Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason hated clichés.

That wasn’t something new about him that came around later in life. That was something that had been deeply ingrained in him since he was a child. He would always complain to the librarians when the current book he’d been reading in the library to stay out of the cold ended in a cliché. Later it was complaining to Alfred about all the clichés in books he had to read for school—and even the ones he didn’t. His English teacher had loved it. Bruce, not so much. Well, at least, he hadn’t loved it when they were trying to take Nygma back to Arkham while Jason critiqued all his riddles for having cliché answers and traps. At least the man had taken his critiques to heart, and the next time he caused trouble the riddles were much more entertaining to solve.

Even now, despite all the years and experiences separating him and that tiny version of himself, he found himself hating clichés. So many things had changed between then and now. He didn’t complain about them on the way home from school to Alfred anymore. Those days were long gone for him. He did still, however, find ways. The Outlaws had, well, outlawed the discussion of books or tropes past ten at night, though in that case it was really more Roy. Kori didn’t need as much sleep as them—one of those alien princess perks or something. He definitely wasn’t jealous.

One day Roy had walked up to him and told him there was a permanent ban on talking about all books and book-to-movie adaptations after ten. He thought that was a little extreme until Roy showed him the five-hour-long video about him explaining and criticising the entire plot of Sunday at Tiffany's, the book of course, in a sleep-deprived fever. He barely even remembered that—and he could have sworn it was only two hours long. It made him realize that maybe things weren’t as different now as he’d thought they were.

All that to say he was having trouble believing his life was this cliché. Well, maybe it wasn’t a cliché but it was certainly a cliché he’d seen before. Characters who died but didn’t stay dead, because the author didn’t really want the character dead. He’d seen it in stuff before and he hated the way it went back on the emotional moments they’d already had.

He couldn’t even be sure of anything. Every day he lived his life and nothing unusual happened the further out he was from the incident that brought his mortality into question. He grew more and more sure that it had never really happened. That he’d imagined or hallucinated half of what happened. That he’d lost himself so completely into Pit Rage he couldn’t possibly remember what had really occurred. After all, he’d had nights like that before. Hell, he’d had nights where he couldn’t really trust his own memory of what happened before the Pit. He knew human memory wasn't infallible, and he always kept that in mind.

But what if it was true? What if he hadn’t just imagined it all. Then what?

Sometimes that option kept him up at night. It was easy not to believe himself. It was simple to brush it off and call himself a liar in his head. It was different to entertain his memories as truth. To let his mind reach conclusions that seemed as if there was no other option but to believe them.

Some nights he could hardly convince himself to close his eyes and sleep, for fear he’d wake back up in a coffin. He couldn’t trust his memories, so who was to say any of this right now was even real? If it was real then he had to deal with the fact that he was the only person alive who had any idea what might be happening.

Nobody else knew he might be coming back. If he went down and someone found him, he was going in the ground again. And these days the likelihood of someone finding him was getting more and more likely. He and the Bats were more chummy every day. He couldn’t say he minded, except for the fact he wasn’t exactly in the mood to hang out with Daddy Bats anymore.

The uncertainty that came with being around Bruce now made his skin crawl. He could finally go days now without thinking about things that he didn’t want to think about, but just a second of seeing Bruce run around in his fursuit was enough to leave him sleepless again for days on end. He hated it.

He wasn’t even afraid of Bruce; he was afraid of possibilities. Which was just more stupid than actually being afraid of Bruce.

Honestly it was all completely stupid. There was no reason to worry about things that were completely out of his control. It wasn’t like he or anybody else could even do anything about it.

His entire brain was stupid.

And apparently very eloquent when thinking about Bruce and that stupid fake-worried look he'd get on his stupid face and—

Yeah.

Unfortunately, seeing Bruce came with the tentatively friendly territory. He had gotten closer to everyone else while Bruce was… gone, but that meant dealing with the radical shift when Bruce was back. Bruce’s absence just meant that when Bruce was back everyone clung around him that much more. Jason ended up in the background more often than not once again. He couldn’t say he minded when it kept everyone’s focus off of him. That was the smoothest his operations had run since…ever. It also gave him time to do a quick Outlaws mission. Sure, when he came back from that Dick and Tim had left a note in every single one of his safehouses asking where the hell he was, but that was their problem. He had enjoyed burning them.

He was not petty and dramatic. He wasn’t. Even if the little Alfred-sounding voice in his head said he was. He wasn’t.

He was pulled out of what definitely wasn’t him brooding in his kitchen over his breakfast to the smell of something burning.

He looked down at his now definitely burnt egg. Motherfucker.

With more aggression than strictly warranted, he moved the egg out of the pan and onto his plate. He poked at the egg with his fork. He could probably just get rid of the burnt part. He had practice from that one time Alfred left for Britain for a week. Bruce had given him a lot of practice that week in getting rid of the burnt portion of food. Via the garbage can most of the time. They ate a lot of takeout and wasted a lot of ingredients. Rich boy shit.

How the man could be expected to save the entire planet but couldn’t manage to cook a grilled cheese, he would never understand. Every time he saw the Justice League getting congratulated on another successful saving-the-Earth mission, he felt a wave of pity for Aunt Diana. She had to wrangle the stupidest genius on the planet and Mr. Smallville himself into saving the planet correctly so she could keep living on it. Truly Earth didn’t deserve such a dedicated protector.

He ate his burnt eggs with his delightfully not burnt pancakes and bacon. Maybe not the best before patrol meal but it couldn’t have been that bad. It had protein and calories and shit.

He could practically hear Alfred shaking his head from here.

Getting ready for patrol after that was plagued by memories of things best left forgotten. Sometimes he really understood why Bruce resorted to just locking everything away. It certainly wasn’t a healthy way to handle shit, but it seemed so convenient sometimes.

He pulled on his undershirt and then layered his armour over the top.

Now that things had relaxed and his relationship with the Bats was better, patrol was much easier. Who could have guessed such a thing? Without the concern of Batman maybe being around the corner constantly haunting his thoughts, it was easier to focus on the things that really mattered about patrol. Sure it had cost him the ease of just killing the scum of Gotham, but he had been planning to tone down the killing anyways. He just had to establish a foothold and then everything after that was just upkeep.

Bruce and most of the other Bats would very much not appreciate this way of thinking. Once upon a time he would have said all the Bats. He knew better now, though. Tim’s cute little innocent Robin-lover act was only good until you watched him threaten a guy by telling him that everything he had now was gone, and that he was going to see what it was really like out on a street corner working for his days. He’d never seen a grown man look that scared of someone a good six inches shorter than he was. Truly a force to be reckoned with.

He checked to make sure everything he needed was in his belt and where it belonged. A final check of all his gear and that everything was where it should be. Some habits were useful, after all—and Bruce’s obsessive checking of equipment was one of those.

He grumbled a little as he thought about the tense conversations that had happened in his strange interim between hostile and friendly. Bruce acted like he had been going everywhere guns first. Shooting first and asking questions later. He most certainly had not been doing that, but apparently it didn’t matter when you were breaking the no-guns taboo. Whatever conversation Alfred had with Bruce to help them reach a compromise, he sure wished he had been a fly on the wall for that one.

Not everyone who committed crimes was a bad guy anyways. Even if Batman didn’t understand that Red Hood understood that. Everyone knew that, too. So patrol most nights had just become getting information on the newest problem, making his rounds to handle petty crimes, and just talking to people. Ask them questions, see what people really wanted the Red Hood to be doing. People were much more willing to talk to Red Hood about their problems and things going on in Gotham than any other mask, so he got information that no one else did.

It had become an integral part of the information chain for Gotham vigilantes. He was more than a little smug about the fact he could pull the rug from under everyone else’s feet any time he felt like he needed to. Of course, that only worked to an extent; he knew better than to keep shit from Barbara or, even worse, Alfred. So the right stuff ended up where it needed to when it needed to, regardless of how roundabout the method.

Once he was sure he had everything , he made his way to the window to pull himself up and out. He didn’t always take the window, because frankly, Gothamites didn’t give a fuck if they saw Red Hood stomping down an apartment hallway. This time, however, he wanted to make it up to the roof as fast as possible.

He didn’t slip his helmet on just yet and instead took a deep breath of Gotham air while looking straight up into the smoggy night sky. Didn’t matter if the air was polluted with who-knows-what—it smelled like home. It was also the last step of his routine, so with that he slipped his helmet onto his head with a seal and started off. It was easy to lose himself into the familiar blur of patrol: Talking to the working girls on the corner of Westerly and Fifth and making sure the apartment buildings they used for work were still clean and usable. Stop by and make sure the homeless shelters were all stocked up and not in need of anything.

He had a routine and he followed it well.

His daily routine started without any problems. He had already checked up on all the shelters when it was time for one of his favourite parts of the night.

“Good evening, ladies.” He dropped down from his grapple with a bow, facing the alley where the girls stood waiting for him.

“My, what a lovely young gentleman you are. You don’t see chivalry like that every day, now do you, Nadia?” Grace said as she rolled her eyes.

He knew well enough now to know that it was done with fondness. All of the girls who came to him specifically seemed to get a kick out of when he really dialed up the theatrics. Then again, maybe they just really liked the fact that he paid them enough to keep them going for a week or more. He wished he could pay them all enough they didn’t have to do any of this, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that he could permanently fix the problem. It would just be someone else if it wasn’t Grace.

“We’ve got the juicy gossip tonight for you, Hood.” Nadia finally spoke up. She also finally moved closer and he felt a cold chill down his spine as he looked at the bruise blooming on her cheek. “No, before you start your growling. I know where the fuck he is and you’re going to want to get the fuck over there.”

She hesitated for a moment as Grace ran a hand up and down her arm.

“There’s kids involved, alright? Couldn’t just leave them be when there’s kids involved. I know you get that, so don’t even get on my ass about it.”

He grumbled but accepted that because she was right. He would never just sit around on his hands and shit when there were kids involved, and he couldn’t expect anyone else to either.

“Well? What the fuck’s going on that’s so important?” He tried to control the rage trying to slip into his tone, but judging by the flat looks he received, he wasn’t doing a very good job. “What? You wouldn’t tell me this shit unless you were expecting me to immediately go find his ass and beat it.”

“True enough. Well, there’s these guys down at the warehouses. Past the docks like there always is ‘cause that place practically breeds idiots. Anyways, they’ve been talking some big fucking game for their small-ass set-up and there were some rumours that they were going to be doing something big”—at this, Nadia made some exaggerated air quotes—“and they needed a lot of guys for it.”

“So obviously you investigated even though you knew better than to be around idiot fucks like that?” He asked with a sigh. He already knew the answer to that question.

“You bet your ass I did,” she said with a wicked smile.

Oh yeah—she was definitely getting a kick out of sending him after these guys like her own personal hunting dog. Lots of the girls did, though, so he couldn’t say he was surprised. Besides…he certainly got a lot of his own joy out of it, too.

He was ready to keep playfully arguing. He was interrupted suddenly by the chirp of the Batline. He quickly switched to the channel.

“One sec, O. I’m getting some information.”

He switched back off it and quickly started digging for the cash in his belt. He always appreciated that Babs wasn’t offended by shit like hanging up. She just wanted him to acknowledge her. Didn’t want him risking his life or anything trying to answer her call.

“Sorry to cut it short for the evening, but duty calls. You two keep safe for the rest of the night, okay?” Jason watched Nadia huff a breath out. “I’m being serious. I can't blame you without being a hypocrite, but you need to be careful.”

There was another chirp from his communicator. He tapped the side of his helmet to send an acknowledgement.

Grace rolled her eyes.

“Probably calling you about something that we already told you about.”

“We? Last time I checked I was the only one out there.”

While the two argued he quickly slipped the cash into their waiting hands. He shot off as quickly as possible after doing that. He waited a second on the next over roof just for—

“Hey! Hood, get your ass back here. This is double my rate!”

Jason snickered as he launched himself up and over to the next building. Once he found a good spot a couple more roofs over, he switched onto the Batline.

“Hood.” Oracle’s voice came over the line. “Nightwing and Red Robin need help on an operation. Initial estimates of firepower were off and Batman and Robin are performing an Arkham cleanup with Spoiler and Black Bat as backup. “

“How much extra firepower are we talking?”

“Hood, yes or no. I have other lines I need to get back to.”

It wasn’t often Babs wasn’t in the mood to joke. Whatever was happening with everyone else had to be particularly bad to have her so worked up. Nobody liked Arkham breakouts though. Part of him wondered if it had something to do with the Joker. He had purposely avoided any information as soon as there was news of problems at Arkham for his mental health. He wasn’t like the other Bats. He didn’t do Arkham breakouts anymore, not unless there was no one else available.

“Yeah, O. Anything for you. I’m on my way.”

“Good,” she said flatly. His phone pinged with the location a moment later. “There, now you’re on your way.”

He rolled his eyes fondly at the comment before checking where he needed to go. Before he could even finish reading it Babs clicked off the line. It must've really been going down with whatever lunatic had broken out tonight. Well, he couldn’t say it was anything other than a self-inflicted problem for Bruce. Unfortunate that so many other people were getting dragged into it.

He focused back in on the task at hand. He knew the entire layout of Gotham well enough to know exactly where he needed to go. And, hey, who would have guessed that sure was a familiar warehouse down by the docks? They were damn lucky he was already planning to find this place.

It was as simple as taking the rooftop express with the help of some grappling to get to where he needed to go. His line was silent almost the entire time it took to get over there but he wasn’t worried. If Babs was too busy to tell him what was going on properly, he would just ping Dick or walk in there without it.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to do that, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. He had enough experience to figure out shit on the fly without too many problems. Before he could do that however his line clicked again as someone joined.

“They’re inside the warehouse and are currently engaged. They’ve encountered some problems and requested backup. I’m going to connect you up to their joint line now.” Oracle’s smooth modulated tones rang down the line.

“Roger that. I’m—”

Click.

“—about two minutes out. What’s up, losers? I heard you needed help.”

“What, did Oracle get tired of your shit and send you over to our line?” Tim snarked back.

“Now, now she’s a very busy lady.” Jason caught sight of a window that would be perfect for an entrance. “Besides, how could she ever get tired of me?”

“Easily,” Tim said sharply.

“You’re very rude. Did you know that?” He lined up his grapple to give him the perfect angle.

“Like you’re fucking not?”

“Would you two quit it and actually help?” Dick finally cut in with a grunt.

Tim’s response was lost in the shower of glass as Jason burst in through the window. He couldn’t hold back the smile on his face as he felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins at the manoeuvre. He would never get tired of that. There was a reason there wasn’t any other line of work for him. Where else did you get to dramatically bust through windows all the time?

He dropped down next to Dick without much more fanfare despite the entrance. No one in Gotham even batted an eye at entrances like that anymore. They probably hadn’t to begin with. Good old Gotham. Since they had already gotten the party started without him, there wasn’t much need for stealth or analysing the situation. Now was the time to hit things until things stopped hitting them.

“They had kids here,” was all that Dick offered as an explanation for why they'd already gone in.

Jason nodded. He already knew that but even if he hadn’t, that fit with the fact Red Robin was nowhere to be found currently while Dick was down here fighting off the horde. Tim was probably getting the kids out of here while Dick served as a distraction. There was no telling why or how long they’d had the kids here, so they were first priority while someone else served as distraction. It was a usual first priority when doing a more guns-blazing approach.

Sometimes it could get on his nerves working with people who had the same priority list as him. Other times he could appreciate the simplicity. Didn’t mean he had to appreciate the fact that the Robin training regimen continued after his death. First death. Possibly first death. He shook his head with the hope of dislodging that line of thought. Worrying about his mortality was not the thing to do in the middle of a fight. He was turning into Bruce with all this brooding. He really needed to get it under control.

He needed to focus all his attention on the fight at hand. Even if the goons were horrifically predictable. A dodge here, punch here, avoid a bullet, wonder if maybe they have some sort of vat of convenient toxic chemicals around here. You could never be too careful in Gotham. Those things seemed to pop up out of the ground. Only in Gotham.

At least the banter with Dick and Tim saved him from the mind-numbing boredom and monotony.

“Wow, I saw that, Nightwing. Just so you know, my mask footage is automatically uploaded and saved,” Tim cut in from wherever he was watching them and probably hacking or some shit.

“And that makes you special?” Jason got out breathlessly.

“It does when I’m fighting to blackmail Mr. Acrobat with a fumble.”

“You saw nothing and if you did then you didn’t,” Dick hissed.

“You’re not as good at that as B-man,” Jason commented dryly.

“I’d give you like a six for effort,” Tim added.

“I am going to come over there,” Dick grunted with effort,” and strangle you both.”

“At the same time or separately? I’d like to request that I die after Hood.”

“I’d like to request you fuck off.”

“Stay mad about it.”

“How does O get anything done with all of us in her ears, good fucking Lord?” Dick griped.

“She’s an absolute miracle of a woman whom I very much respect and request none of her wrath,” Jason said exaggeratedly into the mic.

“You’ve been heard,” O’s voice suddenly broke in. Just as quickly as she came, she was gone.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

“You done schmoozing? We got shit to do.” There was an odd beeping sound from Tim’s side.

Jason wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“No, you have shit to do. My sector’s almost clear. Do better.” He was exaggerating a little. He was fairly sure there were a couple guys still wandering the odd maze of boxes they’d set up on this side of the warehouse. It reminded him of stories of hoarders using boxes to make little tunnels and stuff.

“If you’re so free then get your ass over here”—Dick’s voice went strained for a second before there was a loud grunt that was obviously not his—“and help me.”

“Oh, since you asked just so nicely.”

“What’s this? The famous Red Hood not willing to kick some ass? More at six,” Tim cut in.

“I’m going to come and kick your scrawny ass if you don’t shut the hell up.”

Despite the threats and protests, Jason did work his way around to where he could hear the sounds of Dick fighting. As much fun as it was to fuck around while they worked, it wasn’t funny to ignore a request. That was how people ended up fucked.

As he weaved his way around another box with ease, he was suddenly stopped harshly by something hard to the stomach. He whipped around to find a goon holding a metal pipe. Even as he doubled over from the pain, he was quick to strike out with a hard hit. One blow to the head and he crumpled like a house of cards. Why more goons didn’t wear helmets, he’d never know. As an avid helmet supporter, he could attest to the fact he’d avoided several head injuries thanks to the padding in his.

That was neither here nor a concussion. The goon was dispatched easily, and Jason paid him no further mind as he stepped over his prone body; a hit like that would have him down for the count for a while. Someone would come grab the idiot at some point. He was much more concerned with the pain he could already feel blossoming from where the pipe hit.. That was pretty unfortunate. Also pretty concerning. He continued on his path towards where he could hear Dick, but did take a second to lift up his shirt and check his armour. A hit like that should have been absorbed completely, but maybe he hadn’t been replacing it often enough.

Either way it wouldn’t be a major hindrance to the fight. He’d definitely worked with worse before.

He definitely didn’t hear echoes of a similar metal object hitting soft flesh. That was most certainly not affecting his ability to focus and be useful in a fight.

Somehow he felt like Dick knew as soon as he joined the fray. Dick was watching him with a concentration he didn’t just casually use. He felt self conscious as they fought their way through the last wave of goons. If Dick knew something was up, that meant he wasn’t hiding things as well as he’d like. As soon as the last goon dropped and was restrained he could practically feel Dick gearing up to talk.

“Shouldn’t we go make sure everything is alright on Tim’s end? He had the kids and all,” Jason cut in before Dick could start saying anything. It was also a genuine concern. They hadn’t heard from him in quite a few minutes now though that could just be from concentrating.

Dick gave him an indecipherable look and raised his hand to activate his comms. “Everything alright on your end, RR?”

“Yeah, we’re good; I got the kids outside and now we’re just here waiting for the police.” Tim’s voice got softer. “Yeah I’m talking to Nightwing and Red Hood. You interested in meeting either of them? Oh, you wanted to meet me— Hey, I gotta go, you guys—just come out here.”

Neither Jason nor Dick mentioned the fact that Tim’s voice sounded pretty wet over the line. The kid deserved as much.

Jason considered rescinding that kindness as Dick turned on him.

“What was that? You think I didn’t notice you’re injured or something?” Dick took a step closer to him. “We didn’t need you that badly there at the end—,you could have just said something and dropped out you know?”

“I do know that and I evaluated and decided I didn’t need to do that. Don’t get all high and mighty on me now like you’ve never worked at less than peak physical condition.” He sometimes mourned the fact that he couldn’t glare properly through his helmet. More people deserved the dirty looks he couldn’t actually give them.

Dick took a deep breath and scrubbed furiously at his eyes with his fingers for a moment.

“Okay yeah, I have, but I also feel like you should know you’re sounding like B right now and neither of us want that.”

He physically recoiled away from Dick. He was not—

Well, actually. That was a fair assessment of how the fuck he was acting.

“Yeah, well, you’re sounding like a tired old man,” he blurted out in a last ditch effort to avoid the tension building in this conversation.

“For one, I am a tired old man. I am very tired and very old after dealing with all of you people.” Dick made a sweeping gesture. “For two, that's exactly what I said about you. B is in fact a tired old man.

“Be careful not to throw a hip out then, old man. Wouldn’t want you to end up in the nursing home.” He ignored the second mention of Bruce and hoped Dick got the fucking message. He was not in the mood.

“Yeah, yeah. You wanna wait around somewhere close by and when me and Red get things wrapped up here we can go grab something to eat?” Dick looked so hopeful when he proposed the offer.

Jason also had a severe problem turning down free food.

“As long as you’re paying you know I’ll always be there for free food.” He quickly started towards the nearest exit. If he was getting permission to skip the hard part and free food, he was very much in for this deal.

“Some things never change.” Dick rolled his eyes with a fond look.

Jason took that as the permission it was and exited the building. It was barely a thought to work his way up to the next building over and wait on the roof. He amused himself by watching the cops arrive and having them deal with the overflow of idiots that was too much for their cars to handle. Dick offered to tie some of the guys together to the roof of the patrol car. How people considered him the more responsible one, Jason would never know.

While it was hilarious to watch Dick both help and mock the police, he did turn away to do a quick check on his stomach while they were busy. He may have made fun of Dick’s concern and brushed him off, but he was actually a little concerned. There was no reason for him to have been hit that hard through his armour. He couldn’t exactly just take his whole shirt off standing on some random roof but he could at least check for internal bleeding.

A quick palpation of the area assured him that there was no internal bleeding at least. The blow had caught him partially in the side which was probably the reason it was smarting this fucking much. So nothing life threatening but it hurt like a motherfucker and he’d have to figure out what exactly happened later—but at least it was just a bruise. That and his bruised pride. He should not have been taken that off his feet by some random Gotham muscle.

He also shouldn’t have had to wait around, idling, on those bozos to finish their whole circus routine for law enforcement. Free food was free food, though. He would wait an hour up here if he had to, just on the principle that free food was the best food. A remnant of his childhood that he shamelessly flaunted to everyone. He had the money now to not have to worry about his meals and where they were coming from, but that didn’t change that his favourite price for food was free.

He was about to start flashing S.O.S. to Tim with a piece of broken glass he found on the roof when finally the two of them finished up chatting and aimed their grapples towards the roof. Fucking finally. Couldn't just offer him food like that and then fuck off to do whatever. They were lucky he hadn’t started rioting earlier.

“Finally. How long does it take to tell them that the guys were all a bunch of bastards? Can’t possibly be hard when you had the kids standing right there as proof.”

“I know you’re getting hangry and all—” Tim held up placating hands.

“First of all, fuck you. Second of all, I am within my rights to be hangry; I was offered free food and now I’m being denied.”

Dick just let out a long-suffering sigh. Those were Jason’s favourites.

“You’re not being denied. We’re going, we are actively going right now.”

“No we’re not,” Tim chimed in helpfully.

Ever the bringer of chaos, that one. Tim bowed to no man and pledged himself to no side. Jason could respect his dedication to stirring up shit with everyone without discrimination or remorse. Even more so when it wasn’t fucking aimed at him for once.

“Why?” Dick said the word completely without tone as he looked up to the sky.

Jason wasn’t even sure who he was asking—or if Dick himself knew who he was asking. Simply that he was asking for help from someone.

Too bad there was no answer for him.

“Wow, you know now I think it’s actually a good thing we’re going to eat; Wing’s getting all melodramatic.” Jason jabbed a thumb in Dick’s direction. “Getting? I was unaware he even had another mode.”

“I am being tested. My patience is being tested.” Dick still hadn’t moved from his position staring up into the sky.

“Yeah, yeah. All you're missing is some rain to really make it dramatic now.”

“Are you implying this isn’t already dramatic?” Dick couldn’t hide the smile playing across his face now.

Tim groaned loudly suddenly enough to cause both Jason and Dick to snap around and stare at him.

“Speaking of dramatic.”

Jason almost let out his own groan cause there was only one person he could be referring to. It only took him a moment to pick out the black-on-black outline of the Batsuit against the night sky after years of practice. It was also helped by the brightly coloured miniature version of him standing next to the blob of black.

Suddenly, with startling clarity, he started to realize why the injury track record for Robins was so bad. Even Damian’s muted version of the suit caught the eye fast enough to distract and refocus on the brighter target. How Alfred let any of them run out in that traffic light abomination, he had no idea. He would think the old man knew well enough to stop them from doing something so idiotic.

Maybe it was because he knew them and knew for a fact none of them would have fucking listened to him.

Either way their party was about to be crashed by the ultimate buzzkill. He could almost sympathize with all the poor villains' plans that had been ruined by the same dark shadow. As it was, this was much worse than what they had to deal with. This was putting his free meal in danger.

He could practically feel Dick staring a hole into the side of his head trying to figure out what he would do next. He just sighed because, really, what were they meant to do in this situation? They’d already been spotted, and once a target was acquired Bruce wasn’t just going to let them go. Best to just weather out whatever lecture he wanted to disguise as helpful advice and get the fuck out of there at the earliest chance instead.

They were really in for it tonight, apparently, since Bruce had deemed it important enough to actually show up. Oh, sure—he had worked with Bruce long enough to know that he thought the words that were about to come out of his mouth were going to be very helpful. He also knew well enough to know the idiot would say them in a way that didn’t lend itself to such a flattering view.

How Bruce ever managed to masquerade around as a ditzy social idiot during the day and managed to painfully bumble his way through horrible attempts at emotion at night would never cease to confuse him. How one man could be so contrary to himself, he’d never know.

He watched as Bruce and Damian each shot out a line to swing over to their rooftop. They landed with all the usual grace yet it somehow felt unbelievably loud in the quiet of the roof.

Nobody said anything for one long, tense second.

“So, I take it everything is all cleared up on the West Side then?” Tim’s voice was light with a undercurrent of What the fuck are you doing here?

Bruce grunted in response.

Jason almost threw something at him on principle. Some people did not seem to have that level of self control though and a rock pinged off the top of the cowl.

“Words, old man. I’m not in the mood to decode your vague attempts at human engagement.” Dick’s hand was still up from where he had thrown the rock.

Well shit, they really did need to feed Dick. He was obviously losing it for real this time.

Bruce just sighed at the assault.

“Yes. The West Side has been handled.”

“Good. So what the fuck are you doing here?” He ignored the betrayed looks from Dick and Tim ‘cause he knew for a fact they were thinking the same fucking thing.

Bruce wouldn’t just come all the way across Gotham for the fun of it. There had to be a fucking reason he was here.

Bruce shifted awkwardly, basically entirely confirming Jason’s theory. How anyone found this man to be completely unreadable, he’d never know. It was all there if you looked close enough.

“I heard there were some injuries.”

“Nothing major.” Dick’s voice was certain as he said that, but in a move much too amateur for him he looked over towards Jason.

Oh that motherfucker must have been trying to give him away—

“Hood? Were you able to avoid injury?” Bruce couldn’t have sounded more awkward and stilted if he tried.

He could have just said what he was really thinking.

Were you reckless again? Did you fuck up again already?

Jason rolled his eyes and made sure Bruce could tell even through the helmet.

“You know, you can just start with your fucking lecture. I’m hungry and I’d like to get the hell out of here sooner or later.”

“That is not why I came down here.”

“No? Well, colour me surprised. You didn’t come down here to tell me all about the dangers my recklessness poses to me and everyone else in the field? It’s too good to be true.” He knew he was being petty. He knew and he didn’t fucking care. He was tired of dancing around and hoping he had the right combination for Bruce’s approval. Whatever he did Bruce seemed to stay as cold and unaffected as usual.

He really just wasn’t in the mood to deal with this tonight. He’d heard Bruce phrase it every which way, but every conversation seemed to carry that same undercurrent of You’re not doing it right. Which was fucking rich coming from the prick who couldn’t even apparently decide who did and didn’t apply for his stupid ass rules consistently. The man had never brought up that night again but it felt like it was always looming between them.

“Hood. Is there really a need for this? Can’t we just move past this already?”

Jason stared at him actually motherfucking flabbergasted. Had he really just asked if Jason could move past fucking dying? Sure, he didn’t expect much from Bruce but he expected better than fucking that. Nowhere in that big brain of his could he possibly think that was fine to say.

“No. You know what. I’m not going to just stand here and hear this shit. Fuck free food—I can’t stand this.” He ignored the protests from everyone as he turned towards the edge of the building.

“Now look at what you’ve done. You even made him turn down free food. We had it handled over here…” Tim’s complaints faded away as he jumped for the next roof.

No one made to follow him and for that he was both grateful and pissed. They were giving him space, which was great and all but they were also completely fucking ignoring him as soon as he was out of sight. Which was an incredibly stupid line of thought so he just focused on feeling glad they weren’t chasing him down the streets of Gotham in some misguided attempt to have a conversation.

He knew it was stupid to stay out after that. He was exhausted and injured, not to mention probably way too off the charts with his emotions. He should really just head home and chill the fuck out and pretend like Bruce wasn’t a huge prick every time he saw him now. It was an upgrade from homicidal, at least…but still it burned at him. He didn’t want Bruce to be mad at him at all, as sad as that was. He just wanted to be able to do his job and Bruce to do his and them not to bother each other. The perfect solution.

That was a lie.

His comms pinged again with an incoming call from Babs but he quickly declined. Because he wasn’t an awful person, though, he did text her that he was okay. Nothing else, though, because if she knew he wasn’t heading home right now she would call him a stupid idiot. He was too busy calling himself a stupid idiot for that yet.

Every time he hoped those conversations would go differently, and for what? Nothing had changed but the amount of time since Jason saw him last. The clown still lived and breathed and he still haunted Jason every night. Things were at least more civil these days. Besides that, though, there just wasn’t enough change to warrant the way he felt betrayed every time Bruce showed up as Batman and stayed all business. What else did he expect?

He could feel himself wearing down from the injuries he had gotten earlier but he refused to slow down. If he slowed down, that proved that he really was reckless and endangering himself. Instead of just being efficient and getting the job done. Like hell was he in the mood to even suggest Bruce was right in the confines of his own mind.

So he kept at it. Gotham wasn’t a city that slept. Ever. She ran twenty-four hours a day. That coincidentally meant that crime ran all day every day. He could run around every moment until he keeled over and there would always be someone else to stop, something else to handle.

Like this, for instance.

He saw the group of guys in a circle and dropped down from the rooftop before he could even look closer. He was tired, and he just wanted to get so exhausted he could go to sleep without thinking. That was a mistake, of course, because before he could even get a word out one of the guys swung around and hit him full force with his baseball bat, right over where he'd been caught in the gut earlier. He tried not to cringe at the sound of unforgiving steel to his organs. The amount of hits he was taking to the same place today, his armour was probably getting weak there by now.

He didn’t spare it a second thought as he moved to do an easy dispatch, though. He kept things efficient as he moved through the men. Controlled amounts of force to take them all out as quickly as possible. He didn’t even take out his guns. Sometimes fists were just the way to go.

There. If the old man wanted to say he was volatile and out of control then he could stick it up his ass. Jason knew what he was doing. He didn’t just go out and take everything out on any unsuspecting criminal with his fists. No, that's what Bruce did. How dare he accuse him of copying his behaviour—

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of a gunshot. He felt the pain blooming in his thigh, and the hot rush of blood. Ah shit.

He didn’t focus on that and instead focused his energy on whipping around and taking out the guy with the gun.

Take out the long-range weapons first. Several voices overlapped to deliver him that advice. It’d been drilled into him for years by many different people.

He was quick to pivot and focus instead on diving into a roll. The guy obviously didn’t have good aim if he only managed to hit Jason in the thigh from less than a hundred feet, but still, you couldn’t be too cautious. He always applied all the same cautions that he did to everyone with a gun. Despite what Bruce thought, he did know how dangerous they were and he was in fact careful with them and around them.

His entire torso from his ribs down protested the movement heavily and he almost stopped mid-roll. He managed to keep himself together, though, and ducked low to rush the guy. It was child’s play to dodge the next bullet that was shot wildly his way and finally tackle the guy around the middle. He grappled him around into a headlock with the ease of someone who had spent months learning tackles around Dick Grayson. If you could hold onto that slimy eel, you could get anyone where you wanted them.

Once the guy finally stopped struggling he let go and stood up while rolling his shoulder. He felt…not great now. Maybe he should have gone in for the night after he left the other Bats. As the adrenaline started draining from his body he became very aware of exactly how fatigued and dizzy he was feeling right now. He stumbled and reached out for the wall when a particularly strong bout of vertigo happened. He was very thankful for his helmet when the side of his face crashed into the brick. That would have hurt like a motherfucker.

Shit, now he’d really done it.

He needed to get back to one of his places. A quick check of his mental map told him his nearest one was about four blocks too fucking far. Especially since he couldn’t exactly fire a grapple in the state he was in. No, it was the old-fashioned way for him.

He pinged the alleyway on the system and hoped Babs or someone would send some pick-up. He honestly couldn’t give a fuck right now if they did or didn’t. He stumbled out of the alleyway like a drunk idiot. On the bright side, he was pretty sure he was going to be able to fall asleep well now. If only in an attempt to block out the pain.

This was going to be a long four blocks.

Chapter Text

He was honestly surprised he’d been able to keep alive as long as he had. Both as a homeless child on the street and now having come back. He’d deny it until the day he died…again, but he knew he was more reckless than was strictly required sometimes. He had this horrible ability to see that what he was doing was a stupid-ass idea, yet he was unable to stop his dumb ass from doing it anyways. Truly he lived to be a conundrum. And a health hazard to everyone around him.

Some remnant of the invincibility he’d felt when he first came to Gotham stuck with him even after he was more than sure the Pit had left him. There were so many times since then that he had cut it close but was able to pull it together before something really bad happened. He had treated his own injuries more times than he could count over the years. This time had to be no different, after the fit he’d just thrown.

He had a bad feeling this wasn’t going to be one of those times.

He was reasonably sure something inside him was ruptured or some other horrible state of wrecked beyond recognition. He had already had a good look at his stomach and the bruising there was concerningly deep and purple. Not only was that disturbingly fast, considering this had all only started to get bad a few hours ago…there was also a weirdly fluid feeling to the area. He knew internal bleeding when he felt it. He was actually quite the expert at identifying his own by now. Usually this was when he would suck it up and go get some help. The conversation from earlier still left him stinging, though. He didn’t want to deal with having to talk to anyone else tonight. He really, really just wanted to go to bed.

He tried to force from his mind how much this stumbling home injured was reminding him of a very similar situation a couple years ago. When Bruce had— No, he refused to even think about it right now. He had more important things to focus on than what had happened in the past. That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that apparently Bruce had moved past that, so why shouldn’t he? He was always the one holding on to things for way too long.

Right now he just needed to focus on getting to a safehouse. First he could patch up the bullet wound in his leg enough so he wasn’t leaving evidence every step he took, and then he could.… He could.… He actually couldn’t think of anything he could do. He felt like one of B’s lectures about injury treatment was hovering right at the back of his mind. It was just out of reach, though. It was probably in the same place as Bruce’s lecture tonight. The garbage.

He couldn’t quite remember which part was the biggest concern right now. Not like he was going to be able to do much in this state. The rest of the Bats and Birds would be insufferable if he had to call them in to pick up his ass, as well. After the shit he had pulled tonight, walking out in the middle of them, he was sure no one would appreciate him calling back about getting injured. He had also most certainly told Barbie that he was fine, and he most certainly was not right now.

That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that it was late. Even for Bats. The sun would probably be up soon. He usually tried to get in a bit earlier than this, if only to pretend like he was sleeping at night. If it was dark when he went to sleep, didn’t that count as sleeping at night?

He groaned as he finally rested long enough and made the move to use his grapple to get to the fire escape near the window he needed. It was muscle memory to aim and fire the grapple. What wasn’t muscle memory was what the fuck you were supposed to do when you passed out mid swing. Luckily, the metal railing of the fire escape was kind enough to impact his ribs hard enough to jostle all his organs.

A perfect wake-up call, really. He finally hauled himself up over the fire escape. Shit. He was really feeling that internal bleeding now. Maybe ignoring the bullet wound in his thigh had been a bad idea. He fumbled with slowly numbing fingers to deactivate the traps on the window and then slumped inside. Hopefully no one was looking up this evening, because he probably made a pitiful sight.

He made it through and shoved the window closed with as much force as he could. The window barely closed. Ooooh shit. He was really fucked this time, wasn’t he? Now he’d really done it. He thought about how far the bathroom was, and just the thought had his knees buckling. He slumped back against the window before he went down hard in any other direction. Between one blink and the next he was on the floor, slumped over himself.

He kept blacking out. That couldn’t possibly mean anything good.

He groaned as he attempted to push himself back to standing. He didn’t quite make it, and the crash back to the floor jarred every one of his bones. He was not about to let himself die on the floor just because the bathroom was a little too far away. He crawled all the way to the door in that fucking warehouse and he crawled all the way out of his own fucking grave. Giving up was not an option.

He pushed himself up, successfully this time, and hobbled over to his bathroom. At least there he could slump down onto the toilet lid and make quick work of sewing up his leg. He would never not get annoyed at how hard it was to sew things up when there was blood everywhere making it slick. Since it had been a proper graze and not just some sort of in-and-out, he had to do a few stitches to close the skin back together. Of course that meant cleaning up the entire wound, as well, which was just another step of extra work he didn’t really feel like doing.

He almost gave up and slept in the bathtub once he was finally done patching up his leg. He resisted, though, and through sheer force of will managed to get himself up. The walk to the bathroom was more a glorified hobble, but that was between him and the ghosts. The sight of his bed had his knees feeling weak. Maybe that was just the blood loss. Either way, he was finally standing next to his bed. From there it was relatively easy at least to strip off the parts of his outfit that would make sleeping really uncomfortable.

He finally pulled back the blankets and sheets. He tried not to mourn the fact he was going to have to basically throw out this mattress later. He did not want to sleep in a bed that he had brought Gotham juice into. That was a problem for Later Jason though. Present Jason wanted to take a nap until he felt well enough to think up a good way to get looked at. He was under no delusions that he was just going to magically get better without intervention. He definitely needed to have someone take a look at him. He should probably have already informed someone he was this bad off.

He climbed into the bed with one last mournful sigh and pulled the blankets back up over himself. He really wished he felt not-shit enough to take a shower right now because he was freezing. He curled up as much as he could under the blankets to try and preserve heat. Sure, it was mostly old habit, but he would at least get warmer faster that way. He just couldn’t curl up all the way, because his stomach was killing him. Despite the cold, he could feel himself drifting off. They did say cold was good for sleeping. Somehow he didn’t think they meant feeling like you’re trying to take a nap in the Arctic tundra.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He startled as he realized he could feel his fingers and toes going numb and cold. Shit, well this was relatively familiar, at least. He really needed to call someone. He knew well enough that if he was losing feeling, that was a sign of something really fucking bad. His leg hadn’t even been bleeding that badly. There was no reason to be exhibiting such heavy signs of blood loss.

Every blink was getting slower and slower. He instinctively tried to curl up further, but the ache in his stomach ramped up from burning to on-fire, hell pain. Whatever the fuck was happening there, it was not a good sign. He tried to breathe through the pain but every breath had the pain ramping higher and higher. Holy fucking shit. He hadn’t felt pain this bad since the first fucking time he died. This was a special kind of hell and torment. This was like the all-encompassing endless burn of the Lazarus Pits, but localised entirely in his stomach. He couldn’t help but wonder if all of his organs had ruptured. Something apparently had.

He really should have texted someone. He knew this and it was familiar specifically because this was what dying felt like. Even though he’d died burning, he still remembered the slow creep of cold in his limbs before that. Somehow he was going through the same thing again, except this time the fire was inside of him. When he’d been crawling and desperately trying to get to that door. He felt some of that desperation now as he tried to uncurl and reach for the floor. If he could just fish his phone out of his pants pocket, he could call in for some help and someone would be by to help him. Hopefully sooner rather than later but it wouldn’t be his fault if they came upon his dead body.

He struggled for who knew how long to try and get his limbs to listen to him. No matter how hard he tried, he got no further than his hand hanging over the side of the bed. He tried not to feel too bad about the fact he was probably about to die all because he couldn’t reach his phone. There were probably worse ways to go than nice and warm in your bed. Hell, he knew there were. He could feel his eyes drooping even more. He hoped he would wake up in a couple hours and this would all be an exaggeration on his part. Maybe that’s all this was. He was just being a drama queen and in a few hours he’d wake up like nothing happened.

His eyes dropped closed again and he didn’t have the energy to force them back open. He considered making one more desperate dive for the phone. Instead he gave in to his body’s urges and curled back up with the blanket pulled up to his neck and let the darkness close in.

He woke up groggy. Every sense slowly coming back online instead of an immediate overload of all his senses. As if every system had to boot up slowly. It reminded him of the old, slow computers at the library. Listening to the computer parts begin to turn and whir and slowly power up while protesting loudly.

He felt sticky and gross. His eyes were still blurry even as he blinked them several more times to try and clear them. His eyes seemed to be having some of the hardest times coming back online. Every blink was crunchy until he reached a hand up to try and wipe at them. That didn’t seem to do the trick waking him up either, however. His eyes continued to try and stay closed on every blink. He was more tired than he could ever remember being.

He instead just reached down and pulled his shirt up to his nose to give it a good smell. If he was anyone but a trained Gothamite, he might have gagged. That was straight-up the familiar scent of Gotham on him right there. It did the job of helping him wake up faster, though, so he couldn’t help but appreciate it. His eyes finally stayed open long enough for him to actually begin to catalogue what was happening.

He laid there and tried to remember how he got into this particular position. He remembered patrolling. Being called in to help the Bats. Going off and looking for a fight way too late into the night. A blinding pain in his stomach that definitely said something was wrong. Stumbling into his safehouse.

He remembered thinking he was dying, lying there all alone and not being able to reach the one thing he needed to get help—

He couldn’t help the yelp that escaped him as he felt something.… Move on the bed. He was up and out of the bed before he could even process the wish to be. It wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time shit like this had happened. He had been living in the seedier and more questionable parts of Gotham for years. Most of his life actually. He knew there would be roaches and shit because that’s what happened when you lived in a big city like Gotham. That did not, however, mean he liked it and wanted to deal with that.

What he should do now was search the bed and find the little fucker. He did not, however, really want to do that. He could still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the shake to his hands. He really just wanted to grab a match and light the mattress on fire, but he somehow didn’t think that the other tenants of the building would appreciate that very much. He settled for scooping up his pants off the floor, after carefully shaking them out for any other friends, and digging through the pockets for his phone.

The first thing he did was turn on the screen to check the time. It was nearly noon so really it hadn’t been that long. He knew he was being dramatic last night when he was convinced he would die. Now he was up and standing and completely fine. Something about that was ringing alarm bells in the back of his head, but he ignored that in favour of getting back to checking his texts. He had a few texts, how unusual. Must be something big going on…or Dick was cycling through everyone to see if someone answered. It wouldn’t be the first time he got to the bottom of the list and actually texted Jason.

Dickhead: «So I know this is ur emergency number but no one has seen u in four days»

What the hell?

Dickhead: «Even checked with a couple of the working girls and no sign»

What the actual hell? He had been out literally last night. He had been out literally last night with Dick. That’s how he got shot and all fucked up. Unless.… He took a second to look at the date and almost keeled back over right there. He hadn’t patrolled last night. He patrolled five days ago. He had somehow just spent almost a week in his bed. No, not somehow. He knew how. He remembered when something like this happened before. But the world couldn’t possibly hate him that much could it? Even the undying Jason Todd wasn’t immortal, just a little death resistant.

Dickhead: «Guess it wasn’t worth the try was it?»

Jesus. Way to make him feel like the dick for dying. A man couldn’t even lay dead in his bed for a few weeks in peace nowadays.

He cringed at his own thoughts because he couldn’t have been. He couldn’t have been dead and come back. Once was an accident. Twice was a coincidence. Three times was a pattern. Fuck he didn’t want it to be a pattern.

He walked to the bathroom and forced himself to look in the mirror. He looked like shit. He felt like shit too, honestly. He felt even more shit when a fucking cockroach went crawling over his shoulder. He definitely didn’t shriek but he did definitely kill it with extreme prejudice. He also then immediately threw off the rest of his clothes in case there were more. Absolutely no chances. Sometimes he hated living in shitty fucking places. What he wouldn’t have given for Roy and his flamethrower right then.

He was going to need to get rid of this safehouse as soon as he could. First step was scrubbing himself down and finding an extra outfit. He did just that while pointedly ignoring the lack of wound on his leg or bruises on his abdomen. He even pressed down hard against his stomach just to test if there truly were no wounds. Besides a dull ache there was nothing. That was nowhere near as bad as the pain had been.… Last time he was awake. It was nothing compared to the pain he was experiencing before.

The next step was checking on the mattress. He had already deemed it as unsalvageable before; now it was extra unsalvageable. He probably needed to treat the thing like a biohazard because he had no idea how bad things had gotten while he was taking his nap. As soon as he pulled back the sheets fully, though, to take a look he quickly regretted it. He watched a few roaches scatter in various directions and swallowed down his nausea. Wouldn’t do to make the mess even bigger now would it?

He looked down at the suspiciously person-shaped and -sized brown stain now occupying the mattress. He almost gagged at the smell, because this was even more than just the Gotham funk of earlier. This was the smell of a rotting corpse. His rotting corpse that had apparently been serving as a snack for the roaches. Had he been a snack the whole time? Had there been bugs crawling through his flesh? Had he laid there rotting while bugs burrowed in and feasted on—

He ran to the bathroom and threw up. Yup, some things were definitely not supposed to be experienced by living people. This was why people should just die and stay dead. Following the laws of nature and all that shit. Not performing the world’s shittiest version of necromancy. And that’s what had happened. He was a hundred percent sure now. He had just died and come back to life.

His hands were shaking as he flushed the toilet and he moved to brush his teeth. His hands shook so hard he had to hold the toothbrush with both of them to even get anything done. He tried to just take deep breaths and relax but as much as he convinced his brain that he was not freaking out, his body did not agree.

He couldn’t stop the shaking and it was getting worse. He needed to get this place cleaned out as soon as possible and get out of here. He didn’t know how to clean something that dried-up, though. He couldn’t exactly call in a crime-scene cleaner when he himself was the crime-scene victim. They probably wouldn’t take “I was the corpse” as solid reasoning not to call the police. He couldn’t think of anyone who would have the knowledge to clean something like this up, outside of a list of people he couldn’t call. His half-panicking brain finally supplied someone who would know, though.

Alfred.

He grabbed his phone and was dialling the number he still knew by heart in a second. It started ringing and he hadn’t considered it before he hit the call but what if Alfred didn’t answer? What the hell would he do then besides sit in his bloodied safehouse and have a breakdown over being not dead when he really fucking should be and had no idea what to do—

”Hello, this is the Wayne residence. To whom do I share the pleasure of speaking with today?” Alfred’s voice was smoothly polite as always. It made his chest pang with some sense of longing as he remembered the days when he would hear that voice constantly. Remembered hours of Alfred answering calls after each big scandal and never running out of ways to politely tell people to fuck off. Making hundreds of calls while getting galas set up.

Jason felt like his throat was swollen shut at the memories. There was a time that felt like forever ago, that wasn’t really that long ago, that he had thought he would never hear Alfred again. Much less hear his answering-the-phone voice.

When he opened his mouth to finally answer, only a choked, hard sound left it.

”I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Alfred’s voice hadn’t changed but Jason could tell he was beginning to be set on edge.

”Alfred.…” Finally he got his voice working only to have it crack embarrassingly after the one word.

”Master Jason? My dear boy, what’s wrong?”

”I—there’s—I’m—‘’ He took a deep breath before continuing. “I need to clean a mattress or get rid of it or—or something.”

”Ah, I understand. What cleaning products do you have?” Alfred was always so practical. He didn’t comment on Jason’s wavering voice and just answered his question.

”I’ll go check.” Jason took a quick look over and quickly averted his eyes back to the doorway on his way to the kitchen. He quickly made his way over to check under the sink. He didn’t stock everything at every safehouse but he should have at least the basics here. Alfred would tell him what he needed. He started listing the products as soon as he opened the cabinet.

Alfred made a considering sound.

“I don’t believe any of those will really work for our task today, but before you go off trying to buy something that will work I must ask that you assess the damage.”

His brain still felt kind of fuzzy with panic but Alfred was soothing the worst edges of that.

He was always a master at soothing the worst edges. It was probably how he’d put up with Bruce so long. Definitely how he was going to put up with Jason, because he just barely contained a scream when he opened another cabinet and roaches went skittering in every direction. He was back in the bedroom before he’d even thought about getting away. His teeth chattered as his body started shaking even harder. Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with him. He’d been around bugs before. Maybe not bugs that were probably feasting on his flesh mere hours ago—

”Jason, my boy can you hear me?” Alfred’s voice seemed far away and Jason was worried his hearing was fucked up. Until he realized he had brought the phone away from his ear. He brought it back up and let out a shaky sigh.

”Yeah. Yeah I’m still here, Alf. Sorry about that.”

”You’re quite alright, but I must say you don’t sound entirely well. Is it anything I could help you with?”

”Yes? Maybe? I’m not sure anymore.”

”Why don’t you start at the beginning? There should be quite the story behind how you managed to ruin a mattress and go missing for several days.”

Jason felt a cold sweat of panic for a second at the thought of Alfred knowing he was missing for days. He quickly forced himself to focus on the question he had been asked instead.

The beginning? The beginning was being born. The beginning was a mistake made by parents who didn’t really care. The beginning was running off and getting murdered. The beginning.… Maybe it wasn’t that dramatic.

“I got blood all over a mattress.”

“Alright, and then?”

“Roaches, this place is infested with roaches apparently.” He licked his dry lips. Even if Jason had no control over it, he still felt a hot rush of shame admitting that the place was dirty enough to have roaches. Some part of his brain still wanting even a space Alfred couldn't see to be clean enough to make the man proud of him.

“That’s quite concerning—perhaps you should come to the Manor so I can more easily explain the chemicals you’re going to need for that blood and give you my list of good workmen in Gotham.” Alfred’s voice was as calm as ever. Jason could still hear the tone of pleading underneath it. “I know of quite a few good and quiet groups operating in Gotham that should be able to take care of the mattress for you. No questions asked.”

Jason’s chest did something weird at the idea of going into the Manor proper to see Alfred. It had been so long since he’d done more than pop by the Cave when they needed specific information from him and a true meeting worked better than sparse conversation over the comms. Of course he’d seen Alfred and the man had sewn up a few bullet holes in him but this was different. This was going out in the daylight and going up to the front door of the Manor. Knocking on a door he used to be able to just stroll through. Facing a man who wanted him gone only liked when he had practical information for him. A man he used to call dad.

”Is B home?” Jason might as well ask even though he wasn’t sure Bruce would be a big enough deterrent for him to deny Alfred. Not when he felt completely off kilter. Barely holding on by his fingertips as he dangled over a cliff he couldn’t see the bottom of.

”Master Bruce should return later this afternoon before dinner.” Alfred cut straight to the question Jason was actually asking. He could deal with Bruce right now if it helped him stop feeling like he was having phantom memories of being dead. Memories of bugs crawling over his skin.

That gave him at least a few hours of uninterrupted time with Alfred. Fuck, he really needed that right now. He didn’t want to just give in so easily, but if what he thought was happening was actually happening, he—

He needed to see Alfred.

He remembered the days back when he was new to the Manor and he didn’t know where anything was. He remembered Alfred’s slow patience with every seemingly stupid request that helped him feel comfortable. He remembered a man who always knew what to do regardless of the level of shit going down. He knew that none of that had changed.

”Alfred always knows what to do.”

He heard an echo of the words he used to whisper to himself when something was wrong. That had been his mantra when he was first introduced to the Manor and he was still a desperate, dirty little boy clinging to this wonderful thing he’d been given with promises that he wouldn’t have to pay it back.

In the days when what he had done didn’t matter and he could rely on the Manor to be a home without need for payment. That had been such a foreign concept to him as a child he’d had no idea what to do with it. All he had known at the time was that he could trust Alfred completely and wholly in a way he hadn’t been able to trust someone in a long time.

Somehow, through magic only Alfred knew, that feeling had persisted all the way to now. Even now when he considered all the uncertainties that had just been opened up in his life, he knew Alfred would know what to do. Not only would he know what to do, but he would know the right answer. To what question? Jason himself wasn’t even sure what it was yet but Alfred would know. This he knew with certainty.

“Alf, you still there?” Jason smacked his dry lips as he considered what he was about to say. He knew what he wanted and that seemed to align with what he needed right now, so really what was the issue?

“Of course. I was just considering what we should have for our lunch,” Alfred replied coolly.

Jason barked out a laugh. Of course Alfred knew his answer before he did. Alfred always knew. That’s what made him a powerful ally and a most dangerous foe. He knew exactly who left the dirty towel on the floor and retribution was swift. He was the World’s Greatest Detective’s first teacher, and more people would do well to remember that.

“Guess I don’t have to tell you that I’m coming over, then?”

“No, I should think not. It’s past time you come visit, anyways.” Alfred’s tone was reprimanding even as it was soft. “Will you be okay on the drive over or should I stay on the phone?”

Jason froze in putting on his boots. He hadn’t really thought about that. Would he be okay? He wasn’t sure, now that Alfred had asked. He considered his options as he redid the laces. As much as he wanted to talk to Alfred as much as possible, talking to the man on the way over would make this feel all the more real. He was relying on the fact that this all felt like almost a dream to get him there without turning around.

“Nah, I think I’ll be fine. Just call me if I’m taking too long, yeah?”

“Alright if that’s how you would rather have it, my boy. Safe driving.”

“See you soon.” He felt awkward saying it even if it was true.

“See you soon, my boy.” Alfred somehow managed to make that sound like a threat before the line disconnected.

He really needed to ask Alfred how he could do that with such efficiency sometime. People lived in fear of Batman but they didn’t even know well enough to fear the man Batman fears. Jason knew better. Jason feared that man as much as he respected him.

As he wove through familiar streets down a now familiar path, he considered what the fuck he was going to say to Alfred. Now that he was thinking at least a bit more clearly, he realized he really didn’t want to tell Alfred everything that had just happened. Mostly because he didn’t know everything that just happened. He wouldn’t even know what to tell Alfred about everything that had happened.

Even though the path was familiar, he still found himself second-guessing his turns. Double-checking that he was going the right way multiple times, even though the path to the Manor was long familiar as a passenger and even now as a driver. He might not visit the upper parts…ever, but he was fairly familiar with the downstairs section at this point.

He could feel his hands growing slick with sweat where he gripped the handlebars. He couldn’t remember a time in recent memory he was this nervous.

It wasn’t like this was the first time he had seen Alfred. It was, however, the first time he had seen Alfred in the Manor—or hell, even just been into the Manor—since before. It filled him with so many feelings he couldn’t even name half of them. All he knew was that as he crossed the bridge and approached Bristol his chest was feeling tight and he was having trouble breathing again.

He was glad he was here to meet Alfred already. He was going to need to talk to the man just to calm the hell down. He could feel the sweat almost dripping off his hands. He reached out to knock on the door, and hesitated.

He tried to psyche himself up in his head to just knock already. There really wasn’t anything bad that could come of this and Alfred certainly wouldn’t have him come all the way here just to yell at him. What was he afraid of? It was just a house. Nothing to even worry about. Plus, he reminded himself, he was still starving. He was promised cookies.

So he decided not to be a little bitch and reached out again to knock properly this time. Before his hand could reach wood, the door opened up and there he was.

”Alf.…” He was frozen to the spot as his eyes instinctively scanned over Alfred. There of course weren’t any major differences since the last time he’d seen him in the Cave. There were, however, major differences since the last time he saw him standing in this doorway like this. He pushed down the discomfort at those thoughts.

”Come here, my boy.” Alfred had barely pulled his arms away from his body before Jason found himself stumbling forwards into them. He hadn’t planned to hug the life out of the man the second he saw him, but now that he was here he couldn’t regret it.

He did however know that he needed to pull away soon. He was embarrassingly in danger of crying into the man’s shoulder right now, and somehow he didn’t think that constituted a proper greeting. Not that Alfred would say anything about it, because he was an absolute saint like that.

Still, he pulled away somewhat reluctantly while Alfred held him a careful distance away and scanned him over.

“Nothing to worry about urgently, correct?” Alfred’s tone said all the threats his words didn’t about what would happen if Jason lied about being injured or not injured here.

“No. Nothing like that, Alf—I wouldn’t have come upstairs if I was in danger like that.” Jason made sure to put on his most reassuring face and voice.

Alfred apparently believed him, because he moved back and gestured for Jason to actually enter the house. His eyes wanted to stray and look at every stray piece of furniture or wall decoration but he carefully kept them in line. He was not having this meeting with his grandfather ruined by something as silly as a panic attack. Alfred deserved much better than being forced to talk him out of two in one day.

Alfred’s hand on his arm quickly distracted him from his spiralling thoughts.

“Why don’t you take your shoes off and join me in the sitting room? I’ll go prepare some tea for us.” Even as Alfred said this, he made no move to walk away.

Jason reached down to untie his laces so he could slip his boots off, and still Alfred didn’t move away. Instead waiting until he was finished to begin guiding him towards the sitting room that they all damn well knew was Alfred’s special tea room that was not to be disturbed. As soon as they reached it Alfred was off bustling towards the kitchen. No doubt in search of a teapot and what he considered suitable tea for such an occasion. Now that Jason was here waiting for it to happen, he was curious what kind of tea Alfred would think was appropriate for a situation like this.

He found out quickly when Alfred was back within what felt like a few moments but was surely much longer.

It was easy to fall into the familiar routine of having tea with Alfred. It felt a bit like when they used to do this after school and he would sit here and tell Alfred all about his day and all the things he’d learned. Now, even though the air wasn’t awkward, he was instead sitting here sipping tea and trying to figure out a way to start this conversation.

There was really no good way to start a conversation like this that he would reasonably like. If there was then he definitely didn’t know it and was thus left with his own less than lacklustre methods of broaching subjects.

He shifted awkwardly in his seat and took a long sip of his tea for strength.

”I—something happened that might mess up my, uh, field work and I’m not sure what to do about it,” he started haltingly. He really wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell Alfred about what he thought was going on right now. There was really no possible way of knowing how the man would react to such news. This wasn’t exactly the type of thing you heard often nor, was it the kind you had to explain often.

”And you can not tell me because?” Alfred’s face remained patient yet Jason still felt a pressure to answer honestly.

”God, I’m just not ready to, Alf—I swear as soon as I am I’ll rush over and explain but I’m trying to deal with it myself first.” He really did mean that, too. Alfred would be one of the first to know when he finally felt like this was all real enough to tell another person. For now he could continue trying to convince himself he was wrong in his head, as long as he didn’t tell anyone else.

”Perfectly alright, my boy—as long as you’re not actively injured, this is permissible.”

Alfred always understood Jason even when he wasn’t sure why he needed something himself. God, he loved this man. The only grandparent he’d ever had.

”Might I suggest you inform one of your brothers of your compromising situation for now, in place of explaining it all to me?” Alfred took another sip of his tea but watched Jason in a way that made him feel as if there truly was no right or wrong answer here.

”Yeah, yeah I can do that, Alf.” Even though they weren’t really his brothers.

Jason took a long sip of tea and leaned back to think it over in his head a bit.

Dick wasn’t always in Gotham and generally stayed pretty busy. He also had the added detriment of being an annoying fucking bastard about emotions. He would probably insist on taking payment for helping Jason in the form of hugs. That wouldn’t do at all. At least he wouldn’t rat him out to Bruce. If there was one thing Dickie understood, it was a need to get and stay away from Bruce.

Tim had the benefit of being in Gotham a lot more. He still left from time to time, but hey, even Jason left every once in a while despite his love for the city. He, however, was insanely busy and already barely slept. He did have Bruce-worthy access to money, though. He also probably wouldn’t rat him out. Maybe to Alfred because he was a little brotherish snitch like that. Not to Bruce, though. That kid had as many secrets from Bruce as Jason did and they all damn well knew it. Besides, Jason planned to tell Alfred anyway.… Eventually.

Damian was the least likely to be perturbed by his dead body. He was also the smallest and probably wouldn’t be able to pick up Jason’s dead-weight corpse. Plus he had a fifty-fifty chance of telling Bruce. You could never be sure what the kid would do when it came to secrets and Bruce. Oh, and of course the detail that never seemed to stop Bruce but probably should have: he was a literal child. So really, as far as Jason was concerned, the kid wasn’t really an option despite the fact that Bruce definitely would think of him as one.

”Timbit’s probably the best choice here.” Jason looked back at Alfred to search his face for approval. He didn’t need Alfred to tell him that was the right choice but, well, he certainly wouldn’t mind. Anyone who turned down the old butler’s advice was sorely lacking in the brain department.

He also didn’t even really have to do what he told Alfred he was going to do. There was no reason he actually had to tell one of the Bats. …He also knew there would be hell to pay if he said he was going to and then didn’t. Alfred would have his ass for that if he just lied to his face about something like this, and he wasn’t really eager for that.

Alfred gave him another analysing look and then an approving nod. That part of Jason that was always hoping to do the right thing in his grandfather’s eyes glowed. He then of course asked after Jason’s plants that they had discussed last time he’d been at the Cave getting a knife wound looked at. He didn’t come for every single injury, but he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head. He accepted that sometimes it was better to just ask for someone else to look. Alfred was always the best option for that. Even if he gave out his services with a side of disapproving lecture and midnight snacks. One of those was distinctly better than the other.

His stomach quickly dropped, though, as Alfred’s mouth turned down in a frown.

“I meant to say this earlier.…” Alfred paused for a moment and looked to the window before looking back to him. “I am not trying to insinuate anything here, but if you are struggling you only need ask and I can obtain the necessary resources for you.”

For a second, Jason felt like Alfred was looking directly into him and seeing all the swirling things he wasn’t sure if he was ready to tell the man yet.

“What?” he managed to somehow exhale out.

“I do not want to say anything against your current residence but I am quite concerned to hear that you have such severe issues with the cleanliness of the place. I am unsure whether this is a…voluntary choice or not and wished to offer my help in perhaps setting you up somewhere better.” Alfred’s words were more carefully chosen than Jason was used to.

He realized suddenly exactly what this was. Alfred wasn’t, in fact, all knowing. He was worried that Jason was living in places of poor quality due to money troubles. He was also trying to carefully approach the topic.

“No. No, Alf, it’s not anything like that. This is just one of those shitty boltholes that’s really only there for an emergency. I’ve got money and I’ve got way better places than that piece of shit,” he rushed to explain.

Alfred visibly relaxed at the assurance. “Very well, then. I just wanted to offer my assistance in case you were experiencing difficulties and needed discretion.”

“Yeah thanks for that.” Jason felt a smile spreading across his face unbidden. “Seriously, thanks. I’ve got everything under control for now though.”

Jason was suddenly reminded of something he should probably follow back up on for himself.

“Do you think that you could—” Jason hesitated, but one look at Alfred’s encouraging face had him continuing. “Could you take a sample of my blood and test it?” “Of course, my boy—but if you were worried about exposure to anything, you should have told me before you let me talk your ear off with my inane stories.” Alfred’s face was quickly falling into disapproval so Jason hurried to explain himself.

“No, no, I don’t think I was exposed to anything. It’s actually something else but I don’t want to ask anyone else to look.”

Or trust them with a needle that close to me. Jason didn’t say that part out loud, but judging by the softening look from Alfred, it was understood.

“Of course—I have promised you discretion, after all. What will I be looking for, then?”

“I think the levels of Lazarus in my blood have gone down.” Jason self-consciously clutched his tea closer to himself. “It’s easier to control the Pit rage and it just doesn’t feel…as close to the surface? I just don’t want to ask Bruce to do it and have him be disappointed if it isn’t true.”

Because he would be. Bruce would hate not having a nice, easy out to excuse Jason’s past actions in his brain and suddenly pretend that Jason was the son he lost. He would also probably feel some emotions or something about the fact that Jason was still being affected by the Pit his psycho ex shoved him into that he would box up to never think about again. He was good at compartmentalising like that.

Alfred would understand, though, if it was just a false alarm. He had easily let Jason into the house when he didn’t even know there was a chance that part of the Lazarus had left him. Which meant that either way Alfred wouldn’t care about the results. He would expect nothing less of the man who had nothing but kindness for a small boy fresh off the streets breaking down and bawling apologies out to him after realizing he had brought lice into the impeccably clean Manor where the pillow cases probably cost more than anything he’d ever owned.

“Well we can certainly hope so. I hate that you’ve had to endure any exposure to that vile stuff.” Alfred’s face was one of disgust as he moved to put down his tea cup. “Would you like to do it now? I can go retrieve the necessary tools and we can do it in the kitchen.”

Jason blinked at that. Alfred hated Bat business being in the kitchen. To willingly volunteer to let it happen was practically unheard of. He found himself nodding before he really thought it through. If Alfred thought this a good enough cause to break one of his biggest rules, who was Jason to argue with him?

“Yeah, sounds good, Alf.” He helped Alfred clear up the dishes and walked with him to the kitchen. He attempted to help with the washing of them as well but one strong glare from Alfred had him sitting down in one of the chairs. He was also passed a glass of orange juice with a stern look before Alfred was off to go collect the necessary items.

He sipped at the glass idly as he waited for Alfred to return. The kitchen was one room that experienced very little change in the house. He didn’t even want to think about other rooms of the house changing or being different from his memory. It would likely only send him down another unpleasant rabbit hole. He’d had enough of those today.

He was reading through all the new additions to the calendar on the fridge when Alfred strode back into the kitchen. He tried not to look too hard as Alfred started to get everything ready. He still felt more than a little discomfort every time he had to get blood drawn. Needles still made him more than a little nervous. He had asked, though, so no use backing out now. Especially since besides Leslie, Alfred was one of the only other people he trusted with a needle around him.

He snuck a glance at Alfred and felt the familiar nausea at the sight of the needle. He quickly turned back to focus on the countertop again.

“You know, despite what you may think, you really have not changed that much, my boy.”

“Why do you say that?”

He knew that Alfred was just trying to get him talking to distract him from the process but that didn’t stop him from giving in. He wanted to be distracted. He didn’t want to think about a needle anywhere near his arm even if it was for his own benefit. He knew this was all a childish worry that he should have more than outgrown by now considering he’d been stabbed by things much worse than just a tiny needle at this point in his life. He also knew this needed to get done and that was enough to make himself push through. That all didn’t mean he had to like it and it certainly didn’t mean he had to torture himself while it happened.

“I can tell from the way you talk about here and act now that you’re very convinced that you are different and unrelated to the little boy who used to live here.” Alfred’s words and hands were gentle. “That is of course untrue. You are just as much the same as I remember you. You’re still deathly afraid of needles and you still love orange juice.”

The quick prick of pain did nothing to distract him from Alfred’s next words.

“You still think yourself irredeemable and unworthy of anything offered to you.”

“Alfie.…” His heart was racing and his brain was quickly trying to gain control over his emotions before he ended up doing something embarrassing like cry all over the counter over a needle and some observational words.

“None of that now, my boy; I don’t think this is the time to really get into it all.”

Jason hadn’t even realized it but the needle was already gone and there was the familiar feeling of a cotton ball pressed against his arm.

“Just know that you never have and never will need to prove yourself of anything to me.”

He turned back to Alfred and he wasn’t surprised to find his eyes were much wetter than they began. His wavering vision did nothing to cloud the smile that Alfred was giving him. He didn’t say another word as he leaned forward into Alfred’s waiting arms. He didn’t let the tears fall but just being there with Alfred was cathartic in its own way. Especially with the way he was still sitting in the chair…it put him at a much more familiar height to Alfred: instead of on equal ground, his face was pressed against the familiar coat jacket in front of him.

After what had to be a socially unacceptably long hug he pulled away to reach for the cup of juice. He didn’t meet Alfred’s eyes immediately, but he knew even if he did he wouldn’t find anything but kindness in there. He would never understand how Alfred managed to always be just the right amount of everything.

“I’ll have the results back for this in a few days.” Alfred’s voice startled him back into reality. “How would you like me to get those results to you?’

Jason blinked back for a second before remembering oh yeah this is Alfred. Jason would never be receiving unwanted visits from him and most certainly would not be having his privacy invaded. Not without good reason. If they got to that point however it would be entirely his own fault for whatever he did to piss Alfred off so bad.

Then he had to remind himself that, actually—excluding a certain someone—everyone had been getting a lot better about respecting his space and leaving him alone. So really nothing to be concerned about at all.

He gave Alfred his current number without a bit of worry. There would be no misuse there, and he would hopefully get back some good results.

“Alright, I will get those to you as soon as they’re finished being analyzed.” Alfred patted his arm after taking off his glove. “Should be just a few days.”

Jason knew what that meant. It didn’t take a few days to run the tests required to look at the amount of Lazarus in his body. He knew for a fact that Alfred was going to be running a full blood panel to check on his health. He couldn’t say that he minded, considering it was basically an open secret now. Alfred didn’t lie to him but neither did he say that was what he was doing. He assumed Jason would know just from the fact he said it was going to take a few days.

Knowing he had the choice to deny the checkup made him feel better about letting Alfred do it.

Besides he was even more freaked out than Alfred right now probably. The older man didn’t even know the half of it with the details of how exactly he’d ended up in a situation where there was blood all over one of his mattresses.

So he could agree a full blood workup was probably more than necessary. He also knew that given his options he’d much prefer that Alfred was the one to do it. He would get back with prompt answers as soon as it was done and nothing else. No tracking him down to discuss the results, just a quick call to explain what he saw on it.

While Alfred packed everything up and put it in its proper place Jason found himself getting restless. As soon as Alfred left to go bring the blood sample down to the Cave, he found himself wandering the kitchen and opening various cabinets. He wasn’t exactly ready to leave yet, but he also wasn’t content to just sit there and do nothing. He was thoroughly inspecting one of the rubber spatulas he remembered being in the kitchen when he lived here that was suspiciously melted along one side. He wasn’t sure what happened to it, but he knew for a fact this was meant to be used for baking and it looked like someone had used it to stir an open flame. Alfred had likely only kept it because the small spatula on the other side was still fully functional.

He was startled out of his inspection of the utensils drawer by the feeling of eyes on him. He quickly stood up and spun around to find Bruce standing in the doorway with a coffee cup in hand. He was staring at Jason with wide eyes but made no move to come any closer into the kitchen.

Jason stood there blankly staring at him back. He had no idea what to do. He hadn’t seen Bruce completely out of uniform or not in any of those stupid stomping-around-the-Cave sweats of his in years now. Not to mention he could see their last interaction playing out behind his eyes. He didn’t think he’d exactly been in the wrong there, but there were certainly better ways to handle all that.

He couldn’t even really remember what he’d been thinking in the moment. He had been more focused on how he felt. He always hated when he just fell into talking only from his feelings. It always left him feeling out of control and like he was as wild and emotional as everyone always seemed to imply he was.

Either way now they were both just standing there, staring at each other in silence. Jason didn’t even dare to breathe too deeply. It felt like as soon as he moved they would snap out of this odd tension and be back to arguing about whatever the fuck was the problem now. He could certifiably say he really wasn’t in the mood for that. Especially with the events that had just happened and what exactly had led up to them.

Not that he was blaming Bruce for his own idiotic actions. He just couldn’t shake the fact that one of the last things he’d done before going off and acting stupid was argue with Bruce.

He didn’t know how long they stood there just staring at each other obviously watching and cataloguing the reactions from the other. It reminded him of two alley cats deciding if they really had the extra energy to expend fighting over a piece of food that day.

They were both snapped out of it by Alfred clearing his throat and slipping past Bruce, who was still standing in the doorway. Alfred walked over to Jason, very obviously ignoring the tension in the room.

“Is there anything I could help you find?” Alfred took a look at the drawer and raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, no, I was just looking around.” He tried to ignore the fact that he was now feeling very guilty despite the fact that he hadn’t been doing anything particularly wrong.

“You boys have all been much too curious for your own goods.” At this Alfred gave Bruce a pretty strong side eye.

Jason choked on a laugh.

Bruce himself just shifted uncomfortably in the doorway.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” This, Alfred addressed to Bruce with a particularly scathing look as if already scolding him for possibly scaring Jason off.

Jason felt almost as if he should defend Bruce for having not done anything yet.… Almost.

Let it never be said that Jason Todd didn’t excel at pettiness. He valued his skill in it quite highly.

“No, I was just coming to the kitchen and he was here.” Bruce nodded to him but didn’t take his eyes off Alfred.

“As is his right to be.” Alfred said with another sharp look towards Bruce. He then turned towards Jason with a much softer look. “Is there anything you need while we’re here? I would be more than willing to part with some of the leftovers in the fridge if you’re interested.”

“Um—” He glanced in Bruce’s direction before looking back to Alfred. “Yeah sure. I’ve never made it a habit to turn down free food when it was offered to me. What have you got?”

Alfred led the way over to the fridge while Bruce slunk into the kitchen towards the coffee pot like a distinctly ruffled cat. Jason did his best to ignore him making a cup of coffee while he perused the options in the fridge. He was almost inclined to ask for anything that looked like Bruce’s food just to go for the extra pettiness but refrained.

He did however ask for some of the tiramisu that just happened to be chilling in the fridge.

“It is one of the best ways to lure Master Timothy from the depths of the Cave with the least amount of fuss,” Alfred explained upon being questioned. “I have taken to preparing some when he comes across something big in preparation.”

Jason couldn’t fault the logic there. He’d seen exactly how ragged Tim would run himself over cases. It made a prickle of doubt run through his mind when he considered this was the person he’d chosen to tell about the fact he’d been probably dying and coming back to life.

Alfred was quick to distract him by shoving an insulated bag full of food into his arms. He was fairly certain he saw the man slipping other non-refrigerated items into there, but who was he to try and stop Alfred?

He had almost forgotten Bruce was even in the room until he caught sight of him lurking in the doorway still drinking his coffee. He felt distinctly less comfortable with standing around in the kitchen in the Manor suddenly.

“Is there a problem or something?” He finally addressed Bruce for the first time since the man had shown up in the doorway.

“No, I’m just watching.”

“Watching for what? I’m not gonna attack Alfred or something.”

“I didn’t say that I—” Bruce was quickly cut off by Alfred cutting in.

“No, I refuse to watch you blubber your way through another interaction with my grandson. He came here today to keep this old man company and I do not want to hear any of your excuses today.”

Bruce looked thoroughly cowed at this and was now refusing to meet either of their eyes.

“It’s alright. If I’m making his Highness uncomfortable I can get out of here.” He glanced at his phone to check the time. “Shit it’s about time for me to head out anyway. I have some things I have to clean up tonight.”

As soon as he said that Bruce’s gaze flicked to him and sharpened considerably. He almost sighed at the sight except Alfred was there with a hand on his arm to guide him out past Bruce.

“As long as he’s not making you feel as if you need to leave.” Alfred was watching him closely as he shook his head. “As long as you’re sure, then. Come along, then; I’ll see you out.”

He stayed carefully close to Alfred as they moved past Bruce, who had stepped back into the hall, and out towards the main foyer. Once Bruce was out of sight he found himself sagging with the sudden overwhelming feeling of tiredness that struck him. He hadn’t even argued or fought with Bruce like last time they’d seen each other, and he felt more worn out by this interaction.

Nothing bad had happened. He and Bruce were even close to what one might call civil, despite the few words that had passed between them. Sometimes interactions shorter than that out in the field ended more explosively. He really didn’t understand where this sudden wave of tiredness was coming from suddenly when really nothing had happened. It was all rather anticlimatic.

Between one blink and the next suddenly he and Alfred were in front of the door to the Manor. He leaned down to grab his boots and start lacing them back up properly.

“While I am not privileged to the full depths of what has brought you and Master Bruce to this state, I do feel the need to add my own thoughts to the whole thing,” Alfred started from above him.

Jason only glanced at him and continued working on his boots.

“Despite how often he seems incapable of pulling his own head from his ass, Master Bruce does in fact still care for you, and deeply at that.

“I know he often says the wrong things, especially when it comes to you boys, and believe me when I say it drives me insane to no end.”

“You can say that again, Alf. He really is trying your patience every day, isn’t he?” He stood up with a smirk and was met with Alfred rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You have no idea. I do not enjoy watching him make an utter fool of himself and trip his way through every conversation with his children. It is exhausting and frankly I have no idea how he has the energy to keep it up. It’s almost miraculous the way he manages to muck up almost every conversation he has with you children.”

It was kind of vindicating to know that Bruce caused Alfred as much strife as he caused all of them. Though he wouldn’t ever wish such on the older man, it helped to know that they weren’t just all crazy. Bruce had a truly terrible case of putting his foot in his mouth every single time he opened it to try to talk to one of them. He was slightly better these days than previously but he maintained a certain level of ineptitude with Jason in particular.

“Sometimes the things he does are a bit more serious than just saying the wrong words,” Jason found himself saying even as his mind screamed abort, abort, abort. This was definitely not something he wanted to talk about with Alfred after such a good day.

“Yes. I am aware.” Alfred’s eyes were sad as he held Jason’s gaze seriously.

Jason had no idea what Alfred did or didn’t know, but he now knew for sure the older man knew more than he thought he did. Alfred would never ask Jason to forgive Bruce if he thought he had hurt him on purpose. That much he knew.

This was, after all, the same Alfred from his memories. That Alfred had threatened to shoot Bruce himself when a young Jason had explained his fears to him relating to years on the street. He couldn’t even fathom a world where Alfred would ask him to forgive Bruce if he had purposely hurt him, even if he didn’t know how severely. So what did that mean?

“You do have a suitable place to return to tonight, correct? If not I can offer you the location of a safehouse you can use.” Alfred’s gaze promised no chances to weasel his way out of this.

“I have a much better place that’ll work, alright? I’ll even send you a picture of it, okay?”

“That would be much appreciated to soothe an old man’s worries.”

Jason moved to step towards the door but suddenly Alfred reached out and took both of his hands.

“I know that you and Bruce are not seeing eye to eye right now and I have tried to let the two of you reach equal ground by yourselves, but if you need my help to get there I will offer it. It pains me to see you fighting all the time.” “Sorry, Alf. I’m not trying to cause you problems.”

“It’s quite alright, my boy. I didn’t say I hated to see it all the time. Sometimes he deserves to have his decisions questioned. You boys are all so very good at that.”

“That we are.”

Alfred gave him a long look over as if he was trying to find any signs of something being wrong. Jason felt that he wouldn’t find it by now. He was feeling much more settled, and everything felt a little less dire after some time around Alfred. He felt more than able to go back and clean that place out, call the people Alfred recommends in the morning, check up on everything in the streets, anything he needed to do.

Apparently Alfred had come to a similar conclusion, because he nodded and patted Jason’s arms twice.

“If that’s all, then. I look forward to seeing you again up here soon. Don’t think you can just avoid coming back now that you’ve come once. I get tired of seeing you all down there looking sickly and awful in that dingy cave.” Alfred’s mouth was twisted with disgust at the mere mention of the Cave.

“Yeah, ‘course Alf. I got some stuff to handle and I won’t be here every day but…. I’ll try. For you.” “That’s the best I can ask. Now, best be off before it gets too late. It seems you already have big plans for tonight.”

Jason leaned in to initiate the hug this time but he found himself able to pull away without issue a few moments later.

He and Alfred exchanged goodbyes and then it was just him and his bike on his way back to Gotham. Going over the bridge now felt like a completely different experience than earlier. He watched the streetlights blink by while he thought about everything he and Alfred had talked about today. He surely had a lot to chew through in his thoughts for the next few days to keep him from the existential dread and horror of undeath.

That was the best thing he could ask for right now really.

He felt a shiver go through him as the cold air pierced his thick, lined leather jacket. The weather in Gotham was as miserable as it ever was. The cold was enough to cut through even the best layered winter clothes. Even years of experience living in it wasn’t enough to spare him that.

Somehow, though, he found the cold wasn’t as biting as he’d normally find it. He knew it wasn’t actually warmer, it wasn’t quite the end of winter. Yet, for some reason it felt as if spring had already come, the weather warming and the plants ready to grow again. New beginnings or some shit maybe.

The roads were as empty as they ever got in a city like Gotham so just for the hell of it he pushed the throttle a little harder and relished in the rush of the wind. He wanted to enjoy this for a little while. Everything else could wait for now.

Chapter Text

Jason was watching himself from outside his body. It should have probably surprised him, but after all the shit he’d seen in his life this didn't even rank that high up on his list anymore. It was probably just the logical next step from can't die. Now he could walk the Astral plane or haunt people as a ghost while his body revived. Honestly, it seemed pretty cool. So he just settled in to watch what the idiots were going to do with his corpse. He should really remember to leave some instructions for the next time he died, after he came back again, of course.

“Is he really?” Tim's voice sounded so upset, but when Jason looked at his face it was completely blank. There wasn’t a single hint of emotion on it. He was slightly surprised but he guessed maybe he shouldn’t have been. Timmy’d always been a bit stoic.

“Yeah. We did everything we could but he's gone.” Dick was still in a very un-Dick way. He also was showing a surprising lack of emotion. Jason would have guessed they knew he was coming back from the way they were acting, but he knew that they didn’t know. They couldn’t have. He hadn’t told anyone about it yet.

Jason was confused on why they were all standing around in their uniforms anyways. He was pretty sure that wasn’t normal funeral attire. Then again, they all wore mostly black anyway so maybe they did work for a funeral. As it was, it looked more like a strategy meeting than coming to see their slightly dead brother. It didn't help that what he was seeing didn't match what he was hearing either. Actually, if he looked really closely…it almost seemed like their mouths weren't moving at all.

All in all, a weird experience. He didn't even remember being dead, so who knew. Maybe this was just what it was like? He wasn't sure why he still felt so relaxed, but no reason to get upset about it. Especially when nothing was particularly happening besides the weirdly disconnected sounds he was hearing and what he was seeing.

Everything around him blurred for a moment. When he finally got his eyes to focus again he realised what exactly he was now looking at. He was looking at his own body lying there in the coffin, preparing to be lowered into the ground. He hadn't consciously followed his body, so he really hoped he wasn't tethered to it or anything. That would’ve really put a damper on his haunting-his-haters plans he had going in his head.

Apparently Bruce had randomly decided to be religious, and Catholic of all things, because there was a nun standing over the grave with her hands in prayer. Weird—he was pretty sure they weren't the ones who did this. He was dead for his last funeral, though, so who was to say, really? He’d only ever been to other people’s funerals.

“O Lord, up in dearly Bat heaven, who art watching his son be buried. Again.”

Jason felt his entire incorporeal body go cold as laughing began to fill the air. A snake made of ice was slithering down his spine in time to that voice. He tried to back away and get away from this as quickly as possible, but something was blocking him from getting away.

“We are gathered here once again to try and make sure it sticks this time, Boy Blunder.” What the actual fuck was he doing here? How was Jason ever meant to rest in peace when that monster was taunting him over his grave? He wanted to go down there and test exactly how corporeal these hands were. Instead his brain was screaming at him to get away from that voice—and definitely get out of crowbar range. It was a familiar fight between the urge to kill the man who had killed him and the urge to get as far away from him as possible.

He made his decision and moved to get further away and found the invisible barrier stopping him much closer than it had been before. Without that as an option, he quickly turned with a snarl to find all the Bats standing over his grave now. His casket had apparently been lowered down and he could see everyone throwing something down into the grave. He moved forward, already feeling sick, to find that instead of flowers each and every one of them was throwing crowbars into the grave, that thudded heavily against the lid of the casket.

He couldn’t move. He tried to look up, to see what any of them could possibly be thinking while doing this. His head was stuck looking down until suddenly the laughter that had quickly become a background track to the macabre activity stopped. The moment the laughter stopped, he looked up to find himself staring back at a familiar face that had been haunting his nightmares for years now.

“Oops! Looks like we missed a piece, boys! We can't exactly bury an incomplete corpse, now can we?” Jason felt frozen solid as he stared deep into those caustic green eyes. His world narrowed down to just him and the man standing directly across from him. Even as everyone around them got down and started pushing dirt back into the grave.

“Come now. Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?” There was a wild smile spreading across Joker’s face as he gestured towards the slowly filling grave between them.

Jason didn’t move as he stayed trapped staring at the man who murdered him. As he didn’t move, though, he began to feel a force pulling him forward, toward the body being buried six feet under. He tried to resist and grab onto the ground but he just kept sinking like this was quicksand. He tried to grab at any of the boots still standing in a circle around his grave, but in a blink he found there was only one pair standing beside his grave now. He barely had a second to register that he was staring at Batman’s boots before he felt the tugging on his body get more forceful.

“Come on now! Uncle J says it's time for a nice, long nap, kid. Growing boys like you need their rest, after all!” Joker was cackling now, apparently more than a little entertained with Jason’s predicament.

He grabbed handfuls of moist dirt and grass as he desperately fought to keep above the ground despite the ever-growing tugging pulling him downwards. He managed to pull himself up a few inches and get both of his shoulders above ground. He lost all of that minor progress when there was a bright-white face inches from his own without warning and he lost his focus on staying above ground as he let go in surprise. The last thing he heard before he went fully under was the mad laughter then everything became muted by the dirt around him.

Everything went completely pitch black as he was dragged down so far he had to be past his body by now. All the while, the imprint of bright white, cherry red, and toxic green pulsed behind his eyes still. It remained burned into his eyes even as he reached up hands to pound on unrelenting wood. It remained as he opened his mouth to shout for help. It remained as the tears rolled down his face and his own hot breaths reflected off something hard right back into his face.

He didn’t even have to really think or decide before he was trying to dig out. He was kicking and clawing at the wood above his head before it was even a conscious thought. The motions were familiar in the way they only ever seemed to be in his dreams. The full memories were lost but the impressions of the feeling remained. His body remembered what to do even if he didn’t.

It was much easier to make it through the wood and up through the dirt than he remembered. There was infinitely less pain in his hands and blood in his mouth and throwing up dirt and worms once he got to the top. As his hand broke through the ground and felt around, though, all he felt was cool stone under his fingers. When he pushed and pulled himself all the way up to the surface he was left simply staring at the ceiling of the Cave. He stared up at it in confusion as the cold of the Cave floor seeped into his already chilled body.

He found himself standing up long before he was ready, as if his body was out of his control. He walked forward while everything seemed to warp and change right in front of his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t figure out where he was in the Cave as he walked. It was as if his mind and eyes were suddenly completely unable to focus.

Suddenly he was in front of a glass case. The glass case.

He stared into the empty eyes of the blank mask as it stared back at him. He was staring at his own ruined uniform, still covered in blood stains and rips as it had been when he died in it. He took a step back and then forced himself to move forward again. He wasn’t afraid of this. He refused to be afraid of this.

He decided he just hated looking at that thing more than almost anything else. White and red and green flashed into his mind but he quickly pushed that out.

Before the anger could really start overriding his panic the lens of the mask moved. He stumbled back as out of the case stepped Robin. Not just any Robin but him.

He was staring down at himself now.

Robin was just standing there, staring up at him. He could see the other's mouth moving but he couldn't hear any words coming out. In an eerie reflection of what had happened earlier, Robin’s mouth moved but now Jason couldn’t hear anything from it.

He moved forward with cautious steps, somehow hoping that if he got close enough that maybe he’d be able to hear it. He highly suspected that wasn’t going to be the case, but it was worth trying.

He stopped every couple of feet to see if he could suddenly hear Robin…before realizing it didn't seem like he was getting any closer somehow.

Robin smirked back at him before taking his own steps forward where he seemed to get much closer, much faster. In a matter of moments he was right in front of Jason.

Finally Jason could hear what he was saying.

“Bruce.… Help me, Bruce.… Bruce.…” Robin said, on constant repeat like a distress signal that never went out.

Jason reeled back away from this imposter standing in front of him, feeling suddenly sick. He remembered very vividly the last time he’d said those words. Yet Robin stared back at him with no pain on his face, expression calm and placid despite the pleading in his tone.

It was sick and it was wrong.

He could feel the hot flush of anger now welling up in him.

This imposter was standing in front of him repeating his own last words to him as if taunting him.

This wasn’t Robin and it could never be Robin, because Robin died. He died in a warehouse thinking those words. He died unable to say a word because his ribs wouldn’t let him take even half a breath as he lay there on that floor waiting for death to tick down, knowing now that the door would never open and Bruce would likely never get there.

Yet this little imposter had the gall to stand in front of Jason and say those words like they meant nothing. Like it was some kind of little joke between the two of them and not the thoughts of a dying boy who knew he would never see the light of another day again.

His anger was burning with flames high enough to lick at the inside of his mouth. It was like his body was on fire with the way his rage burned throughout it. He was reminded of those last moments of pain and fire and nothing but light all around him. In stark contrast to the unending plunge of cold that death was.

His hand was moving to his hip and up before he’d really finished the thought. He took only a moment to consider as he aimed and fired off two bullets right into the emblem R on that still chest.

Robin just stood there and took it, didn’t even flinch, as he continued his mantra. Jason found himself firing off more and more rounds but Robin was still just talking on and on with that little smirk on his face. He felt the empty click click of his gun and looked down to realize that he had already drawn his second.

He was entirely out of bullets now and Robin was still standing.

He felt the anger pulsing through his veins. He waited for the familiar creep of green along his vision, but it never came. He searched and he waited for the green to come over him once more, but it was nowhere to be found. Just the constant and familiar pulse of his own anger. With that realization, though, he finally began to process that the words coming out of Robin’s mouth had changed.

“What, you want to add an innocent kid to your list? One more murder for the books, right? I have to say, this isn't very heroic of you—”

He was lunging towards Robin before the words even processed.

He felt like every hit was ten times heavier than normal. Like he could feel every strike reverberating through his entire skeleton. Robin just smiled back at him and fought with the ferocity of a cornered alley cat. Jason wished he could blame the Pit for this yet it was entirely his own anger. He didn't want to fight this imposter who looked like his child self. It was fucking up his brain. The kid had been clean of wounds before but now Jason swore he could see injuries lining up with the crowbar hits he could imagine in his head.

They fell into a pattern of viciousness as Robin used everything he had to try and stop Jason. It was a losing battle of course because Jason had years of experience on his younger self now. Despite the injuries Jason could see on him, Robin fought as if they weren’t there. As if he couldn’t even feel the pain. Focused only on striking back at Jason with cold precision.

He saw an opening and he struck hard and fast to take advantage before it even really clicked what he was about to do. His hand wrapped around Robin's throat with startling ease. He slammed Robin against the glass of the case behind him with enough force to cause fissures to spread in the glass. He hadn’t even realized they were back by the case now, but when he glanced into it behind Robin’s head he found that through the spiderweb of cracks it now stood completely empty.

He stared into the blank lenses of the mask as he pressed his hand tighter. Still Robin just looked at him with that smirk and opened his mouth. Jason's arm was in motion before the kid could even breathe out. He watched with apathy as Robin went flying away from him, landing with a sickening crack that somewhere under the numbness made him feel sick.

Robin lay there unmoving for several tense seconds before he suddenly pushed himself up. Jason wanted to run. He wanted to pick his feet up and leave here as fast as possible. He wanted to get away. He didn't want to be here anymore but somehow his body was walking forwards instead. Walking towards where Robin was pushing himself back up to standing with a lopsided smirk as his head teetered at a precarious angle, detached inside the neck yet still hanging on.

“Idiot. You can't kill what's already dead, stupid.” Robin’s head lolled to the other side but his smile stayed in place.

Jason shivered at both the words and the angle of Robin’s neck. You may not be able to kill something twice, but boy was Jason ready to try. It’d already happened to him. He knocked Robin back off his feet and then he was landing kicks to already broken ribs. Then he was down and punching at an already broken face because he needed him to shut up.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.

Robin just laughed at him from the ground and the laughter changed in pitch. Changed from that familiar carefree sound to another, even more familiar one. The sound that haunted him every day. He looked down and now instead of the red, green, yellow of Robin there was white, green, purple and then red red red. So much red all over him and all over the laughing figure below him looking up at him with a familiar frenzied smile.

His body froze up and now he couldn't land another punch even when he really, really wanted to beat the shit out of the bastard on the floor in front of him. Instead, he had to listen to that awful fucking laughter and feel the blood cooling on his hands and watch as the clown stood up. Listen to the crowbar scrape across the ground and the tickticktick down of the bomb. Feel every hit on his body and gasp as the wave of heat hit him as the timer hit zero—

He snapped awake fast but managed to stay completely still as he lifted an arm up and felt nothing but empty space.

There wasn't a lid.

There was nothing but the empty air, hopefully, above his bed. He could still see the image of Joker above him laughing as he dragged his hand down his face. He used his other hand to feel the rough pulled texture of his old cotton sheets. Sure they were soft, but they lacked the distinctive feel of silk or the silky softness of high-thread-count sheets.

He finally opened his eyes and was met with a disgustingly popcorned ceiling. The ceiling was, however, a glorious amount of feet away from his face. No hot breath deflected right back into his own face. He knew logically that part of the dream only felt so realistic because it was based on his own memories. Still left him feeling uncomfortable faced with the fact his subconscious was right.

Even after his conversation a couple of weeks ago with Alfred, he hadn't actually told Tim yet like he said he would. Alfred had said he could take his time but he really couldn't, could he? If he took too much time something exactly like that first half of his dream could potentially happen. It could happen so easily. They find his dead body and without realizing he's coming back again bury him in something no one is getting in or out of. Maybe this time they remember to put sensors inside that detect something trying to get out. Maybe not. Either way meant he needed to get it together.

At least he could hold on to the knowledge that Alfred wouldn't let that maniac show up at his funeral. He almost laughed at the image of Alfred hitting the crazy bastard over the head with a newspaper. He would. That man respected about three people in the world.

He pushed himself up to start on breakfast because there was no reason to try and go back to sleep now. At least this way he could get a good meal in and finish the book he had started yesterday. A perfect shitty-day activity. If only he wouldn't be consumed with thoughts about how the hell he was going to explain his situation to anyone and thinking way too deeply about that second part of the dream. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly what that scene with Robin was inspired by. He still was left wondering why his brain would conjure such a thing up.

Breakfast. He should really have breakfast before he had any more serious thoughts.

∆

Jason hated injuries he couldn't reach, above all else. It meant trying and straining to get it cleaned up. It meant way more time than he’d like spent cleaning up blood from wherever he’d accidentally dripped it while unable to see. Maybe he succeeded in treating it on his own. Maybe he gave in and asked for someone to come assist. Who knew what it would be on a given day. He knew what it was going to be on this day.

“Hey O, any one of good company out and about right now?” He shifted to get a better look at the long, thin scratch on his back in the mirror. It was bleeding a lot for something that looked so minor. He knew it was because it came from something sharp so, while thin, it went deeper than it looked like it did.

“Depends on who you consider good company. I wouldn’t consider any of you idiots good company.” Barbara didn’t even bat an eye at him suddenly jumping back onto their comm line after he’d told her he was signing off for the night. “Red Robin is still out even though he is being strongly encouraged to go in for the night.”

There was a huff from Tim as Barbara apparently added him into the call just to tell him to go to bed.

“If I promise to make him go to bed after, can he come help me out?”

There was a short silence as Barbara pretended to consider his offer.

“Alright I guess he can come for a sleepover.” With that and a few clicks, she switched the two of them over to their own comm line. Really, what would they do without her?

“Cool. Now that you two are done patronising me, where do I need to go and what’s the problem?”

Jason rattled off the address of this particular safehouse. He turned his head to the mirror to look again. “I've got a scrape on my back and I think it needs stitches.”

“Is this like an us scrape or a normal-people scrape?”

“It was just a piece of fucking glass; it's not that bad.”

“A piece of fucking glass can send people to the hospital, Hood.”

“Shut the fuck up. How far out are you?”

“Depends on if you're making good on that bedtime order.” Which it was an order. When it came from Barbara, at least.

Jason just hummed noncommittally and turned the comm off. He was totally going to enforce that bedtime but if he told Tim that, he'd probably send Alfred or someone to spite him. This way, Tim could think what he wanted and Jason had plausible deniability. He was sure Tim knew as well as he did that bedtime was happening, but if they both kept pretending they could act like it was a surprise. He started rehearsing his lines in his head in preparation anyways.

I never said I wouldn't send you to bed. Barbara will take her revenge out on both of us if I don't succeed. It’s nothing personal, just business.

He also took the time to grab everything Tim would need to sew up the gash while he was in the bathroom. He had already taken a shower, but that was just to wash off the blood in the general area. The fact there was still blood running down his back was what had made him think he needed the stitches in the first place. He carefully averted his eyes as he turned to leave the bathroom with the supplies. He didn't need to look at the horror show that was his chest right now. No use thinking about things he had no control over and couldn’t change.

He flicked the lights on in the living room and then made a quick detour to the kitchen. He grabbed a cloth and some cleaning solution, then took a second to wipe down the low coffee table he had thrown in front of the couch. He couldn't exactly scrub it without pulling at his back, but it was probably clean enough. He dumped the supplies he’d brought from the bathroom onto the now clean table. Now he just had to grab his current book and wait for Tim to show up and let himself in. Typical Bat interactions nowadays for him.

He read about six pages before he heard the sound of his window being unlatched and opened. He hadn't unlocked it in the hopes that, unlike Dick, one of the kids might eventually realize the window was not a viable point of entry for visiting. Hadn’t worked yet. Apparently nobody had come to the conclusion that, costume or not, they were in a shitty enough area no one would say shit about what they might have seen. Hell he walked in the front door in full gear sometimes if it’d been an especially rough night, and not one of his neighbours had said a word about it to him. Most he’d gotten was a plate of cookies from somebody's grandma after he saved a bus of people. The benefits of being based in one of the worse bits of Gotham.

Jason looked over the edge of his book with his best attempt at an Alfred look of disappointment. It was entirely ineffective as Tim gave him his most unimpressed dead-on-his-feet look. Seriously, did anyone ever check that this kid was actually sleeping? He was supposed to be the only zombie around here yet this kid was out here looking more the part than he ever did.

“Don't think I didn't catch you not answering that question, but judging by how you look right now, I can probably get away before you get me in a bed,” Tim said as he worked his shoes off. At least if he wasn’t going to use the front door he had the manners to take off his fucking shoes before stomping around in Jason’s place. Dick just walked on his hands while taunting him about how his shoes aren’t touching the floor, Jason—why does it matter if I’m wearing them inside or not?

“Oh sure.” Jason flashed him his most not reassuring smile. “I am but a weak damsel in distress and I most certainly couldn’t throw you into a bed right now if I wanted to.”

“Delightful,” Tim deadpanned. “Where’s your shit?”

Jason made a vague motion towards the coffee table but Tim had already started to trudge in that direction. He could hear Tim rummaging around and he made a token effort to at least finish the page he was on while he waited. He was having trouble focusing on the words now. His brain was hyper focused on the fact there was someone in his space even though he knew it was just Tim. His brain seemed unable to focus on any other fact. Like the fact he really wanted to finish the page of his book.

He put the bookmark in with a sigh as Tim finished finding what he wanted.

“Think you can sit up for this, or should you lay down instead?” Tim wasn’t even looking at him as he started arranging the supplies the way he wanted them. There was a reason Jason hadn't done anything besides dump them on the table. He knew Tim was going to put them how he wanted anyways, so what was the point?

Jason didn’t say anything and instead just turned to lie down on his front—after he put his book down on the coffee table, of course. He watched Tim work before moving to push his shirt up far enough that Tim could get to where he needed to. He would have just taken it off but he wasn’t exactly eager to have that conversation right now.

Finally Tim turned back to him with a raised eyebrow. Before assessing the wound with a critical eye.

“At least you got it mostly cleaned up first. I’m still going to wash it out with alcohol to make sure everything is good here.” Tim felt along the edges of the wound with light fingers before turning back to the table.

Jason nodded as a reply and let Tim get to work. He had already known what was coming when he let Tim come over to help him so it was not exactly like he needed a play-by-play of what was about to happen. They all had the same training about field medicine. He knew the procedures and orders of operation just as well as Tim did.

Though the complete silence as he worked was something different. Dick would have been chattering his ear off if he were here. Even when he was a kid, Alfred or Bruce would usually hold up an easy conversation with him while they sewed him up. The silence wasn’t exactly bad in comparison. Just unfamiliar.

Jason wouldn't exactly have called the atmosphere right now calm or relaxed. It definitely had those tired, quiet vibes of the end of regular patrol hours. Neither of them speaking and only the ever-familiar sounds of Gotham playing out in the background. It almost made him wonder if this was the right time to do it. To finally do as he’d told Alfred he would weeks ago. His mind, of course, helpfully reminded him of his nightmare a few days ago. He knew something that drastic would never happen in real life, of course. There was, however, a very real chance he’d wake up below ground if he didn’t tell someone what was going on.

He also didn't just invite Tim over all the time. Most of the people who wanted to talk to him would just find their own way in if they needed something from Jason. He wasn’t exactly known for his dinner parties or anything.

This was technically the perfect time. He could tell just from the pull and tug that Tim was almost done too, so shit, he needed to get it together. He tried to grasp at any semblance of how he had imagined this conversation going and opened his mouth—

“I can't stay dead anymore.” He'd never cringed so hard at the sound of his own voice before in his life. It completely shattered the silence of the room in a way that rubbed against his brain almost like a jolt of electricity. Behind him he heard the sound of the string go taut as the next pull was just that bit harsher than the previous.

“I'm not completely sure what happens when I die, but I don't stay dead.” He felt an unfamiliar need to fill the silence. “I’m not even sure if I’m right about it all, but weird shit has been happening and this is my best guess about how.”

Tim took a deep breath behind him and resumed working at his normal pace.

Jason was impressed. The kid must have taken lessons from Alfred to be able to contain himself and finish working after that absolute bomb of a confession. Bruce thought he was so good at it but they all knew Alfred had him beat. He had the patience of an old man who’d had to deal with a young Bruce Wayne. Nobody could outdo Alfred’s patience and tolerance for utter bullshit. Jason aspired to be that kind of old man.

Jason could feel Tim going through the familiar motions to tie off the end of the stitches. Jason definitely wanted to see his face now, because he hadn't said a word yet. It had his heart pumping hard enough he'd think it was trying to punch the couch if he didn't already know why it was beating like that. His brain had a steady chanting of What if he doesn't believe you? on repeat in the background now. He really shouldn’t have done this while Tim was behind him and he couldn’t see his expression. This was in fact a terrible idea and he was probably going to have to disappear from Gotham for a few months after this.

Jason finally turned around to sit properly on the couch and Tim just looked deep in thought. They sat there in silence as Jason started to consider whether this was really the right choice after all. Being buried alive built character. It had last time, at least. Character-building trauma that allowed him to be manipulated into almost killing most of his family. Oh yeah…that was why he was doing this. That, and he told Alfred he would and he was not about to go back on his word to Alfred of all people.

“How do you know?” Tim finally spoke up.

“Well the blood was a pretty obvious giveaway.” Jason had forgotten to plan this part. How does one convince someone they've been dying and coming back when there were no witnesses? He had no proof except his fallible human memories to convince Tim. “But, last time Dick said he hadn't heard from me in a few days and I remember being out that night. Hell, I was out with the two of you—I’m sure you remember too.”

“Okay.” Tim gave a little nod after, like that was that.

“Okay?” How could Tim even be considering believing him? That was the worst explanation in the history of undead brothers.

“I mean okay.” Tim's eyes were so intense Jason felt the urge to lean away. “I can't be completely sure that what you think is happening is happening, but I know you wouldn't lie to me about this.”

That was a whole level of trust Jason wasn't sure he'd ever get after being such an asshole. Really said something about Tim's standards, didn't it?

“I also know you definitely think you're telling the truth right now.” Tim's gaze still had that intense, hard aspect to it. Jason could definitely believe that Tim believed him right now.

“Well…thanks? I guess?”

Tim snorted.

“Don't hurt yourself now.” Tim reached over from the coffee table and gave Jason the singular, most condescending pat on the shoulder he'd ever had in his life. “Now I'm more concerned with how you realized this was happening.”

“Well—uh, shit.” Jason made the way safer choice of saying fuck his injury and used his hand on the arm of the couch to jump over the arm of it. He couldn't get any grip on the floor in his socks and those precious seconds as he started towards the door cost him. Tim tackled him from behind and they ended up wrestling on the floor. He tried to throw Tim off his back in a display that definitely showed absolutely zero of his fighting experience. That was, until a certain little shit elbowed him right where the fresh stitches were.

“You are a shitty, little bastard and I hope one of the stitches popped just so you have to redo it.” He had to hiss that beginning part through gritted teeth due to the pain, but he was sure Tim at least got the gist of what was being said.

“You're a dramatic, big bastard now sit on the couch so I can look.” The implied and we can talk went unsaid but Jason heard it anyway. Instead of letting Tim help him up he flipped him off for good measure. “Stop being a whiny baby and come here.”

Jason decided to take the offered hand only because now he knew he wasn't getting away. Best to get this conversation over as quickly as possible. He was sure little Mr. Detective is not happy with the amount of biological evidence he was going to have to admit to leaving around. Bleeding out was very messy for everyone and everything involved. He was also going to have to deal with the massive hypocrite who definitely wasn't going to approve of a little solitary death napping. Like he wouldn’t run off to some far corner of the world to die if that was an option.

“Listen it’s not like I’m even sure that’s exactly what is happening. Hard to tell when I’m completely out for the count.” He said as he sat back down on the couch.

“Okay…I'm just going to pretend we're sure of that; it's less concerning.” Tim said as he slowly started inspecting the stitches. Jason was pretty sure none of them had actually popped or he would have noticed that.

“You know that's how we feel about you, Timmy.” He batted his eyelashes innocently.

“Yes, and that is irrelevant right now. No distracting from the topic.”

Jason had the extreme urge to flip him off again but he somehow contained it.

Tim stayed quiet for a moment before nodding, seemingly to himself, his lips pressed into a grim line. He looked back up at Jason then. “Okay. I need a rundown first about how you think you died. Both times, Jason.”

“Uh…isn't once enough? Same outcome each time.” Jason tried for shit-eating grin, but it probably came off more akin to guilty dog attempting appeasement.

It didn't work.

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that made him look unnervingly like Bruce before taking a deep breath. He mumbled something under his breath that Jason swore he could almost hear but no that couldn't be what he thought he heard.

“What was that, Timbits?”

“I said, 'Bitch, did I stutter?' ”

Jason's jaw dropped. His hearing had been exactly correct and now he didn’t know if he should be feeling proud or offended. “I thought you were the posh society kid?”

“I thought you were the guy who sees his own first death as comedy gold and talks about it at every possible opportunity. You buy Grateful Dead merchandise and I'm like eighty percent sure you don't even listen to that band and it's just to see us all squirm.” Tim gave him a challenging look as if he expected Jason to argue the point.

Us all basically meaning Dick and Bruce, because it was belatedly occurring to Jason that Timothy had never seemed as bothered by the constant flow of morbid comments and references.

…And there went Jason's best deflection strategy for when things got too personal, Goddamnit. He was starting to realize just how much danger he was actually in right now.

Tim seemed to know that too. Little bastard. He could smell blood in the water for miles apparently.

“Now talk; walk me through the next two deaths.” The younger boy narrowed his eyes, his tone going hard. “Both. Times.”

“Okay, okay, geez. No need to get your green panties in a twist.” He rolled his eyes, but then swallowed nervously, wondering where to start.

“Yeah, I'm not the one who wore the scalies, thank you very much.” Tim folded his arms with a sniff, and Jason choked on his own spit.

“Oh, really?” Hell, maybe they could just keep exchanging volleys all night until Tim collapsed from exhaustion, and Jason would be saved.

Those hopes were dashed as Jason straightened from coughing to find the kid holding a pen and notepad he definitely hadn't had a second ago.

Jason's notepad, he was pretty sure…which he hadn't been able to locate himself for literal months.

…How the fuck.

That cheeky little bastard. He definitely wasn’t returning any of that equipment he so kindly borrowed last time they met up at Tim’s place before a bust.

Jason blinked hard and did his best to read the messy scrawl that was already decorating the page.

Possible symptoms:

—Elevated anxiety, edging on paranoia

—Hearing loss

—Cognitive impairment

Note: No indications of genuine memory loss.

Why, that little shit.

And damn it all to hell…Jason took the bait.

He started with the second incident, though. Talked about it in excruciating detail, in hopes the brat would be sated by the time it came time to discuss the other incident.

Tim kept up with him easily, hand flying across the paper to scribble note after note and even a rough diagram or two. He hardly paused, even when he interrupted Jason to ask questions himself. And boy did the kid have questions.

Jason answered them as best he could, hoping the kid wouldn't get suspicious about his sudden willingness to spill.

Tim didn't seem suspicious, but he did seem just a little bit angry, the grim line of his lips and glint of his eyes only hardening with each new round of fumbled explanations from Jason.

Probably pissed that Jason was wasting his time with a theory that sounded this fucking crazy. Besides, it wasn't like it was an actual problem, really. Like, NOT being able to stay dead? At a job as risky as theirs? Yeah, where's the fucking tiny violin?

Still, he did keep taking notes…although it was probably just more salty commentary on Jason's mental state at this point.

A length of silence ensued as Jason finished the tale of his maybe-third dance with Lady Death. And then—

“I have only one question.” Tim was giving him a scrutinizing look.

“I think you’ve had a lot more than one question, Timbits, but go ahead. Shoot.”

“Why the hell didn’t you call us? We saw you hours before this happened, Jason. I don’t want to think you’re hiding injuries and going off to die in a corner every time I see you in the field from now on, so you better have a damn good explanation.” Tim looked practically livid by the end. Jason froze completely as he stared back at Tim.

Fuck.

That was not the type of question he was expecting. It was the type of question that he didn’t really have a good answer to even for himself.

He licked his lips nervously.

“I tried to.” It came out much hoarser than he wanted to but it had the intended effect.

Tim leaned back in his seat with a shocked look.

“I tried to call you guys. Right before I passed out I realized something was wrong. Couldn’t get to my phone.” Jason didn’t mention the agonizing flames of pain he’d had to deal with while trying to do it. The way his body had given out and he’d been unable to reach the phone. The panic.

“Shit…that’s just—shit.”

“Yeah that about sums it up pretty well really. Good job.” He purposefully made his voice as patronizing as he could manage. It didn’t work to pull Tim out of his thoughts and he really didn’t want Tim to spend time thinking about the what-ifs of that night though. In the end, only Jason was to blame for what happened.

“Alright I’m going to break something if I think about that any longer so why don’t you tell me about the other time?” Tim said it casually but Jason could see the glint in his eyes. There was absolutely nothing subtle about picking that as the topic change.

Fuck.

“Uh, well, not much to tell for that time I guess.”

“How long ago was it?”

Jason hummed vaguely. “Couple of years, I think?” It took a positively Herculean effort for Jason to suppress the instinctive habit of scratching his throat, right at the damned scar. He wasn’t about to let any tells as obvious as that slip through during a conversation with Tim. He knew better. “Some idiot got a lucky shot in, I guess. Threw a knife, and—”

“A Batarang, you mean?”

Double fuck.

His efforts were in vain. He glanced back towards the window again in contemplation.

Tim huffed out a tiny laugh with even less humor. “I know what a Batarang wound looks like, Jason. It doesn't look the same as one of the Wingdings, so Dick is out. And it's not one of the Demon Brat's knives, either. I know what those look like, too. Intimately.” His teeth were bared in a feral cross between a smile and a grimace at that last statement. Scary little kid. “So. Batarang. And there aren't a lot of civilians who have the skill to aim and actually nail one of us, especially not at”—and here he faltered for the first time in the entire conversation—“at a vital spot.”

“I—maybe?”

“Okay next question then.” Tim’s voice was dripping with pure saccharine as he looked up from his notepad to Jason. “He slit your fucking throat?”

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t like that.” Jason looked away from Tim’s burning eyes. “I’m not sure he even knew what he did.”

“He’s never asked you about it?” Tim was obviously losing his cool now as his voice went up in pitch.

“I didn’t want to fucking talk about it.” Once again Jason thought about his two most recent interactions with Bruce. That time in the house…he just seemed so confused. Jason had really been the one upset and pushing it. “I’m also not sure he even knows what the fuck happened.”

No—that, he knew for sure.

Surely Bruce would have showed more concern if he knew Jason had actually fucking died? Especially when it was his own fault.

Tim blew out a breath and leaned back into the couch even more.

“Okay, what do you know that he knows about the situation for certain?” Tim’s face was calculating as he looked Jason over.

“Well he saw that it hit my throat and I was bleeding and shit, but the bomb went off right after that. I’m not actually sure he knew how much it was actually fucking bleeding. He definitely doesn’t know about the shit that happened afterwards.” Jason shrugged helplessly. That was all true. Even if it wasn’t stuff he was thinking about until Alfred had made him realize that was an option. That maybe Bruce hadn’t intended for any of that to happen and Jason’s own beliefs in Bruce’s abilities to control situations was clouding his judgement. Bruce was only a man, and Jason knew that better than most.

“The fact he knew it even hit your throat makes me want to drive to the Manor right fucking now.” Tim’s face was getting closer and closer to something you’d see on a supervillain, the smile spreading across his cheeks practically shimmering with danger. “There’s absolutely no reason to leave you to fend for yourself with a bleeding throat for someone like the Joker.”

“Listen I’m not defending what he did or shit, but I’m just…not sure how much he knew about what happened.”

He also really didn’t want to influence Tim’s opinion of what may or may not have happened, when now he wasn’t even sure on his own.

“I get that. I really do.”

Jason sensed there was an exception about to come.

“But, right now I really want to punch his stupid face in for leaving you like that and being responsible for you literally dying, Jason. I don’t particularly give a shit if he knew you died from it or not. It was always a possibility and he did not know if you were coming back.”

Jason pursed his lips as he watched Tim get up and pace for a moment. There really wasn’t anything he could tell Tim other than what he already had. The situation was so complicated even Jason himself wasn’t sure about everything that had happened that night. Maybe that was partially due to the fact that most of what had happened was a blur in his memory. He could barely even remember the words he said and he preferred it that way.

He wouldn’t even have been thinking about what Bruce did and didn't know if it hadn’t been for Alfred. It wasn’t something he’d ever really considered before. Maybe it was still a little bit of that belief in Batman that he’d never been able to fully kill. That Batman knew everything always. That Batman wasn’t just Bruce, who didn’t always know everything. It was a hard thing to realize.

Eventually Tim let out a sigh that startled him out of his thoughts, and turned back to him. “I’m definitely hacking into the files later and watching what actually happened, just so you know.”

Before Jason could protest, Tim continued. “And, no, you can’t stop me or convince me otherwise. Someone who isn’t you two idiots needs to know what actually happened.”

Jason noticed there was no mention of the third person who was present that night. He would really rather Tim not see him how he was that night but he already knew damn well the fucking kid wasn’t going to listen to him no matter what he said. He could also accept the utility of having an outside party observe what had actually happened. Tim had already seen and dealt with him at his worst, so it wasn't like this could possibly be the thing that fucked up his opinion of Jason.

He settled for disgruntled grumbling.

Hey, he could still be pissed off about shit he saw the necessity of.

And at least Jason actually saw the necessity of it, which definitely put him ahead of a certain emo furry with a precedent for violence.

Speaking of Bruce, however, reminded him of something else he needed to mention about the whole incident.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone are you?”

Tim wasn’t exactly the snitch type but he still felt like he should at least ask. Make sure Tim knew he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone else.

“I…” Tim sat back against the couch with a thoughtful expression. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes either. It was just the two of them sitting there in complete silence as Tim considered what he’d said.

Jason wasn't really sure he liked how this was turning out.

“You know that we interact with what most people consider to be one of the greatest groups of detectives on a daily basis, right? I’m impressed no one has noticed that scar sooner and known what it meant.”

“You’re all too busy looking at my handsome face.” Tim gave him a flat look. “I’m not saying I’m going to tell someone but the likeliness that someone is going to figure it out is high. It’s seriously surprising and concerning that none of us have noticed sooner. If they do notice, and they mention how it likely happened, I'm going to tell them the truth of how it happened.” Tim’s face spoke of a low tolerance for any nonsense.

That was really the most Jason could ask of him. He didn’t want Tim to cover for Bruce or any shit like that.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, do you want to try telling me what actually happened?”

Jason could only answer with a tiny nod, dazed at how quickly this was all going off the rails in front of him.

“And you said two years ago?”

“More or less?” Jason hedged weakly.

Tim was neither impressed nor amused, based on the withering look he shot in response. “That was when you kidnapped the Joker, wasn't it?”

Jason winced, though whether just at the mention of the Joker or the reminder of his own insanity, his own stupidity, he couldn't have said.

Tim tapped pen against paper for a lingering moment, eyes darting back and forth but looking at the middle distance rather than Jason. “The report said you alternated between threatening Batman and the Joker with the same gun, Batman disarmed you, and you detonated the building and fled the scene. There wasn't a single mention of”—he gestured to his own throat in a similar spot before biting his lip. “I don't.…” It was Tim's turn to swallow. “I don't know what was going through B's mind then. But that”—and here something ferocious shone in his eyes, and his canines flashed just a little as he spoke—“that was sloppy. And it was stupid. You don't—and over the Joker?!” His voice rose in pitch then as he scrubbed a frustrated hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face irritably.

Jason suppressed a wince, rising to meet Tim's anger with his own. “I know, I know! It was stupid! You don't think I've told myself that? I wasn't exactly at my best there, Timbo! You should remember—”

Tim went from pale to absolutely gray then, hand frozen with a death grip on his hair before he slowly lowered it. He couldn't fully hide the tremor as he did so.

Oh. Fuck. Fuck. “Shit. Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't—I wasn't—”

Tim swallowed, hard, a tiny smile on his face. “I was talking about Bruce, actually.” And his voice was soft, so soft, just in case Jason didn't already feel like the worst piece of scum this side of Gotham.

Tim rapidly tapped the pen against the notepad in a fidgeting gesture before beginning to write again with blinding speed, an eerie intensity on his face. His opposite hand moved slowly by contrast, absently scratching near the collar of his costume.

Tim had the same tic as him. And Jason nearly vomited as the realization came to him alongside flashes of that night at Titans Tower. Green and yellow and green and red, so much red. He'd slit the kid's throat. He'd slit the kid's throat.

Where the fuck did he get off being angry at Bruce when he'd done the same damned thing to Tim? And Bruce—he'd—he'd at least had a half-decent reason. Tim had just been unlucky enough to get caught in the path of a Lazarus-laced asshole with an ax to grind and an elegantly-dressed serpent whispering in his ear.

“Jason? Jason!”

Jason snapped back to reality at the sound of Tim urgently calling his name.

The kid's eyes were a little red-rimmed. Jason told himself it was because of how late it was.

Jason was a terrible liar even to himself.

But Tim's voice was calm and unwavering when he spoke. “I need to get the rest of the story.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry.” Jason cleared his throat, scrubbing both hands over his face. “Shit, it's late. I—maybe we should finish this tomorrow, kid. I'm not—”

“No.” Tim's voice was granite, hard and flat and cold. “We finish this tonight. You just told me that you've died at least three times now, and one of those was courtesy of B. And you haven't been much more forthcoming than he has. I'm not leaving this damn apartment until I get answers, so save it. We'll sleep when we're done.”

So, Jason told this story in excruciating detail, too.

To his credit, Tim kept a blank mask, not reacting even as Jason talked about waking up in the shower, coated in his own blood.

By the time he finished, Jason was slumped in exhaustion but Tim seemed as chipper as ever, his fever-bright mad-scientist eyes at odds with the dark circles shadowing them.

“And those are all the times you're sure of?”

Jason nodded slowly.

Tim hummed. He went back to writing. And didn't speak for a long time after. Didn't even glance at Jason again.

Jason let the silence continue as long as he could stand it. “Look. Ki—Tim. I know you're pissed at me.”

Tim paused, arching a brow, but still not meeting his eyes. “Cool. Do you know why?”

Even though the kid wasn't looking, Jason nodded anyways, working to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I shouldn't have said that shit earlier.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

“And I know you probably think I'm wasting your time—”

“Really?” Tim hissed, sitting up irritably and finally putting down the notepad, tossing the pen on top of it.

It wasn't even that loud, but Jason had to suppress a flinch at the noise anyways. Damn it, there was a reason he'd barely wanted to tell even Alfred, let alone anyone else.

“Jason. I'm pissed because if this is right, you've died alone, two times, since Ethiopia, and tried to call for help exactly half of one of those times.”

“…What?” He felt inclined to ask what half of one of those times meant but he didn’t think it’d be appreciated at the moment.

“And yeah, the first time I get. That was…that was bad. It was really bad, okay, and I get why you didn't think anyone would help. But we wouldn't have just let you die.” Tim was picking up speed now, and his pitch rose again. “But the second time?! Jay, what do you think it would've done to Dick if his little brother had—”

Jason scoffed in spite of himself. “What makes you think Dick would care about his little brother when he has so many backups—”

“Don't you dare.” And Tim was snarling now. “Don't you fucking dare do this shit with me right now. I was there after you died and it fucking broke them.”

Jason had never heard the kid cussing this much, and vaguely wondered if he'd broken him. Oops. …Then again, he hadn't honestly spent that much time just hanging out with the kid off the clock, so it wasn't like he could really judge whether this was normal for him.

“B was the worst, yeah, but it messed up Dick, too. Bad. If he hadn't already had the Titans around, I would've been more worried about him. And he and Bruce.…” Tim trailed off before shaking his head as though to clear out the thoughts. “That's not even the point, though!”

“Then what is?” Jason rasped, throat feeling coated and thick as he tried to push away the thoughts of everything Tim had implied. Tim had just been a kid then. Hell, he was a kid now. What did he really know about it? He was already haunted by thoughts like this and especially after his most recent conversation with Alfred.… Well he’d already been thinking everything over again.

Tim blinked up at him, the mussed hair hanging in front of his eyes making him look even younger than he was. “You nearly—no. You died. You died, Jason. Again. And we didn’t even know. You were in Gotham this time—both times now! We were all miles away from you while you died all alone. What part of that is okay?”

Jason was speechless for a long moment. “Didn't think I would be able to convince you this easily.”

Tim furrowed his brow, puzzled. “Well, I needed more data before reaching any conclusions. Still do, actually, except this isn't exactly a result we want to try and replicate, which would normally be the next step.” He worried at his lip for a moment and Jason could practically see the calculations running through his brain. Another little head shake. “But that doesn't mean I can't still take it seriously in the meantime. Why do you think I've been taking all the notes?” he asked with a huff, gesturing at the notepad that still rested on the couch.

“W-why, though? Thought you'd just figure I was crazy…er.”

Tim sighed, letting his posture go slack finally and leaning back to stare up at the ceiling, legs stretched out and arms folded across his chest. He eventually murmured, “I know what it's like to have people not to believe you. To say that you're crazy and not even give you a real chance to prove yourself. And obviously something is going on. You should have died, based on the location and apparent severity of the injuries. Blood loss would've been bad, and those kinds of wounds don't just clot on their own without treatment. Not quickly enough to prevent a fatal level of haemorrhaging.

“And we already know you absolutely died for real once, and that some weird stuff happened surrounding that. The Lazarus managed to bring you back, which it's not even supposed to be able to do, especially not after that long a—”

Jason frowned, cutting him off. “Lazarus didn't bring me back.”

Now it was Tim's time to ask, “…What?”

“The Lazarus didn't bring me back. That happened after I was already up and kickin' again.”

“That.…” Tim trailed off, looking at the window before quickly snapping back to look at Jason. “That changes a lot of the information I’ve been working off of. Tell me everything you know about what happened then.”

Yeah, that was a whole conversation. Explaining what he barely remembered about waking up in his coffin and limited memories of being somewhere bright and then the League. By the end, Tim looked even more exhausted than when they’d started, and that was a feat in and of itself.

“Well, upside is that at this point I think you might be able to get an HBO special with all the death material you have. Tickets or I riot,” Tim said conversationally.

Jason barked out a surprised laugh, which Tim returned with a small grin of his own. “So.…”

Tim arched a brow again.

“What next? Didn't really have a plan beyond 'tell Timmy' and 'hope he doesn't lock me up in Arkham.' Gonna assume you’re already working on one of those barely legal plans of yours though.”

Tim kicked his shin. Hard. “I'm the family genius, in case you're forgetting. I'm not even sure why we still use Arkham,” he grumbled, expression pinched and voice sounding a little petulant.

“Tradition?” Jason offered mildly.

Tim snorted. “Anyways, I'd come up with a way better prison if we needed to lock you up. Somewhere that'd actually keep you, because I'm pretty sure you'd be out of Arkham in less than forty-eight hours. We both would.”

“Forty-eight? Oh, Timbits, you wound me. Make it twelve. …Probably about all I could stand,” he added in a mutter. He raised his voice to say, “And where did you enter this scenario? Since when have you had to even worry about Arkham.”

Tim flinched and went visibly paler for a second before his expression smoothed over again. Before leaning forward to whisper, “You'd be surprised.”

“…You're shitting me. They have never—”

“No, but it's been discussed,” Tim answered, voice light and airy. He wasn’t looking at Jason, though, which was the only thing that broke his aristocratic nonchalant act.

“You're shitting me,” Jason said again, more emphatic this time.

The answering grin from Timmy was utterly feral, and sent what might have been the tiniest of full-body shivers through Jason's frame.

“I had to take down the entire League of Shadows by myself. Do you really think that was my first choice? I asked, they answered, we disagreed, and I went out and handled everything by myself like I always do.” Tim’s smile hadn’t dropped the entire time he spoke.

Maybe he had really, really misread this kid. Worse than he'd ever realized.

The moment passed and Tim relaxed again, sleepy-eyed and resting his chin in his palm as he peered up at Jason in between paging through the sheaf of paper. “I think…the second thing we need to work on is pest management.”

“Second?”

Tim leveled him with a Look. “The first thing is actually picking up the phone, dumbass,” he spat.

Jason stuck out his tongue.

Tim flipped him off without even looking, head already bent over the work again. “I already have some ideas. Based on the scenarios you've described so far, this kind of thing can be pretty unpredictable, so we'll want a passive system that won't require additional deployment after you're already injured. I'm thinking a two-pronged approach here.” He shifted on the couch and twisted so that he was more side-by-side with Jason rather than across from him.

Jason scooted over obligingly and leant over so he could see what was outlined in the notes.

Tim gestured with the end of the pen as he spoke. “I could probably modify some of the sonic emitters we use to signal the bat bats. If I change the frequencies and alter them to a persistent signal rather than on-demand, it should do a good job of repelling most bugs. It's pretty strongly amplified already with the kind of range and obstructions we have to account for in order to reach the Cave.”

That…that actually sounded pretty amazing. Jason just nodded, though. “You said two-pronged,” he prompted.

Tim nodded back quickly. “You don't have any allergies, right?”

Jason grinned and Tim rolled his eyes before he could even voice it. “Other than crowbars and bullets?”

“I will stab you with this pen if I have to, sweaty.” He poked Jason's ribs for emphasis.

“I’m not afraid of your Gucci pen.”

“I don’t know whether to be more offended that you’d suggest I’d buy from Gucci or the fact I know that you know exactly what brand of pen this is.” Tim gave him a flat look. “Now are you going to answer me or do I need to hack into your medical records?”

Jason laughed before shaking his head. “Nah. Nothing I can think of.”

“Good. We should be able to use citronella and some other essential oils then. I'm kinda fuzzy on it—not exactly something I need to check often, since we already have our standard repellents we use on missions—so I'll have to check the list of applicable herbs again, but I can probably add a secondary feature to the radio emitters where they also dispense traces of an oil blend in order to further dissuade insects. I'd rather not use stronger chemicals, because I don't think the constant exposure would be a good idea. Even for you,” he added in that weird soft voice again.

Tim wrote down in the notepad once more before handing it back to Jason once again.

He skimmed the information on the page with a raised brow. “Should I ask what you need industrial-grade hydrogen peroxide for?”

“You, obviously.” Tim rolled his eyes as if it was the most obvious information in the world.

Jason gestured with the notepad for him to elaborate.

“What? Are you just expecting me to walk around with a whole crime-scene cleaning kit all the time? You're going to need to stock your safehouse up on the relevant chemicals.”

“I—that's fair enough I guess. How are we getting this shit though? I'm assuming you don't want to order a bunch of shit to clean up a body with and if I do it Bruce will be on my ass faster than you can say 'Holy Dead Zombie Batman!' “

“I hate that you're right...I'll get Alfred to sign off on it.” Tim brushed by that last part entirely. “You're going to be the one to explain it to him later, though. I'm sure he'll sign off on it in the Batcomputer so it doesn't throw up any flags.”

“Great, as if my safehouses weren't full of enough shit already. Everyone already thinks me and Bruce are really dedicated doomsday preppers. This is not helping my case.”

“Well in your defense you are prepping for doomsday. Unfortunately, in Gotham, doomsday is often referred to as Tuesday.”

“Just Tuesday? You’ve got some real faith in Gotham, Bristol.” “Yes, well, that’s statistically the most likely day for nearly city-destroying incidents in Gotham so you can’t really argue with the statistics.”

Jason wondered where Tim even stored all this information. He always seemed to be pulling hundreds of facts from memory. Why would he even need to know natural chemicals that repelled bugs? As he considered this he took a closer look at Tim, only to have his focus drawn to the bags under the kid’s eyes. Jason hadn’t even noticed how tired Tim was getting throughout their conversation, but now that he’d noticed he couldn’t ignore the fact.

Not that he didn't try to for a few more minutes, but. Well. Barbie was gonna be on his ass if he didn't get him to sleep after she had so helpfully lured Tim to his apartment. And it was bad form to stiff accomplices. The Red Hood had a reputation to maintain.

For the above very good and strictly business reasons, Jason decided to excuse himself to the kitchen for a few minutes while the kid continued to cook up plans. Hell, he almost wasn't sure the kid even noticed he had gone, for all he reacted to it.

He'd definitely noticed, though. Because: Bat. They were annoying like that.

Tim still hadn't actually looked up, though, by the time Jason returned. Which made Jason feel decidedly better about the whole thing. Kid needed to learn to keep his wits about him, after all. Really Jason was doing him not one, but two favours tonight.

He was generous like that.

“So…where exactly does sleep factor into all of this?” He said as he carefully set the cup of tea from his right hand down in front of Tim.

“Sleep?” Tim frowned and scanned the page before flipping through a couple more. “Is that what we're calling it when you're out? Well, yeah, we'll need to figure out some kind of monitoring system probably, because even if the bugs won't be a problem anymore, we can't just risk you lying out in the street for three days in Gotham. Or anywhere, really.”

“No, I meant actual sleep. Like your style, though. Good thinking. Incoming order for Jason Todd: Dirt nap—hold the dirt.”

“Again. I have. A shiv.”

“Easy, John Wick. I did promise Babs—”

“You didn't promise shit, actually. Don't think I didn't catch that.” Tim scrutinised the cup of tea before taking a cautious sip.

“Relax, it’s just chamomile. Seems like somebody's getting testy from lack of sleep. Sounds like it’s past your bedtime.”

“Like you've had any more sleep than me. You look like shit.”

“Yeah, but that's just my permanent style these days, Timbo. I'm not really one of the pretty ones. Death gives a lady a certain pallor ya know? You, on the other hand—”

“Please don't finish that statement. Death and roaches I can handle, but I did not sign up for the trauma of getting complimented on my looks.” He shuddered.

The kid actually looked a tiny bit green, though, so Jason didn't push, suddenly uncomfortable and a little nervous. As many cracks as Jason had made about Dick's short-lived modelling career, this sort of thing was apparently an actual sore spot for Robin III. Wonder what that's about. Maybe just dealing with vapid parents who considered an untrimmed fingernail or a hair not perfectly encapsulated with gel to be a borderline war crime.

“Still need to get some sleep, kid.”

“Not until we've worked out more details for the contingency plans. You can’t just dump this absolute bomb of a possibility on me and then expect me to go off to sleep. I’m going to be up all night thinking about all the possibilities and options now. I have twelve different theories about how this is all happening already.” Tim had a manic look to his eyes now.

“Fine,” Jason grumbled. It would be nice to have less to panic about next time this happened. …Next time, because somehow they both had already made the jump to assuming he was going to keep dying on the job. A reasonable assumption on both their parts really. Tim for reasonably assuming his track record with personal safety was awful and Jason for reasonably assuming the world was against him personally. He truly was getting fucked over by the world in new ways every day.

Considering whether or not he made an attempt to stay alive the choice seemed to be out of his hands most days, he found this a fair concern. It wasn’t like he went around with a death wish every day…anymore.

It was no wonder Goldie was so cheerful all the time. He just went around vacuuming all the ignored happiness and optimism reserves of everyone else in the family. In the not-a-family. Team. Whatever the fuck they all were.

“Now there’s a lot of things I don’t really know about all this so for now these are going to be my best guesses and theories. We’ll need to perform some tests next time for me to get any sort of confirmation on whether or not any of them are correct. I guess we should deal with that first, though.” Tim looked thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment.

“Deal with what?”

“What we’re going to do when you die. I don’t know if you know this Jason, but I can’t exactly drive a hearse over and pick you up like some sort of demented taxi service. Everyone else in this family is nosy. They’re going to want to know things that you aren’t going to want them to know.”

Jason cringed at that.

“I’ll also have to make you some sort of I’m-a-dead-idiot beacon. Don’t want you just pushing your panic button to get me to come every time. It’s not really an emergency at that point if it takes you several days to come back.”

Jason wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or agree with the logic of that assumption. It wasn’t an emergency if he was already dead but it was also a little offensive to hear his own dead body got such a low priority ranking.

Before Tim could continue down that rabbit hole, which Jason knew for a fact would quickly lead to neither of them sleeping tonight, he interrupted Tim’s train of thought with the other big question.

“The hell do you think's going on with all of it, anyways?” That’s the question that was really concerning Jason. Probably because it was the one that had the most repercussions on his life, depending on the answer. “What if this shit means that I can never die again? Ever? I’ll just be…stuck here. Like the world's most boring-ass phoenix or some shit.” A laugh bubbled up from Jason's chest, and if the wheeze on the tail end of it was tinged with a sliver of hysteria, well, that was nobody's business but his own. Okay, and probably Tim's now.

“Mm, it's probably not anything that dramatic. This would all be a little less complicated if you hadn’t been exposed to the Lazarus before we knew about your ability to come back. It really throws a wrench in what we know and what we don’t know. The Lazarus causes issue enough with the idea of regeneration and what coming back from the dead even constitutes without layering it on top of our current problem.” He sighed in audible frustration, nose wrinkling as he jotted something else down. “Since you've continued to visibly age since you were fifteen, we can assume it hasn't halted your ageing process entirely. So most likely it acts in response to more acute trauma.”

Jason wondered if now was a good time to mention he was pretty sure the Lazarus was much quieter now than it had been. He had his own suspicions for why that was. If he wanted either of them to sleep today he should probably wait to bring that up, however.

“Kind of like an enhanced version of your body's natural responses. You continue the natural deterioration caused by ageing, but acute instances of damage like injury or maybe illness—illness, we need to see how you respond to that now—anyways, that will prompt extra resources to be diverted in order to repair the damage. So you'll still die of old age. Just not of anything like a bullet to the head or arrow to the knee.” He flashed a grin at the last bit.

Jason rolled his eyes with a snort. “Yeah, and if it is 'anything that dramatic'?” he pressed.

Tim winced a tiny bit. “Sorry. Crappy choice of words.”

” 'S'fine.” Jason shrugged. He couldn’t really pick now of all times to start getting all uppity and offended by choice of words. Not when Tim was here, offering to help him with something truly insane.

Tim nodded in return and worried at his lip for a second, expression going murky again as he thought. “Two more main scenarios I have.” He lifted a finger. “One. The Lazarus and unknown element—let's just call it Factor X—are enhancing your cell repair and production more aggressively on a constant basis and on a wider scale, not just in the event of acute trauma. If that's what's going on, you'll still age, but it'll be more slowly than average. You still die eventually, but it just takes longer to get there. Good news is you'll be able to maintain peak condition a lot longer, too. Won't have to retire any time soon.”

“Oh, joy. There goes my out.” Jason was more comforted by the news than he'd ever admit. He'd be a dirty liar if he said he really thought he could function without the “night work” at this point. The fuck was he going to do—work in corporate later? Fuck no. “What's the other scenario?” he prompted, jerking his chin at the younger boy.

Tim gave a small, apologetic smile. “It may just be that you're still…not twenty-five.”

“The hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Well…twenty-five is about when you'll reach complete physical and brain development. Your cells stop reproducing at a rate greater than they die and you begin the actual process of ya know.” He waved a hand vaguely instead of finishing the statement.

“And it's all downhill from there. Yeah, I know.”

“Not technically accurate, but okay, close enough.”

“Because you all know how formal I am.”

“You're at least as big a nerd as me, Mr. Austen, so don't even try it.”

“Careful, Timmy.”

He held up his palms in placation. “No shade to Austen, honestly.”

“That's Mrs. Austen to you.”

“Okay, I'm gonna ignore that.”

” 'S'your own fault, Tim-Tam.”

“As I was saying…it might be that you're only ageing until you reach that threshold.”

Jason swallowed, throat feeling hoarse and dry. “And then?” he croaked, feeling his pulse start to pick up slightly.

“Nothing,” Tim said, with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

“Nothing,” Jason repeated flatly.

“Yeah. It might just…stop the process entirely there, and you won't age anymore. No cells dying faster than they can reproduce or anything. You'll just…live. At least that way you'll be in good shape. The other option has you in good condition for a long time, but the decline will also be pretty long, and that might get nasty.” He cringed a little.

“So I'm just…here. Forever.”

“Only if that's actually what's going on here. I really don't think it is. Although…magic, or stuff that seems like it, can be pretty unpredictable, so.”

Jason let out a laugh. It was a rough, humourless sound. “Great. So I may just be stuck here for forever, literally forever, as the world marches on and the same shitty cycles repeat and everyone around me”—he choked off at the last bit, breaths ratcheting up and nausea rising in his gut—“everyone is…fuck. Fuck, Tim. Fuck, I can't—I don't—if.”

“Jason? Jason! Easy.” He snagged Jason's hand, pressing it to his own chest. “Follow my breaths. You know the pattern already. In for four, hold for four, exhale nice and slow. In for four, that's it…exhale. Good.”

When his breaths had calmed enough for him to actually be capable of speech again, he whispered the only thought that was playing in his mind now, screaming on repeat. “I don't want to be alone. I don't—I don't want to be alone. I can't.” And that was the truth of it, no matter how hard he tried to distance himself and how much he convinced himself he didn't really need the Bats anymore: They were still there, still around, and even if he didn't see them all the time, it wasn't the same as actually being alone.

“You won't be,” Tim replied, his voice taking on that same unyielding quality it'd had when he'd demanded answers after the revelation about Bruce.

This only left Jason bitter and confused, though. “You—you can't promise that.”

Tim scoffed. “Please. I already have plans for that.”

Jason's brain screeched to a halt. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen and he'd misheard. “You have plans. For being immortal.”

Tim shrugged, picking at the sleeve of his costume. He'd let go of Jason's hand but hadn't shimmied back from his personal space as he might've expected. The kid really wasn't scared of him anymore, apparently. “Nothing concrete,” he said casually, “but I already know a couple of avenues I can explore.”

Jason watched him with wide eyes, unable to speak any further. Shit, this kid really was in danger of becoming a super villain with one wrong move.

“First option would be the League.”

Or he already was a super villain in disguise.

Jason found his words again. “…Please tell me you mean the Justice League.”

There was that unimpressed look again. “Nope, I mean the Mean Green Murder Team.”

“You're gonna ask Talia for help?”

“Who said anything about Talia? Or asking?”

“Timmy. You can't possibly mean Ra's is going to help.”

“Not willingly, no. But Ra's is…he's not that hard to deal with. Not really. I know what he wants, and I know how to make him think he's getting it.” Tim swallowed, and a tiny shudder rippled through his frame this time. And that same green tinge from earlier was back, though now Jason wasn't sure if it was from Tim's skin or just his own eyes. Maybe both.

“More importantly”—and now Tim's gaze rose from his hands to solidly meet Jason's eyes, something ferocious taking over his expression—“I know his weaknesses. Ra's isn't as mysterious as he thinks and he sure as hell isn't as invincible as he thinks. He wants a successor? He'll fucking have one. I collapsed most of his damned infrastructure LAST time he tried to turn me. I could raze them to the ground if I really wanted, but why do that when I just need to get rid of him? …I'll need your help, though.” A sinister grin then that was an unsettling blend of childlike mischief and bloodletting savagery. “Good leader needs a trustworthy right-hand man,” he continued, a gleam in his eye, “and I'm sure as hell not offering Talia the job.” He scoffed again.

Jason couldn't believe he was saying this, but—“And once you take over…?”

Tim let out a small sigh, shrugging. “Same thing Ra's does, sorta. Dip in the Pits, go a little crazy for a bit, rinse and repeat.”

Jason wanted to choke. Also possibly choke Tim. “Tim, you can't fucking be—”

Tim waved a hand in flippant dismissal, the brat. “You went through it. I can, too. And you got better. You can help me—”

“I also get better from dying but you don’t see me recommending that.”

“—And I'm not gonna have someone playing head games with me and trying to convince me to kill anyone who actually cares about me.”

Jason flinched back at that.

Tim put up a palm to calm him. “Not a criticism.” That face scrunch again. “Okay, actually, that is a criticism, but I think you already got the memo on the listening-to-League-members.”

“Did you?!” Jason spluttered out.

“I probably won't even need to use the Pits themselves, honestly. If I can head up the research myself, we should be able to at least partially isolate the chemical composition and figure out what the psychoactive elements are. Without those, there should be way less risk with it. Maybe find a way to keep it out of the essential parts of the brain or even flush it from those. Don’t exactly want a prefrontal cortex controlled by some evil detox smoothie.”

“Kid.… You're insane. You're actually fucking insane. You're insane without needing the Pits! You think I'm letting you anywhere near those fucked-up Nickelodeonized kiddie pools—”

Tim rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath, stirring the messy bangs that only added to the spiraling-mad-scientist vibe he currently had.

“Don't fucking roll your eyes at me!” Jason snapped, voice going shrill as he grabbed on to both Tim's arms in a vice grip.

Tim let him, expression steely.

“Do you even realize how fucking risky that is? I don't care if you have a TEAM of fucking Nobel Prize scientists working on it with you. You're risking your Goddamned mind.”

Tim peered up at Jason for a long moment as Jason all but snarled at him. “And? It'd be worth it. You won't have to be alone this time.”

Jason let go of the younger boy with a choked noise, burying his face into his hands and trying to ignore the burning behind his eyes. He felt himself rocking a little. “What,” he whispered. Just…what. He couldn't—he couldn't deal with this. How the hell did the kid think it was okay to put his own neck—his mind—on the line like that, just so Jason wouldn't fucking be lonely? Wouldn't be…scared? And he'd said it with such certainty. Like, sky is blue, ice cream is sweet, nitrile gloves are disposable, and so am I. What the fuck? And that was without addressing the small fact that even if it worked out perfectly, Tim was trying to doom himself to what might be literal eternity for Jason's sake. For the sake of probably one of the people in the world least deserving of his help, let alone all of…that. And maybe the worst part was that the promise did make Jason feel better.

Although now he was panicking over the kid instead of himself.

“Okay,” Jason whispered, face still buried in his hands. “Tim—”

“Besides, I don't know when the fuck you got the idea that I have to take orders from you,” he added abruptly. “If B can't stop me, you definitely can't. And he can't.”

Jason gave a choked laugh at that.

“It's not my preferred approach, you know,” Tim murmured after a beat.

Jason looked up at him then.

“Just wondered how you would react. Thought it was better to start with the potentially worst one.” He held up a hand before Jason could respond, eyes flashing. “I was serious. I just don't like that option, either.”

Jason was almost—no, scratch that, he was afraid to ask. But he did anyway. “What's the other 'avenue' you're exploring?”

“Oh, I was just gonna ask Auntie Zee what she knows about tethering souls to physical objects. I figure my physiology is the main barrier here, and rather than trying to alter it chemically, it might be better to do some mechanically. I already know you can replace most of your body with tech, especially as a gradual process, but things get trickier when it comes to the actual brain. But I'm thinking if you create a connection like with a golem, where you're not dependent on having a traditionally functional body—that would actually have a lot of advantages. I think I'd want it to still be a cyborg body rather than the traditional stone or wood, though. Way more functionality. Hydraulics, lasers, measurement instruments.…”

“Tim?”

He sighed, folding his arms over propped-up knees. “Think I might need Doctor Fate for this, though.” Tim rubbed an eye with the heel of his palm. “He's gonna be a lot harder to get in touch with, I think, but this is probably way more his domain than Aunt Zatanna's. Pretty sure the helmet itself uses some kind of mechanism like that, actually. I need to ask Uncle Wally. Zee might be able to help me find him, though!”

“Tim.”

“Hmm?”

“Go the fuck to sleep. Now. Just…go.”

“Again, you can't make me.”

“Tell that to the grapples you don't have.”

Tim blinked at him before looking down. “How—?”

“You're not the only one with skills, you little psycho. Now go take your musky ass to the shower and turn in. I'll take the couch.”

“You know I can still leave without grapples.”

“Yeah, I also know that you won't, so kiss my ass, Timothy.”

It was Tim's turn to stick out a tongue.

“I said kiss, not—”

“Okay, I'll do it! Whatever you were about to say, I do not need that mental image. Seriously, can we talk about the bugs again?”

“Only in the morning and if you promise to be good!”

Tim huffed out a laugh before finally peeling himself off the couch with a yawn and full body stretch.

“Hey, Timbers.”

“Hmm?” Tim paused in his stretches, visibly curious about Jason's abruptly serious tone.

“Sorry, about…about earlier. When I grabbed you.”

“Oh, that? You didn't hurt me.” He shook his arms out and took a moment to roll his shoulders and inspect rotation of elbow and wrist alike. “Yep, all good.”

And wasn't Jason relieved at that. But still—“I shouldn't have done it, though. It was…if I'd thought for a second, I woulda realized what that probably—”

Tim shrugged. “Didn't bother me, honestly.” He tilted his head to the side. “I'm not scared of you anymore.”

“Kid, you're not scared of a lot of stuff that you really, really need to be.”

“Says the guy who will literally die before picking up a phone. I don't think you get a vote.”

Jason lifted a hand in the air from where he was already sprawled out on the couch. And soundly flipped him off.

He heard Tim's footsteps resume before he paused again, somewhere near the doorway. “And, Jay?” A soft tap of fingernails on wood. “Thanks for telling me. You don't have to do this alone anymore.”

Jason peeked around the edge of the couch just enough to see the edge of Tim's lip quirked up in a tiny smile. “Even if you change your mind and decide you want to. I won’t let you. You're stuck with me, Commander.”

“God, you are such a fucking nerd. Take your ass to bed already.”

…Acknowledged, though, Captain.

Chapter Text

Jason woke up slowly. God, he hated the feeling of sticky eyelids that hadn't opened in days. It was just an all-around not pleasant experience. Especially when he lifted his hands to rub the sticky feeling away and he felt a distinct lack of open air above his face. The air was much too stagnant for him to be waking up in one of his safehouses. He had to take a deep breath to stop his initial reaction to that. Which really only made it worse when he exhaled because the air puffed right back into his face after hitting the obstruction. He couldn’t imagine a worse sensation than that one to help his mental state right now. He knew where he was. He was intimately familiar with where he was. He’d been here so many nights in his dreams.

He’d already made his rounds to check in on all the other typical Alley business, so really all that was left was to make sure nothing abnormal had popped up since his stakeout of this new place. This was Gotham and weird shit was their normal. He could say as a native Gothamite that was more than true most of the time. These guys shouldn’t be too much of an issue unless they’d happened upon an abandoned crate of a chemist's worst nightmare of chemical containment or whatever Gotham stored in all these warehouses. He had the same general plan for this Yumurta bastard and his merry band of idiots that he used to deal with all these new people who think they can come in and settle in his territory. He’d count the guys from the outside, bust in; they’d try to strike up a deal with him; he’d refuse their idiotic deal that gave him zero benefit, then they’d try to fight him. The same old, same old really.

He settled down in a spot with a good vantage point to do a check on how many guys were actually in there. He could scope things out and predict ahead of time but, well, the real killer was overconfidence. He was careful to keep track of some basic features to make sure his count was accurate and marked down in his head their general positions. Stuff he had done hundreds of times both back when he was Robin and in just the last few months. Some skills were forever skills…unfortunately.

Once he tallied everyone up he took a moment to consider. Sure, it was a few more guys than his last count but not so many he couldn’t take them all still.

The comm link from Tim burned a hole in his pocket as he thought it over.

He carefully kept his hands close to his body to check how much gear he had. Most obviously he was missing his helmet otherwise he wouldn’t feel any air back on his face. That fact alone made him miss that piece of gear the most right about now. A quick pat and wiggle of various limbs and extremities showed him that his jacket, boots, and guns were gone as well. Stealing a dead man's boots was just another level of disrespect. The rest of it was at least useful, but his fucking shoes? Now he would have to wear his second-favourite pair because like hell was he wearing his shoes after someone else wore them. Because he was getting them back, that wasn’t even a question. He wasn’t about to let some low lifes steal his fucking shit without consequences.

He shook off the uneasy feeling and used his grapple to swing over to find a good entry point to start the takedowns. Despite how Bruce thought he handled things, he didn’t actually go into every situation guns blazing. He did still use his years of stealth training. He just preferred not to sometimes. He liked to have options. With already having a weird feeling about tonight, doing this the cautious way was probably his best bet. He found a good spot and slipped in without a sound as he considered his soon-to-be victims below him. It was quick work to get started and he kept at it with the silent takedowns of the perimeter guards until all that was left were all the guys lounging around in the middle of the room. Typically gangster hideout setup. It was almost pitiful the way they all seemed to act like this was some sort of default setting. He took a deep breath before unholstering both guns, hopping up to the top of a pile of crates, and firing one quick shot into the guy closest to him. After that it was chaos of a familiar kind.

He felt around for one of his more hidden inner pockets on his pants and realized that as much as they had relieved him of anything valuable, they weren’t apparently cool with giving him a proper pat-down. Good on them for having a shred of decency. But only a single because they’d still stolen his fucking boots. Though he may not have had his phone he did have the little direct-line communicator Tim had given him for just such situations. Well, he was pretty sure Tim had been hoping he’d use it long before he found himself in one of these such situations, but he was lucky Jason was considering calling him at all. Well, lucky depended on your opinion of the word. He wasn’t sure being called to come pick up a mostly undead guy was anyone’s idea of a good time, but what did he know about what Tim got up to in his free time.

Of course, old habits died hard, and he had memorized all the buttons so he could operate the damn thing in the dark. It was practically ingrained in him every time Bruce gave him a new piece of tech to learn the buttons without sight. He had never been more thankful for a stupid habit Bruce had given him.

Everything was that same, familiar chaos of a down-and-dirty Gotham fight. At least, it was, until one guy caught him nicely on the side of the head. His helmet protected him from immediately losing consciousness but his feet were unsteady long enough for someone else to catch him with a quick tackle.

As soon as he hit the ground he was disoriented in a way he wouldn’t have been if he had been more prepared. Sure, he probably had lifetimes of fighting experience on these guys but stupidass human bodies and their stupidass weaknesses made that inconsequential sometimes. He was stuck in a rather inconvenient position on the floor with almost everyone around him having the most literal upper hand. It didn’t help that his head was throbbing and his eyes were cluttered with sparks. He had fallen off the top floors of buildings and felt better than he currently did. Especially when someone got a hold of their gun again and remembered how to use it.

He clicked the button that should get him onto the line and waited for Tim to answer. Who knew how the kid had this thing hooked up, but hopefully he would answer whether he was in costume or not. Jason had no idea what time it was. Hard to tell the time when everything around you was completely pitch black. Not even the subtle hint of light coming around his blackout curtains or the bathroom light he leaves on down the hall. Absolute and complete, full darkness and silence. Only his own heartbeat echoing in his ears and the slight rub of fabric on fabric when he moved. Or fabric on wood when he moved a little too far. Only his own warm breath being bounced right back into his face every time he breathed more than shallowly. The echoing of laughter slowly getting louder and trying to drown out his own heartbeat, take over his entire being until it was all he could hear—

He didn’t even hear a bang he just felt the familiar sharp pain of being shot in the leg. He quickly kicked his other leg out to take someone else down and tried to push back and up with the next movement ignoring the pain in his other leg. He’d worked with worse, he’d moved with worse.

“Jason? Jason, are you there?”

Tim’s voice came through like a lifeboat out at sea.

Jason couldn’t even help the shallow gasp that escaped him as his lungs tried to reorient themselves to breathing properly.

“Ye—” His throat rebelled at the sudden attempt to speak and he bit down on his tongue to try and get some saliva going. After he was able to painfully swallow some down, he tried again.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Of course even after that his voice came out quieter than he wanted, but that was for the best. Talking louder meant it would probably be hard enough to actually feel the air back on his face. He would love to try and avoid that as much as possible thanks.

He may have been down, but even from the ground he was hissing and spitting like any good alley cat. The helmet currently blocking his vision, and he was pretty sure digging into the side of his head, really wasn’t doing him any favours either. He’d work through it just like he worked through anything else. He was pretty sure from the impact he felt on his chest someone just tried to shoot him there without realizing he wears damn thick armour there for just that reason. Ha, idiot.

Which is what God must have been thinking about him because the next second there was another solid hit against the side of his head that did a good job of disorienting him further. Apparently, whoever tried to shoot him last time learned as he felt another shot in the other leg instead. A good way to deal with that pesky problem. Bravo, idiot.

He got back onto his feet after that through pure adrenaline and just barely managed to keep a hold of his gun well enough to clock one of the guys across the face with it. With the way his vision was swimming he was just as likely to shoot his own foot as he was to shoot one of the guys attacking him so melee it was. He fought with everything he had, as hard as he could. He knew this was really his last chance to turn the tides and stand even a chance here.

For a second, he thought maybe he could take back the fight but that hope was quickly dashed by the punch to the face that felt like it came from life itself. Oh, how life liked to prove him wrong.

That punch was enough to knock whatever stable footing he had been able to get back out from under him once more. His legs burned fiercely as he landed, as if that punch had knocked loose whatever had been holding back the pain too. Honestly everything after that became a murky mess of pain and barely coherent thought. The last thought he could string together before everything faded away was, Damn, Tim is gonna flip his shit when he finds out I didn’t call.

Jason hadn’t been planning to eat his words to Tim so quickly. He was expecting to stay alive a little longer this time around, especially after what happened last time. Honestly, he was just going to break some faces of the idiots who had decided to try and deal to his kids. Pretty simple: go in, shoot out some knees and maybe a few other body parts depending how much they pissed him off, get out. Would have been even simpler back before the big bad bat was watching, but this worked well enough. He had already found as much information as he could and staked out the place so he had done just about everything he could to prepare himself.

He'd seriously done this same routine a hundred times over. When he was not helping out with the big cases or dealing with true organized crime he was just cleaning up small guys like this. He'd never had any trouble come up with this type of shit. Of course, a beautiful fact about his life was that nothing ever went how he expected at the worst times. Murphy's Law and all that. It was like life had decided that he, in particular, had made a grand mistake that required constant correction.

At least his miserable life and Tim were enough to keep him distracted from his current predicament.

“Oh thank God! I hadn’t seen or heard anything from you in days!” Tim sounded genuinely relieved and Jason wasn’t really sure how to take that. Sure, he and Tim had moved past being enemies a while ago but the death talk was the longest conversation they’ve had…ever. Not exactly his best impression. “I asked O to try and track down info about you but all we got back was some rumours you had died. And I knew that there was a possibility but…”

“The rumours…are for once fairly accurate actually.” Jason purposely ignored the small fuck’s sake Hood from the other end of the line, and continued on. “This does mean I am, however, in a bit of what one might call a situation.”

“On a scale of one to oh fuck, how bad is this situation exactly?” Tim was completely dead serious while he asked, too, so Jason couldn’t help but huff a laugh.

He raised both the comm and his fist up to the wood and hoped Tim could hear the dull thud of fist on wood. He wasn’t sure what the mic would pick up and he’d rather not say it out loud. That made everything feel a bit too real.

“About a six.” Jason tried to keep his voice steady for the next part. “Feet under that is.”

On the other side of the line Tim gasped and suddenly the comm started blinking with a dull red light. Jason still had to blink spots out of his eyes despite its being incredibly weak. It was, in fact, incredibly dark down there. Who could have guessed?

He felt the familiar chill of a memory he barely remembered trying to tickle his brain.

“I’m going to get changed and then I’ll be right on my way okay? I have the tracker on now and it shouldn’t take too long, okay?” On Tim’s end there was the sound of a chair being pushed harshly out of the way.

Jason tried to pretend like a thrill of panic didn’t go through him at the implication that Tim was going to get off the line. He fished for something to say so that Tim would stay on. He didn’t want to be alone down here at all now that he had an option not to be. He would beg Tim if he had to but he’d really rather not do that.

“You know, this isn’t even a real casket? What a disrespect to the dead.” Jason tried to laugh at his own joke but it came out more as a pained wheeze. You win some, you lose most.

Either way it was pitiful enough that Tim didn’t stop the call and instead talked while audibly wrangling with his clothes in the background. There was a pause in his responses as he got ready.

"At least they had the decency to bury you in a box. Could have just thrown you in the ground.” Tim was obviously aiming for a joke but Jason just couldn’t force himself to laugh anymore. There was the sound of a door slamming in the background.

“Yeah, well, it wouldn't have been too different from digging myself out like last time.” Jason took a second to let out a sigh. “At least this time I knew where I was immediately. How fucked is that? I have enough experience now to handle the situation well.”

“This is generally a one-time occurrence.” Tim couldn’t apparently help that one last quip as he did something that makes a lot of noise on the line. After that Jason heard the kid’s feet hit the ground running. Then, it was just the sound of those footfalls and Tim’s heavy breathing to keep him company. As annoying as he might usually find those sounds, right now Jason was holding onto them as his only lifeline of you’re not back there.

Of course, being where he was right now wasn’t exactly much better. The lack of anything else to do had him wondering how long the air down here was going to last. How long until it ran out completely? What happened if he died of asphyxiation and came right back down here? Would the cycle repeat endlessly?

The sound of Tim’s breathing was quickly fading into the background over the thrum of blood in his ears.

Despite the fact Tim had said he was coming, and Jason could currently hear him coming, some primal part of his brain was looping back around to what ifs. What if he was stuck down here? What if Tim couldn’t get him out? What if something came up and Tim couldn’t come right to him? How was he going to get out then? He needed a plan to get out. He needed to get out. He needed out.

“I’m about twenty minutes out. Didn’t take the bike because it probably wouldn’t be much faster at this point. Gotham rush hour is no joke.”

Jason was pretty sure he hadn’t made any noises or anything to tip Tim off to his internal panic. So either he just wasn’t that aware of his body right now or Tim had developed psychic abilities to be able to interrupt his spiral like that. Either way, he was intensely grateful to have something to latch onto to pull himself back to. The lack of literally anything to do that won’t remind him of exactly where he is was definitely getting to him. That or he was already starting to run out of air—

“Taking it out of the garage would have taken longer than just starting off, too, really. Wish I could just park it on the street but I know it would get stolen. Plus, that doesn’t help with the traffic really. There’s a reason Batman invested in a Batjet after all.”

Jason focused on keeping his breathing slow and Tim’s rambles.

“You’re actually not too far so I’m not sure what they were thinking. Someone would have found you pretty soon. I’m sure they didn’t do anything to really cover up what they’d done either. Don’t seem like the smart type. Maybe just the lucky type.”

Jason huffed out the world's most pathetic laugh.

“Don’t they go to evil college? What are they teaching them in Burying a Body 101?”

“Can you talk about something else?” Jason tried to ignore the way that came out as a plea. He didn’t really want to ask at all, but it was either Tim stopped talking about it or Jason quickly descended into a true panic attack. Right now he was just hovering on the outside of one. He wanted to stay right on the fringes of one instead of a full-blown attack while completely trapped if he could.

There was complete silence over the line for a few seconds as the mic was completely muted for the first time since Tim had picked up. Jason’s brain immediately kicked into worrying overdrive, because what if Tim decided to hang up? What if Tim didn’t speak again at all? Jason was not going to be able to hold himself off from that full panic attack by himself with nothing to look at or do down here. There was nothing to ground himself with except, well, the ground.

“Sorry.” Tim’s voice was quiet but it didn’t stop the overwhelming relief of hearing noise once more. The constant beat of footsteps and Tim’s breathing was back and Jason couldn’t feel anything but thankful for it.

He felt a little bad for making Tim sound like that but he couldn’t do shit about it right now. He was going to lose his mind down here if Tim didn’t talk about something else.

“Last week Damian told Bruce that if he wanted him to listen to him maybe he should stop making stupid decisions.” Tim chuckled. “Everyone always acts like that little demon kid is the Robin who listens the best, but that’s impossible. No one can listen well and be Robin. It’s a requirement for the job really.”

Tim kept talking about whatever came to his mind and Jason focused on keeping his breathing even. It would do neither of them any good for him to lose it. He put all of his focus on his breathing and almost felt bad he couldn’t really listen to the words anymore. Instead, he just focused on the noise and keeping even, not too deep breaths.

He also tried to convince himself that the stuffy, humid air feeling was all in his imagination. It surely hadn’t been long enough that it would get that humid. Over the line he could hear Tim breathing hard as he ran full sprint for Jason. Hopefully that wouldn’t make anyone worry that there was an emergency happening and alert the big Bat. That would be the worst possible case scenario. He already had to be buried alive, die again, and call Tim to bail him out. The only two things that could make this night worse were if the old man showed up or the bastard clown.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind a shiver went down his spine. Just the mere implication of the bastard knowing Jason was down here was enough to make him willing to stay down. He forcibly stopped himself from thinking about it any longer and instead forced his brain to formulate a question.

“ETA?” Jason was glad that Tim was able to resist snarking back on that one. He probably sounded like a child asking when they would get to the zoo, but knowing someone else was coming for him was literally the only thing stopping him from trying to dig his own way out again. He did it before. How hard could it be? Hard enough that he was pretty sure he’d died again in the process of doing it but, oh well, who was there to tell the difference. Dead men tell no tales, after all.

“I’m within a fifty-foot radius of your location now.” Tim sounded completely out of breath. “I just need to find a patch of freshly overturned dirt and we should be good. Shouldn’t even be hard.”

Jason let out a sigh at that. Not only was the kid coming. He was here. For a second he worried that this was all some sort of hypoxia-fueled auditory hallucination, but if he was hallucinating why would he imagine being stuck down here still. He definitely wouldn’t imagine Tim coming to his rescue at the drop of a dime like this. There was a difference between a fellow traumatized vigilante wanting to help deal with a potentially hazardous situation and dropping everything he was doing to come help Jason literally dig his own grave. Undig his grave?

“Found it.” There was a long metallic shlick from the other side. “Guess I’m officially grave robbing for the first time.”

And grave rob he did. Jason appreciated it immensely that as Tim worked he left the comm channel open so at least there was some other noise down here. Even if it was the kid panting and huffing as he dug down. After who knows how long there was a pause.

“Huh they had the forethought to bury an animal in here to throw off the scent.” Tim scoffed. “Like anyone buries an animal in a grave this size. Who do they think they’re fooling?”

The digging sounds resumed.

“Gotham PD?” Jason said sarcastically.

The digging paused again.

“Good point.”

The digging kept going for so long Jason wasn’t sure he hadn’t been buried even further than six feet down. It felt like it was taking forever. He couldn’t imagine how much longer it felt for Tim who was the one doing all the actual work right now. Jason just got to chill in his little box and slowly suffocate to death to the lovely chorus of grunts and shovel moving dirt and his own racing heartbeat and—

The sound of something hitting the wood above his head hard caused him to jump. He definitely should have heard Tim coming before that, but apparently a low-grade constant panic attack could dull the senses like that.

“I think you struck gold, Timmy.” Jason let out a weak chuckle at that. He was so relieved he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Or that was still the panic attack. A girl never tells her secrets.

“Gold? You? I thought Dick was our only golden boy.” If Tim sounded out of breath before, he sounded like he had run a marathon now.

He was really going to have to find a way to make this up to Tim now.

“You may want to close your eyes in a second by the way. It’s pretty bright out here.”

Jason would look directly into the sun for hours if it meant he didn't have to be stuck down here anymore. Of course, he changed his mind when Tim was finally able to wedge the lid open and actually get the box open. His eyes burned from just the brief sliver of light that had gotten in. He put a hand up over his eyes and used the other to blindly grab for Tim as he finally got a breath of fresh air. The cool fresh air over his sticky, humid skin felt like the most soothing balm to his panic yet. Especially after who knows how long of actively trying to ignore the feeling of his own breath back on his face.

Tim grabbed the hand over his face and pulled it down but quickly replaced it with something cloth. Jason followed his lead as he was blindly led out of the pit of dirt, up onto the ground, and finally onto grass.

“You working another job I don’t know about, kid?” Jason pointedly pulled at the blindfold over his eyes. He then felt Tim’s hands slipping underneath to pull the fabric away. Well, apparently, he was being punished with burned retinas for his humour. Who could have possibly predicted his big mouth wouldn’t do him any good, oh wait—

Instead of having his eyes burned with the unmitigated power of the sun straight through his eyelids, everything remained fairly dark so he blinked them open. It was a bit into the evening if he had to guess, probably about time for the beginning of patrol. In a city like Gotham, where the stars were almost invisible, it really was hard to guess at the time. He had enough experience to make those calls.

Then, of course, the question was what had absolutely blinded him before? He looked over to Tim who looked oddly sheepish for someone who just dug out an entire grave by himself. Maybe that was a good enough reason for anyone else to be sheepish, but he knew the kid better now and knew plenty about his questionable morals.

“Sorry, I needed the lights to see where I was working.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Jason reached a hand up to pinch a clump of dirt out of the kid’s hair. “You could have said you need my eyeballs in payment for digging me out and I would have handed them right over.”

Which was, maybe, a bit extreme, but Jason really was feeling pretty grateful to be out of there right about now.

At least Tim had the suitable dark enough humour to just laugh and roll his eyes.

Why hadn’t he just hung out with the kid instead of contemplating murder? He was going to blame that all on Talia in his head.

“Well”—Jason slowly pushed himself to standing while Tim hovered like he could do anything if Jason’s heavy ass fell over—“I think it’s about time I go get my shit back.”

Tim stared back at him completely blank for a few seconds before he seemed to process.

“You don’t want to, I don't know”—he looked Jason up and down—“Shower? Put on shoes? Get a weapon.”

Jason looked down for a second and then back up at Tim.

“Nah.”

∆

Despite Jason’s insistence they don't, they did end up going to one of his safehouses. Just to pick up the bare necessities, of course. He knew for a fact you absolutely didn’t walk around Gotham without shoes (unless it was on your bucket list to get bit by a radioactive cockroach or some shit). You also didn’t really want to walk around Gotham without some sort of weapon on hand, too. He was currently walking around without either. The weapon was easily sorted, the shoes less so. Tim had gone and gotten him some shoes from the nearest place. Of course, with his luck they ended up being a pair of neon-yellow flip flops that he had serious questions about why someone would even bother selling such a thing in Gotham. Jumping rooftops in flip flops had been a whole ordeal that they both had sworn to never bring up to anyone ever again. Sometimes, you just had to agree to bury some things. Huh, maybe that’s what those guys had been thinking about Jason.

Jason, now with sparkly-clean shoes that did not match his zombie apocalypse survivor aesthetic, was ready for revenge. He would really like to take a shower right about now to get rid of the dirt and grime, but, well…it really added to his whole back-from-the-dead look. He wanted to send a message and he was sure there was more than one myth out there about different Gotham vigilantes coming back to life. He would love to strengthen those rumours, strike a little more fear into the general henchman populace. It was good for keeping the numbers manageable.

He grabbed his backup set of guns and had to take a deep breath to control himself. Were these the exact same in every way to his other set? Yes, yes they were…but they felt different. No matter, he was going to get his real ones back soon enough and these were only there so Tim would stop getting onto him about going in empty handed. He hadn't even wanted to go in empty handed, he was sure brass knuckles counted as a weapon, and a nonlethal one at that! Besides, he was going in to get his shit back and he couldn't exactly carry two sets of guns until he got his holster back and he wasn’t going to bother putting a new one on when he was going to get back his old one. He’d just look silly then.

He definitely didn’t want to look silly right now. Despite the fact Tim already thought he already did. Covered in dirt from the grave someone buried you in was the only way to show up after something like that. Tim just didn’t understand the drama. They really don’t build sidekicks the way they used to.

“If you don’t stop calling me your sidekick I will leave your ass right here and now and we both saw how that turned out last time.” Tim gave him a pleasant smile before turning back to surveying their targets. “Also, would you quit your fucking Hamlet dramatics?

Note to self. Keep internal monologue to self.

“Hood you are not fucking funny.” Tim turned back to him and Jason answered in kind with innocent blinking.

“Actually, I know several people who would disagree with you on that.” “Not counting yourself?” Tim somehow got across his raised eyebrow despite the mask.

“I know people,” Jason relished in the fact you couldn’t see his grin through the mask. “And they would know a Banquo impression when they saw one.”

“I am going to kill you and there won’t even be any repercussions. No one will even know.”

Jason chuckled and finally turned back to their actual task and checked positions to see if they were following a pattern or not. They seemed to be. Which wasn’t surprising. Because despite the threat of other Bats coming in to crack down on their shit, Yumurta and his goons had seemingly been upgrading their operation since Jason went down. Really, he didn’t get why anyone settled their criminal empires here, but whatever—he just didn’t get their criminal vision apparently. It was weird not to do every bit of the recon himself, but, hey, if Tim was here to spread the workload between, why not take advantage of it?

They both worked in silence for a good couple of minutes before they shared all the information they had collected. Jason had forgotten how much easier it was to work in a team when it came to surveillance. Probably because when he was helping out that generally meant they were already in the middle of a huge crisis. Not to mention, he was seldom ever the one calling all the shots when he was working with the other Bats. He was considered part of the auxiliary team for a reason. Oh sure, he had worked with the Outlaws but there was a certain Bat-trained quality you couldn’t find in other vigilantes. Maybe it was the trauma. It was probably the trauma.

Either way, once all the information was compiled it was plan time.

“I was thinking we could go stealth to take care of most of the outliers.” Jason pointed to the bullets he was using to represent the goons.

“You do realize I didn’t need a physical representation to get the plan right?”

“Why must you ruin my fun?”

“Because we have places to be? Asses to kick?”

“I see you trying to appeal to my ass-kicking wants.”

“Is it working?” Tim looked up at Jason innocently from where he was also crouched near the mock-up that he had made.

Jason rolled his eyes. “No. Not after you insulted my tactical battle scenario.” Jason couldn’t even keep a straight face saying that. “But, fine, I can make this faster if you want. We go in, we kick ass, we leave.”

Tim nodded like that was very wise and anything even resembling an actual plan.

Jason huffed and just leaned down and gathered his supplies back up. He picked both guns back up and loaded the barrels before moving to get down from the rooftop they had taken up vantage on. Tim raised an eyebrow and held up his grappling gun, he then held out his arm like he was asking Jason to join him for this dance.

Jason stood there and stared for a good ten seconds.

“Seriously? You want me to latch on like some reject Indiana Jones co-star?”

“I mean why not? It’ll be faster.”

Jason considered that for a second.

“Ah, why the hell not? Not like anyone should be seeing us if you do your job right.”

Jason walked over and first, dropped as heavily onto Tim as he could with a snicker, before readjusting to hold on properly.

Tim fired out the line but hesitated a moment before pushing off. “It’s fine. The only thing to worry about is how the line will hold up to the extra weight. I’ve never tested mine with so much extra weight.”

Tim pushed them off just as Jason let out a yell of indignation. Oh yeah, this was going to be a fun mission. Tim actually had a fucking sense of humour, unlike certain people.

Once they were in position on the other side, they split up to go work on taking care of anyone on the outside. A typical Bat strategy that they’d both probably used hundreds of times. He got to work taking down a couple of assholes who were stationed outside of one of the main entries and maybe could have been called guards if they’d been paying any damn attention. He made sure to steal a key to let himself into the building that little bit easier. The more dramatic entrances were going to be for when he found whoever actually took his shit—and where they’d put it. Knowing these guys, who seemed to be attempting to start a little crime empire, it was probably on display by whoever the head honcho was. Who knew if it was the same guy it was when Jason did his recon considering it had now been literal weeks by now. The bosses of groups like this seemed to have high turnover rates. Terrible job retention really. Something about getting their faces bashed in a little too often.

Jason worked through the guys easily enough, once inside. The same as he had last time basically, which would have been a worse omen if he didn’t know he had brought his own backup with this time.

A few gunshots popped off somewhere deeper in the building.

Speaking of said backup.

Jason made a beeline for the origin of the gunshots, taking out anyone who saw him or anyone who didn’t on the way. Not that he was that worried since he knew Tim could more than handle himself, but he really wanted to talk to whoever was in charge around here about their customer service. Seriously, they didn’t even try to reach Jason’s next of kin for the funeral services or to gloat about murdering him. What were this city’s criminals coming to?

Jason pistol-whipped a guy with ease, before finally reaching a door that opened to reveal a big-ass room with boxes. Oh he hated these. So out of style in your evil headquarters. They had one of these in the last hideout. Well, just another thing to take up with the manager when he found him. And that was going to be soon if the increased gunfire noise said anything. Finally, he could unleash a little now that the stealth portion was over.

He carefully made his way through some of the box aisles to find Tim in the middle of the fight. He was quick to finally take the safety off and start shooting guys down. Even if they weren’t out of the fight, it was hard to aim your gun through the tears as you suffered the pain of shot-out knee caps. Truly, one of the only joys left in his life ever since he came back around to Gotham.

Jason could see as Tim switched from solo to duo fighting style, an easy slide into watching for an ally on the field. It was a sight to behold. He began watching Jason’s back while simultaneously focusing less on his own, trusting Jason to watch those blindspots for him.

Despite all the guys from the outer areas that they hadn’t managed to take down flooding back into the interior thanks to the shootout, they were able to make quick work of them all. They didn’t manage to find whoever was in charge of these chucklefucks among them yet. Which didn’t bode well. That meant the operation had grown enough that the boss didn’t have to be here to physically watch their every move, but, no matter. Jason would hunt him down later, and maybe Tim would want to join in.

Finally, once they had taken out the last guy, without a word to each other they did a quick check of the room to make sure there were no traps. Sure, these guys didn’t seem extremely smart, but you could never be too careful in Gotham. Seriously, who knows who you might have to watch out for in Gotham. You might get stabbed to death by an old lady on the street for accidentally stepping on her dog's paw. Gotham grandmas were built different.

Once that was over they met up back in the middle of the main open space. “Clear on my side, Hood.” “Same here.”

“You think they’ve got your gear stored here?”

“Seems like this is their main storage for shit so, pretty likely.”

“You don’t think they’re organized enough in their organized crime to keep an inventory sheet around here?”

Jason just laughed and walked off to start opening crates.

Tim worked with Barbara on getting someone more official dispatched out towards them to handle all the guys.

He found that most of the crates weren’t nailed shut or anything, so luckily he couldn’t be accused of tampering with evidence or have to use a crowbar to open them. A double win for him. Sure, he was less bothered by the sight of a crowbar at this point, but there still felt something distinctly wrong in holding one. Unless he had Joker in front of him. Then he suspected it would feel just right.

Either way, he did a quick sweep of the place to see if any were marked clearly about what exactly they contained. He didn’t see any labelled Red hood, all for you. So it seemed like this place was gonna be a bust which, honestly, was a bit of a bitch. Now they’d have to track down the boss of these guys or, if they’d unfortunately expanded enough, just any of the higher-ranking guys. Hopefully, one of them would know where the hell his shit was. Hopefully for them. He was running out of patience for this bullshit fast. He was about ready for a shower and to sleep for at least thirteen hours.

“Everyone in here is secured and ready for pickup. Any luck?” Tim said as soon as he walked back into the main area.

Jason didn’t say anything and just walked over to one of the guys he thought he recognized from the last visit he gave these guys. His memory was a bit scrambled with the head injury and all, so he wasn’t entirely sure. In the end it didn’t really matter, because he just needed some answers. He grabbed the back of the guy's head and tilted it up to look directly into his eyes.

“Where’s your fucking boss, hm?” Jason watched with entertainment as the guy’s eyes went wide. This must have been one of the ones Tim knocked out before he came in.

“What the fuck?! Tommy and the others buried you a couple weeks back!” The guy tried to throw Jason’s grip off but he just held on tighter.

“Yeah? Well, boo motherfucker.” Jason used his grip to shake the guy a little and that seemed to snap him out of whatever panic he was in.

“The fuck even are you?” The guy was now just staring up at Jason with terrified eyes.

“I’d say your worst nightmare, but that’s cliché as hell so let’s just stick with what we both know yeah? I’m the Red Hood, bitch, and I want my shit back.” Jason smiled manically. He practically felt Tim rolling his eyes behind his back.

∆

It was quick work, that Tim was quite agreeable to participating in, to work their way up the chain and find the bastard in charge. Simple, even. It may have been well into the night by the time they ended up at their final address, but the fact it only took them one night was telling. This guy went too big too quickly for a place like Gotham. The only reason he hadn’t been taken out yet was because he was mostly hanging out in Crime Alley. Which made him Jason’s territory. According to Tim, they’d been leaving the guy alone on account of the fact Jason wasn’t answering his messages so they had no way of knowing if he was still around for a reason.

Even if his business was operating mostly at the docks and in Crime Alley, the guy's little place definitely wasn’t down there. Probably scared to live in a bad area. Jason laughed as they strolled up to the cute excuse for a nice place. It was for someone who probably lived most of their life in a shithole, but this shit wasn’t real wealth. Not like Jason would have known any better either back when he lived on the streets. The Jason of now, however, had been in real rich people’s homes and this was basically a studio apartment compared to Wayne Manor. Tim went off in the opposite direction without a word and only a wave. If the plan ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

The guy he had been interrogating was quick to give up information when he realized that Jason really wasn’t kidding and he really wanted his shit back. Could he replace all of it? Oh yeah, and besides his actual helmet it wouldn’t even be a big task. But, for one, he really liked how those guns had worn in, and he wanted them back. For two, it was the principle of it. Couldn’t have people stealing his shit off his fucking corpse and keeping it. Set a bad example.

Tim was doing his job and flanking from the other side, as well as keeping an eye out for anything they hadn’t observed from a distance, so Jason hadn’t seen or heard him in a minute. They did however have a comm link between the two of them in case anything went sideways, again. As much as he mocked Bruce for his backup plans, for backup plans you really could never be too fucking careful in Gotham.

In the meantime, Jason was quite enjoying his second stealth mission of the night because this time he was going to get back what was his. There were so many stories about vengeful ghosts and Jason was as bad as any of them, except he was real. Though, maybe, he shouldn't shit talk about the existence of ghosts considering he was here.

He was going for no detection on his end as he waited for Tim to decide it was distraction time—all he had to do was get into position and wait. That’s just what he did as he kept a close ear out. Unfortunately there wouldn’t be any glorious sounds of far-off explosions he would get if he was working with his favourite partners in sometimes crimes. Eventually, to Jason’s surprise, he heard Tim over the commlink.

“Getting the party started over here. Hope you’re ready,” Tim hissed down the line.

Jason didn’t respond since talking while you’re hiding and waiting for your distraction to go was a rookie mistake. He could hear gunshots somewhere towards the back of the house and counted to ten to be sure most of the guards had run off. The ones nearest their boss probably wouldn’t if they were any good, but fine by Jason. He was in the mood for a little more violence before he got to his prize.

Jason waited a little longer, just to make sure things were settled, before getting out of his hiding spot and heading towards where he knew Yumurta’s office was. He quickly took care of the guard, singular, outside of it and scoffed at the low security. Who the fuck do these guys think they are and where the hell do they think they are? He opened the door and slipped in to face down Yumurta standing there shaking with a handgun pointed towards the door.

He looked at the gun the guy was pointing at him and, as fast as he could, whipped out his own and shot him in the hand. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he enjoyed the Rule of Cool that was shooting someone in an Old West-style shootout.

The man let out a yell and dropped the gun.

He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Really this guy was trying to set up shop in Gotham without being able to take one bullet? His little attempt at an empire was doomed to fail and fast. Anyone from further up the chain didn’t appreciate such blatant weakness. Jason was further up the chain. A lot further.

Jason walked closer to Yumurta’s desk while the guy scrambled around at the drawers to his desk. He immediately pulled out another gun with his un-shot hand to aim at Jason once more and the very audacity of it made Jason pause and stare at him.

“Seriously? Not only did I just shoot your gun out of your hand literally less than a minute ago, I’m covered in the dirt from the grave you had me thrown in.” Jason reached the desk and leaned over with both hands flat on the surface of it to look Yumurta right in the eyes. “Do you really think you can do shit against me with a plain old gun?”

Yumurta shook his head and put the gun down on the desk and Jason let the predatory smile he’d been holding back spread across his face.

“Good job.” Jason grabbed the gun and quickly unloaded it, letting the sound of the bullets hitting the ground be the only noise in the room. Never leave loaded guns around when you’re with the enemy unless it’s your own. That’s a lesson that Alfred had drilled into his head, long before Bruce tried to say the same about all weapons. “Now, where the actual hell is all my shit?”

“It’s uh—um—”

“It’s uh—um—” Jason couldn’t help mocking the guy because, really, how the hell did he think he was going to make it in Gotham’s underground? He can barely make it through a conversation with Jason without losing his cool. Granted he was probably worse than most of the people you’d meet in the underground but details.

“I’ve got it all locked up in m—my personal vault.”

“Oh, good to know you’ve been taking good care of my shit.” Jason left his most pleasant smile on his face as he took a step back and gestured for Yumurta to get up. They start on that lovely, traditional dance of Gotham and her people of the one held at gunpoint and the holder of the gun when suddenly the guy whipped around and tried to catch Jason off guard. With no hesitation Jason shot him in the arm. Yumurta absolutely howled this time and Jason really couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Seriously, how could anyone be that sensitive to a gunshot? And he’d already been shot once tonight; he knew what to expect. Amateur.

Jason walked over and nudged him with his foot.

That startled him into looking up from where he’d hunched half over. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Yumurta exclaimed. His teeth were chattering and he was obviously only holding on to coherent speech through the power of adrenaline.

“Really? You’re going to ask me that question?” He hoped his raised eyebrow truly got across how stupid of a question that was.

They don’t have any problems after that as he was led further into the house and eventually down the stairs to the basement. See, the neat thing was normally he’d have to worry if he was doing this alone, because who knows if there was a trap down here. With the knowledge that he had readily available backup, it didn’t really matter what kind of trap was possibly rigged up down there. He almost laughed when they found the exact opposite.

There stood Tim with a pile of groaning zip-tied men in the corner, looking extremely bored. He took one look at what Jason was doing and sighed.

“Hood, I already got the vault open five minutes ago.”

“I didn’t bring him down here to open the door,” Jason said brightly.

“Then why am I down here?” Yumurta sounded genuinely scared now and Jason just made a gesture towards him for Tim to see. Seriously, a scaredy-cat bitch like this couldn’t go around thinking that he both killed the Red Hood and stole his gear as a souvenir.

“Honestly, I just brought him with me for bragging purposes. I’m sure he’s been bragging to everyone that he killed me. That really just can’t stand.”

“I did! I did kill you, we checked! You were dead as a fucking doorknob.” Yumurta looked even more scared at the reminder that Jason was supposed to be very dead and very much not chatting with him.

Jason just leaned towards him with a smile.“You did kill me, but those types of things don’t tend to stick for me. Now hush up.” Jason slowly pushed his gun against Yumurta chest so he understood the threat clearly. “That’ll be our little secret, yeah?”

Yumurta nodded furiously and Jason looked over to Tim who came up from behind and cracked the guy quickly across the back of the skull with his bo staff. He went down like a sack of potatoes.

“He’s gonna need something for his arm probably.”

Tim nodded and went digging into one of his pouches for a roll of bandages while Jason sidestepped that whole mess to walk into the vault. Before he could walk in Tim spoke up.

“You know this is gonna start a shit ton of rumours right?”

“Ah, let the old ladies gossip. It's good to inspire a little fear of the undead in them every once in a while.”

∆

Something in Jason felt settled now that he actually had his gear back on him. He had initially been clipping the magazine in and out of his guns, but Tim had told him to knock it off or they wouldn’t hear any actual danger. Which, while fair, was still extremely rude and he took offence to even the suggestion. Tim may have also then called the action serial-killer-fidget-spinner aesthetic, which killed Jason’s joy in the action. By the time they finally made it to Tim’s place the adrenaline was obviously flagging for both of them and he was ready to pass out on the nearest horizontal object. He, of course, had better manners than to lay anywhere all covered in dirt like this so he patted Tim’s shoulder.

“Shower? I feel like I haven’t had one in days.” Jason couldn’t even stop the wolfish grin spreading across his face at that.

Tim just rolled his eyes and pointed vaguely in the direction of a door, before slumping down into the closest chair. Jason decided to give him a minute because now the kid was just sitting there with his head in his hands. Yeah, Jason had that effect on people.

After a quick shower, and finding a change of clothes outside the door in oddly familiar dickhead-type sizes, he was all clean finally. He hadn’t realized exactly how much blood and dirt had been on him until he was trying to get the water to run clear. While it had taken a lot longer than he anticipated, if he had thought he felt like a new man after getting the shoes earlier, he truly felt reborn now. A phoenix with clean underwear. And clean teeth. There was truly nothing as amazing as brushing your teeth to change your whole attitude on life.

When he came down the hall back to the living room, he was honestly expecting to find Tim asleep slumped over in that chair.

“So, why didn’t you call for backup?” Tim was now sitting on the couch in the dark like he had decided to join the Gotham Rogue ranks.

Jason just raised an eyebrow and walked past him to go to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. When he came back Tim hadn’t moved a muscle. He sighed and sat down. Didn’t seem like there was a choice in participating.

“I’m not even sure when you mean, kid.” Jason took a long sip of his water just for dramatic impact. “I’m not sure if you know this, but I’m kinda known for not calling for backup at this point.”

“You literally died and got buried when all you had to do was send out a beacon, turn on your comms, anything.” Tim let out a long breath at that. He then slumped down into his seat very tiredly and for the first time Jason noticed the kid had actually washed off already. He had also not finished eating if the unfinished dinner on the table said anything. “You told me for a reason right? So you would have someone who knew. So that you could have someone to help.”

Jason went back to drinking his water as he thought it over. Even now, he wondered why he chose to tell Tim first. The kid would have probably been fine never talking to Jason again after what had happened during his return (Jason carefully didn’t flinch at that). Yet he had, and with that Jason now had a confidant for all this bullshit. He had really thought it ended at that, but Tim obviously saw it as more than just knowing some weird shit about Jason. He probably should have guessed that when Tim gave him those bug-warding pencil-lead-thin rods to sew into his clothes completely unprompted.

He could admit that it was nice to have more than just someone out there knowing. It had been nice to have someone to call when he’d found himself down there in that box. It had also been nice to call for help and have someone come. To have someone be there when he called. It was something he’d never reliably had over the course of his life. He looked up and realized Tim was apparently waiting for an answer.

“They broke my helmet. That’s how they were able to get me down in the first place.”

“And what about any other options? I know you had other options because I gave you those options.” Tim’s words were harsh but his face read only pain.

I’m not used to having those options, Jason didn’t say.

Tim seemed to understand that anyway. At least if Jason was determining his weary look correctly. Maybe the kid was just tired of his shit. Or maybe, and this just occurred to him, Tim was worried that Jason didn’t use the emergency beacon because of something to do with him. He had no idea how to reassure Tim it had to do with Jason, and Jason only.

“Jason,” Tim sighed and brought a hand up to rub his forehead. “Why would I have given you an emergency line straight to me if I didn’t want you to use it?”

A great question.

That Jason could not answer.

“Well—” Jason stopped himself because he was going to say that it wasn’t an emergency, but that wasn’t really true was it. Dying was basically the emergency for a regular person. Being attacked by a bunch of thugs was an emergency for a regular person. Sometimes, he forgot how heavily growing up in Gotham affected his Level of Emergency meter. “I really just didn’t think of it. There’s no good reason why I didn’t use it, I just forgot about it.”

There, that was the honest truth. Jason just hadn’t thought of it in the moment.

Tim looked definitely tired of his shit this time.

“Hey, you should just feel plenty honoured that I told you. You’re the first to know, so you’re special like that.” He hoped his distraction would work because he really had no good reason to not use it.

Tim did not seem to ever fall for his bullshit. “I am thankful that you told me—I just wish you had called me sooner. I would rather have not had to dig you out of a grave.” Tim sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I really would rather you hadn’t died at all, Jason.”

“Well, we can’t have everything we want.” Jason smirked as he looked back at the kid. “Besides, isn't it good to have your first graverobbing experience while the corpse is alive?”

“You're insinuating I will be doing more graverobbing after this, and I do not appreciate that.”

“Those types of things just tend to happen around me. Ask Roy about the incident in New Orleans.”

“No. I don’t think I want to do that, somehow. I have a feeling it will implicate me in a crime.”

Jason rolled his eyes. This kid. Alternated between fun as hell and stick up his ass. Maybe he could drag Tim out with the Outlaws sometime. That would really teach him about fun. And explosives, but that was a necessary skill as far as Jason was concerned.

Tim was silent for a whole minute so Jason decided they were done with this conversation, and pushed up to go see if there was any edible food in this place. Instead, Tim interrupted him before he could even get back to the kitchen.

“I think you need to tell Alfred.”

Jason stopped putting on the sheet. “Why?”

“I just think that maybe we need more advice in this whole situation.” When Jason looked at the look on Tim’s face, it was completely lost for a second before it melted off and he looked at Jason with a blank face. “We’re out of our depth with this one.”

“It’s really not that bad, Timbo.”

“You died again for the second time in just as many months, got buried in a literal grave, and had all of your gear stolen?” Tim hissed out the last part. “How exactly is that not that bad?”

“Woah, relax there.” Jason held up both hands and walked back over towards the couch and subsequently where Tim was sitting. “I didn’t mean it wasn’t bad—that fucking sucked. It just could have been worse. Especially knowing my life.”

Tim deflated at that.

“I know it’s just… That was scary.” Tim seemed ashamed at that. “It was scary listening to you trapped down there and knowing I was the only one who even knew you were there. That I had to save you, and fast, or no one would. No one else even knew you were down there. What if something had happened to me?”

Well fuck, now Jason felt like even more of an asshole than usual. He hadn’t really considered what kind of pressure this would put on Tim. They all dealt with weird stressful shit every day, and sure they’d all dealt with stuff alone, but that was usually a choice, not by force.

“Ah shit”—Jason walked over to where Tim was sitting and kneeled in front of his spot on the couch—“I wasn’t even thinking about the amount of bullshit you’d have to deal with.”

When Tim finally looked up at him there were tears forming in the kid’s eyes.

Jason quickly reached out both hands to put on his knees.

Tim grabbed both of his hands and squeezed as he looked up to the ceiling and sniffed hard. They both stayed still as Tim took a second to breathe and get everything under control.

“Sorry,” Tim sniffed again. “I don’t even know why I’m crying about it.”

Jason just nodded and stayed there until the tears had stopped flowing as quickly, before getting up to grab some tissues from the box next to the TV.

Tim took them appreciatively before turning away to blow his nose. He moved to get up after that and Jason quickly scooted out of the way and went to sit on the couch while the kid was gone. As soon as the kid got back he sat on the couch, but opposite from Jason.

“Well that was kind of embarrassing.” Tim cringed in a way that told him he truly did believe that.

“Nothing embarrassing about crying after grave robbing, Timmy.”

Tim let out a choked laugh at that and Jason counted that as a definite win.

“It’s also fine to cry about having a bunch of bullshit thrown on you. I…” He leaned back as he thought about it.

Tim was often seen as the one who could handle anything thrown at him. It was obvious now that even though he pushed down those emotions on the field, they were still there. Hell, he’d already proven several times over that he cared more about Jason than he was expecting.

Tim had been out here worrying about concerns that Jason hadn’t even taken a second to consider. He’d probably been working on shit for Jason in his spare time and everything. And all this on Jason’s word—he hadn’t even seen anything happen.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the TV suddenly flickering on.

“Well, since you’re already here, why don’t you stay?” Tim’s face was carefully passive but somehow that didn’t dull down his sad, wet-dog look. It was like watching one of those sad dog commercials. Tim was obviously begging him to not leave and to stay close by. Jason was not immune. “Yeah. Might as well. I don’t really feel like handling all the bullshit I’ve had pile up while I was gone, anyways.” He shrugged and leaned back for a second before he remembered his other objective.

“I can pretty safely assume you probably have absolutely no edible food in this place, so I say we order some pizza and call it a successful night.”

“I know a great place that does twenty-four hours.” Tim’s smile was blinding compared to his previous attempts to not let his upset show.

Jason just sighed and accepted his fate. Yeah, he was not getting out of this place tonight.

∆

Jason turned onto his side on the couch and tried to keep his annoyance at Tim in check. Stupid silky rich-boy sheets. The silky feel after the day he’d had was making his brain try to take him to all sorts of places he didn’t want to be. He stood up and moved the blanket so he could lay on that instead. Sure, now he would have to roll up like a burrito in the blanket, but he would also be able to sleep. He was just done with that and was settling back in when he heard movement in Tim’s room. Then there were light footsteps moving about until Tim was staring back at Jason like he just got caught sneaking into the house after a rambunctious night out. Jason just stayed where he was and slowly blinked back.

“You can’t sleep?”

Jason thought about all the things he could say in response to that, but instead, he just nodded.

Tim seemed to take that as an invitation because he walked over and stood next to the couch and stared. Jason sighed and moved his legs, but stayed wrapped in the blanket just in case the kid tried to take it. He had just gotten it all warm and he wasn’t in the mood to share.

If Tim found a problem with this he didn’t say anything and instead reached out and grabbed the remote.

The TV left Jason blinking spots out of his eyes, but he couldn’t say he was really mad about it. With the TV on, the two of them looked more like bleary slumber-party-goers, instead of two people too scared by the echoes of their past to sleep.

Tim looked at Jason in question as he looked through the menu, but Jason just looked back in apathy. Apparently that got his point across because the kid didn’t try to ask again and put on Pirates of the Caribbean.

He couldn’t remember which one and honestly he didn’t care. They both sat there in silence watching the movie. This was the longest time he had spent doing anything that could qualify as hanging out with Tim since he met him. It was kind of weird how easily companionable their silence was, with that in mind. Maybe, probably, it was because they were both too tired to care about anything, but too wired to actually sleep.

Either way, they had been sitting there for a while before Jason noticed Tim had actually gotten closer. Whereas he had initially been sitting on the other side of the couch like he had earlier, he was now sitting on the cushion next to him. A quick scan revealed that the kid probably had no idea he had even done it. Well either this kid was a stealth cuddler to rival Dick or he didn’t even know how desperately he was craving human touch. As much as Jason the blanket caterpillar could count.

“I’m still sorry you didn’t think to call me when you were in trouble.” Tim’s voice startled Jason and if he weren’t so tired he would have jumped.

This kid…

“Nothing to be sorry for—you're not responsible for my ass.” Jason looked down at Tim, only to see the top of his head from where he was now leaning onto Jason’s shoulder.

“Well, since I’m the only one who knows, I actually am sort of responsible.” Tim’s voice was small and he sounded so young saying that.

“No, listen here.” Jason wiggled until Tim sat up and looked him in the eyes. Jason very carefully pretended not to notice how ridiculous he must look wrapped up in a blanket, trying to be very serious. “I’m going to be honest. I’m not really sure why I told you, but even though I did, I am still a grown-ass adult in charge of myself. You are never responsible for whatever the hell I do.”

Tim’s eyes were big and wide as he started back up at Jason. Combined with the pyjamas and restless bedhead it made him look like a frazzled stray cat. Was there any point in time where this kid didn’t look like some kind of bedraggled animal?

“Kid, you're acting like no one has ever told you this shit.” Jason chuckled but stopped when he saw Tim’s face morph into confusion.

“Adults in your life have told you that you’re not responsible for whatever the fuck they’re doing, right?” Jason now had a strong suspicion they hadn’t. Which, maybe he’d felt a little responsible for Bruce and what happened to him when he was Robin, but that was just because he was supposed to be his assigned backup. Once again Jason was left wondering what kind of adults Tim had been exposed to his entire life. Clearly shit ones.

“I know I’m not responsible for what you do, but you were supposed to be able to rely on me to help you.” Tim seemed so sure of this that Jason stumbled.

“I didn’t tell you what was going on so you could just be a resource for when I needed help. I mean, I just told you that I’m not even sure why I felt you had to know all about this shit.” Jason added a shrug at the end as Tim stared at him incredulously.

Tim seemed to get lost thinking about whatever he was thinking about now, so Jason left him to it. Obviously he needed to rethink a few things in his brain after that revolutionary statement.

After a few minutes, however, the movie just wasn’t enough to hold his attention anymore and he felt like he needed to get ahead of whatever dumb shit Tim was going to try and apologize for now. It appeared the longer he left Tim to think, the more stupid conclusions he drew.

“You know I’m really the one who should be sorry.” Jason tried to keep his voice quiet but Tim still went completely stiff beside him. The kid whipped around to stare at him but Jason kept his eyes trained on the movie.

“Why would you need to be sorry?” Tim seemed entirely incredulous as if he wasn’t basically snuggled up on the couch with a man who two years ago would have murdered him freely. Sure Jason wasn’t exactly all there and his thoughts were definitely all coated in a nice slimy coat of green, but that was still something his brain had thought.

Jason knew better now than to try and apologize for any of that, so he went with what he had actually been thinking. “For, oh I don’t know, dragging you out while you were probably doing shit, to make you come dig up my grave?” Jason kept his voice carefully blank on the word grave. “Making you listen to my hour-long panic attack while you did it? As if the digging an entire grave out by yourself wasn’t bad enough.”

Tim was looking up at him with horrified eyes now.

“You don’t have to apologize that you died,” Tim cried.

“Oh I know that. I was apologizing for being a bit of an asshole and not letting you ask anyone else for help or, hell, maybe just getting someone else to do it altogether.” Jason rolled his eyes at the look on Tim’s face because really this was the part that was definitely Jason’s fault and his fault alone.

“You’re apologizing because you didn’t tell everyone yourself or let me do it?” Tim was now sitting up on his knees next to Jason.

“Yeees?” He drawled. He had the odd feeling that he had made a mistake somewhere in there. Tim calmly got up off the couch, walked to the other end of the couch, grabbed a pillow, walked back over, and absolutely whalloped Jason in the face with it.

Jason tried to talk but the next thing he knew he was being hit with the pillow again. Oh that was it.

Jason wiggled free of his self-created cocoon with only a little longing and a lot of looking ridiculous and fighting off the fabric. As soon as he was free, he quickly grabbed the pillow from behind himself and swung it towards where Tim was trying to dance out of range. He managed to nail the kid right in the side and it was an all-out battle after that. It was a race to get to the pillows that Jason had taken off the couch and stacked over in the corner of the room. They fought and wrestled their way over to the new ammunition like two yowling cats in a cartoon. Tim got there first by ducking under Jason’s arm, so he retaliated by going for a full-body tackle to keep those grubby hands away from the pillow pile.

Tim went down but managed to twist them so he could land on top of Jason in a move that forced all the air out of his lungs. Jason quickly reached out and grabbed a pillow from the bottom of the pile and swung it as hard as he could towards Tim before he had a chance to recover.

They wrestled on the floor for a while, both trying to get the upper hand and the most pillows in their ammunition pile. At some point they were both standing on opposite sides of the couch in a move that was very similar to the last time they had met. Of course, this time they both knew the other's moves and they had to come up with something new. This resulted in Jason running for Tim’s bedroom holding as many pillows as he could and Tim chasing after him with a cry of Stay out of there. Jason wasn’t about to give up that easily, so he hauled his ass towards the room as fast as he could.

His hand was on the door handle when Tim launched onto his back and started absolutely beating him with a pillow. Jason ignored the attacks and opened the door blind, attempting to see through the attacks where the bed was before he stumbled over to it and fell onto it. Tim let out a loud oomph as Jason landed his entire weight on him. Jason just stayed there as he felt Tim squirming and hitting him with his pillow until the kid relented.

“Okay get off, you,” Tim wheezed out. “You weigh more than Bruce I swear.”

Jason rolled off of Tim excruciatingly slowly until he got shoved off and onto the floor suddenly. He didn’t even fight it because he kind of deserved it for being an asshole. They both lay there just panting and getting their breaths back for a long moment. After they did it was completely silent for a minute. It seemed Tim couldn’t let that stand.

“Why were you having trouble sleeping?”

“Why were you having trouble sleeping?” Jason countered because that was an almost guaranteed way to shut down this line of questioning among vigilantes.

Tim was quiet for a moment from where he was now laying backwards on the bed, feet propped up on the headboard like a heathen.

“I was thinking about what it must be like to be buried alive.” Tim said it so quietly Jason almost didn’t believe his ears at first.

“Well shit, you kinda stole my line because I was thinking about what it is like to be buried alive.” Jason carefully didn’t look over at Tim so he didn’t have to see what kind of face he was making. No one had ever asked Jason what it was like to be buried alive. What it was like to have to dig yourself out of your own grave. Which was pretty funny because he was one of the few people to live through the experience to tell the tale. People had more tact than he expected sometimes.

“I’m not going to ask. If that was what you were worried about.”

Jason looked at Tim incredulously because seriously that kid had an incurable curiosity about anything he didn’t know. Everyone knew the best way to get something from Tim was to trade for information he didn’t know yet.

Tim looked over shyly.

“If you wanted to tell me I’d listen.” Tim then glanced somewhere at the floor and back up at Jason. “I also need some more answers about certain things. So I can get a better idea of what happens and then, well, hopefully we can avoid you having to die again, but just in case—”

Jason reached over and grabbed Tim’s hand.

“We can do this alright?” Jason looked back over at Tim. “We’ll go see Alfred tomorrow, okay? He can help us keep Bruce out of my shit the most effectively anyways.”

Tim nodded back, completely serious.

Now that he wasn’t lying on those horrible sheets, he was definitely feeling the tired catch up to him. He’d been awake way too long considering the absolutely traumatic start to his day. He felt his eyes slowly weighing down and each blink was longer. He should really get up and go back to the living room, so he wasn’t here taking up Tim’s whole-ass bed.

He couldn’t really convince himself to get up. Especially once he felt something warm settle over him and he was barely able to blink one eye open to see Tim rearrange the blanket he’d just put over him.

He wanted to say something in thanks. Unfortunately it seemed his tongue had been the first thing to fall asleep apparently because he couldn’t summon any words. He felt the bed dip on the other side again but he was much too close to sleep to turn his head to see what Tim was doing. Instead, he stared towards the window across from the bed. There were blackout curtains over it, just like any good Bat’s bedroom should have really, but he could still see the beginnings of sunlight creeping around the edges where the curtains didn’t meet the wall. He almost wished they were open just to see the sunrise properly.

He didn’t think about it anymore as his eye finally closed and refused to open once more. It was an oddly peaceful end to a stress-filled day.

Chapter Text

Jason was going to blame that really good night's sleep completely on the fact he was really just exhausted yesterday. Waking up in your own grave for the second time could really tucker a guy out. Surely, his good sleep had nothing to do with the oddly cozy slumber-party vibes they had going and sleeping near another person. No, if that was the truth then he’d have to accept that as a viable solution to his problems. Dick would have a field day with that.

Either way, he woke up feeling oddly refreshed, considering all that had happened yesterday, to find he had slept later than he usually did.

He carefully pushed Tim’s arm off of him, because the kid apparently migrated towards Jason while asleep. Man, somebody really needed to give this kid a hug or something. His standards were much too low if he was okay having Jason for cuddling or whatever the hell you’d call that. Maybe Dick made house calls. He probably did but that was a focus for another time. Jason was hungry now and needed to make a quick trip to the bathroom, so off the little limpet had to go. Once he had successfully been freed and made his quick trip, he walked into the disaster zone that was Tim’s kitchen. Oh, it wasn’t horrifically dirty or anything. Jason was pretty sure that was because nothing had ever been cooked in there. Ever.

His suspicions were slowly assured as he found only takeout containers and tupperwares of Alfred’s food in there. Well, at least someone was making sure there was food fresh enough to actually eat in this place. Even after he checked the cabinets he was unable to find anything to make even a quick breakfast. The kid didn’t even have an edible loaf of bread or hell, just some basic eggs. Who lived in a house with a kitchen with no eggs? It was a miracle he hadn’t died of malnutrition years ago. That miracle was named Alfred.

Speaking of Alfred…

Jason understood what Tim was worried about, he really did. But, Jason also had his own worries. He worried about Alfred having a heart attack or something when Jason told him about this crazy-ass new fact of his life. Which, wasn’t entirely the whole truth if he really thought about it. He was worried about that, sure, as a wider concern, but much stronger was his worry that Alfred wouldn’t believe him. He could take disbelief from anyone else really but if Alfred didn’t believe him he would definitely feel like he had lost it and was in the wrong. Didn’t matter how much evidence there was pointing towards actual dying being the answer. Alfred’s word was law and if he called Jason a crazy liar that would instantly become the reality of the situation. He would also probably just instantly die of embarrassment, so hey, maybe they could test the theory right then and there.

He looked longingly at the toaster while he went through the tupperware to see what the kid had in there. He also tried to internally soothe his own anxieties. Come on, this is Alfred. He has seen and heard crazier things. He wouldn’t immediately accuse you of lying and kick you right out of the Manor and—

“Do you normally raid people’s kitchens while muttering?”

Not so internally, apparently.

Jason whipped around from the fridge and his hand was already reaching for the butter knife he’d left on the counter before he realized who was standing there.

Tim put his hands up in surrender, but accompanied that with a shrug.

“Yeah that was totally my fault for startling you.” Tim walked over to peer into the toaster as if he was expecting to see something else in there. “We all should know better than to sneak up on people but, somehow, we all manage to consistently forget.”

Jason just rolled his eyes and went back to opening and closing containers. He left the takeout containers alone because if he looked through those he may very well lose his patience. Who knew what kind of shit this kid consumed on the daily. He opened what looked to be a promising container and found some sort of egg, potato, and meat scramble that was definitely intended as breakfast food. He stuck it in the microwave and turned around.

Just in time to watch Tim bite into the unbuttered toast.

Jason didn’t even mean for the loud Ah-ah! to leave him but it made Tim immediately drop the toast back on the plate.

“What?”

“Where the fuck did you get that? What the fuck are you doing?”

“Um, the fridge? And eating?”

“First of all, why was the bread in the fridge? Second of all, you didn’t even butter the toast yet!”

“Well the fridge helps things keep longer so I started sticking the bread in there since it kept molding before I could even have a slice”—he took another bite of crunchy, unbuttered toast—”oh, also, yeah well you see I think I might actually be lactose intolerant so I stopped eating butter.”

Jason just stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not even getting into the fridge thing right now. You do know they make dairy-free butter, right?”

“Oh shit really?”

Jason just closed his eyes and turned his head up to the sky. How long had Tim been eating unbuttered white-bread toast? It wasn’t even the good bread that you could happily eat unbuttered. No, he just decided one day that he was lactose intolerant and, instead of trying to find alternatives, just stopped eating those foods. Jason sighed and rubbed a rough hand over his eyes.

“Okay well apparently you need to talk to Alfred, too.”

“Why?”

“Well since he seems to be your sole provider of real food around here, you may want to inform him he needs to make it without dairy.”

“Oh, I just stopped eating the things that had cheese and stuff in it. I didn’t want him to bother making me my own stuff or anything. That would be a lot of extra work for no reason. I just give the extra food to the bottomless pits I call friends.”

Jason stared at him. Sometimes, it seemed like Tim just dropped onto this planet like an alien with no previous knowledge of Earth or how to be a living being. Seriously, how does one get to adulthood with the ability to solve problems the World’s Greatest Detective can’t, but not think to ask the man providing him food to stop making it with milk? Guess Jason would be talking to Alfred on his behalf. If only Tim could do that for him.

After some arguing over the preparation of breakfast that may have included something along the lines of—

“No you can’t just eat it without anything —at least add some jam.”

“I don’t have any.”

—they finally ate real-people food and could actually head on with the day. Tim of course insisted they could have done that without breakfast, and Jason tried to stop himself from strangling the kid. Seriously, who just let him out into the world by himself? He was a menace to himself and society.

After they had cleared up a few more misunderstandings about what exactly constituted good human behaviour that would help you not die of malnutrition, they decided to head over to the Manor. Which presented its own sets of problems.

“Nope. I am not riding in a vehicle with you behind the wheel.” Jason was currently refusing to move out of the way of the door that led down to the garage. “I’m pretty sure you have no will to live or ability to distinguish danger, and I am not letting you get behind the wheel like that.”

“Why? It’s not like you won’t come back.” Tim blinked up innocently at Jason and he was so blindsided the kid slipped right past him. He couldn’t just come up to Jason and make a joke he would make about himself. That was not how you played the game.

“Hey now, mister! Nobody gets to joke about my untimely death and undeaths but me.” Jason hurried after Tim as the kid stopped at what was apparently his car, a fucking Lexus Bullshit Mcgee or whatever the fuck they named them, and turned back toward him.

Tim made a show of looking around before staring Jason straight in the eye. “And who’s gonna stop me?”

The absolute cheek on this kid, holy shit. What had Past Jason been thinking of not teaming up with him to give Bruce the ultimate heart attack?

Well, no time like the present.

“Fine but only as long as you make some of those jokes in front of Bruce.” Jason gave the kid a sharp smile. “Only then do you have my blessing.”

“I was going to do that anyways, but thanks for your blessing, O wise one.” Tim rolled his eyes before walking around to get into the driver's seat of the car.

Jason lost a bit of that giddy feeling he got whenever he got to trade quips with someone just as witty when he realized he still had to ride in the car with this little maniac. Oh, sure, he’d trust his unlife with the kid, but something about him said that this car ride was going to result in Jason’s next death.

∆

Past Jason was, once again, a fool. A blundering fool who was much too ready to put his life into the hands of a maniac. This time it may have been more like Twenty Minutes Past Jason, but still an idiot. He should have never gotten into the car with this danger to society. He was pretty sure Tim was playing it up more just to be an asshole. He saw his combined lives and deaths pass before his eyes every time the kid merged lanes. He drove like no one had ever even given him a glimpse inside a car before putting him behind the wheel. Which, knowing the kid, was actually possible.

Actually, he knew exactly how the kid drove. Like somebody who learned how to drive by driving the Batmobile. He had a strong suspicion he knew exactly how Tim ended up learning his fascinating driving habits.

Jason had to grip his pants and hit an imaginary brake pedal just to get his nerves under control as they drove at speeds he wouldn’t have dared around Gotham traffic. Oh, how he wished for one of those teaching driving vehicles where they came with the extra brake pedal at this moment. He would pay actual money to have one of those right about now.

The kid never once even glanced at the cruise control so his speed wildly varied. He acted like they were driving with a bomb under the car and driving under the speed limit would result in your immediate and painful death. The most concerning thing was really the way he would adjust his damn seat while driving. The vehicle was not supposed to be in-fucking-motion when you did that shit. That was definitely a stopped-vehicle type of thing.

When they finally got to the Manor the kid just drove in, without pause for the gates that luckily opened in time, and parked his car in a wide-open space Jason had an odd feeling had been cleared just for him. He had seen the kid handle a motorcycle like a pro but who would have guessed those skills didn’t transfer over to a car? Jason would not have guessed that. Guess he probably shouldn’t go out gambling later. His luck seemed to hold up to being shitty at all times.

Once the vehicle was completely stopped he scrabbled for the handle and dramatically fell out of the car.

“Oh, sweet ground, I thought we would next meet in a kiss of asphalt.”

“You’re a bit of a whiny asshole, you know that?”

“Why yes, yes I do but thanks for the reminder, Timberine.” Jason didn’t even bother stopping the shit-eating grin that spread across his face.

Tim just rolled his eyes and moved around Jason toward the door.

He went to follow and froze for a few seconds because this was the second time now that he had been back inside the Manor proper instead of just downstairs. It was also highly likely that he would see Bruce while they were here today. He had a strong feeling this conversation was going to take a while. He also just had the bad feeling that Bruce was going to show up. Like some sort of dark premonition over his person. Or maybe that was the bad feeling of eating the probably questionable food that inhabited Tim’s place.

He kind of regretted not taking the time to mentally prepare himself this morning now. He’d been so busy bantering with Tim he’d forgotten the details of what they were here to do.

Too late for second-guessing now, they were already here.

Tim was waiting at the door for him now so he hurried to follow after and carefully kept from scrunching his shoulders up. Not only did it feel weird to be in the Manor after so long of not being in there, it also felt distinctly wrong because everything was not the size he remembered it. Of course, houses didn’t change sizes. He was the only thing that had changed. He wondered if this was how Alice felt when she took the growing potion. He had been in too much of a panic last time to really note how different everything felt, but this time it hit him full force. Some of it must have shown through because when Tim turned around to ask him a question, he stopped and stared at Jason instead.

“What’s wrong? Is it Bruce? He probably is home at this time of day but I’ll ward him off for you. Whatever it takes.” Tim was completely dead serious as he said that and it made Jason snort. Especially when Tim held his hands up as if already boxing the imaginary Bruce.

“Nah it’s just…” Jason wasn’t really sure how to describe the feeling. “Everything is the same as I remember but it feels like it’s all different and I know it’s not, so the only thing that’s really different is me.”

Tim looked back at him with those big sincere eyes that made Jason shift uncomfortably. Well, at least he couldn't see anything like pity in there. More an understanding of what Jason was saying even if he himself didn’t fully understand it.

His thoughts felt disjointed by the sudden disconnect from the familiar and what he once knew.

Whatever Tim was looking for, he didn’t find it apparently, because he sighed and motioned for Jason to follow him and they started off in a completely different direction.

He wasn't really sure where they were heading for a moment until his mental floorplan of the Manor seemed to finally load. He didn’t say anything about the change in destination. He trusted that wherever Tim was taking him, he had a point.

They arrived in what Jason remembered to be the main living room. Evidently, it was still that. Only a bit different then he remembered it. That probably had to do with all the shit strewn about on the shelves, the floor, the couches themselves, everywhere basically. It wasn’t even a mess. It was just an odd conglomeration of items.

Dozens more blankets and pillows than he remembered there being on the sectional sofa. Multiple sets of wires from the TV to various gaming stations. Art supplies across the coffee table. Even more of Dick’s beloved board games that he insisted on keeping in there. Just stuff.

Like people lived here.

Like people used this room on a daily basis.

It certainly hadn’t looked this lived-in when he was here. He spent most of his time in the living room and Dick had been on icy terms with Bruce at the time. He certainly hadn’t been coming over just to hang out in the living room.

It was a lot to take in and already his mind was trying to figure out what belonged to who, a crime scene analysis habit that he couldn’t just turn off.

He realized why Tim had wanted to bring him to this part of the house specifically.

“I don’t really know if this helps but I remembered what this room was like when I first got here and thought maybe…I thought maybe it would,” Tim finally, hesitantly, spoke up.

Jason hummed as he continued looking around.

“I mean nothing is ever really just the way you left it. Everything changes constantly around us, just like we do. Even if we don’t really notice it, that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. We’re not as keen as we like to think sometimes. Some things will alway feel or seem the same but even then they’re not really the same.” Tim seemed to realize he was talking out loud and startled. “If that’s any help.”

Jason put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Both to assure him that it did, in fact, help and to get him to stop talking. That had been an absolute word vomit of an attempt to comfort him. He would like it if the kid stopped now.

Oddly enough it did help. Jason did actually feel better the longer he took time to think about and process Tim’s words. Knowing it wasn’t just him who had changed but everything else too, even if it was just in the finer details, made it all seem less daunting.

“I mean it’s not just here either.” Tim gestured towards the door and Jason followed.

As they walked down the hall and he looked around, he could understand what Tim meant. A replaced light fixture here, a new picture there. Though the base remained the same there were still some changes. Likely due to the fact Bruce was incapable of adopting normal children who didn’t feel the urge to break at least one thing per day. All in all it was actually comforting to notice that even here in this place where it felt like nothing changed, time had still gone by and moved forward even if Jason wasn’t there to move forward with it. God, Jason felt incredibly sappy now.

“Yeah, that’s enough reminiscing and runaround bullshit for me. It’s time to face the damn music. Let’s get Alfred.” Jason turned to walk in the direction of the kitchen finally, because even if Alfred wasn’t in there he was likely to be nearby at this time of day. This was about the time all the various night creatures that lived here should be having what could pass for lunch. Jason remembered even from his days that Alfred would hang around the kitchen in case anyone needed something to eat…or to chase people down and force them to eat. It didn’t matter if everyone was more than capable of making their own food. Alfred wasn’t about to take no as an answer.

He got to the kitchen without problem, because he still remembered how to get around by himself, thanks, and walked right in without thinking. His own concerns about coming here had apparently already completely slipped his mind. He was going to blame Tim for fucking distracting the hell out of him.

He screeched to a stop right in the doorway as he took in the scene in front of him.

God he hated being right sometimes. Being right was the worst. He wanted to go back to twenty seconds ago and take the time to check the situation out before he just waltzed right in like he still lived here. He had been successful in finding Alfred, but he had also unintentionally made his earlier prediction come true.

He felt Tim nearly run into his back as he attempted to walk into the room before he also seemed to realize what was happening. Jason had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as the kid ducked under his arm to very obviously move between him and Bruce while keeping a keen eye on the man.

As if Bruce was just going to suddenly launch an attack at him in the middle of the goddamn kitchen.

It definitely didn’t make Jason feel a little better.

“What can I do for you today, boys?” As always Alfred was the first to recover and smooth over his surprised look. He also then turned to look at Bruce who looked almost ashamed. Good to know that Alfred’s looks were effective at all ages and they never lost out on that effectiveness.

“We came over because we needed to talk to you.” Tim had apparently decided to be Jason’s liaison, and he was more than happy to let him. If the kid wanted to put himself in the line of fire, just this once, Jason was fine with that.

“Ah, is this to do with the matter we had discussed some weeks ago?” Alfred turned to address the question to Jason directly.

Jason gave a slight nod and glanced at Bruce who was looking increasingly tense.

“Alright. Well then, I’m afraid I was just compiling the grocery list to pop off to the grocery. So it will have to wait at least that long.”

“Yeah, that’s okay, Alfred.” Tim nodded along but he kept his eyes fixed on Bruce only.

“Is there anything else that needs to be added to the list?” Alfred directed this question at Bruce who quickly shifted his focus back over.

“No…you already put the poptarts on?” “I am well aware of who will be visiting this week and have already planned the poptart supplies accordingly.” Alfred raised an eyebrow as he gave Bruce a look that clearly questioned his intelligence.

Bruce just nodded before looking to the ground.

“Well I’ll be off, then. Unless you would like to come with me?” Though Alfred would definitely have allowed Tim to tag along he had turned to address that comment directly to Jason himself.

“Yeah, Alf, I’d love to.” Jason tried to pretend like he didn’t notice Bruce startling at his voice. He had already watched him get more and more tense as the conversation went on.

Bruce turned and hurried out of the other entrance to the kitchen at a definitely brisk pace that totally didn’t give the impression he was running away.

Nobody said anything as Tim followed after at a much slower pace with a long sigh. If Alfred was bothered by the whole thing, his face didn’t show it.

He had no idea what was going on there, but he was going to leave Tim to handle it. He seemed more than capable of getting stuff done faster than anyone else.

“Wonderful, my boy. Give me just a minute to check over the fridge one last time and we can get going.”

Jason nodded and took a seat at the counter while he waited for Alfred to finish. This was going to be quite the nostalgia trip.

A bit like this whole day had been so far.

∆

Jason sat in the passenger seat for the second time today, but this time he was not fearing for his life. Instead, he relaxed as Alfred pulled out of the Manor’s driveway with the smooth grace of someone who had done that exact route hundreds of times. Since he insisted on still going to get the groceries himself every single time so that he could verify their quality over having them delivered, hundreds was probably an understatement. He knew for a fact that they had used quite a few groceries when there had just been three of them in the house; he couldn't even imagine how many groceries they went through at the Manor now.

It was almost funny how different, and yet, exactly the same it felt to be riding with Alfred to the grocery store. Little Jason hadn’t been big enough to ride up front when he first came to the Manor, so being able to ride up there that first time had been such a big deal. Nowadays Jason avoided sitting in the back at all costs because it almost always meant cramped legs for him. Despite the additional strength and height being helpful, he sometimes missed being small enough to comfortably sit in the backseat. Not that he often had to argue for the front seat with many people, but it was the principle of the whole thing really.

In terms of the many things that had changed and what hadn’t over the years, there really wasn’t much difference between when he went then and going right now. Alfred still took the same path to the stores, still turned down the same street. He’d been doing that for probably decades, all to avoid driving by the house of a particular woman. He claimed it was because he found her front yard to be an unsightly eyesore…Jason wasn’t sure he believed that, but he, unlike some people, wasn’t willing to push the issue. He still turned on the same radio station in the car. Hell, knowing Alfred, he would probably still offer to buy Jason a special treat towards the end of the trip or some shit, despite Jason being an entire adult who fed himself now.

Speaking of an entire adult who fed himself…

“Did you know Tim thinks he’s lactose intolerant?” Jason kept his eyes on the road because it had been a very long time since he was out on this side of town and it was genuinely interesting to note the changes. Despite that, he could practically hear Alfred’s disapproving eyebrow with the hum he got in return.

“Is that so?” Alfred definitely didn’t sound too happy.

Jason snuck a look and yup there it was. The disapproving eyebrow. He tried to snuff out his delighted glee at ratting the kid out.

“He said he’s just been avoiding eating the cheese or anything with too much butter that you bring him.” Jason tried to keep his voice even, so as not to reveal the absolute thrill he was getting from snitching, of course. If anyone could make the kid take proper care of himself, it was Alfred. Did Jason feel bad siccing him on Tim like this? No, not at all actually—somebody needed to follow that kid around and make sure he actually ate food. And didn’t manage to kill himself being a self-sacrificing idiot.

“Well this is very pertinent information that I would have liked to know much sooner.”

That dampened Jason’s tattletail joy. If Alfred found that to be pertinent information he would have liked to know sooner…what was he going to think of what Jason had to tell him when he got back? He felt a bit like a neglected house plant as soon as he remembered why exactly he had come to visit Alfred. He needed to make sure to come and visit his grandfather sometime when he wasn’t having a crisis causing extreme problems. It was surely dampening their visits some to constantly have a lurking dark cloud. Well, more lurking dark clouds. Considering Bruce still lived in the Manor of course.

After that, Jason just listened to Alfred’s good old neighbourhood gossip that he swore wasn’t gossip. Jason was pretty sure complaining about what gardener your neighbour hired and what a poor job he was doing taking care of the hydrangeas definitely qualified as gossip. But, hey, what did he know? More importantly, who cared? He could listen to hours of Alfred gossip and not get bored. No one could complain quite as politely as him…and sometimes not so politely.

Eventually they got to the store and Jason’s good mood was dampened once more. He could practically feel the eyes on him as he walked next to Alfred. He automatically hunched his shoulders as he was directed to push the cart while Alfred read from the list and found the items he was looking for. He hadn't been in such a fancy-ass grocery store since last time he went with Alfred. He used to feel just as uncomfortable going there those first few…dozens of times. Only after enough trips with Alfred was he finally able to relax a little despite the stares never dissipating. He’d simply grown a thicker skin for them. Now as an adult he felt just as out of place as that first time.

Of course, the looks were likely of a similar branch as the ones from when he was younger—just with a new touch of snootiness. They used to be the gaze of someone better staring upon street scum who visibly did not belong in such a place. Now they were probably trying to assess what exactly Jason’s relation was to the obviously well-dressed gentleman accompanying him, clothed in clothes a world apart from his own. There were so many people silently side-eyeing him as they passed by on Alfred’s pre-planned route of efficient shopping. Alfred was either ignoring them or blatantly staring back until they turned away in discomfort.

Alfred truly was not to be trifled with.

Jason tried to keep his eyes locked only onto the back of the perfectly pressed suit jacket as Alfred loaded up the cart with enough food to feed an army. While that was probably an accurate statement it still wasn’t enough to distract him from the woman consistently turning to walk past them at every aisle, just giving them a look. This was the fourth time already and he swore she wasn’t even shopping anymore. The contents of her cart had remained the same and stationary multiple times now. She was, apparently, just following them through the aisles like a self-assigned security guard.

He was worried maybe she was bad news at first, but he recognized the look on her face. Barely disguised disgust as she looked Jason over, taking time to scrutinise his leather jacket and give a practically scandalized look to his boots. Now that was just mean. He had gone through a lot to get these boots back. He wouldn’t take the slight to them lightly.

No, this wasn’t the case of someone looking to hurt him. This was just some random bitch with a little too much time on her hands.

And if there was one thing he was not going to do, it was be defeated by some random forty-year-old white lady in the supermarket. He wasn't. He’d faced down some of the most dangerous criminals in the world and if some menopause-riddled woman with too much time on her hands thought she could scare him off, she was sorely mistaken.

Apparently, Alfred agreed, because after the third time she moved with their cart and stayed directly across from them in the same damn aisle, he did a perfect about-face spin to face her.

"Is there something I could help you with, Ma'am?" Alfred’s tone was light and casual but Jason could see the hidden danger underneath.

"Why, yes, actually—I was wondering why a gentleman such as yourself needs to stoop so low when acquiring help for yourself." She didn’t take the out from Alfred and instead doubled down.

That was her final mistake in Alfred’s handbook. Jason could already see the man preparing for the final strike.

"Ma'am, you are quite mistaken. This is my grandson and he is helping this old man shop."

"Well if he's your grandson maybe you should make sure he dresses in a way more…” She had the gall to look Jason up and down once more like he hadn’t caught her ass doing it the first time. Her lip obviously curled in disgust as she considered what to say next. “Suitable manner."

"He may choose to dress however he so pleases. I was not aware that there had been the implementation of a fashion law for this establishment. As if they have, I'm sure you may encounter a few problems yourself.” Alfred eyed her up and down back with just as much obvious motion and judgement as she had inflicted upon Jason. “Until such time as that is the case, my grandson can choose to dress however he damn well pleases."

The woman stood there entirely flabbergasted as her entire face began to turn red. She seemed at a loss for what to say as her mouth moved without sound for a few moments.

Alfred decided she hadn’t had enough yet, and reached past her to grab an item off the shelf right past her head. He moved to put it into the cart without another look towards her as he continued down the aisle along their original direction.

“Have a nice day, Ma’am.” His words were final and an obvious end to the conversation.

Jason didn’t look back as he tried to hold himself back from laughing giddily as he heard the woman push her cart down the aisle so harshly it was practically begging for mercy, wheels squeaking under the pressure being exerted onto them unfairly.

Alfred looked down at the fancy jar in his hand with disdain when Jason pulled up with the cart beside him once more.

“An awful brand really. Too focused on packaging to make a good product. We’ll loop back around to put it away.” Alfred kept walking without another word on the subject and Jason felt nothing but awe for this absolutely wonderful man.

After that their shopping was suddenly a lot more peaceful. The stares suddenly toned down as if everyone in the store was now aware that Alfred wasn’t fucking around. They probably were, considering that woman wasn’t exactly quiet when she went up to the front to bitch to someone. It also wasn’t exactly quiet when she was escorted out of the store shortly after. It was fantastic. He hoped to one day have even a fraction of the power Alfred seemed to wield with ease.

“Only the ones with too much time on their hands notice or care about the way other people dress. Honestly, maybe if she found something to occupy her time besides cheating on her husband she wouldn’t be sticking her nose in everyone else’s business like that,” Alfred noted casually as he gave his list another lookover.

Jason tried to keep his snort quiet. People often underestimated Alfred’s observational prowess, but he’d noticed the exact same thing Jason did about her cart.

One container of extra-large condoms. Another container of small.

How she could have all the time and energy for all that and still have the time to stick her nose in other people’s business was beyond him. He almost wished Alfred had brought it up to her. Just to see her face go completely red.

Hopefully she’d learned her lesson now. Nothing quite like being publicly embarrassed by a nice old British man to get rid of that entitled attitude. Truly, it was a joy to see Alfred at work like that. He almost wished some other snooty rich lady had the gall to start something else while they were here just so he got to see another systematic takedown. He didn’t care what they had to say about how he dressed anyways. He just hated the feeling of eyes on him constantly as he walked around. It always left him feeling uneasy even if he knew they were mostly just judgmental idiots. Too many years of having to watch his back.

Of course, when they neared the produce section, Alfred moved to take over pushing the cart just like Jason had both been expecting and half wondering if he would. They were near the aisle, after all.

“Go pick out a treat for yourself, yes?” Alfred didn’t wait for an answer before pushing the cart away.

It may have been a question but Jason knew well enough it was a command. He stood there for a good ten seconds before chuckling. He could have been fifty and with grey hairs and Alfred would still suggest he go get a treat at the store. That made him wonder if Bruce would be subjected to the same treatment if he went with to the store, or if it was simply a grandkid special. He could pretty easily imagine Alfred making Bruce do it now so it was really a toss-up.

Well, he better go pick out his treat before Alfred finished in the produce section or the old man would just stand there with him until he finally picked one out. That had happened the first time they had gone to the store and he had felt so bad for wasting Alfred’s time. He was quickly told something about how he couldn’t really waste an old man’s time, but that hadn’t stopped him from grabbing the first thing he saw next time he went. Alfred hadn’t had any of it and had taken him back to pick out a real treat when he saw what Jason had grabbed and saw that he was unable to answer what he had grabbed without looking at the container in his hands. After that it was an experiment to see how many of the different sweets and bakery items he could try, after carefully perusing his options as per Alfred’s instructions.

Jason shook his head fondly at the memories before heading for the cookies. He always held a deep fondness in his heart for a good cookie and, if he read the ingredients carefully, he could probably find something that the kid could eat too. At some point Alfred showed up during his label reading session but neither of them said anything about it. He eventually found some fancy lemon cookies that sounded good and were vegan so they didn’t have any dairy in them and thus Tim could eat without actually subjecting himself to bodily harm.

He put them in the cart and looked up to see Alfred nodding at his choice. They finally made their way to the checkout line and Jason smiled at how familiar the routine of moving the bags for Alfred felt. Once they had packed everything into the car and started back on their way to the Manor, Jason pulled out the package of cookies from where he had stored them up front and opened it. He’d never been able to wait long enough to make it home with his new treat as a kid, and really nobody should expect any better of him now. Really, he wasn’t excited to open them and try some new fancy-ass food like he was as a kid. His motivations were much more simple.

He offered one to Alfred who took it with a small smile.

“Never change, my boy.”

∆

Jason had forgotten how nice it was to cook with Alfred. Even if there was no actual cooking going on really, and they were just preparing some easy sandwiches to take out to the garden. Maybe Bruce didn't want Jason in the Manor, but he would never dare try to control what Alfred did in the kitchen, his tea room, or the garden. He was an idiot, not suicidal.

Tim had been handed a stack of plates and cups to go set up at the proper places out there already. Jason tried to focus on making the crackers look nice on the plate, because it didn't matter if it was just family. There were years of lessons drilled into his brain. He was unable to eat straight crackers out of the box now without hearing the little nagging voice to lay them out, all because of Alfred. Even when he just wanted a quick snack, his brain demanded he lay them out to look nice on the plate at the very least. Echoes of food should look appetizing when you eat it, Master Jason bouncing around his head.

Once the plates were finally at satisfactory Alfred Standards and the sandwiches suitably made to everyone’s preferences, or forced preferences if Jason and Alfred had anything to say about Tim’s lack of avoidance, out they went to the garden. They set everything up on the table in silence. At this point Jason couldn’t remember the last thing anyone had said. He and Tim had both apparently taken a vow of silence, waiting for the other to start the conversation they were both trying to avoid.

It appeared Alfred knew of this; as soon as they all took their seats, he gave the two of them an expectant look. Jason felt busted and he hadn’t even done anything wrong.

Yet.

Technically.

Yeah, he was fucked.

Jason looked over to Tim desperately for help.

Tim was too busy acting like he had never been outside before and the sky was now fucking purple. What a help he was. Offering to come with for moral support and then acting like he was suddenly trying to transform into a potted plant.

"Take your time, my boy; we still have all of lunch." Alfred just took another sip from his tea while Jason very calmly had a mental breakdown.

In the midst of his mental breakdown, he had a stroke of genius.

“Oh! I forgot to grab the cookies I’m just going to—” Jason got up quickly from the table and headed back in towards the house. He very carefully made sure not to run because he would not be running away from this right now. Well, he would be running away but he would run back. That was not to even mention the fact that actually running away would be suspicious as hell. He futilely hoped that Tim would say something while he went and grabbed the cookies, but he knew that was a stupid hope. Tim was a terrible emotional-conversational sidekick. He was getting replaced immediately after they were done here. One star review on Yelp.

He grabbed the cookies and stalled for a second as he tried desperately to come up with something, anything, to say that didn’t make him sound psychotic. No one had ever taught him how to tell his grandfather that he just didn't stay dead. That nothing stuck and he just took a little corpse nap then woke up like he'd just had the worst night's sleep. There was literally no handbook or forum out there that could possibly help him with this. This was a special kind of torture and one he had no choice but to go through. No running away from this one. At least not permanently.

Just like he couldn’t permanently stay dead.

There, that was a fine way to say it; he could just walk back with the cookies, take his seat, and say that. But…better. Obviously.

With that tentative plan in place, he did just that.

The second he sat down and opened his mouth, however, he realised he had severely miscalculated his own ability to fuck everything up.

“I think I don’t stay dead.” Jesus Christ Jason, you could have run from it a little more than that. “Like I—uh, keep passing out in really bad situations and waking up fine? Healed up and all that shit? Not bleeding out?”

Jason desperately hoped for a meteor to fall from the sky and land on him. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities in Gotham, after all. He needed to stop speaking.

Alfred just put his tea cup down and blinked at Jason with a faraway expression. Jason couldn’t have made that sound more unbelievable and crazy if he had tried.

“I don’t exactly have any proof right now for sure to know that’s what is definitely happening, but me and Tim are pretty sure.” Jason had no idea why he was even continuing so he reached down to grab a sandwich and shove half of it in his mouth. There—you couldn’t say stupid shit when your mouth was full of sandwich. He sat there in awkward silence as he chewed and Alfred continued to say nothing. Tim was continuing with his potted-plant act, photosynthesizing and attempting to blend into the background. The little traitor.

“...Alf?” Jason tried not to let his voice shake.

Alfred snapped back to look at Jason, instead of through, and to his horror the old man’s eyes were a little shiny.

Shit. This was definitely not how you were supposed to do this. He would have to write a book all about how not to fuck this up after this for future reference of anyone who might need it. He was sure there must be at least one other person out there.

“I’m sorry, my boy.” To Jason’s horror, Alfred pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. “I’m so sorry…it is not that I do not believe you. I simply worry about how one might have found out about such a…unique circumstance.”

Jason shoved the other half of his sandwich into his mouth, desperate for any extra time to think, and tried blinking S.O.S. to Tim. The kid finally snapped out of inaction or took pity on Jason, because he opened his mouth. “I found him buried in a grave recently.”

Alfred was visibly startled at that and Jason gave Tim his best what the actual fuck are you doing look. If only that didn’t take so long to blink out in Morse code. Seriously, after he just watched the disaster that came out of Jason’s mouth he couldn’t think of anything better to say? This was truly a display of emotional capability for the ages. He should have picked someone else as his plus one. Surely he knew at least one emotionally competent person who would have made a better choice?

Jason honestly felt like melting into his seat in a way only embarrassing himself in front of Alfred could make him feel. He may have only cared about one man’s opinion but he cared a whole lot about that particular opinion. Nothing could ever feel quite as shameful as making a fool of himself in front of Alfred.

“Yeah well we have other evidence too,” Tim was quick to reassure. This kid was picking every wrong dialogue option right now.

Jason was severely regretting not just stabbing Tim back when he’d had the chance. Holy shit, this was the opposite of helping but it wasn’t like he actually had any sort of other plan so just fuck him, right?

“As far as I know there are three other documented cases. The other two aren’t as obvious as the Ethiopian one but I assume Jason would know better than us about what potentially happened during those times.”

Jason finally gave in to his instincts and started melting into his chair to make himself a smaller target. This was actual agony.

Tim was making it ten times worse by activating case mode and going complete Bruce mode.

He was going to go over the table, Super Grover-style, here in a minute just to strangle him. The movement of course drew Alfred’s attention to him and when those eyes fell on him they were absolutely blazing with emotion.

“Unfortunately, Jason didn’t call me this time around to ask for help or anything, so not only did he die but we were unable to gain any data this time around.”

Alfred slowly turned back to Tim with those blazing eyes and the kid didn’t even seem to realize he was in danger.

Jason would have warned him but it was every man for themself when it came to Alfred. This was a Titanic-level self-caused disaster. Tim wasn’t looking and he was driving them right into the iceberg. Call him Edward Smith, because he was officially abandoning ship. Good luck, Private Tim.

“We’ll just need to work together to make sure we actually can gain a lot of data from the next time so we can—” Tim stopped talking abruptly. He just sat there, eyes and mouth wide, gaping like a fish. As if suddenly, now what he had been saying caught up to him, and he realized what the hell he just said. And in front of Alfred, too.

“The next time?” Alfred’s eyes were still blazing but it was with an emotion Jason could easily identify. He’d seen it enough in the mirror his whole life to always recognize it in an instant. Anger.

Tim looked over at Jason in panic like he could do anything to fix that major fuck-up. He may be the less cool zombie Jesus but even he couldn’t perform a miracle good enough to save this conversation. Honestly, if he wouldn’t be endangering Alfred’s beloved tea set he would just make good on his thoughts to launch across this table and strangle the kid himself. Couldn’t say stupid shit when Jason was wringing his fucking neck. His premeditated murder was stopped by Alfred clearing his throat.

“Master Jason.” Alfred’s voice was firm in that familiar tone he used to use whenever he found Jason digging through the cabinets. He somehow doubted this time he was going to offer to make Jason a snack if he was so hungry. Jason cautiously turned from promising retribution to Tim to look at Alfred. He would not be ignoring the man after the fucking circus of a show they just put on in front of him.

“I would just like to verify before we proceed any further. Do any of your other siblings know yet?”

Jason may protest vehemently to being part of this family to anyone else but like hell was he going to correct Alfred. Like hell was he going to do it right now especially.

“No. Just Tim.” Just like we talked about. He didn’t say that part out loud. Just because he could come back from the dead didn’t mean he was going to incite it upon himself.

“Alright and how about any of your friends?”

“No?” Jason was relieved and surprised Alfred didn't even ask about Bruce. Whether this said more about Bruce or Jason himself he’s not sure.

Alfred’s moustache twitched.

Bad sign. Bad sign. He’d fucked it even more somehow.

“So, if I am understanding this correctly, based on Timothy’s account and your own.” Alfred took a deep breath and turned away for a second before turning back to Jason with such a piercing look he couldn't look away. “You have now died four separate times and on only two of those occasions have you attempted to obtain any assistance before or after?”

Jason hesitated on his reply. Where was this going? He wasn’t sure if Alfred was about to yell at him or make him a cup of hot chocolate right now. Maybe both. Tim apparently did not share Jason’s concern and wanted to prove himself to be the worst conversational sidekick in history.

“Yeah that’s about the sum of it.” Tim walked right into the trap, completely oblivious to the snare around him.

Fuck it, maybe if Jason did it correctly he could make it across the table without harming Alfred’s tea set. Gonna kill that little shit—

“And how long have you known, Master Timothy?” Alfred looked at Tim and that was enough to freeze the kid in his seat, his meagre self-preservation instincts suddenly kicking in.

Jason laughed internally at the instant karma before Alfred was looking at him again and nothing was funny anymore. “And might I ask my boy, whether these occurred by simple happenstance or…choice?”

Alfred’s voice was particularly choked on that last word and his hand went to where Jason knew he kept his handkerchief.

Didn’t that just make Jason feel like absolute fucking scum? He’d caused his grandfather to cry multiple times in this conversation now. And even worse was the fact that Alfred felt he even needed to ask that question.

“No I wasn’t—” Jason had to stop for a second to clear his own throat. “I wasn’t trying to get myself in trouble Alf, honest, shi—stuff just happens, you know?”

He could feel the sweat droplet roll down his neck as he considered all the ways to escape this conversation.

“Master Jason.” Alfred’s voice was sharp but the hand he laid on Jason’s arm was soft. He sighs before starting up again. “I needed only to be sure. You are not on trial for your choices. I just…needed to know.” “Yeah…of course, Alf.” His voice was a little weak, even to his own ears.

“I have long understood the roles that all of you play in this city are exceedingly dangerous.” Alfred let out a long sigh as he leaned back in his seat. “While I have concerns about your entering into certain situations without assistance, that is a separate matter and, regardless, I would not seek to lay a further burden on you for what you have been subjected to. You deserve far better. What I ask to understand here, is why you did not feel that you could ask either your siblings or myself for aid in such horrific circumstances.”

“Well it was kinda…” Jason shrugged. “Ya know? Since I was fine on the other side of it there wasn’t any real danger.”

Alfred sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Jason startled as he realized that Bruce must have picked it up from him. How many times had Bruce seen that reaction to literally pick it up and incorporate it into his daily behaviour? He had to try very hard not to chuckle at just the thought.

“Did you not consider that these strange and unusual circumstances might have some impacts on more than just your own, personal well-being?” The annoyance was clear in Alfred’s tone and Jason physically could not stop himself from shying back.

He then stared at Alfred, because what kind of consequences was he thinking? Alfred sighed again and Jason was honestly starting to worry about what the two of them were doing to a poor, innocent old man, so he looked over.

Tim, however, was looking down at his phone doing something or other, and when he looked up received a pair of equally unamused expressions. At least the kid had the good grace to look sheepish.

“I also find it pertinent to mention that you are both making a very bold assumption.” Alfred looked between the two of them with a look that seemed almost pained. “You are assuming that a situation like this will arise again, and by the way you are both behaving, you think it will be soon.”

Jason couldn’t even say anything to that because, yeah that was what they were worried about exactly. That he would die again and it would be just the two of them trying to figure all this shit out. That the worst-case scenario might play out and someone who isn’t Tim finds him first. That was why they were bringing in Alfred—to have someone else there. Also, for the great reason that if he died he didn’t want to put Alfred through the stress of thinking he died for real again if Tim wasn’t able to cover things up fast enough.

“I mean, it’s just likely, Alf. Just given my track record.” Jason looked out at the property, because talking about the inevitability of your own death to your grandfather was kind of fucked and he’d really like to be out of here. “It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened more often and to more than just me.”

“I am very bloody thankful for that miracle. Every single day, Master Jason. It is one of the things that keeps me from locking you all in the Manor and never letting you leave. While you may have all come from very different backgrounds, and bicker every day because of it, you all seem to come together on exactly one topic.” Alfred picked up a long-forgotten sandwich and put one on all of their plates, as if needing something to do with his hands. “You all share this penchant for caring a hell of a lot more for other people’s lives over your own.” Alfred sighed, long and drawn out. “I am but an old man, who wishes to selfishly protect his grandchildren…both from the world and, on occasion, themselves.”

Both Jason and Tim started to protest at that, but Alfred continued to speak over them.

“Though, whether it is selfish or not I’m damn well past the point of caring. I simply do not want to ever attend one of my grandchildren's funerals again.” Alfred picked up the tea pot and headed inside.

Jason turned to gape at Tim who, in turn, looked around to gape at Jason. What the actual hell was that? Jason had never heard that much commentary about what they did at night from Alfred. He honestly felt his flight instinct heavily in the back of his mind but the logical part of his brain knew Alfred was going to be back with tea within a couple minutes and he sure as hell was in for it if he wasn’t at this table when Alfred got back.

Tim looked much closer to giving into that instinct and running away so Jason stared him down until the kid sat fully back down into the chair.

Jason hadn’t told that little shit all of this only for him to go and get himself killed immediately after. They sat there in their staring match, each keeping the other from running off until Alfred came back and returned to his seat. Their gazes pinning one another to their chairs.

“I’m sorry, my boys,” Alfred began as soon as he walked back over to the table, refilling everyone’s cups.

Jason hadn’t even noticed his was empty.

“I’m afraid, sometimes, even an old man still has strong opinions.”

“That’s okay, Alfred.” Tim had folded his legs up into his chair as if trying to physically shrink the amount of space he was taking up. That or he was doing his best gargoyle impression. Jason’s knees hurt just from watching him do it but the kid seemed entirely unbothered.

“Yes, well, I still think you boys should consider the inevitability with which you speak about these things.” Alfred took a long sip of his tea. “I am already vastly uncomfortable with the knowledge that Master Jason has died and come back once. To find out that it has been four times instead… It is a lot to take in.”

“Yeah when he called me to come get him out of the coffin last night—”

“Last night?” Alfred exclaimed.

Jason glared at Tim. Oh, now you’ve fucking done it. They were in for it now.

∆

Jason and Tim, who was dragged along to the Cave to also be questioned, were forced to endure a particularly long lecture while Jason was checked over. The whole thing had lasted well over an hour and when it was done Alfred had refused to let Jason help clean up outside because he should be resting. Which was all well and good, but he felt vastly uncomfortable waiting around in the kitchen where he had been served hot chocolate, like he hadn’t just had two cups of tea, and was told to sit and stay like some unruly stray. A kitchen that anyone else could walk into at any moment and he would thus have to deal with by himself. Without any of his buffers.

He was well into his cup of hot chocolate, out of boredom more than some sort of thirst at this point, wondering when exactly the plates had grown legs, because those two had been out there a while—

When his prophecy, finally, came true.

Someone walked into the kitchen. No, not just someone. Dick. He waltzed in like he usually did, like gravity was a suggestion to someone like him, and walked over to the fridge before beginning to take out some ingredients that were probably intended to be used as a sandwich. Jason wasn't really sure about that, and at this point he was afraid to ask. When the idiot finally moved over to the cabinet he grabbed whatever else he needed for his culinary abomination, and when he turned to close it he finally spotted Jason.

He did a little wave with his mug in the world's second-most-awkward greeting.

He was sure whatever he did, Tim had him beat on awkwardness.

Dick just stood there wide-eyed like a deer in front of a truck as he slowly put the—was that the fucking marshmallow spread—back into the cabinet. Apparently some of Jason’s horror must have shown on his face because Dick laughed.

“It wasn’t going on the same sandwich.”

“Dick, what the actual fuck? Are you actually fucking dying?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that since as far as I know you have a deathly allergy to the Manor and emotions.” Dick blinked innocently at him as he took the marshmallow spread back out of the cabinet.

“First of all, you’re still a fucking dickhead you know that?” Jason set down his mug to avoid the urge to throw it at Dick’s empty head. “Second of all, I’m here getting lectured by Alfred.”

“Oooh. What the hell did you do to need a lecture personally from Alfred?”

“None of your damn business and if you really want to be nosy, I’d worry more about what the hell Tim did.” Jason gestured out to the garden in a bid to distract Dick from staring at him in between intensely making his sandwiches…if you could call them that. “They’ve been out there a damn long while and I got put in timeout here while Alfred gives him his lecture.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were such a gossip Jay.” Dick gave him a shit-eating grin as he finished up his first sandwich which appeared to be a monstrosity of deli meats and mustard and things Jason didn’t even want to bother to name. “I’ll ask Tim for the details later.”

Jason was worried he was going to want to keep chatting, but instead Dick just went back to making his sandwiches in silence. He kept his suspicion but the rest of the sandwich making was completely silent. Once the sandwiches were finished, however, Dick started walking over towards him and he was suddenly very concerned Dick may attempt to hug him. He needed a distraction, quick.

"You're really in here eating your kitchen sink sandwich when Alfred just bought Pop-tarts for you?" He figured the best distraction would be the truth.

Dick stopped mid-bite to pull back and gasp.

"He got more Pop-tarts?" Dick immediately abandoned his Scooby-Doo-ass sandwich to go for the pantry.

"You're literally eating right now. Why would you need more food?"

"Dessert!"

"That's disgusting. This is why your ass is fat."

"Why, actually, the tabloids have many kind things to say about my ass---"

"Shut the fuck up!" Jason immediately cut in. He wanted out of here yesterday.

Dick just giggled, fucking giggled, before pulling back with his Pop-tarts that he quickly shoved into the pocket of his pants. He then grabbed back up the plate with his sandwiches.

“It’s great to see you off the clock, Jay!” Dick chirped before turning away with his sandwiches to, hopefully, go torment someone else. Well, okay then, apparently, Dick had learned boundaries since the last time Jason had truly interacted with him. Good to know. Good on him for growing as a person unlike certain people.

∆

Jason was just swirling the very last drops of his hot chocolate around in his cup when Alfred and Tim finally came back inside. He tried not to make it visibly how happy he was that they finally came back inside and he was free from his prison. Oh, sure he probably could have gotten up and walked around the kitchen but he wasn’t willing to find out. He definitely wasn’t willing to test fate enough to dare leave the kitchen.

Alfred walked in holding the teapot and cups while Tim trailed behind with the stack of plates looking thoroughly chastised. Jason was sure whatever he got wasn’t undeserved but that didn’t stop him from feeling nervous. He had already gotten one lecture today about his reckless behaviour. Would Alfred go in for the second?

Alfred didn’t say anything to him yet, and simply walked over to the sink to put the teapot down and start running water to clean it. He motioned for Tim to put the plates over there and then started on washing the dishes.

Jason watched as Tim did just that before walking over and sitting next to Jason at the table. Jason looked at him and tried to convey his question with just his eyes and hands.

Should I be worried?

Tim just shrugged before slumping down in his chair with a slight pout. Apparently, Alfred had been more harsh on the kid than Jason anticipated.

That didn’t bode well for Jason. He didn’t exactly want to keep sitting there, sweating bullets, worrying his head off, so he got up to dry the dishes as Alfred finished washing them. The old man said nothing as Jason did so and they fell into a quiet and once familiar routine.

Once Alfred had finished washing all the dishes, he opened the pantry to grab something before walking over to open the large windows near the table.

Jason watched out of the corner of his eye as he put the now familiar package of cookies on the table. He finished drying the last of the dishes and then walked over to the table. He was careful to tiptoe his way around the back, both to sit closer to Alfred as well as the windows. The curtains were open and the sun was in the perfect position to shine through them. He was feeling a little attached to the sunlight after that whole debacle last night.

“I know this must all be quite hard on you, my boy,” Alfred started. “But I do believe it is quite important you inform your siblings of this development. Lest something more unfortunate were to happen.”

“You mean more unfortunate than dying?” Jason meant it as a joke but when he turned and saw the serious look on Alfred’s face he instantly regretted it.

“Causing your entire family emotional distress because neither I or Master Tim have been informed yet would be very unfortunate. Especially when your other siblings would not be aware of exactly what you need.” Alfred’s eyebrow arched up into the dreaded judgement position.

Jason could practically feel the blade hovering over the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sorry Alf.” Jason felt thoroughly told off and apparently Alfred noticed because he smiled back at him.

“It is alright, my boy. I am just worried about you as well as the entire family. There isn’t much left for an old man like me to do but worry.” Alfred reached out to bring the container of cookies closer to them. “How about I make you a deal, hm?”

Jason had a violent wave of nostalgia from how hard those words hit. That is what Alfred always told him whenever he saw Jason was uncomfortable with something, to help soothe his nerves. Back then it was hard to imagine getting anything for nothing so Alfred would always make deals with him. They were often inconsequential things offered in return to Jason, like an extra serving of desert if he would trust Bruce on this or that occasion, but back then it had meant a lot to little Jason. He smiled at just the memory of some of the deals they made.

“Sure, Alf.”

“Then I should ask that you inform either myself or Master Tim when you are in a truly terrible situation. And if things have become—” Alfred paused for a moment to clear his throat. “If the situation has already become dire, then I must insist you contact one of us. In exchange, I will grant you a certain amount of leniency for when you should tell the rest of your siblings.”

Jason noted that once again Alfred made no mention of Bruce or making sure to tell him. He wondered if that was because he was going to take enough pity on Jason to tell Bruce for him, or if he just knew the topic was a bit of a lost cause at the moment. Either way, Jason was more than happy to go along for now.

“Yeah,” Jason turned in his chair to face Alfred. “Yeah of course I can do that for you, Alf.”

Alfred reached out and grabbed his hands in both of his own.

“I need you to understand, my boy, that not only is this for your own sake but it is for all of ours as well, alright? Know, also, that I am here and willing to assist in any way that I can for telling them, yes?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Dick would have a heart attack if you died on him and I am not explaining this sh—stuff to him so you better handle it,” Tim interjected.

Jason honestly would have forgotten he was there if he hadn’t suddenly spoken.

He’d been completely silent as he slipped into one of the other chairs at the table.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll get around to it.” Jason went to roll his eyes but Alfred squeezed his hands again.

“Let me revise my earlier statement. This is most definitely for your sake and I would feel much better knowing you’re out there doing what it is you boys do if more of your siblings were there as backup. Your friends as well.” Alfred had such an intense sincerity in his eyes that all Jason could do was nod in agreement. He apparently found this satisfactory because he then turned to the table and pulled the sleeves of cookies out of the containers.

Alfred took one out and then passed the container to Jason.

He took a few out before passing it to Tim.

The kid gave it a suspicious look.

“They don’t have any milk in them, if that’s what you’re worried about now. Unlike you, apparently, I’m not actually trying to cause you physical harm.”

Tim took a cookie without saying anything.

They all ate their cookies in peaceful silence while looking out the window into the vast backyard of Wayne Manor. For the first time in a long time, Jason felt like he had his life under control, if even for just a moment.

Chapter Text

Jason didn't often venture into Blüdhaven. He had the Alley to keep up with and that was enough work without going to other cities—hell, or even other sections of Gotham. He had his work cut out just to deal with his little sector he’d carved out of Gotham. That wasn’t even mentioning having to fight to keep those boundaries and keep certain other people from sticking their noses in his business.

He did not, however, like to leave a message undelivered. So sometimes when the little weasels snuck away from him before he could properly teach them a lesson for dealing to his kids, he had to go hunting. Luckily, they were stupid enough to stay close by so he didn't have to go far. It still meant teaming up with his dick of an older brother…or whatever the fuck Dick wanted to call himself in relation to Jason. He seemed to have changed his tune these days compared to what Jason remembered.

He didn’t really give a fuck what Dick wanted to consider him.

It didn’t hurt to think that Dick might not even think of him as a little brother anymore.

As long as Dick was willing to let him in to deal with his bullshit it didn’t really matter. Dick only insisted on accompanying anyone who wanted to operate in Blüdhaven for the night. Something about the criminals there having a healthy respect for Nightwing. Jason just thought he was hella territorial and didn’t want to admit it. Of course, he had to deal with the team-up on top of already dealing with a rainy-ass night. He almost wanted to push it back just for that reason. But with his luck, the bastards might slip away and then he’d have to put in all the effort to track them down again to some other shithole city they decided to hole up in.

Now he was stuck having to deal with Dick and being soaked down to the bone all night. All while they tried to figure out where exactly his targets had gotten to, between handling random Blüdhaven crime. To make matters worse he could hear the echo of his conscience, who sounded a lot like a little British man, telling him that he should tell Dick about the whole situation while he was here.

It would make a good chance to do so. He could just fuck right off out of the city after he told him and throw his phone in the harbour on his way back to Gotham.

Jason had no idea how you just brought something like that up though. Despite making that deal with Alfred a couple months ago, he still wasn’t exactly sure how to tell everyone about the whole thing.

With Tim it had been a mix of desperation and blood loss. Easy.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t gonna be an option for the rest. Probably.

He had considered getting everyone together at the Manor and just getting it out of the way, but it was gonna be pretty damn hard to get everyone together without a solid reason.

Everyone, minus Bruce… He wasn’t ready for that yet and he wasn’t sure he ever would be. He just couldn’t imagine what Bruce’s reaction would be and that…scared him.

That concerned him.

So he’d have to figure out a way to get the scheduling shit in order and then figure out a way of getting Bruce out of the house. Yeah, the whole thing would be more work than it was worth.

Besides, he had different problems with telling different people. He just didn’t know most of the younger kids as well. He knew the older ones too well.

Dick and Babs would probably freak out a lot at the idea. Dick, especially, would get upset about the whole having-died-multiple-times thing. He would get so suffocating so fast.

Jason really didn’t want to have to tell anyone else and just wanted to leave that shit up to Alfred and Tim to handle. They were both plenty more capable than Jason. He would probably just bake a bleeding cake and serve it to everyone, that is, if he didn’t already know Alfred would kill him with a glare on the spot.

The kid, who after spending more time with, Jason had come to realize was a kindred spirit in dark humour as well as a disaster of a human being. Alfred, who was always dependable and the closest thing he’d ever had to a grandfather. That same dependable grandfather, however, would have Hell to rain down on Jason if he didn’t tell the rest of the Bat bozos himself, and probably soon.

He could practically feel the timer ticking down in the back of his head…

Which was how he was ending up spending this entire patrol dilly-dallying about. Trying to decide if this was the right moment to tell Dick or if he should wait or if he should maybe go to the other’s apartment with him to discuss it…

None of the plans appealed to him. He didn’t want to do shit right now. He was wet, cold, and beyond fucking done with this city. Blüdhaven was just enough like Gotham to trip him up as they did things, but also lacking in any sort of familiarity to his brain. It was a torturous experience all around.

While he was having his back-and-forth dilemma discussion with himself, Dick at least was actually getting shit done. If Jason was off in Lalaland, Dick seemed ultra focused in on their task tonight. It was honestly starting to remind Jason of how Bruce got when he was in a Mood. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about that.

It included a lot less snapping at him about bullshit, so there was that, at least. But it felt…concerning. He almost wanted to ask what was up but out in the rain in the middle of a patrol really didn’t feel like the right place—

“Hey isn’t that one of the guys off of your list?” Dick’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

He turned immediately to look towards where Dick was pointing and squinted before remembering he could just close up on them. Well, fuck, it was one of the bastards. How Dick had managed to spot them from the fire escape the two of them had taken to? He had no idea. “Yeah that’s one of ‘em alright.” “Perfect!” Dick chirped before doing a complicated roll over the railing and using his line to lower himself down to the ground. “We can just follow them home!”

Jason sighed before following in a much less flashy manner. “I don’t know about that. Doesn’t that make us the bad guys? Stalking a guy home?”

“Nah, more like following a pest to the nest to take out the colony.”

“Jesus Christ, dickhead, that’s kinda fucked up.” Dick shrugged before shooting his grapple again and using it to propel himself around the corner and towards the other alley where they’d spotted the idiot.

He thought it was interesting how Dick had, apparently, decided that the rooftops were not for them this evening. Nobody knew rooftop hopping as well as Dick Grayson. Oh, sure, Bruce spent a lot of time doing it but he wasn’t built for the natural grace and athleticism that rooftops required. Watching Dick hop across rooftops was like watching an old alley cat who knew these alleys better than anyone else ever could.

Jason wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t at least a little bit disappointed not to get to see Dick jump around on what was now his home turf. Dick may have spent a long time in Gotham but everyone knew Blüdhaven was Nightwing’s, and only Nightwing’s, territory.

Well, sometimes he shared. Like tonight.

It also made it a little harder to tail the dude, but the rain at least was there to help cover up their footsteps. If there was any reason to not completely hate the rain that had graced them tonight, that was it.

They followed the dude all the way back to the little building that they’d apparently holed themselves up in since Jason had smoked them out of Gotham. Seemed like some condemned building that was already knocking itself over, even without the input from the city. They always had to pick some building that was one violation away from crumbling…or a warehouse. It must be somewhere in the evil-bitches handbook he apparently never got ahold of.

Jason shook himself out in preparation to go in. When he looked over to Dick he was just staring up at the roof with a hard look. Well, let it be known Jason didn’t ignore things when he saw others struggling.

“I’ll take the top”—Jason jutted his chin up to point out about where he was thinking—“if you want to go in more directly, Wing.” Jason was sure this probably wasn’t the best strategy given their skill sets. But also, whatever it was about the rooftops? It was really getting to Dick tonight. Better to lose some efficiency than have Dick all messed up mentally. An evaluation strategy Bruce could really use to learn.

Dick just gave him an odd look before nodding and tapping where his comm was.

Jason rolled his eyes, but reached up and opened the link as asked. He then took out his grapple to get up to the top of the building. With a lot fewer flips and tricks, he might add.

From there, it went about the same as any op done with another Bat vigilante. Boring. What was with all of them and their strong opposition to using explosives to say hello? He just wanted to announce his presence in a suitable manner.

Jason followed the guidelines and worked through the basic steps they used for most infiltrations. Luckily for him, they were able to throw stealth out pretty fast. He was ready to get this shit wrapped up and escape this damn city. There was nothing interesting here. The best he was getting out of Dick was some witty banter to pass the time while they cleaned shit up.

“I hear you and Red Robin had a slumber party”—Dick grunted as he probably did a sextuple backflip into a flying leap to kick some dude—”and you didn’t even invite me.”

“Is this your way of asking me to come over for tonight?” Jason made sure to turn just so Dick could see his deadpan properly, even if he couldn’t see his face.

“Maybe,” Dick drawled out. “Or maybe I’m just offended you two had an epic sleepover and didn’t even try to invite me.”

“Well, I’ll call you Karen, and move past it cause I don’t give a shit if you’re offended, Dickhead.”

“You wound my poor heart, Hood.” Dick had the audacity to hold his heart while giving some guy a lovely concussion with his foot.

Jason shook his head. "I thought I was a talkative guy Wing, but you put me to shame."

“Well I did it first, so there is that.” Dick’s easy-going grin told Jason that probably wasn’t supposed to be any sort of concealed jab.

If it was anyone else, he might not trust that it wasn’t supposed to be a passive-aggressive jab.

However, other than some shit he did to Bruce, as a general rule, Dick stayed pretty true to word. He wasn’t quiet or sneaky about his anger when it truly flared up. He was quiet in his anger but there were signs…you knew when he wanted something to hurt. Which also served as a great warning sign to get the hell outta Dodge, preferably, before he went boom.

“Just because you did it first doesn’t make you better. Plenty of copies are better than the original.” He kept a careful eye on the surroundings as he kept to the work, but the banter was easy and familiar enough he wasn’t too distracted.

“Absolutely not true. Name a copy better than the original right now.”

Jason barked out a laugh at the set-up he’d been given. Luckily, Dick couldn’t see his shit-eating grin.

“Me. Bitch.”

Dick’s face went surprised before he seemed to realize exactly what Jason was insinuating. It wasn’t even a lie or an exaggeration. The Red Hood of today was definitely better than the original. Even if they didn’t always see eye to eye, Dick at least, unlike some people, held a healthy hatred for the fucking clown bastard.

“Can’t argue with you there, Hood.” Dick’s smile turned into something softer and Jason gagged over the open mic.

“No sappy shit in the field.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“Yet. You didn’t even say anything, yet.” Jason shuddered. “I could feel it coming though.”

“Your feelings allergy start acting up just at the idea?”

“You bet your fucking ass it is.”

“It is quite an ass.”

“Ugh I’m gonna throw up, don't ever say shit like that to me again. I am so fucking tired of those jokes.”

“Why but dear brother, it is my greatest asset.”

“That’s fucking it. We’re gonna have another dead bird soon.”

Between all the banter, they did manage to get a clean sweep of the place. Found all the illegal shit they needed and got the police called to haul off their guys. The police weren’t as friendly to Nightwing in Blüdhaven, though, so they had to just watch from farther in the building. On the way out Jason almost groaned at the sight. The rain had picked up even more since they went in. He had just gotten to the gross damp stage, instead of soggy-to-the-bone in a sad homeless dog way. He walked out into the rain and tried not to bemoan the instant loss of warmth. It wasn’t exactly cold out or anything, yet, but it was definitely ready to start being cold. The end-of-summer wind neatly slicing right down to the bone regardless of his clothes.

He turned around to see Dick hovering in the doorway still. What the hell? He must be really dedicated to not getting wet. Before he felt the need to say anything, though Dick snapped out of it and walked over towards him with a plastic grin.

He’d always hated that fucking fake-ass expression. It practically spelled out everything is wrong but I think I can fool you with this bullshit.

“Come on, the night is still young and crime never stops here.”

Jason did not in fact feel like the night was young. He didn’t feel young. He was feeling about a hundred now, walking around soaking wet. Sure, he could have just told Dick to fuck off and gone back home to finish any patrol he felt like doing, but, well, some cold dead part of his heart warmed over at the offer to patrol with Dick Grayson. Apparently, hero worship never died. As if he didn’t already know that from hanging out with Tim.

“Come on, slowpoke! What are you doing back there admiring the view?” The smile on Dick’s face wasn’t without its tightness still, but it was approaching the mischievous grin Jason remembered seeing on Robin in pictures.

Even if he couldn’t offer some conversation or something, he could do this, a simple patrol, to help Dick get over whatever was bothering him.

He made sure to gag extremely loudly into the mic. “As fucking if. There’d have to be a view to admire first.”

Dick made an offended squawk. “I’ll have you know that people have told me—”

“Nope! Not listening la la la! I don’t want to know what the hell people have told you,” Jason called as he started into a sprint for his bike.

“What, are you afraid to talk to your older brother about girls?”

“I will kill you, and then kill myself, if you speak another sentence.”

Jason didn't end up murdering him, or anyone else miraculously, by the end of the night. By the time they were done, however, he ended up agreeing to at least come with Dick to change his clothes or something. As he had followed Dick back to his apartment, he almost passed out just at the thought of driving his bike back home. Maybe taking Dickie up on his offer to stay the night really was the better option. He didn't want to know how long it took to come back from being a pancake on the road.

Neither of them said anything as they made their way to Dick's preferred window that he used to get back into his apartment. They entered the place still completely silently, before staring at each other, locked in wordless communication about how the shower time was being divided up. Jason tried to communicate how tired he was of being soaked with his eyes but Dick was broadcasting the same level. Well if he'd made it this long—

"You got food?" Jason toed his boots off and peeled his wet socks off right by the window, and turned for the kitchen. He only heard an answering grunt as he got through the doorway. Whether that grunt meant yes or no he was going to have to find out for himself. He was not as well versed in the language as Bruce and Dick apparently were. He took his jacket off to drape across a chair and listened to the wet shlop with a cringe. He turned to open the fridge to scavenge for still-usable ingredients, because the only thing he would find in the cabinets was cereal. It was a miracle any of these idiots stayed alive living on their own, truly.

The only thing he found was some questionable cheese and ham that still smelled good. He was well versed in giving his food the old Sniff Test to check how edible it was. There wasn't even any bread to pilfer, so they were going rogue for this. At least Dick was a good grandma and had plenty of condiments to choose from. By the time he was done setting up a poor man’s charcuterie board, he heard the shower cut off. He honestly hadn't been paying close enough attention to hear it click on, but, hey, at least Dick was already done.

He grabbed the paper plate to deposit it on the coffee table in the living room on his way through to trade off for the shower. They were really living classy here, now—the fine Chinet and everything. At least he now had some knowledge about what was missing from this place, so he could buy Dick a passive-aggressive Christmas gift, of course. As long as Alfred wasn’t already planning to give those items as passive-aggressive gifts. He wouldn’t want to infringe on Alfred’s passive-aggressive gifts he so loved to give. That would just be in bad taste.

He made sure to make his steps loud as he walked down the short hallway to Dick’s room before knocking on his door.

“I’m hitting the shower now. I left some food out on the table.” He would have preferred to just go shower without a word. The lessons Alfred had drilled politeness into his head with told him he shouldn’t. He wasn’t about to abandon it all because he was a little emotionally uncomfortable. He wasn’t Bruce after all.

“Wait one sec!” Dick called through the door. The sound that followed after could only be described as the sound of a human-sized cat scrabbling at the floor. He had no idea what Dick was doing until he opened the door—

Dick opened the door while still dripping wet and holding out a bundle of clothes and a towel from what Jason could see.

“I don’t keep the guest bedroom stocked with anything, so, here.” Dick seemed desperate as he held the clothes out and it was really freaking Jason out so he just grabbed the clothes with a quick thanks and made a run for it.

He realized as he stepped into the room he had no idea if Dick meant he didn’t stock the bathroom either but quickly found his answer. There was soap and he could work with that. What there wasn’t, however, was enough hot water. He wondered if Dick had used it all, either on purpose or accidentally forgetting Jason was here too, or if this place’s water heater just sucked that bad.

He really wished Dick would take Bruce up on his offer, if only so he could have an apartment with better water pressure. He got why Dick would say no but that didn’t stop a guy from complaining. Especially when not only was the water not hot but it was practically just dribbling out of the faucet. Well, at least he got to shower at all. Even the cool water that came out of the showerhead was warmer than his hands and feet and left them prickling.

Jason got out of the shower feeling like a new man, and finally fully warmish again. Truly washing away the day's grime compared to no other feeling. Even if he didn’t get to turn the shower up as much as he’d like, it was still better than the freezing rain water he’d been doused in.

He went about putting on the new clothes he’d had shoved into his hands. He realized now that Dick must have grabbed them with his bare soggy hands. He’d guess it was an accident, but, knowing Dick he liked his clothes soggy or some other awful reason. God knew he loved his stupid soggy cereal, since he drowned it all in milk.

He wasn’t particularly picky about his clothes but as he stared at what he had been handed, he realized maybe he should have been. The only problem was when he came to the shirt Dick had given him. A very deep-cut tank top with the printed version of that old Batman slapping Robin meme. Seriously, how many versions of this shirt did Barbara and Dick own? He knew they got each other one each Christmas, but they must get other clothing items on other holidays. He was completely sure he’d seen Dick with a pair of pajama pants with that meme as the print. They both must have had complete outfits now. Who knew what else they’d been able to find over the years.

The more pressing problem was the fact that when he pulled it on, just to see if he could make it work, there was a very proudly displayed Y right on his chest. Normally, he changed in his room and wore t-shirts to keep from even seeing it himself. He avoided that damn mirror in the bathroom for a reason. He reached a hand up to rub across the rough, twisted scarring that marred the underside of his collarbones and bisected his torso to down past his belly button. He’d seen it enough times to know exactly where it traced along his body.

It always left him with so many questions and a strange empty feeling to see the lines. It was the only visible proof he really had of anything that had happened to him while he was dead. Probably because it was the only scar that had stuck around so long. Talia had her theories on why it survived the Pit, and Jason had his own. She thought it either had to do with how he came back or it was so deeply imprinted in his psyche, even the Pit couldn't wash it away.

He wasn’t sure what to think. It wasn’t like he could trust what Talia told him. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. So that left him to come up with his own theories. Hers didn’t completely lack merit but…he was never fully sure they didn't just dissect him after the Pit dip sometime and he just didn't remember it. His memory was still shit right after, so they could have gotten away with it and he’d be none the wiser.

He heard a quick knock on the door and his hand reached for weapons he didn't even have strapped on. He let out a sharp sigh at himself. Ridiculous behaviour. What was he going to do? Shoot the ghosts of the past? He already knew that little routine wasn’t going to work.

He could already see Dick's shuffling feet in the shadow under the door.

He kind of wanted to sigh again.

"Just wanted to check that you didn't fall asleep on the floor in there!" Dick sure was all cheery now that he'd had a shower, and Jason hated it. Sure, he felt better after a shower, but it was still the middle of the damn night. No one had any excuse to be so happy at this hour. Or eavesdrop on their brother's shower.

"Yeah." He took a second to glance back at himself in the mirror. He took a deep breath and resisted his urge to say something mean. It would be better to just ask Dick straight up then try to come up with some stupid way to cover it. He knew for a fact Dick was going to be nosy about it later, but he would probably be generally respectful of his boundaries. Oh, who was he kidding? Dick was a Bat through and through. "Can you bring me a t-shirt?"

"Sure Jaybird!" Dick chirped like an actual damn bird.

Jason made sure to watch the shadows move from under the door. Mostly because tracking Dick by the sound of his footsteps was an act in futility. He took a second to towel his hair dry instead of standing there getting cold, dripping water everywhere.

Until he heard the door click open.

Quick as he could he threw the wet towel at the door. Dick made a startled noise on the other side and Jason just let out a long sigh. Nosy fucker. He was definitely just trying to catch a glimpse of what Jason was definitely trying to make sure he didn't. Shouldn’t have even joked about Dick respecting his boundaries.

"How do you know I'm wearing pants, huh?"

"Didn't take you for a shirt-before-underwear kinda guy."

He was really starting to reconsider his decision to not go home now that he didn't feel like he was soggy all the way to his bones. Somehow being shower wet just wasn’t the same as being rain wet. He opened the door in a manner that would specifically block Dick's line of sight and held out a hand for the shirt. Who knew getting a damn shirt would be this hard. Maybe, he should have tried the old wear-the-towel-as-a-scarf method instead. As soon as there was fabric in his hand he yanked it back and shut the door.

"You know I'd never judge you for a scar, right?" Dick's voice was too unbearable, too soft and muffled through the door.

Jason just pulled the shirt on and opened the door again to glare at Dick properly.

It probably didn't have quite the effect he wanted, because he was folding the unused tank top but Alfred didn't raise no dirty house guest. Over his next dead body would he be breaking those long-ago promises to Alfred. Or the right-now promises to Alfred. He was pretty sure being clean was a lifelong expectation from him.

"Maybe, it's not what you think about it, but what I think about. Ever thought of that, dick?" Jason knew he sounded like a moody teen with that line, but he was frankly too tired to care. He sidestepped the now stunned man in the hallway and walked to the living room to angrily eat the meagre dinner he managed to pull out of his ass and Dick’s backwards-ass kitchen.

He made it to the living room before he had to groan and run a hand down his face. Everything was exactly where he left it. He had left everything out so Dick could start with him, but the dumbass was too nice to. That just made him feel angrier in his current mood and that was when he knew he was being ridiculous. He probably just needed to eat if he was feeling this over-the-top ridiculous.

Speak of the devil, and he comes back to the room with another plate that Jason hadn’t even seen him duck into the kitchen to grab. He sat on the far end of the couch, particularly distanced from Jason taking up the entire L portion. There he went again, being all considerate. Fucker. He even had the decency to wait for Jason to slide the food plate over for him to grab some. He slid a bottle of mustard back as a trade offer, because even after inspecting the fridge full of condiments Jason forgot to take one.

It was only after they'd been eating sad ham-and-cheese roll-ups in complete silence for a couple minutes that a crack of thunder finally rolled through the sky. It was immediately followed by the rain increasing its fervent beating against the window. He flicked his eyes over just in time to watch Dick freeze with his food halfway to his mouth. Weird. You'd think someone who hadspent most of their childhood in Gotham would be used to rain. Then again, due to his own experiences, Jason didn't exactly have great associations with it either. But, he mostly contained his own problems to the smell and feel of mud. He definitely wasn’t compartmentalizing shit to the point of failure. It was fine.

Totally healthy—and definitely therapist-recommended—trauma-handling methods aside. Jason watched Dick put his half-eaten food back down on his plate and stare at the window. He seemed to have forgotten that Jason was there. Completely absent and lost in his movements.

Jason had seen that look before. Hell he was sure they had all seen that look before.

Jason quickly, and quietly, ate the rest of his sad dinner. He knew this was probably going to become a moment with Dick and he needed the calories to deal with emotions. Maybe that was Bruce's problem. He didn't eat enough to outweigh his angsty onslaught of feelings. Just the thought was almost enough to make him chuckle. Jason had to very carefully keep his face neutral so he didn't end up laughing while Dick was obviously not having a good time. He was pretty sure that would be bad guest etiquette.

He mentally calculated how much energy he had for this interaction and then finally bit the bullet. Not actually of course, because he'd rather just bite an actual bullet than do this shit. No. The metaphorical bullet of big bullshit feelings. He was definitely stalling now.

“So, uh—” Jason watched with a distinctly uneasy feeling as Dick jumped a little before turning to him with a shaky smile. Fuck. Jason was not qualified for this conversation. Why couldn’t Dick have an emotionally competent conversation partner here instead of Jason? He was floundering here with no idea what he was supposed to do. All the things people had taught him over his lifetime and not a single person thought to teach him good emotional skills.

"Looks like it's pretty heavy out there. Glad we made it back before it really let out." Great. Beautiful opener. Fantastic, dumbass.

Dick blinked a half second later than he should've, a slight frown on his face as he registered Jason's words. "Ye-ah?"

"The rain." Sure, you've read enough purple prose to fill a stadium with ink, but no, let's go monosyllabic today. What a great Bruce impression he was doing right now. Maybe the food wasn’t the secret.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Dick absently picked at a thread on the cuff of his sweatpants, eyes firmly fixed on the window once more.

Jason didn’t like how that gaze looked. He’d seen that gaze before in the mirror. He knew for a fact exactly how shit he felt when he had that gaze. He could only imagine it was the same for Dick.

"Think it'll stop anytime soon?" Maybe this was Jason's punishment for being an idiot and never wanting to tell anyone anything; he was destined to torture them both with shitty attempts at conversation when he was supposed to somehow be helping.

Dick shook his head silently.

"Well, let's hope you're wrong."

A small frown again, but Dick didn't turn to look at him this time.

"You seem kinda worried an' all. Been staring out that window like you think Man-Bat's about to break in. Again." Jason sternly admonished himself not to hope for exactly that to happen. No matter what sweet relief it sounded like at the moment. Property damage wasn’t the answer or something. He hadn’t really been listening during that lecture.

"Oh. That. Ha." Dick forced out a small chuckle, flashing his teeth a little in what was probably supposed to be something resembling a smile but made Jason think of a nervous Chihuahua instead. He wouldn’t be surprised if Dick started shaking like one soon. "You know how it is."

"Yeah?"

"It keeps some of the bad guys in, yeah, but it also makes it a little harder for the good guys to do their thing. Harder to hear stuff. If someone calls for help—" An almost imperceptible shiver told Jason maybe his shit attempts at insightful conversation might have been bearing fruit after all. Dick snorted suddenly. "You know, I thought Gotham’s weather was bad, but something about the weather in Blüdhaven always rubs me the wrong way." And it was back, the showman's grin.

He used to think that was the smile of safety, something to look up to with happiness fluttering in his stomach.

This time it only brought acid to his gut.

Jason made himself calmly lift a skeptical brow. As opposed to pinching the bridge of his nose in a familiar mannerism, that he absolutely rejected on principle. He did not do that, thank you very much. He certainly didn’t get it from other people in his life. That combined with the fact that it definitely wasn't going to help his attempts at stealth therapy here. Fuck. "C'mon, Blüdhaven's not even that far from Gotham. We get the same weather systems all the time."

"Yeah, but Gotham hasn't made it into the top 3 of Worst Weather in America five years in a row."

"That isn't even a thing. Tell me that's not a thing." He paused for a second as he considered it. “And if it is a thing how in the fuck is Gotham not in the top three?”

"Why, Jason." Dick gasped in mock shock, placing a hand on his chest. "I thought you were the well-read one in the family."

"Yeah, but I've been slacking a little in my stockpiles of National Enquirer."

"I'll have you know it was Popular Science. Timmy isn't the only brainy one."

"Sure thing, Scarecrow. So what, it's just fucking Biblical every time it rains here?"

Dick shook his head a bit more vigorously then. "It's not that bad. Not always. But"—and here he bit his lip—"it's a lot. The rain goes on for a long time. Especially when you never have enough people around to help. Blüdhaven's been understaffed for years now, even worse than Gotham…and we didn't have a Jim Gordon around to care about fixing that."

Jason took a leap of faith. "That happen to you sometimes? Working the beat," he added to clarify. "You need help, but there's no one there."

"Not—” Dick caught himself with a choked noise. "Sorry, you must think I'm a pretty lousy host. Have time to talk your ear off, but not get actual plates. I, uh, let me just go wash the dishes so we'll have some."

Jason sat there, watching as Dick fled, and wondered if this was the astonished frustration Alfred felt while dealing with all of their emotionally incompetent asses. Truly a spectacular display of what Alfred must have felt like on the daily with them. Physically running away from a conversation only worked if you died at the end of the run. Jason would know. Instead of reenacting that plan, he walked into the kitchen to see these miraculous dishes, plural, that Dick needed to wash.

He hadn’t even bothered to turn on the sink to really sell his lie. He was just standing in front of the garbage with a blank stare as he seemed to finally realize the stupidity of what he had just said. Good to know it did catch up to him every once in a while.

Jason leaned against the doorway in a purposeful attempt to block the escape route. Dick very obviously glanced at the window before looking back at Jason. Seriously—out the window? That was a low Jason hadn’t even reached…yet. And Dick was supposed to be the emotionally capable one. Their standards were disturbingly low for what exactly emotionally capable constituted.

He considered his angle for a moment before he tried to visibly tone down his posture from interrogation to something smaller. Everyone knew Dick had a worrying soft spot for small things. It activated his big-brother instincts. It also activated his hug instincts, but Jason was willing to gamble. He wanted Dick to stop acting like this and he would do what he had to.

“I’m just worried, okay? Sorry, I didn’t mean to be pushy or anything like that. God knows we get enough of that shit from Bruce.” Jason normally wouldn’t’ve sweat or apologized for the small shit like this, but he could tell just from looking at him that it was working on Dick.

He almost instantly became less frenzied and panicked looking and his eyes turned into those big, round, sad eyes that Jason hated.

“Sorry Jay I—” Dick looked away towards the window, but this time he didn’t look like he was calculating whether or not he would survive a jump out of it. This time he looked like he was simply looking at the rain. So it did have something to do with the rain. “It’s really complicated and I’m not sure how to explain something like that especially since—”

Dick brought his hands up to rub at his own arms, a pseudo-hug for himself. That left Jason feeling even more wrong-footed. He had no idea what could be torturing Dick like this that was also so impossible to tell Jason. He wasn’t normally open about his problems or anything, but this amount of attempts should be getting something from him. Even if it was just a deflection. Obviously he wanted to tell Jason but he was scared of something.

He had no idea what that fear was or what it was founded from but he was ready to take things slow to not scare him off for good.

He walked over towards Dick slowly, to make sure he wouldn’t startle his deer-like tendencies.

“It’s okay, really. I know some shit is just hard? It’s like the shirt thing.” Jason hoped that reference to earlier would help Dick understand that he understood. Instead, Dick got back that curious glint in his eye that spelled issues for Jason. Well, no one to blame but himself for that one really. He was the one who brought attention back to what happened by bringing it up. If Dick hadn’t responded well to Jason’s attempts at prodding then maybe it was time to switch tactics.

Jason reached for the hem of his shirt and hesitated for a second before pulling it up and over his head.

Apparently, whatever Dick had been expecting, this wasn’t it because now he was just standing there gaping.

A part of Jason preened at still being able to shock Dick so thoroughly. Which was quite ridiculous considering their circumstances. But maybe some things never got old…even after all these years.

“Holy shit, Jay! You should have died from a wound like that.” Dick was visibly resisting reaching out to touch, which Jason really did appreciate, but he had other things on his mind.

He was too busy hoping it wasn’t visible that he was currently holding in a very loud and inappropriately timed laugh.

“Uh, well, the good news is that it didn’t kill me.” Jason could see as it was slowly clicking in Dick’s brain as he took better note of the placement.

“… The bad news, Jay?” Dick looked like he had a very good bad idea of what the bad news was already.

“I was already dead when it happened?” Jason almost brought his hands up to accompany that declaration with some jazz hands. He resisted, though, when he saw the crestfallen look on Dick’s face. Well, jeez, he wasn’t expecting that violent of a reaction.

Dick’s face did a few acrobatics that could put his normal ones to shame before he apparently couldn’t hold back anymore and stepped closer.

Jason watched as he reached out careful hands to trace the top of the scar. It felt weird to not really feel the touch as much as he was simply aware it was happening.

“I thought the Lazarus Pits washed away all scars?” Dick said it almost absentmindedly, as he finally reached the center of the top V from both sides where they then combined and ran in the long line bisecting Jason’s middle. His touch was still light and reverent in a way that left Jason with conflicting feelings on the whole situation.

“Yeah, well, let’s just say there was nothing normal about how I went in or came out, yeah?” Jason reached up to self-consciously tug at the piece of hair he knew would be white if he didn’t dye it. He didn’t need anything else to make him stand out more.

Dick didn’t know what wasn’t there, but his eyes were drawn up to Jason’s face by the movement, anyways.

When they locked eyes he could see desperation reflected in Dick’s that he was familiar with. That was the desperation from trying to hold back his instinct to hug. Jason had seen it quite a lot in his younger years, and even sometimes nowadays. “Apparently, the Pit has a rule against healing scars from someone’s own autopsy, or something. No way of knowing what really happened and no way of fixing it. So, now I just get to have this stupid-ass scar from a stupid-ass decision I never should have made.”

“It’s never a stupid-ass decision to try and help people.” Dick was so genuine about it that it almost made Jason gag.

He knew Dick very much meant what he said with that and it was so idiotically hopeful Jason could barely stand it.

As much as Dick had grown up past his Robin days, he retained an odd amount of hopefulness for someone who voluntarily lived in the shit hole that was Blüdhaven. “And it was a stupid-ass decision you should never have been put in the position to make.”

“Well, sometimes it is a stupid-ass decision when you ignore everything you’ve ever been told and choose to do the most idiotic shit you can.” Jason glared at his reflection in the microwave. He really wasn’t open to any comment on this subject. He made a stupid decision. He suffered the consequences. There was nothing more to the failed, tragic tale of Robin Mark II.

“You were just a kid, Jay…”

Dick may have thought it wasn’t Jason’s fault, but Jason knew differently. He knew it was his fault and there was nothing anyone could do about that. No amount of getting pissed off with his younger self would stop him from walking into that fucking warehouse. He’d spent many nights doing just that.

"I know, okay?" Jason felt like he was going to explode. "I fucking know, Dickface. Doesn’t make me any less stupid.”

“Well it does mean you had less knowledge. You just didn’t know any better then. There were facts being hidden from you that made you feel like you were out of options. You shouldn’t have been in a position where that felt like your only choice.”

Dick was placating now and it was grinding the wrong way against Jason’s nerves. He didn’t want to be placated; he wanted Dick to understand that none of that was an excuse for making a mistake so bad it cost him everything. His home, his family, and even his life. He lost everything he had ever had in a matter of hours, all because he wanted to be an idiot.

Dick seemed to sense he wasn’t making any headway there, because he looked away before looking back at Jason with a different glint to his eyes. Jason didn’t like it.

He moved a little closer, his steps slow and quiet. Cautious.

That didn't make things any fucking better. Somehow, the harder Dick tried to be all gentle and shit, the more it grinded Jason’s gears.

"You don't have to be ashamed of that scar, Jason. Or worry about letting people see it. If they give you crap over it, then—" Dick trailed off as Jason fixed him with a truly flaming glare.

Oh, great his switch-up routine was to prey on what Jason had only exposed to give Dick a chance to talk. At least he was smart enough to stop talking.

Jason turned to look away in the other direction this time. He was going to break something if he saw his own eyes staring back at him from that fucking microwave again. It was bad enough to see something similar reflected in front of him.

“Maybe I just hate seeing it."

"Jay—"

"Maybe, I hate seeing one of the scars so fucking bound to my soul even the Lazarus waters couldn't wash it away," Jason spat.

Dick stared in silence now with his lips pursed.

"It's so deeply wounded onto my psyche Talia had to remove all the mirrors from my room even when I was brain dead." Jason wanted this flood of information to stop but he was on the ride now. "Even completely un-fucking-aware, this scar would make me scream like a banshee.

"Sometimes, I still kinda want to scream when I see it."

"Fuck, Jay." Dick’s face said he was actually having trouble not jumping Jason and hugging him right that second.

Jason rolled his eyes and brought his arms up for a hug. Also a familiar movement, since this was their decided-upon sign all the way back then, that Jason would now be accepting hugs.

Dick dove in the same way he always had, if not with an extra hint of desperation.

Jason just accepted the hug while contemplating if this is what those divers felt when they got latched on to by an octopus? He would say the octopus had less bones, but he wasn’t even sure that was true.

They stood there hugging—awkwardly hugging, in Jason’s case—in Dick’s kitchen for what felt like forever. Jason knew it wasn’t really that long, but when he was stuck at the whim of a Dick hug, it felt like hundreds of years. He was only tolerating it because he knew Dick had probably been holding back this hug ever since they first knew it was him. So, Dick deserved a little extra hugging. As a treat. He’d resisted longer than Jason would have expected.

Jason stood there a little longer.

Okay, that was enough of a treat.

Jason wiggled to get out of the hug and Dick luckily let go easily. Small miracles.

“I’m so sorry, Jay.” Dick’s eyes were shiny in a way that stuck fear into Jason.

He could not deal with crying on top of all these emotions. He was already using all his best skills to handle this situation.

“What the hell are you sorry for? Not like you cut me open or anything.” Jason regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He wondered how long it would take him to invent time travel if he started right now. He could probably do it before he hopefully died for real. Maybe he could give it to the next generation as his legacy.

Dick’s face made Jason feel like he had just gone and kicked a puppy. How a guy who went around busting heads in his spare time and being a widely regarded Pretty Scary Vigilante could be so expressive to almost cartoonish proportions, Jason would never know.

“I’m just sorry you ever had to go through something like that.” Dick was so sincere it was almost physically painful for Jason to stand near him.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like there’s a damn thing you could have done about the situation.” Jason took a step back to put more distance between them. “Now move your ass out of the way so I can put my shirt back on—it’s fucking cold in here.”

It was not in fact fucking cold in there, but Dick was nice enough not to call him on his bullshit. Rookie move—Jason would now just pull more bullshit until he was stopped. He knew an opportunity when he saw one and he may have been years off the street now, but those instincts didn’t fade easily. When he smelled a sucker he was going to take advantage of them for being a sucker.

“I would also like to sit my ass down, because I’ve been up and standing for way too long.” Jason watched as Dick’s face turned surprised and then he turned about-face to go back out to the living room. Another blatant lie that was only to get him back where Jason wanted him. He had almost forgotten how much of a sucker Dick was when it came to anything he deemed younger sibling to him. Despite the fact Jason was in fact taller, Dick saw him as smaller because he was younger. Well, might as well use that to his advantage.

It wasn’t exactly complex to walk in the other room and sit down on the damn couch. So the moment was over before Jason could think about what the hell he was going to say now. He had Dick right where he wanted him. He’d lulled him into a false sense of security by showing some vulnerability and now all that was left was to figure out the key to get Dick to talk. Specifically about the right thing.

Dick would yap your ear off about anything to throw you off the trail once you realized something was wrong.

He took a moment to turn his attention to the window. Sure, there was the rain out there and that sucked. But if focused he could hear the other, much more familiar sounds. Those natural sounds of the city, the cars driving by down below, the occasional car horn. If he focused hard enough he could even pick apart how different the rain sounded when it beat against the buildings and pavement compared to the sounds of rain on grass blades, dirt, and stone. He wondered if Dick had anything like that to comfort himself with on nights like this.

Oh, fuck it all. He was just going to prompt the only way he knew how. With snark.

“I shared my traumatic story about what’s bothering me, now it’s your turn.” Jason just blinked innocently at Dick’s blank look. He was tired of beating around the bush, and subtlety never did him well in a conversation, so, might as well just lay it all out. “It’s playground rules—‘I showed you mine, now show me yours’—except with traumatic scars.”

Dick chuckled at that, but Jason didn't think it was really laughter at what he said. Judging by the sad look Dick threw at the window, where the rain had begun to fall even heavier outside, it was something far more self-deprecating.

“What if there is no scar to go along with what happened? What if it’s something that only hurts on the inside?” Dick was clenching his hands hard into the fabric of his sweatpants. “Something that didn’t really hurt me at all? Something where there was no damage? Something I could have stopped?”

Jason leaned back and blinked at Dick. That definitely wasn’t what he had been expecting. Yeah, he had been expecting some sort of pretty horrific injury that had happened while it was raining to go along with the story. He wasn’t anticipating something that was entirely mentally traumatic. Well, technically he couldn’t complain, because he had gotten exactly what he wanted. It just wasn’t in the way he expected. Especially if he was interpreting that correctly. Which he actually really hoped he wasn’t, because that meant something really fucked up for Dick. Only one way to be sure.

“Who?” Jason tried to keep his tone gentle, because even he wasn’t enough of an asshole to fuck around in a situation like this. He had talked with victims before; he knew how to be delicate.

It didn’t seem to be enough of an attempt, because Dick reached around and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch.

Jason was sure it was about to be thrown at him, which was fair, so he had already accepted his fate.

Instead, Dick wrapped it around his own shoulders and clutched at where the two ends met in front of his chest like it was physically protecting him from the memories.

“She was an ally…she was a friend.” Dick shivered despite the blanket encompassing his entire body. “I thought she was going to help me, but instead she killed him.”

Jason stayed silent as Dick seemed to work over what he wanted to say in his head. This was the kind of situation where you didn’t say shit and you let the other person finish. So he was doing just that.

“When she walked over I didn’t even know what to do anymore, everything had just gone to shit, so I just—” Dick’s voice cracked so he cleared it before continuing. “I didn’t stop her.”

Dick shivered again and Jason’d had just about enough of that so he got up, telegraphing every moment, before sitting right next to the sad lump. Hopefully, his own barely there body heat could help chase away some of the cold. Even if it was probably more in Dick’s mind than any sort of actual physical problem with the temperature. Considering the room felt fine to him, and Dick had the same overwhelming heat he always did during that hug earlier, it was probably more a trauma response than real cold. Dick wriggled even closer to the arm of the couch in his cocoon so Jason took that as acceptance and sat down right next to him. He wasn’t a touchy-feely person, but if there was a chance this would help…well, he couldn’t exactly ignore that.

Jason thought over what you could even say in response to something like that. This was a huge thing and, honestly, from the way he was talking it didn’t sound like Dick had talked to many people…or anyone. That was a more likely option than he’d have preferred.

“It’s not your fault.” Jason brought an arm up and cautiously above Dick’s shoulders, leaving time for him to move away. Something about that felt so off to do for someone he’d considered to be his older brother for many years, but he wanted to at least offer. It was strange to use the techniques for victims on him. The sounds of the rain quickly washed away any of those feelings. There wasn’t room to overthink when he had a goal in mind and a demon chasing behind.

He kept his arm there, but made sure that it was loose enough that if he wanted to Dick could push both him and his arm away. Neither of those happened, and Jason was left awkwardly side hugging a crying Dick. He had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who offered—gotta be ready to follow through. Dick leaned against him and occasionally sniffled, but other than that he was basically silent. Jason awkwardly stared at the wall and tried not to move too much.

“Sorry, I’m not even sure why I get so upset.” Dick pushed off of Jason, but still wouldn’t look over and look him in the eyes. “It’s not like it really hurt me or anything.”

Jason felt like an asshole now for showing off his scar. This wasn’t supposed to be a comparison of who got the most hurt; he was just trying to get Dick to open up. At least this gave him the chance to fix a very stupid misconception that had been bouncing around in Dick’s head for who knew how long.

“It doesn’t matter if there was a physical injury, the memories can hurt just as bad and your brain doesn’t have scar tissue to heal it up… Most of it anyway.” Jason leaned a little against Dick’s shoulder to reestablish some of the contact. “Just look at Bruce, he dresses up as his fursona to fight crime because his parents got murdered.”

“Well that’s fucking stupid.”

“That it is, Dickie.”

“I was talking about the brain part. Not Bruce.”

“I know, Dickie.”

Jason considered what to do next. The whole situation was all kinds of fucked up. Not to mention it got some part of him roiling to know the bitch who did it was probably still out there. Either because Dick was too nice to do anything about it or because he didn’t feel like he could. Just the idea that she was out there right now, doing whatever fucked-up shit people like her did, probably thinking she was in the right and hadn’t done anything wrong, made him want to shake Dick until he revealed who it was. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t change the shit happening right now, so what was the point?

“You know it’s not about whether you told her to stop or stopped her yourself, right? She should have stopped her damn self. You’re not responsible for someone else’s bad decisions.”

Dick let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“I stop dozens of”—Dick stumbled for a second over his wording—“attacks a night probably—you’d just think I could stop it when it’s, you know, myself.”

“We both know that’s not how it works.” Jason flicked his eyes to look at Dick’s face and get a feel for his mood. “Sometimes, it’s not about whether you're physically able but more about how you’re mentally doing and shit.”

Jason cringed at the tacked-on swear but Dick had a small smile pop up on his face. Well, at least he wasn’t upset by the fact Jason had no fucking idea how to deal with this shit. He was fumbling with the greased football that was this conversation. At least it could be amusing for someone else, while he hoped for his end.

“You know victim blaming is never okay. Even if the victim is yourself.”

“Really? You’re one to talk.” Dick pulled away to give him a raised eyebrow.

Jason rolled his eyes back.

“I made a fucking decision about my shit. From the sounds of it, you weren’t even capable of deciding any of that.” Jason turned away so he didn’t have to see Dick’s little self-righteous face, but that didn’t stop him from hearing the huff he got in response. “Listen, they're two different situations and just because I give good advice doesn’t mean I have to follow it.” “So you admit you’re wrong?”

“Do you admit it’s not your fault?”

Dick looked stricken at that and Jason laughed. Apparently, it had been too long since someone had turned Dick’s bullshit back on him. Which was a shame really. He needed to remind Tim to do it more often. He knew Barbara probably gave him lots of shit over the comms just like she used to, but, still. It was the principle of the thing. They could always use more people going tit-for-tat.

“See, that’s the funny thing about such a conditional argument.” Jason grinned. “You also have to apply the conditions to yourself first.”

Dick looked down in pensive thought before bringing a tentative arm up around Jason. When Jason didn’t immediately push it away Dick used that arm to draw him closer. Maybe they weren’t so dissimilar after all. Give him an inch, and he’d take a full-body-tackle cuddle.

After Jason gave in to the silent request, Dick was silent and still. A rarity for him.

Jason listened to the rain while Dick apparently buffered. Then again, working through trauma like that…yeah it took a minute to rewire your head. Jason was under no delusions that Dick was suddenly going to be totally over this and stop blaming himself at all. Jason was just trying to sow the seeds of self-forgiveness. Wow, he had almost made himself gag with that line.

Dick was quiet for long enough Jason was kinda wishing they’d turned on the TV, even if it would have totally ruined their cozy, trauma-session vibes. At least then he would have had something more entertaining to do than try and learn new information about Dick from his horrible selection of movies. Seriously, how did a grown adult man own so many seasons of Downton Abbey and not feel the shame every waking moment. At least he could go for one of the fun old-lady shows to watch. Jason was partial to The Golden Girls himself. Sophie was his spirit animal.

He was focused on listening to the passing siren outside when Dick opened his mouth again.

“I think on some level I know it wasn’t my fault exactly, but I feel like I could have done more,” Dick finally said.

Jason nodded in agreement.

He definitely thought he could have done a lot more to prevent himself from dying multiple times. Whether or not any of that was his fault was still not up for debate as far as he was concerned, but best not to bring it back up. No point purposely fighting with Dick, especially when he had more pressing questions. Excellent questions, that could surely distract him from the creeping thoughts that desperately wanted a foothold.

Like the way he knew for a fact that hands had literally been inside his body while he was unaware. Not to mention who even knew what the League had done while he was unaware. Even the few scarce memories he had from that time felt more like watching someone else’s dreams than even his own.

No good ever came of considering such things for too long. Every time he thought about all the times he hadn’t had control, he thought about all the times he did and had fucked it up himself. Sometimes, he wondered if having no choice was for the better for him.

And that was the kind of shit that fucked him up. The kind of shit that left him wondering about his place in the world and pondering the kind of choices he had.

He didn’t want to think about any of that tonight.

He focused back in on the conversation at hand. What he could possibly do for Dick. He worked on how he wanted to ask his question in his head. It wasn’t exactly something you could just bring up casually without sounding fucked in the head. Which, granted, was true.

He worked the words over for a minute before realizing it was worse the longer he waited. So he just forced them out in whatever state they escaped him in.

“Do you think you’d feel better if she was dead?” Jason regretted the words as soon as he said them. He could feel Dick stiffen up underneath his head before relaxing again. Dick hummed and then went quiet again as he, apparently, thought over his answer.

“When I first heard about the Red Hood and his crusade I didn’t really get it,” Dick started.

Jason had no idea where this was going but he’d already learned well enough tonight to wait and see.

“Why was killing rapists in particular so important?”

Because they’re repeat offenders Jason didn’t say. He had more reasons than just that, but that was an especially important one to him these days. He didn’t think that would be very comforting to Dick right about now.

“But then, after it all, I thought about it and I did wonder. Would I feel better if I knew that she was nowhere out there? That no matter what happened, I knew for certain she couldn’t ever touch me again?” Dick was back to staring at the window when Jason took a sneaky look at him.

“…I think the answer is no. At least for me. I can’t say for sure how I would feel and I can definitely see why it helps some people, because knowing she’s out there sometimes…” Dick trailed off and looked at something much farther than just the window. The curtains had long since been pulled closed over there, but whatever Dick was seeing right now was far past there.

Jason took a moment to digest that.

“I guess that makes sense.”

“It all definitely gave me a bigger appreciation for why you might do it, Little Wing. Can’t say it’s something I would ever do but I can see why…maybe there’s some merit.”

Which was a real surprise to Jason. As far as he had known, Dick Grayson was very averse to killing in all regards. He needed to ask Tim about it. Either way, Dick now had an understanding of the victims Jason went out of his way to protect, that he would have never wished on him.

Though he could appreciate the fact that Dick could understand the victims more deeply and sympathise with everyone involved, it was through the worst circumstances possible. There was little else that could be worse than experience as a teacher. He knew that well enough.

“I know it’s not…exactly the same but is that why you want him dead?” Dick’s asked tentatively.

Jason let out a long exhale.

“I guess essentially it’s the same, yeah. I want him to be somewhere very much the hell away from me, and the only way to guarantee that is if the bastard is six feet under.” He didn’t feel bad about his words, but he definitely made it a point to not look up at Dick.

Dick looked conflicted as he stared at the floor for a second.

Jason let him. He wasn’t much in the mood to have answers pressured out of him and the least he could do was offer the same. Besides, as much as he would deny it, even the silence was comfortable right now. Something about the atmosphere of the room, the rain outside where it can’t drown him, and Dick’s presence lended itself to being relaxing despite the heaviness of the topics.

“Why don’t you just kill him now?”

“Besides the fact Bats would be all over my ass? Could you imagine looking her in the eyes? On purpose? Bringing yourself to her and actually standing there? I’ve already tried that shit and, well…” He didn’t want to say he had failed. In actuality it was the entire justice system and the resident furry’s failure. He shouldn’t have had to clean up the trash.

“Yeah,” Dick trailed off. “Yeah, no I can’t imagine that. I don’t want to. That would be a special kind of torture.”

They were both silent for a moment as they considered. This had to be one of the longest, most complicated conversations Jason had ever had with Dick. It was a weird thing to think about. That he and Dick knew each other so well, had known each other so long, and yet, moments like these made him feel like he didn’t know Dick at all. It left him feeling strange and off kilter.

“You’re definitely sure you don’t want me to take care of her ass?” Jason tried to alleviate some of the growing tension.

Dick snorted, so at least it seemed to have worked.

“Thanks for the offer, Little Wing, but I think I’m good.” Dick paused for a second. “I’ll definitely tell you if I ever change my mind, though.”

Jason felt his eyebrows rising at that. He definitely hadn’t been expecting that response. There wasn’t anything he could really say to that. It was an olive branch, a sign of understanding, and a promise to get him if things went too bad, all wrapped up in one.

He kept his silence and he hoped that conveyed his understanding.

Dick was a master at communicating with Bruce so surely he was able to read between the lines.

He didn’t worry too much about it as found himself leaning more heavily onto Dick’s shoulder and his eyes wanting to close for a little too long for his liking. He would have thrown in the towel a while ago and suggested they just go to bed. If he couldn’t have clearly heard and seen the rain still pounding outside, that was. Nothing good would have come from both of them trying to go to sleep with their thoughts so occupied by the past. At least now they both had a better chance of getting some sleep.

That little British voice in his head was once again reminding him this would be a great time to fill Dick in on the situation.

It felt a little insensitive, though. To tell Dick that what happened mattered, and then steamroll it with the revelation that Jason didn’t do the staying-dead thing very well. He was pretty sure that was not proper emotional-conversation etiquette. Well, at least he could come kind of clean about one thing.

He pushed up and away from Dick. Only because that position was getting uncomfortable. Nothing to do with getting some distance between them or fighting off a bit of the growing tiredness that must have been seeping out of the blanket.

“Earlier, when I said there was a lot of weird shit about my trip into the Lazarus.” Jason forced himself not to tense up at even the mention of the mean, green rage juice. “Talia had some theories about why that stayed. She had a lot more of those than I did. Something about how it happened after I died and became physically tied to my soul or something.”

Jason tried to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible so as not to reveal how much this actually fucking disturbed him.

Whatever Dick was feeling about this story, he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t see his face while he looked out the window, definitely not for that exact purpose, and the man was eerily quiet while listening suddenly.

“Something about how certain things that are tied to my death are things that even the Lazarus can’t wash away. She also said a bunch of other shit about how it’s probably because death is even more ancient than the Pits.” Jason honestly tried not to think about all that too much. There was something about it that felt extra creepy. Of course, he had no idea if Talia was right about any of it, but if anyone knew a lot about that shit…well it was really best not to think about it.

Against his better judgment, he put his head back on Dick’s shoulder. It was probably not doing his spine any favours but there was comfort in the action that he didn’t usually allow himself and he wanted to soak that shit up. It was also a bit stupid because he was basically telling Dick he was down to be all touchy-feely, but fuck it he was already this far in.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can agree when I say it’s probably best not to know.” Dick was fiddling with the edges of the blanket.

Jason couldn’t help reaching a hand up to rub at where the scar was now once again hidden by the shirt.

“You know it wasn’t your fault either right?”

“Where the hell did that come from?” If Jason had been feeling tired before Dick said that shit, it had woken him right up. He would have sat up but that would mean that he had to look Dick in the eyes. At least with his head down, he wouldn’t have to look and see what kind of emotion was in there. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t say anything about getting autopsied being my fault.”

“Not really what I meant Jay, but take it how you want, I guess.” Dick yawned right next to his ear which, one, was gross. And two what the hell did that mean.

“No, I think I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that one, Dickhead.” Jason tried to keep too much anger from leaking into his voice. Keyword being tried.

Dick just sighed.

“…I meant that it wasn’t your fault for dying,” Dick said quietly which, oh. Wasn’t that just such a statement?

Especially before Jason got to the main event where it was his fault. His recklessness meant he’d died not just once or twice, but multiple times now.

Of course, Dick only thought it was the once so it seemed like a weird hiccup to him; a mistake that could be overlooked as inexperience and a set of circumstances that set him up for failure.

For Jason, it just showed how his idiotic flaws keep resulting in his premature death in a way that the universe couldn’t let slide and kept sending him back for.

He could accept it wasn’t his fault the first time. The next few…not so much.

“Yeah, well, it may have not been my fault that I died, but it was definitely my fault for being there in the first place.” Jason couldn’t do anything against the bitterness sliding into his tone.

Dick suddenly moved from under him and stuck his hands out of his blanket cocoon to grab Jason’s shoulders. “You were a child. God, even if you did the same thing tomorrow I’m not sure I could hold it against you for not expecting the Joker to be there. There was nothing that could have led you to that conclusion then and you don’t deserve to be looked down on for what you did then. Okay?” Dick looked so intense Jason could only nod and watch as the other deflated. Apparently, Dick had been holding that one in for a while now.

“Thanks Dickie.” Jason fumbled for what to do with himself for a second before Dick decided for him and quickly enveloped him into the blanket cocoon as well. It made pins and needles dance at the points of contact to be so close to Dick for so long when he was not really sure they’d done this ever. Whether that said more about their general relationship or Jason, he wasn’t sure.

The rain was still pouring outside.

“Why don’t you turn on the TV or something? Please tell me you have Netflix so we can watch something besides that shit.”

“I mean I don’t have Netflix but I also don’t know if Bruce knows he has Netflix.”

“He’s literally a billionaire; he's not going to notice you using his cash for a Netflix subscription.”

“I know, but a girl can dream.”

It was easier to relax more into the unfamiliar position just with the ease that Dick brought to the room. He was still tense and obviously thrown off from the rain and conversation they’d had tonight…but it was all less bad than before. He didn’t seem so high strung he was about to snap anymore.

He was even feeling relaxed enough to let Dick pick what they watched. He honestly didn’t care what he put on the TV as long as it was there for background noise. Much better than trying to fill the void with idle chatter or being stuck with the even worse alternative of only the rain outside to listen to.

He idly noted it was some show about cooking. He wasn’t invested and honestly, didn’t give a shit what was on the screen, as long as it was enough to keep his mind from straying back. He hadn’t seen it before, but that didn’t stop him from judging the contestants' techniques harshly both in his head and out loud to Dick.

Dick seemed to find this unendingly funny and kept prompting him for more input.

He almost didn’t want to give in…but it was just so egregious how could he not?

Jason could feel his blinks getting slower, but Dick didn’t seem to be flagging, so he worked to keep his eyes open. The whole point of staying awake to watch the cooking show was to keep Dick company…okay and maybe he wanted to see if that one guy would win. His desserts were amazing. He was planning to stay awake at least until the rain stopped. The rain, however, did not seem to be in agreement with Jason’s urge to sleep, however, because it was still going strong, even hours later.

The next slow blink, he just kept his painful eyes closed. He just needed to give them a break for a moment. Let them undry themselves out.

Wow, he hadn’t realized how bad those hurt until he finally closed them properly. It was so much more enticing to just keep them closed. To absorb the warmth he had grown unaccustomed to.

It reminded him of one of his first days back from a rainy patrol. The warm shower to clean off, followed by clean, warm clothes, and ending with sitting in front of a fire with a blanket around his shoulders and a cup of hot chocolate in hand despite the fact he had already warmed back up. The warmth had been more than enough to chase away the old demons of the cold. He wondered, if Dick hadn’t been so bitter and pissed at Bruce back then, if he could have been there too. He probably would have overheated if he had been smothered to death by his overbearingness.

For once when he fell asleep with thoughts of the past, they were peaceful.