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Chapter Text

"Where is he?" Damian snapped, his hands clenching around the hilt of his sword. The deity-turned-butler twitched, carefully regarding the Dragonet with an indiscernible expression.

"I am unsure what you mean, Master Damian," Alfred said, his voice even.

Damian narrowed his eyes, wholly unsure if this was a trick. Mother had instructed him to integrate himself within Father's family and seize the mantle of Robin, but how was he to do so if he couldn't find Robin? 

Frustration brewed in his chest, but Damian refused to let the emotions show. In the League, emotions were a weakness to be taken advantage of, and Grandfather would never allow his heir to be weak.

Instead, he carefully waited for Pennyworth to escort him to his new “room” before planning his next course of action. He will find Todd, he will claim Robin, and he will prove himself worthy of the place at the Guardian’s side. 

Father will have no choice but to allow his stay- he'll be sure of it. He will not disappoint Mother  

Jason huffed, wiping the sweat from his brow as his muscles burned with a pleasant ache. The anger boiling in his chest had since faded to a dull but still-present throb, but you'd be mistaken if you thought that anger was leaving anytime soon. 

Bruce was perched by the Batcomputer, a stormy expression across his face as he jabbed at the keys. He was filling the mission report and meticulously documenting Tim's wounds; the bare reminder was enough to make the anger in his chest surge once again. 

With a loud bang, the door to the Batcave slammed open so violently that Jason worried the metal would fracture. Thankfully, it didn't, but still. That nearly scared the shits out of him. He shuffled backward, warily regarding Lady Melinda and her borderline, blood-thirsty, and murderous expression.

"Dragon," Lady Melinda hissed, her voice akin to snowmelt dripping through Jason's veins, "the son of Martha Kane and Thomas Wayne."

"Melinda," Bruce sounded as wary and uncertain as Jason felt, "why are you here?"

Jason knew things were gonna go south fast the moment those words left Bruce's lips. God, Bruce! Didn't you listen to the powerpoint presentation Tim gave you??

"Are you seriously asking why I'm here?"

Bruce flinched minutely as Lady Melinda's amber eyes glowed with a searing, burning rage. 

"Melinda-"

"SHUT it," she snarled, her fangs gleaming dangerously in the light of the Batcave, "Listen here, Bruce, and listen carefully. You have failed as a caretaker, you have failed as a Guardian, and you have failed my grandson."

Jason squirmed uncomfortably, fighting the urge to flee the cave. Witnessing this seemingly 50-year-old Chinese lady make this 6’2" hulking brick wall of a man cower like a goddamn rat should have been hilarious, if not for the events that led to Lady Melinda's presence. Instead, Tim’s in a mini coma, healing from his wounds, and Jason was marinating in his guilt.

Bruce faltered, visibly flailing as he tried to get in a word edgewise. 

"What use are you as a Guardian if you cannot protect a singular Kit directly under your care?" Lady Melinda sneered, "The existence of your pathetic little city hinges on the single word of my grandson.

“Do you understand me, Bruce? The  only reason  why Gotham hasn't been reduced to mere  rumble  is because  one Kit  thinks so highly of you. If he so wished, Gotham would be reduced to nothing but ash.

“My Moon thinks so highly of you despite your erroneous denial of your kind- yet some piffling Revenants could still take my grandson from RIGHT UNDER YOUR CLAW."

Jason flinched, fists clenching at his side as he inhaled sharply; this yelling reminded him of stuff he'd rather forget. He could tell Bruce was taking Lady Melinda's words to heart, as he always does. Of all things to doubt, Bruce seemed the most susceptible to thoughts of his incompetence as a father. If anyone was to blame, it would be Jason. Jason wasn't fast enough, wasn’t strong enough, and his little brother suffered because of his- and only his- incompetence. 

Lady Melinda, obviously hearing his inhale, pinned him with her lambent eyes. But upon seeing him, her wrath damped into something akin to contemplation and Jason honest-to-god thought she was about to smite him right then and there.

Bruce tensed, not-so-subtly moving over to block Lady Melinda's sight, a protective air rolling off his shoulders in a dense smog and hung off his arms like a heavy cloak.

"I will not continue this in front of your fledgling," Lady Melinda huffed, leveling an unimpressed glare at Bruce, who easily towered over her. Despite that, she acted as if Bruce was worth nothing more than the dust beneath her feet, "Just know that never have I ever approved of you or your actions."

Bruce nodded, something brewing behind those purple-blue eyes of his, "I... I understand... Do... Do you wish to take Tim?"

"Bruce!" Jason practically scream, alarm swelling up within his chest as he lurched forward and latched onto Bruce's cape, the thick and Gotham-danger-proof fabric bunching in Jason’s alarmed grasp, "Bruce, what the FUCK?! ARE YOU GOING SENILE?!”

"Would you rather me to?" Lady Melinda narrowed her eyes, something dangerous filling the cave and choking them like a dense fog. 

Jason swallowed past the lump in his throat; On one hand, he was not anxious to be caught between a fight between a Dragon and a Fox, but on the other hand, what the hell Bruce?? Janet literally willed Tim over to the Waynes, so they will not be giving him away under any circumstances.

"...No," Bruce gritted out, obviously uncertain of what Lady Melinda wanted from him, "I... care deeply for Tim, and I... I regret my inability to protect him, and..."

Bruce grimaced, his words trailing off and drifting into oblivion. Jason lightly pursed his lips in confusion as Lady Melinda's expression twisted into surprise. Something  was going on, but Jason had no clue what, other than the fact that the air smelled slightly more citrusy than a few seconds ago.

"Hey," Jason said, successfully catching the mythics' attention, "can you stop giving Bruce so much shit?"

Maybe... Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Out loud, anyway. Now, more than ever, Jason was aptly extremely aware that Lady Melinda could smite him with a single thought, but by god, no one fucks with Bruce. If anyone tries, Jason swears he'd fuck them up. Jason is staunchly aware that his siblings share his sentiment. Y'know, catch these hands and all that, but maybe saying that to Tim’s uber-powerful grandmother was not his best course of action.

"You are one of the humans Tim brought to the equinox, no?"

"Yes, I am," Jason responded with the confidence he did not have. This was it, this is how Jason dies, "I was patrolling alongside Tim when the uh, the  Revenants  attacked, so it's my fault Tim got hurt. So, Bruce shouldn't be called a terrible father or something because he will take everything to heart."

"Jay-"

"Oh my god, shut up, Bruce," Jason hissed, glaring at the Dragon while Lady Melinda gave a thoughtful hum. The dangerous air in the cave had dissipated like morning mist under the sun, but Jason’s anxiously pounding heart still refused to calm, "I am trying to make sure you don't offend a Fox and die."

"He won't die," the Fox smiled lightly with a slightly tilted head, "and I admire your tenacity, child. I suppose I see why Tim claimed you as one of his."

Jason warily pursed his lips. He had zero clue how to interpret that, "Uh… Thank... you?"

"Despite that," Lady Melinda continued, breezing past Jason's uncertainty, "you are still a child."

Jason froze, drawing his shoulders up in offense. He was not a  child-  he was 18 and a senior! But... If he thinks about it, 18 years is  nothing  in the face of a millennia-old creature such as Tim's granny, so Jason's practically infantile in the Fox's eyes. 

Yet, isn't Bruce, like, 30 or something? Shouldn't he  also  be considered a "child," then? Or at least a teenager or something. 

"What about Bruce?" Jason demanded, twitching as Lady Melinda's gaze intensified, "He's not an adult Dragon yet, is he?"

"...No," Lady Melinda sniffed, slight displeasure twisting across her lips, "but he still chose to take you in as his child and a part of his Hoard."

Oh god, it's time to use some context clues! This is like a fourth-grade vocabulary test or something. 

Jason knows what the denotation of "Hoard" is, and Jason knows what hoards story-book Dragons have, but are they the same kind of Hoard? Well, hell, if he knows!

"And what does that entail?"Jason asked, nudging Bruce aside to get a better look at the Fox. His dad tensed, looking between him and Lady Melinda before shifting and lightly pressing his arm against Jason's. 

She continued, "Bruce chose you and your siblings, which means he's responsible for the well-being of his family and Hoard. A person doesn't choose to foster another life without gaining the responsibility to protect it. You, on the other hand, never willingly assumed this position."

Jason hesitated because it vaguely made sense- at least from Lady Melinda's perspective. Even if Bruce was a full-grown Dragon, he was still old enough to know what having- or kidnapping adopting in his case-  children means. Still, he shouldn't have to bear the entirety of the responsibilities. 

"I... guess you have a point," Jason conceded.

Lady Melinda nodded curtly before eyeing Bruce, "Take me to my grandson, Wayne."

"Imma hit the showers before heading up," Jason called, gathering a change of clothes before doing as he said. 

Once he finished, Jason made his way up out of the cave and into the study. On the way, he was ambushed by a familiar sibling with slightly too-blue eyes. 

"SHIT!" Jason yelped emphatically, jerking back as the grandfather clock slid aside to reveal two eyes inches away from Jason's face. 

Dick tutted, dancing back as Jason clutched his chest with wide eyes, "That's too bad, JayJay, the swear jar claims yet another dollar!"

"What the fuck!" Jason hissed, shoving Dick away, "You scared me half to death!"

"That's another dollar," Dick chirped, and Jason could tell his brother was hiding his worry and concern behind a wall of faux confidence, "have you tried not getting spooked?"

Jason rolled his eyes, swatting at Dick's arm, "Oh shut up, you heathen."

Dick laughed, deftly slipping out of Jason's reach with the grace of a soaring kite (the bird of prey, not the wack-ass toys). He shook his head, rolling his eyes at his older brother's antics before said older brother twisted his torso and practically cracked his spine apart. 

"What the hell?" Jason's face screwed up in disgust, "What are you? A fuckin' Rice Kirispy or sumthin'?"

The bastard just gave him a Cheshire grin, his shoulders relaxing before he twisted himself in the opposite direction and cracked his spine again. And then, the fucking asshole cracked his neck. What. The fuck. What devil creature stole away his brother and replaced him with a demon?!

"You are not a creature of this realm," Jason hissed, shoving his brother aside and ignoring Dick's indignant shout, "go back to the shadows from whence you came, fiend."

"Jay!" he cried, trailing after Jason, "Come on, don't do me like this!"

"Actually, I'll leave doing you to Wally."

Dick's face flushed crimson as he spluttered and flailed, "JASON!"

"Hey, I don't make the rules, idiot," Jason shrugged before leaving Bruce's study. Since he was distracted with cheering Dick up and dealing with his brother's idiocy, he was unaware of the glinting metal whizzing towards his head. 

Before anything life-changing happens, like dying, something heavy crashes into his back. The floor met his chest and slammed the air out of his lungs, forcing a startled wheeze from Jason's throat. 

Dick whistled sharply, and Jason's training kicked in to send him rolling to the right. A sharp katana stabbed into the floor where Jason had been lying not a second ago.

"You're Todd," the demon brat spat, his tone brimming with unbridled fury. His eyes were emerald with shifting golden specks, "my  contender  for the position as Father's partner! You lied about your identity!"

Dick tensed behind the child, ducking and rolling out of the trajectory of a thrown knife. Dick had better reflexes than Jason, so there was no need to worry about him- but that didn't mean Jason was going to not not worry about him!

"Technically-" Jason winced, irritation ticking in his chest as Damian's katana grazed his right bicep, "I didn't lie! I barely said anything to you in the first place!"

"You will know your place, human!" the tiny terror spat, knuckles whitening on the hilt of his blade.

Jason scoffed, flicking his hand in the Bat's simplified hand signals, and desperately prayed that Dick understood what he was telling him, "And where might my place be, Brat?"

"You dare-"

"Fuck yeah, I dare!" Jason mocked, feeling only the slightest bit uncomfortable fighting with a kid who was half his age. But honestly? The asshole struck first, so Jason feels absolutely justified for defending himself, "What are you gonna do about it, you lunkhead?"

The obscure insult did what it was supposed to and startled Damian just enough to make the kid falter. Jason, ever the opportunist, took his chance and ran.

Damian shouted, fury dripping off his words like wrathful molasses. Jason didn't allow himself any time to dwell, knowing full well that trying to brave the demon brat's ire was not worth it. Dick was far ahead of him, moving as if he was one with the wind, as sleek as a flying snake. 

Jason heard a swish from behind him and tucked into a roll to avoid being literally stabbed in the back. As he tried to lunge for the stairs, he felt something pierce the back of his leg and bring him to the floor.

For a brief moment, everything was filled with PAIN, and it took everything Jason had to not falter. 

Jason gritted his teeth, scrambling to face Damian lest the child decided to literally stab him in the back. 

"That's not so honorable of you," Jason gritted out from behind clenched teeth, "aren't you Dragons supposed to be all "life is precious," or some bullshit like that?"

"I am the descendent of Yazi," Damian glowered, glaring down his nose at Jason's form, but Jason wasn’t completely sure if that was because of his language, or if Damian hated him just that much, "no matter the method, honor is gained through death by our claws and fangs!"

God, why did stab wounds have to hurt so much? Jason is going to start a petition and tell whatever higher power that dictates pain to tone the fuck down.

"Sure! Keep telling yourself that, and it might come true," Jason snarked, lifting his arm just in time to prevent the incoming knife from stabbing through his chest and maybe puncturing a lung. Sadly, he can't say the same for his poor arm.

"FUCK!" Jason screamed, gasping as the knife went clean through his limb, followed by the sound of a sickening crack. His bones? Jason’s nerves shrieked and wailed with indescribable pain, and it felt as if his arm was doused in literal fucking hellfire, and everything else felt ice-cold yet unbearably hot, and Jason clenched his jaw to avoid accidentally biting his tongue. 

In a split-second decision, Jason summoned the wings with a sharp whoosh and forced Damian back with a strangled wheeze. The kid jolted in surprise just as the door from the drawing room to the great hall wavered and shifted into a Doorway. 

Bruce rushed out first, a manic look on his face as the Dragon lunged for him. Jason choked back a sob as the knife in his arm was jostled, tears springing to his eyes as the pain practically consumed his every thought.

"Jason!" Bruce shouted, clutching Jason's shoulder as his eyes swam with panic, "Jay- I-"

"Bruce," Jason gasped as the knife through his arm was jostled again. Jason swallowed thickly; what higher power thought making stab wounds this painful was a good idea??? Jason is suing, and then he'll win millions of dollars and redistribute the money to the people of Crime Alley and then donate it all to Gotham’s few public libraries. 

As he squeezed his eyes shut, Jason could hear the vague sounds of his siblings shouting further off, but he couldn't focus on anything other than the  fucking knife in his goddamn arm. 

Then, his world was tilting, and he was being rushed somewhere. Jason couldn't think past the vague, warming haze that curbed the pain and acted as a mega ibuprofen. Hands carded through his hair as strange voices above him murmured with authority. 

"You'll be okay, Jay," his dad- not Willis. Never Willis- said, his voice terse with barely restrained fear, "I- am I doing it correctly? Please, I can’t lose my son…”

"You did a great job stabilizing him, Bruce, but we can take over now," answered a vaguely familiar voice, "My Lady?"

"I know."

There was a hum, and then Jason felt something chilly brush through veins. It was like an all-encompassing shower of fresh rain washing away the scorching pain. The sensation was not dissimilar to teetering on the precipice of sleep and consciousness. A spike of discomfort struck past that curtain of rain momentarily, but it faded to a dull buzz once a comforting hand brushed through his hair. 

With a faint vibrating hum from the outside of his haze, not dissimilar to a buzzing machine, Jason was dragged into the depths of an uncomfortable sleep. 

Chapter Text

  Bruce paced anxiously, a vibrating apprehension trembled just beneath his skin. Each step made soft tapping sounds against the clean floors, the sound echoed through the empty room as worry gnawed furiously away at his chest. 

Just past those pairs of metal doors, his second eldest was being looked after by Aspen, a team of her trusted nurses, and Lady Melinda. He'd left Dick behind to tend to Damian and Tim, but he doesn't remember if Tim woke up or not. He wouldn’t be surprised if he did, seeing as Jason screamed loud enough to wake the dead. 

Tap-tap-tap.

Bruce's shoes continued to click against the hard floor, and it was all he could do to keep himself from spiraling into insanity. What if something goes wrong? What if Jason can’t ever use his arms again? What if he can’t fly anymore? Jason loves to fly, so he’d be destroyed if he could never fly again. What if- Suddenly, the doors swished open, and Bruce snapped his entire body around. 

"Aspen! What- how- how's Jason? Is he okay? Is my son okay?!"

The older Dragon chuffed gently, reaching forward to place hands on both of Bruce's shoulders, "Calm down. I understand you're stressed right now, Bruce, but I need you to focus. My Lady has Jason asleep, but your shouting might wake him up. The knife is out of his arm, but his ulna was broken. The equipment at this location is capable of handling broken bones, so we’ll have to transfer Jason to another hospital. We might have to keep him overnight to make sure there weren't any complications. He was also stabbed at the back of his leg, but the wound was shallow so he’ll heal with minimal injuries." 

"Can-" Bruce swallowed, his voice breaking slightly, "can I see him? Please, I need to see my son."

Aspen gave him a pinched yet pitying expression, "Sorry, but not yet."

"We need to move the Kit," Lady Melinda interrupted as she exited the room, "the sooner, the better. The faster we get the bone set, the sooner you can take him home.”

Bruce jolted, hands fisting at his side as the urge to charge into the room grew practically overwhelming. 

"If you'd know how to heal, then this wouldn't have happened," Lady Melinda sniped, tilting her head to shoot Bruce a withering glare. 

He stifled a growl, bristling as his claws bit into his palms. Batman and Bruce might be known as patient people, but Lady Melinda always knew how to get under his skin. 

Aspen growled something in a language Bruce didn't recognize, but it sounded chiding, "That's enough. Go check on Tim and leave the lecturing to me."

The older Dragon punctuated her point by raising her hand, and a Doorway rippled open. With an eye roll and a huff, the Fox flicked her head and strutted through. 

Bruce sighed, not surprised at the relief that flooded his chest, the irritation leaving him in a flush. Aspen reached over and patted Bruce's shoulder reassuringly, "We’ll transfer Jason now, but I’ll come grab you as soon as we have him settled.”

He nodded, watching the metal doors swing open with an indescribable emotion in his chest. He found a plastic chair and slumped into it, his fingers twitching anxiously in his lap. 

Should he stay? Would he be a bad father if he did? Dick, Tim, and Damian were still back at the manor with Alfred, but Jason was here, and Jason was hurt. 

Damian still needs to be talked to. 

Bruce remembers his brief stint with the League of Assassins, and Bruce remembers how deep the reverence the humans under Ra's Al Ghul ran. He remembers how the few mythics under Ras's thumb always had eyes flecked with green, how the smell of sharp citrus hung around the compound like an ever-present smog. He remembers how easily Ra's Al Ghul could bend people's perceptions and twist their worldview until all that was left was their loyalty to the man. 

How is he supposed to undo all of Damian's league training? That was his son. Granted, Bruce didn’t even know he existed until now, but still! A son was still a son, no matter where he came from. How could he be Damian's father if he didn't even know how to parent his son?

And what about Tim? Sure, he might spend some nights at the Wayne manor, but the teen would eventually return to the Drake manor. Just knowing that -his- Janet's son was somewhere Bruce couldn’t easily access sends anxiety tearing through his chest. Something instinctual would claw at his throat every time he doesn't sense Tim's presence in the manor, fear pounding at his temples as numerous scenarios flash past in a feverish haze. But then, he'd remember Tim was only a few seconds away, and his fear would settle into a still-present, under-the-surface anxiety. 

A faint, self-deprecating smile came across Bruce's lips as he buried his face into his hands. His search history taunted him with "How to tell your legal son, which you acquired from a friend, that you're sorry and you love him," and different variations.

He loves Tim so much, and he just wants the best for him. Something in his chest aches everytime he sees Tim, the clump in his chest screaming at him to take the boy and never let go. But… Would Tim want that? Bruce doesn’t want to replace either of his parents, and Bruce is sure Tim blames him. Even if Tim was the one to kill the Joker, Bruce couldn’t find it in him to hate Tim for it. 

And no matter how desperately Bruce wants to return to the manor and check up on his other children, Bruce would much rather perish than leave Jason unattended. What if someone kidnaps him? What if Jason wakes up, and Bruce isn't there, and Jason thinks Bruce abandoned him? What if Jason gets killed, resurrected, kidnapped by Ra's Al Ghul, brainwashed to hate his family, and then starts murdering people with a stupid name like Red Hood, and then-

"Bruce."

The Dragon instantly shot to his feet, his heart pounding faintly in his chest as Aspen approached him. Bruce’s feet stayed frustratingly rooted to his spot despite how desperately he wanted to move, "Is- he okay?"

Her eyes flashed with vague sympathy, "He's stable. Come, I'll bring you to him."

Bruce straightened, unrooting himself and dutifully followed Aspen through a pair of doors, slightly startled by the flash of warmth rolling over his body. 

A few feet into the new hospital, he felt a stiff sphere-like abstract emotion at the back of his throat suddenly grow discernable. Without another word, there seemed to be an invisible line attaching to the back of his throat and yanking him forward. 

He had no choice but to follow. 

"Bruce!" Aspen called as the Dragon rushed to an unassuming door, and the pressure in his throat lessened the closer he got to the room. Well, to the point that it wasn’t physically dragging him forward.

"Is he in there?" Bruce asked, his hands trembling at his side. 

Aspen nodded, an almost pitying look in her eyes, "Yes, he is. You may go in, but be careful with him, Bruce. You have an hour and thirty minutes, but any longer and we’ll have to come and retrieve you.”

With the Dragon’s permission, Bruce entered the room as quietly as he could. Jason was lying on the bed with a vaguely uncomfortable expression, his eyes closed and eerily, it was almost as if he was dead.

Bruce rushed to his son’s side, ignoring the pounding in his chest as he cupped his son’s face. Relief flooded his chest the instant Jason’s eyes snapped open, the teal-colored intensity flaring before relaxing into something gentler upon recognition. 

"Jay," Bruce whispered, carding his hand through his son's hair, and his anxiety lessened further, "how are you feeling, hon?"

"I dunno', like I was stabbed?" Jason remarked drily, but he didn't miss how Jason eagerly leaned into Bruce's touch.

The Dragon made a slightly wounded noise, and Jason winced, "I'm so sorry, Jay."

Jason raised a brow to peer incredulously at Bruce, "What are you sorry for? It's not like you stabbed me."

He winced, "Sure, but I should've told Damian the ground rules. You should have never gotten hurt, Jay. Damian didn't know better, so I should have taught him."

His son screwed his face up in disgust, "Who are you, and what did you do to the real Bruce Wayne?"

Bruce gave his son a withering stare, his voice dropping to his Batman timbre, "I should have left you by the side of the road."

"HA!" Jason laughed, wincing as he accidentally jostled his arm. Despite that, the smug expression steady and the human unperturbed, "You couldn't leave me if you wanted to. The call for adoption transcends species, and you just couldn't resist another black-haired, blue-eyed boy to add to your collection of orphans, could you?"

"I'm definitely leaving you on the side of the road," Bruce huffed, but he couldn't help the faint smile stretching across his lips. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Bruce began to speak, "...You're getting so big now."

The eighteen-year-old gave him a questioning look, and, oh wow, Jason was eighteen now, "Hey, old man, what brought this on?"

"It's... You're almost as tall as me now," Bruce leaned down to kiss the crown of Jason's head, his eyes stinging as he desperately wished to convey how much he loved him, "You're going to go to college soon, and... I'm gonna miss you. I’m going to miss you so much, Jay, I love you.”

Jason's eyes were suspiciously wet, "And to think that all it took for you to reveal this was Damian stabbing me. Didn't you say that you were gonna leave on the side of the road?"

Bruce huffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head fondly. Jason hummed, relaxing as Bruce gently brushed through his curly, red to practically black, hair. 

"I know I don't say this enough, Jason, but I love you. I love you, I love your siblings, and I love how smart you are. I love your bravery and how much you care.”

"I mean," Jason looked askance and speechless, "Gotham is my home, B, so I'll be damned before I let some second-rate criminals ruin what's mine . I'll have my men double down until I heal, and then I'll have to go back out. Phoenix is no Robin, but he still brings light to Crime Alley, you know."

"I know," Bruce murmured before an amused smile cracked across his lips, "you’re also the best behaved.”

Jason grins, “I mean, of course. I’m the only one who actually plans on finishing college, B. Dick’s a drop-out, Tim’s doing his own thing, and Steph’s uninterested. What would you even do without me?”

“We just wouldn’t survive,” Bruce remarked, but the light atmosphere quickly sombered, “but I also want to apologize, since I don’t think I have before… the Joker to... I'm so sorry that you had to go through that, I’m so sorry that your brother had to be the one to save you, and I'm so sorry I didn't get to you fast enough."

Jason grimaced, tears in his eyes, "It's okay, B, it's… done and dusted. The clown's dead now. He won't be hurting anyone else."

"I... I'm worried," Bruce confessed after a beat of silence. 

His son frowned. Jason and Tim were the closest out of Bruce’s kids, so he wouldn’t be all too surprised if Jason defended Tim no matter what, "... Is it because of Tim?"

Bruce nodded hesitantly.

"Is it for Tim or about Tim?" Jason asked, a tense line to his lips.

He hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

Jason continued, "Because if you're worried for Tim, I'd say the same. He's protective, almost to a fault, and if you hadn't said Lady Melinda was checking on him, then I'd tell you to go. He’s also reckless and has the worst luck ever , But if you mean you're worried about Tim, then I think you're a hypocrite."

"What do you mean?" Bruce furrowed his brows. He doesn’t think he’s a hypocrite, but then again, most hypocrites don’t realize it. 

"Sure, your no-killing rule is nice," Jason said, "but some people just… don't deserve second chances."

Bruce... Bruce wasn't sure how to feel about that. 

"Not to mention, Tim's a Fox, right? Dick told me that Foxes think differently than humans, something about familial values and vengeance. I don't remember, but you need to keep that in mind. It'll be best if you actually sat down and talked to Tim instead about him," Jason rolled his eyes, "You're probably the most emotionally constipated person out there. Now, I had fun playing therapist and all, but you better fucking leave, or else imma call Aspen and tell her to get you out. I need my beauty sleep, and you're upsetting the patient. And at this rate, you’re gonna stress me out and then I’ll need therapy.” 

With a weary sigh, Bruce pinched his nose bridge and stood up. A fond smile stretched across his lips and past his irritated facade, " Fine , I'll leave. Get some rest, alright, Jay? I love you."

Jason flushed and looked away, "I love you too, old man. Now fuck off!"

Tim narrowed his eyes. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to lash out with outstretched claws, to avenge his wounded Skulk-mate, to take revenge, and to ruin.

"- Why would you do that?!" Dick hissed, sounding close to tears as he paced back and forth, "There was no reason to do that, Damian, and now Jason's hurt and-"

"You have no right to question me ," Damian snapped, and Tim could feel himself bristle, "My birthright was in his hands, so I ensured it wouldn't be. Robin belongs at Father's side, and I would be remiss to allow that position to fall to a human."

Tim could feel his left eye begin to twitch. God, he just wants to strangle the kid. Damian may be a child, but Tim's instincts didn't care. Tim's instinct, and maybe a little bit of himself too, desperately wanted to strangle and shake the kid until a semblance of sense fell into Damian's dense little noggin.

"You're no longer a prince of anything, Damian," Tim hissed, "so you should learn to stop acting like that, or else you'll learn the hard way."

"Tim," Dick said, an admonishing edge to his voice.

"Are you threatening me, Drake?" Damian spat, his eyes blazing a bright, acidic green, a few shades brighter than Lazarus water, and he stalked forward.

"It wouldn't be a threat if I intend to follow through," Tim sneered, ivory claws flexing against his sides, "I've already defeated you in a duel, so I sure as hell can do it again. You better watch your mouth, Damian."

"Your mother was too idiotic to figure out a more worthwhile solution to her failure as a mate," Damian snarled with the sharpness of a knife, "and so she decided that cloaking herself in a human facade and marrying a Hunter would suffice. Maybe she passed her intelligence to you, and that's why you both have the intelligence of a dead roach. She thought herself infallible, and that’s why your mother died . "

"Guys-" 

Whatever Dick was about to say was drowned out by a shrill ringing steadily increasing in his ears. Everything seemed to fall silent around him, and the world felt like it was coming to a standstill.

"What the hell did you just say to me?"

Dick placed a hand on Tim's shoulder, but the Fox smacked him away, "Tim!"

"I said," Damian snarled, his body language shifting into something aggressive, "your mother is a brainless harlot-"

"Damian!"

"-and it seems you take after her. Oh, my apologies, I meant to say she was ."

"Damian, what the hell?! You can't just say stuff like that!"

Tim felt his claws tear through sturdy cloth and sink into flesh; bright crimson flowed from the Dragonet's wounds, leaving behind scarlet trails that snaked down Tim's hands. The Dragon snarled before kicking Tim off, the Fox ducking in time to avoid a strike to his chest. 

Distantly, Tim noted that Dick was flitting around, trying to separate them, but he failed worse than the Hindenburg. 

Anger tore through the Fox's chest as a violent haze threatened to consume him. How dare he. First, the Dragon decides to injure Jason , then he insults Dick, and now he has the gall to defile his mother's name? 

Age be damned, Damian is not coming out of this unharmed. 

The air trembled with the force of their combined growls and snarls, both their clothes and the carpet were now doused with a healthy dose of scarlet blood. 

("Steph, please get over here, I have no idea how to stop them! They're going to kill each other, and- and I don't even know where Alfred is! Bruce didn't take his phone with him either, and does Lady M even have a phone?!")

Damian lunged, his eyes flickering between gold and emerald, burning with something akin to hate . Knives and weapons were all strewn aside, and magic was implicitly allowed. This was personal, weapons had no place in this fight. 

Tim ducked to the side, avoiding a blast of unsteady fire before twisting and slamming himself into Damian's side. The two mythics crashed against a wall, shaking the painting hung above and filling the air with their cacophony. 

"Release me, you DOG!" Damian screamed as Tim hooked his claws into the Dragon's side, forcing his mist into the wounds and drastically dropping Damian's body temperature. 

And sure, Damian may be shredding his arms and back into ribbons, but this was more important than some vague pain. He ignored the Dragonet's cry of pain and Dick’s pleading, focusing instead on the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. 

Damian yelped before he twisted and sank his teeth into Tim’s shoulder, but Tim managed to kick him off before anything substantial happened. The children of Yazi might possess venom, but the contact didn’t last long enough for the toxin to be of any major worry. Or, he was 65% sure that was the case. 

The shadows around him curled up to wrap around Tim's limbs, and the mist pouring from his skin forced the temperature to plummet. There was a pang in the back of his head, a small voice that sounded suspiciously like Janet hissing out a warning that his magic reserves were low. 

Damian's movements were growing sluggish, and his reaction time was slowing. A sick sense of satisfaction filled his chest as he saw Damian's eyes widen with genuine, unadulterated terror. 

"Please, Tim," he ignored Dick's desperate pleas, "that's enough! What would Janet think of this? Tim, please stop !"

He snarled, bristling as he spun around to pin Dick with blazing eyes, "Don't you dare bring my mother into this, Dick."

His brother flinched back, but Tim didn't allow himself time to dwell on that before spotting Damian scrambling to escape. Tim yanked himself out of Dick's sudden grab and threw himself at the Dragon, forcing his head into the floor.

"What was it that you said during our first duel? Oh, that’s right, "Are you so much of a coward to run away"? I suppose it's ironic that your positions are reversed, hm?"

"Star-Lit-Poet, what in Death’s Name are you doing?" 

Tim froze mid-snarl, the haze fading like mist in the sun as everything abruptly returned to focus. The roaring in his ears faded just enough for him to hear Damian's gasps of pain and strangled whimpers as he thrashed under Tim's claws. The room was cold, nearly freezing, and Dick stood shivering a few feet away. His grandmother wore a calculating look as she stood next to Alfred, who had a stern and disappointed expression. 

Just then, Steph burst into the room with a frantic air, "Tim- killing Damian is wrong!"

Slowly, Tim peeled himself away from Damian to climb to his feet, and the scent of Dragon blood hung heavy in the air.

With a sigh, Alfred helped Damian to his feet before carrying him off, most likely to patch him up. 

Tim surveyed the main hall, which was, to say the least, wrecked. Numerous vases were shattered on the ground, the carpet was torn and covered with blood, the wall was covered with blood, and some paintings had been knocked down, too. There were scorch marks up and down the walls from where Damian had tried to nail Tim with some fire. 

Lady Melinda hummed before nudging Tim aside, her own mist filling the air before swirling around their blood splatters and purifying them into water. 

Dick looked conflicted, but he still walked over to him, "Hey, Timmy?"

Tim tensed, biting back a hiss as the pain from all his wounds slammed into him like a freight train. Just as he thought he'd gotten the pain under control, Dick reached over and touched one of his still-open wounds. 

He inhaled sharply and yanked himself away, forcing down the growl that threatened to force from his throat. Every move he made caused the blood-soaked shirt to chafe against every one of his open lacerations, and it was definitely not helping his healing. 

"Tim, it’ll be okay," Dick softened his voice to something Nightwing commonly used on victims, "come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"Leave me alone," Tim huffed. He pushed away, not trusting himself to act civil, even toward Dick. A fog was beginning to settle over his mind, different from his earlier anger-driven haze, but it still managed to distort and muffle his thinking. 

He shoved past his eldest brother, not caring that he left behind a bloodied mark against Dick's chest. Lady Melinda gave him a narrowed-eye stare, but she made no move to stop him.

"Be careful," his grandmother warned, "get to the manor before you run out."

Tim nodded with a tight, borderline grimace-looking smile before continuing. The longer he walked, the more the fog he seemed to weigh. His magic was depleting faster than he expected. Tim had used a considerable amount on incapacitating Damian and factor in his healing from the previous duel. And now, Tim was out of magic. 

Some may think that Foxes have unlimited magic, and the Hunters think so, too, but that wasn't the case. From a young age, all Foxes had the lesson of Magic Conservation drilled into their head because a Fox without magic might as well be dead. 

Tim was halfway to the Drake manor, but then he was tripped by a stray root and was sent flying. He grunted as the dirt and twigs dug into his skin. The Fox sighed. 

Maybe he was wrong. Did he guess wrong? Was this because of his depleted magic, or was this because Damian actually has decent venom? That was so annoying. Now he has to either lie on the ground until his magic regenerates or until he's healed enough to start moving again. Tim didn’t have his phone on himself, so that’s… sub-optimal. Or, he could also wait until he bleeds out, but that doesn’t seem all too fun. He didn’t have enough energy to shift either. Maybe a Hunter might come along and put him out of his misery… That was a depressing thought. He’s pretty sure Bruce was still angry at him for killing the Joker, even though he’d killed him months ago. That would at least explain the increased heart-rate every time Bruce sees him. Maybe someone, not a Hunter, would wander by and see him and-

A leaf crunched nearby, splitting through Tim’s train of thought like a heavy cleaver. 

Something... was approaching. 

Their footsteps were silent, bar from the misstep, but they didn't know how to conceal their scent. They smelled vaguely like a Fox but still had that distinct Revenant scent of venom and blood. Tim tried to lift his head, but every part of him felt like he was being weighed down by tungsten.

Dark, blue-green eyes dotted with browns peered into his own pale blue irises. 

Looks like she was the source of the alarming scent.

Tim narrowed his eyes and croaked, "Who... are you?"