakdown.

Jason cools it with thoughts about killing when Tim starts to wake up. He can't be sure if it's the Lazarus Pit, a natural hyper-alertness, or paranoia about waking up angry from a nightmare, but Jason has only slept a few hours for the last few nights.

Tim gets up without help and moves a lot more easily than he had the day before. He still lets Jason fuss over the healing wounds on his back and doesn't protest when Jason hands him another solid green shirt. Tim manages to shrug into it himself without help.

Maybe this is why Dick had refused to take back the Superman hoodie he'd left behind. Jason had probably looked about that tiny swimming in Dick's hoodie.

Jason puts aside thoughts about calling Clark. He's great as a last resort but the League of Assassins is way too likely to have precautions against the Justice League's biggest hitters. Jason will not call Superman into a trap and just make everything worse. Clark's the type to swoop in and take a look around right away if Jason manages to catch his attention.

“Up for the usual routine today, Tim?”

“Ready,” Tim says. “People will notice you missed archery yesterday.”

“Talia said I can take the lessons I want.” Jason fusses with his belt to make sure the sword hangs at his side where it won't disrupt his stride or catch if he wants to draw it quickly. “Archery's not my thing. If I take any lessons in ranged weaponry, they'll be about guns. Easier to conceal, easier to use in close quarters, faster, and the ammo's a lot easier to store and harder to break.”

Tim thinks about that for a few seconds. “Both bullets and arrows can kill.”

“They can. I'd be sure of my aim before ever using them against someone. I won't let an innocent person get hurt.”

Tim looks like he wants more time to think about that, if Jason's reading him right, and he doesn't look afraid. Good enough for now. “What about sword lessons?”

Jason draws the sword thoughtfully. He's still trying to catch up to what his body knows but he's starting to understand the limits of muscle memory. “One more. I want to see if I have anything to learn from him. If it goes well, we can keep him on the schedule.”

“He is a good teacher, sometimes, but he has a temper.” Tim still doesn't look scared.

Jason sheathes the sword again and drops his hand gently onto Tim's still-bruised shoulder. “I'm not going to start anything this time and he is not going to trick me into saying anything that'll get you hurt. It's going to be fine.”

Tim doesn't take nearly as long to relax under the touch this time. Tim needs something a lot more stable than dodging assassins forever. Bruce can handle security against Ra's al Ghul and any number of minions the League of Assassins can send. Having a sad kid around the house will lure Dick back home for visits no matter how angry he is with Bruce.

“I could have warned you, before, and maybe you would have been able to make a deal. I...” Tim looks up, waiting.

Jason doesn't say anything. He won't put words in Tim's mouth when he has no idea what the kid wants to say.

“I didn't know which would be worse,” Tim admits, words rushed. “If you got mad and started hurting people to protect me, it could have caused a lot of trouble. Ra's could have ended up involved.”

Jason thinks he knows the only thing that would have hurt Tim more. “And if I hadn't protected you, or if I hadn't cared...”

Tim nods, once. “I know that you don't remember. I do, though, so it was hard when you didn't want me around.”

“Most of the memories from before I died are coming back but I've got nothing before waking up in the Lazarus Pit.” Jason watches Tim accept that and realizes what he didn't say. Dick had to make the promise several times before Jason believed him. Jason can't expect anything else after how he and Tim started out. “I'd like to be friends, now, and I'm serious about being brothers. I don't know if we can trust Talia. If we have to find another way out of here, we're going to head straight for Bruce, and you fit the mold perfectly for kids he's likely to adopt. I mean that. Even if we have to split up, you head straight for Bruce and he'll protect you.”

“I'd rather not split up.” Tim nearly glares as he waits for Jason to disagree.

“Let's call that Plan D. Plan A is Talia comes through, Plan B is we can work around whatever Talia is trying to pull, and Plan C is calling for Superman.” Jason squeezes Tim's shoulder gently before dropping his hand. “I have no idea what defenses they have around here or if I could get his attention without getting everybody else's attention first.”

Tim straightens up and his stubborn expression fades. “I'd like it if Plan A worked. Talia said she'd be back in about a week and she's usually punctual.”

“Plan A it is,” Jason agrees. “That means not making too many waves. If you're translating for me, please feel free to change things up if something else will work better. I'll probably tell the archery training master that I appreciate his lessons but won't waste his time with a student that won't use the training. Is there a polite way to put that?”

Tim thinks for a moment before nodding. “I can explain that, yes. If we are getting back to the usual routine, today, this is going to draw a lot of attention.” He tugs at the sleeve of his shirt.

“I think it might get us the right kind of attention,” Jason replies. “For whatever reason, Talia wants me to protect you. I'm not sure if this is what she meant but she didn't spend a lot of time clarifying. I have even less idea what Bruce saw in her now that I've met her. Dick was the biggest witness of the Talia-and-Bruce disaster.”

Tim frowns. “Talia and Mr. Wayne were dating?”

“Exactly,” Jason agrees. “That confused face is the correct reaction. They were dating and Dick says it was a mess. He's the one with stories and after this I am going to want to hear the threatened three-hour version of the story with visual aids. He said it to mess with Bruce but I bet he'd still tell the story if one of us asked.”

Tim's smile fades when he looks at the window, probably estimating the time. The blank expression takes over again. “It's time to get moving if you want any time to warm up before your swordsmanship lesson.”

“In a minute, sure.” Jason doesn't mind the stoicism when he knows just what Tim's hiding. “What are the odds on escaping on our own?”

Tim grimaces. “Not great. I haven't found any electricity when I've looked around or any sign of a phone. I don't know how they send messages out and I haven't found any vehicles. Talia and Ra's aren't here all the time but I don't know how they get in and out of the base. There are guards at some of the stairwells and hallways and they do not react well to someone going near those areas even if you really are lost.”

“Thanks. I'll keep an eye out but don't want to duplicate work you've already done.” It also makes Jason even more sure he has to get this kid adopted. Jason is not ready to play nice and go home but he can probably get Bruce to agree to visits. He'd always let Dick come home even when they were fighting.

Jason's vague ideas about what to do with his life mostly involve putting the newfound anger to use. There are plenty of wastes of air in Crime Alley that cycle in and out of jail because people are too afraid to testify. Even when they do, it doesn't guarantee that they'll be safe when the criminals again head right back out of Blackgate or Arkham. Jason won't have anything better than a walkup apartment in a condemned building for a while. Crime Alley isn't a place where Tim can remember how to be a kid that isn't in constant danger. Jason has plans to change Crime Alley but no plan to make Tim wait any longer to start recovering.

It will be easier to keep making visits if Jason can hide the identity of Crime Alley's new protector for a while. Maybe he'll make a full-face mask instead of relying on the classic domino. Jason still has no idea how Gotham doesn't just match up jawlines between their favorite superhero and socialite.

Tim doesn't know much about what to do with a sword but he's not bad with a quarterstaff. Jason actually has to focus on the fight instead of picturing a more practical outfit for dealing with crime in Gotham. The staff was never Jason's favorite weapon and he's years out of practice with it. He loses two in three bouts and probably wins the third only because Tim is so surprised that he won the first two.

The swordsmaster doesn't know what hit him. Neither does Tim. Tim's stoic look falters in real time as he tries to follow the twists of language and semantics and tone that make polite remarks sound more insulting than anything Jason had said two days ago.

Tim doesn't say a word about it when they're still out in public but he does roll his eyes and smile after they leave the lesson. He conveys Jason's polite refusal of any more archery lessons to the rangemaster. However Tim puts it, the man listens intently before dismissing Jason with a nod and turning his attention back to his students.

“Wandering. How risky is it?” Jason asks after lunch.

“Risky, but not usually anything that got me in trouble as long as I backed off fast,” Tim murmurs. “You don't remember the base and can probably get away with it for an afternoon.”

Tim's right. The guards are not happy when Jason wanders too close to the areas that aren't allowed but getting all of the wandering done in an afternoon helps with mapping out the area. The way to Talia's office is barred by four guards. The stairs that led down to the Lazarus Pit have a different group of four guards. Other areas have a couple guards determined to keep Jason from passing them. Taking down two men wouldn't be that much work but getting past them is no guarantee that he'll end up anywhere useful.

“Notice anything about the windows?” Jason asks when they've brought dinner back to their room.

“The base is built into a hill and every window faces the same direction. It's the same view every time, about straight east.”

“Good catch. You put a lot of work in and I'm not surprised you didn't find a way out of here on your own.”

“You helped,” Tim says. “It's weird, because you don't remember it and might not, but you did help.” Tim shifts uncomfortably. “How did you know how to do say all that to the swordsmaster?”

“Polite insults?” Jason grins when Tim nods. Tim's already brave enough to ask questions out in the hallways and Jason is relieved at every sign that they're going to be able to work together. “How many classic novels have you read?”

Tim shakes his head. “I don't know if anything I've read counts as a classic. I would have had to read a few for school, probably, but those usually start in high school.”

“Pride and Prejudice? Anything else by Jane Austen?”

“Definitely none of hers.”

“That's it. We get out of here, we start a book club,” Jason says. “Insulting people politely is more clear a few other books, maybe, but that one's a classic for a reason. I bet coming back from the dead is enough for me to get Bruce to read it. I might be able to get over my issues with Batman in less than a couple years if I can get Bruce to admit he's a complete Darcy.”

Jason could let him search for the words but he's pretty sure he knows what Tim wants to ask.

“Long story,” Jason says. “Lazarus Pit rage is easier to handle if I have a target. Batman at least knows how to punch back. It's... not great, probably, but I had a lot of issues with Batman even more than Bruce in the last couple weeks. I'm still not ready to talk about him but I can try to answer any questions you have.”

“I don't want to bring up something that'll hurt you.”

Tim looks like he means it. It also seems like the right time for a hug because Tim looks so young. Jason can't remember being fifteen and absolutely sure that things would work out.

Tim doesn't need any more invitation for a hug than Jason opening his arms. It's nice. It's nice to know that Tim trusts him and doesn't even try to protect his upper back. Tim trusts that Jason isn't going to hurt him and Jason is going to do what he can to live up to that.

“How old are you, anyway?” Jason asks. “I don't even know how long I was dead.”

“I'm fourteen. We've been here for about a year and a half and you were dead for around six months.”

No wonder Dick was all about hugs, it was a relief to be grabbing onto the kid. Jason knows Tim is safe and relaxed. Suddenly fourteen seems way too young to be dealing with supervillains.

“Okay.” Jason lets go when he's sure that he isn't going to look at Tim like a tiny fragile kid that tried to take Jason home to Bruce. Neither one of them needs that right now. “Talia's supposed to be back in a few days and we'll see what we need to do for both of us to get back to Gotham.”

Tim's shoulders are straight and he looks like he could account for at least half a dozen assassins on their way out if it comes to a fight.

Jason was Robin and Tim figured out one of Gotham's best-kept secrets as a child even before handling an entire compound full of assassins mostly on his own. They'll figure this out together.

Chapter Text

Tim knows the second he sees Talia's maid in the doorway.

Jason doesn't think anything is wrong. Tim translates her words directly. Talia is ready to meet with Jason again and she would like Tim to pack their things.

Jason half-hugs Tim on the way out with the casual assurance of someone who thinks it's going to be as easy as telling Talia al Ghul what he wants.

It's easy to pack up their things. The only thing Tim cares about keeping is the newspaper clipping with his parents' obituary. Tim has been able to recite it start-to-finish for months but he tucks the newspaper clipping into his pocket anyway. Tim leaves the first aid supplies with his own things, tucked under several beige shirts with green trim. He's keeping the oversized green shirt on until someone makes him take it off.

Tim doesn't think Jason will need much of anything from their room but makes sure that everything is folded and ready. If Talia's serious about sending Jason to Gotham now that he can control himself, Jason won't have much need for solid green clothes.

Jason says he won't leave without Tim. As much as Tim wants to believe him, as much as he wants to take the last few days and keep them as evidence... Jason won't be the first one to realize that he doesn't need to keep Tim with him when he travels the world. Talia can make counter-offers and maybe she'll even promise that Jason can come back for him in a few months. She could make it all sound reasonable. Jason will get training in any martial art or weapon he wants and he'll keep his bargain if he brings Tim to Gotham eventually.

The obituary feels heavy in his pocket when Talia's maid returns.

“Come with me.”

Tim doesn't fight. He doesn't say that she has never said a word in English to him before. She leads him straight past two pairs of guards and down a staircase Tim has never seen before.

“You speak English very well,” the maid says. “You were very loyal to Jason Todd.”

Tim stops. They're in the middle of a long corridor without doors and with no one else around. “I am loyal to Jason.” He tugs at the hem of his shirt deliberately. Even almost a week later, Jason insists, and it doesn't matter that Tim's back is mostly healed. It's a sign of Jason's protection and everybody can see it. “If you want me to change my shirt, I can, but that isn't going to change anything else.”

“Changing your shirt will not be necessary.” If she smiles, it's such a subtle expression that he can't be sure it was ever there. “It is my lady's hope that you will agree to delay your departure for a little longer.”

Last time, Tim's choices had been death or being useful. The men trying to bundle Jason into the back of a passenger van had only wanted Jason. They had only dragged Tim into the car along with Jason when they saw headlights in the distance. Jason had been clinging to Tim from the moment the men tried to separate them and had punched the guy that stole Tim's phone right out of his hand.

They'd called someone and spoke in a language that Tim didn't understand. After a few moments, someone put the phone on speaker and he heard Talia al Ghul's voice for the first time.

“You are the young man that coaxed Jason Todd onto the public bus,” she had said. “My agent said that he heeds you well. If you are willing to continue looking after him, my men will let you live.”

Jason had still been wrapped around him, clearly ready to punch anyone that got in range, and it had been easy to think that it would only be hours or days before Jason would be able to protect them both. At the time, Tim had thought that Talia wouldn't suspect Jason was Robin. Jason would wake up and all of her efforts would do nothing to keep Robin stuck with whatever group she worked for that grabbed a couple kids off the side of a road.

Hours later, Tim learned about the League of Assassins. Within a few days, he thought that even Robin would have trouble escaping the compound.

Tim wants to go home. Last time, negotiations had been over right away. He'd been scared and confused and he'd been so close to getting something right. This time... maybe Jason means it, and maybe he'll be able to do it, but Tim doesn't know if he can count on that.

“I want an end date.” Tim's voice is deeper than when they grabbed him and he stands a lot taller. “At the end of this, I want the right to go back to Bristol and safe transportation there. Someone can drop me off right where they found me. I have an inheritance waiting, I don't need anything else.”

The maid does not look upset by his presumption. She seems to approve. A slight smile lingers on her face as she nods. “My lady will give you the details. It will not be so long as the last assignment, Timothy. This is quite an honor and one that few in all of Lord al Ghul's employ will ever reach.”

If Jason knows about this and he's serious about not leaving without Tim, it won't matter how thick the walls are. Tim could probably hear the yelling and chaos from anywhere in the compound. He doesn't hear anything but silence and a strange humming sound.

Tim starts walking again. The maid leads him up a different staircase, one lit by electric bulbs, and he can't stop hearing the high-pitched whine of the electricity. He can see the edge of her smile as he stares at the lights.

“This was one of Lord al Ghul's first strongholds and he enjoys keeping most of the base as it was centuries ago,” she says as they climb the carpeted stairs. “Here, you will have access to electricity and other modern comforts.”

They climb the stairs to the very top. The decorated door opens to show a hallway with thick green carpet and even more elaborate doors. There are only two suites of rooms and she leads the way to one with an open door.

Tim pauses in the doorway. The room is bigger than two practice courts put together over on the other side of the base. A canopied bed with green silk hangings patterned in gold and velvet-upholstered green chairs with gold trims takes up more space than six pallet beds put together. A large and intricate rug again picked out in greens and golds forms a sitting area with two upholstered chairs set to face a fireplace. When he steps into the room, the carpet is even softer than the hallway's thick carpeting, and there is a side chamber with a bed. That one doesn't have a canopy but it has a thick dark green blanket and a small stack of pillows. Tim's trunk is already set at the foot of the bed.

“He will be here soon, Timothy.” The maid looks at him intently and he wishes he could understand what she isn't saying. “Please wait here.” She leaves. She's almost silent on the clay floors in the other part of the base. On carpet, he can only hear the whisper of her dress as she moves, almost drowned out by the unfamiliar hum of electricity.

She hadn't agreed that he would end up in Bristol after this ends. She hadn't even given an end date. His hypothetical less-than-eighteen-months deadline isn't promising in the face of waiting for a high-ranking stranger.

It makes sense that Talia wants to talk one-on-one again. Jason's looking forward to it. He has quite a few things to say about how her protection could use a little work. If Tim was here for the conversation, he'd hit Jason with those sad eyes and insist they don't have to talk about it. Tim isn't here and Jason has every right to put together the most persuasive arguments he can.

Talia insists on sharing a meal before they speak. He puts up with it mostly because she looks pleased and he wants her good mood to last. It'll only be harder to negotiate if she's angry. Waiting while she lingers over her tea is harder but finally she sets her ornate cup aside and looks him in the eye.

“I am very glad to see that you have found a measure of control so quickly, Jason,” Talia says pleasantly. “I am also very pleased that you took such good care of Timothy.”

“Better care than you.” Jason's voice is nearly a growl. A few days of talking with Tim had been great for developing control. A few hours of trading politely veiled insults with the swordsman had been perfect for deciding just how threatening he wanted to sound at any given moment. “Quite a few people decided that I was the only one you wanted unhurt. Considering his recruitment speech was join or die, Tim wasn't so sure that you would offer him any better protection if he dared to bring it up. He's been hurt several times over and your protection didn't save him from deliberate harm.”

“I have been remiss, it seems.” Talia purses her lips. “I will do better in the future, I promise you that. I have high hopes that Timothy will excel in his new assignment.”

For once, shock completely outweighs the rage. “His new assignment.”

“I hope to rely on Timothy one more time. It will not be nearly so long as his last assignment, Jason, do not worry about that.”

Jason focuses on the shock. He focuses on Tim. No matter how satisfying punching her in the face would be, it won't help Tim. “I gave him my protection.”

“He will have a new protector.”

“I told him I'm not leaving here without him. I am not going back on my word.”

“Unfortunately, there are other matters at hand.” Talia's voice is calm and not matched by the intensity in her eyes. “My offer stands. A driver is ready to take you to the airfield where a plane awaits. You are uninterested in archery but there are many other weapons that may suit you. I can offer you lessons with masters of many different arts.”

Jason breathes. Exhaling with the negative emotions has never helped before but this time it does. The rage dims and so does the way the world seemed to be just as green as the Lazarus Pit. It's for Tim. Tim is the single good thing since the Lazarus Pit and Jason is not going to let him out of side for a week after this. When Jason gets them out of here, sometime after a full week of refusing to let Tim more than twenty feet away, they are going to have time to sort out some wicked co-dependency issues.

“It's a generous offer, Talia, but I am not interested in additional training.” Jason's voice is glacial. He sounds more like Alfred than Bruce. “Tim is coming home with me.”

Talia isn't intimidated. “I owe Timothy a debt, Jason, and it will only grow after today. I have given him quite the challenging assignment but I will do what I can to make it a successful one.”

“You owe him more than that.”

“He knew that you were Robin, Jason. He never would have left you unguarded.” Talia's eyes gleam at whatever she can read on his face. “When he knows what is at stake, I wager he will freely choose this new assignment. It will not take long at all should things go well.”

“'Should' isn't good enough. Talia, Tim has done more than you ever could have expected and he did it well. I'll stay here if you need something done. Send Tim to Bruce.”

Talia tilts her head thoughtfully and her long dark hair slides against the silk of her dress. It's dark green and shines in the light, nothing like the linen most in the base wear. Focusing on details makes it easier to not picture how quickly he could get over the table and see which of them would win in a hand-to-hand fight. “In time, yes,” she agrees. “I am impressed that you control yourself so well already, truly. It takes great strength of will to work through the rage. I thought it could be weeks or months before the Pit's rage subsided enough for us to have a rational conversation.”

“Tim's a good influence.” His tone is dry enough to do Alfred proud. “I want him to be safe and that is the only desire stronger than making this talk turn physical.”

“That is precisely the issue, Jason. You would not serve his purpose nearly so well if I accepted your generous offer to switch places. You would have the difficult time attempting deference and pretending to care for rank.” Talia meets his eyes and doesn't react to growing rage that must be showing in his entire body.

“I am not leaving Tim here.”

Talia picks up a black leather messenger bag and stands in a ripple of motion. He's not nearly as graceful when he hauls himself off the low cushion and stands. He does manage to resist the urge to punch her when she steps close enough to press the bag against his chest.

“Don't be so attached to your plans, Jason. Sentiment can be a weakness.” She waits for him to close his hands around the bag's strap before she steps away. “A driver will take you to the airfield and the pilot where bring you wherever you like. I included a recommended list of instructors with your things but the plane will land in Gotham if that is what you desire. Unfortunately, Timothy is not an approved passenger in the car or on the plane, so you will not leave that way with him accompanying you. I also would not recommend gathering your friends to storm this compound. He and his new protector will be long gone by the time you return.”

Jason's grip on the leather is tight enough to leave permanent marks. He doesn't care. “Tim deserves better.”

“Perhaps.” Talia steps back. “For what it is worth, I am sorry.” She looks to the door. Her maid is back, blank-faced and stoic as before. “Perhaps you will understand in time.”

Jason understands that strangling her with the strap of the bag won't help. Neither will attempts to use the bag as a flail or a bludgeon. Talia let him wear his sword into her office and hasn't looked remotely intimidated. Talia's in her own office and he can only guess what weapons are within her reach.

Talia and the maid speak in the League's dialect. Tim has done his best but his grasp of the language is focused on practicalities, not grammar, and Jason can only pick out 'ready' and something that is probably 'soon.' The language is new enough that Jason has trouble breaking out individual words when people speak at a normal pace. Tim always slows down when he's teaching Jason a new word or phrase.

Finally, they finish their conversation.

“Please show Jason where he ought to go,” Talia says to her maid. The maid nods. Jason isn't sure if the woman understands English or if she's reacting to an order that she'd already received in the League's language.

Talia turns to Jason. “I have other tasks to accomplish yet today, Jason, and I do hope you are in better humor when we meet again. Farewell.”

Jason could try to argue but he doubts he'll be able to talk her around. Bruce never had much to say about Talia but Dick's rants about her could go on for over an hour without repeating a complaint a single time. One of Dick's most frequent topics was just how many times Bruce held out thinking Talia might change her mind and turn away from her father. She never did.

Jason doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't owe her anything. He walks toward the door and doesn't react when then maid falls in beside him. He heads straight for the room he had shared with Tim. The pallet bed Tim hasn't used in a full week and his small chest of things are already gone. He doesn't want anything else from the room. He dumps the messenger bag's contents on the neatly made bed.

The emptied bag doesn't seem to have any hidden pockets. There are a few changes of clothes that would let him blend in if he went right to Gotham but nothing in the pockets.

He flips through the sheaf of papers listing different instructors, training methods, and the occasional dangerous quirk before shoving it into the messenger bag. The cell phone he finds underneath a flat canteen filled with water is more interesting. The phone is fully charged and already on. There aren't any numbers programmed into it but he remembers how to call Bruce on the emergency line.

The phone goes in his pocket. Protein bars, a sturdy flashlight, and a knife with a rippling blade go right back into the messenger bag before he shoulders the bag and turns to the maid.

She nods to him before turning and walking down the hallway. Jason leaves the room behind without a single glance back. She heads right for one of the stairwells assassins had been guarding and the men let the two of them pass without challenge. She keeps a brisk pace and doesn't slow down when they go through a metal door and end up in a corridor with electric lighting. She doesn't slow down until they reach a parking garage.

Last chance to figure out what he's doing. Jason hadn't found any familiar landmarks or signs of Tim on the way. The maid gestures to a black SUV with an encouraging smile. The driver is facing away from them and appears much more interested in his cell phone than the arrival of his passenger.

“I don't suppose you know where Tim is,” Jason says.

“I had the honor of escorting Timothy,” the maid replies in flawless English. “He is in the more modern part of the base and I think that he will do admirably. It is rare for an outsider to rise so high.”

Shock only holds anger back for a moment. “Timmy's working for someone important, then.” His voice is flat with the effort of keeping his hands clear of the sword or the knife or her throat.

“He is, yes,” the maid agrees. She doesn't look afraid. She has Talia's protection and Jason doesn't actually want to kill her. Killing her won't help Tim.

Somehow, Jason keeps his voice casual. “I didn't realize Talia thought so highly of Tim.” He keeps the words as light as he can. “Am I in any rush?”

“The driver was told to wait until sunset. That is some hours from now. Do you have questions about the resources Lady Talia offered you?”

Talia is up to something. Whatever it is, her maid knows all about it and she isn't in any rush.

There's an SUV, he has a possibly honest timeline, and he has a lady willing to answer some questions. Brute aggression isn't going to solve this. Maybe charm can. He dregs up the few remnants of what he'd managed, once upon a time, and a smile forms. It feels almost natural.

“I have a few questions, yeah, if you don't mind me taking up your time.”

Chapter Text

With Tim's luck, someone will show up and find him looking through the trunk or messenger bag at the foot of the larger bed. He's not sure how much warning he'll have or if he could open the messenger bag without some sign that he'd touched things. He looks at the rest of the room, instead, and finds electrical outlets and light switches and an attached bathroom with a gigantic bathtub and modern plumbing.

There are weapons mounted on the walls of the room. He nicks his finger on the blade that he dares to touch. There's a sword like Jason's near the fireplace and at least seven other kinds of swords along with spears and throwing stars. None of the weapons are similar to a staff and that's the only weapon he's had any lessons in.

The room's windows face west. He can see a road leading out of the base, sentry towers, and several runways in the distance. There are vehicles near the base of two sentry towers. If he ends up running, at least he can try stealing a car and finding out if he can teach himself to drive.

Tim sits the smaller bed, facing the door. The bed is larger than the one he'd slept on just the night before and the mattress is thicker. If it wasn't for his trunk, Tim might think the bed belonged to someone else, but it's the same trunk with the dent near the bottom and his things are inside. Someone replaced all the shirts with almost-identical items with a darker stripe of green around the collar. The same neurology textbooks and first aid supplies are there but someone restocked the almost-spent supply of bandages.

Tim stands up when he hears a door open somewhere down the hall.

Seconds later, Talia pauses in the room's open doorway. “Timothy.” Her voice is warmer than he's ever heard it. “I appreciate that you did not want another responsibility but I could trust no one else here with this duty. My son is eight years old and not ready to be left without someone who will take care of him, no matter what my father believes.”

Talia steps aside to reveal a small boy. “My son, Damian, called Ibn al Xu'ffasch by many of my father's most traditional followers.”

Tim is not going to assume his guess at the translation is the right one. Not for something this important. “Son of the Bat,” he says slowly, looking at Talia for confirmation.

Talia smiles. “Just so. He has the birthright of the Wayne legacy as well as my father's.”

Tim tries to look more polite and dignified than shocked. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Damian.”

“Likewise.” Damian's posture is perfect and he looks dignified enough for both of them. “My mother has explained that it is my duty to protect you from harm.”

Tim might have gone straight out the window the second he knew the routine with anyone else. He probably would have tried running the second Ra's al Ghul went to the bathroom if he was the one Talia meant. Damian is a child, though, and maybe one that will try running with him when he has the right plan.

Talia looks Tim over for several seconds before she relaxes. “I have been ordered to leave my son here without my protection. I trust that you will care for my son, Timothy, whatever trials may come.”

Tim might hate her a little sometimes but Talia isn't wrong. He'd done what he could to take care of Jason and there's no way he's going to leave an actual child alone when he can do something to help. Talia has never lied to him, not that Tim has noticed, and maybe he is her best option.

Tim considers Damian's rigid posture. He does look a little bit like a tiny version of Batman at his most serious and probably wouldn't like being treated like a normal eight-year-old.

“We'll take care of each other,” Tim says. The choice of words earns him an approving nod from Damian and a relieved look from Talia.

“I owe you a debt, Timothy, and someday I expect you to collect.” Talia bends and presses a kiss to Damian's forehead. “Damian, heed Timothy well. Your father claimed him as one of his own sons after the tragic deaths of Timothy's parents and your second-oldest brother called him brother just two days after emerging from the Lazarus Pit.”

Talia lets Damian cling to her for another moment before she straightens up. “I do apologize, Timothy, but I cannot go against my father's will and hope to protect my son from the consequences. He has demanded charge over Damian's training as recompense for restoring Jason with the Lazarus Pit without first seeking permission. I cannot leave Damian defenseless but I cannot stay.”

She expects them both to live, if he's going to collect a debt someday, and she can't work against Ra's. Whatever she thinks about Tim's safety, he believes that she cares about Damian's. Tim isn't sure how he's supposed to manage an escape plan and go against the entire League of Assassins but she doesn't seem all that invested in having the two stay with Ra's if he is understanding the hints. Not getting caught is the tricky part.

“Perhaps you can help Damian with his things, Timothy.” Talia nods toward the messenger bag Tim hadn't touched. “There is room for a few more belongings if you wish to reorganize. I recommend taking a few minutes to look through everything before making any decisions.”

Tim opens the bag and smiles. Maps, canteens, and a charged cell phone are right on top.

“I recommend at least five minutes, Timothy.”

“Five minutes. Thanks, Talia.” Tim picks up the phone and checks the time. Whatever Talia is doing, he's sure that she won't hurt Damian, and she made it clear that Damian should work with him. That's enough to get started. “I'll make sure we have everything in order.”

Jason's attempts at talking the maid into helping him might go a little better if he can figure out why she is humoring him. Her answers are somewhat helpful but most of them lead him around in circles. He apparently has hours before the offer of a car expires and she seems determined to waste quite a bit of time all while feigning helpfulness but not giving any direct answers.

Just when his temper is about to escape his best-faith efforts to not lash out at a probable ally, a door behind her opens with a loud click. Talia steps into the parking garage, dragging one foot as she does, and looks completely unfazed when he glares at her.

“Ah, Jason. I thought you might delay your departure.” Talia smiles at him approvingly. “I am here to collect my maid. It is lovely to see that you have stopped to make an acquaintance but she shan't be going with you. You do know the driver of that car shall not permit any other passengers.”

Jason nods slowly. It isn't like Talia to repeat herself. “So you said.”

“It is an honor to have that man assigned as your driver.” Talia looks toward the car and the driver that is still completely ignoring them. “My father values him highly. His favor protects your driver from reprisals I might make for his ill habit of harassing lower-ranking servants until they are desperate for any protector.”

Jason frowns. The door behind her is still ajar. A wooden staff is holding it open just where Talia had dragged her foot.

“I did not intend for all this to all go on so long, Jason, but I know that you shall tell your father the truth and he will believe what he will.” Talia steps aside, leaving a clear path to the door.

Jason hesitates. She isn't rushing him on and the door isn't closing. “How long did you mean for this to go on, then?”

“Days.” Talia meet his eyes. “I thought you would recover from the trial of resurrection in hours or days, Jason. I predicted a week at most. You would heal from the shock and I would call your father and make some mutually pleasing arrangement. Timothy seemed to share my optimism. Our hopes were not to be. You did not recover in days or weeks and I realized that my son was in danger. Timothy kept you safe from harm and allowed me to divide my attention.”

Jason glares. “You could've explained a little more when I came out of the Pit. Maybe that Tim was an actual ally and a Gotham kid that got tangled up in this by accident.”

“I doubt that you would trusted Timothy on my word alone, Jason.”

Jason would like to be able to argue the point but she's probably right. He hadn't trusted Talia. He probably wouldn't have trusted a word she said to vouch for Tim.

“I always intended to send you home to your father, fully recovered and miraculously restored.” Talia doesn't flinch when he moves closer. “You would bring Timothy and my son with you to Gotham. Timothy's parents were hardly deserving of the title until after his disappearance. I thought they would have the opportunity to attempt winning Timothy back from your father's care. They might not have succeeded but it would have been sensible for them to try to make up for previous defects.”

There is nothing in her face or voice or body language to suggest a lie. There haven't been any signs that she's lied to him since he woke up in a Lazarus Pit. “You're one to talk. Tim was worried about assassination attempts overnight. He's used to people beating him up for something someone else did. For something I did. This isn't something that can get fixed just by moving back to Bristol.”

“I underestimated the magic that brought you back to the living, Jason. That was my error to not think such a great magic would have a price to achieve any further benefit. That price was a strong resistance to any other way of mending the loss of thought. The Lazarus Pit works at the boundary of life and death and I think that nothing shy of its power could have restored you.”

Jason commits the words to memory. Someone else will want them, later, because he isn't interested in magic and still doesn't have time for puzzling out what brought him out of the grave. “You should have sent us home, Talia.”

“Your father mourned you. He was like a ghost himself for a time, one that was about to break every rule that allows Batman to remain Gotham's protector and defender instead of its executioner.” Talia's voice is flat and certain. “You would have wandered the halls of his manor as a ghost, one that haunted him until even Batman faltered, and no benign magic or kind telepath would have healed you.”

Jason refuses to flinch at her confidence. “Better a ghost than letting Tim stay here. He was twelve, Talia.”

“He was twelve and my son was six.” Talia's voice is cool. She doesn't look away and nothing like regret crosses her face. “I did not believe Bruce would have been strong enough to protect you all from my father's wrath. My father plans to someday replace my son's mind with his own. I will not condemn Damian to this fate but any attempt to spare him will infuriate my father.”

“We would've protected him,” Jason grinds out. “It's not just B over in Gotham.”

“Your elder brother was still estranged from him, Jason, and their eventual reconciliation was private and difficult to understand from afar. I saw the signs too late to account for that in my initial plans. I suppose I should have accounted for his allies' natural protectiveness of children but it is too late to change this now.” Talia sighs. “It can be difficult to understand for someone with my perspective. It is the reason I can expect you to walk straight to the waiting car and leave Timothy behind.”

Jason's eyes narrow. “You owe Tim for this.”

“Timothy has my gratitude and I owe him a favor. I told him that myself, Jason, and I think that he believed me.” Her eyes flick to the door pointedly and her sharp gaze softens when she looks back to Jason. “Do be gentle with Timothy. It is not a lack of care for you that had him expect you could be persuaded to leave him behind. He is unaccustomed to being anyone's first priority.”

The only thing ungentle about finding Tim will be Jason's direct order that Tim is not allowed out of sight until they're both safe.

Jason steps toward the door.

“I am merely here for my maid, of course.” Talia composes herself and the brief flash of open emotion vanishes as if it had never been there. “We shall be leaving immediately as my father commands. I will not be back in this base for some time and certainly will not climb the stairwell all the way to the top again until Ra's extends an invitation for my return. My son should have the day to settle in but I doubt he will need any more time. Goodbye, Jason, and I wish you safe travels.”

Jason doesn't have a polite farewell in him. He nods, stiffly, and heads right for the door. He looks down at the staff holding the door open and then to Talia. She doesn't say anything so he leaves it where it is and heads straight up several flights of stairs and through a door to a carpeted hallway.

Jason stops in the open doorway of an opulent set of rooms. Tim is sitting cross-legged on a ridiculously elaborate bed with a leather messenger back almost identical to Jason's on one side of him and a pint-size child on the other. The two of them talk in a dizzyingly rapid mix of English and League dialect as they point at the map spread across both of their laps.

Tim is alive and safe and nowhere near Ra's al Ghul. Jason can finally let himself breathe again. He isn't going to break his promise and he can handle an extra person when they escape from the base. It won't be hard to find room for a kid smaller than Tim. “Hey, Tim. New friend?”

Chapter Text

Tim tries to tell himself he's only startled because he hadn't heard Jason approach. The carpeting muffles sound and it's strange after over a year with hard floors and no wall hangings. The satellite phone says that six minutes have passed. He must have lost track of time when Damian started explaining the best way past the compound's perimeter.

Tim hadn't lied to Jason. He hadn't told the truth, either. Not really. Tim hadn't warned Jason and had let him walk away without admitting that he was nervous.

Jason will still bring Tim back to Gotham and he'll probably agree to take Damian. Tim doesn't know why he can't put words together. Jason's probably mad at him but he won't hurt him. The disappointment might hurt worse than an attack but Jason won't hurt him. Tim is sure of that even though he isn't sure that Jason will still trust him.

“Timothy. I have not had the pleasure of meeting him.” Damian's neutral tone is polite. The dagger he draws from a hidden sheath is a threat.

Jason stares at Damian's face. “Talia's son,” he says. He doesn't sound angry. He doesn't look upset when he notices Damian's grip on the dagger. “I guess it's my bad for not asking about your father.”

Tim reaches out and rests his hand on top of Damian's. “He won't hurt us, Damian.” Damian huffs and sheathes the dagger again. “Damian, this is Jason Todd, Bruce's second-oldest son. Jason, this is Damian al Ghul. Quite a few people here know him as the son of the Bat so I guess it might be Damian Wayne soon.”

“Nice to meet you.” Jason looks at Damian's protective stance and nods approvingly. “I get the feeling that your mom would like you to continue training with Batman instead of Ra's al Ghul. Are you okay with that, Damian?”

“Mother said that Father would be able to strengthen my fighting skills as no one else can.” Damian's gaze flicks pointedly from Tim's shirt to Jason's. “She told me to protect Timothy and to listen to him. Timothy says that we should travel to Gotham. Do you agree?”

Jason smiles. For the first time since the Lazarus Pit, it's the Robin-smile that promises trouble. “I do agree, Damian, and it would be my pleasure to help you and Tim get out of here before Ra's knows what we're up to. Talia might have had the same idea but for plausible deniability reasons we're going to say this is a big surprise for her. You two have a map, it looks like we've got two cell phones, and I've got the first part of our travel itinerary lined up. Time to go, little brothers.”

Damian hops to his feet right away. Tim isn't so quick to move.

Jason walks across the room and pulls Tim into a hug. “I'm not letting you out of my sight but that's not because I'm mad at you. You get one freebie, though, and that's it. No more self-sacrifice plays on our way out of here. We're working together.”

Tim gives himself a few seconds to relax before he pulls away from the hug. Damian has already belted a katana onto his hip and Tim won't waste their time trying to take it away from him. “You and Damian both have swords. I'll take Damian's bag.”

“There's a weapon for you downstairs, Timbit,” Jason says. “Our car's waiting but we aren't bringing the provided driver. I'm planning to ambush the driver while you two hang back. He's expecting me without company. Tim, I want you to have some bandages or something ready to tie the guy up. Damian, watch our backs and let us know if anything looks weird. You know this part of the base better than either one of us.”

Damian nods sharply. “Agreed.”

Tim nods. Jason came back and part of his mind is repeating that in an incredulous loop. Jason refused to leave without him. Jason meant it.

The three of them move down the stairs quickly. They stop at the last landing and let Jason move forward first. The door at the bottom of the stairs is held open by a polished wooden staff.

Jason peers into the garage carefully before waving them down. “Wait here. Leave the staff there until I call you over.”

Jason walks across the garage casually and doesn't make any attempt to hide his progress. There aren't any guards in sight and the black SUV parked in the middle of the garage only seems to have one occupant. Jason exchanges a few words with the driver once he gets to the SUV. The man looks relaxed as he steps out of the car. Before the driver knows what's happening, Jason has him in a chokehold. After ten seconds, the man goes limp. Jason waves Tim and Damian over.

The door clicks shut behind them. Tim and Damian walk across the garage carefully. Neither one has to say that running always attracts more attention. Jason ties the driver's hands and feet with bandages that Tim took out of the trunk upstairs. Jason leaves the man lying on his side near the edge of the garage.

“Good work, team.” Jason claps his hand together. “Step one, subdue the driver that Talia particularly dislikes. Done. Step two, stealing an SUV. He left the keys in the ignition and I know how to drive a manual so that's even easier. Tim, you get passenger seat and phone duty. Damian, you're in back and I want you to keep an eye on the map for me.”

Damian opens the back door and clambers up into the car. He accepts the map Jason hands him and settles into the middle seat.

Tim clears his throat. “Phone duty?”

“Phone duty,” Jason repeats. “Damian, I'd like help keeping us on a path furthest away from sentry towers if possible. They're expecting this car to head for the airfield.” Damian turns his attention to the map. Jason lowers his voice and leans closer to Tim. “I'll give you the phone number. You can put it on speaker if you want but Bruce is going to want to hear from you.”

“He's your dad,” Tim protests. “You should talk to him.”

“Tim.” Jason reaches into the messenger bag at his side and holds out the phone. “Trust me, he's going to want to pick up when you call him.”

Tim takes the cell phone. “Okay.”

“I'll give you the number as soon as we're out of the garage. I don't want to drop the call if this is a dead zone.”

The passenger seat of the big SUV makes Tim feel small.

Jason recites the phone number as he drives out of the garage.

Tim dials the number and hits the call button. He still doesn't know what he's going to say. The phone rings once on speaker before the call connects.

“Who is this?”

The voice is almost perfectly between Batman and Bruce. Whatever someone says next, it will be easy for Bruce to play those first few words off as a curt greeting that didn't quite sound like either well-known voice. Tim hits the speaker button and realizes what he's been wanting to say for a long time.

This time, it's bright daylight and he's in a car with two allies, not standing in a dark cemetery watching the taxi's tail lights vanish into the distance. “Hi, Mr. Wayne. This is Tim Drake. Jason, Damian, and I would like some help getting back to Gotham.”

“Where are you, Tim?” There's no gravel to that voice. It's Bruce.

Damian recites coordinates immediately.

“I'm five minutes away from your location,” Bruce says. There is some faint noise in the background like someone else is speaking. “Talia told me it'd be worth my while to head to those coordinates as soon as possible.”

Tim only has time for a second of hope before he notices the look on Jason's face.

“Not soon enough, old man.” Jason's voice is just as grim as his dour expression and his hands are tight on the wheel. “I think we're made. The sentry towers are starting to pay attention to our progress and they've got some firepower up there. I'm not sure if Ra's will order anyone to fire on his own grandkid but he has a Lazarus Pit right in the basement if someone messes up.” Jason's expression clears. “I need somebody bulletproof. Can you let him know to listen in?”

“He's listening,” another man says through the phone. “I was just texting him. Clark's listening, Little Wing.”

Tim tears his eyes away from the closest sentry tower. The turret on top isn't turning their way but the man in the sentry tower is putting down his radio and picking up a rifle. They won't be out of range in time. Tim grabs the second cell phone out of the bag at his feet and gets ready to dial a second number. Jason doesn't take either hand off the wheel but his white-knuckle grip relaxes.

“Jason Todd to Clark. Black SUV with three people driving away from Ra's al Ghul's base,” Jason says crisply at a normal volume. He keeps his eyes on the road and doesn't even look at the phone. “I think they're aiming for my tires, Clark. There is a lot of desert here, it's not the best for evasive driving.”

Tim watches the sniper line up his shot. Tim has a phone in each hand when Jason veers to the left and slams on the brakes. Just when Tim thinks he sees the man ready to pull the trigger, the car rocks without any sound to mark a bullet and everything stops making sense.

Jason's foot is still on the brake but the car is still moving. Jason shifts the car into neutral but they're rising up into the air and rapidly moving out of range of the sentry towers.

“Great timing, Clark,” Jason says casually. He takes his hands off the wheel and leans back. “Tim, Damian. You're both okay?”

Tim slowly leans over to look out the window and down at the desert below them. “Um.” They're still a long way up in the air. When he turns, Damian is doing his best to look unruffled and Jason is smiling.

“Huh. Guess you only figured out Batman and a couple Robins on your own.” Jason gently takes the phones out of Tim's hands. He keeps the one with an active call cradled in his hand and drops the other in a cupholder. “Superman's carrying the car, Bruce. We'll meet you wherever he puts us down. Are you in the plane?”

“Yes. I should have been there sooner.”

“VTOL can't do everything. You would've had to get the plane into hostile territory and deal with Ra's having a tantrum because we stole his grandkid. Supes is a lot more bulletproof.”

“He might have been there faster if Clark and I hadn't thought this was a trap,” the other voice says apologetically. “Jason, I... I'll see you in a minute, okay? Hi, Tim and Damian. This is Dick Grayson. We thought Talia was leading Bruce into a trap again.”

Jason's fist clenches for a moment before he forces his hand back open. “Yeah, well, Talia's had a year and a half to decide that maybe she wants to be indirectly helpful.”

Tim looks ahead when Jason focuses on a point in the horizon. A black jet is heading down for a vertical landing and Jason's breathing starts to get a little faster.

The SUV starts coasting down at a gentle slope. They're moving fast but the car's motion is completely smooth as they start to get closer and closer to the ground. After a moment of weightlessness so brief Tim thinks he imagined it, Superman is standing next to the car, side pressed against Jason's door, with one arm wrapped carefully around the roof.

Tim tries to discreetly pinch himself. Jason tries to turn his laugh into a cough. Tim doesn't mind being laughed at for being a little shocked about meeting Superman if it means that Jason smiles again.

“Repositioning for an easier landing, that's all.” Everything about Superman's face is kind. His voice is just as soft as the easy smile. “It's very nice to meet you, Tim and Damian.”

“A pleasure,” Damian says formally. If it wasn't for the his tight grip on the map denting the paper around his knuckles, Tim might believe Damian was completely comfortable.

Sometimes, Tim really likes manners. He doesn't need to worry about saying anything worthwhile. He can say something polite and expected and then relax for a minute. It doesn't matter that the pleasantry is inane in the face of Superman swooping in to rescue them. “It's nice to meet you, too.”

Jason doesn't take his eyes off the plane.

Superman sets the car down on the sand so gently that Tim isn't sure they've landed until Superman backs away a few feet and the car doesn't move. They're just about twenty feet away from the end of the ramp leading up into jet black plane. Batman and Nightwing are waiting at the top of the ramp.

“Well.” Jason's voice is rough and his eyes look very green in the sunlight. “Let's get this over with.” He opens the car door with jerky motions and steps out.

Tim scrambles over the SUV's center console to follow Jason out the same door. Something about the way Jason is moving...

Jason doesn't seem to notice that Tim's right behind him. He doesn't react when Tim hisses his name or reaches for his hand. Batman is moving fast and Jason is looking straight through him. Jason is braced for a fight, not for a hug, and he falls into an automatic stance that Tim hasn't seen for a week.

Tim takes two steps forward and puts himself between Batman and Robin. “Batman, stop!”

Chapter Text

Everything hurts but he can't stop. Robin never gives up. Jason is Robin, Robin is magic, and Robin is going to get them both out of here. Robin always saves the day and this time he can save his mom. People change, Bruce always gives people another chance, and maybe he can show her a better way. There's a countdown and a door and a plan but the door is locked and the countdown doesn't stop.

The door is locked. Robin only has one person to save but Robin never, ever leaves people to their fates or thinks they deserve it. He can at least give Bruce this much. Robin deserves this much. If he's going to die, he's going to die protecting someone.

The sharp taste of ozone in the air, biting even with the taste of pennies from the blood, and it nearly drowns out the smell of the hot sand. Jason's vision is going dark but he can see the familiar silhouette approaching.

Batman is too late. Robin couldn't do it on his own. He couldn't save her and couldn't save himself. He should have stayed with Batman. He shouldn't have thought he could do it on his own. He deserves the lectures and the blame and the guilt. He should have let Bruce give him the ultimatum instead of running away. Bruce probably could have worked out some kind of probation even if Jason couldn't prove what happened on the balcony.

It would be easier if he had pushed Garzonas. It would be easier if he'd thrown him. The guilt wouldn't burn so much, then, but the guilt hurts because he didn't even mean to scare him that badly and Batman is coming closer and Jason needs him to stop.

The dry desert air is everywhere and Batman is getting closer to make sure Jason can't come home to Bruce. Batman thinks Jason is a murderer and Jason can't prove what happened. He should have gathered evidence better. He should have been fast enough to save Gloria. He should have gotten there in time but he failed her and Bruce knows and he can't stop shaking.

He isn't ready to deal with Batman. He can't face his father's disapproval and the stern looks usually saved for criminals.

There are two people standing between him and Batman, one unarmed and one with a drawn katana.

“Batman, stop!” the unarmed one shouts.

Batman stops.

Gentle hands touch his belt. “You don't need a sword,” a voice says. “I'll protect you.” It's okay to let the belt fall away with the sheathed sword still attached. Robin doesn't need a sword or the belt. The person with the katana sheathes the sword and takes Robin's before retreating a few steps. “Thank you.” The voice sounds pleased and someone reaches to hug him. They don't feel like a threat and it's easy to relax. The embrace is so gentle and careful that the expected pain from broken ribs never comes. It's easier to breathe with the arms wrapped around him.

“You need to change.” The voice is directed somewhere else so the words don't have to make sense. Jason is still wrapped in a hug from someone nearly half his size and every point of contact feels warm. “Put the mask and uniform away, Mr. Wayne. I'll explain later.”

There are murmurs but they're far away and the voice isn't afraid.

“There,” the voice says, assertiveness fading to warmth. “Let's sit down. Your legs are a little shaky.”

Gentle arms keep touching him when he slowly sits down on the sand. The voice makes nothing hurt and maybe dying won't be so bad with the voice here. Breathing is too hard, after the bomb, and he knows it won't be long. Those aren't injuries that he can walk off. The world blurs in and out of focus and the touch backs off until he can breathe on his own. The voice is still touching his hand and it feels like the only reason that he doesn't lose himself to the static making it hard to think.

“Easy,” the voice soothes. “You're okay. You're safe, now, and I guess you decided to get this all dealt with right away. This is better than in the middle of the plane ride. You're safe and I'm with you. Being in the desert might be hard on you but you're safe and I'm not going anywhere.” The voice belongs a skinny kid with wide blue eyes and gentle hands.

Jason reaches out and rests unbroken fingers on the kid's bony shoulder. He isn't Dick, Bruce, or Alfred.

“No, I'm not,” the voice agrees. “Is it okay if Dick or Bruce comes closer? They're here, too.”

The voice sounds confident but that can't be right. Dick is in space. He and his friends will be gone for a long time and Jason doesn't want to hide in Dick's empty apartment. Jason would just miss his brother the whole time and feel alone all over again. “Dick's back?”

“He's right here,” the voice agrees. “I hear he gives really good hugs. Can he hug you?”

Jason's left hand feels whole, too, when he opens and closes his fingers in the sand. “Okay,” he agrees. Dick looks different than Jason remembers when he sits on the sand right next to him but the hugs are the same. Jason relaxes into the familiar hold and opens his eyes again. The boy with blue eyes is still holding his hand. “And Bruce?” Jason asks.

“And Bruce,” the voice agrees. “Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce almost falls down when he slowly drops to his knees next to Jason. Jason hums impatiently and pulls Bruce closer. Jason ends up sandwiched between his dad and brother and the warmth feels nice. The voice looks ready to pull away but Jason is not having that. He tugs the voice closer by his hand. “And you.”

The voice smiles. “Okay, Jason,” he agrees. He scoots closer so that he's sitting right next to Jason's knee. “Will you take a few deep breaths for me? After you do, we've got something for you to drink.”

Jason breathes. His ribs still don't hurt. When someone holds out a canteen, he expects water, but instead it's something vaguely sweet and a trace salty that tastes like the color red. He remembers this. He'd teased about fruit punch electrolyte mix tasing like red instead of any kind of fruit and then pouted when Bruce tried a different brand. It tasted like red but it was much less cloying than the other kinds.

He finishes off the canteen and someone takes it back. He accepts a different water bottle filled with fruit punch and tries to focus on the color red as he sips.

“Something with a stronger taste, maybe,” Tim says.

“Ginger candy.” Dick's voice sounds like it's coming from far away but his arms are still wrapped around Jason. “Clark, would you – thank you. Jason, some ginger?”

Jason grimaces but pops one of the candies in his mouth when Clark holds out the container with the lid popped open. If ginger didn't control nausea so well, he'd refuse to touch it again, but it works every time a toxin or antidote makes him feel sick. He's not nauseated but the sharpness makes the world feel a lot more real. He focuses on the taste instead of Bruce pressed against his side looking nobly prepared to cry inside when Jason shoves him away.

Tim is holding his hand. Dick and Bruce and Tim are all close but Jason doesn't feel crowded. Clark and Damian are several feet away and both of them look like nothing particularly interesting happened. Jason doesn't want to know how Damian can fake nonchalance that well but he appreciates everybody pretending that was normal. It's probably worse if Damian isn't faking and he sees people lose it like that often enough to be calm.

“No,” Tim says just before Jason apologizes for losing control.

Jason glares at him. Tim looks completely unintimidated.

“You were in a Lazarus Pit six days ago,” Tim chides, eyes on Jason. “You didn't hurt anybody and you have better control than anyone should expect right now.”

Jason follows Tim's example and ignores the way that Bruce flinches and Dick freezes.

Tim keeps talking as if he doesn't have Batman, Nightwing, and Superman hanging on his every word. “Do you want to take a break? Damian will give your sword back if you want to try something physical. We could do some katas or stretches. Someone that knows what to do with a sword could spar if you feel up to it.”

“Not yet,” Jason says. They'd talked about this. Jason was going to have a rough time when they finally made it to Bruce and Tim had promised that he'd be happy to cover explanations. Jason hadn't thought it would all happen so quickly. Jason had thought they would at least get back to Gotham before he had to remember everything from before the Pit or ask Tim to say what he couldn't. “Not ready to deal with the reflexes.”

Dick squeezes his shoulders gently. “Want some space, Little Wing?”

Jason nods. He's sitting on the ground in a desert and still trying to put together everything that happened after Clark put the car down. Damian looks a bit spooked, Clark looks solemn, and Bruce is caught between so many emotions that it leaves him looking stoic and confused. Jason can recognize that look, now, when he isn't angry enough to assume that the stoic look meant that Bruce stopped caring.

Bruce eases away carefully before standing up. He's wearing grey sweatpants and a Nightwing t-shirt and it shouldn't matter that his dad changed his outfit. It helps, though. It helps that he doesn't look like Batman now. “I'll be on the jet. It's... it's good to see you, Jason.” He walks away. His back looks stiff with the effort of not turning back.

Dick reaches out slowly and hovers his hand over Jason's head. When Jason rolls his eyes in agreement, Dick ruffles his hair. “We're happy to talk when you want to talk,” he says before scooting back and standing up in one motion.

Tim looks Jason over thoughtfully. “How much space do you want?”

“More in a minute,” Jason says. “Help me up?”

It might have been easier for Tim to help even a week ago. Jason has grown in just the last week. The hemline on his pants is higher than it had been and he's put on muscle without trying. It's the Lazarus Pit, Jason thinks, just like the white showing at the roots of his hair in one section right next to his forehead. Just like the sudden increase in rage he hadn't been dealing with well before he died.

Mostly, accepting help is a reason to let Tim stay close for a few seconds. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

“You'd do the same for me,” Tim replies, matching Jason's volume.

Tim's right. It makes it easier to accept Tim's protective streak. Jason stretches carefully and convinces himself all over again that he isn't dealing with broken fingers or broken ribs or any of the injuries that he'd remembered so clearly. “Want to keep Bruce company while I get myself together?” he offers. “If he hurts your feelings, just poke your head out the jet looking sad and everybody here will kick his ass.”

Tim smiles. “I don't think we'll need that but the same goes for you. If anybody hurts your feelings, Damian and I will be all over them.”

Jason looks around. Bruce has already vanished into the jet. Dick is chatting with Damian and looking over the map Damian grabbed out of the car. Clark is looking intently through the SUV.

“Go talk to Bruce,” Jason says. “He'll just get mopey, otherwise, and he's got to be kicking himself that he couldn't find you in all this time.” Tim needs to get the conversation over with before he stresses himself out and Bruce will be relieved to get the talk over with.

Tim tries to look casual about heading over to the Batplane to talk to Bruce Wayne. Tim pauses at the sight of Superman casually surveying the SUV and stares for a moment before he starts moving again. It's the cutest thing Jason has seen since Tim and Damian were bent over the map plotting together. Shock over close proximity to Superman or nervousness about talking to Bruce or something else holds Tim back on the ramp long enough that Jason almost calls him back. Just before Jason does, Tim's shoulders straighten. Tim walks into the jet and vanishes into the cockpit.

Jason heads over to Clark and the SUV. Bruce does better when he has someone to take care of and there's not a lot of room to break Tim's expectations. Jason is going to spend a lot of time working to raise Tim's expectations later but maybe it's better if they start when Tim is still used to emotionally neglectful parents. “Looking for trackers?”

“I found a few of them already. Does Ra's al Ghul own this vehicle?” Clark looks like a Midwestern farmboy but hasn't changed out of the Superman getup. Jason recognizes that look. It always comes before the kind of trouble more than half the Justice League doesn't believe Superman would ever cause.

Jason grins. “He did. It'd be a shame to give it back to Ra's. Who knows what he'd use it for. You have a place for it?”

“Unless you want to keep it, I was planning to take all the trackers out and bring it home. My son's ready for driving lessons and there's a very good chance that the first car won't survive a half-Kryptonian trying to learn a complicated new skill. I destroyed a couple cars that way.”

Jason looks at the car and imagines Ra's al Ghul's property in a ditch or a pond in Kansas. It's a good image. He might ask for a picture. “I guess you guys start earlier out in the country. Jon's... seven?”

“Jon's turning eight in a week and he drives a couple of the simpler tractors at Ma and Pa's place,” Clark says. “This would be for my older son, Kon.”

Jason raises a brow in a silent question.

Clark shrugs. “We only found out about Kon last year. Bruce threatened to adopt him when I thought that I couldn't be a father to him. Once I got over myself, I realized Bruce was right, and I don't know what we'd do without him. We love him.”

Jason knows Clark is leaving something out. That's his aw-shucks tone he usually only drags out as a corn-fed reporter goading someone into admitting something they shouldn't have. “Kon's half-Kryptonian,” he prompts. Kon is also older than Jon by a wide margin.

“Long story short, Lex Luthor cloned me and mixed some of his own DNA into the resulting child.”

Jason should have known it had to be something crazy to throw Clark off his game.

“Bruce told me that he'd take care of Kon if I couldn't manage it. I think that's when I knew that Bruce would be okay. I was keeping a close eye on him, for a while, and at his request. He mourned you, Jason, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain how much.” Clark cuts himself off and waits.

“You can talk about it,” Jason says when he decides where to start. Clark's patient. “I can't do Batman right now. Bruce is fine. It's probably not the best coping mechanism but I wanted to get us out of there before I worried about it. I... I hadn't even thought about dying yet, Clark. I kept putting it off and putting it off and then it was all so bright and we were in the desert and...”

One of Clark's many talents is offering a hug without moving a muscle.

Usually, Jason lets himself forget to be impressed by anyone in a cape, but sometimes it's really cool to know that he can claim Superman as an uncle and get a hug whenever he wants. Jason looks over at Damian and Dick when he's ready to stand on his own. Dick's doing a great job keeping Damian talking but both of them deserve a little reassurance. “Hey, Damian. How much do you know about trackers?”

“Mother just refreshed my lessons on removing trackers from a vehicle a few days ago.” Damian's polite tone and formal words don't hide his eagerness. He finally looks a little bit like an eight-year-old and Jason wants to see that more often. “May I be of assistance?”

“I'd appreciate it,” Jason says. “Can I get your help too, Dick? I think between the four of us we can get this done fast. I can think of no better fate for Ra's al Ghul's car than ending up in a pond in Kansas.”

Jason doesn't do much of the work. Superman's X-ray vision finds several trackers and he's able to hold the SUV up in any orientation they want. Dick's got experience removing League trackers and he's got a light touch with them that impresses Damian. Damian is young but Talia's lessons paid off. He finds a couple the rest of them missed on the first couple sweeps.

Jason soaks in working with his family. The Lazarus Pit is never going to keep him away from them. He'll work through his thing with Batman, he'll make sure Damian adjusts well, and he'll look after Tim. Dick will help him even if Jason struggles with how to ask his big brother to swoop in and fix things again.

Dick and Clark fill the silence with casual talk about unusual vehicles used on missions. They don't expect Jason or Damian to reply. Jason can listen and keep his space and only look over at the jet every minute or so. Tim will be fine, Jason is sure of it, but he can't help but worry about his little brother and wonder what his dad is saying.

Chapter Text

Go talk to Bruce, Jason said, like it's easy to just walk up to Batman.

It had been easy when Tim was twelve and knew that something had to change. All of Gotham knew that Batman was getting dangerous and that Robin was gone. For almost everyone, the rest was just rumors. Plenty of villains had bragged that they'd killed Batman or Robin before. No one was sure if the whispers about Joker killing Robin were anything more than a nasty joke but the rumors kept spreading and Robin was still gone. Robin was dead, Nightwing was missing from Blüdhaven, and Batman was only getting worse.

Tim hadn't dared to go to Jason's funeral when someone might think he was a gawker instead of there to pay respects for everything that he'd done as Robin. When he saw the picture in the paper, though, he thought he should have gone anyway. The crowd of people at Jason Todd's grave was far too small and there were vicious rumors about Dick Grayson not coming back to Bristol for the funeral. Bruce and Mr. Pennyworth ignored the press and hardly anyone knew to wonder what Nightwing was doing that was so important.

Nightwing started patrolling Blüdhaven again weeks later but there were no rumors of Dick Grayson or Nightwing spending any time in Gotham or Bristol. The Justice League was nowhere in Gotham and there weren't any public statements when Batman was increasingly violent against criminals that he never would have treated that way if Robin was still with him. Mr. Pennyworth looked so tired.

The Justice League wasn't helping. Whatever Mr. Pennyworth might be trying, it wasn't working. Nightwing wasn't coming home. Batman was losing himself and Gotham still needed him. If nothing else would work, maybe having a third person try to take up Robin's job as the light to Batman's shadow could give him time to heal. If Batman needed a Robin as a crutch until he could come back to his ideals, then maybe Tim could do it, because Dick Grayson wouldn't come home and Mr. Pennyworth wasn't as dismissive as Tim had feared.

Tim had known Batman wouldn't like the plan, and that was okay, because Tim had put together a few things from years of watching Batman with two Robins and Bruce with his two sons. Both Dick and Jason had never given up. Tim wouldn't give up, either, even when Batman made it clear he was not interested in taking on a twelve-year-old novice as a sidekick.

Talking to Jason at his grave had been a last step to try putting the right words together to make Bruce think that it would be better, someday, even if Tim would never replace the son that he'd lost.

Tim's halting conversation with engraved marble had been interrupted by strange motions in the earth under his feet and peeling the sod back with shaking hands. He hadn't been able to help much and he might never know how Jason had broken out of his coffin and made his way up to the surface. It all started going wrong when the taxi driver refused to be a part of an apparent zombie prank and Tim couldn't get someone to answer the phone and then people on the bus kept whispering and talking and maybe he should have called 911 right from the bus.

Talking to Bruce had been easier when he was twelve and Bruce didn't want to talk to him. Tim had been ready to be turned away and ready to fight. Tim had never won the argument when he asked his parents if he could come on the trip but sometimes the conversation left them thoughtful instead of frustrated. Asking about once a year was the right frequency; anything more than that had them say he was pushing too much and should be happy to have so much independence on his breaks from boarding school. The last time Tim had brought it up, they had both agreed that he should bring up traveling with them when he was fourteen. He's fourteen, now, and doesn't want to travel anywhere for a while.

Tim doesn't know what to do with Jason's expectations but he doesn't want to have this conversation with anyone else listening in. Jason might lose his temper and he's been working so hard to keep the Pit rage under control. Anyone else might interrupt with ideas and suggestions when it got awkward and Tim might never know what Bruce would have said without someone else there.

This time, at least, Tim knows that Bruce will want to hear something that he has to say. Talia has a few stories but Tim knows more than anybody else just what Jason went through with the League of Assassins. Bruce will want to know what happened to Jason.

Tim can't let himself think that Jason is right about Bruce. Jason will claim Tim as a brother no matter what Bruce says. That doesn't mean Bruce will agree to be his guardian for a few years, though, or that Tim wants to live in another house where he's supposed to stay quiet and out of the way and try to learn the right moment to dare asking for anything.

Tim stops halfway up the ramp to the jet when Bruce's voice cuts into his thoughts.

“Talia. You called?”

Bruce sounds cold and dismissive. He sounds just like the man that sent Tim away.

“The boys. Are they safe?” Talia's usual composure is gone. Anyone else might sound frantic, Tim thinks, but the rawness to her voice might be the most vulnerability she ever lets herself show.

Tim hesitates. He hadn't thought he'd overhear anything, and definitely not a phone call on speaker. Maybe he can go back by Jason and say that Bruce is busy.

“They're safe,” Bruce allows. “More details would have been useful. I was minutes out of range when one of your father's men opened fire on their vehicle. Superman caught a bullet for them.”

Jason told him to talk to Bruce, though, and he wants to hear what Talia has to say. Tim shifts his weight as he thinks. When the ramp creaks under his foot, Tim gives up on hesitating and heads onto the plane. Bruce will know someone overheard and he might as well let Bruce shoo him away for a couple minutes so he isn't left wondering if Jason tried to talk to him.

Bruce turns slightly. His expression is serious but the gesture toward the empty co-pilot's seat is clear.

“My father went back on his promises. Their absence should not have been discovered until sunset but he sent someone for Damian the moment that I left the compound,” Talia replies more calmly. “I am sorry. I should have expected you might have been delayed when previous messages similar to this morning's call were not to your benefit.”

Tim slowly sits down in the co-pilot's seat. Bruce nods in apparent approval.

“Dick and Superman were concerned about your motives. It took several minutes to talk them around after Dick went straight to Alfred.” Bruce leans back in the pilot's seat at the front of the jet. “If you had mentioned that children were in danger, one of them your own...”

Tim's sitting in the Batplane. He's sitting in the co-pilot seat and surrounded by control panels and only the certainty that several of them are dangerous keeps him from pushing one of the brightly-lit buttons just to see what would happen. Even if his own talk with Bruce goes about as well as the conversation with Talia, this is still one of the coolest things Tim has ever done.

“I thought you would have time even accounting for the justifiable concern of your allies and I am sorry. I should have told you years ago.”

Bruce's empty hand closes into fist. The other holds the cell phone as if it is a bubble that will pop under the slightest amount of pressure. “Yes. You should have. Were the boys with you all this time?”

“They were. One of my agents in Gotham saw Timothy and Jason on the bus the night of Jason's resurrection. My agents took them from the side of the road.” Talia pauses. “I regret that it took time to understand Timothy's value and that he has been harmed worse than I predicted. Nothing about this has gone as I thought it would.”

Bruce looks at Tim. Tim shrugs. It isn't a surprise to him and he doesn't know if he wants to hear her explain it again.

“Hi, Talia,” Tim says when Bruce doesn't say anything. “Damian's been talking with Dick. We haven't had time to introduce him yet.” Tim peers out the cockpit window. Damian, Dick, Jason, and Superman are doing something with the SUV that involves Superman picking the vehicle up repeatedly like it's an oversized paperweight while the others point at different parts of the undercarriage. “It might be better to explain while he's not listening.”

“Timothy.” Talia's voice sounds raw, like she's abandoned her usual composure. “You and Damian were meant to be safe. Jason should have been safe as well. I know this is hard to believe, when I did not know the other ways I failed to keep you safe, but you should not have been at such risk. You have more than earned my gratitude and any favor you ask.”

“I'll be the judge of whether that favor is met,” Bruce warns. “I imagine Jason will also want some input into whether the favor measures up to what you expected from Tim.”

Tim believes her. Talia wouldn't have trusted him with Damian if she thought her son wouldn't be safe. She wouldn't offer a favor at all if she didn't intend to follow through. She's difficult to understand, sometimes, but he's never caught her in a lie.

Sometimes her actions only makes sense in retrospect and Tim thinks he finally understands just why Talia gave so little notice that it was time to try the Lazarus Pit. The Pit had been prepared for her father and she hadn't bothered with trickery or deception. She'd appeared with a robe, waited impatiently while Tim helped Jason change, and then whisked the robe away a mere second before shoving Jason into the Pit. Talia's usual deliberation and subtlety were gone in favor of a very unmistakable splash.

“You pushed Jason into the Lazarus Pit and didn't try to hide that from your father. That was part of your plan to have Damian leave with us without Ra's knowing that you helped. You thought that Jason wouldn't hurt me.” Tim wants to be sure. He's done making assumptions about what adults expect.

“Very perceptive, Timothy.” Talia sounds approving and her usual calm tone is back. “Bruce, you must not let this boy's mind go to waste. Jason is doing remarkably well and I will send you all information I can gather about the Lazarus Pits. Damian...”

“He's ours. Damian is our son.” If Tim wasn't looking right at him, he might guess that Bruce's face was as calm and even as the words. It's all in Bruce's eyes, though, and the pain is intense enough that Tim looks away. “Years ago, when you said...”

“I am sorry, Bruce, and again can only offer apologies. I did not want to share him and you know that I cannot live in your world and your morality. I thought that I could raise him in my world but it is far too dangerous for him. Damian deserves more than what I can provide. All of the boys deserve better than what the League of Assassins can offer because I cannot leave this behind. I still can do some good, here, and you will do better for the boys.”

“I need time, Talia. All three boys will be protected and we'll talk again when they're settled. Stay safe.”

“I am perhaps too practiced at keeping myself safe, beloved. I will warn you the moment I know of a threat to you or to any of your children. Goodbye.”

The call ends.

Tim remembers all over again that he's sitting in the Batplane with Batman and doesn't know what to say. Looking at the different buttons and trying to guess what kind of terrible things would happen if he touched one by accident is easier than trying to start a conversation.

“Jason calls you Tim,” Bruce says after several seconds of awkward-to-Tim silence. “Is that still what you prefer to be called?”

Maybe Tim isn't the only awkward person on the plane. “It is. I—um—can I call you Bruce?”

“I've been looking for you since the night that you were taken. You kept two of my sons safe and knew how to talk Jason out of a flashback when I would have made it worse.” Bruce's full attention is a little intimidating but Tim isn't afraid. Tim knows how people feel when they see Batman, though, because he might believe anything Bruce says in that tone. “You can call me whatever you want. Bruce is fine.”

Tim doesn't know what to say but he knows what he wants to know. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the slip of newspaper that survived the entire escape from the League of Assassins. Bruce takes it and smooths it out on the console between their seats. “I—um. Talia gave me this, about a week after it was printed, but not the rest of the paper. I don't know what you might have said but it's not your fault. Talia thought she'd send us both home in a couple weeks, at first, but Jason... I don't know what it was. He was catatonic, sort of, but he could fight and he knew your name. He looked after me.”

Bruce looks up from the newspaper clipping. “I wish that I'd been able to look after both of you, Tim. I called you back six minutes after that last phone call.”

Tim swallows, hard. “Were you in a meeting?”

“I was,” Bruce says. “I had a voice recognition program that would flag any messages that seemed related to Batman. You were careful and nothing flagged as someone making a threat. I changed the system after that. Gotham changed the tip line, too. I'm sorry, Tim.”

An old worry vanishes and Tim feels a little lighter. “I read about Gotham's tip line in the obituary but I don't know what the other articles said.”

Bruce stares at the picture above the obituary. “I went public with the story from that first night. Dick came back to Gotham and agreed it was the best way to try getting both of you back. Civilians have come back from death before and I had no other way to explain why I was looking for you and Jason when all I had was call records. You were circumspect enough that all of those were entered into evidence with the police without any changes. I told the truth. You were worried about me and knew that I'd been having a hard time after Jason died. You tried to get Dick to reconcile with me.”

Another long-nagging anxiety fades away. He'd wondered if he should have been more blunt. Maybe it isn't fair to expect him to be ready for a surprise resurrection that had stunned Batman, too. “Did you call my parents?”

“I tried and so did the police. Your parents didn't get in contact for several days. When they did...”

Tim bites his lip, hard, and stares at the picture. He wants to believe that they weren't just saying the right things for the press. He wants it enough to pretend if that's what it takes.

“Jack and Janet told me they had been planning to bring you along on their travels someday for years without ever thinking about how quickly time went by. They thought they'd have time and never thought about how it felt to be left behind. They wanted another chance with you, Tim. They started going to therapy and put together a plan for the changes they'd need to make. They wouldn't let up until I saw a therapist, too. I'm pretty sure Dick and Clark took them out to dinner after my first appointment.

“They wrote you letters and I kept all of them safe for you. There were videos, too, ones that they didn't make public. I—um—made some for you, too, and for Jason. You can watch them, if you want, but I'd like to tell you in person. Thank you. You wanted to help, Tim, when a lot of other people had given up on me.”

Tim doesn't look up until Bruce clears his throat.

“We'll figure out what you want longterm, Tim, but I'd like it if you stay with us for at least a while. If we can convince you to stay longer, your parents updated their will that I'd have custody if they died.”

Tim doesn't know what to say. Bruce looks completely serious and this is what Jason wants. It would let him stay closer to Jason and Damian and it would be the easiest. Bruce would keep custody until Tim was eighteen and then he'd be able to take care of himself with the estate.

Tim doesn't want to be an obligation and doesn't want to be the only kid in the house that isn't Bruce's son. If he doesn't ask now, he might not have the courage to say it later when he has a bedroom and a place at the table and won't risk that much.

Jason thinks he can do this. Tim won't have a better chance. No one else is listening and he has to know.

“As a ward or as a son?” Tim asks.

“As whatever you'll accept, Tim,” Bruce says. “I've been looking for you for a year and a half. When you're settled in, I would like to know what I should have been doing differently. We knew the League of Assassins was a possibility but couldn't find any proof.”

“Not just because I found Jason.” Something in Tim is panicking, telling him to just accept the offer, but the rest of him is sure. He needs to know or he'll wonder about it for years. “Not just because Damian likes me.”

“I don't know you as well as I want to, Tim, but I know enough.” Bruce meets Tim's eyes. “Even if you hadn't found Jason or Damian, sooner or later, you would have ended up as Robin. If your parents ended up on the same trip and didn't come home, I would have ended up adopting you. If I'd realized how much parenting they weren't doing, I would have let you stay for a few days while we sorted that out. You might not have left. Alfred says that I brought home one child and never stopped.”

Tim's last doubts fade one by one. “Okay,” he agrees. “I'd—um. I'd like that. Jason said that you'd adopt me but I wasn't sure, and didn't want to assume, but—”

Bruce smiles. “Well, good. Maybe I can get something right with Jason, then, because I...” Bruce loses the words and the smile. “I have a lot to make up for.”

Tim reaches out and rests his hand on top of Bruce's. “Jason's working on it,” Tim promises. “He woke up in a Lazarus Pit and didn't remember anything about how he got there. He started taking care of me the next day and he was sure that we'd be safest with you. He wasn't ready to think about dying or the last few weeks before he died and it all came back really, really fast. We both thought he'd have a little more time before he remembered any of that.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says.

Loud footsteps echo up the ramp before Bruce can voice any more of what makes him look so troubled. Jason ostentatiously leans in before relaxing. “Should've known you wouldn't be to hugging yet. Good. Tim—”

Tim glares. He just had an entire emotional conversation after a long day and he does not want anyone else fussing over him. He's fine and Jason fusses enough without backup.

“—got hurt earlier this week and his upper back's still healing.” If Jason was going to explain it any differently, he recovered quickly enough that no one else can tell. He gestures back over his shoulder, past Dick and Damian who are farther down the ramp. “Clark's ready to head out if we're all set. He said that he'll cover us for takeoff then fly the SUV home.”

“The trackers are dealt with?”

“Damian and I helped with that.” Dick steps past Jason and onto the plane. “Talia spent some time over the last week making sure Damian knew a few sets of coordinates and how to deal with trackers on a couple different vehicles.”

Tim stands up. He's definitely not ready to be a co-pilot and there are seats in the back of the plane that are much farther away from all of the controls.

“So, Bruce,” Dick says mildly. “Good talk?”

Bruce nods. “Good talk,” he agrees. “Tim's willing to give me a try and might agree to being adopted.”

Dick beams. “Three little brothers in one day is a new record and I've already hugged the other two. Tim?”

Tim doesn't turn down the hug and realizes that Jason was right to warn about his back. If Dick had squeezed around his upper back, Tim would probably have yelped, because the force of the hug takes Tim's feet right off of the ground. As it is, he squeaks before he realizes he's still comfortable and manages to hug Dick back before his feet are back on the ground.

Jason elbows Dick. “Easy,” Jason says. “Let's get him home before you scare him off of extra brothers.”

Damian is still waiting in the entry of the plane and Tim belatedly remembers his manners. “We were distracted earlier and I forgot to make proper introductions,” Tim says as formally as he can manage. Damian looks unsure and they've done well with manners so far. “Bruce, this is Damian al Ghul, also called Damian ibn al Xu'ffasch in the League's dialect. Damian, this is Bruce Wayne, your father.”

Bruce's smile is warm. He offers a handshake and Damian solemnly accepts. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Damian. I was speaking with your mother just a few minutes ago. She did not expect that you would be in any danger today.”

Damian looks very small with his hand dwarfed in Bruce's. “My mother wishes for me to stay with you.”

“I am happy to have you,” Bruce promises. “I'll make sure Alfred knows to expect three or he'll never let me hear the end of it. Alfred Pennyworth raised me and he'll help us make you all feel welcome.”

“One room,” Jason says curtly. “At least for the first week or two. Damian and Tim were set up to share and before that Tim was bunking with me.”

Tim hadn't even thought about trying to sleep by himself in a strange house. “Please,” he adds.

Damian looks a little spooked when everyone turns their attention his way but he hides the surprise almost immediately. “I would also prefer to share if that is acceptable.”

“Of course,” Bruce says. “I'll let Alfred know and then we'll start up pre-flight checks. We should be heading out soon. Would you like to get settled? We have snacks and drinks by the seats in the back.”

There are four seats at the back of the plane, all so close together that they're touching. When Damian glances at the window a couple times, Tim nudges him toward one of the seats at the edge. Tim doesn't protest when Jason points him to the seat next to Damian. Jason ends up on Tim's other side. Sitting between two people he trusts is comforting. He hadn't enjoyed his first plane ride at all but this one seems like it's going to be much better.

Taking off in the Batplane is better in every way. The vertical takeoff is so much cooler to watch than the slow climb from a normal runway, Bruce and Dick's quiet conversation with Alfred and someone named Barbara is calm and helps distract from the pressure in his ears, and Tim feels warm even before Jason grabs a blanket out of a storage cabinet.

Tim yawns and lets his head fall onto Jason's shoulder. Jason's putting on muscle at a ridiculous rate but it's still comfortable to lean on him.

“Good plan,” Jason murmurs. “You'll want to be awake to get the nickel tour of the house and it'll be a long flight. We'll take you on a cooler plane ride another time. This one's going to have a lot of ocean. Damian's still ready to stand guard and I'll be awake.”

Damian is staring out the window, Dick and Bruce are focused on the plane, and Tim has had a long day. He's not going to be embarrassed if people notice him taking a nap and he isn't surprised that Jason doesn't look tired. Tim is a little surprised Jason looks so comfortable with Bruce so close but he's not going to ask about that where Bruce and Dick can overhear.

If Tim tries to stay awake, he'll probably just worry and be bored, and he doesn't need to be on guard against assassins. He's in a plane with Jason and Damian and Nightwing and Batman. He's safe.

Tim falls asleep less than fifteen minutes after takeoff.

Chapter Text

Jason had thought it might be harder without Tim looking out for him but maybe Tim can do that job in his sleep. Jason feels a lot more grounded with Tim slumped over him and the constant weight feels like trust. Damian relaxes gradually when he realizes that Jason trusts him next to Tim. Jason can see some of that usual reserve fading the longer Jason lets Damian stay at Tim's side without asking for a single weapon. Jason trusts that Damian isn't going to stab Tim, Damian knows that Jason trusts him, and the three of them have their own space that feels isolated from the quiet conversations at the front of the jet.

Dick turns back to check on them a few times while he talks to Alfred through the comm. Bruce keeps looking forward while he brings them up to altitude. He's always a stickler for flight protocols but Jason can't decide if this should be an exception. He doesn't want Bruce to stare at him but he doesn't want to feel so unstable that Bruce can't look at him.

Jason is not going to be jealous that Bruce and Tim had a conversation and were both smiling at the end of it. Jason wanted the two of them to talk. He'd known that Bruce would sit there trying to rehearse the conversation in his head until it was over with and Tim seemed like he might do the same. Jason wants refuses to be upset that Tim pushed straight through the fear and said what he wanted to say.

Jason needs to think about anything else. Tim is sleeping on Jason's shoulder and he'll wake up if Jason keeps tensing every muscle in his body.

When they get up to cruising altitude, Bruce glances over his shoulder. It only takes a moment for him to take in the whole picture and he looks more relaxed when he turns back to the controls.

Bruce had looked at all of them. That's what Jason wanted. He wants Bruce to have a good relationship with Tim and Damian, too, but the jealousy hits too hard. Jason wants to clear the air that easily but he can't trust his temper and he can't trust his own emotions when there isn't an easy way to walk away. He is not going to push when he's stuck on a jet.

Someone should probably talk, Jason thinks, but he isn't sure how to break the almost-comfortable silence. If he stares at his sword instead of his dad, at least he knows that he won't suddenly get jealous looking over the small details on the scabbard and the way the sword was strapped in with the rest of the cargo.

Dick saves the day again. “So... what kind of sword is that, Jason? I didn't see much of it before Damian set it aside.”

Jason would hand the sword to his brother if he could reach it without dislodging Tim. As it is, he shrugs with his free shoulder. “I don't know, actually, and never asked. It looks a bit like a gladius.”

“It's an Ulfberht sword,” Damian and Bruce say in uncanny unison.

“Gesundheit,” Dick quips.

Jason can't reach past Tim to nudge Damian when the quip doesn't make sense to someone that learned formal English.

Damian surprises him, though, and doesn't push the flash of confusion down as if nothing had happened. “Pardon?” he asks politely.

Dick rotates his chair away from the copilot controls. “It's an expression. It can be a polite thing to say after someone sneezes or a joking way to say that you don't know what someone just said.”

“Thank you.” Damian is so formal that he sounds a little stiff but Jason thinks that Dick will win him over by the time they're in Gotham.

“I hadn't thought to ask anyone about the sword and can't get it without waking Tim up.” Jason's keeping his voice quiet, like the others, and it's nice. No one can yell or get loud. Tim's sleeping and peaceful and proof that Jason somehow did something right. Tim trusts him enough to go talk to Bruce and to sleep after a very long few hours. “Would you like to show him, Damian?”

Damian bends over and picks the sword up. As Jason predicted, when Damian draws the blade, he looks far too competent with it. Eight year olds are supposed to wish they looked that cool with a live weapon.

Jason takes the risk. He's pretty sure that Dick can turn this around if Jason puts Damian on the spot. “What can you tell me about an Ulfberht sword, Damian?”

“Some is hard to translate,” Damian says after a moment. “It is good for close-quarters fighting and little is known about how the original blades were produced. They were better than anything else of the era and are good for close-quarters fighting.”

“Thanks, Damian. Tim can help you translate later for some of the trickier details. I didn't pick up much of the League's language over the last week but he's pretty close to fluent. You can help each other out.” Jason hides a smile when Damian looks a little happier. Maybe being a big brother isn't as hard as he was thinking.

“Tim is going to need some time,” Jason warns, looking right at Bruce and Dick. Tim is sleeping and keeping his voice quiet makes the demand sound more serious.“I was in some kind of catatonic state before Talia decided to use a Lazarus Pit. Tim was looking after me for a long time before that and we just met Damian about twenty minutes before Clark picked us up. There is a lot of the story that only Tim knows. Nobody's pushing him.”

“Of course not,” Dick agrees.

Bruce looks at the three of them thoughtfully. “You didn't specify just how Tim's back was injured.”

Jason glares.

“He didn't ask why and neither will I.” Dick says it so calmly as if he wouldn't have been shouting at Bruce a couple years ago. “Just remember we don't know much and some of it is more useful soon. Tim left a lot of voice mails, the night he vanished out of Bristol, but he was being discreet. He wanted help getting you home and we had terrible timing getting to him that night. We had the surveillance footage from the bus to know that you were alive. We're working blind, here, so tell us what you need.”

Jason wants to stop feeling like he's walking on eggshells when he looks at his own dad. He wants to pretend that he could be just as reasonable if Bruce was the one talking to him. He wants to figure out how to help Damian and how to stop worrying that he'll turn on Tim again if he can't keep himself under control.

“We need space,” Jason says. “We might eat meals in a shared room a few times. I don't want to have to worry that I'm attacking someone that doesn't deserve it so I'd be happier if no one came in unless the house was on fire and we weren't getting up. I can't control this yet.” He says the words looking down at Tim. He can see Damian's serious expression and relaxes when it doesn't waver. Damian knows about the Lazarus Pit, this won't surprise him. “Tim and Damian might know before I do if I start to lose control.”

“I am impressed that Damian was willing to stand up to Batman to protect Jason,” Dick says casually. He doesn't seem to notice the way that Damian's gaze sharpens and doesn't look at all uncomfortable under the laser-intense stare. “We didn't know what would be the best way to help Jason and you did. You acted quickly and helped prevent any further harm. Thank you, Damian.”

Damian stares a few more seconds before trying to hide a glance at Bruce. Bruce has the plane on autopilot and he's facing the group, too, showing no signs of anger or irritation.

“Thank you, Damian,” Bruce echoes. Jason can't tell just what expression Bruce is holding back but he manages to make eye contact with Damian and look suitably serious. “I had not realized that Jason required more space at that moment. I will appreciate any future warnings you need to give.”

Damian relaxes. “I followed Timothy's lead. Mother said that I should listen to him.”

Bruce makes the tiny smile that most people don't notice. Damian stares for a moment before catching himself. “You are welcome to tell me when I am wrong even if you are not following Tim's lead, Damian.”

“Practically a rite of passage,” Jason says. Maybe talking to Bruce isn't as awkward as he thought. Jason doesn't have a weapon and half of his torso is covered with a sleeping brother. Even if he wanted to act on any sudden Lazarus-fueled urges, he'd have to drop Tim on the floor or dump him in Damian's lap. “Damian's probably joining Tim with the record for telling you off after meeting you.”

Bruce meets Jason's eyes and his dad manages a small smile. “The three of you can share the same record. You told me off and hit me with a tire iron.”

Damian's eyes widen slightly.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine, I was stealing tires off the Batmobile but in my defense, that would've kept me fed for like a month straight even if no one believed they were Batman's. Hitting you seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Damian looks thoughtful instead of condemning so there's one worry ended. Jason thinks that Damian is more surprised about landing a hit on Bruce than the theft.

“Telling off Batman is definitely a requirement for any future Robin,” Dick says thoughtfully.

Bruce glares but even Damian doesn't look intimidated. Jason and Dick both know that as his mad-for-form's-sake grumpy look. Damian has good instincts or hides his emotions well or he knows that he's safe. Whichever one it is, Jason can work with Damian's instincts and do what he can to make sure Bruce doesn't make another kid feel unsafe. Maybe he'll add that to the talk he and Bruce need to have soon.

Bruce gives up with a sigh. “No patrolling until you're twelve, minimum. I've given up on convincing any one of you to stay out of a cape.”

“If you're interested, Damian, you can have the Robin-chair,” Dick says. He reaches out and folds down the small chair built next to the co-pilot's. It had been Jason's, once, like Robin had been Jason's. Even if Jason wanted to be that close to the narrower front of the plane, there's no way he'd fit in that seat now. It's sized for a Robin too young to be trusted with the buttons and perfect for Damian.

Damian looks at him for approval. Jason smiles. “Go ahead,” he says. “Maybe if you listen really well you can help with landing when we get there.” It's a safe bet and Dick flashes the hand-signal for 'confirmed' as if Jason didn't know that reading off the checklist and helping Batman and Nightwing land the plane was something Damian deserved. Tim can help with that on some future ride.

If Bruce looks back a few times, Jason pretends he doesn't notice. It's nice to watch people and not need to worry about what is going to try to mess with them in mid-air when Superman is going to be on call for the foreseeable future.

Damian's wary but his well-justified caution is no match for Dick Grayson in the mood to be charming. Damian gradually relaxes and forgets to look back at Jason for approval when he has the flight checklist in hand and he's precisely repeating back what Dick told him fifteen minutes ago.

Dick would have let Damian help with landing even if he'd spent the entire flight making rude jokes and being grumpy about being stuck over in the secondary copilot seat. He'd done that for Jason. Jason still remembers gaping at the clipboard and Nightwing's smile and realizing that Nightwing's fight with Batman was not going to touch Jason.

Jason nudges Tim when the plane starts to descend. “Hey, Tim. Time to wake up.”

Tim makes a grumpy sound and curls in closer.

Jason refuses to admit how cute that is when Bruce might be looking at them. “Take a look out the window. We're touching down outside of Gotham.”

That wakes him up. Tim sits straight up and fumbles with his seatbelt for a moment so he can scoot into Damian's abandoned seat and stare at the horizon. Jason resists the urge to glare when both Bruce and Dick peer back a couple times. They've been looking for Tim for a long time. They deserve to see Tim's reaction to touching down in Gotham and Tim doesn't seem to mind. He stares out the window and looks like he picks out a few landmarks before they get close enough to see the runway.

Jason can breathe a little easier once the wheels touch down and they're back on the ground. Being on the jet had worked out fine but it was a lot pressure to know there was nowhere to go but Superman holding onto him for a while.

None of them have much luggage. They have two messenger bags, two swords, Tim's staff, and a duffel bag that definitely has Batman's entire suit tucked away inside. Dick never bothered to change out of his Nightwing gear but he'd taken the mask off at some point while he was chatting with Damian.

Jason doesn't have to ask. Bruce walks straight past the Batmobile and they all pile into the oversized black passenger van. Dick ditches the gloves and pulls on a jacket so he can sit in the front seat and not draw any more attention than Bruce driving the car. Bruce is still wearing the Nightwing t-shirt someone left for him. It's a short-sleeved t-shirt but someone had made the arm stripes go right to the hem. Maybe he should find a long-sleeved version with matching gloves for Bruce to keep around when he needs an emergency change of clothes.

Jason isn't so sure about seeing the Cave again but they won't have to stay long. Driving up to the front door would draw attention they can't handle yet and there is too much to worry about with a van from the Batplane hangar driving right up to Wayne Manor's front door. Taking a few rarely-traveled back roads to the Cave feels like enough of a risk.

The Batmobile would have been fine, like the plane was fine, but it's easier to sit in the back of the unmarked passenger van with Damian in the middle of a row of seats. Tim's alert all over again on the brief drive between the airfield and the well-guarded tunnel entrance. Damian and Tim do a reasonably good job hiding their shock when Bruce drives straight toward a cliff face only to head right through the hologram. Bruce, always a showoff, times it perfectly and drives through the opening blast doors with just inches to spare on either side.

Tim and Damian settle down after a few seconds when it's clear that the narrow tunnel through the stone is going to go on for a while. Jason can't relax. Everything that had made him nervous about the plane or the Batmobile seems worse when he knows he can't get out. He'd have to crawl over the seats and go out the back of the van into the tunnel to get out. Clark could still hear him, if Jason called, but it seems ridiculous to call him because he doesn't like knowing that the tunnel is narrow enough that the van's side door could slide open and not leave enough room to get out.

Tim reaches over Damian and grabs Jason's shoulder.

Jason slows his breathing down. He hadn't felt just how quickly he'd been dragging in air until he could feel Tim's hand with every hard breath.

Damian shifts, slightly, so that his small hand is underneath Jason's. It's subtle enough that it could have been an accident but he looks far too tense for it to be anything but intentional.

Jason squeezes his hand gently and relaxes. Tim looks calmer, Damian looks like he's taking mental notes on how to calm someone down, and Dick and Bruce are still keeping their eyes forward.

“Pretty sure I'm claustrophobic.” Jason's voice is rough. Hiding emotions would take more control than he has but he doesn't need to pretend to be okay about this. “That's new. I think I really do not like it when I can't walk away right now for more than one reasons.”

“Memories?” Tim asks.

It's hard to make out Tim's expression in the floodlights set through the tunnel. It's easier to answer him, though, so Jason doesn't need to puzzle out what he can see in the moving shadows. “Not exactly but I might start getting some if we don't move on soon. How much longer?”

The van is already moving a lot faster. “Thirty-two seconds,” Bruce says.

Jason smiles. It's involuntary. Only Bruce would know that based on placement in the tunnel and just how fast he's going to push the van. If Jason bothered to get out a stopwatch, it would probably match exactly.

“I'm good, then.” Jason learned his lesson. He isn't going to push this back until it's all too much and it all comes out at an incredibly inconvenient time. Tim and Damian are still a little too shy to push but maybe he'll practice telling them later. For a second, he thought he could taste dirt, but that's when Tim had grabbed him and startled him out of the sensation.

Being back in the Batcave is a relief. The huge space leaves plenty of room to move around and he knows almost all of the exits. It's also crowded with the kind of trophies that shatter right through Tim and Damian's natural reserve. Tim stares wide-eyed at the rows of costumes, Damian gapes at the dinosaur, and Jason feels okay until he notices a familiar Robin suit in an isolated case away from the row of costumes.

That's not just any Robin uniform. That one has the update he made with the way the cape attached and the different fit for the gloves and rows and rows of painstaking stitching holding it back together. He died wearing that.

Walking away isn't a conscious decision. He does not waste time looking at the plaque because he's seen enough. He walks past yet another Robin suit on the way to the medical bay. He is not going to ask just why someone has a red tunic with a Robin symbol on the chest. He's getting out of the Cave with his little brothers and if Bruce even tries to say a word he might lose it completely.

No one crowds him. If anyone says something about the display case, he doesn't listen. He grabs a field first aid kit and two boxes of protein bars out of the infirmary before picking up both messenger bags and his sword.

Jason looks back over at the group. “Tim. Damian. Ready to upstairs?”

Tim and Damian don't look back at the frozen look on Bruce's face or Dick's well-hidden anger. If Jason didn't know his big brother so well, he wouldn't predict a loud argument the second Jason gets the kids out of the Cave. No one but Bruce is morbid to put out the clothes Jason was wearing when he died or to want to keep them there.

Jason takes the elevator up. Stopping over in the kitchens feels a little bit unreal in the best way. Nothing in the kitchens makes him feel unsafe or brings back bad memories. Even better, Tim and Damian are looking around curiously. Neither one looks annoyed to be pulled away from the Batcave so quickly.

Alfred is waiting in the kitchens as if he knew the exact moment Jason would be there. Someday, Jason might figure out how he does it.

Jason clears his throat. “Can we... later? I think I need to sleep for a few hours before I can be reasonable.”

Alfred looks like Jason has been gone for a couple hours instead of a couple years. It's just what Jason needed.

“Of course,” Alfred replies. He rests his hand on a small hamper usually used for picnics. “I was unsure how much company the three of you might like. I also did not know about any allergies or preferences so I am happy to prepare something else if this is unacceptable. I prepared a variety of appetizers and small sandwiches as well as a selection of fruit.”

“That sounds wonderful, Mr. Pennyworth. I think that Dick and Bruce might be talking about redecorating downstairs,” Tim says in his most polite tone.

“I see. We can leave the pleasantries for tomorrow, then, as I suspect they might make rash choices if left unsupervised for too long,” Alfred says. He picks up the hamper and leads the way to an oversized guest room in the family wing. “Will this be acceptable?”

The bedroom looks nothing like the League of Assassins base. The walls are painted a pale shade of blue and the trim around both large windows in the corner room is starkly white. Both windows have dark blue blackout curtains matching the geometric dark blue patterns on the three beds' matching bedspreads. The small sofa and coffee table is just large enough for the three of them and the attached bathroom means he won't have to even go into the hallway until he's ready. It's perfect.

“Thank you, Pennyworth,” Damian says formally.

“You are welcome, Master Damian,” Alfred replies. He doesn't step into the room and holds out the hamper for Jason to take. “No one will come into this room without permission from one of you absent imminent danger. Anyone misjudging just which danger is suitably imminent will have to explain their decisions to me.”

Damian looks impressed at the quiet but certain threat. Tim looks relieved.

Jason feels like he can breathe for the first time since the Cave stopped feeling comforting. “Thanks, Alfie,” he says. “If we don't join you for breakfast... maybe lunch tomorrow? Especially if you tell B to get the mausoleum out of the Cave.”

“Having you back is just the sort of miracle that will allow a few changes.” Alfred looks the three of them over before stepping back. “I will be happy to see all of you when you are ready. For at least the first few days, however, no one shall bother you and I will be happy to bring any meals you request to this room. Welcome home, boys.”

Chapter Text

It would be easier if someone was pushing Jason to get it over with. He'd be irritated, probably, but he has a hard time staying annoyed with Alfred or his brothers.

No one is pushing him, though, and Bruce is doing his best to respect boundaries that Jason can't quite put into words. It leaves their conversations too polite and too shallow. Even talking about Bruce's not-daughter who started as Robin or the adopted daughter that patrols as Batgirl feels superficial. Curiosity isn't enough to help him open up. Jason backs away first every time and Bruce lets him. Dick and Alfred aren't pushing either of them. Tim and Damian haven't said a word about the growing tension in the house but he knows it's not good for them. He can't expect Bruce to have a good relationship with them if he can't manage it.

The talk isn't going to be perfect. Jason is too angry and the subject is too raw for him to trust that he'll stay diplomatic. He hadn't been able to handle that without Pit rage. Bruce is one of the smartest people Jason knows but he's not great with emotions on his best day. Talking about the time where Jason ran away from home and ended up dead isn't going to make this Bruce's best day. Mentioning the part where Bruce's ex-girlfriend shoved him into a Lazarus Pit and elevated Jason's pre-existing anger issues to something almost beyond his control is going to make it worse.

It's probably going to end with shouting but Jason doesn't want to have this talk with Dick or Alfred there to referee. He wants to just let Bruce say what he's been holding back for years. The truth is the best Jason can hope for. Jason is going to start patrolling Crime Alley sooner or later, whether or not Bruce approves. Alfred and Dick are helping him set up a couple safehouses he can start using when Tim and Damian are ready for Jason to spent a day or two away from the manor. A week in, Jason is still staying in the guest room with three beds, and hasn't gone two nights without Tim or Damian or both coming back to the shared room from their rooms on either side.

He won't be patrolling for a while. It might be for the best. Jason's not sure he will hold himself back if he comes face to face with a monster the law won't touch. It's only going to be worse if Bruce doesn't understand Jason's point in claiming Red Hood and turning the old name for a boogeyman into Crime Alley's protector. Jason can't expect Bruce to understand if he won't talk to him.

Lunch is awkward. Bruce is trying to pay attention to Jason without making it seem like he's pushing for any talk more engaging than surface-level discussion the movie they'd watched the night before. Tim and Damian are too quiet. They usually are when Bruce and Jason are talking. Dick is doing what he can to try to get everyone to feel relaxed but it isn't enough to break through the unspoken stalemate between Jason and Bruce.

If it was only affecting Jason, he'd wait. Dick's going to go back to Blüdhaven soon, though, and it'll be better for everybody if Jason and Bruce aren't at odds when he leaves. Tim and Damian deserve better, though, even if that means he and Bruce are ignoring each other until they're ready to try again.

Dinner is not going to be this awkward. Jason owes it to all three of his brothers to get this over with.

Jason pushes his plate away. “Bruce? Can we talk?”

Bruce sets down his fork immediately. “Yes.”

Jason stands up. Tim's eyes flick toward Jason but he turns his attention back to his food when Jason makes a small shooing gesture. If Damian and Dick try a similar check-in, they're more subtle about it, and Jason doesn't look their way.

“I'll have something ready in an hour or so as lunch did not agree with you.” Alfred's bland words are at odds with the open approval on his face.

“Maybe wait until it's over,” Jason mutters. He might not deserve the approval or the baking if this goes as badly as he fears.

Alfred pats Jason's shoulder. It's much more of a reach than it had been a couple years ago but Alfred makes the gesture seem easy. “Nonsense. I have every faith that the two of you will have a very productive talk in the Cave, far away from any breakable things that should not be punched.”

Jason had imagined they'd end up in the library but suddenly he can picture his temper against the well-loved furniture. It also might leave thinking about fighting in one of his favorite rooms in the house. Bruce's office wouldn't be any better. It's too cluttered with furniture and doesn't have enough room to move. Jason is not going to get through this talk by sitting calmly. The Cave has punching bags built to handle Batman. That sounds a lot better than losing his temper and putting his fist through a wall.

“Thanks, Alfred.”

Alfred nods in reply. Jason leaves the kitchen and heads toward the Cave.

Bruce trails after him. He doesn't say a word when Jason turns the hands on the grandfather clock by muscle memory. It's just as quiet when Jason finds everything in the same place in the cabinet by the Cave's heavy bag, down to the bright red tape that no one but Jason ever uses. Bruce always uses black and Dick buys his own Nightwing-blue tape in a different brand. The only change is the vividly purple roll tucked neatly next to the blue.

Jason wraps his hands by himself. It's easy and the pattern is familiar. It's different when he automatically reaches for his old red boxing gloves and realizes they won't work. They're far too small for him now.

He takes Bruce's. They fit perfectly and he takes his time with the velcro while he gets himself under control. He has been planning this talk for a week and he is going to hit the highlights before staring at the way Bruce's boxing gloves fit him. He gets the second glove's velcro with his teeth.

When Jason looks up, Bruce already has a pair of well-worn boxing mitts on.

Jason scowls. “I was going to hit the bag.” His voice sounds more aggressive than he wants but he went through all this trouble to hit the bag instead of Bruce. If Jason just wanted to haul off and hit him, Bruce would have had a black eye a week ago.

Bruce is not dressed for this. He's in a button-down shirt and slacks and shiny dress shoes. He looks like he's about to wander into a Wayne Enterprises board meeting. The mitts with the faded target printed on the center are designed taking a hit, not punching back, and they look bizarre against the light grey dress shirt.

Bruce smiles. It's a tiny quirk of the lips, not something most people recognize, but the family knows what that means. That's the 'Batman dares you' smile. “If you land a hit, you earned it.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “Fine.”

Jason takes his time warming up. Bruce is steady and doesn't push the pace. He meets every light punch solidly and finally Jason trusts that he can land a few solid hits without losing control.

He's annoyed that this is already helping more than a punching bag would have.

“So,” Jason says. “We need to talk.”

“Jason, I'm so—”

Jason cuts him off with a kick. Bruce stops it easily with both mitts because he doesn't stop being Batman just because he looks like he's ready to wander off to a country club. “No. We're not talking about the past first. We're talking about the future and what happens if you repeat the same mistake a third time. We're only bringing up enough of the past to make that point.”

Bruce takes the hint and doesn't ask.

“Both of us are on a third chance so it's only fair. I thought I couldn't trust you, I thought I could trust my mom. Wrong twice and both of those sucked. I fucking hope I can trust you now because Tim and Damian want to stay here and Ra's al Ghul will be a bigger threat if they live anywhere else.” It's easier to match words to hits. Even when Jason changes up the pattern, Bruce's blocks are steady.

“You are not going to fuck up the same way a third time. You fucked up with Dick. Yeah, Two-Face hurt him, but it's not like it should have been a shock that crime-fighting is dangerous. You cut him off cold like you ever stopped when it got dangerous. Like you never went right back out after an awful night and came back after tearing open two layers of stitches. But you decided that it was over, Robin was done, and look how that turned out. Dick ran off and found some super-powered friends. Titans Tower is still standing and they help a lot of people.”

He kicks again, knowing that Bruce will block it. It helps to know that Bruce won't allow a cheap shot. If Jason loses his temper and lands a hit, it means he managed to surprise Batman. “Then we get to me. I already saw the writing on the wall, Bruce. Fuck up enough and you get the cold shoulder and the Bat-glare at the dinner table when you bother to come home.

“You think I didn't hear what people said? Dick vanished and no amount of excuses could hide that the kid you brought home from the circus vanished and then you picked up a homeless kid. I could never figure out if you ignored them on purpose or if you just assumed people wouldn't dare talk about us behind your back like that.”

It's easier to force the words out when Jason looks at the scuffed targets on the boxing mitts instead of Bruce's face. “There's no story that could explain it happening twice. The kid you brought home stops being cute and starts fighting back and wanting to do things his own way. You start doubting whether he can live up to your stupidly impossible standards where the only right answers are locked up in your head. News flash, B, nobody in this family is a telepath. You have to say the words out loud because they've got to be better than whatever we think you want to say to us.”

He drops both hands and looks up. He needs to see Bruce's face and not just imagine what expression he's making. “You're supposed to be the World's Greatest Detective. If you can tell me you had evidence, that you thought I'd killed Garzonas because you saw any kind of evidence, I drop this right now.” Jason's breathing hard but it isn't from the workout. “What did you see, dad?”

“Myself.”

Bruce looks haunted, like old grief is wrapped all around him so tightly that he's seeing it all over again as much as Jason does in his nightmares. “You were so angry. It wasn't wrong, and it isn't wrong, to be furious about injustice. I was that angry, once, and it took me a long time to think about what Batman would need to be to not turn into an executioner. There were a few times where I came way too close and I was afraid that I'd failed you. I... I shouldn't have assumed anything. I'm so sorry, Jason.”

Jason doesn't have an answer for that. Bruce doesn't seem to expect one.

The fury is humming under his skin but punching helps. So does picturing just how happy Alfred will be if Jason can get through this without landing a sucker punch. It's even easier to hold himself back when he's pretty sure that Bruce won't stop him this time.

Jason's voice is even when he brings up the next point, eyes on the targets. “You need to treat your sons as well as you treat criminals. You'd give any criminal the benefit of the doubt even though it's gotten you in real trouble before. You need to trust your kids that much, B. Twice is enough. If you fuck up with Tim, if he gets brave enough to start telling you no and you cut him off, you're not getting another shot. It's the same if Damian gets there faster. I already talked to Dick and he agrees. If you fuck up with either one of them, they're going to be out of here so fast your head will spin.

“Dick will adopt both of them and we will make this ugly and petty and public if nothing else works. So don't fuck this up. Talk to Alfred because you pulled the same angry teenage bullshit on him. He didn't want you to run around the world learning how to punch the crime out of Gotham. But you came home, and here he is!” Jason gestures angrily to the Batcave at large, neatly stocked and perfectly maintained, with no signs other than the occasional dinner of cucumber sandwiches that Alfred would be happier if Batman never patrolled again.

Jason tosses the first glove into the bin reserved for sweaty equipment. By the time he wants to punch something again, everything will be clean and back in its place because none of them deserve Alfred. The second glove is easier to toss aside and he takes his time stripping away the methodical wrapping job over his knuckles.

“Alfred helped you because that's what you do. You show people you love them.” Jason balls up the red tape and lobs it into the garbage can. “It's important even when you aren't even more emotionally repressed than the British butler that raised you. So don't fuck this up.”

Jason stretches out his bare hands before reaching out in a sharp offer that he can't put into words. Bruce lets him undo the velcro for the boxing mitts.

“I think you can do it,” Jason says without looking at Bruce. He fiddles with one of the mitts before tossing it aside. “That's why I planned to bring Tim and Damian straight here. I know you can defend them from anything Ra's can cook up and I think you can do this if you let Dick and me help.”

Jason runs through everything he had planned to say. “Okay. That was a lot at once, and I don't know if I should have been polite first, but this is what I can handle right now. I—um—maybe should have let Dick handle this, like he wanted, because he's got a way cooler head than me right now.” Jason has covered everything but the last detail. He spent a lot of time not talking about what he did to make it all worse.

“I know it's going to be hard for a while,” Jason says, looking at the familiar Cave floor with traces of fights and scuffles that even Alfred's talents can't erase. Jason can call the talk over and retreat to the kitchen calling it a success if he admits the rest out loud. “I didn't have the best control on my temper and I was too impulsive before I died. The Lazarus Pit... Talia said nothing else would've worked, and maybe she's right, but I'm sorry. I don't know how much is the Lazarus Pit rage and how much is me but sometimes I can't tell it was the Pit until I already lost control. So I know you can't trust me, not yet, but I'm going to try.” Jason braces himself and looks up.

Bruce doesn't look like he's hiding disapproval or ready for an encouraging lecture. He looks like Jason stabbed him. He would probably look less hurt if Jason stabbed him.

“Jason, you're alive,” Bruce says, voice rough. “You're alive and you came home. You let Alfred and Dick fuss over you without complaining. You help Tim and Damian feel safe here. You don't want to tell me what your plans are, and I understand, but it's hard to miss Nightwing swinging through Crime Alley and Oracle sectioning off a few accounts. It's... I don't have to be involved. I know you might not forgive me yet. I...” Bruce swallows. It's audible in the near-silent Cave. “I know it might not happen but I'm so sorry. You did nothing I need to forgive. And I still love you.”

Jason probably looks just as wrecked as his dad. “I forgive you, too. We could have talked about Garzonas if I'd stayed. I know you would have come back sooner if you knew I was in danger. I know, dad. I never doubted that.”

He remembered that back in the desert. He remembered the countdown and the failed attempt to save his mom. He wanted to be Robin, even if no one ever knew, because that's what Bruce would have done. He'd tried to save his mother and it wasn't his fault that she'd betrayed him. It wasn't Bruce's fault that he didn't know the countdown had started long before Bruce got back.

Jason's too choked up for words. Later, when he's feeling more steady, he can tell Dick that Bruce managed full sentences and they were really good ones. Now...

Jason gets his arms almost all the way around his dad's chest before Bruce finally reacts and returns the hug. It's tight enough to feel grounding even when he can remember the explosion and the silence after and the quickly-approaching shadow on the horizon. Bruce had been so close and he hadn't known he was racing against the clock. If Jason hadn't been there in time for Tim, if Ra's had been just fifteen minutes faster in breaking his word... Jason can't imagine getting there just minutes too late and finding nothing but an empty room. He can't imagine spending two years knowing what could have happened if he'd been just a little faster or refused to let Tim out of his sight.

Jason doesn't say anything for a while. If he doesn't start a conversation, he can pretend that his dad isn't crying, and then Jason can ignore that he's crying and pretend that this isn't what he wanted from the moment he realized his mother sold him out. He wanted his dad and he wanted to go home and he wanted to know that Bruce could still trust him.

“I'm sorry I ran away,” Jason says when his voice won't break. “I should've told you off face-to-face or at least talked to Alfred.”

“I have never and will never blame you. I'm so sorry, Jaylad.”

Jason rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand and backs up. “Don't start that again. I love you, you love me, but I think I need some cookies before we have any more emotions.”

“I think that's my line,” Bruce says, voice dry, but Jason knows that glint in his dad's eye and the tiny change in muscle tension along the jawline. That's the Batman look where no one but Robin knows that he's teasing and happy.

“Jerk.” Jason laughs and bumps his shoulder against Bruce's. “I'll yell a few more times about some other stuff from a couple years ago, it'll be great. You can mention any lectures that you'd been saving up and maybe I'll even listen this time. If we want to practice with someone else's emotions, though... I was mostly joking the first time I said it but I told Tim we should have a book club. He and Damian already started reading. Think I can get you to read Pride and Prejudice and talk about it in front of Alfred? I'll only make fun of you for half of any given meeting.”

“Just tell me when.” That's another familiar expression, teasing vanishing in favor of absolute sincerity. “I'll be there.”

Jason nods, a very Batman-like gesture to replace the words caught in his throat, and escapes to the showers before he can have more emotions all over his dad. By the time he makes it upstairs, Bruce and Alfred are chatting in the kitchen and Damian is keeping lookout from the hall.

The stacked cooling trays filled with red velvet chocolate chip cookies don't show any signs of poaching and Jason can afford to be benevolent. Being in Alfred's good graces keeps the cookies coming. Jason just got Bruce to join a family book club, he's being nice to his brothers, and he talked about emotions with Bruce without either of them leaving emotional or physical bruises behind. Jason will probably need to share the cookies and desserts or he'll make himself sick. “Damian, there are enough cookies for everybody to share.” Jason smiles at Damian's offended look. “I lived here when I was about your size, kid, I know the best hiding places for keeping an eye on the cookies.”

Dick and Tim sidle out of the hall like they hadn't let the tiniest brother do the scouting for them. Jason throws a cookie at Dick's head. Dick catches it, as always, because if Dick couldn't catch cookie frisbees Jason would have had to give the game up the first time.

Tim and Damian don't react well to any thrown object, not yet, but they'll get there eventually. Alfred might even let them try cookie frisbee a few times before politely banning the game for people without Dick's reflexes.

Alfred and Dick don't comment on Jason's Batman t-shirt.

Jason doesn't comment on it, either, so it's only fair. He could have taken a lot of other shirts but the cheap screen-printed souvenir t-shirt felt right.

Tim stares at Jason thoughtfully before straightening up from his relaxed slouch. “Maybe we can invite Stephanie over tomorrow,” he says. He still tends to go back to proper posture when he's planned out whatever he's said ahead of time. Jason thinks he'll miss the quirk when Tim relaxes a little more. “Barbara and Cass said they don't mind if she comes over without them. Steph said she still has her notes from when she started catching Cass up on non-assassin culture.”

“She should absolutely bring her notes.” Dick probably only holds back a beaming smile because Tim is still a little shy with strong emotions. “Those notes were amazing. They're mostly stickers in a glittery journal and I couldn't tell if it was the shedding glitter or the stickers or the glitter gel pens that had Bruce twitch the most when she bulldozed right over his plans to gradually introduce pop culture through a gradual and structured approach.”

Damian's expression is hard to read. Maybe he'll admit just what intrigued him later if Jason manages to get him some gel pens. Stephanie seems like she'd be willing to bring some along. When Damian feels comfortable, he doodles, and he's got a great eye for detail with just plain pencils and ballpoint pens. “Perhaps we can start the book club you mentioned when Cassandra and Barbara can join us, Jason. It would be impolite to exclude them.”

“Book club?” Dick asks.

“Pride and Prejudice.” Jason isn't ashamed to be smug. He's already mentally drafting the discussion questions. “Bruce said he's in. Tim and Damian already started reading and we can give Cass a heads-up, too. The three of them deserve a little extra time to work through the book.”

Damian doesn't look prickly at the public mention that he has extra time to read the book. Maybe it's because he's in good company with not being used to reading classic novels written in English. Maybe it's because he and Tim are still way too good at masking their emotions. “Perhaps next week, Timothy?”

Tim eats through half a cookie before nodding. “I'm done with the first few chapters. It would be nice to meet a few new people. By—um—non-assassin culture, do you mean...”

“She was raised by an assassin and Lady Shiva is her mom,” Dick says. “Long story short, David Cain wanted to make Cass the perfect assassin and did manage to train her to be a great fighter. She isn't interested in killing and she's a lot happier as Batgirl. ”

Jason pictures just who Dick might describe as a great fighter. “Does she spar? If she does, could she handle it if my control is shaky sometimes?”

“She can handle that, sure. You'll probably lose,” Dick warns.

Jason smirks. “So I'd win against you? You didn't give me that warning when we were going to spar this afternoon. Nice you'll admit it now that I'm taller than you are.”

Dick abruptly straightens up from his slouched posture against the refrigerator. “You are not!”

Jason is taller. He might not have been a week ago, but Jason's been eating three or four meals a day and he's only growing faster away from the League. Jason's taller than his big brother by half an inch and knows that he isn't done with the growth spurt yet.

Tim and Damian watch with wide eyes as Dick snatches away the pencil before Jason's new height can be marked at the side of the pantry door. Jason lunges for the pencil, knocking Dick to the tile in the process. After the first few minutes of an impromptu wrestling match, Tim and Damian relax enough to go back to their cookies and look at a cookbook Alfred brought out of the cupboard. Alfred is offended that Tim has almost no experience with homemade cookies and Damian is only familiar with a few desserts. Alfred takes it as a challenge that Tim is shy about pointing out which recipes he likes and that Damian prefers desserts that are not very sweet.

Bruce lifts his feet when Dick manages to twist out of a hold and shove both of them toward the counter where Bruce's feet had been. Alfred steps over them to fetch the bin of mix-ins to better explain the different types of chocolate chips or candies or dried fruits that could be added to cookies or baked goods.

Damian and Tim aren't paying attention to the fight by the time Jason gives up and admits that Dick's still impossible to beat in a wrestling match no matter which of them is taller. Dick proudly claims Jason's seat as a forfeit, leaving Jason as the one without a bar stool. Jason doesn't mind. Damian and Tim are hiding smiles instead of nervousness, Dick and Alfred are quietly ecstatic, and Jason is finally sure that he and his dad can still work together.

Chapter Text

Voicemail left on Lois Lane's cell phone at 4:22 PM:

Lois? Jason Todd. I'm not sure what you've heard about the whole thing where I was dead and got better, Tim got kidnapped and kept me alive for a long time, and then the two of us technically kidnapped Damian but that's the short version of a long story. Bruce is talking media strategy and has been talking media strategy for days. If he doesn't shut his dumb face about Vicki Vale, I am going to punch him. She goes for sensation. Every single time, sensation, and no matter what he says he cannot predict what she's going to decide is the most sensational aspect when there are so many angles she could choose. Clark would make this heartwarming and not try shaping public reaction. That would drive interest in Tim higher and he can't handle that right now. I want everybody to read the interview and decide that bothering Tim and Damian is the moral equivalent of making a unicorn cry.

So. I figure we wait until Gotham's press do something to fuck this up. They are going to mess up, it's inevitable. When they do, we have a golden reason to drop the interview in your lap. Bruce is going to want final decision rights on content and photos but didn't guarantee anything else from Vale. If your in-laws are willing to host, I think that'd work out for everybody. Tim and Damian have never met Ma and Pa and they don't know how pie is supposed to taste. Dick won't want to stay behind for brothers-day and he's really good at knowing when they need a break. Call me when you can.

Outgoing call to Jason Todd: 4:28 PM

Lois Lane: How much do you love me?

Perry White: Is this another text that was meant for Clark?

Lois Lane: I have an offer for an exclusive interview with the Wayne brothers.

Perry White: What do you want?

Lois Lane: 1. Bruce Wayne gets final approval on pictures and content. 2. You approve a week of vacation for me and the mister starting the day after the interview. We're meeting the Waynes at Ma and Pa's place because those boys need some space and the fields are beautiful this time of year. We're going to try some candid shots of the Wayne boys out in the sunlight and you know Clark's good for them.

Perry White: Agreed on all counts. Good work, Lane.

Lois: Perry still won't say he loves me :(

Clark: Ask him again after every Gotham newspaper is wailing and gnashing their teeth about your article. Bruce is on the warpath and he'll hand interviews straight to the Planet for a long time.

Lois: What did they do now?!

Clark: Tim was skateboarding in the driveway. Someone got telephoto shots from the road.

Lois: Did someone already publish the pics?

Clark: They tried. Almost every single newspaper in Gotham put in bids for the pictures before the photographer realized that he'd been hacked. It seems that malware ended up attached to the images themselves. The newspapers couldn't get their systems back up and running until they released a formal apology for violating Tim's privacy.

Lois: An actual apology or a weaselly 'don't sue me for my terrible decisions and I'm sorry that you were offended' apology?

Clark: The unknown hacker let Bruce decide whether or not the apology was good enough. He publicly ripped a few attempted apologies to pieces for not addressing the harm done to his son. I think the world forgets that 'Brucie' Wayne can be terrifying when he's defending kids.

Lois: It's a good warning for our editing department. Bruce gets final say and will not be happy if they try to pull one on him.

Lois Lane: You terrify me.

Barbara Gordon: :)

Bruce Wayne: Thank you.

Lois Lane: Anytime. Writing the article was an honor and a pleasure but I'm even happier that our boys got along so well. 'Anytime' goes for playdates, too. My two are happy to travel and yours are welcome at our apartment or the farm whenever they want to come over.

Bruce Wayne: Tim and Damian will appreciate that. I'll check with them but I expect they would like to exchange phone numbers with Conner and Jonathan.

Lois Lane: I think you're the only person other than Damian to call them by their full names when they aren't in trouble. You were there when we adopted Kon, Bruce. You can give up and admit that 'Kon and Jon' is insufferably cute and the kids knew that when Kon chose his name.

Bruce Wayne: No comment.

Lois Lane: I'm rolling my eyes at you. You probably already know that but I want to make sure.

Bruce Wayne: No comment.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Admission to Gotham State University

Dear Timothy Wayne,

We are pleased to offer you admission to Gotham State University for the upcoming fall term. Please expect an email within the next week outlining resources for students who are not yet legal adults. This will include contact information for a guidance counselor who will work with your department-specific counselors. Information about orientation, the registrar's current list of courses, and extracurriculars are attached. Minor students are expected to live off-campus unless special arrangements are made. Please contact Residential Living if you have any further questions.

Sincerely,

The Admissions Department of Gotham State University

Tim: GSU??

Jason: I'm in. You?

Tim: I can't believe we're both going to college. I'm still surprised the G.E.D. was so easy.

Jason: Alfred will be happy to help with college, too. Are you still thinking online classes? I'll back you up if you want the full college experience but it'll be pretty crowded.

Tim: All my classes are online this year, yeah. Bruce says it'll probably be a little easier next year if I want to try a couple in-person classes that are smaller and more discussion-based. I'll have a little more time to get used to crowds.

Jason: Let me know if you have any favorites you have in mind for next year, if the class fits my degree or looks fun I'll test out the professors for you. If they can handle me, they'll love having you in class.

Tim: Would you tell your mom I really liked her interview with the taxi driver? I'm not ready to talk about anything publicly past what she already put in her last article but I'd be okay with calling him if he wanted to talk. He shouldn't blame himself for getting nervous about a prank. Jason basically was a zombie, he's be the first one to say it, so it's not like the taxi driver was wrong.

Kon: Wait the article dropped already?! Mom's going to flip. The taxi driver reached out to her after she did your article. She loved his story so much that she had to write it up but it was never supposed to get published before you okayed it. She just wrote the draft up yesterday.

Tim: The article isn't public. Babs said that there was some massive group text trying to figure out who was going to talk to me about it. She asked me if I wanted to read the article and sent me the final draft when I said yes.

Kon: Mom gave up on thinking she can keep Babs out of her work a while ago. It'd mean so much to him if you let him know you don't blame him. Mom will be happy to set the call up.

Tim: I'll call her, thanks. Will she be mad about the draft? I didn't realize she hadn't been the one to send it to Barbara.

Kon: Mom will be happy to have more proof that Babs is terrifying, not that we're ever going to convince you guys.

Jason: Babs asked me to talk to you about your RSVP.

Tim: I don't know if I want to go.

Jason: Tim. Timmy. It's a Titans Tower party. It is literally an entire building full of teenagers who will blame themselves if they're careless enough to startle you. Everybody there gets it or has a teammate that went through some really bad stuff and ended up with an aggressive startle response. You can hide behind someone all night if you want to. Kon's up for it and any of us would stay in the corner with you if that's what you're comfortable with.

Tim: They're all superheroes, though. Nobody's showing up as a civilian. What am I going to do, put a domino mask on with a dragon sweatshirt and call myself Drake?

Jason: Go as Robin.

Tim: I know Steph would say it's fine but I don't know how I feel about that.

Jason: You are literally in the system as Robin3 and you have been since about a week after we got grabbed off the side of the road. Steph is Robin4 when she's not Spoiler and she is going to the party as Robin. Dick and I dared each other to show up dressed as Robin and Damian already demanded an outfit for his ongoing campaign to be Robin5 the second he turns 12. He wants to patrol instead of having a normal birthday party.

Tim: Nobody said that. Nobody ever said that.

Jason: Sorry, Tim. This wasn't supposed to be a secret. We probably all thought someone else said it first. You're Robin3 and Steph has never called herself the third Robin. The rest of us have known you're ready to patrol with B or anyone else for a couple months now. You're the only one that doesn't think you can do it.

Tim: Okay but I want pants

Jason: <attachment:Robin3.png>

Tim: !

Jason: Somehow, your constant teasing made the rest of us think that we were not going to catch you in the original outfit. Your loss, though, because you could have matched Dick and me at the party.

Jason: Remember how we talked about checking in before getting out of touch any longer than a couple days?

Tim: I remember that, yes. Why?

Jason: While you were friending it up with the current Titans (great work, by the way, we would have been happy if you hid in the corner all night), I was talking with Roy and Kory. They joked it's tradition to have a Bat around for big trips but Dick's too responsible lately and way too cute with Damian to head out to space with them for a while.

Tim: A while?

Jason: I'll be back in time for classes to start up again but I don't have a timeline other than that. I should be able to get messages every few days but it's not a guarantee. If that's too much right now, I won't go. It's not like this is the only time Kory's going into space.

Tim: If you're going to space without me, I want a souvenir.

Jason: Done.

Voicemail left on Bruce Wayne's cell phone at 7:43 PM:

Hi Bruce, it's Tim. It's not my fault and I'm okay. I could use a ride home from Paris, though, because somehow the arrangements you set up for me didn't quite work out and I maybe possibly ended up learning how to fight with a bo staff from Lady Shiva instead of the lessons with the instructor that you actually hired. But I'm fine! She might want me to try killing her in a few years but apparently that's what she tells all her students. She also maybe said that she knows that I know Cass and that it would be her highest honor to combat her daughter in a fight to the death. I maybe yelled at her about how she better not try that on Cass after how many times Cass has been clear that she never wants to kill again and all the progress she's made after what her dad put her through. And I'm okay, so—

Outgoing call to Tim Drake: 7:44 PM

Oracle: I've got to say, the “Red Robin and Red Hood” matching is really cute. I think N's about to break out his old suit with the red and who knows what kind of costume war that could start up. Damian hasn't finished his design for Robin yet.

Red Hood: Accidental. He liked the Red Robin suit and it's not like either of us is particularly creative with names.

Oracle: I am waiting for an idiot villain to call the matching color thing cute before your boots meet their face. They'll figure out pretty fast that you're very protective.

Red Hood: They'll figure out pretty fast that I'm protective of everyone even though they do not understand that safehouses only remain safe without vigilantes in and out the window at all hours.

Oracle: You could stop by the Clock Tower once in a while when you feel the urge to bake.

Red Hood: I thought they would leave some of the brownies for you. I promise the next couple safehouses have a chance of being ADA-compliant.

Oracle: I can give a few suggestions for apartment complexes with working elevators if you like. The Wayne Foundation is doing a lot of good work in Crime Alley lately thanks to a certain part-time employee at the charity.

Red Hood: That is Red Robin's fault. He came over and started talking about recent charity projects for Crime Alley while I was cooking dinner. He knew I would hate their priorities. He taped me ranting about what people in Crime Alley actually need compared to what the charities try to give them and sent it to the Wayne Foundation. They think I'm a savant instead of a Crime Alley kid that knows a bit about how charities disburse money.

Oracle: If you insist, I can give Red Robin partial credit for good work. Seriously, though. That's just as helpful as what you're doing tonight and you know it.

Red Hood: I still insist that it could have possibly happened if he just asked. Anything else before I stop texting? My stakeout's about to be over.

Oracle: One more thing. Do you really need a sword as part of the Red Hood getup? Robin is demanding a katana.

Red Hood: That sounds like Batman's problem. Besides, it could've been worse. It could've been guns.

Damian: Are you free to visit today?

Jonathan: Sure! Video games?

Damian: I am not interested in video games today but would still enjoy it if you visited. Father said that I can have a puppy and that no one is allowed to hurt the dog even if I get in trouble or it causes a mess within the manor. Richard and Jason and Timothy have all verified this.

Jonathan: Assassin rules suck

Damian: They do. Father said that you can help us choose the dog if you are interested. The online guidelines seem to rely on an instant emotional bond and I am not sure if this is a reliable criterion. I would appreciate a second opinion.

Jonathan: I'm happy to help out anytime you need it but it's even better when I get to help with puppies. I'll check in with mom and dad but I think I can be there in a few minutes

Jon: Mom?

Mom: Yes

Jon: Can I please get a puppy? I know they're a lot of work but there were two puppies left and Damian's adopting the other one and if I get this one then Titus can spend time with his brother sometimes.

Mom: Yes, Jon :) Your dad and I have been talking about getting a dog since Bruce mentioned the possibility. You flew off before I could tell you earlier.

Jon: !!!!!!!!

Jason Todd: Tim's calling in that favor you owe him. I'm coming along and that's not negotiable for either one of you.

Talia al Ghul: I have no objections to seeing both of you again. What do you need?

Jason Todd: Tim says Bruce isn't dead. We all went over what he's put together so far and think that Bruce is lost in time, not dead. Tim and I can travel to a few locations on our own but could use your help with some of the other sites.

Talia al Ghul: Acceptable. Would you like to start the group chat or shall I? Timothy will likely have several points he would like to make when creating our itinerary.

Talia al Ghul: Welcome back to the land of the living, beloved. I took several photographs on my trip with two of your sons. These are a few of my favorites:

Talia al Ghul: <attached: 6 photographs>

Bruce Wayne: The third photograph. Context?

Talia: Despite the dramatic nature of the photograph, Timothy suffered no injuries due to Jason's quick intervention. The Council of Spiders would have been far more difficult to defeat had Jason not subdued the Widower so handily. My father admits that he owes a debt to both Jason and Timothy for their assistance. I will not withdraw any of my agents from the protection detail around Gotham but this may be a promising development in their future safety.

Bruce Wayne: Thank you.

Bruce Wayne: <attached: 8 photographs>

Talia al Ghul: I will text Damian when he is home from school. If he does not explain the presence of the cow, I shall ask Timothy. I know any explanation you give will be missing all details that are embarrassing to you and thus most integral in explaining the cow.

Bruce: I will be leaving on a weeks-long Justice League mission in four days. Are you willing to fill in as Batman again? All the police liaisons only have compliments about your work while I was assumed dead.

Cassandra: <3

Bruce: For what it's worth, the mantle is yours to take up when you need it.

Cassandra: I will borrow Batman when necessary but the cowl is yours until you lay it down.

Bruce: Someday.

Cassandra: <3

Tim: Does Lucius keep track of speed-run records for getting invited into Research & Development's special projects team? Because I might've just broken the record straight out of the intern pool.

Bruce: I did tell you that you were over-qualified for the intern pool. You're already working on a master's degree. Most of them are undergraduate students.

Tim: I wanted it to feel a little less like nepotism and it worked. The department liked my work when I got assigned there for the week and made the offer. I like the chemistry in anti-toxins after Jason got me through chem 101 in the Cave and it isn't going to compromise anything if a special projects R&D employee knows a lot about what Scarecrow did last week.

Bruce: I suppose starting as an intern was an excellent demonstration of your negotiation skills.

Tim: Tam has been giving me a lot of hints and will drag me up to administrative work sooner or later. She said that I actually fill out my reports on time and she is not going to let R&D keep me in the lab all day.

Bruce: She's right. You could have easily started as a junior vice president in R&D without any bit of nepotism. The intern pool seemed to work out well, though, so perhaps you were right.

Tim: It is never going to stop being funny that 99.9% of people don't know they're trying to win against Batman.

Bruce: 99.9% of people don't win against Batman. That is one of many reasons why you could have been hired directly into R&D administration.

Tim: I don't mind working my way up. Lady Shiva's advice was all about letting people underestimate me which is funny because Lady Shiva was the one saying it.

Bruce: Most people think I am stressed from serving as CEO of Wayne Enterprises and the chairman of the board for the Wayne Foundation. They don't know every single grey hair comes from my children.

Tim: :) You love us.

Bruce: I do. Are you going to continue on with a PhD after you finish your master's degree? Jason wants a second PhD in the family so that Alfred will look even more disapproving of my life choices.

Tim: Second PhD in the family nothing. Steph is already on board to get one and she would have pushed me if I hadn't already been interested. She and Jason are both working on Cass and we've all promised to help with her dissertation. Damian is never going to lose and might want two terminal degrees of his own. We might drag Dick back to college just because Jason says all the desserts are for people studying at the study parties. Duke feels a lot less weird about letting you pay tuition after he realized that you're paying for all of us.

Bruce: Jason told me that he would convince Duke. I am glad that his strategy worked. I take it that your quick promotion was a result of your undisclosed plan and reason you insisted on beginning as an intern?

Tim: I got kidnapped by assassins and I'm working on a master's degree in biochem. The secret-side R&D couldn't resist pulling me away from the press-facing science and they're already plotting to get me to meet Batman during the next briefing about Rogues and toxins. You look stoic, I'll look surprised. It'll be great. They want to take a picture of us together. I'm putting a copy on my desk in the back office and one in the Batcave.

Bruce: It sounds very much like you've been talking strategy with Stephanie as well as Tamara.

Tim: Everybody but you, technically, because we all guessed that 'start as a junior vice president and let Lucius invite me into secret-side R&D' is the most effective and also boring idea so you'd be all for it.

Bruce: It would have been more efficient but it also would have involved a press conference when we hired you. In-company promotions draw less publicity.

Tim: Press conferences aren't so bad lately. The press is too afraid of mysterious computer problems. The Gotham Postran a flattering picture of you from the gala last week instead of the one where you and Jason were making faces at each other. People think I have hacker friends in the League of Assassins but the only thing we should be afraid of is Talia and Barbara deciding they don't want to be enemies. They were talking at Damian's birthday party last week.

Bruce: Don't remind me.

Tim: Too late. Jason invited Talia to book club so I guess their truce is holding up. She was already reading all the books the club picked from the start so she could talk about them with Damian. Jason said we're doing Pride and Prejudice again because over half the book club missed the first meetings and they deserve the chance to see you explain Darcy's motivations.

Bruce: If you give me enough time to find a crisis I need to handle, I'll owe you a favor.

Tim: Sorry, B. Most of the book club already told me they'd owe me favors if I told you about the book and refused to let you out of it. The first meeting is tonight after dinner. No assigned chapters, just first impressions and talk about what we want to focus on for discussion.

Bruce: The things I do for family. I'll be there. Are you driving us home today?

Tim: I can be convinced to drive your car. :) My lunch break's over now so I need to get back to work. See you at 5!