Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason

     “Jason, meditation will help you only if you want it to.” His mentor didn’t sound exasperated. He’d learned that Ducra rarely ever was. The Green whispered that she was.

     “But why? Why is meditation so important? Why do I even need to learn this?” He understood, somewhat, but all he wanted to do was run back to Gotham and kill the goddamned Joker. Maybe even make Bruce do it for him, force him into it. The Green hummed gleefully in his chest at the thought. It made his gut coil with… something.

     He wanted to know why Ducra was even trying with him. Everyone got tired of him eventually. Even Talia had given up on training him after one too many rages, as every time something akin to pity in her eyes seemed to set him off. Too violent, too broken, even for the assassins.

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Ducra

     She could hear the thoughts and feel the pulsing green latch onto the fragmented splinters left behind. Jason had grown calmer after the first two weeks, learning that escape from these mountains was difficult, if not impossible. There was no doubt that he could escape. She was not a fool. Jason was stubborn in that respect. It was probably due to that single minded drive that he was even still alive. But something had tampered with his resurrection, almost seeming to rush the job. She shook her head nigh imperceptibly. Her curiosity could wait. Helping the boy in front of her should come first.

     Ducra sat down, tapping her walking staff beside her. “Sit.”

     Jason sat reluctantly. Ducra took a deep breath in, motioning for him to follow along. Once he was maintaining the breathing pattern she had established, she began to speak. “I do not normally take on apprentices from the outside. Tallia came to me, begged me, pleaded with me, to help. She realized it when she started to train you. Staying with the League of Assassins would not give you the help you needed.

     Very rarely does a case like yours ever happen. You are, in fact, only the fourth that I have heard of and of those, I have only ever trained two. The third was executed by Ra's Al Gul himself. The Pit clings to your very essence, filling in the gaps of your soul that you have either chosen to, or have unwittingly forgotten.”

     Jason's breath hitched at the mention of the Lazarus Pit. Ducra waited patiently for it to even out back into the pattern she had taught him before continuing on. “The first thing I teach those like you… Is how to meditate. Meditation is often difficult, especially for those who have been exposed to the Pit, since it likes to twist all good intentions into those that would harm. However, meditation helps with introspection, which will help you to remember and find the pieces that the Pit fills in for you.”

     Jason growled slightly, tensing up. “You make it sound like I’m some broken puzzle that needs fixing.”

     Ducra waited. Waiting was often the correct answer when dealing with the green rage. In the world, one wouldn’t be able to wait like this, but here, time wasn’t a luxury like on the outside. It was a given.

     When the tension had eased out of his shoulders and his breathing was back in rhythm, she spoke again. “I think of my own soul as a puzzle, Jason. It is constantly building itself, adding new pieces, recording my thoughts, documenting my feelings, and carefully slotting my most precious and heinous moments into place. Even if my soul is shattered, I can still fit the pieces back where they go, as long as I find them first.”

     “And meditation is how you find the pieces, isn’t it.” Jason sounded a bit resigned.

     “Yes.” She confirmed with a smile. He was much cleverer than most, quick on the uptake. “Once you have started finding those pieces and slotting them into place, the Green will lose much of its hold over you. Granted, you did die, there is no arguing that point. There will always be missing pieces that you will not be able to recover. You will always have the influence of the Lazarus Pits because of that, but that is all it will ever be, just an influence. It will no longer have control.”

     She could feel the Pit twisting her words, like every time it would when threatened, trying to desperately find some way to paint them in a negative light. She almost reached out with the fringes of her own magic to brush the green aside - to give him clarity to see her words as they were. She stopped herself at the last moment. It would lead into a self sabotaging cycle if she intervened. She would not always be beside him when the green tried to weave its way into his mind. All she could do was wait. Waiting was second nature, after all, to those whose souls were of the immortal kind.

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Jason

     “Just an influence. It will no longer have control.” Ducra’s voice echoed into his mind. He could feel the green slip itself into the words.

     She’ll have control though. She could do it, control you, force these words down your throat. Use you, just like the Bat.

     He felt the air stutter into his lungs. The green, a haze in the back of his mind, slowly encroached forwards, steady in its pace.

     It’s easy for us, no? We could destroy it for you, destroy the thing that wishes to control. If you want…

     It would be so easy to listen. It was always easy to listen. He’d always listened to it. Why shouldn’t he do that now?

     “Now, now, now. We both know that Daddy Bats isn’t going to get here in time.” The laugh caused a full body convulsion. He tried to get away. He couldn’t breathe. “I planned it that way, you see.” He could feel the gentle touch of the wiry pale fingers brush along his jaw, tilting his chin up and lifting his head. The Joker’s eyes were wild, fanatic, even. “I’m going to break him and I’m going to use you to do it!”

     He was giggling as he tossed the crowbar aside, the hand coming up and stroking Jason’s hair almost lovingly. It was a mockery. He was a fucking mockery. He hated him so much. He hated him almost as much as he hated Sheila. She was supposed to love him. How could she do this to her own child, her flesh and blood? He could barely feel the pain now. Bruce wouldn’t have done this. Bruce wouldn’t sell him out and he wasn’t even related to him… Dad…

     A spark flared, deep in his gut, running up his spine. He let it, even though it brought back the pain. He couldn’t form the words, his head was too muddled for it and his jaw far too bruised and broken. His aim was true, as the blood spattered across Joker’s cheek with all the contempt he could muster. Batman wouldn’t break from this. Never from this. So Jason, Robin, wouldn’t break. Not for the Joker. Not for Sheila. No one but his Dad would see him break.

     The smile left Joker’s face as he examined him, blood slowly dripping from where it had been spat across his cheek. “Now, now. That’s rude of you, isn’t it? The first Boy Wonder at least had a bit of class to him. You’re just hanging onto his coat-tails.” The Joker turned away in disgust. “Bats should have stuck to the original. Harley, get the car!”

     There was a squeak and flurry of movement. Harley brushed by him, quickly moving towards the back door of the warehouse. A heavy weight settled into his hand. His arm screamed as he forced his fingers to wrap around it. There was a roar of an engine as the Joker turned around from fiddling with something on a table. The bomb, his mind supplied to him.

     The Joker was in a foul mood if Harley hadn’t said anything to him before starting the car. Which is probably why he didn’t even flinch at the gun that Joker pulled on him. Or maybe it was because he was going numb again. He hadn’t even felt his head dropping back onto the chair’s headrest. He stared down the barrel at the clown. If he was going, he was looking his murderer in the fucking eyes. Joker’s face twisted, murderous. The gun went off.

     It almost could have been mistaken as a sigh as Sheila crumpled. Jason knew better. He’d heard it before. The clinical part of his brain told him it was just the lungs expelling air as she died.

     “She gets the easy way out, Brat.” Joker hissed. “You won’t get any more mercy from me!” He left.

     Jason could feel his broken arm scream as he cut the ropes on the chair. He felt something in his ribs grind and a sharp stabbing pain in his chest as he leaned down to cut his legs free. The knife skittered out of his grasp as the last fibers were severed. He used his non-broken arm to push himself upright. The deep rhythmic shudders didn’t even register as coughing until the sound scraped its way into his ears, wet and rasping. It didn’t last long.

     Bones ground together as he tried to stand. Oh. He’d forgotten that they were the first things Joker broke… Something about clipping wings and not getting to fly away. The floor was cold. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but he couldn’t stay. He had to leave. He had to go home. He had to get to his Dad. He had to get to Alfred. He had to get to Dick. The numbness helped a little as he pulled himself forward, inch by bloody inch towards the warehouse door.

     It took far too much effort to sit up, back against the door, and try the door handle with his good arm. Locked. The numbness wasn’t helping him now. He couldn’t feel his arms anymore. The rhythmic jerking was back. He could hear the final minute slowly beeping over his own weak gurgling gasps. The world tilted sideways slowly. To his Dad. Make it to his Dad.

     The numbness didn’t help the boiling heat. It hurt unbearably. Just for a moment. The warehouse hadn’t crushed him. The sky was black. Orange red clouds billowed into the sky. Black crowded, hazing over his vision, dimming everything.

     “-son.” It was a whisper. His cowl was off. “Jason.” His face was shining. Tears. Crying. Why? He’d made it. He couldn’t see anymore. That was fine. “Jason, son, Please…” He could feel it. The sigh. The Final Breath. “Dad.”

     It was disorienting - waking to find himself being choked half to death by one of Ducra’s monks. “Wha-” He wheezed. He went limp as black spots swam across his vision.

     “That’s enough, Brother Matthias.” Ducra’s voice seemed to bring back his oxygen privileges and he blinked as his vision cleared. His head felt raw. He felt battered, bruised, somehow. Ducra leaned over him. “Awake now, are you?” She took the strangled sound that came out of his half crushed throat as an ascent. “I hope you found a piece, Jason, or I fear the desolation my garden will face when you actually do.”

     Several other monks released their hold and stood up, leaving, as Jason turned his head to look around. Ducra’s garden looked like a goddamn tornado had woven a path of destruction through it. “Oops.”

     Ducra snorted. “Oops indeed. Especially since all the flowers got caught in the mayhem.”

     He wheezed again, curling into himself, laughter bubbling up. “Oopsie Daisies?” He offered before trying to asphyxiate himself with more laughter.

     Ducra smiled wryly at the garden, before it settled into something more fond as she looked at him. After he stopped laughing, he lay back, looking at the sky. It was overcast today.

     “I think I did. Find a piece, I mean.” Ducra hummed, settling down beside him. “I’m just… not sure where it goes.” He admitted.

     Ducra sighed and the silence stretched. She tapped her cane. “That is how most puzzles start. Piece by piece. Not every part connects right away.”

     “Yeah.”

     The sharp sting of the cane against his skin made him jump, sitting upright. “You won’t be meditating tomorrow. You’ll be training with Brother Matthias and helping Sister Constance put the garden back into order.” She began to shoo him away. “Go get something in your belly and sleep for now.”

     Jason nodded. Despite the horrible memory that dragged itself out of his subconscious earlier that day, he slept better than he had in a while.

Chapter Text

Jason

     Waking up screaming was something he was getting used to. He supposed that ‘getting used’ to it wasn't exactly a healthy way of handling trauma, but it was the best way he had at the moment. Not like there were any therapists here in the All Caste and like hell he'd be trusting any sorta therapist the League of Assassins had. You know, if they had any at all. He wasn't fucking stupid. Briefly, he wondered if the Justice League had any therapists. He sure hoped so. Some of those super-powered idiots were on a hairpin trigger, even when he was Robin.

     Jason glanced over at the clock at his bedside and blinked in mild surprise. 7am. Huh. He hadn't realized he was that exhausted. Once again, night terrors and ‘handling’ things wasn't really conducive for sleep. Four hours was the most he'd gotten consecutively and it wasn't like he needed more than that. But it was nice to be able to catch a few more hours. Made his head kinda fuzzy though. Or was that a concussion? He wasn't sure what had happened yesterday when his meditation flew off the rails, but considering the garden, he's pretty damn sure there was some kind of fight. Well. Laying here wasn't gonna get him any answers. And he was also hungry. 

     He managed to stagger out of bed and to the small adjoining bathroom. Taking a quick glance in the mirror, Jason clocked a few yellow spots on his skin from what had to have been some pretty severe bruising if they were still there. There was still a pretty one under his chin and around his throat. Prodding it with a finger, he winced. Oof. Yeah. Matthias never was one to mess around, especially when it came to Ducra's safety. Didn't matter if the old woman was immortal or not. It also didn't seem to matter that Ducra could kick anybody's ass while sitting in her weird hunched over floor position.

     Jason sighed, before leaning forward and drinking straight from the faucet. Alfred would have killed him if he saw him doing that. The thought had him almost choking on the water with the snort of laughter that exited his lungs. He pushed it away before turning off the sink and taking a quick cold shower. After toweling off and putting on the customary robes of the All Caste, he quickly made his way out of his accommodations. 

     The All Caste were sorta warrior monks, if you squinted and tilted your head slightly to the left. He'd learned that they didn't really deal with physical world ending problems. That was the Justice League's shit to work on. They mostly dealt with the magical, weird, Unknown? Untitled? Whatever they were called. The pure evil magic bastards that wanted to rule the world. Technically, Constantine and Zatanna occasionally helped on that front, but they dealt with the more physical magic threats. The All Caste got dibs on the freaky evil soul shit. He didn’t really wanna know too much about it and get drawn into it. He’d have to leave his plans for Gotham behind if that happened.

     Managing to sneak into the main kitchen without any problem, Jason snagged some bread, cheese, and an apple. Breakfast was held at 6am on the dot. Anybody who missed it could find their own food, risking the ire of the cooks. He stole away to sit on top of one of the more hidden rooftops to enjoy his food and observe as the monks went about their business. The All Caste was self sufficient. Grew their own crops , built their own buildings, made their own alcohol. In a way, it reminded him of a giant overgrown Abbey. He remembered reading a book series like that, with magic, prophecies and talking animals. It was a fun read. But that’s what the All Caste reminded him of. 

     Most of the members stayed within the protective magic borders and trained, but a few ventured out to slay pure evil and mend the cracks left in the fabric of the world left behind by that evil. He'd only been here a few weeks but, according to Ducra, learning how to meditate and control the Pit could take years. There was a good chance he'd have to postpone or rework his master plan for revenge. Munching on his stolen food, he mulled over his basic plan. Go to Gotham, get the Bat's attention, get the Bat to destroy the clown, The green felt giddy at the thought, he pushed the Pit down, and then… Huh. That's a real bare bones plan. Stupid even. Why the fuck would he run off with just that? God… Fucking stupid-face dumbass McGee that's what he was.

     The faintest whisper of a sound was all the warning he got. His reflexes had him rolling to the side and in the next instant he was on his feet facing the threat. 

     Matthias was, in one word, intimidating. The guy was quick and deadly silent. You only saw him when he wanted you to. Jason dodged a flurry of strikes from the spear Matthias held in his hands. Scratch that, Matthias was terrifying . Jason chucked the half-eaten, half-almost-forgotten apple still in his hand at Matthias's head. The monk snatched it out of the air with one hand and continued attacking with the other. There was no sign that it disrupted him at all.

     “What are you? The fucking terminator?” Jason spat. 

     He kept his distance. Normally with a spear, staff, polearm or any other long weapon, getting in close quarters with your enemy where their tool was a hindrance rather than a help was Fighting 101. Especially with smaller opponents -but with Matthias, that was a fucking mistake. A dreadful miscalculation like that could get you killed, especially when facing off with a 4’ 10” wiry bastard. 

     Flickers of green pressed against the edges of his vision.

     Jason grit his teeth. Splitting his attention was not a good survival strategy. He deflected the next few jabs, mind whirling, picking up ideas and half-baked thoughts and discarding them almost as quickly.

     “Retreat is always a viable option, Robin…” Batman's voice echoed in his head.

     A split second of distraction. 

     The spear landed a glancing blow on his side. 

     Green surged forward.

     Snarling, he felt himself launching his body forwards. It was always odd, caught in the terrifying anger and violence he both could and couldn’t control. He was Jason. He was the Pit. Both seemed to blur together. He caught glimpses, flashes through the haze. 

     Grabbing the spear and looking to stab . No. Smashing it down onto the roof, breaking it… Throwing Matthias off of him, reaching for his neck . No. Grabbing the front of his robe and tossing him across the roof and away... Standing with the shattered spearhead, stabbing forwards, wanting to draw blood . No. Just. Leaving a slight opening, letting Matthias kick him off of the roof.

     The jolt of hitting the ground provided just enough pause in the forward momentum of the Pit for Jason to drag control away. He shoved the Pit back and rolled to the side to avoid Matthias dropping down on top of him. He rolled again and managed to get his feet under him before Matthias was in front of him. The punch to his chest made him wheeze and bend slightly forward as he tried to breathe. A flash of metal in his peripheral was enough for him to get his arm up, catching the monk's wrist. Jason twisted the arm down and away, disarming him of the knife. Kicking it away, he threw Matthias in the opposite direction before booking it in the direction of the metal skittering across the ground. He paused to kick the blade up into his own hand before once again dashing off into the maze of buildings and side alleys, trying to lose the man he knew was hot on his heels. 

     Menace. That’s what Matthias was. It also described how the monk liked to train him. Jason was never given a specific spot to meet up with Matthias in order to train. The fucking bastard just showed up wherever he was and either attacked him right off the bat or gave a cursory greeting and slightly less hands on instruction. There was never anything in between with that insane bastard. The session ended several hours later with Jason pinned in a very uncomfortable hold. 

     “Matthias. I would like you to know that you are, in fact, a rat bastard.” Jason stated, words muffled by the dirt in his face. That startled a laugh from the monk. Matthias let him out of the hold and helped him back to his feet, a glimmer of humor still in his expression.

     “If I’m a rat, does that make you a turtle?” His teacher asked slyly. 

     Jason stared incredulously at him. “What the fuck. Is that a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles reference? How do you even know what that is?”

     Matthias just looked smug and didn’t answer him. Instead he pointed at Ducra’s gardens. “Constance is over by the gardens and should be ready for your help by now.”

     Jason blinked. “That wasn’t an answer, Matthias.”

     Matthias shrugged and gently started nudging him away. Jason reluctantly let himself be moved towards the gardens. The monk walked alongside him in silence. He could feel Matthias looking over him. 

     “I'll bandage the stab wound on your side. It's a little too deep to leave it alone for my liking.”

     The silence stretched as Jason absorbed the words, looking for any hidden meaning. Not finding anything, he finally answered. “The Pit heals things pretty quickly. It's already stopped bleeding.”

     Matthias hummed. “I'll let Constance know. She's better at medical aid than I am.”

     Jason repressed the knee-jerk reaction that he was fine -that he could take care of himself. Matthias wasn't going to let it go and between the two of them, he'd prefer Constance. The Sister was as tall as Matthias was short, taller than him as well. She dwarfed them both at a staggering 6’ 7”. Despite her size - or perhaps because of it - she was extremely attentive to the needs of others. She listened to your problems, offering advice and comfort but kept the strictest of confidence. 

     …She was less likely to say anything to anyone about the scars. 

     The monk handed him over to Constance and pointed out the wound. Constance looked disapprovingly at Matthias. “You're supposed to be training him, not trying to kill him.”

     Matthias just shrugged. Constance sighed, resigned. “Come along, Jason.” She started shepherding him towards a bigger building. It had many rooms and was laid out like a modern day hospital. The open area in the front looked like a reception with two corridors leading further into the building, doors branching off into rooms beyond. 

     “Lethal injuries to the right, non-lethal to the left.” Constance explained when she noticed him looking around in interest. “Lethal injuries will have several trained surgical staff looking after them. Non-lethal have the option to take care of the wound themselves or receive help from another of the order.”

     “So I can patch myself up then?” He asked somewhat hopefully as the sister led the way over to the left. 

     Constance sighed. “Normally? Yes. But Matthias has a very nasty habit of actively, if not accidentally, trying to kill those who train with him.” Constance opened a door and ushered him through. The room had all of the standard doctor's equipment in it. “Sit on the examination table please.” 

     He sat down, repressing a wince at the twinge of pain that he was feeling now that the adrenaline of the chase had worn off. The table was on the left side of the room. Rows of glass paned cabinets spanned the right side of the room, letting you see precisely what was located where and how much of the medical supplies were there. A small table with all sorts of beakers and flasks, burners and vials, all clean and ready for use, was located on the wall furthest from the door.

     Constance had started busying herself, taking things out of the cabinets and putting it on a small rolling table next to her. She glanced back over her shoulder. “Top off. I need to see the wound in order to treat it.”

     Jason winced outwardly at that before reluctantly and slowly folding the top of the robes off and down to his waist, stripping the tank top that he was wearing underneath off as well. Green flickered and he refused to look down at his torso. There was a reason he never allowed anyone but himself to patch his wounds up unless he was unconscious. There was a reason he never looked at himself in a mirror without a shirt on. The angry Y shaped scar was a reminder he didn't really want to think about.

     He stiffened as Constance turned around. A slight widening of the eyes and a softly whispered “Oh.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, holding it before slowly exhaling. Opening her eyes, she bustled towards him, a determined set to her lips.

     Perhaps seeing the tension in his shoulders, she began to talk. “I'm not going to ask about it… However, I do need to ask a few other questions, but we can get by with just one for now.” 

     She paused, waiting for confirmation. When Jason nodded stiffly, she continued. “Do you still feel the pain of wounds that are no longer present after the Pit?” Her hands were gentle as she wiped away the dried blood around the new wound. “I ask because of the two others that Ducra has trained, both occasionally had bouts of extreme phantom pain. Physically, nothing seemed wrong with them. But we found that, although the Pit healed the wounds given to them fully, the mind would every now and then forget.”

     “So, the equivalent of phantom limb pain?” The conversation was uncomfortable but was infinitely better than talking about the scar that didn't fade, even with the healing of the Pit. Although, why hadn’t it faded? No. Not thinking about it.

     “Precisely.” Sister Constance nodded. “The Pit mends everything back together where it’s supposed to be. But - and I am allowed to tell you, I got permission- I’ve been told, that just because everything seems to be fixed, the Pit leaves gaps? …cracks? That oftentimes don’t …settle? - fully?” She sighed, seeming to struggle finding the right words.

     Jason knew the feeling she was describing. He still didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t trust her - but… Constance knew others that had been thrown into the Pits. Had helped them and had information that she seemed to be willing to share… 

     “Communication is a two way street, my boy.” Alfred smiled gently as he placed a cup of tea in front of him. “Know that I shall always keep my side of the street open for you, if you wish to talk…”

     Jason took a deliberate, deep breath in, and let it out slowly, shakily. “My body doesn’t feel like my own. The Pit put me back together but there’s no glue holding the parts where they’re supposed to go.” He let his eyes glance over the items tucked behind the glass panes, keeping himself from looking at Constance directly. Not that he didn’t keep her in his peripherals. 

     “My bones grind. On bad days, they feel like they’re made of brittle crystal. My skin burns and if it’s an abysmal day, my organs shift, writhe, under it all.” He murmured softly, afraid to admit it. To admit a weakness. 

     Constance took another deep breath as he watched her reaction from the corner of his eyes. “Okay.” She whispered. “Okay. On those days, would you like medication to help?”

     “No. No drugs.” Jason didn’t even need to think. The answer is automatic, almost instant and maybe just a little too sharp. The Sister doesn’t flinch but it’s a near thing.

     “Very well.” Her brows were slightly furrowed, either in thought or concentration as she threaded a suture needle. “About six stitches.” 

     Jason opened his mouth. 

     Constance smiled softly. “The thread is a rapidly dissolving one. A design of mine for those who heal quicker than average.”

     “What’s it made out of? How long does it last?” Jason was deflecting, but he was also curious.

     “Silk embedded with magic. And it lasts for as long as it needs to. Brace yourself,” she warned. “First stitch.”

     He clenched his jaw. Stitches were never fun. Curiously though, after the bite of the needle, he barely even felt it. Blinking, he looked down to make sure that she was actually stitching the wound up. A quiet, “What the fuck.” slipped from his lips before he could think better of it.

     Constance's grin was all teeth at his surprise. “My sutures will ruin any modern day equivalents for you. Best not get hurt when I’m not around.” 

     Jason huffed out a surprised laugh. “I make no promises.”

     She hummed as she nimbly finished up the rest of the impossibly painless stitches. She cleaned the area again, placed gauze over it carefully, and wrapped it firmly. As she began tidying up she spoke up again. “I have a tea that could help, strengthened with a trace of magic.” She looked at him, gauging his expression. “It’s not as effective as any medications would be but it would dull the edge a bit.”

     Tea… The memory of the faint scent of chamomile and honey drifted through his mind. He blinked hard, willing the dampness away from his eyes and clearing his throat. “Yeah… Alright... Tea…”

     Constance's smile was soft, warm, but had another emotion layered under it that he couldn’t quite seem to place. Not a bad feeling, not traitorous, not harmful…

     “Put your shirt back on Jason. I still need your help with the garden.” 

     He startled a bit before hastily throwing his tank top on and folding the rest of the robes back up. 

     Once they were finished with their work, Constance bullied him into eating dinner out by the freshly replanted flowers. She brought a blanket, tea, and a book for him. “It’s one of my favorites,” before settling down with her own book. 

     Jason didn’t know exactly how to feel about everything today but… A bit at a time. He could do that.

Chapter Text

Jason

     It was weeks later and Jason had a terrible few days. Aching joints and stiff, sore muscles. But then today… The worst day was today. Jason was barely able to stand. He'd managed to get through his morning routine, but now Jason was leaning heavily against the bathroom door frame. Looking at the exit, half thinking that maybe he could make it. Ribs creaked as he tried to straighten up, lungs took in shallow breaths, trying to ease the pain… Just gotta get to the door… Maybe just to the bed… Nope. Jason wasn't even going to try. Not today. 

     The only reason he stumbled was that he forgot that his legs were whole, unbroken. His shin slammed into the bed frame and he choked down a cry of pain. Slowly, he eased himself down onto the mattress, already halfway convinced that his arms were going to give out. Every nerve was on fire causing his muscles to twitch and making bones to grind together... Agony … Jason knew he was already half delirious with it. 

     The white ceiling was a blessing. Not dark industrial iron beams and not cold dark wood or anything green. White. A loud noise caused him to involuntarily flinch, starting a chain reaction of molten hot torture coursing though his very being. A strangled cry wrenched itself out of his mouth. Everything hurt, like even his organs were trying to writhe their way out from inside his skin. A blurry figure entered his line of vision, blocking out part of the white ceiling. It radiated concern as the back of a hand touched his forehead, feather light. 

     “Oh Little Wing… You’ll be okay. I promise you’ll be okay.”  

     Dick’s fingers gently carded through the sweat soaked strands of his hair. Jason leaned into the touch, even as the poison made its way through his system. The antidote chased down after it. His body was, unfortunately, the playground for both of them. 

     “Dick.” Jason all but whined. His eyes burned with unshed tears. “It hurts.”

     “I know. I’m sorry, Little Wing.” Dick’s voice sounded thick with an emotion that Jason couldn’t place. A cold compress was placed carefully onto his forehead. It felt good. The hand running through his hair withdrew as a blurry Bruce stepped into the room. 

     “Dick.”

     “Don’t, Bruce. Not right now.” There was a hard note of warning in Dick’s voice. He stood up to leave and Jason let go of trying not to cry, trying to be brave. 

     “Don’t leave. Don’t leave me, Dick.” Jason sobbed. Dick froze, uncertain, wavering between Bruce and the door and Jason. “Brother, please…” 

     The words seemed to register a few seconds later as Dick turned fully towards Jason, his back now to Bruce and the door. “Of course I’ll stay, Little Wing.” He settled himself on the bed right next to Jason and hugged him close, combing through his hair again. 

     “You promise?” Jason found himself asking as tears ran unchecked down his face.

     “Yes. I’ll stay.”

     Bruce hovered a second longer before exiting the room. “Let me or Alfred know if you need anything.”

     Dick stayed silent, only acknowledging the words with a stiff nod.

*^*

Matthias

     Matthias had started to hunt down his wayward student an hour after breakfast. The fact that Jason wasn’t found easily didn’t set off any alarm bells for him. This was just how some mornings went with Jason. The student would sneak around and try to avoid him for as long as possible. It was a delightfully deadly game of hide and seek. Even if Jason wasn’t up to seeking standards quite yet, he was coming along extremely quickly with his training. A few more months and he’d have to start taking Jason out into the world to train amongst normal humans. 

     However, after several hours, Jason was still nowhere to be found… It set Matthias on edge. He’d checked the kitchens three times, the library and its secret counterpart five times, the orchards two times, and the medical building three times. He’d dropped by Ducra, asking with utmost respect if she had seen Jason and if she did, please send him towards his lesson. He knew better than to ask her to tell him where Jason was. She was unconcerned anyways. If Jason was in danger or a danger, she would’ve subtly pointed him in his student’s direction. He’d also dropped by Constance twice. His older Sister was amused, but promised to keep an eye out for him. 

     By noon, Matthias was thoroughly and properly worried about Jason. He started towards the only place he hadn’t checked. It was the only place that he never checked. Matthias was self aware enough to know that Jason didn’t always see their training in as playful of a light as he himself did. The boy needed a place he considered safe in the All Caste - he wouldn’t ever feel safe if Matthias let himself into his young student’s quarters in order to facilitate learning. Therefore, Matthias made it a rule for himself that he wouldn’t ever break into Jason’s rooms unless necessary. 

     He rapped sharply on the door. A choked cry of pain from inside the room had him picking the lock instantly. He entered the small space, making a beeline for his student lying on the bed. Jason was dressed in a tank top and loose shorts. He was sweating profusely and was staring up at the ceiling with a half-lidded, glazed stare that Matthias didn’t like the look of. 

     He gently brushed the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead to see if he was running a fever. He wasn’t running a true fever but his temperature was elevated. Tremors ran down the entirety of Jason’s body and his face was lined with pain. In an instant Matthias understood. 

     He grabbed an old water basin from under the sink and filled it with cool water, grabbing several cloths as well. He hooked the chair out from under the desk with his foot as he passed it. Setting the bowl of water and cloths on the seat of the chair, Matthias carried all three over to Jason’s bedside. He moved the analog clock to the floor, making sure to be gentle with it, before setting the basin on the bedside table. Perching himself on the chair, he quickly soaked a cloth before wringing it out and folding it gently onto Jason’s forehead. It seemed to ease the smallest amount of tension in Jason’s face. 

     Matthias carefully ran a hand through his student’s hair. Jason leaned into the touch despite the pain it must have caused him to do so. Tears flowed down his student’s cheeks. Matthias couldn’t tell whether it was due to the pain or the relief at being touched so gently. It hurt. He’d almost forgotten what it was like for himself so early on. He too, was often involuntarily confined to his quarters, writhing from the ghost of a pain that was no longer present. Time had eased the burden on him and no doubt that it would eventually do the same for Jason, but it was the interim that would hurt the most. Reliving your own almost deadly wounds was never going to be easy. Matthias couldn’t do anything to help but sit and wait, staying until the pain died down.

*^*

Constance

     Constance knew why Matthias couldn’t find Jason. Privately, she didn’t know how Matthias didn’t see the small cues. Jason had been slowing down these past few days and he was pushing himself hard. She didn’t like it but she understood. It wasn’t as obvious to others, but she could read the underlying discomfort Jason had with his fractured memories. Some he accepted unconditionally as fact - but others, he rejected viscerally. He wanted a distraction to keep his mind busy and the best way he could do that was learning from Matthias.

     She sighed, pulling a few more weeds from the dark rich garden soil. Honestly, sometimes she had no idea what was running through Ducra’s head. Jason was hurting, and not just in the physical sense. His mental state was in absolute shambles when he first arrived. His mental stability was precariously balanced on the edge of a garrote wire, poised to hurt himself just as much as others. The Pit did him no favors in that regard. Now that Ducra had him meditating every few days, shards of memory seemed to be popping up.

     He would pause during a task and just stare for however long it took for the memory to play out in front of him. Sometimes, she could see the faint sheen of remembrance in his eyes as a memory played out in tandem with whatever he was doing at the time. Other members would come to her to bemusedly ask her to move the young man out of their way. She would carefully grab his hand and lead Jason over to her small lodgings on the far edge of the gardens, out of the way from everything. There, she would sit him down and make a subtle ginger and honey tea. 

     Constance knew that some of these episodes weren’t just memories. Jason was disassociating, sometimes even to the point of not remembering anything during his episodes. She would busy herself in her small kitchen while keeping an eye on him. When he showed signs of returning to himself, she would put the warm tea into his hands and ask him to sip slowly. Meanwhile, she’d be bustling about the kitchen and bringing out small little treats, nothing too sweet. She had learned that Jason didn’t like things that were overly sweet. Dried fruits, sometimes a scone or two, and perhaps, if it seemed like Jason was having a bit too much trouble sinking back into his skin, a dessert smothered in fresh whipped cream. 

     The sister must have been doing something right, because after a month or two he would often show up with a pair of books and they would sit and read, enjoying tea and whatever odds and ends she had lying about for a snack. He would talk, occasionally. Sometimes it was about a memory that he’d picked up, or the life he’d been living in the League before the All Caste. Very rarely though, he would speak of strategy, often asking about certain concepts or hypotheticals. Soon, Constance was teaching him everything she knew of strategy and how to put it into practice. What methods worked short term and which would work for the long haul. Historical examples were brought up, faults exposed and learned from. She quite liked how quickly Jason absorbed what he was taught, implementing it almost immediately. He was intelligent but his normally brash nature and coarse words covered and hid it well. She pointed it out one day.

     “You could lull the majority of people into a false sense of security with the way that you talk.” 

     Jason looked up from the ancient map of the Americas spread across the tea table, eyebrow quirked up in question. 

     She smiled. “To be blunt, Jason, you don’t sound educated, sophisticated, or smart.” Jason scowled at that. She quickly raised a finger to her lips silencing him, as her eyes sparkled with mirth. “It hides your wickedly sharp intelligence well. It’s good for people to underestimate you and it makes things oh so satisfying when you pull the rug out from under them.” 

     Jason squinted down at the map thinking, before grinning up at her. “I like how you point out things I wouldn’t even consider, Constance.”

     “Thank you for the questionable compliment, Jason. Now how about I point out your fatal flaw as well?”

     Her young charge scoffed. “I don’t have a fatal flaw.”

     “Ah. But you do. As do I. Mine is complacency. I tend to not interfere in things that I should. Your flaw is your impulsive reckless ambition. Achieving what you want will be easy for you, but you don’t tend to think about what you could lose on the way.” She moved a piece on the map. “You won this battle, but you lost sight of what you were trying to do here,” she said, tapping the bridge connecting two places together. “You don’t have enough troops to fix this and you’re fast running out of provisions. Considering the violent way you conquered this territory, the people won't help you. The soldiers you pressed into service aren't going to stay now either. Now that the threat of violence and fear against them is all but gone, they'll either desert or betray you.”

     Jason looked down at the map, scowling like it had personally offended him. “How the hell am I meant to win then? There's no way to bring the many warring factions under my purview except by force.”

     Constance hummed thoughtfully. “You may be right on that point,” She conceded, “but lethal force isn't going to bring you any loyalty, just fear. And as stated previously-”

     “Ruling through fear isn't sustainable in the long run. Yeah. God damn it.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I still think fear is useful though.” 

     “It is,” Constance agreed. “But I think tempering that fear with gratitude and perhaps a bit of awe might go a long way into inspiring actual loyalty.” She picked up the notebook that lay off to the side. “The parameters you set for this area and the hypotheticals are extremely interesting. The kingdom you are warring against is essentially an extremely corrupt democracy.  There's also a very high divide between wealth and poverty. Most of the competing factions are poor and have no uniting banner. But from what I can tell, the wealthy factions are just perpetuating the cycle. Except for this Peregrine faction. However, it doesn't seem like they're actually helping the poorest factions.” Her brows furrowed. “It seems like they're avoiding this entire area.” She circled her finger around the area of the most recent battlefield. “That is something you can exploit. You can intimidate the warring factions of this area, put them under your banner, your protection, but use the resources they give you to improve their quality of life.” She smiled viciously at her student. “And all thanks to this specific parameter.” she tapped a line in the notebook. 

     Jason leaned over, squinting at the page. He read the line, pausing to let it sink in before looking up and smiling just as savagely back. “You're right, Constance. That would pull everything together perfectly. In fact, this plan wouldn't work if it was anything else.” 

     Her student looked almost giddy with excitement. He was practically vibrating. Constance smiled softly. Jason looked far better than when he first arrived. The garrote wire was now a solid tightrope. He looked far more settled in his skin now. She was very glad. Unthinking, she reached out and brushed a few crumbs off of the corner of his mouth before reaching up and tucking a few longer stray locks back behind his ear. Jason froze, eyes wide. She blinked. Oops. That was, perhaps, a bit too far. Busying herself, she gathered the empty tea plates and the mostly empty, cold, tea pot and began washing up. After a few minutes, Jason silently, almost hesitantly, slipped into the space beside her, drying cloth in hand. Constance could feel a small bit of tension leave her shoulders as she handed him a dish. 

*^*

Jason

     He stared, wide-eyed as Constance bustled around her small abode. 

     “Hold still Master Jason.” A wet cloth was applied liberally but gently across his face. He scowled at the older man even as he put up token struggles to get away. 

     “I don't need help Alfie. I can do it myself.”

     A peal of laughter had Jason glaring over across the table at Dick. “You'd best give it up, Jason. Not even Bruce can get away from Alfred's mothering!”

     He glanced over at Bruce to see a faintly embarrassed look cross his face. Jason blinked. Not quite sure how to process that information, he looked back at Dick, who had taken an exaggerated sip of water, raising his eyebrows, “Really? The old man?” 

     Dick snorted, water coming out his nose and spewing half across the table. He coughed and spluttered with laughter. “OLD MAN?!?” 

     Bruce frowned but Jason could see how the edges of his mouth twitched up as he tried not to smile. “I'm not that old, Jason.”

     Jason grinned, “You're right. You aren't that old. You're ancient.” Dick had slid halfway out of his seat with laughter. “As old as dirt.”

     Bruce laughed then, deep and booming, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Whatever you say, Jason.” 

     Alfred stood at the side with a faint smile on his face before busying himself by taking away the dirty dishes. 

     A little while later, when Dick and Bruce were discussing a case, Jason slipped away back into the kitchen. Alfred had rolled up his sleeves and was washing dishes. He grabbed the drying cloth and began drying the clean dishes. Alfred said nothing, but did begin handing the clean dishes to him. 

     Jason dried the teapot carefully. Constance reminded him of Alfred. Alfred reminded him of home… He felt a twinge of homesickness. But he couldn't go home. Not yet. Not till his plan was complete. Not until he got the Pit under control… Not until he could look at himself in the mirror and be alright with what he saw there… Then, and only then, he'd go home.

Chapter Text

Jason

     It wasn’t anything in particular that set him off. Not really. It was a bunch of small things that accumulated to cause it.

     Matthias had decided that he had progressed enough in his training and his control of the Pit. So now they were ‘stepping out’, as the monk put it, into the ‘world beyond’. Matthias’s words, not his. If Jason didn't know any better, he would have thought that Matthias was being serious, but since he did know the man, he knew the monk was joking in his dry way that most others brushed off as eccentricity.

     Jason was doing fine for the first fifteen minutes, glancing around himself as if to take in the sights but taking time to scan for threats as he'd been taught in the League of Assassins. His Crime Alley nerves made sure he was aware of his peripherals as he conversed with Matthias. He kept half an ear on his responses and the other half tuned in to the conversations happening around him.

     -‘Far too warm-’-

     -‘It’s early October, Dear.’-

     It was early January in the All Caste. He was a little bit freaked out to find out in passing tidbits of conversation on the streets, that while almost four months had passed in the All Caste, in the outside world only one month had gone by. Jason could privately admit that it all went downhill from that first revelation.

     -Two children laughed, kicking a worn ball between them.-

     At least Matthias seemed to be amused by his discovery. “You were told how time works in the All Caste when you arrived, Jason.”

     -‘We have a budget. We can’t go over.’-

     He looked at the smaller man for a few seconds longer than he should have as they walked around the small town. “I don’t really remember those first few weeks, Matthias.” Exasperation leaked into his tone as he gestured to his eyes. “I was a little bit out of it.” 

     -With a flutter of wings, a crow landed on a roof across from them. -

     The monk looked pensive for a moment then nodded. “I suppose that could explain some things. Do you need me to repeat your schedule and meeting spots for your tutors for you? That was one of the things that was covered in your first week.” Matthias stopped to look at a well stocked fruit stall.

     -The owner smiled at the two foreigners, greeting them haltingly in english.-

     “I have multiple tutors?” Jason felt a bit off-kilter at the revelation.

     -Three children ran past to join the other two with the ball.-

     -The crow cawed as it observed the children below it.-

     Matthias stared blankly at him. “Oh. Well. Yes? I’m not your only tutor. Talia Al Gul made sure that we would be tutoring you in everything that you wanted. Explosives, poisons, languages, spycraft, assassination of course, and many other things…”

     -A man brushed past both of them.-

     - Not a pickpocket.-  

     “Oh dear. I don’t think Ducra or myself thought about how the Pit would affect your memory in that way.” He sighed and pointed at a plump red orange fruit. 

     -Persimmon. Too early to be ripe-

     -Matthias asking price. Stall owner holding up three fingers. Bargaining tactic used with foreigners to get more money without outright lying-

     Matthias raised an eyebrow at the owner before rummaging through his pocket for money to give to him in exchange for the persimmon. 

     -Local currency. Not counterfeit-

     -A dog barked at street traffic from a door several houses away-

     -Stall owner's thanks as Matthias took the fruit-

     “I’ll have to get a steady schedule with everyone going again.”

     -Another crow settled down by the first-

     Shit. Matthias was not making his first visit back into the world of the living easy, that was for sure. Jason could feel his muscles subtly, slowly, tightening under his skin as they continued down the street full of busy stalls. “Do you have any more intensive things you’d like to drop on me?” 

     -A man’s laugh echoed down from an open window-

     -’Get up here! I need help with dinner!’-

     Matthias actually looked like he was really pondering if there were any very important things that he needed to inform him of. He felt a sense of foreboding well up slowly in his gut. Oh God. No. It was a joke! It was supposed to be a rhetorical question!

     -A woman with two children, five and two, the two year old on her hip, spoke rapidly to a man behind a stall filled with brightly colored bolts of fabric ’-coming of age this year! She needs something to catch eyes!’-

     -A man called out to a group of young women. ’Come look at the wares I have! Surely something will catch your eye!’-

     “There actually are a few more points I have to go over. Specifically a crash course in the whole “time”concept.” The monk actually added genuine physical air quotes onto the word. 

     -In an alley, a pack of stray dogs tore apart a bag of trash looking for something to eat-

     -Farther down a woman yelled at a young child as they bolted away laughing-

     -The smell of perfectly cooked meat and spices from a stall across the street-

     “As previously stated; All Caste time almost always runs faster than time in the living realm. However, time conversion isn’t always a 4:1 ratio. In all actuality, it’s moving a bit fast. Normally it mostly averages out to a 3:1 ratio. 

     -A woman sung a soft tune as she carefully pulled laundry from a line between two buildings-

     -A teen beat the dust out of a rug as another woman spoke in hushed tones to a man at their door. ‘Husband has payment’-

     -’Brother-in-law isn’t going to help my parents. It’s up to us now.’-

     “Three years in All Caste equates to one year in the living realm. Also, just because three years pass in the All Caste, it doesn’t mean that you will physically age three years as well. You’ll age about the same as you would out here in the living world.

     -A stall vendor yelled angrily as a half-starved stray dog snatched an ill-attended piece of raw meat.-

     -An argument drifted down from a rooftop. ‘She's my sister-in-law! I have to take care of her!’ ‘Your parents can take her! I don’t want her anywhere near you!’-

     -A slap echoed from another building followed by soft sobbing. ‘I told you to stay away from that man! He’s bad news! For all of us!’-

     -A teen roughly brushed by both of them. Pickpocket. Got nothing.-

     “There's also the fact that the All Caste doesn't have physical doors. To get into the All Caste you need to know the exact spot where the fabric is split to step through. If you don't know the exact spot, you aren't getting in.”

     Everything was starting to press in around him. There were far too many people too close. He could feel his breathing pick up a bit as he struggled to concentrate enough to absorb the information. 

     -Three men clustered in an alley watching as people passed by. Professional thieves. Noticed. Foreigners. Easy marks. A low whistle from one man. Not following.-

     -Another low whistle from the opposite side of the street a few alleys down. Not followed but marked. Watched.-

     -The five children playing with the ball chased after it through the crowd earning surprised yells and laughs from several vendors and shoppers alike.-

     -The eyes of several children in clothes that had seen better days followed them.-

     “What if someone is watching?” Jason choked out, eyes darting about.

     Matthias shrugged. “There's a complicated bit of magic around the door. If anyone is observing something will happen, a sudden sound, eyelash in the eye, a shoelace coming undone, small things of that nature. Just enough so that the exact spot isn’t given away.” 

     -There were more eyes on them. They raised the hair on the back of his neck. Not friendly.-

     -Two well dressed men strode down the street. People watched them warily and were very careful to stay out of their way. The crowd parted around them.-

     -As they passed, the crowd pressed closer around him. Another pickpocket. Again got nothing.-

     Matthias droned on but Jason wasn’t absorbing any more of his words. Everything was too much. 

     -A child  hollered.- 

     -A ball a few inches from his head-

     -Can’t dodge in time-

     -Pain-

     Green

*^*

Jason

     He woke slowly. He didn’t remember falling asleep. “You have to keep the element of surprise, young one. You can learn things if they think you can’t hear them. Even breaths and keep your muscles relaxed and still.” Talia instructed. Jason kept his breathing regular and steady and his body relaxed. 

     “Of course you should have told me!”

     Someone was arguing.

     “He was ready and I can’t teach him things he already knows.”

     “Clearly he wasn’t ready! You’re lucky that it was an obvious tell that threw him into a Pit rage! Tell me Matthias, would you have noticed before you sent him off on his own in the market?”

     “He would have been fine if that ball hadn’t hit him!”

     “Enough.” Constance and Matthias both fell silent. Ducra’s cane tapped against the floor. “Matthias is correct, Constance. He needs to be able to train Jason out amongst people. Jason will have to be ready to go out on his own someday. He cannot always rely on one of us to immobilize him if he relinquishes control to the Pit.” Ducra’s tone was sharp. “He is not your child, Constance.” Her words softened. “Jason is not Celestina.”

     Constance had a kid?

     Constance’s breath shuddered. She sounded close to tears. “I know Lady Ducra, I know.” She took a deep breath in, steadying herself. “Neither of you have noticed.”

     “Noticed?” Matthias sounded cautious.

     “Promise me that what I say here will not be spoken of.” There was a pause before Constance pleaded, “Please promise. I do not want to betray any trust I have earned from Jason.”

     Jason felt cold. What would she say? Did she know about his plan?

     Ducra sighed and must have nodded while Matthias stiffly gave his word.

     “Meditation started to bring up his memories and sometimes those memories would pop up at random times. Several Brothers and Sisters have had to come to me to remove him. I would lead him to my quarters and let it play out. But it isn’t just memories! Jason was having severe episodes of disassociation, to the point where he didn’t remember what was or had been happening. He told you, Matthias, that he doesn’t remember those first few weeks. It was only partially due to the Pit. His mind was extremely unwell and it only began to stabilize when a routine was established. Neither of you have noticed.”

     Oh. She’d figured it out. He thought he’d  been so careful about it. 

     “We can not coddle him, Constance.” Ducra’s voice was flat.

     Please don’t. He didn’t need to be treated like he was made of glass.

     “I’m not saying that you should! I’m saying that putting him under extreme mental pressure and flinging him into an unknown busy environment was immensely unwise and extraordinarily reckless for everyone!” 

     Jason could grudgingly admit she had a point.

     “He wasn’t under mental pressure!” Matthias argued.

     He had to fight to not let the bark of disbelieving laughter leave his chest. Really, Matthias? That talk was nothing but one surprise after another.

     “He was! What would you do if you’d just learned that you had been away for four weeks and it ended up only being one week? That your personal time doesn’t tick the same way! That the place you were staying at doesn’t even technically exist!” Constance paused before continuing on. “Not only that, but I doubt that he’s ever been out amongst regular people since his death. He’s only been with the League of Assassins since then and they aren’t normal. I’m sure that Talia kept him as tucked away and as far out of Ra’s grasp as she could, just like she does with her own blood child. You put him out into a dense crowd of people and expected that he would be alright?” Constance paused longer this time.

     Wow. Jason felt a surge of warmth run through his chest.

     “You both would have lost him today. You would have lost your investment, Lady Ducra. Not because of the Pit rage but because of what he would have done. Jason would have lost all mental stability if he had killed anyone out there. Don’t give me that look, Matthias. I know he was with the League of Assassins and that he has killed people, but Talia has told me he never killed anyone that wasn’t deserving of it. Jason has a conscience, a sense of right and wrong, and a strong sense of Justice. It’s why you think Jason will be a perfect wielder of the All Blades. Jason would have been ruined for that if he had killed an innocent.”

     Constance was right. If he did kill anyone who didn’t deserve it, he’d probably drown in guilt. But what are the All Blades? He’d never heard them mentioned before.

     Ducra sighed. “Perhaps I was too careless.” 

     “Also, I think you should tell him.” Constance said.

     “Tell him what?” Matthias asked, sounding suitably chastised.

     Jason mentally thanked the monk for asking the question he was thinking.

     “Tell him what you are training him for. Tell him why. Do not misunderstand me, Lady Ducra, but I think that Jason should have more say in this than a vague prophecy that may or may not be about him. The final stage of your training could kill him. He deserves to know before he puts his life on the line. Besides, I think he will be far more inclined to help us if we ask.”

     Well shit. Ducra hadn’t planned on telling him any of this, had she?

     “I will… consider it.” Ducra tapped her cane onto the floor once more. “I will also keep you informed of what training we will be giving Jason. If you are correct, then we will have to find ways to help him control the Pit when surrounded and under pressure.” The tapping of Ducra’s cane faded as she left.

     Damn. Constance really went to bat for him, didn’t she. His heart felt warm.

     “Constance…”

     “Please don’t, Matthias.” She sounded tired.

     “I’m sorry. Ducra shouldn’t have brought her up.” Matthias sounded regretful.

     Who? Oh. Her kid.

     Constance’s voice was thick with sorrow. “She is worried that I see Jason as Celestina. I know they aren’t the same person. It’s been one hundred and twenty eight years but my heart still aches. I still see parts of her everywhere.  Jason has her smile. You have her temperament. I can’t forget her.”

     He shouldn’t be listening to this. He felt like he was intruding.

     Matthias sighed. “You lost a child, Constance. You won’t ever forget her. Seeing parts of her around makes you equally happy, doesn’t it?”

     “Yes.” She whispered. “But both you and Jason aren’t substitutes for her. You’re both different people and I would grieve just as much to lose either of you.”

     A lump formed in Jason’s throat.

     “You won’t lose me for a while yet, Sister.” Matthias’s voice was soft, caring.

     Constance laughed wetly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

     Matthias walked away, calling back, “Let me know when he wakes.”

     “It’s just been over half a day. I know you. He won’t wake for another few hours.”

     “If you say so!”

     There was a soft rap on the door before it opened slowly. Someone quietly moved through the room before settling down in a chair next to him. Constance’s voice softly began to read aloud. Jason felt his mind turn over what he’d learned. It took a while, but he felt himself slowly drift back into sleep, carried by the warmth of the voice of someone who cared.

Chapter Text

Dick

     He was going back to the manor for the first time in almost half a year. He zoned out, thinking over the last year as he drove.

     He'd spent part of this last year in space. He led his Teen Titans and they'd done well. When they'd gotten back into Justice League space and into transmitter range, they'd checked in. They'd sent their preliminary reports and it was business as usual. However, Dick knew something was slightly off. According to the schedule that they'd been sent out with, Batman and Black Canary should be manning League transmissions the day they were back in range. Instead, it was Superman and Black Canary who answered. 

     “Thank you for your report, Nightwing.” Black Canary smiled softly. “We'll go over it in more detail when you dock at the Watchtower in a few days.”

     His eyes flickered between his two mentors on the screen, looking for any body language that would tell him more. Superman’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concern. Black Canary just looked tired. “Why aren't we going over it now?” He felt a twinge of worry but brushed it aside. “Briefings are usually held straight after secure contact with the Watchtower is established.”

     “Dick,” Superman hesitated before continuing, “We need you to place your ship on transmission lock down. No signals in or out, unless it's an emergency, until you're back at base. Protocol two-nine-one.”

     Dick let the words settle before leaning forward, worry rising in his chest. “Please tell me this is a training exercise.”

     Black Canary shook her head. “It's not.” 

     Dick felt dread coil up in his gut, alongside the unease. “Who..?”

     Clark sighed. “We can't tell you. The protocol is in place for a reason.” 

     Dick leaned back but it did nothing to ease the tension in his limbs. He worriedly ran a hand through his hair. “What do I tell my team? If I tell them what protocol was called, they'll know.” 

     “Tell them it's an impromptu training exercise.” Black Canary stated. “Clark will keep dock 2 open for you and both of us will meet you in the main hangar.”

     “Understood.” The word came out half strangled. He already had an idea who they needed to talk to.

     Worry creased Clark's brows deeper and he hesitated again before signing off. “Watchtower out.”

     He couldn't remember what he did during the last few days while they approached. All he could think about was the fact that Protocol two-nine-one was only used when someone close to a person on board had died. It kept the person in the dark so that they could receive the proper notice and observation by members of the League. 

     Batman hadn't been on his scheduled shift at the Watchtower. Oh God. Did Bruce die? Or was it Alfred? He was getting up there in age. 

     Dick was quiet. Far too quiet. He knew he was unsettling his team but he couldn’t seem to get out of his own head and the thoughts that ran like a never ending hurricane through it.

     When they had docked and disembarked, Superman led the rest of the Teen Titans out of the hangar bay. Dick just stood and watched. Black Canary didn't even have to tell him to stay behind. He felt numb as he turned to face her. It was far better than the spiral of panic he had been feeling earlier.

     Canary sighed. “You figured it out.” She looked a mix of sad, exasperated and proud. “I should have known you would.”

     He nodded woodenly. “Batman’s absence and Superman subbing in was telling. He wouldn't miss a shift unless something was terribly wrong and if it was League business Clark wouldn't have been able to sub in.” 

     Canary gave him a small smile before it slid off her face. “There’s a room set up over here. Batman left a video message for you.” She led him over and opened the door, gesturing him through. “I’m going to leave but if you need me I’ll be right outside the door.” Dick opened his mouth to ask about his team but Black Canary beat him to it. “Your team is going to receive the same information you will. All of you will be taken out of rotation for a bit, so don’t worry too much about missions at the moment.”

     He made a small noise of assent and Canary closed the door gently behind him. He stared at the small holo screen on the table. The moment he watched the message, his life would change. It would be horrible, knowing.  It was horrible not knowing. Dick didn’t know how long he looked blankly at the table before he managed to make himself step forward and slide into the seat in front of the screen. He took a deep breath and hit play before he lost his nerve.

     Bruce appeared on the screen. Not Batman. Bruce. Dick swallowed down his concern and just watched.

     Bruce looked terrible. Red rimmed his eyes and the bags under them were so black they almost looked bruised. He hadn’t shaved for several days. He stared vacantly at the camera for a minute before he let out a long shuddering sigh and began to speak. “Dick. I tried to send a message as soon as I could.” He paused, gathering himself. “You and your team were already out of range and there were no Lanterns that I could divert to intercept you.” One of Bruce’s hands came up into view and wiped a tear off his face. “There’s no way to say any of this well…” More tears welled up and made their way down his face. “Jason’s gone.” 

     Dick’s stomach dropped. What. His brother?

     “He’s gone and-” Bruce choked, unable to finish his thought. It took him a moment to collect himself before he looked back at the camera. “We have to bury him. The funeral is set for two weeks after this recording.” Bruce’s head was in his hands. “I’m sorry, Dick. We can’t wait.” 

     Dick could feel wet tears falling from his eyes, soaking through his domino mask and continuing almost unimpeded down his cheeks. 

     “Come home, Dick.” Bruce whispered. “Please, come home. Please make it home. Please be uninjured. Just, please , come home, alive.” The video ended. 

     Dick got up in a daze. Home. He had to go home. His Dad needed him. He walked out of the room and made straight for the zeta tubes. He saw Canary out of the corner of his eye trying to say something but he couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. No one tried to stop him. As he got to the zeta he tried to punch in the Batcave’s number. It was locked down. He quickly typed in the Bludhaven zeta number and was sent through. His Nightwing cycle was still parked where he’d left it, three months ago. He didn’t remember driving to the cave, just remembered pushing the limits of his bike. He came to himself as the glow of the Batcave came into view. Bruce was at the computer looking at a file. 

     “Tell me it isn’t true.” He could hear his voice crack. “Tell me it was just a cruel joke.” 

     Bruce looked at him with tired, red rimmed eyes and just whispered, “I’m sorry.”

     Any hope he had left shattered and a hole tore itself open in his chest. His legs folded and Bruce was there in an instant to catch him. Dick clung onto him, wailing and sobbing. He could feel a small part of himself dying as he shook apart in his Dad’s arms.

     It wasn’t until a month later that he got the entire story. Bruce had benched Jason after a man fell to his death over a balcony. Bruce had known that Jason hadn’t pushed the man but he needed to clear Robin’s name before he could let him back out on the streets. The man was very influential and if it wasn’t an accident, Robin would most likely have a bounty placed on his head. Bruce had only wanted him safe until evidence could be provided.  Apparently, Bruce hadn’t communicated that last part to Jason and he had run off chasing rumors about his biological mother. It turned out that it was a well-laid trap by the Joker. 

     Dick had been furious at Bruce. He had yelled and screamed and cried at him. Then, he left. Went straight back to Bludhaven. He hadn’t been back since. He knew that he should have probably sought help, therapy, or even a listening ear but he didn’t. 

     The only reason he was coming back now was because Alfred had asked. And also, perhaps, because he was the tiniest bit curious as to who had taken up his Robin mantle. He’d been ignoring a lot in Gotham but he couldn’t ignore the new brightly colored child by Batman’s side. They were his family’s colors, after all. 

     He pulled up to the manor in the big roundabout drive and made sure to park off to the side of the main door. With the way he and Bruce were arguing, or not speaking, as of late, it seemed like an act of self preservation. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. He’d said a whole lot of not nice things to Bruce and he really wasn’t looking forward to facing him. Hopefully, they just wouldn’t address it. Although he had a sneaking suspicion that Alfred might be trying to get them to face it. He supposed that this little get together wasn’t just about introducing him to the new Robin. Alfred was subtle like that. 

     Dick got out of his car, locked it behind him and made his way up to the imposing front doors. Just as he stepped up onto the last stair the door swung inward, revealing the well dressed aging butler. Dick smiled genuinely at him. “Hey Alfred. It’s good to see you.”

     There was a faint smile on the older man’s lips as he ushered Dick inside. “It is good to see you as well, Master Dick.” He took Dick’s coat and hung it up before enveloping him in a hug. “I’ve missed you these past few months, my boy.”

     Dick could feel the tears welling up and he blinked them away. It had been a very long time since he’d gotten one of Alfred’s hugs, or any hugs for that matter. “Me too, Alfie.”

     Alfred patted his back and let go before gently guiding him towards the kitchen. “Come, tell me everything I’ve missed while I prepare supper.” Seeing the small amount of hesitation on his face, Alfred smiled gently. “Master Bruce and young Master Timothy are both out on business and won’t be home for at least another few hours. Miss Barbra won’t be joining us tonight, but she stated that she might be by sometime this weekend. We have time before you have to talk with Bruce.” 

     Oh boy. Alfred wasn’t just meddling this time. He was downright telling them to make up. Good to know.

     It was about an hour later, Alfred had everything prepped and either in the oven or the fridge. The old butler had poured two cups of tea and Dick was staring at the steam rising from his mug. Alfred sat himself down across from him. “Penny for your thoughts, lad.”

     He stared at the patterns the steam made for a minute, gathering his thoughts, before answering. “I don’t know how to stop arguing with him, Alfred. I know we both said things we regret the last time we fought, or, at least, I know I said things I regret…” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “God, Alfie. I’m not handling any of this well. Ever since Jason…” He paused, unable to make himself say anymore. “I haven’t even seen my Team. I don’t think I’m doing well.” He whispered out the confession as he hung his head.

     A gloved hand reached out, gently taking his own. “My dear boy, there is no shame in needing help. All of us need a bit of it, now and then. Even I do, on occasion. If you need professional help, I have a small list of therapists that I have screened and vetted in triplicate. I, myself, visit one of them, both for my mundane daily business and the nightly business. If you like, I would be happy to set up an appointment?” 

     A few stray tears made their way down his face and he wiped at them with his free hand. Alfred always seemed to get what he was asking for, even if he didn’t even know himself. “I think you’re the wisest person I know, Alfie. I’d like it if you'd do that.” He looked up into his Grandfather’s eyes filled with love and relief. 

     “Very well. I’ll send you the details and we can manage them together, later.” The old butler reached out with his other hand and straightened Dick’s ruffled hair. “For now, drink your tea.”

     Dick sniffed, giving him a watery smile, before fixing his tea with cream and sugar that Alfred had left out precisely for that purpose. 

     After the tea had been consumed, Alfred shooed him out of the kitchen in order to finish the last bit of work for supper.

     He wandered into the small family den, not far from the kitchen and coincidentally not far from Bruce’s office and the old Grandfather clock. He sprawled out on the couch before turning on the tv. He meandered through the subscription services, movies and tv shows for a bit before selecting ‘The Princess Bride’. It was something that his parents had put on every time he was sick or in need of comfort. Right now, he needed a little bit of comfort. By the time the Man in Black was dueling Inigo Montoya, he was fast asleep.

*v*

Bruce

     “Get changed. I’ll write up the report.” He said as he got out of the Batmobile. Robin followed suit before peeling off to shower and change out of his gear. By the time he was done typing up the report, Tim had made it back to his side and was reading over his shoulder. “If you have anything to add, add it now. When I’m done changing, Alfred has requested both of us upstairs for dinner.” 

     “Sure.” Tim waved him off before sitting down and swiveling towards the screen.

     Bruce stripped down as the shower temperature normalized. Today’s patrol had gone well. No criminals in the ICU this time. He couldn’t very well injure them that much, not with Robin watching. He’d also managed minimal injury to himself, just a bruise here and there. He had to be able to protect Robin and he couldn’t do that if he was seriously wounded. 

     Bruce stepped into the shower, washing all the sweat and grime from his skin. It didn’t feel right mentoring another Robin, not after… Jason’s smile and laugh flashed across the back of his eyes. He almost folded right then and there with the wave of grief that washed over him. He didn’t know how long he spent under the spray of water, letting it hide the tears that fell.

     He slowly pulled himself back together and finished up, drying himself off and putting on the casual clothes he had set aside. He took a look at his watch and noted that he had indeed spent about 30 minutes longer than normal in the shower. He folded up his suit and dirty towel to put in the hamper by the door to be washed before making his way back out into the cave.

     Tim was still typing away at the computer. There were a few different case files up on the screen. He was slowly working through them, occasionally bringing up another file that had been referenced. Bruce walked up slowly behind him. If he didn’t think about it too much, it was so easy to see Jason in that chair instead of Tim. 

     He shook his head. No. Jason would never sit in that chair again. Tim would never be Jason. However, no matter how hard the rational part of his mind tried, sometimes the subconscious part slipped him up. But he was trying to be careful. 

     Bruce reached out and put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “It’s time to go up. Alfred will have the food ready and it’s not good to keep him waiting.” 

     Tim startled a bit, looking over to him. “Sure, Bruce. Let me wrap this up and save the progress.”

     Bruce nodded, waiting as the files were saved and closed before the computer was shut down. He led the way back up the stairs and through the old grandfather clock door in his office. As they made their way to the kitchen, a noise from the family den caught his attention. He made a small detour, peering into the dark room. A figure was sprawled across the couch, seemingly asleep, while the movie The Princess Bride played in the background. Bruce silently made his way over with Tim hesitantly following behind.

     Dick looked exhausted, even in his sleep. His complexion was ashen in the pale light of the tv, his face a little more hollow than the last time he had seen him and the bags under his eyes dark as bruises. Oh. He wasn’t doing as well as he’d made it seem over his occasional phone calls with Alfred. 

     Bruce crouched down and carefully brushed a few stray locks out of his face. “Hey Dick, it’s time to wake up.” The young man scrunched his face and mumbled something incomprehensible before turning away and trying to bury his face in the cushion. “Alfred’s got dinner on the table. We can’t keep him waiting.” There was a sigh and tired blue eyes blinked themselves open. 

     “Hey Dad.” 

     Bruce felt warmth glow in his chest for the first time in a long time and he softened. “Hey chum.”

     Dick sat up slowly and yawned, before turning curious eyes on the small boy behind him. “Hello.”

     Tim gave a small wave and a half smile. “Hello.”

     Bruce quickly got a hand behind Tim’s back and guided him forward. “This is Tim. Tim, this is my eldest son, Richard.”

     “It’s very nice to meet you.” Tim had straightened up as the introduction took place and replied in a very polite and stiff manor. He held out his hand.

     Bruce’s mouth twitched up at the corners. If he knew Dick, and he liked to think that he knew him at least a little, Tim was not going to just get that handshake. 

     Dick blinked as he stared down at the offered hand before taking and beaming. “You can call me Dick. Everybody in our family does!” He then pulled Tim towards him before enveloping the kid in a hug. Tim squeaked, looking flustered and stiff at the unexpected hug. After a moment though, he began to relax and awkwardly hug back. 

     Bruce let Dick continue his customary greeting for new family members for a little bit longer before clearing his throat. “We’d best get going to the kitchen, before Alfred comes to find us.”

     Dick looked up and scowled at Bruce. “You’re just jealous you don’t get to give the Baby Bird a hug.”

     Bruce huffed in amusement at Dick’s new nickname for their youngest member and Tim’s wide eyed look at the endearment. “Can’t it be both, Chum?”

     His eldest sighed dramatically before releasing Tim. “I suppose. And at dinner, the Baby Bird can tell me how he got picked up by the big bad Bat.”

*v*

Tim

     To say that Tim was absolutely not expecting the downright familial greeting Dick gave him was an understatement. He expected to get relegated to annoyance at worst and coworker at best. Getting another hug from The Dick Grayson? It threw him for a loop. That’s not to say that he didn’t want the hug. He definitely liked that. Bruce had also been more willing lately to give brief pats on the shoulder and ruffles of the hair. It’s just… What were you supposed to do with stuff like that? He supposed he would just work it out on his own time.

     “So, Timmy. How did this grump pick you up?”

     Tim glanced up towards Dick before moving his attention to the food on his plate. He hummed a little, embedding the peas into the wall of mashed potatoes. He wondered how much he should tell and how much Dick already knew. Alfred had been in regular contact with him, phone calls every week, so he should know a lot. Dick probably just wanted to hear about everything from his perspective. 

     “He didn’t pick me up.” Tim took a bite of the potatoes. They were the cheesy kind. Yum! “If anything, I picked him up.”

     “Oh?”

     Tim nodded, not bothering to look back up. The food was his first priority, telling the story was secondary. He would need a bit of context for this, so starting from the beginning would be for the best. “I’ve been taking pictures of Batman and Robin at night for about four years now. Halfway through my first year of night time photography, I managed to figure out who Batman and Robin were through context clues and personal experience.”

     “Wait. How old are you now?” 

     Tim looked up from his plate, slightly annoyed at being interrupted from both food and story. “Eleven.”

     Dick made a strangled noise of surprise. “That means you’ve been following us around since you were seven? In Gotham? Near crime?”

     Tim huffed a laugh. “Bruce had the same reaction when I told him. It’s not that impressive. The smaller you are, the less noticeable you can be and the more hiding spots you have.” He turned his attention back to his plate. The roast was perfect as always. Tim still didn’t like it. The flavor was fine, but it always felt like strings in his mouth. In his opinion, meat should stay in patty form, like it was supposed to. He ate it anyway. It wasn’t polite to refuse food just because he didn’t like it. And he really didn’t want to offend Alfred. 

     “So I knew who Batman and Robin were. I kept tabs on Nightwing too but since he wasn’t in Gotham I couldn’t take that many photos. That was ok. There was a new Robin and he was pretty cool. I met him a few months before…” Tim trailed off, taking a large bite of cheesy potatoes. 

     “I’d gotten stuck on a water tower when the overly rusted ladder gave way. He got me down. I think he knew I was following you guys though, because whenever he did spot me, he’d wave and drop down to talk to me if he could.” Tim smiled at the memory. “He was nice. The last time I saw him was the incident when that socialite fell off the balcony.” 

     “The man was clearly drunk and probably high. Robin landed on the roof pretty hard and the dude heard it and went to go check it out on his balcony. Robin was fiddling with his grapple gun, so something was obviously up with it. But the dude tried to climb up onto the roof from his balcony. Dumb decision since he fell. Robin heard the scream and went to check it out. There wasn’t anything he could do with a broken grapple.” 

     Tim felt sorry for Jason. Not being able to save someone even if he was right there. He, however, did not feel sorry for the man that had fallen. That man had dodged prison time for a lot of bad things with a few well placed bribes. 

     “Robin disappeared after that.” Tim looked up for a brief second to thank Alfred as a new plate with a mound of cheesy potatoes on it was placed in front of him. Tim took a bite before continuing. “It wasn’t hard to figure out where he was after that. Not since I knew who everyone was.” 

     Tim focused harder on his plate, determined to not look up or in Bruce’s direction. He didn’t want to see the face he was making. Tim knew that talking about Jason would hurt Bruce. Tim didn’t want to hurt Bruce but he had a story to tell and it involved Jason. Tim began to sculpt the potatoes into a tall mountain.

     “I kept up with my night photography after that.” Tim paused, focusing on trying to tunnel through the bottom of the mountain. “Batman wasn’t doing well in the time Nightwing was in space. He was putting petty criminals into the hospital instead of prison. He was letting himself get injured more.” 

     He turned his plate so he could try and make a tunnel running through the other side. “I couldn’t think of anything to do that would help him. Then, Nightwing came back and there was a decrease in Batman related hospital visits. It didn’t last, given the blowup fight that you two had on the roofs. Everybody and their mother heard it. Things went downhill from there.” 

     The mountain now had two tunnels running through it. “But. Now I had an idea. Batman was less violent around his proteges or someone he cares about. It took me about a month and a half to collect evidence and put together a presentation. I came to the manor when it was only Alfred so I could present my findings.” 

     Tim made a sound of disappointment as one of the sides of the potato mountain gave way. He sighed. “Alfred poked a hole in my plan almost immediately. He stated that he was far too old to go ‘galavanting’ across rooftops. Which, to be fair, he kinda is too old for that. I told Alfred that someone needed to help keep the Bat in check. So both Alfred and I put our heads together. You see, I didn’t want to be Robin, not really. I prefer my photography. However, it was the only plan both of us could see working. So, I blackmailed Batman and became his Robin in order to help stabilize him.”

     The potatoes were now flat and smoothed out across the plate. Tim began carefully carving designs into the surface. “It worked. Extreme violence against petty criminals and Batman’s tendency to get injured are just about back to baseline. He’s even getting better at remembering my name. Although that could be because I decided to tweak the Robin costume. He isn’t calling me Jason anymore, at least.”

     “What!”

     Tim looked up, a little surprised at the interruption of his story. Dick was looking at both Alfred and Bruce incredulously. He gestured at them both angrily before closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. 

     Once he was calmer, he opened his eyes and looked over to Tim. “I’m sorry Timmy. You really shouldn’t have had to make a decision like that. Do you still not want to be Robin?”

     Tim scowled, narrowing his eyes at Dick. “I don’t care if you were the first Robin. You couldn’t pry the suit away from me for anything now. I’m having a good time here when my parents aren’t in town. I enjoy solving cases and now I can take better pictures at night with all the gear I’ve got.” The fork in Tim’s hand was pointed threateningly towards Dick. “Don’t mess with the good thing I’ve got going on right now! Otherwise, I will travel to Bludhaven and make your life very difficult.”

     Dick held his hands up in surrender. “I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t doing something that you didn't want to do.”

     The young boy nodded before glancing over towards Bruce and Alfred. Bruce looked like he was sweating bullets for some reason and Alfred had a hand on his shoulder and was whispering into his ear. Tim narrowed his eyes. Alfred had made sure that his mouth was hidden. Drat. He couldn’t lip read to figure out what Alfred was saying. Instead he turned his attention to Dick.

     “That was essentially how I picked up the Bat. Blackmail and subterfuge.” 

     Dick looked momentarily stunned before dissolving into laughter. “That is one hell of a way to become Robin!” Dick grinned. “Come on, Baby Bird, let's go watch a movie! I’ll see if Alfred will let us eat our dessert in the den.” He looked over to Alfred and got a nod of assent. “Cool! Whatcha wanna watch?”

     “You’ll let me pick?”

     Dick nodded.

     Tim smiled. “It’s not a movie, but could we watch a few episodes of Star Trek instead?”

     “For sure, Baby Bird! Let’s go!” Dick jumped up and headed towards the den. Tim followed behind. 

*v*

     Tim found himself quietly maneuvering through the mansion's ancient heating and cooling system. It was well maintained and hadn’t yet been replaced by a less structurally sound modern system. Honestly, Bruce himself could have probably fit in the maze of sturdy ducts. Whether or not it could hold his mentor's weight was another question entirely. 

     Tim shook his head and silently positioned himself so he could see through the slightly transparent cloth that covered the vents grate. He had decided on one located up by the ceiling. There was less of a chance of him being noticed by one of the bats or Alfred.

     He knew that he shouldn't really be eavesdropping on this conversation, but they really should've expected this after the strangeness at the end of tonight's dinner. They'd sent him upstairs despite his polite protests and had Alfred check on him no less than three times. Three! To make sure he was asleep. Luckily, he was an expert at fooling people into believing he was asleep. His nannies were never very observant but he supposed that most children didn't film themselves sleeping for a week straight in order to give themselves a good baseline for it. 

     After the last check in, it had only taken him a moment to change into an extra shirt and sweatpants and scale his bookshelf. He popped open the vent that he had rigged for easy entry and exit for this very purpose, before shuffling his way to his current observation spot.

     Bruce and Dick were already sitting in the den. Bruce was staring into the fireplace, very pointedly not looking at Dick. Dick, however, looked like he was trying to bore a hole in his Dad's skull with his gaze alone. If he was a kryptonian, he'd probably succeed. Well. Looks like Dick was still mad about something. Honestly Tim should have kept a better eye on their reactions during dinner. He made a mental note to observe better during the next family dinner, if he was invited. 

     Neither of the men spoke or moved until Alfred arrived, armed with a full tea service. Bruce gave Alfred a questioning look.

     “I do believe that this conversation will last quite a while.” Alfred answered the nonverbal question while pouring tea and setting out different little snacking foods and sweets before sitting down himself. “Now, I believe we can get started.” He gestured at Dick to begin.

     Dick took a deep breath in and held it before letting it go, trying to compose himself. “First off, the argument we had when I left. It wasn’t fair of me to blame you for the things that happened. I said some pretty awful things in that fight that I didn’t mean. For both of those things, I’m sorry.”

     Bruce looked over at his eldest son. It was a bit hard to read but Tim could swear that he looked a bit surprised at the apology or maybe just that the conversation was starting differently than he thought. Bruce shook his head gently. “I forgive you. I forgave you the second you left. We were both hurt. And… I.. am not the best when it comes to addressing my emotions. I let all of that out on you and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry as well.”

     Dick blinked, somewhat stunned. At what, Tim didn’t know, but he guessed that it was surprising that Bruce was actually apologising. Like, actually using the words ‘I’m sorry’. Tim knew from experience that Bruce didn’t really vocalize his apologies. He was more likely to physically do something to show he was sorry, like handing Tim a candy bar when sparring got a little too rough. Or making sure that Tim had an extra cup of coffee. Alfred had about had a conniption when he learned that Tim drank the stuff regularly. He was still bitter about the fact that he now had a caffeine limit, strictly enforced by Alfred, of course.

     Dick managed to shake off his surprise and cleared his throat. “Uh. Thanks.” He winced before continuing. “It looks like I can’t be too angry at Alfred now. It seems that having the Baby Bird around was the right call, even if I don’t agree with it.” He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “Bruce. You do see the problems that I’m seeing with all of this, right?”

     Bruce nodded but gestured for him to continue.

     “It should not have been up to Tim to pull you out of your grief.” Dick stared at Bruce with the intensity of Nightwing. “It shouldn’t have been Tim. It should have been either Alfred or me or any one of the Justice League. It shouldn’t have been left to a child .” He sighed, rubbing his temple before continuing. “We don’t have the training to deal with this. Sure we have crisis training and training on how to help victims, but that isn’t useful when it’s yourself.”

     “What are you suggesting?” Bruce seemed hesitant to ask.

     Dick took a deep breath before plunging onwards. “I am suggesting that the Justice League should have more than just Dinah. I am suggesting that there should be multiple trained therapists that they have access to. And I’m also suggesting that anyone part of the League be required to complete a yearly evaluation by said therapists.” He pointed at Bruce, Alfred and himself. “Case and point. None of us are handling Jason’s passing well. We are barely coping, if that. And if the Bats are barely keeping themselves from losing it, then a lot of others might need help before they do. Bruce, you are one of the three founders of the League. It might be time to lead by example.”

     Bruce furrowed his brow, thinking and stared into the fire. Tim could see the gears turning, could feel him absorbing the words and turning them over in his head.

     After what seemed like an age, Bruce spoke. “You’re right… You’re right.” He sighed, deep and heavy. “I’ll need to speak to Clark and Diana as well as Dinah. I’ll also need to compile a list of therapists for their perusal.”

     “I believe I can help with that, Master Bruce.” Alfred handed Bruce a fresh cup of tea. “I already have a list of thoroughly vetted therapists. I also highly recommend that you see the therapist that I am currently seeing. Master Dick will also be setting up an appointment with him soon.”

     Bruce squinted at Alfred. “How long?”

     “Since before you started your nighttime activities.” Alfred said primly. “He was one of my old MI6 teammates. We left at the same time due to a disagreement over the direction MI6 was taking. He is a splendid therapist now. He has a wide variety of experiences that help him make informed decisions on how best to help people like us.”

     Bruce sighed again, seemingly a bit annoyed. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

     Alfred just smiled and didn’t answer.

     Dick breathed a sigh of relief and melted into his chair. “Well that’s two issues talked about. Are we ready for the third?”

     Bruce just about spit out his tea. “There’s another?”

     Dick nodded. “Tim’s our newest family member, right? Why haven’t you officially started vying for full custody of him from his parents?”

     Ooooo. Uh-oh. This was not something Tim wanted to listen in on. He didn’t want to disappoint Dick, but… Bruce didn’t want another kid.

     “Tim is your newest brother. However, I think we should let Tim decide what he wants in regards to his biological parents.” 

     Tim froze. His brain started to overheat at the implications of Bruce’s answer. He missed the rest of the conversation as his brain started into overdrive. A lot of things were starting to make sense now. When Tim looked over again, the fire was burnt down to embers and everything had been cleaned up. Oh, shit. Tim turned around and began to quickly crawl his way back to his room. He glanced through the grate briefly before unlatching it and crawling back onto the top of the bookshelf. When he was on solid ground, someone cleared their throat behind him. He slowly turned to see Alfred, standing in the doorway, a single eyebrow lifted. Oh. Oh, no. Disappointment. He looked guiltily down at the floor.

     “You will be cleaning those soot-stained clothes yourself, Young Master Tim. And I expect you to shower before you make your way back to bed.” Alfred said sternly.

     Tim nodded silently before making his way towards his room's bathroom.

     “And Tim?”

     He turned back and looked at the old butler. Alfred was smiling softly at him. “Welcome home lad.” He then left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

     Tim stood stock still, processing, for the second time that night. Eventually he gave up, took a shower, and proceeded to stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night. Home. Huh. Tim thinks that maybe it is.

Chapter Text

Jason

     It had been a couple of months since his meltdown and he was getting frustrated. Matthias was refusing to tell him what exactly he'd done in his rage, Ducra had suspended his meditation lessons until further notice, and both of them had given him a list of tutors and lessons that kept him busy enough that he couldn't pry for more information. So here he was…ditching. He never thought he'd actually be willingly skipping classes, but… here he was.

     “It's infuriating, Constance!” He was pacing around the large half-built sunroom that Constance was adding to her small separate quarters. He'd argued with her that she should just call it what it was: a cottage on the far edge of the cloister. She'd laughed at that and called him dramatic and a romantic. He'd scowled and called the size of the sunroom unnecessary. It was bigger than her cottage!

     “Matthias won't answer my questions! All he's telling me is that I didn't kill anyone. I'd like an exact account of what the fuck I managed to do though. Sure, I didn't kill anyone but did I maim people? Destroy property? Blow something up? If I did blow something up, was it epic as fuck?” He threw his hands up in frustration.

     “Not only that, but Ducra is being cagey as all hell too! Once she found out about the fact that I didn't remember that I had multiple tutors, she threw everything and the kitchen sink at me! I have no time to myself anymore. It's get up, eat, and learn till either I drop from exhaustion or it's time to sleep again.” 

     Constance hummed, listening to his rant while she worked. “Hand me that level, Jason.” 

     Jason handed over the level. “The worst part is that she assigned someone else to teach me strategy. You were teaching me just fine!”

     The sister leveled a look at him. “We both know that strategy is only a hobby for me. And besides, Silvia is far more knowledgeable about tactics than I.”

     Jason narrowed his eyes and stared right back at her. “You know just as much as her.”

     Constance smiled but didn’t refute the statement. He huffed and started pacing again. Since he hadn’t had any down time the past few months, everything was getting to him. He felt like a high-strung horse left in its stall far too long. Which, that was not a comparison that he wanted to make for himself. He had to stop thinking about his situation. Maybe he could ask Constance some questions that he had. Starting with the one that had been bugging him ever since his last strategy lesson with Silvia.

     “Constance?” She hummed, letting him know that she was listening. “Silvia told me that you first started teaching her about strategy four hundred and eighty-three years ago. How long have you been here, with the All Caste?”

     “Hmmm. I don’t tend to keep track all that closely anymore but I’d say I’m around the nine hundred year mark.” She hammered in a nail, checked the level, and then hammered in another. “It was wise to ask how long I’ve been in the All Caste instead of my age.” He heard the smile in her voice.

     “Okay, well, I might be a little bit insensitive with the follow up question. How are you that old?” Jason was starting to think that the All Caste might have some more deep, well kept secrets. Such as access to a Lazarus Pit. They did know Talia, after all. 

     Constance sighed and set down her hammer. She grabbed two water flasks and sat down, gesturing for him to sit with her. He sat across from her, carefully observing for any sign that she was going to be telling him lies or half truths. She handed him one of the flasks before drinking from her own.

     “Most members of the All Caste tend to age very slowly due to the techniques that they practice here. Once you reach a certain level of skill and proficiency you become functionally immortal.” Constance paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Immortal, but not invulnerable. We can still be killed. A blade to the ribs, illness, poison or anything that can kill a normal human. We might be resistant to illness and poisons, but it isn’t a guarantee.

     “I suspect that you have a higher tolerance for those things right now. The Pit gives you immunity to every non-magical illness and poison that I know of, and even gives you a high resistance to the magical variety. Once you learn some more All Caste techniques, I think you’ll be unable to fall ill.”

     “Wait.” He held up a hand. “If I learn the All Caste techniques, I’ll be immortal?" If Jason knew one thing, it was that he did not want to live forever. His breathing picked up as something that felt like panic welled up in his gut. Living forever would be a curse that he didn’t think he would survive. He’d seen Ra’s and a few magic users that had lived far past their due date. The toll it would take on his psyche would eventually be too much - that, and losing everyone and everything that he’d ever cared about. It was already getting to be too much. Especially when coming back from the dead wasn’t ever in the realm of possibilities he’d thought would happen to him.

     “Jason.” His name was murmured and filtered into his ears through a thick blanket of static. There was pressure as circles were massaged into the palm of one of his hands. “Jason. I need you to follow my lead on breathing.” His other hand was pressed firmly against a chest. It moved up and down exaggeratedly. He tried his best, following along until it became easier. Slowly, things came back into focus and sound was no longer analog. 

     Oh. He hadn't even noticed when everything went fuzzy. He was sitting with his back to one of the unfinished walls in the sunroom. Constance was beside him, one hand rubbing firm circles into one of his palms, and the other pressing his other palm to her sternum so he could follow her pattern of breaths. He tugged his hands back towards himself and Constance let him pull away. She settled back against the same unfinished wall before handing him a small pouch of dried fruit. Jason began slowly eating the offered snack halfheartedly out of habit. 

     “Lady Ducra sees All.” 

     Jason looked at her, bemusedly. “What?”

     Constance smiled. “There is a technique in the All Caste called ‘Seeing All’. It is incredibly difficult to use and master. Most here at the All Caste choose not to completely master that particular technique because if you are unable to, the knowledge it gives drives you mad. From what I remember of the explanation of what it was; it was described as knowing all of the past, perceiving the present as it is, and understanding all of the possibilities of the future all at once. 

     “I never learned the entirety of that particular skill.” Jason wondered how much of it she did learn. “I remember thinking to myself that the reason most went mad must be because humans couldn’t handle that type of information. And while that is somewhat true, most of them go mad because they cannot accept the idea of their own future. And yes, some go mad because of the evil they see themselves commit and others go mad over what could have been. 

     “Lady Ducra is what I would consider a true immortal. She doesn't have the limitations of a normal human. She sees futures none of us ever will because we will be dust before they even have a chance to come to pass. I have found that even though Lady Ducra can See All, she understands it much differently than those of us who started out as mortals. She finds certain outcomes acceptable because in the long run they are better for those down along the line. 

     “Sometimes she allows futures that have an element of chance to them.” There was a flash of grief and pain across her face. “My daughter was one such choice. I understand why Lady Ducra never told me about what futures and paths awaited her…” 

     She paused, turning her flask over and over again in her hands. Jason could see her trying to put her thoughts into words. Guilt twisted his stomach. Constance had been kind to him from the start, even when he was causing trouble. He didn’t want to cause Constance to think about her daughter and relive the pain of it all over again. He opened his mouth to tell her that she didn’t have to say anything, but Constance raised a finger, shaking her head, somehow seemingly knowing that he was going to interrupt. He closed his mouth. 

     “I am glad I don’t See All. If I had known what path led to my daughter’s death, I would have meddled in order to prevent it.” She paused again, covering her mouth with one of her hands. “One of the things about seeing everything is that you learn that changing a single thing can put you on the path to losing, or leading yourself to the outcome you were trying to change. It’s convoluted and difficult to understand, but the simplest answer I can give is that free will is absolute. It doesn’t matter if you try to meddle or not, you aren’t the only one making decisions. You can predict all of the outcomes, maybe influence them to better your odds for what you want to achieve, but nothing is certain.”

     Constance took a breath and looked him in the eyes with an intensity that made him want to squirm and look away. He swallowed, feeling the nervous energy swirl under his skin. “If you decide to learn from Lady Ducra, do learn to See All; use it for you . What is the best outcome for you ? Not the world, not the All Caste, and not the League of Assassins. Ducra is an immortal and not all of her plans will be beneficial to you. She will be here long after you are gone and she will correct the course of whatever wrench you throw into her plan. Understand?”

     Jason nodded. Constance sighed. He could see tension ease from her shoulders at his agreement. She slowly got back up, beginning to work on the half finished wall behind her. Jason sat and processed, thinking over what he’d been told as both panic and nervousness settled. He blinked, remembering that Constance had said that she hadn’t learned the entirety of the skill, before asking, “How much of Seeing All did you learn?”

     Constance smiled softly and sighed again before tapping her collar bone. “Feeling.” 

     Jason blinked again, slightly confused. “Like touch? Or emotions?” He tried to clarify.

     Constance’s teeth flashed in her grin as she answered. “Yes.”

     Hmmm. Well that cleared both everything and nothing up. But based on that smile, he wasn’t going to get any clear sort of answer out of her today. He sighed, finishing up the snack he’d been given before helping Constance hold the level and another board in place. 

*v*

Ducra

     Ducra was waiting. She could feel the branches of times yet to be fractaling, splitting and moving forwards. There were only but a few branches that would flower favorably amongst those, and the rest were all but rot and dust. This was an important moment but not a crucial one. It depended on her All Caste, her teachings, and her people. Either Jason would find her, or he would not. She wasn’t worried. It had only been a few months and it may take years upon years for him to seek out answers, if he did at all.

     She walked slowly amongst her gardens and pools as she made her way up to one of her rarely used perches. The massive old willow grew on a high ledge on the ever ascending cliff behind the garden. Its roots were the only thing keeping the small outcropping of land from crumbling away. Three large trunks split from its base, one growing up to the heavens, one off to the side, hugging the cliff and one that had, strangely enough, begun to grow down the cliff. She sat, nestled into the giant cradle of the trunks. It was quiet there, nature the only thing besides the soft clear tones of the bells that tolled the time. The leaves provided a slight curtain to shield from the rest of the world, not that it was needed so far up. 

     Ducra closed her eyes and breathed, slowly pruning her awareness to the fractals of the All. She breathed again, enjoying the small luxury of existing in the present, not something she did regularly. Threads of magic spanned out beneath her, pale and almost all colorless, each connected to a person in the Acres of All. She identified Lenna and Brennus in the gardens below. Yaxkin and Aífe were further afield. Drifting, she saw Drust in his forge along with a thread of a faint bronze color that could only be Ulvi. She reminded herself to look into whatever magical nonsense thing they decided to create - and possibly have it sealed away for all eternity. Faizel, Vina, Roshanak and a few others were in the kitchens. 

     She sought out the red gold thread of Constance, who was with Gudina, no doubt still putting together the sun room. Constance hadn’t said anything outright but Ducra knew that she was putting it together for Jason. She traced a faded teal thread to Matthias, who was overseeing the training of several others. The color would have been a deep blue before his exposure. She sighed, putting her thoughts about him to the side, before she began feeling for the vibrant gold, toxic green, and deep crimson thread that connected to her newest student. To her surprise, he was making his way through the main complex towards where she normally would have been any other day. He should have been with Silvia for strategy. Hmmm. She tilted her head and watched, curiously.

     He stopped, possibly talking with S’aru. Either that or the Guardian was messing with Jason as he was wont to do. She smiled. Despite S’aru’s devil-may-care, selfish and lazy attitude, Ducra knew that most of his personality flaws were caused by the long years of true immortality and the solitude of bearing the responsibility of being the sole Guardian of the Gate to the Chambers of All. 

     Both of them were aware that his title was a ruse and a guise to further mislead any who wished for the Well they protected. However, that title came with honor and respect from everyone else in the All Caste. S’aru was lonely, trapped in immortality at a young age, and now had a perfectly good person to mess with (read: play with). Not that S’aru would ever admit it. As a plus, Jason didn’t care much for anyone's titles. She huffed a small laugh, remembering when she first met Jason. Calling her Grammy while patting her on the head had been a bit too much disrespect for her liking. Although, it was refreshing to be called something other than her title every now and again. His future insulting endearment of ‘Grand Nan’ would be something to look forward to in several futures. 

     Jason left the main entrance to the Chamber of All in order to walk towards and probably through the gardens. Ducra was a bit surprised. Coming this early to find answers was…rare. What were the chances that he would find her today? Fractals grew and stretched out as she examined them. Hmm. It was more than likely he wouldn’t. And after that, it was even more likely that he wouldn’t seek answers from her again until after things started to go wrong. She sighed, shaking her head. Once again, there was nothing she could do about it. Calling him up to the cradle wouldn’t do either. That path would lead to far too many unstable branches for it to be worth it, even if, in the short term, it seemed to be. She would just have to wait and see.

     She settled down to watch. Jason meandered slowly through the garden stopping to speak with the four tending it. Yaxkin eventually shrugged and pointed towards the cliff. Jason nodded and started walking towards the eternal wall. He scanned it, probably looking for places she could be. His eyes glanced over the large willow several times before narrowing and fixing on it. Oh. Out of all the branches forward, this was a very desirable one. She’d excluded it very early on because of the high chance of failure and difficulty to influence. Jason began scaling the cliff. Ducra felt a jolt of excitement. This! This is why she continued on despite the tedium of time. Humans and their free will would always continue to surprise her. 

     It took Jason an hour to climb up to the small outcropping ledge where the massive old willow grew. He heaved himself up and over into the cradle and flopped onto his back, breathing hard. Once he had more or less recovered, he gave Ducra a look that would have made almost anyone think twice about messing with him. “Did you mean to play hide and seek today, or were you just trying to be difficult to find on purpose?”

     Ducra blinked, then smiled. “Not by design. I didn’t expect you to come looking for me so soon.”

     Jason huffed in exasperation, “It’s been almost three months Ducra. I’m patient but I’m not that patient. Besides, since I can’t get the information I want from Matthias or Constance, I’ve gotta ask you.” 

     She hummed, then nodded. “That would be the next logical step. Ask, then.”

     “Alright then, first question. What did I do when Matthias and I went out? I know no one was killed but…” He trailed off. 

     “Surprisingly, all you did was attack Matthias. You managed to get a couple of hits on him a few times before he was able to knock you out completely. I believe the injuries he sustained were a stab wound to his thigh and some extremely bruised ribs. Nothing else was harmed and Matthias was able to convince everyone that it was just a personal spat between him and his cousin. Apparently ‘It happens all the time with the younger cousins when things get heated’ according to him.” She smiled wryly. “However, it was heavily suggested that both you and Matthias not frequent that particular village for a few years. I do believe Matthias didn’t tell you because he isn’t quite done sulking about it yet. That was one of his favorite places to walk around.”

     Jason narrowed his eyes and then grinned slyly. “No, I don't think that's the main reason. I bet he didn't want to tell me about it because I took him by surprise and managed to hit him.” 

     She smiled at that. “Perhaps. Now, you have more questions for me.”

     He nodded, pausing to think, before sitting up. “I think my last few questions are connected. Constance said that once you learn enough of the techniques of the All Caste, you become functionally immortal. However, from the way she spoke, I got the impression that there seems to be a distinction between the ‘functionally’ immortal and ‘true’ immortal…” He trailed off before looking Ducra straight in the eyes. “My first thought was that they were exposed to a Lazarus pit unknowingly but the people here are too peaceful for that to have been the case. Well, almost everyone, but I’ll come back to that in a second.”

     Ducra was absolutely fascinated and maybe even a bit charmed. She knew that Jason was smart but she had, perhaps, underestimated him even then. His episodes of blankness and his pit mad state when he first arrived had most definitely thrown off her assumptions. 

     “Then, I thought that you still might have a Lazarus pit but have a cure for the pit madness and were giving it out to everyone unnoticed somehow. But if you had a cure for the madness, I would have already been cured and thrown back to the League. Which, I'll admit, threw me off a little bit. However, I heard a small tidbit of information. Something to do with a prophecy.”

     Oh dear Gods . Jason was going to be terrifying when he got the pit madness fully under control.

     “So it would make sense if you didn't cure my madness right away. Ease me into it, ya know? Train me to be the ‘chosen one’ of your prophecy while ‘helping’ me to control the pit madness. Of course, the training would coincidentally take three or four years, same as the ‘cure’. But I hit a snag with that train of thought as well. Going back to my previous point, all of that can be refuted because of Matthias.” He sounded exasperated. “It's not as noticeable, but when you get him riled up, his eyes have a tendency to flash green, just like the Al Guls, just like mine. Which means he's been exposed to a Lazarus pit and hasn't been completely cured. That tells me that you were telling me the truth, or at least partially.”

     “I think that you have something less volatile than a Lazarus pit. I'm also pretty sure that learning All Caste techniques isn't what gives them the functional immortality.” 

     Ducra held her breath. She kept forgetting that he’d trained under one of the world's best detectives. 

     “They're being exposed to this false Lazarus pit over time and it gives them immortality.” Jason's eyes locked onto her again. “There are several ways to expose people to a substance over time but the easiest way is through regular miniscule microdosing through consumption. The only thing that everyone here has in common is that every living thing needs water.” 

     Jason broke eye contact and looked out over what he could see of the All Caste. “People might assume that this place was built to hide something, and it is, but that's not all it is. This place was built to be a fortress. You need bodies to man it, preferably ones you don’t have to keep training over and over, although that could just be a bonus. You're protecting something, probably the false Lazarus pit. The most obvious place to put it is that grand building guarded by a very competent immortal sorcerer.” 

     He grinned, all teeth. “But how would people get exposed to it if it was locked up? That's because it isn't locked up in there, is it? It's hidden in plain sight.” He gestured down to the expansive gardens and pools of the All Caste. “Out of all of those pools, which one is your false Lazarus? It doesn’t look any different from any other pool and you don’t forbid anyone from touching anything in the gardens because that would raise suspicion. They use those pools to water the crops and then they get eaten and everyone here gets just the tiniest bit of exposure. Nothing too drastic, just immunity to sickness and aging. But that in itself is a tell, so you created the excuse that your techniques were the cause to further throw whoever you’re protecting your false Lazarus from off the scent. It’s a brilliant little bit of misdirection and confusion but anyone staying here for an extended period of time would be able to figure it out.”

     She couldn’t help it. She laughed. Ducra was delighted. It was no wonder that Constance loved their strategy sessions, if this was the mind she was teaching. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But you are the first to put all of this together, even if most of it is pure guess work.” She snorted, shaking her head. “Which pool, indeed.” 

     “I assume your next questions will be about the prophecy?” Jason nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Well then, where to start?” She looked away from her young student and pondered on how much she should tell him. A thread of gold caught her eye. As she watched it float, she reluctantly concluded that Constance was probably correct. From what she had observed, Jason was far more likely to help if asked and given the proper information. 

     “A full history lesson is in order, I think. The Lazarus Pits are not the first Wells of seemingly eternal life. The first Well that was found is called The Well of Sins and the second, its counterpart and opposite, is the Well of Innocence. For now I will talk of the Well of Sins and of those who first found it. Sit and listen, student of mine. If you are to make an informed decision, like Constance wants you to, you will need context and history. ” Jason nodded and settled into a more comfortable position.

     “When the world was newly made, many different things roamed the lands. It was a different world then, different plants, animals, people. There was nothing so strong as morals.” Ducra smiled wryly. “Most of the time it was might equals right. Despite that, our clan was ruled rather fairly. Nine brothers and sisters beholden to the eldest, where disagreement wasn’t death or expulsion. They lived normal lives until the day they found a spring of shadows pooling up and bubbling out of the earth. The liquid sent shivers down all of their spines and oozed the feeling that it was wrong . But it also whispered alluring promises of power. It was a source of conflict and contention between the siblings. Finally, all but one decided to drink from the cursed waters of shadow.

     “The eight grew in both physical prowess as well as mystical. The more of their souls they offered to the well of shadows, the stronger they grew. Eventually they had no more soul left to give, and began looking for other ways to get more power. They studied and experimented until a way forward presented itself. They could offer other souls and gain power that way. The first they tried it on was the last of their clan who had not partaken in drinking the vile liquid. Their experiment only partially worked.

     “The malignant blight attached itself to her soul and began devouring what she let it take. But she was a strongly willed person and the corruption couldn’t advance very far. She fled, knowing that her time would be even more limited if she stayed with her clan. She ran, learning how to shield herself from their sight and their growing power. Eventually, through sheer luck and fortune she stumbled upon this place, the Acres of All. 

     “Within the Acres she found another pool, similar but different to the one her siblings had found. This one was not inherently malevolent. It was pristine and unlike the other, it seemed to reflect truth. If one was want , the other was need . They were very similar but leagues apart. They weren’t as simple of concepts as good and evil, not black and white. Eventually they became known as The Well of Sins and The Well of Innocence. However, not all sins are truly evil and not all who are innocent are truly good. It depends on the person who finds them.”

     She blinked before settling in. Jason’s eyes had drifted off and he was staring off into nothingness. No, not nothing, memory. Well, it seemed that Constance was right. Ducra felt a brief flash of annoyance at that before letting the feeling go. 

*v*

Jason

     Ducra was the ninth in the story. There was no way that she wasn’t since she was the founder of the All Caste. Which would mean that…. Fuck, Ducra was old! 

     “They weren’t as simple of concepts as good and evil, not black and white… not all sins are evil and not all who are innocent are good…” Ducra’s voice faded away.

     “Don’t let B fool you, Little Wing.” Dick sat upside down, legs flung over the back of a chair. 

     He glared at the intruder. No one was supposed to know where he was. After all, this was an old hidden library, tucked away amongst hidden passages on the fourth floor of the manor. He’d found it by accident half a year after he’d been adopted. It was dusty, but after he’d started retreating to it after Dick and Bruce’s fights, it had mysteriously become clean. Jason had known immediately that Alfred was to thank for that. However, not once had the old butler bothered him while he was there. Jason took that to mean that this was his space. And now his sanctuary was invaded. He glared even harder.

     Dick ignored his glare and flipped the page of the book he’d picked up at random. Jason bet he wasn’t even reading it. He scoffed. “B couldn’t fool me back then an’ he certainly ain’t now, Dickwing.” 

     His older brother winced at the nickname but wisely let it be. It was a firmly entrenched name now, no matter how hard Dick had tried to argue against it.  “What I meant is that just because this is the first argum-”

     “I know! Alright! I let the thief go an’ I shouldn’t have! I get it! I don’t need your ‘all crime is wrong’ speech too! I just got it from B!” He burst out, getting all riled up again. All it took was a look at Dick’s surprised face. He immediately flushed in shame and fear and hid his face in his book. He shouldn’t have yelled at Dick. He normally wasn’t this upset, but...

     “Oh.”  Dick didn’t sound angry at him so Jason chanced a glance at him. His brother had set the open book on his chest and was looking pensively up at the beautifully painted ceiling. 

     “You know, the world isn’t as black and white as Bruce claims, right?” Dick looked over at him seriously, dark blue eyes pinning Jason in place. His confusion must have been visible because his brother continued. “Right now, Bruce lives in a world where everything is either right or wrong. He can’t see the world any other way, right now. You, me, and Alfred? We know better. Life for us is painted in shades of grey. Laying off your entire workforce without notice is legal and an alright thing to do, but it isn’t right. Just like stealing. Thieving is wrong, but having no choice but to steal so you can live? Living isn’t wrong, Little Wing.” 

     There was so much empathy and understanding in his older brother’s voice. Jason felt the ball of angry emotions in his chest loosen but he still felt guilty. 

     “Bruce took me in though. I gotta… I gotta live up to his expectations, ya know?” Jason’s smile was strained and he looked away.

     Dick folded his legs back and over himself, giving a push with his hands so that he had enough momentum to land right side up with his feet on the floor. Now upright, he took a few steps over to drape himself over Jason’s chair. “If you want to follow B’s morals, I won’t stop you, but I won’t judge you either if you decide they aren’t for you.”

     Jason mulled everything over in silence and pretended not to notice Dick’s hand gently carding through his hair absently as they read.

     He blinked. The chime of the evening bells brought him back to the present. Ducra had moved closer to the edge of the cradle and was meditating. Jason shook out his limbs before joining her.

     “It’s far past the time for supper, young one.” Ducra stated.

     He shook his head and blinked again before squinting down the cliff. “If ya get me down, I’ll make somthin’ for the both o’ us.”

     “Can you even cook, whelp?” 

     Jason squinted at his mentor, offended. “‘Course I can. My grandfather would have a heart attack if I’d forgotten that too.”

*v*

     One harrowing trip down a cliff later, Jason was making a melt in your mouth stew.

     “I suppose this was a passable dinner.” Ducra grumbled. He hid a smug grin as he turned around to wash the empty dishes. Maybe learning from Ducra again wouldn’t be so bad.