Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason Todd, Red Hood, gang leader and crime lord, was going to crash out if one more thing went wrong. 

Sure, he and the goons managed to destroy thirty canisters of Scarecrow's fear gas, but the warehouse storing them collapsed in the explosion. 

Jason’s stomach churned. Six of his men were injured. Even worse, three more were missing. The Red Hood may have been a fearsome figure, but that didn't mean he didn't care about his employees. 

The pervasive Gotham drizzle weighed heavy on Jason as he hauled himself onto the roof of his shabby brick apartment complex. He was about ready to drown in his worry when an ear splitting chime echoed inside his helmet

Jason accepted the call with a scowl. "What." 

His second in command, Kathryn, sighed on the other end of the line. "I gots good news and bad news for ya, whatcha want first?"

"Uh, good news?"  

"They found all three of the missing goons. All alive and recovering,”

A modicum of tension leaked out of Jason's shoulders. Ok. ok. Jason could live with that. A few injured by his foolhardy plan, but none killed. "Good. What's the bad news?"

Kat blew out a long breath, "Where do I even fuckin start? One of the armored vehicles was blown to bits in the explosion. Nobody hurt, thank god, but that's a fuckton of money down the drain.”

Jason winced, but Kat wasn’t done. “We're distributing the fear gas antidote currently, but our stores are running low, and that shit is expensive. Plus, our last cash reserves went to the damage from the Arkham breakout last week."

Jason let out a creative string of cuss words that would have made a sailor blush. "I'm coming back to help with the clean up, I'm only a few blocks away."

Kat barked out a sharp laugh. "No. We're fine. Go home."

"Clearly you need---"

"We're distributing what fear gas antidote we do have. There's nothing you could do that I couldn't."

"But we're entirely fucking broke!" Jason shouted. He felt the Lazarus Pit rage stirring life in his brain. His vision began turning green, vitals rising. He paused, doing mental math through the haze of cortisol and animalistic fear. 

Yeah, he was way overdue to take his meds. 

Kat scolded him, "And that's still gonna be the case in eight hours, once you've gotten enough sleep to keep you from a full mental breakdown. How long has it been since you’ve actually slept? A week?”

"You're just as bad as Alfred," Jason muttered, already climbing down the fire escape. 

"Hm?”

"Nothing. Call me if you need anything. I mean it."

"Go the fuck to sleep Hood," She hung up. 

Jason swung into his apartment window and shuffled inside. The exhaustion of the past day and a half washed over him and he leaned against the wall, shucking off his work clothes and laying them out to dry from the rain. The helmet popped into its charging station with a beep. 

His bed called to him like the sirens to Odysseus, but he was definitely gonna need a shower first. And maybe a snack. Maybe after all that, the world wouldn’t seem so terribly hopeless. 

Snack. Shower. Bed. That was the plan. 

At least, it was the plan until he almost tripped over a prone body on his living room floor. 

Jason stumbled back, holding in an undignified screech. 

Blue and black kevlar weave contrasted sharply against the beige of his shitty carpet. Without thinking, Jason pulled his gun and flicked off the safety. "Nightwing."

He didn't move. Upon closer inspection, Jason wasn't even sure if he was breathing. "Wing?" Was this a hallucination? A trick? Jason crept closer.  He scooped one hand under the padded torso and flipped Nightwing onto his back in one quick movement. 

Nightwing groaned. Not dead, then. His half-askew domino mask flapped against his cheek, revealing one blue eye fluttering open. "...Jay?" 

Jason was more preoccupied with the steady puddle of dark blood forming beneath him. That explained the iron tang hovering in the stuffy air. "The hell happened to you? Actually, you know what, I don't care."

"Got stabbed." 

"I can see that. Why are you in my damn apartment?" 

"Just thought I'd drop by," Nightwing smiled but it turned into a grimace as he tried to put pressure on the gaping hole in his thigh. "It's been ages."

"Fuck no," Jason stepped over him, heading for the bathroom. 

"I'm bleeding out here!” 

"Yeah, on my carpet, you asshole," Jason grabbed the med kit from under the bathroom sink and all but tossed it at Dick. "There. Take that and fuck off to your hidey hole." 

"How generous," Dick unlatched the kit with shaking fingers. 

"You're lucky I didn't shoot you on sight." Jason yanked open the fridge door, sighing at the meager half dozen eggs and open bag of shredded cheese staring back at him. He turned the stove on with a huff, pulling out his favorite non-stick pan. “You guys really need to stop doing this, or else I might slip up.” 

It was usually Spoiler who showed up at his apartment uninvited. Signal sometimes came by for a snack during the day, or to water his plants while he was away. Robin showed up exactly once, unexplained. The rest of them had enough self preservation to stay away. At least, Jason had thought they did. 

Dick swore under his breath as he failed to sit up for the fourth time. It was frankly pitiful to watch, and while Jason had no qualms about watching Dick die, it would be a shame to lose his security deposit because of blood leaking through the floors and onto his neighbors.

Jason set his favorite nonstick pan on the counter with a clatter, crossing swiftly to Dick. Jason dragged him upright and propped him up against the front of his sofa. He ignored the way Dick hissed in pain, "Let me look at it."

"Aw, you do care," Dick smiled, his eyes a little distant. 

"Shut the fuck up, or I'll let you bleed out," Jason snarled. He reached into the med kit and pulled out the scissors, snipping open the leg of Dick's suit so he could get a better look. He had to hand it to Alfred, cutting through the enhanced kevlar weave was no easy task. 

When he'd gotten the sticky dried blood cleared away, Jason could tell the wound was a roughly four centimeters long, deep without much surface area, like he’d been stabbed. It was deeply situated in the muscle, but hadn’t severed anything important. He just had to stop the bleeding, and Dick would heal up fine, "Ok, couple options, I can pack it for until you get back or I can try to suture it."

"Sutures if you can, 's not that deep."

"How much anesthetic do you want?" 

"None."

Jason poked the wound for emphasis, "Don't be a martyr, dumbass." 

"A little bit of local, if you can manage," Dick conceded through gritted teeth.

Jason prepped a syringe, then plunged it into the skin next to the wound. Dick didn't even blink, so used to being poked and prodded with needles that it hardly bothered him. 

Jason cleaned out the wound and closed it with some messy sutures using a curved needle and sterile thread. He wasn't about to break out his surgical forceps for a man who broke into his apartment. 

It wasn't long before he was helping Dick onto the couch, his leg fully bandaged. "You want some painkillers or something?"

"Nothing too strong, Ibuprofen or something." 

Jason snorted, "What makes you think I have the good stuff?" 

Instead of answering, Dick squinted at him. “You okay, dude?” 

Jason realized that his vision had gone almost completely tinted green.

In all the commotion of Dick’s appearance, Jason had forgotten to take his meds. He was shaking like a chihuahua on crack, his eyes probably glowing like a pair of traffic lights. His breaths came fast and shallow as waves of panic crashed through him. In the wake of discovering his sort-of-brother bleeding out on his floor, he hadn’t even noticed his own body’s betrayal. 

Fuck.  

Jason huffed, trying to get his symptoms under control, "Fuck off. I'm, uh, gonna go make some eggs. Don't pass out. Idiot."

"I'll try." 

 God, how had Jason allowed Dick to see him so vulnerable? As soon as he was out of sight, Jason fumbled for the pill bottle in his kitchen drawer.

Months ago, Jason had broken into Dr. Thompkins's clinic one morning before dawn, desperate to find something to control the side effects of the Lazarus Pit. Back then, he couldn't even think straight with all the rage and fear constantly flooding his system.  

He nearly shuddered at the memory, cracking several eggs straight into the pan. 

That night, Leslie had caught him in the middle of trying to pry open a childproof cap. She managed somehow to outlast the attack of pit rage, and interrogated him until he told her exactly who he was, why he was in her clinic, and what his goddamn problem was. That day began a months-long process of trying different prescription cocktails to manage his symptoms. 

When he was with the League of Assassins, they kept him drugged into complacency most of the time. Once he escaped back to Gotham with Damian, however, the symptoms returned with a vengeance. 

Eventually, they found that fear gas antidote helped more than anything. Leslie said it had something to do with Fear Gas being chemically related to Lazarus Pit waters. 

When she started in on the medical and chemical theory of it all, Jason always tuned her out. The sciencey jargon was foreign to him, and rather terrifying when he thought about how fragile his own body chemistry really was. 

Jason still didn’t want to think about it, even as he pushed the half-cooked eggs around the pan with a spatula. 

But it was thanks to Leslie's help that Jason was almost back to normal by the time his perfectly seasoned fluffy scrambled eggs were finished. 

Jason plated the eggs, then smacked Dick on the shoulder to check if he was still alive. When Dick made an affronted sound, that was confirmation enough for Jason, “Egg time, bitch.” 

He popped one eye open, "Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

"Sucks to suck. You're gonna eat your damn eggs, then have someone pick you up, cause I'm definitely not driving you. Thanks for that, by the way. Now I have to ditch this place." 

Dick scowled but sat up with a grimace to accept the plate, "We know where all your safehouses are, anyway,"

Jason paused, narrowing his eyes. "How many do I have, then?"

"Four across Gotham, two in the alley."

Fuck. Jason shoved a forkful of egg into his mouth to disguise his panic. "Wrong. Guess again, idiot."

Dick grinned, still a little dopey from the blood loss, "You're bluffing," 

Double fuck.  Flopping down in the armchair next to Dick, Jason declared, "That's what I want you to think." 

"Mhm." 

Dick took a tentative bite, "Oh, wow, these are incredible actually." 

"It's the low blood sugar," Jason muttered. 

They finished their eggs in relative silence. Jason did his best to ignore the fact that Dick Grayson was in his living room. His enemy? His former family member? His killer’s killer? Did that make them allies? What even were they to each other? 

Actually, it didn't fucking matter, because Dick was leaving very shortly. Then, Jason wouldn't have to think about him. Taking Dick's empty plate from him, Jason asked, "Who's coming to get you?"

"Any chance you could drive me?" 

Jason set the plates and forks in the kitchen sink with a clatter, "Nope." 

Dick pouted, "Pleaseeee. Not even back to Bludhaven, just to the manor."

Jason didn’t say anything, but felt his shoulders tense. He flicked the faucet on with more force than necessary. Normally, he would put off the dishes for as long as possible, but Jason was going to take any excuse he had to ignore the injured vigilante in his house, “Not a fucking chance.”

Jason could feel Dick’s eyes on him as he asked, “Why not?” 

Jason ignored him, swishing a fork around the soapy sink water.  

When Dick spoke again, his voice was softer. “You haven’t been back since...before."

Jason decided he had the right to be a little bit of a jerk. "Before what?"

"You know what I mean."

"Say it, then."

"Since before you died." Dick forced the words out. "It’s been years. You haven't even tried to reach out as a civilian."

Again, Jason said nothing. 

"I want to know why." 

Silence settled heavy over them like a suffocating layer of snow.

"Please."

There were so many reasons.  Batman failed to save Jason in the only way that mattered. Then, he'd come back from the dead to find himself replaced by a new, loveable Robin. A robin who was smarter, stronger, kinder, and a better partner for Batman. 

The hurt nearly tore him apart, the pain of losing yet another little family. His fresh pit rage had amplified the feelings until Jason couldn't take it anymore. He attacked Tim unprovoked, nearly fatally injuring the boy and traumatizing him to hell and back. 

The entire bat clan hated him for that. He hated himself for it, too. How could he return after that?

Plus, Wayne Manor had filled with teenagers as Bruce took in more and more vigilantes over the years. They had a real family now, or something like it, and there was no room for Jason in it. 

But Jason couldn't say any of that. So instead, he said the thing most likely to hurt Dick, "I never wanted to."

Dick didn't hesitate before pulling out the big guns, "Alfred wants to see you."

The thought of Alfred made his chest hurt, so Jason redirected, his teeth clenched, "Pretty sure I’m banned from the premises because I’m, you know, a crime lord." 

"Did anyone ever actually say that you weren’t allowed to return?" Dick challenged. 

"It was pretty heavily implied." 

"You know, it's totally understandable to be scared to come back," 

Jason finally turned to face him. "Seriously? You think I'm scared of a crime fighting furry and his little group of misfits?"

"I do." While Jason was tense all over, Dick was sprawled on his couch like it was the most comfortable place in the world. "I don't think you'd last thirty seconds in the manor." 

"Then why are you trying to get me to drive you?" 

"Exposure therapy," Dick murmured, "Gotta start somewhere."

"I’m not scared of you,” Jason snarled, scrubbing his egg pan ferociously, "I've already been working cases with you fuckers for months.”

Dick scoffed, "You talk a big game, but I'd bet money that you couldn't last ten minutes in civvies with us.”

"Yeah? How much?" 

“Five grand at least.”

With those words, an idea sparked to life. Jason had a lot of problems, but a load of bat-money could solve the most pressing of them, "What about a day in the manor? How much then?”

“Fifty grand.”

“A week?”

“Five hundred thousand buckaroos,” Dick chirped, his eyes half closed.

“Are you fucking with me?” Jason turned to glance at Dick over his shoulder.

“I’m being so serious right now.” 

It was like Jason was twelve again, Dick egging him into trying a dangerous new trick. "Hypothetically, what might the conditions of such a wager look like?"

"Hmm. You’d have to attend family dinner every night." 

“You guys actually managed to get Bruce to stop working long enough to eat something?"

Dick frowned. "He was the one who suggested it, actually." 

Jason just laughed. No fucking way Bruce would willingly put down a case for something as mundane as family dinner, "Sure he did." 

“Hm, what else,” Dick muttered, "Oh, uh, you can't spend more than six hours away from the manor during the week. You can't get yourself kicked out, either."

"Six hours?"

"Take it or leave it." 

"Fine. That's everything?" Jason couldn’t believe he was actually considering it. 

"Yeah, I think so," Dick ran a hand down his face, then paused. "Oh, wait, you can't tell anyone about the bet, either." 

"And if I made it through the week, you’d pay me in cash?” Jason hedged. 

Dick smirked, “When you fail, I expect my payment in one dollar bills only. You down?” 

“When does it start?” 

“Uh, how’s tomorrow afternoon?” 

Jason sighed long and hard. Oh, the things he was willing to do for his lackeys and the people they served. They’d better get him a mug that said ‘best boss ever’ on it or something.

Against his better judgement, Jason shook Dick’s proffered hand firmly. "You’re on, Dickface.”

“…any chance you could drive me home?" 

"Hell no." 

"Damn, should've made that one of my conditions." 

"Sucks to suck, Dicky boy. If you're still here in the morning, I'll actually shoot you this time." 

Dick pouted. "But---"

"Right in your pretty face. Bones fragments and skin everywhere, blood up the walls."

"Yeah, yeah." Dick muttered, carefully turning over to face the back of the couch 

"That's all I get? No 'Thanks for saving my life, Jason', 'What a superbly featured room, Jason', 'Such excellent eggs, many years since I've had such an exemplary protein, Jason'."

"Huh?" 

Jason huffed, storming off back into his bedroom, where he intended to get some good old fashioned sleep for the first time in days. 

….

It evaded him as always. 

As hard as he tried to ignore the awful decision he’d just made, Jason couldn’t stop thinking about the bet.

A week in the manor sounded simple enough. Until it didn't. Dick had said they wanted him to come back, that they missed him. How ridiculous. They didn't even know him now. He was a grown ass adult with a very reputable crime empire. While it served his community, it was still a criminal endeavor, and crimes going unpunished was the thing Batman hated most. 

Even worse, Batman had a personal grudge against him. Why else would the man have fired him from robin, refuse to save him, and leave his murderer alive? Jason had been trying to let go of resentment, as it only made his pit rage worse, but fuck man, how were they supposed to live in the same house?

Then there was Tim to worry about. Tim, who he'd nearly murdered in a fit of jealous rage, attacking him Titans' Tower. The kid was probably not over that. Jason didn't blame him. 

He'd been hopped up on Pit Rage, painting a child as the ultimate representation of the injustices he’d experienced. Somehow, he’d thought that if he killed Tim, his pain would die with him. Staring down at the boy bleeding and broken, Jason had realized that wasn’t true at all. 

 If anything, Jason should've stabbed Batman. Definitely not the blameless boy who was chosen to replace him. 

Jason wasn't even sure how many people lived in the manor at this point, but if they were sympathetic to Tim and Bruce, they all definitely hated him. The bats were cordial on missions with him, but bat clan members were famous for hiding their true feelings well. 

If he chose to go through with the bet, would Jason even make it through the week alive? Was this a worse decision than deciding to run away to Ethiopia? Then, he'd had no idea of the danger that awaited him. Now, Jason was perfectly aware of all the ways this could go wrong. 

Jason decided he couldn’t do it. What had he even been thinking? He would simply have to make up the money some other way. 

As he rose to wake Dick and announce the bet was off, Jason heard a voice coming from the other side of the door. 

"Hey, Alfred, sorry to bother you so late, would you be able to come pick me up? I'm at Jason's safe house...yeah, the one on the south side of the alley. He's asleep right now...."

There was a long silence, presumably from Dick getting the lecture of a lifetime.

"I know, I know, I deserve it, but you're never gonna believe what happened! I invited Jason over for a few days, and he said yes!" 

That was an extreme oversimplification, but technically not untrue. 

"He'll be staying for a week. Can you imagine? A whole week! But, do me a favor and don't tell the others, ok?...No, especially not Bruce. They don't need to know. They'll know soon enough, anyway, it's not like we'll be hiding him in the attic or something. Please, Alf?...I knew I could count on you! Oh, and bring some painkillers with you when you come to get me. I got stabbed."

There was another silence, presumably another lecture. 

"Alright, alright, you can scold me all you want when you get here. I'll see you soon, ok? Oh and tell everybody I'm alive. Thanks. Bye." 

Jason wasn't able to sleep until long after Dick left at first light. He was fitful and restless, never able to fall into a slumber for more than an hour or two at a time. 

When he gave up on sleep, the first thing he did was call his second.

"Hey, Kat." 

"Boss! What's up?" 

She sounded exhausted. That only cemented the idea that Jason had to do this, for his criminal organization and the people they served. "I found a way to get a half a million by next week."

She made a skeptical noise. "How many guys are you gonna need for that?”

"Just me." 

"What, you joining the working girls or something? Setting up an OnlyFans? I always thought you could make a fortune on there!”

“Kat.” 

“What? What is it?” 

“I’m gonna be out all next week. Can you hold down the fort while I’m gone?” 

“Easy. Now, what are you up to?” 

“I’m…utilizing some old connections.” 

“Alley ones, those ninjas from the middle east, or the weird toxic rich family thing?” 

“Weird toxic rich family.” 

“Are you sure about this?” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” Jason defended, watching as his ceiling fan spun in lazy circles above him.

“Alright, well, as long as you get the money.” 

“If you stop hearing from me, assume they’ve killed me or locked me up somewhere. In the event that I am indisposed, you will assume the position of leader.” 

“How charming. Do I get the helmet at least?”

“You know what? Sure. Why not.” 

Jason hung up and began the gargantuan task of packing a bag for the most dangerous adventure of his life.

Chapter Text

The imposing wrought iron gate to Wayne Manor loomed above Jason as he rolled up on his bike. He leaned over to the keypad and input his personalized code: the day he first went out as Robin. Jason was almost certain they’d have removed his access by now, but Dick had said his code was still valid, so he agreed to try it. 

It didn't seem so terrifying until Jason was idling at the end of the drive, gripping the handlebars so hard his knuckles turned white, and using the comforting rumble of the machine beneath him to ground himself. 

The keypad blinked green. The gates swung open in a smooth arc, well-oiled as always. 

Huh. They never removed him from the system after all. 

Jason parked his bike under the porte cochere at the end of the manor's smooth stone drive. He didn't want to risk putting it in the garage, in case he needed a quick and inconspicuous escape. 

The manor looked exactly as he remembered it, all pillars and windows and arches. The scent of Alfred's blooming lilac bushes wafted to him on the warm breeze, stirring a feeling in his chest that made his throat tighten. 

Jason made his way up the immaculate stone path, passing the fountain he had jumped into dozens of times. It was an almost Pavlovian instinct to run up to it and hurl himself in, splashing any bystanders and making Bruce chuckle every time—Jason shook his head. He wasn't there to reminisce. This was just for the benefit of his criminal organization. 

He mounted the stairs up the front porch, passing through a row of carved marble columns. The heavy wooden door waited patiently, only a few steps away, the ornate brass knocker hanging expectantly. Jason paused right in front of it. 

Was he really sure he wanted to go through with this? 

There was still time to back out...except there wasn’t, actually. He would have shown up on the cameras already. He was really in this for the long haul. 

Without bothering to knock, Jason pushed open the door and stepped inside. Dick had said he was 'always welcome'. Now it was time to see how deep the lie actually ran. He slipped off his shoes out of respect for Alfred, then started through the grand entryway, a bag slung over one shoulder. Jason didn't make it more than three steps before Bruce came striding down the marble entryway stairs, dressed in a pressed grey suit. 

As he reached the bottom, Bruce looked up, and their eyes locked.  Jason felt his entire body tense. This was the first time he'd seen Bruce out of costume since the evening before his death. He looked much the same as he had years ago, if a little greyer around the temples. 

Bruce stared. To anyone else, he would look as stoic and blank as always, but Jason noticed the way his lips twitched and eyebrows creased ever so slightly. His eyes were clouded with confusion and something else, something Jason couldn’t name. 

They stood there for a moment, regarding each other. 

"Alfred?" Bruce called out. 

Alfred's voice echoed from somewhere in the manor. "Yes, Master Bruce?" 

"Would you schedule an appointment with Dinah in her next open slot?" 

"Certainly. Is something the matter?" 

"No." Bruce gave Jason another once-over, almost sad, "Nothing at all." 

He turned and walked away without another word. 

What. The actual. Fuck. 

Jason stood frozen. Out of all of the possible reactions for Bruce to have, that was not the one he was expecting. 

Who was Dinah? Dinah Lance, Black Canary? Licensed psychiatrist for the caped community? 

Was Bruce…in therapy? The thought was so ridiculous that Jason almost laughed aloud. Obstinate, impassive Bruce would never consider asking for help so openly. 

Jason waited until the sound of Bruce’s footsteps faded, then picked his way further into the house.  

His breath caught in his throat when he reached the kitchen doorway. It smelled as it always had, hints of warm spices and the fresh scent of lemon counter cleaner. Alfred bustled about, pulling ingredients and supplies from cabinets and shelves. 

Alfred showed signs of aging since Jason had last seen him, but when Alfred caught sight of him, his face lit up, "Master Jason!" 

"Hey, Alf," Jason said softly, offering a sheepish smile. 

Alfred still moved surprisingly quickly for a man of his age. He enveloped Jason in a firm hug, one hand resting on the back of his head. "Oh, my dear boy. How I've missed you." 

Jason didn't know what he'd expected. A scolding, perhaps, maybe a curt nod. It was not often that Alfred had been openly affectionate, preferring to maintain the illusion of professionalism. 

But Alfred had missed him. Jason wasn’t sure anyone had told him that since he’d returned from the Lazarus Pit and the League of Assassins. 

He wondered distantly how long it had been since someone hugged him. Years, certainly. 

Alfred pulled back, his blue eyes glistening. "Master Dick told me you might be dropping by, but I hardly allowed myself to hope. My, look how you've grown. How long are you planning to stay?"

"Dick asked me to stay the week, but only if that's ok with you," Technically not a lie, but it still made Jason guilty to hide the bet from Alfred. 

"You are welcome to stay as long as you please. No one is ever going to chase you out of this house, not so long as I am around." 

Well, that certainly made the odds of Jason making it through the week a lot better. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. 

"What's for dinner?" 

"I planned for a beef stew with mashed potatoes, but if you’d like I could—” 

"How can I help?" 

Alfred's eyes danced, "I seem to remember you were quite adept at peeling potatoes."

"My potato peeling prowess has only increased, I assure you." 

"I don't doubt it," Alfred handed him a potato peeler and gestured to the freshly washed pile of premium russet potatoes ready to be peeled and boiled and mashed into oblivion. 

The peeler in Jason's hands grated against the rough skin of the potato, readying them to be boiled cleanly and efficiently. He'd worked in the kitchen with Alfred hundreds of times, and it seemed their kitchen rhythm couldn't be beaten out of Jason, even by a crowbar. 

When he peeked over Alfred’s shoulder, a warm spicy scent wafted towards him. "What’s that?" 

"It’s a tofu curry I've recently formulated,” Alfred stirred the thickening sauce with excellent form and technique. Jason hadn’t even known it was possible to perfect stirring until he’d seen Alfred do it. “It seems to be a favorite of Master Damian's."

"Right. I forgot he was a vegetarian now." When both Jason and Damian had lived with the league of assassins, voluntary dietary decisions were all but impossible. It was nice to see the kid finally able to make decisions for himself.

"We've had quite a few additions to the household since you've been here last," Alfred commented lightly.

Jason selected another potato for peeling, "Don't I know it."

"Most notably, Bat-cow and Alfred the cat." 

Jason choked on a laugh. "Alfred the cat?" 

"Oh, yes. I am sure you will have the pleasure of making her acquaintance."

"Is Ace the bat hound still around?" Jason tried to sound casual, an unexpected pang ringing in his chest at the thought of the loyal dog. 

"Master Dick took him along to pick the boys up from school. They should return shortly." 

As if on cue, the door to the garage opened, and Ace the Bat Hound came running, claws clicking on the hardwood floors, woofing his excitement.  Ace barreled into him and Jason crouched to give the dog the pets he deserved, laughing as Ace licked furiously at his face. "Hey, buddy! Yeah, yeah, I missed you too." 

Dick, Duke, and Damian weren't far behind. Alfred had already set out customary after-school snacks for Damian and Duke, including a plate for Dick because he would surely complain if he didn't get any cookies of his own. 

"Todd." Damian nodded to him stiffly. 

"Damian." Jason intoned, rolling his eyes internally. He'd practically raised the kid while he was in Nanda Parbat with the League, and all he got was a nod? 

"Duke, this is Jas—" Dick began, clearly intending to introduce them.

"Ayyy, what's good, Narrows?" Jason offered a hand. 

Duke accepted it and they began their intricate secret handshake, an inside joke from when they used to meet up on patrol, "Sup, Park Row." 

Dick looked between them, baffled. 

"We go way back," Duke explained, finishing off the sequence with an enthusiastic fist bump. 

Dick scoffed playfully, taking a massive bite of oatmeal raisin cookie, "And you just let me tell you all about him on the way home?"

"It was entertaining!"

"You give him my life story?" 

"Hardly," Damian cut in. 

“I told them about the Les Miserables incident,” Dick waggled his eyebrows.

"Did you really stay in the library for two whole days without leaving just to read it?" Duke asked, absently swirling his milk in the plastic cup like a wine glass. 

"Hell yeah I did.” 

“And everybody was…ok with it?” 

“Bruce thought he could besiege me, but there's a bathroom attached to the library, so I had a water supply and no intention of going to school," 

"How many pages was it?" Duke gaped. 

"A little less than fifteen hundred, I think. God, by the time I got through the parisian sewers part, even I was getting bored. But I definitely recommend Les Mis, especially if you need a way to avoid Bruce for a few days."

"Wow. That's dedication." 

"Well, I certainly didn't let him starve," Alfred chimed in. "He likes to pretend it was a daring feat of survival, but he had a constant supply of sandwiches."

"C'mon, Alf, they don't need to know that!" Jason complained,  “Don’t you little squirts have homework or something to get to?” 

“Oh, shoot,  I forgot about my biology homework!” Duke finished off his cookies, deposited his plate in the dishwasher, and left in a hurry. 

“I also must take my leave to complete the necessary tasks for English Language Arts.” Damian muttered, slouching away to write some essay or other.

“L moment.”

Jason went back to cutting vegetables, finding that some of the tension had gone out of his shoulders. 

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" 

"I think I might explode from the strain of it all." Jason deadpanned. 

As he finished adding the chopped vegetables to the stew and filled the antique china gravy boat, there came a boisterous voice declaring, "...eah, I wanted to kick him in the shin soooo bad. Like you don't even understand how much. He might be my landlord, but what the fuck is he gonna do to me anyway, if he already won't fix the goddamn water heater---"

"Language, Miss Stephanie," Alfred called. 

Steph came into view, Cass's fingers intertwined with hers. "---fine, gosh darn water heater, but anyway---oh shiiiiiit, is that Jason? Are the rest you seeing this?" 

"Take a wild fucking guess, Blondie." 

Alfred smacked him lightly with a towel as he went by. 

"A wild frickin guess." Jason amended, fixing Alfred with a playful glare. 

"Why—how---what?" 

"I decided I couldn't live without Alfred's mashed potatoes."

"...valid. Anyway, Alf, can I stay until my water heater gets fixed?" 

"I doubt I would be able to stop you." 

Stephanie laughed her boisterous laugh and replied, but Jason was fixated on Cass staring at him with her omniscient black eyes. He repressed the urge to shift his weight; it felt like she could see right through to his vulnerable core. He nodded at her, then went back to fussing over the soup, just trying to look busy enough for her to leave him alone. They left for the sitting room in a blur of brilliant purple and Cass's gaze finally relented. 

A few moments later, Tim hustled through the kitchen. He moved as if on autopilot, silently setting down his bag to clean out his coffee thermos and refill it. When he noticed Jason nearby, adding a pinch of paprika to the soup, he went entirely still. 

Jason, unsure how to react, ignored him. The moment his coffee was done, Tim grabbed it and disappeared from the room as fast as humanly possible. 

He noticed Alfred watching them, a tense look crossing his features. Jason wanted to say something, maybe apologize, but couldn’t think of anything helpful. 

So Tim was still a little scared of him. Honestly, Jason couldn't blame him, but the guilt roiling in his gut made everything so much harder. 

Rather than eating in the grand formal dining room, it looked as if the breakfast nook adjacent to the kitchen had been expanded to fit a smaller (though still quite large) dining table. They moved the dishes to the table with the utmost care, coordinating potholder colors with the cutlery and decor. 

"Thank you for all your help," Alfred smiled softly. 

As people began filing in, Jason realized he didn't know which seat he was meant to take. Was he supposed to guess? What would happen if he chose wrong? When he'd lived there as a child, he had always eaten at the kitchen island, as Bruce was usually too busy to sit down and eat. 

As much as Jason wanted to disappear and escape the awkwardness to come, attending dinner was one of Dick's wager conditions. To save face, he walked to a slightly farther bathroom to wash his hands, taking the hidden servants' corridor. When he returned, there were only a few seats remaining. 

Jason ended up on Steph's right, as far from Bruce as physically possible. 

Alfred set down a plate of warm buttered dinner rolls. 

"You know you’re always welcome to join us," Bruce said. 

"Thank you, but I have other matters to attend to," Alfred replied, as if by rote, already disappearing into the kitchen. 

Apparently, that was the daily cue for the meal to begin, as people began reaching for dishes to pile food on their plates. Dishes passed around the table, and Jason did his best to keep up. He made sure to snatch a few rolls. Alfred's heavenly buttery baked goods were a hot commodity, he suspected. 

As they began to eat, Bruce asked casually, "How was school today, boys?" 

Jason almost choked. Since when did Bruce ask such normal, domestic questions? 

"Fine," Damian intoned from his place beside Dick, artfully slicing his tofu into smaller and smaller pieces. 

"What happened today?" 

"I got 100% on my calc test," Duke volunteered, a little sheepish. 

"Oh my god, you're a genius!" Steph exclaimed, nearly knocking over her water glass with the force of her enthusiasm. 

"Seconded," Tim added, seated at Bruce’s right hand, as usual, "Mrs. Applegate is a nightmare of a teacher. I don't know how anybody learns anything in her class." 

"Yeah, I just read the textbook,” 

"There are people who actually read assigned math textbooks?" Dick teased. 

Duke made a face, "Only in the worst case scenario." 

Jason busied himself with pushing his mashed potatoes into a bowl shape to perfectly contain the gravy lake that had formed inside it, his mind whirling. Their family dinner was so disturbingly normal, it was like a 90s American sitcom.

Something like envy stirred in his gut at the ease in which they interacted. Jason hadn’t talked to anyone about anything other than work in months. Cass and Steph held hands under the table and Dick’s ankle was linked with Damian’s. He wondered what it would be like to be close to someone like that. 

Then, he and Dick made eye contact. Jason shook his head, but Dick opened his big mouth anyway. 

"So, Jason, how's the---" Dick began. 

Bruce's head snapped up, eyes darting between Dick and Jason. The movement was so sudden and un-Brucelike that everyone paused. 

"Everything ok, B?" Dick asked, too casual. 

"I, er, forgive me," Bruce muttered, standing abruptly. 

Damian frowned, "Father?" 

"Urgent matters," Bruce strode out of the room like someone was chasing him. 

Eyes drifted to Jason. Jason was suddenly very interested in dividing the vegetables from the meat in his stew. 

After a moment, Steph laughed awkwardly. "What just happened?" 

"Maybe he's finally having a psychotic breakdown," Tim muttered. 

"Very likely." Dick agreed, distracted. "I'll, uh, go check on him in a while. It's probably nothing." 

The rest of the meal, Jason was silent. Conversation continued around him, but the air of awkwardness never quite faded. He wished he could savor the stew and creamy mashed potatoes, 

He finished his food quickly, then helped Alfred to clear the table as the rest of the family returned to their various haunts and hidey holes. 

Alfred waited until Jason was elbows deep in dish soap bubbles before springing the question on him, "Master Jason, which room would you like for tonight?"

"Doesn't matter." Jason said absently, scrubbing at a stubborn patch on a skillet. 

"Well, you're certainly welcome to your old room, but I can also have a new one made up for you---"

Jason finally processed what he was asking, "My old one? You didn't clear it out?"

"Well, it was cleaned every so often, but remains much the same as it did when you were last here." 

Jason hesitated. If it was anyone else, he would brush them off with a joke or a cruel remark, but  he couldn't bear to disrespect Alfred so blatantly. "I wouldn't want to disturb it. I know you or...others might still be grieving."

Alfred smiled sadly, "We have had years to wallow in our misery, but now you've returned. What could we possibly have left to mourn?" 

Jason opened his mouth, then closed it again, “OK, I don’t mind staying there, then.”

They finished washing up in companionable silence. After the disaster that was dinner, Jason had no interest in interacting with the rest of the family, and excused himself to take an early night. 

Jason nearly made it to his room without encountering anyone. When he was in the home stretch and could even see the door, Dick appeared from around a corner, "Heyyyy, Jason!" 

Jason closed his eyes and sighed. God, he'd been so close, "What." 

Dick ambled towards him with his insufferable thousand-watt smile. "Wanna go on a mission? It'll be a good time."

“As who? Red Hood?” Jason snorted. 

“Yeah. It’s only a stakeout,” Dick leaned a shoulder casually against the wall, blocking Jason’s path. 

“I refuse to be seen with you people.” Jason didn’t even try to get past Dick, knowing he would be unavoidable until Jason heard him out. 

Dick rolled his eyes theatrically. “If you’re spotted on a stakeout, you have bigger problems. Just come with us, ok?”

Jason eyed his door mournfully. For once in his life, he'd been hoping to sleep through the night on an expensive mattress. His safehouse mattresses were memory foam and springs, but the manor beds were probably made of rainbows, starlight, and the laughter of children. A few good nights of sleep on the magic bed would probably cure his back pain, "Do I have to?" 

"Yup. C'mon, Little Wing," Dick took his arm playfully. 

Jason yanked it back, following him begrudgingly to the cave, "Don't you dare call me that." 

"Or what?" 

"I'll tell Alfred who really broke his favorite vase. The green George Ohr."

"You wouldn't. That was six years ago!" 

"Try me."

……

When Jason found himself pressed flat against the roof of a rickety abandoned shoe store, he was less than pleased. "Why are we even here? Batman and Robin are watching the other side."

"We need to monitor all the possible exits, obviously." 

"What are we even looking for?" 

"Nobody told you?" 

Jason narrowly stopped himself from banging his helmet against the dilapidated strip mall roof in frustration. "No, dumbass, who would've told me?" 

Dick laughed, a little sheepish. "We're looking for Crane's latest operation. He's out of Arkham again," 

"I am aware," Jason snapped. He was suddenly thankful that the helmet's gritty mechanical voice changer removed the sharpness from his tone. 

"You got any intel?" 

"No intel, but a lot of drugged alley residents."

"The alley got hit? Oh, yeah, I guess it would've been the other night." 

Jason felt a flash of anger rise in his chest, but he wasn't sure if it was pit fueled or not. "No concern for the gutter people, huh? You don't even want to know the damages?" 

"Fear gas isn't fatal," Dick dismissed. 

"Not when the antidote is administered on time," Jason corrected, thinking of their dwindling antidote supply. Sure, they'd made it through the first strike, but what if it happened again? Would they have the resources to keep the alley residents safe?

"Even then, it's rare."

 "Not as rare as you think," Jason muttered.

"...So, anyway, sources say this could be one of the fronts for his lab."

"A coffee shop?" 

"A lot of chemists go inside, then come out again just before dawn, spaced in ten minute intervals."

"That doesn't necessarily mean there's an illegal lab in there. Gotham U isn't that far from here," Jason argued. "Maybe they're students doing chemistry homework or something."

Dick gave him a look. "The guys that go in there are like, super old." 

"Hey, anyone can go back to school at any age. There was a lady in my English lit class who was in her seventies, but she always turned in her papers on time and had the most interesting takes on Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle ." 

Dick perked up at that, "You went back to school?"

Ah, right, Jason hadn't been planning to let them know about that, "...no." 

"No, no, I think that's great! What are you going for?"

"Nothing." 

"C'mon, don't be like that, tell me!" 

"BA in English," Jason muttered, defeated. 

"That's awesome, little wing!" 

"Shut the fuck up. I will tell Alfred about that vase." 

Dick laughed again, "Lighten up, it's a beautiful night in Gotham city." 

Jason felt a raindrop land on the back of his neck, "Nice try." 

Within seconds, rain was pouring from the sky and soaking Jason even through his many layers of kevlar, leather, and canvas. At least his head was covered completely by his helmet. 

Dick, on the other hand, was starting to resemble a wet cat. Jason couldn't stop himself from laughing. 

"Dammit, my hair gel is supposed to be water resistant," he complained, tugging mournfully at a lock of hair plastered against his forehead. 

"Water resistant is not waterproof." 

"Clearly." 

Lightning flashed. A moment passed, and there was a boom of thunder. Dick tensed.

Seconds later, there was the telltale ratatata of automatic weapon fire. 

"Aaand they got spotted. What a surprise. You know, no matter how good you are at staying hidden, the Robin uniform is basically impossible to camouflage," Jason complained.

"It wasn't even the uniform, it was the lightning! They couldn’t have predicted that."

"Really? But he’s Batman!" Jason mocked, pulling out his dart gun to retaliate against the shooters.

They took out shooters one by one, Dick with silent wingdings and Jason with laced darts. As much as he hated it, if he wanted to keep from getting kicked out, he would have to keep the gunfire to a minimum. 

"Wait, where's Robin?" Jason muttered. 

He got his answer when Damian poked his head out from underneath Bruce's cape. If Dick was a wet cat, Damian was a pathetic wet kitten. 

Dick cooed, watching Batman ruffle Robin’s hair as the boy ducked away, “I’m pretty sure he made the cape bulletproof for the sole reason of being able to do that to his Robins.”

The sight made something inexplicable twist in his chest, a bittersweet nostalgia. Yeah, Jason was not about to unpack all that, “Like a fucking kangaroo?” 

“I’m pretty sure bats also wrap their young in their wings, but yeah.” 

An incoming call chimed in the helmet, Kat’s caller ID appearing in the corner of his vision. 

"Oh, fuck," Jason murmured. 

"What?" 

Jason ignored him, turning off his voice filter so Dick couldn't hear him. He answered Kat's call through the helmet. "What? What's wrong?" 

"Senora Rivera's roof is leaking again."

"And why, exactly, are you calling me?" 

Kat sighed, sounding just as exasperated. "She asked me to." 

"She can not reach it," Senora's voice chimed in, "Tell him I made arepas." 

"He can hear you." 

"Tell him!" 

"She made arepas." Kat repeated, deadpan. 

"I'm a little busy," Jason hissed, watching Batman and Robin cautiously enter the building through the skylight. Dick hadn’t moved to follow them, so they were probably acting as lookouts for the pair. 

"He's busy," Kat relayed. 

"Too busy for your favorite abuela?" Senora Rivera scolded. 

"Just give her the phone," Jason muttered, resigned. 

"Hello, Jason," She said sweetly, "Did Kathryn tell you about my roof?" 

"Yes, Senora, but you're going to have to let her fix it,”

"It is too high for her, I do not have a---how do you say, uh---ladder."

"I can stand on a chair!" Kat protested. 

"No, no. Too dangerous," Senora insisted. 

“Kat can send another one of the guys to help,” Jason assured her. 

“No one’s in the area,” Kat murmured, guilty. 

Jason groaned, “Alright, fine, I’ll be right over,” He hung up, then turned his voice changer back on to talk to Dick, “Something came up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

Dick rolled to look at him as he stood. “What?”

Jason looked at the countdown timer he’d placed in the corner of his vision to make sure he didn’t go over six hours outside the manor. He had less than an hour left. Jason swore, “Scratch that, see you back at the cave,” Without another word, he grappled away into the night. 

In the end, Jason had to jump up and pull himself into Senora Rivera’s attic. His allotted time outside the manor was running short, so he had to think of something quickly. 

He found an inflatable kiddie pool lying around, gathering dust. He placed it beneath the leaky spot, and promised that tomorrow morning, he would send someone to patch up her roof from the outside. 

She gave him a huge hug and made him take a few arepas for the road. Jason just sighed and went along with it. It was easier that way.

He received a ping from Nightwing as he finished up:

time is ticking lil bro :3

Jason left pretty damn quick after that ominous message. 

Jason ended up making it back to the cave with only a few minutes to spare. When he passed through the main area, he realized Batman was debriefing, going over some case or something. Jason only half listened as he pulled his gear off and laid it haphazardly out to dry. 

"...eyewitness accounts of Scarecrow sightings collected by Signal. 

"Hold on, most of them are crime alley accounts, right?" 

Dick spoke up from where he was draped across his chair with a file. "Looks like it. The most detailed was given by a Natalya Savchenkov, she's got everything down to the exact minute."

Jason's ears perked up at that. Mrs. Savchenkov was one of a few frequent volunteers at the crime alley homeless shelter. She even made him a delicious red borscht once to thank him for finding her lost kitten. 

"How do we even know it's accurate? Hell, most of the residents are addicts.”

Jason tensed, anger flaring hot and bright. He tried to ignore it, tried to go about his business without having a hissy fit. 

“Her testimony matched several others,” Dick pointed out. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Tim countered, “There’s a good chance everyone present was on something or else related to some sort of criminal activity---" 

Ok, fuck that. Jason whirled around. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Tim flinched so hard that Jason thought he might've seen the boy's soul fly out of his body. "...I only meant that we should take her testimony with a grain of salt because---"

"Why? Just because she lives in Crime Alley, she has to be an addict or a goon? Listen here, you classist fuck, Natalya Savchenkov has been sober for twenty years. Longer than your sorry ass has been alive. Not only that, but she makes the best damn borscht in Gotham. She works at an affordable hair salon, not a mafia cesspit," Jason hissed, 

Tim was growing paler by the second, but Jason wasn't finished, “She once tried to fend off a rogue by herself , just so a group of kids could get a few seconds to run. Mrs. Savchenkov was in the hospital for months, and almost everyone in the alley chipped in to help with the bill. Plus, she volunteers at the local homeless shelter every single weekend. She has more backbone than I do—more importantly, than you do—and I better not hear you disrespecting her name again.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Tim’s pupils dilated to the size of golf balls. 

Tim stood abruptly, murmured an apology, and fled like his life was in danger. If the room wasn’t so tense, it would have been funny how similar it was to Bruce’s earlier exit. 

Jason watched him go, vision rimmed with a pulsing green. 

The table of vigilantes remained silent. Bruce watched Tim go with an air of concern. Steph kept her gaze resolutely on the table. Damian was watching Bruce. Dick looked calculating, like he was already trying to figure out a way to resolve the situation. Cass stared daggers at Jason

"What?" Jason snapped. 

"At least now we know her account is reliable," Dick cut in quickly. 

Bruce accepted the out gratefully, “What does that tell us about the ongoing operation?” 

Jason tuned them out after that, rushing through a quick shower, before making his way upstairs. 

He was halfway down the hall to his old room when suddenly, there was a dark figure leaping towards him. Jason jumped back on reflex, then realized it was Cass, her chin length black hair shiny in the moonlight. 

"You hurt him again, I tear you to pieces," Cass hissed, her dark eyes wide and dangerous. 

Jason's first instinct was to get defensive, annoyed she would assume his motives were bad, but it occurred to him that he probably deserved it, "That's fair,"

She blinked. 

"You might as well take a few swings now and save yourself the trouble of tracking me down later."

"Why? Are you planning something?" 

“Nah, but I already deserve it, don't I?”

She looked him over silently, brow slightly furrowed. Before melting into the shadows, all she said was, "Watch yourself.”

Exhausted and confused, Jason just wanted to sleep. He would unpack that whole conversation another time. He opened the door to his childhood bedroom without ceremony and—

Oh. 

Everything really was exactly as he’d left it, a homey kind of tidy that made the room feel lived in.  

Part of him felt strange, like he was intruding on someone else’s private space. A larger, traitorous part of him felt a deep sense of relief, like he was just coming home from school after a long day. 

He flopped down on the bed, inhaling the subtle scent of Alfred’s laundry detergent. Memories came crawling back, conjuring visions of comfortable sick days with Bruce keeping him company, hours spent reading classic after classic, and Alfred mending his favorite pair of socks. 

Memories of that final night, too: packing a backpack with manic rebellious energy for a long flight across the Atlantic, a flight to his death. 

Jason stood up hurriedly, determined not to think about that.  He took another shower just for the hell of it, racking up Bruce’s water bill and reveling in the endless hot water and adjustable water pressure. 

By the time he was ready for bed, the corner of the superman themed sheets was turned down for him, pillows fluffed how he liked them, and a glass of water on his nightstand. 

He took his meds right on schedule, then laid down to sleep. 

Jason flipped and flopped and tried to get comfortable. His mind replayed the day’s events over and over, refusing to let him rest until his mind collapsed under the weight of his exhaustion. 

……

Jason was back in Titan's Tower, but the world was hazy and silent. He wandered through the halls. There was no movement save for him, but dread stirred in his gut anyway. 

Jason turned into the training gym, full of equipment and mats with mirrors on every wall. When he glanced in the mirror, it wasn't his reflection he saw. Staring back at him was a white face, green snarled hair, and a horrible bloody smile. Jason opened his mouth to scream, but found his diaphragm convulsing with a laugh, high and uncontrollable. 

Blood seeped out from the walls, the cracks in the floor. The horrible iron smell almost sent him to his knees. Jason lunged forwards with a desperate shriek of laughter, slamming a fist into the glass of the full length mirror. His movements were weak and sluggish, as if he was moving through gelatin. Joker ducked away as the mirror shattered. 

He pulled the gun from his holster, but found that his gun had been replaced with his father's rusty old revolver. His hands shook as he flicked the safety off and fired, not even the thunderous sound of the gun able to cover the piercing laughter. 

Jason shot every mirror in the room until the floors were littered with glass, but the Joker remained, stepping out of the mirror to stalk towards him. "I know this joke! Two murderers walk into a bar. Only one walks back out again. Care to guess which one?"

"I'm nothing like you!" Jason fired straight into the clown's face, over and over again. His gun never seemed to run out of bullets. When the Joker was nothing but a flesh colored smear, Jason approached, gun still aimed where his head had once been.

When he reached the body, though, it had morphed into that of a child's. A certain black haired, blue eyed child wearing traffic light color with limbs grotesquely bent, his blood gushing and seeping into the floors. 

The sight was eerily similar to the last time he'd been in Titans' Tower. He couldn’t tell if the body on the floor belonged to Tim or to his younger self. 

Jason realized that the laughter had never ceased. How the hell was he still laughing? God, just make it stop, please make it stop----

Jason's eyes fluttered open as he choked on a sob. He fought free of the tangled sheets, just trying to breathe. 

How did he ever think he could let the attack at Titans' Tower go? 

…..

He couldn’t make it back to sleep after that. 

Instead, Jason hauled himself out the window and onto the roof. It was a lot harder to fit through than he remembered, but he managed to slide his shoulders and hips through with a little maneuvering. 

It was only then, in the privacy of the cool overcast night air, that he allowed himself to flip open a pack of herbal cigarettes. He'd weaned himself off of nicotine years ago, but he’d never been able to shake the need for something warm between his fingers and in his lungs. 

Footsteps sounded behind him, and it took everything within Jason not to flinch right off the roof. Dick’s voice sounded above the breeze, uncharacteristically timid, "Spot me one?" 

“Thought you quit.” Maybe, if he was lucky, Dick wouldn’t notice the waver in his voice or the puffy redness of his bloodshot eyes.  

Dick shrugged, sitting down beside him. Jason pulled one from the pack and passed it over, offering up his dragon-shaped lighter. 

They smoked in silence, a fragile peace hanging between them. Jason leaned back on his hands, feeling the roughness of the shingles digging into his palms. Crickets and frogs sang in the woods beyond the manor. 

“So what’s wrong?” Dick murmured.

Jason resolutely faced the horizon, avoiding his gaze. "Nothing. Why?"

"When you were younger, you only used to come out here when something was bothering you. And, you know," Dick gestured to his eyes. 

Ah, shit, the nightmare must’ve triggered the pit. His vision was still a little green. 

Jason swore, stubbing out his cigarette on a nearby shingle and pulling his meds out of his jacket pocket. He knew by now to always keep them on him. He popped open the child-proof cap and took a couple, swallowing them dry. 

"What are those for?" 

Double shit. Dick didn't know, and now he was going to have to explain. Jason considered lying, but honestly, what was the harm in telling the truth? "They're to help deal with the pit side effects, I guess. Leslie altered the Al Ghul formula a little for me." 

"And do they help?" 

"Yeah." Jason admitted. 

The conversation faded into companionable silence, Jason relighting his cigarette. 

He finished another two cigs before his swirling thoughts finally won out. Jason cleared his throat and asked softly, "Did Tim know?" 

"Hm?"

"Did Tim know I was coming?" 

"Nobody knew but Alfred."

Jason gave him a searching look. “Why?” 

Dick sighed heavily. "It wouldn't have changed anything."

Jason shook his head in disbelief. "You asshole.”

"What? Why?” 

"I attacked him. I---I tortured him and then I just appeared in his house one day. He at least deserved to know.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Dick paused, taking a long drag. "He wouldn't have left." 

Jason stared. 

"He idolizes you, you know that?" 

"He what ?" 

"You already know Tim kinda stalked Batman and took pictures of our patrols for years. He grew up watching you as Robin."

"I'm the worst role model of all time," Jason muttered, “I can’t believe he watched me fuck up repeatedly in real time.”  

“He watched you, night after night, helping the people of Gotham,” Dick corrected. “There's this picture he has of you, where you're mid-grapple, cape flying out behind you, and you've got the biggest smile on your face. B would never admit it, but he still has a copy in his study.”

“What? Why?”

Dick barreled on. “There's hundreds more, of you carrying victims out of buildings, handing lollipops to little kids, and there's this one where you've shoved a whole chili dog in your mouth and B is laughing, actually visibly laughing. It's incredible."

"What's your point?" 

"He really wants to make things right." 

Jason's mouth almost fell open in shock. " He wants to make things right? There’s no way. He didn't do shit to me. Also, he's terrified of me." 

"Not as much as you think. You were his hero." Dick smiled sadly. "He doesn’t know how much of your actions were influenced by the pit. You’re better now, right? You should let him know.”

“First of all, my decision making was influenced by the pit rage, but I still did it. That doesn’t make it ok. Secondly, no, I’m not fucking ‘all better’. It’s still there. I can feel it right now, even.” 

“Then tell him that.” 

Jason growled out a frustrated noise. “What am I even supposed to say?” 

“Have you tried apologizing?”

“Seriously?” Jason scoffed, “Oh, yeah, sorry I tried to kill you, I was hopped up on the fucking magic green kool aid.” 

“Better than nothing.”

“Why do you even care? Wouldn’t it be in your best efforts to sabotage me?” Jason gave him a side eye, thinking of the terms of their bet.  

Dick looked away. “Maybe I’m just sick of seeing you hurt each other.” 

Jason made a skeptical noise, but didn’t comment. 

Dick finished his cigarette and left eventually, but Jason was too deep in his own head to notice. 

A few hours later, when nearly everyone was finally in bed, Tim sat huddled in a small drawing room in the east wing. A blanket was clutched around his shoulders as he watched the dark sky lighten into a pre-dawn grey.

The sitting room was now hardly ever used, judging by the white sheets covering every piece of furniture, filling the space with ghostly silhouettes. 

Jason made it two steps into the room before a floorboard creaked. 

Tim jumped up, spinning around. 

Immediately, they both said, “Sorry—”

The awkward silence rippled between them. 

“Can I…come in?” Jason asked, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.

Tim nodded jerkily, a little confused. 

Jason sat down across from Tim keeping the coffee table between them. He blurted, "I made a bet with Dick."

"...Ok?" 

"He bet me a shitload of money that I couldn't spend a week in the manor. I didn't think about how it would—” Jason looked away. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry nobody told you.” 

"Oh." 

“Dick also said I should tell you what was going on with me when I…you know,” Now that Jason was talking, he couldn’t seem to stop, “The pit rage was screwing with me majorly. My memory, my decision making. All the stuff the league fed me didn’t help either. You should know that I regret it now.”

Tim wouldn’t meet his gaze as he considered the new information, “It’s ok. Especially if you weren’t in your right mind.”

"You fuckin people," Jason grumbled. "No, it's not ok. Yeah, I had---have---a fucked up mental thing that sometimes causes psychosis. That doesn't mean I didn’t hurt you, it doesn’t mean I was right to do so." 

"Yeah, it was kinda shitty, actually," Tim mumbled. 

Jason laughed, a little desperately. "I know I make you uncomfortable, but what I’m trying to say here is that I'll be out of here as soon as the week is up."

Tim frowned, "You don't have to disappear again. We can make this work."

Jason blinked, "Make what work?"  

"Look, do you still hate me? Do you want me dead?" 

"No?" 

There was a surprising amount of relief on Tim's face. "Ok, great, then I don't have a problem with you being here."

"You don't care that I tortured you?" 

Tim offered a half smile, "Damian tried to kill me, you're not special."

Jason just gave him an incredulous look.  

"Look, Jason, you're my Robin," Tim said, then blushed, "Er, the one I really grew up watching. That's how I learned to be Robin, was by watching you and Dick for all those years. Dick's Robin was impressive but you were always my favorite.”

Jason flushed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Look, I really appreciate it, but I'm—I’m not that kid anymore." 

"Dick told me how you walked halfway across Gotham to fix your neighbor's roof. There's definitely some Robin left in you."

"You think so?" 

When Tim answered, it was with surprising sincerity. “Yeah. I really do. I know you don’t really agree with how I did Robin, but—”

“You were a great Robin,” the words come tumbling out before Jason has the chance to second guess them. “Better than I was. You’re smarter and honestly way more qualified.”

“...You mean that?” 

Jason nodded.

Even with the awkwardness still billowing in the air around them, he decided that the whole conversation was worth it for the sparkle in Tim’s eyes. 

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, due to Jason’s screwed up sleep schedule, he wasn’t able to fall asleep at all after his little conversation with Tim. He rose with the sun, figuring if he couldn't sleep, he might as well help Alfred. 

As he made his way to the kitchen, he was surprised to hear voices emanating from within the sitting room centered in the manor’s family wing.

It was Steph’s voice first, “...Cass is right, he hurt a member of the family, why are we letting him stay here? Shouldn’t we at least make our concerns known?”

Tim spoke up, “Jason apologized to me. He’s…gotten better. I think.”

What the hell were they doing? Deciding if he was allowed to stay? 

Jason crept closer to the doorway as quietly as he could, knowing that a room full of detectives would be quick to detect him listening in. 

“Exactly,” Dick encouraged, “I know you have your reservations, but he is family, ok?

Jason narrowed his eyes. Dick had a clear motive to kick him out, why was defending Jason?

“If he’s family, then why has he not returned until now?” Damian retorts.

“...did anyone ever invite him?” Duke asks quietly, “After you knew he was resurrected, I mean.”

A silence resounded. Jason almost laughed. 

“We found out after he hurt Tim,” Cass murmured.

“He was totally insane then,” Steph confirmed.

“He died in, like, the most traumatic way possible, and you guys were surprised when he came back with trauma?” Duke wondered, a little incredulous.

Yeah, Jason was definitely taking the kid out for ice cream later. 

“He was also dealing with the psychological effects of the Lazarus Pit,” Tim added. “I think in some ways he still is.”

Dick brought the conversation full circle, "So, has he actually done anything to warrant being kicked out?" 

"He's been terribly abrasive and ill-tempered," Damian said. 

Seriously, what was up with that little jerk?

"If that means he gets kicked out, you should've been gone years ago," Tim pointed out. 

Jason snickered, forgetting himself. 

Cass opened her mouth to speak, then paused, glancing towards the door. 

"What?" Dick asked. "What is it?" 

Ah, fuck, time to go. 

Jason crept away on silent feet, slipping away towards the kitchen by the breakfast nook where he was sure to find Alfred. 

It was ludicrous and borderline offensive that they would hold a sibling council to determine whether Jason was allowed to stay. He had been at the manor before all of them, with the exception of Dick. 

Plus, why was Dick advocating for him so strongly? If anything, he should be arguing against Jason because of their bet. Jason resolved to think about it later, when he had gotten considerably more sleep. 

"Mornin', Alf," Jason sauntered into the kitchen, determined to hide his sleepless night behind a wall of bravado. 

"Good morning," Alfred gave him a sunny smile, "I must say, I'm rather surprised to see you up so early. How did you sleep?"

"Not awful," Jason supplied as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink with Alfred's favorite lemon hand soap. 

Alfred gave him a knowing look, but said nothing.

"What can I do to help?"

"Well, you could certainly make a good start on breakfast. Any preferences?"

"I was thinking crepes," Jason said, forcing an air of nonchalance. It was the first thing Alfred taught him how to make, all those years ago. Jason had since perfected them; some might claim he made the best crepes in all of Gotham. 

Alfred's look went soft. "I'll get started on a pot of coffee."

Jason's worries and frazzled thoughts spun into a semblance of order as he mixed up the batter, measuring dry and wet ingredients, determining the perfect ratio by testing the humidity in the air. He heated a pan to the exact temperature necessary, then spread the batter out into a huge circle with a long spatula.

Alfred prepared fixings for the crepes, setting out peanut butter and Nutella while perfectly chopping strawberries and bananas. 

Damian was the first to wake. He arrived at the breakfast bar dressed primly in his Gotham Academy uniform. He said stiffly, "What are you making?" 

"Crepes. Here, have one, tell me how they are," Jason said, plating up a crepe with banana and chocolate, just how he knew Damian liked it. He handed it off and watched as Damian took a bite. "Well?"

He made a disinterested noise. "They're alright, I suppose." 

Later, when he thought Jason wasn't looking, he all but scarfed them down. 

Something was up with the kid, and Jason was going to find out what. 

Bruce arrived shortly after, accepting a crepe with a murmured word of thanks. He didn’t look at Jason, but he looked worryingly more corpse-like than usual, so Jason didn’t take it personally. Bruce took his crepe and his fresh mug of coffee back to his study, off to do boring CEO stuff, probably. 

Dick was next to arrive, smiling his sunny smile. "Good morning, everybody!" 

Jason grimaced. He'd forgotten Dick was a morning person. Damian scowled as well, "Is it?"

"I should think so," Dick declared, taking the seat beside him. "Ooh, crepes, could I get one of those?" 

"No." Jason deadpanned, already loading up a crepe with chocolate spread. God, how could anyone stand to be around someone so cheery in the morning? Then, Jason remembered Dick hated bananas. He added a few spoonfuls of banana slices for good measure and passed the crepe over, smiling deviously. "Enjoy! I made this one special, just for you,"

Dick was clearly trying to figure out whether he had done it on purpose or not. The man resigned himself to eating an entire banana crepe, “Thanks, Jay.” 

"I've prepared a few for you as well, Master Jason, why not have a seat?" Alfred piped up. 

Jason frowned, "I thought there were more people living in this house."

"Duke's on patrol, Steph doesn't actually live here, Tim is probably at the Wayne Enterprises tower, he works in R&D there now, and, uh, I don't actually know where Cass is. 

"She's volunteering at the local elementary school," Alfred cut in, "But, more importantly, your crepes," 

"No, it's ok, I should clean up the kitchen first---"

"Sit down and eat your perfect, delectable crepes." 

"Yes, Alfred," Jason murmured, somewhat cowed. The crepes were indeed perfect, warm and thin and soft, with layers of rich whipped cream, melting chocolate, and strawberries sandwiched in between. 

"It's almost time for school, Dami, better pick up the pace," Dick commented. 

"Don't you have a job?" Damian scoffed. 

"I took a few days off for a family emergency." 

"A family emergency?" Damian gave him a look far too judgmental for a twelve-year-old. 

"I'd say the return of an estranged brother is a significant family event,” Dick lifted his glass to Jason, toasting him dramatically before sipping daintily at his orange juice. 

"I'll give you a real family emergency if you're not careful," Jason muttered. 

….. 

Once everyone left for the day, it took Jason approximately ten seconds to realize he had absolutely nothing to do.

He begged Alfred to let him help clean. Alfred, of course, assented with no shortage of smiles. 

Jason took his massive feather duster and went around to each communal room in the manor, dusting every surface he could reach. 

When he ran out of surfaces, he took a screwdriver to the vent covers and dusted inside each vent. One of the perks of being tall was that he could reach the vents high on the wall without straining. 

The vent system was made mostly out of aluminum or steel, and carried sound quite well from one room to the next on the first floor. 

Jason was elbows deep in a floor vent, trying to get all the dust out, when he heard a quiet conversation coming through the vent. 

“…eally, Alfred, I thought he was a hallucination," Bruce croaked. 

Jason automatically leaned in closer to hear what was said, sticking his whole head into the metal chamber. 

"I was wondering if that was perhaps why you didn't greet him properly,” Alfred said dryly. 

Were they talking about him?

Bruce huffed. "And you didn't say anything?" 

"Would you like me to call you out on every social blunder?”

"Touché,” Bruce sighed, sounding tired and forlorn.  “How can I fix this? There has to be something I can do.”

“It’s a bit late to start trying.” Alfred murmured darkly. 

“I’ve been trying, you know that.”

“I do. I also know that you’re paralyzed by fear of losing him again. It’s clouding your judgement,” Alfred said blatantly. 

Jason blinked in surprise.

Bruce gave a grunt of begrudging agreement. “Perhaps. But what if I—“

“Just talk to him.”

“Hrn,” Bruce considered it, hesitant, “I will try.”

It was then that something flickered into view in Jason’s peripheral vision. The sudden appearance of something so close to him set off the Lazarus pit like a grease fire triggering a smoke alarm. Without a single thought, Jason reached out and grabbed the person and flipped them over his head, sending them crashing to the floor at his feet. 

It was only after another couple seconds, when Jason had them pinned, that he realized it was Duke. 

"Fuck, man, what was that for?" 

"...sorry. You. Uh, you scared me." Jason helped him up hurriedly, setting him back on his feet. "Are you ok?" 

"Yeah, all good," Duke managed a smile. "I guess that's what I get for using my freaky invisibility thing around the house."

"Playing hooky today?" 

"I only have class in-person once a week, the rest of it is online. Can't exactly do the whole 'Signal' thing and go to class every day,"

"So...why aren't you out pulling cats out of trees and blinding muggers with the power of the sun and stuff?"

"Signal gets a lunch break," Duke defended, "All the others can eat on patrol but I can't because of the helmet. You get it."

"Ah, the difficulties of helmets. I have to wait until I get home to eat my burritos." Jason agreed. To keep the conversation from petering off into awkward small talk, he asked, "Did you eat? I was just about to make paninis if you want one." 

"Hell yeah!" Duke grinned. "Maybe I should let you body slam me more often." 

"I would've offered anyway," Jason muttered.

After lunch, Jason took a luxuriously long nap. Then, he realized it was almost time to pick Damian up from school. 

He headed towards the civilian garage, snatching the keys for the unassuming old Nissan off the wall. This was the perfect chance to corner Damian about their interactions the past few days. 

Jason had forgotten how awful it was to drive around downtown Gotham during rush hour in a car. Normally, he would simply weave between lanes on his bike, eliciting honks from nearly every car he passed. Now, he had to execute some more difficult driving maneuvers to anger every driver in Gotham.

He arrived in front of Gotham Academy in record time, almost at the very front of the pickup line. Damian scowled when he saw who was driving him, but begrudgingly slid into the passenger seat. 

Jason pulls out into traffic, careless of how many cars he almost smacked into. "How was school?" 

"No, wait, careful----" Damian insisted, but it was already too late. "You are going to kill us. Is this all part of your master plan to end father's bloodline?" 

Jason ran a red light, narrowly dashing in between two cars going through the intersection. "Maybe."

Damian sucked in a breath as the drivers nearly collided in their surprise. "What is wrong with you?" 

"I should be asking you the same question."

"And what do you mean by that?" Damian demanded, clutching at the dashboard as Jason screeched around a corner. 

"Something's up with you, and I intend to figure out what it is." 

"Something's up with me?" Damian repeated, his voice dripping with scorn, "Am I not welcoming enough for you? Not jubilant enough at the return of the prodigal son?"

"Cut the bullshit. What's your problem with me?" Jason said levelly. He wasn't as good with words as the poets and authors he admired, but he could say what needed to be said. 

"What did you expect from me? That I'd launch myself into your arms upon first sight?" 

Jason snorted at the thought. "Not exactly. Just civility, maybe, for the man who helped raise you." 

"You left me all alone in a strange country with a family I didn't know. Forgive me, if I am not polite enough to suit your tastes," Damian spat. 

Jason thought back to the fragile years after they escaped the League of Assassins. He said weakly, "I visited,"

"Rarely. In the dead of night."

"I didn't want to leave you." Jason kept his eyes on the road. "It was one of your mother's conditions to help me escape the league, I had to deliver you safely to your father."

Damian let the silence stretch on until they finally reached the Gotham Harbor Bridge, a space too narrow for Jason to dodge between cars. He was forced to go a measly ten miles over the speed limit just like everyone else. 

He bit out, “Why are you here, Todd?” 

Jason considered telling him about the bet, but figured that would only make the situation worse. Instead he offered a half truth, “Dick invited me.” 

“Is this some misguided attempt at reconciliation?”

“I know it’s too late for that,” Jason murmured, “but I wanted to see you anyway.” 

That, at least, wasn’t a lie. 

To anyone else, Damian would appear as unaffected as he pretended to be, but Jason could see the subtle nervous twitches and tells emanating from him. Damian avoided his gaze, “Well, now you’ve seen me, are you satisfied?” 

“If that is all you’ll permit me, I suppose I’ll have to be,” Jason replied, as evenly as he could. 

Damian scoffed, then continued his dramatic staring out the window.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride home. 

…..

Jason was surprised to find how effective he could be at diffusing tense situations. His solution to every single one was to simply leave. 

When he could feel Cass staring daggers at him from across the room, he stood and left. Whenever Damian looked ready to drag him into an argument, Jason made himself scarce. When he passed Bruce in the hall, the old man looking alarmingly contemplative, Jason kept his head down and walked faster. 

He had to win the bet for the good of his gang and his home, and that meant staying as far away from the bats as he could. 

The only exception to his newfound rule was family dinner. He helped Alfred prepare it again that night, then sat and ate as fast as possible, dodging all attempts at conversation directed at him with redirection and short, blunt answers. 

This worked perfectly until the crew was warming up before patrol.

Jason headed down to the cave to start prepping his gear for the night. 

Dick called out from where he had Duke resolutely pinned to the mat, "Jay, come spar with us!" 

"Ha. No," he kept walking, refusing to acknowledge them. Images of everything that could go wrong flashed in his mind, people bleeding, unconscious from a single misplaced hit, miscalculated force, a tiny misstep. 

The thing about Jason was that he never held back in the heat of the moment. He had always been one to fight hard and fight dirty, even before the pit rage got to him. Now, it was worse. If someone so much as walked past a blind spot too quickly, Jason still struggled to keep his instincts under control. 

Duke booed, even from where he was pinned against the floor. Damian scoffed. 

Tim said nothing, clearly content to let Jason sit this one out. He understood the dangers better than any of them. 

Steph called out, "What's the matter, too good for us?" 

Jason ignored her. 

"Just one round?" 

"I said no." Jason repeated, ducking away to gather his gear as calmly as he could. There was no way he could let himself be taunted into endangering them. 

"What's his problem?" 

"He is worried," Cass said quietly, Jason could feel her black eyes burning against the back of his neck. 

"Worried he will lose?" Damian gave a half smirk. 

"Too scared he will hurt us." 

By then, Jason was too far away to hear their reactions.

When it came time to gather in the cave for pre-patrol and mission debrief, Jason slid into the chair at the far end of the oblong table. In other words, as far from Bruce and Dick as he could get. 

Batman opened the team meeting without ceremony, "Scarecrow has been building reserves of fear gas all over the city. We fear he may be plotting a large scale attack. Recently, he's been doing some testing over small areas of Gotham to gauge the effects of each of his formulas. We have to find his stores and destroy them. All other missions are postponed until this is accomplished."

"And how are we planning on doing that?" Tim asked, his eyes narrowed. Jason could tell that the internal cogs and gears of his brain were already moving at the speed of light. 

"My team and I took down a big tank of fear gas in Crime Alley," Jason volunteered, before he could weigh the pros and cons of offering his aid. When it came to the safety of Gotham, he couldn’t just stand to the side.  All the heads at the table swiveled to him. 

"You...already found one?" Dick asked, surprised enough that it was offensive. 

"And we destroyed it, are you even listening?"

"Do you know what was in the formula?" Tim demanded, his nerd side taking over. 

"How the fuck would I know?" Jason drawled, "It had some side effects I'd never seen before, like muscle cramps and stuff."

"Hrn," Batman considered this, "Was it guarded? What kind of staff was present at the site?" 

"There were a few guards, but it was almost sunrise by the time we actually made it in. No sign of production methods or of Crane."

Batman gave another disapproving rumble, "That's not a good sign. Oracle has been keeping watch over the city, there are quite a few spots suspected to harbor his fear gas."    

"So what's he planning, some kind of large scale attack?" Tim asked. 

"It appears that way." 

"So, we find his stores and destroy them before putting him back in Arkham?" 

"Those things can happen simultaneously." 

"Who's going to patrol?"

"Robin and I will patrol as usual, I would like the rest of you to scout potential drug storage and development sites. The base compounds for his fear gas always includes a specific kind of organic nitrogen aerosol, and---"

"Are you thinking it's got suspended ammonium ions in it?" Tim interrupted. "Have we ever gotten a pure enough sample to determine that's the case? I mean, Gotham probably has a higher-than-average amount of piss in the air, maybe the compound is different entirely---"

"Stop being a nerd, Timothy," Damian took out his bo staff and whacked Tim from across the table. 

"Patterns of Crane's supply purchases indicate the specific aerosol as the most likely base, not chemical analysis," Bruce corrected. "Anyway, the base compound has been shipped around the city, and all of you are going to scout around the drop locations. 

"Ok, great, can we go?" She received side eyes from around the table. "What? This is the worst part! I know you all agree with me." 

“Thank you, Spoiler, for your glowing review. Would you like to lead our team recap tomorrow night?” Bruce deadpanned. Steph may have sassed him, but Bruce was going to sass her right back, apparently. 

“Nope. You couldn’t pay me to do it,” She said, not missing a beat. 

“Anyone else?” 

No one spoke up.

“Excellent. I’ll hand out case files.” 

Jason stopped zoning out when Bruce informed him, “Hood, you’re with Black Bat.”

Class glanced at him, stoic as always as she accepted the file from Bruce.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Jason muttered. Was Bruce doing this on purpose? Did he plan to have Cass drag him into a back alley and stab him or something? 

Well, actually, if she wanted to, she probably already would have. 

The thought didn’t comfort Jason much as he followed her on his tricked out Red Hood bike onto the streets of Gotham. 

They were assigned an abandoned office building that used to belong to various companies in the Gotham healthcare system. The blueprints said there was a lab in the basement, probably used for research or pathology purposes. 

It was the perfect place for Scarecrow to formulate his fear gas without being noticed. 

They entered together, Jason speaking quietly into his comm, his speech muffled by the helmet. “What’s the plan?”

Cass just turned to look at him blankly with her cowl’s empty stitched eyes. He could see why people thought she was creepier than Batman. 

“You wanna split up? Flashlights or night vision?”

She tapped her cowl to signal that she preferred the night vision filter. She motioned for him to follow, then set off at her usual agile pace. 

Jason almost had to jog to keep up. Wandering through an abandoned medical facility at night was enough to make Jason wish that he was a daytime vigilante like Signal. 

The drywall was crumbling away, revealing layers of insulation and stained concrete. Jason couldn’t smell anything through his helmet filters, but he suspected the whole place smelled of mold and chemicals. 

On the upper floors, broken office chairs, desks, and filing cabinets were strewn about the space. Cass maneuvered through even the toughest of spots with ease and grace. Jason followed, clumsy by comparison even with all his training, trying not to think about how much she hated him. 

Jason considered himself an expert on abandoned buildings. He had spent a good portion of his childhood trying to find suitable ones to sleep in, so he knew how to identify warning signs of serious decay. 

He watched as Cass stepped onto a flimsy water-damaged plywood board.

He heard a crack like ice on a pond before a skater fell through. He dove forward without thinking, snatching Cass’s wrist and hauling her up out of the yawning pit below. 

Jason dragged Cass back towards him and pulled her to the side before more of the floor could disappear, ensuring that he didn’t go down with her. 

She stared at him for a few moments. A mutual understanding flickered between them like a static shock.

Cass signed a quick thank you . Jason nodded. 

They continued on through the first floor and found nothing but puddles and rats and the creeping dark. 

Then, the pair came to a set of elevator doors. They were marked with red spraypaint, a curved line reminiscent of a carved bloody smile. 

As the ancient rusty elevator rose slowly to meet them, Jason heard a distant clang of metal on concrete. 

Something about the sound made everything in him cringe, sending his mind up and out of his body. 

The air filled with the scent of smoke and blood and white face paint. 

A shrill laugh echoed from somewhere deep in his consciousness. 

An unexplainable dread rose like bile in his throat. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH-----

It was impossible to tell how long he remained entirely gripped by a spine-rattling fear, but he was dragged back to the present by the flashing of a light and the crumbling brick wall digging into his back. When did he fall to the floor?

 It took Jason a moment to notice that Cass was flipping her flashlight on and off. It was morse code, he realized. He counted blinks and flashes, trying to line them up with what little he remembered of the alphabet. 

By the time he was able to decipher her message, his mind had calmed a little from the distraction. He was pretty sure she was spelling out 'u r safe. I'm here'. His voice came out hoarse and hesitant when he found it again, "Thanks."

She led the way to the stairwell instead. They grappled down to the basement, rather than risking the rickety steps. 

When the stairwell door squeaked open to reveal the lab in the basement, Jason almost gasped. It was spotless and state of the art, containing everything required to run a drug operation: fume hoods, chemical storage and waste receptacles, and ridiculously precise measuring instruments. 

They took pictures of everything they found and downloaded data off the lab computers onto hard drives, but found no fear gas. Whatever had been produced in the lab, it had been transported off the premises. 

They headed back to the cave just before dawn. Jason was ready to crash in bed as soon as he arrived, but took the time to hang up his gear first. Batman wasn't his boss anymore, but Jason still remembered the long lectures on equipment maintenance he received as Robin. 

Cass uploaded a quick mission report for them, far faster at typing and more adept at using the cave technology than Jason was. 

Jason took another extra long, hot shower out of spite, then collapsed into bed and fell asleep immediately. Honestly, the miracle mattress was doing wonders for his post-mission recovery.

….

Jason woke the next morning to Gotham rain drizzling peacefully outside his window. For the first time since he was fifteen years old, he stayed in bed and read a book almost all morning.

Alfred was quite pleased that he finally took some time to rest, but Jason still felt rather guilty for not helping with breakfast. 

He spent the rest of the day avoiding everyone else in the house with a very arduous and well planned chore regimen. If he finished everything on time, Jason figured he wouldn’t encounter anyone. 

Unfortunately, Bruce was unpredictable. Jason almost had to make eye contact when he walked into the receiving room that Jason was dusting. 

Luckily, Jason had the forethought to dive under the coffee table upon hearing Bruce approach, and the forbearance to stay there for all of half an hour while Bruce worked on some paperwork. 

All his limbs fell asleep by the end, his joints aching from being pressed into the carpet at odd angles, but it was better than having to make eye contact with Bruce, or, god forbid, conversation. 

When Jason finished helping Alfred with all the daily chores, he asked for yet another task to keep him occupied. Alfred told him he could tidy the attic if he was really so desperate for things to do. 

Cleaning out the attic was a never-ending task—Waynes had been dumping their junk up there for generations. There were probably so many beautiful antique pieces up there rotting away.

However, Jason had never cared about antiques and wasn't about to start. 

He took a broom, a dustpan, and a filtration mask with him. He climbed the many flights of stairs, plus the ladder, and found himself in the sloping wooden wasteland that was the attic. The piles of dusty furniture seemed to go on forever. 

Jason's illusion of cleaning didn't last long. A few rows in, he found a box full of glossy printed pictures, like the kind his mom used to get printed at the drug store. Only, these were of Batman and his Robins. He figured they were the ones Dick had mentioned, the ones Tim took as a child. 

 Jason cleared a spot on the floor to sit on, and began to comb through them, his curiosity overcoming his fear of what he might find. 

He sorted through the ones on top, which were entirely of Dick and Bruce. Jason would never admit it, but Dick was actually adorable as a kid with his dimples and shaggy mop of dark hair. 

The pictures started out blurry and dark, but slowly gained more clarity and interest as Tim improved through the years. 

Seeing his younger self in the Robin suit wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be; it was like looking at a completely different person. 

Jason stared for far too long at a picture of Batman shielding him with his cape during a blizzard. Then, at a picture of Robin Jason with a smile so bright he almost glowed as he flew through the air on a grapple line. Batman flew along in the background, watching him fondly. 

It struck Jason then that Bruce had given him most of his instincts. Sure, training with the League had improved his endurance and speed, but it was Bruce to teach him all of the lessons that saved his life every day. 

Jason wanted so badly to hate him. Even if stupid Bruce Wayne had given him a life better than he’d ever known before or since. 

But these days, Bruce was different somehow. He was still Bruce, still unnervingly stoic and pragmatic, but somehow he managed to be (though Jason hated to admit it) a decent father. 

Jason thought back to all the times he'd seen Bruce be openly affectionate with his kids in the past few days. It was in the way he squeezed Dick's shoulder as he passed, how he complimented Tim on his work but also made sure he took enough breaks, how Cass ran to him for a hug every time she returned home, the way he listened whenever Damian spoke up, and how even with Duke, who was solidly attached to his real parents, Bruce made sure Duke knew he was important and loved. 

Did Alfred make Bruce take a class or something? Read every parenting book on the market? 

Sure. Bruce had made some pretty major parenting mistakes, but he was ultimately the best parental figure Jason had ever had. Well, excluding Alfred. 

Yet, Bruce had been making every effort to avoid Jason since he arrived. 

Had his death voided his status as part of Bruce’s family somehow?

Shoving the pictures back in their box, Jason abandoned his task of cleaning the attic. He’d reached his emotional quota for the year, and thus couldn’t risk experiencing any more nostalgia. 

Instead, he headed for the library. That's where he had gone when he was younger and bored out of his mind, and he doubted anyone would bother him there. 

The smell of dust, paper, and wood polish welcomed him as he turned the familiar brass doorknob, cool beneath his touch. 

The room had been cleaned and kept up since his death, but every book was in the exact same location it had been when he left. A stack of younger Jason's favorite books, plus ones he had planned to read for the first time, still laid beside his favorite sofa. 

The stack was full of classic novels from all over the world. Bruce wasn't much of a book collector, but his father had been, so most of the volumes were from before even Bruce's time. 

First editions and annotated versions of very old books were kept in a glass cupboard in the corner. After Jason had begged, Alfred showed him how to handle them with the appropriate amount of care, using gloves and covered surfaces. The ones in the stack were less valuable, but no less exciting in their storytelling. 

He glanced again at his stack and realized he'd read some of the titles since he'd returned to Gotham. He hesitated, about to remove them from the stack. He didn't want to disrupt the feeling of the room, completely preserved and full of pieces of his younger self. But then, he thought of what Alfred had said. You've returned. What could we possibly have left to mourn?

Jason selected a book from the stack, The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame, and found that time passed like a flock of birds overhead, quickly and unobtrusively. 

Dick appeared in the doorway. "Mind if I join you?" 

"Fuck off," Jason grumbled. 

He didn't.

"I mean it, Dickface."

Instead of leaving, Dick drew closer. Jason, in turn, selected a book to throw at Dick: a hardcover for maximum impact, but one he knew they had a duplicate of in case it was damaged. However, before he had a chance to chuck it, Dick was already sitting down beside him. 

Jason pummeled Dick with the book, smacking him over and over again just hard enough to leave a decent bruise. 

"Ow! What was that for?" Dick scrambled out of reach. 

"I've seen too much of your ugly fucking face and it's driving me to insanity. Get out!"  

Dick pouted, but left hurriedly when Jason moved to stand.

Jason assumed he was in the clear after that. How naive of him.

First, there was Cass, perched on the window seat with a bowl of animal crackers. Jason didn't see her enter or leave the library. He almost gave himself a heart attack when he passed her on his way to grab a book from the reference section. 

When he noticed Damian staring at him from the armchair across from him, Jason snapped his book shut with a huff. "What do you people want? Are you unable to grant me a single second of peace?" 

Damian sighed, longsuffering and overdramatic, as was customary in the Wayne bloodline. "Read to me."

Jason blinked, then said, "How's 'A History of Modern Philosophy' sound?"

"That will do." 

"I'm joking, kid, damn. I'm reading you 'The Wind in the Willows’," Jason showed him the cover, with illustrated versions of the main characters Mole and Rat. 

"It feels a bit...juvenile."

"Nice try. Thought you could get out of listening to my awesome character voices, huh? Well, you better settle in, because Mole and Ratty are about to stage an intervention for their manic car thief friend, Toad."

Jason read aloud to Damian, who was eventually persuaded to come and sit next to Jason so as to see the occasional illustrations better. Watching the kid leaning against his side, warm and relaxed, it was almost exactly like when Jason would read him bedtime stories in Nanda Parbat. 

Jason eventually got so absorbed in the text and his performance that he didn't notice as the others slowly filed in to fill the space, listening covertly as he read. “ ‘You knew it must come to this, sooner or later, Toad,’ the Badger explained severely. ‘You've disregarded all the warnings we've given you, you've gone on squandering the money your father left you, and you're getting us animals a bad name in the district by your furious driving and your smashes and your rows with the police. Independence is all very well,—’”

Someone stifled a laugh. Jason’s head snapped up, and he saw Cass, Dick, Duke, Steph, and Tim sitting on the rug, listening to him read. “Where the fuck did you people come from?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Dick gave an evil little smile. A ceiling tile above a tall shelf on the far side of the library was mysteriously ajar. 

“Keep reading,” Cass insisted. 

Damian nodded his firm agreement. 

Even Steph was begrudgingly engrossed. 

Jason scowled at Dick, already formulating plans for his petty revenge. Ultimately, he continued until Alfred dragged them from the library for dinner. 

Once the evening meal was finished, Jason snuck away to enact his revenge. 

Dick's hair was his pride and joy. The number of products he bought was probably keeping the whole industry afloat. Thus, Jason decided it was the perfect target. 

He transferred Dick's fancy overpriced shampoo and conditioner into empty bottles, and filled the expensive ones with dollar store hair products. He was pretty sure he was a genius. 

With a snicker, Jason snuck out of Dick's room and back to his own without being discovered. All there was left to do was wait. 

…

That evening, Jason went out on another Bat mission.

Spoiler laughed when she heard where they were going. "Gotham City Bank? In the Diamond District?" 

But Batman said so, so here they were. Even Signal had been sent out with them to make them invisible as they moved through the high security spaces.  

Black Bat was expressionless as usual while they moved to enter through a newly carved hole in the roof. 

"Can you take care of the lasers?" Jason asked, his voice coming out gravelly and mechanical through his helmet.

Signal's helmet voice changer just deepened his voice a little, nothing as scary as the Red Hood, "Uh, yeah. They're literally just light." 

"Can you also manipulate light beyond the visible spectrum?" Steph asked, leaning nonchalantly against an AC unit. 

"Never tried, really. Might be useful to do radio waves and stuff, but I don't wanna accidentally cause a nuclear explosion or something," Duke explained, twisting his hands in the air as he curved the lasers away from them to allow safe passage. 

"How the hell do you know about the secret wavelengths, blondie?" Jason snarked. 

She rolled her eyes, "The Gotham U nursing major requires general physics," 

Jason tried not to think about how even Steph knew more science than he did. The GED hadn't taught him much beyond the water cycle, and neither did all his English lit classes. 

"Alright, time to take a look around," Signal dropped deftly to the bank office floor, the others following behind them. 

They explored every inch of the building, even the vaults, but found no labs or secret passageways. Signal kept the security lasers bent well away from them so as not to trigger any alarms. They left the building with nothing to show for their hours of careful searching. 

"Hey, O, so we didn't find anything. Just a lot of fake plants and modern art," Steph reported over her comm, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure any gas around here is just from natural gas pipelines or sewer gas leaks. Even the Diamond District has shitty pipes, apparently."

"Damn," Oracle's keyboard clacked through the comm. "Ok, B says he wants you back at the cave in a couple hours, just patrol until then." 

"Thanks, O," Steph chirped as she signed off, her hair blowing gently in the night breeze. 

As soon as Oracle couldn't hear her, Steph slumped over with a groan. "Why can't we just go home now? I want to sleeeeep,"

Duke nodded solemnly, "I have class tomorrow," 

Hood scoffed. "Man, don't you guys get breaks or something? This has gotta be a labor law violation of some kind,"

"We do not get paid," Cass deadpanned. 

"Yeah, there's that," Steph agreed.

In  the distance, the elevated train rumbled towards them. The tracks were just a few roofs away, now that Jason thought about it. An idea was incited, "Hey, did Nightwing ever teach you guys to train surf?" 

Steph and Duke shook their heads, Cass shrugged. 

"Well, you're about to learn!" Jason raced off towards the train, shouting over the sound of its engine and the wind. "One hand on your grapple at all times, just in case. You guys probably have all sorts of fancy boot grip tech, anyway. Jump in the direction the train is moving, aim more than halfway down the length of it so you don't get hit if you fall. Got it?"

"Uh...?" Spoiler began.

"Now!" Jason called out, jumping from the building ledge and landing steadily on his feet on the moving train roof. 

Black Bat followed immediately, landing in a graceful crouch. 

Spoiler stumbled, but managed not to slip off. 

Signal was the last to jump, landing on his stomach with a clang of armor against metal. Black Bat caught his arm to make sure he wouldn't slide off. Signal clutched the top of the train with arms and legs spread in snow angel position.  

Jason snorted at the dent left in the top of the train, perfectly Signal-shaped. The passengers on the train probably thought he was a giant mutant squirrel or something. 

Spoiler whooped as the city rushed by, the Gotham smog swirling around them. Jason had forgotten how enthralling the rush of it all was, more excitement than fear for once. Black Bat seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself, even if Jason couldn't quite tell with her expressionless cowl and silent demeanor. Even Signal loosened up after a few successful train transfers.  

Jason made sure to glance around for signs of crime every once in a while, just so they could technically call it patrolling. 

They had a grand old time for the rest of the night, jumping from train to train. There was one close call where Hood had to grapple to catch a sliding Spoiler, but other than that, everything went smoothly. 

Spoiler and Black Bat were called away an hour in to deal with a rampaging Killer Croc on the other side of the city.                                                                  

Signal and Red Hood were still riding around without a care in the world when Jason caught sight of the time blinking in the corner of his vision. "Oh, shit, we have to get back---"

"Why?"

Jason scrambled for an excuse, seeing as he couldn't know about the bet. "You have class tomorrow." 

"Aw, c'mon, man, I thought you were cool---" 

Jason grabbed Duke and hoisted him over one shoulder. "Nope, time to go. Little scholars need their sleep."

They made it back to the cave in record time, cutting it close enough that Dick actually looked a little disappointed when they came roaring in on their bikes. He sat on the edge of a cot in the med bay, swinging his legs impatiently. 

Batman, too, swept into the med bay, carrying a very irritated Robin. Signal, Spoiler, Black Bat, and Hood followed at a considerable distance. 

"Father, I am fine," Damian hissed. "I was perfectly capable of continuing---"

"I'm sure you were," Bruce assured him, setting him down ever so gently on the edge of the cot. He pulled the cowl off, leaving his hair sticking up in every direction.  "But it's important to be careful with your body. You---"

"---only get one. Yes, father, I am aware." 

"You don't want to be achy and sad like your old man when you grow up, do you?" Dick ambled over, throwing an arm around Damian's shoulders while Bruce began to expertly wrap the boy’s sprained ankle. 

"He's young, his bones are made of, like, rubber and hot glue." Tim commented, passing through the med bay to head for the elevator.

"Thank you, Drake! You see? We absolutely did not need to let Killer Croc continue to wreak havoc unchecked!" Damian continued, though judging from his tone, he knew that arguing was futile. 

"The girls have it under control," Bruce assured him, "and you're going to take the time to let it heal anyway." 

Damian's mouth set into a hard line. "How long."

"A week or two, likely."

"But---"

"This is nonnegotiable." 

Damian scowled. "I refuse to be benched over a twisted ankle.”

Jason watched Damian’s petulant expression with a barely suppressed smile. "Look, kid, you can either let it heal properly now, or it might hurt for the rest of your life. Trust me, I would know." 

Damian glared at him. "The Lazarus Pit regenerated all your damaged tissue." 

"What about the newly damaged chunks?" Jason countered, "Increased healing speed doesn't mean instant healing. I can still wreck everything if I don't let injuries heal properly."

"Exactly," Bruce shot Jason a grateful look. 

Damian sulked. 

"Don't look so sad, little D!" Dick bumped their shoulders together. "I'll stay in with you, we'll have a good time." 

Bruce tied off Damian's ankle wrap and stood, planting a quick kiss on Damian's forehead before he could duck away. "Now, then. Hood, Signal, would one of you care to tell me what exactly you were up to these past few hours? Oracle informed me you would be patrolling after you discovered that the bank was clean, but your trackers these past few hours have been…erratic,” Bruce stared at them both with his terrifying usual blankness. 

Jason flushed like he was a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "We went train surfing."

At the exact same time, Duke said, "We were testing the limits of our technology in the field." 

Batman looked strangely amused, "Really? And what kind of technology was that?" 

"The new boot upgrade, the one that's meant to grip onto slick surfaces."

Bruce paused, staring them down, "This seems like an unnecessary and uncalculated risk." 

"It was calculated,” Duke argued, “No one went alone, and we each had grapples ready,"

Jason was honestly kind of impressed with Duke’s logical argument skills, maybe the kid should join the debate team. 

Bruce sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose, "Alright, well, at least you're being safer about it than Dick was." 

"Hey!" Dick called from the other side of the cave, "I had formal training!" 

"Formal training can't save you from gravity," Bruce called. To the boys, he said, “While I appreciate you eliminating some of the safety concerns surrounding tonight’s outing, try to keep the high risk activities to a minimum in the future.”

“Any more grey hairs and Master Bruce will no longer be Gotham’s most eligible bachelor,” Alfred quipped as he passed.

Bruce sighed good naturedly. Jason pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. 

Duke shifted his weight, hope blooming in his expression,  “So…we’re not grounded for all eternity?” 

Bruce’s lips quirked up in a rare muted half-smile, “Not unless I catch you dangling from high voltage power lines by your toes.”

“It was ONE TIME!” Dick screeched. 

Jason watched as Bruce ambled away. Years ago, Jason would’ve received the lecture of a lifetime. He was pretty sure Bruce had been replaced by an alien imposter. 

Chapter Text

Jason was woken from his ten hours of blissful slumber by his door slamming open. He flinched and sat up, then realized it was just his idiot brother. He almost turned over and went back to sleep, then he caught sight of his brother's hair. 

"You," Dick snarled, "You did this to me!" 

His hair stuck up in all directions, frizzy and dry from the dollar store shampoo, giving the impression he'd been struck by lightning. 

Jason burst out laughing. He didn't stop for several minutes. Every time he thought about stopping, he made eye contact with Dick and broke down again. "Ohmygod you should see yourself!" 

"I have, that's the problem! What did you do with my shampoo?" 

"Relax, I'll give it back," Jason's smile turned devious, "as soon as you stop conspiring against me."

"I'm not conspiring against you!"

"What do you call yesterday, then?" 

"An impromptu read-aloud?" 

Jason rolled his eyes, "Quit meddling or say goodbye to your hair products," 

"Ah, well," Dick smiled with false cheer, "This whole thing is better than any good hair day I've ever had," 

"Fuck you!" Jason called half-heartedly as Dick marched away. 

…..

"Why must you subject me to such drivel?" Damian complained for the thousandth time.

Jason continued dragging him through his favorite family-owned international grocery store, “The real question is how you made it through several years of your life without harissa.” 

“Why are we here? Why not allow Pennyworth to fetch these things as he always does?” 

"Alfred is good at shopping, but he's not very familiar with some of these ingredients. We'll be able to choose better products,"

"Do you delight in inconveniencing me?"

Jason gave him an exasperated look as he searched the "Yes, spoiled little princeling, I do."

Damian scowled, "I am no longer prince of anything. Grandfather has disowned me,"

Jason paused, "...really?" 

"He does not take kindly to treason," Damian replied flatly. 

Though the kid was acting unaffected, Jason could tell it had crushed him. He was raised his whole life as his grandfather's heir, cruelly hammered into whatever shape the creepy old man wished.  "I already knew he was an idiot, this just confirms it," 

"He is right to do so," Damian murmured. "I have grown soft, allowing such a trivial injury to halt my pursuit of justice," 

"Hey, hey, don't say that," Jason took Damian's face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together like he used to, even if they were right in the middle of the spice aisle, "Resting and healing do not make you weak. This isn't a failure, or a punishment, or whatever else your screwed up brain might think. This is how you grow stronger, and you're already so much stronger than your grandfather ever could've dreamed of being. Do you understand?"

Damian nodded, but Jason could tell he wasn't quite onboard with the idea. He resolved that they would just have to work on it. 

Then, it occurred to Jason that he probably wouldn't see Damian out of costume for a decent while after he left the manor. The thought filled him with an inexplicable emptiness. Maybe he could let Dick know?

The rest of their shopping passed smoothly. They had a brief argument over whether to use dried Guajillo chilies or Cayenne for their harissa, but Damian eventually relented in favor of the milder pepper, taking pity on his weak siblings. 

At one point, Jason identified a potential robber among the other patrons. He glared at the fellow until the man sheepishly left. 

They checked out and drove home in their stupid little Mazda, Damian arguing for control of the aux to blast classical music as they drove home. 

“Is this Beethoven?” Jason asked, just to wind him up. 

“No, this is Mendelssohn, you uncultured swine!” Damian exclaimed, then spent the rest of the drive home explaining their differing artistic and historical identifiers. 

Once home, they laid out their supplies and began the process for their homemade harissa, undisputedly the best condiment in the entire world. 

They began by roasting their spices, making the whole kitchen smell like garlic, cumin, coriander, and delicious chilis. They blended the spice mixture with olive oil and lemon juice, along with a few of Talia’s secret ingredients to make it taste a little like home. 

They finished transferring the harissa to a mason jar as Tim stumbled into the kitchen, a stern Alfred following behind, "I'm fine, Alf, I already told you, I have a deadline in a few days, I can't afford to---"

"Master Jason, would you mind keeping an eye on an additional misbehaving lad?" 

Damian scowled at being referred to as a 'misbehaving lad'. Jason sighed, turning to address Tim, "What did you do?" 

"Nothing!" Tim exclaimed, "I've only been working for like---"

"Eighteen hours," Alfred finished.

"I accidentally fell asleep for like thirty minutes of that," Tim countered, "Plus, I had to grab a snack at one point," 

"Alright, then, no more work for Tim," Jason agreed, "I got him, Alf, you go do what you need to do,"

"Thank you, my boy," Alfred gave Jason's shoulder a squeeze as he passed, ignoring the elaborate protests Tim was shouting back at him. The protests petered off as Alfred got further away. 

Tim turned to Jason as he placed their harissa in the fridge, "I'm just gonna grab some coffee and go back to work. Alfred doesn't have to know. Cool?" 

"Absolutely not," Jason countered. He scrambled for something Tim might enjoy. He was a fuckin nerd, right? "I challenge you to a battle of wits,"

"Like, in a princess bride type of way?"

"Yes. And also no. Chess?" 

"You know I'm something of a chess master, right?"

"We'll see about that," Jason said, with all the arrogance of a man who played chess approximately twice in his life. 

Damian just sighed and fetched the board. "I've tried to beat Drake many times. Unfortunately, he spent many years perfecting his strategy. Are you certain you wish to do this?"

"How hard could it be?" 

"Right," Damian didn't look convinced, "Good luck," 

Jason decided to play as black, arranging his pieces to mirror Tim's. He was pretty sure he remembered how each piece moved, but knew exactly zero strategy. He resolved to make shapes on the board until Tim either beat him or got too tired to continue. Tim moved first, then Jason picked a pawn at random and moved it. 

"Ah, the beginnings of the Dutch Defense," Tim muttered, moving a different pawn. 

Jason moved his pieces as he pleased, thoroughly stumping Tim. Tim took ages to decide which piece to move, while Jason only took a few seconds to decide if the horsies or the bishops should kiss. It psyched Tim out so much that he lost three games in a row, Damian calling out "Checkmate!" at the close of each one. 

"You have to teach me your strategy," 

"A magician never kisses and tells," Jason smirked. 

Tim made a face, "I'm pretty sure it's---" 

Damian stood to leave.

"Where you goin?" 

"To complete my daily cardiovascular training regimen," 

Tim frowned, "You're supposed to be resting that ankle,"

"I wasn't aware swimming put such a strain on one's ankles," Damian sassed. 

"Wait, you guys have a pool now?" 

"Yeah?"

"I could have been relaxing on a floaty this whole time?" 

"In theory," 

"Yeah, we better make this happen. C'mon everybody, to the pool!" 

Despite the vague grumblings from both of his charges, Jason was in the pool on a flamingo themed inner tube within minutes. Damian did his sets without interruption, then stayed to float around a little, too. 

Tim eventually fell asleep floating on an inner tube on the other side of the pool. Gently, they lifted the tube out of the water and set it by the pool to lessen his risk of falling off and drowning. Tim didn't stir, slumbering away on his donut inner tube like it was the softest mattress he'd ever known. 

Dick was thrilled to discover they were having a swim and joined them immediately. Duke joined them once his patrol ended, and Steph and Cass also decided to take a dip. 

By the time Jason and Damian left to start on dinner, there was a vicious chicken fight happening in the shallow end of the pool. 

Their Mujaddara was delicious, even if the lentils were a little overcooked. Tim commented on how spicy it was. Damian sneered, but didn't mention that it was the mild version. Even Bruce was very impressed with their efforts, and made a point of praising them for it.

Jason picked up a lentil on his spoon, then gestured to Duke subtly to be ready. When Bruce wasn't looking, he flicked the lentil across the table and right into Duke's mouth. Duke choked as the small legume hit the back of his throat, then tried to pass it off as a normal coughing fit. They both tried not to laugh as the rest of the table gave them suspicious looks. 

Dinner 

Jason's phone buzzed in his pocket. When he checked the caller ID, it was Kat. "I gotta take this, I'll be right back," 

He made his way down a few halls, and snuck into a closet, one of the least likely places to be bugged in the household. "Kat. What's wrong?" 

Her tone was urgent, "How are your chances looking?" 

Jason lowered his voice, "Pretty good. Probably an 80% chance of success in acquiring the money. Why?" 

"I'm not gonna lie to you boss, we need it bad right now," 

"How long can you last?" 

"We're out of antidote, and our sources say Scarecrow is preparing another city-wide attack soon. Our cash supply is gone, and the banks are still down. We're running out of options."

"Fuck, ok, send me all the information you've collected on Scarecrow and his current operations. I have contacts who can help," Kat didn't have to know those contacts were his family and also Batman's gang. 

"Any chance you could get an advance on that payout?" 

Jason grimaced, "Sorry. Just until the end of the week, alright?"

"I can't promise we'll make it that long." 

"Leave Scarecrow to me, focus on keeping the alley standing. Do business as usual with neighboring gangs."

"If you're with your family, how are you going to---"

"I have my ways."

"Alright, Mr. Mysterious, be that way. I better not see you slinking back here with no cash, or I will start robbing banks."

Jason snorted, "Yes, ma'am."

There came a knock on the closet door. Jason hung up with a start and yanked the door open to find Dick standing there, "Who was that, your girlfriend?" 

Jason reeled back, “Fuck no.”

Apparently, his horror was evident, "Er, boyfriend?" 

"What the fuck?" 

"Uh, my bad. Anyway, we could really use you on a mission tonight. Any chance you would be willing to go undercover?”

“Ask me after I have the mission details,” Jason countered. They descended into the Bat Cave together, where Dick broke the news about the mission like he was cracking a sheet of ice over Jason’s head. 

"You want me to go where?" 

"Burnley Casino, it's in Gotham Heights, pretty exclusive club----"

"I know where it is, dumbass," Jason dragged a hand down his face. "Why the fuck am I heading there undercover?"

"You and Steph are the only ones who aren't going to be recognized by the media," Dick explained, “Look, it's just one night in a tux. Scope out the back rooms, see if there's some fear gas, destroy it if you can. Easy!" 

"I don't even own a tux," Jason grumbled, "Where am I supposed to get one on such short notice?" 

"That's a joke, right?" Steph sauntered up to them, holding a few sparkly dresses. "You're like, exactly Bruce's size. All of his tuxes are battle ready and bullet proof, of course."

"Those dresses don't look very practical," Jason shot back.

"There's at least fifteen hidden pockets in each of them. Plus, this one is stainless steel mesh, lined with a kevlar weave," She held up a floor length silver long-sleeved number with a deep v-neck, "Paired with a high-neck black armored tank, I'll be unstoppable." 

Jason massaged his temples, already getting a headache from the thought of being stuck in a room of fancy people. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

Alfred gave him a cheerful pat on the back, handing him a tux, “Chin up, lad.”

"Thanks, Alf," Jason muttered half-heartedly. 

"You go in, snoop around, and leave," Dick tried to put a positive spin on it, "it can't be that bad, can it?"

....

It could, in fact, be that bad. 

"How much longer?" Jason muttered into his earpiece. Steph was currently poking around in the backrooms of the decrepit smoky casino while Jason distracted the security staff by making a scene about a supposed lost designer watch. 

"Just hold on, ok? I feel like I'm getting close."

"You've been 'getting close' for half an hour already!" He whispered back. To the annoyed security guards sweeping the room for his watch, he cried, "Keep looking, I'm sure one of these lowlifes snatched it!" He pretended to be a little tipsy, wobbling a little while he shouted about his custom couture timepiece. "The band was custom made by Giorgio Armani himself, and the timepiece was handcrafted by the world's best Swiss watchmaker. It is irreplaceable, do you hear me? It's worth more than this entire bloody building."

Jason pointed to a balding man in a tweed sport coat, "I bet it was you who took it, eh? Needed to make up for the receding hairline? The resentful wife and flighty mistress?"

The man turned bright red, blustering loudly about the horrible lies. 

Jason was pretty sure he was right. After all, most of Gotham's upper class was exactly the same way. 

“I’ve almost got the vault open. I’m pretty sure it’s in here, sit tight.” 

It only took a few more baseless accusations for the security staff to start asking him to leave. He started to half-heartedly fight them off, shouting in pretend outrage. He couldn't keep this up for much longer, he really hoped Steph was getting close. 

Jason let the security guards drag him out kicking and screaming, perhaps enjoying his role a bit too much. Yeah, he definitely should've been a theater major. 

"I'm in!" Steph's victorious voice crackled over the comm, then cut off as she choked. 

Jason was thrown out the front doors, and gave a final shout of outrage before storming off into an alley. "Spoiler? Come in, Spoiler,"

More coughing came from the other side of the line, "Good news, I found the fear gas." 

"Bad news?" Jason urged,

"I think it was stored improperly or something because I got a massive whiff. I got the emergency rebreather out, but I don't know if I was fast enough...oh fuck," Steph breathed, "Is that my dad?"

"Where are you in the building? Can you give me directions?"

"I'm---oh shit,"

"Spoiler?"

There was no answer, only faint static. 

"Shit," Jason snarled. This was really, really bad.

Despite everything in him begging to go in alone, Jason sent off a quick message to Oracle.

Spoiler MIA in Burnley Casino. I'm going in. Backup on standby. 

Jason circled the building and slipped in through the back window off of a grimy alley that smelled of cigarette ash. He rushed down a poorly lit hall, hiding in a doorway to keep from being spotted by a member of the security staff. Jason then found his way to the stairwell and rushed down into the basement backrooms to hunt for Spoiler.

He popped a rebreather on as he tiptoed over old patterned carpet, pushing open peeling doors to examine storage rooms filled with broken slot machines and decaying furniture. The wallpaper might have once been white, but was now a water-damaged yellowish grey. The only sound in the entire place was Jason's quiet footsteps and racing heartbeat, blanketed by the eerie silence that clung to the space.

Jason reluctantly flicked on his flashlight when the hallway grew too dark to see. He really missed his helmet with its air filtration and night vision. 

A scream echoed from somewhere deeper in the labyrinth of rooms. Jason sprinted in the direction of the sound. The end of the hall came to a T, with two pathways leading away to either side of him. Jason picked the one he felt the sound had come from, and kept running. 

As he ran, he fumbled in his jacket for the syringe of fear gas antidote he kept on him at all times. He would have to use it on Spoiler to combat the effects of the drug, and just hope the meds he'd taken a few hours earlier would keep him from flying into a rage. 

Jason found Steph lying pressed against a wall in front of the open vault door. One look inside told him the fear gas was spreading throughout the building. 

He was supposed to neutralize the gas without ever letting it out of the canister, but now that it had escaped, his only option was to burn everything in the building. The gas was highly flammable, so by setting it on fire, the gas would be used up in the reaction. 

With that decided, Jason turned his attention to Steph, wincing at the size of her pupils even as she squinted into the harsh white beam of his flashlight. She miraculously still had her rebreather, but clearly had gotten it on too late.  

Jason crept forward like he was approaching a cornered animal, "Steph? Can you hear me?" 

She scrambled back, breathing hard. She mumbled frantically under her breath, but gave no indication she recognized him. 

When he went to take her pulse, Steph thrashed, an inhuman guttural sound ripping from her throat. Jason curled himself around her, holding her down as gently as possible. She was surprisingly strong, but not quite strong enough to best Jason's freaky Lazarus pit strength. 

"It's ok, just relax," Jason stabbed the syringe into her thigh and pushed the plunger in as quickly as he dared. After a few seconds, she began to go limp. 

Jason scooped her up and wasted no time in sprinting through the basement and up the stairs, whispering comforts to the now catatonic Steph. 

He climbed out the window then awkwardly pulled Spoiler through behind him. He was searching for somewhere safe to stow her when the Batmobile screeched around the corner and slid to a stop meters in front of him. 

Batman leapt out.

Jason stared, "I didn't call for backup, I just asked for a standby." 

Batman nodded, gently taking Spoiler from him, "Oracle sent me anyway."

"I administered the antidote. She'll be fine," Jason turned to leave, reaching into his pocket for his lighter.

Batman frowned. "Where are you going?" 

"To finish up here."

"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own? Nightwing is in the area---"

"Go," Jason snapped, leaping through the window and leaving no room for argument. Jason pulled the fire alarm immediately; he had to give people time to evacuate before he set the building ablaze.

He did a quick sweep of the building, then tossed a few drunk stragglers into the alley behind the building. When he was certain it was clear, Jason yanked open the door to the basement stairwell and clicked the lighter on. However, when he went to toss the lighter down into the stairwell, Jason realized he had miscalculated the dispersion of the gas. 

The air around him lit up in a cloud of flame. Jason swore and tossed the lighter away, but it was too late. The building ignited, surrounding Jason in a blinding unbearable heat. He stumbled for the nearest exit, all thoughts of inconspicuity dashed in favor of survival. The gas burned away in a matter of seconds, but the building provided plenty of fuel for the fire. Jason could barely see through the smoke, the heat of the burning floorboards melting the soles of his shoes and making them stick. 

He blindly reached for the door handle, then jerked back when it was hot to the touch. It took a few tries, but he managed to slam it open with his shoulder. He tumbled to the cobblestone ground in the alleyway, landing on top of the door. Jason dragged himself upright once more, getting at least 50 meters away before collapsing against a wall in exhaustion. 

Fuck, that was not how his night was supposed to go. He was supposed to be in bed hours ago. 

At least the tux was fire resistant. 

His right hand, the one he'd held the lighter with, was throbbing now, a significant portion of it covered in first and second degree burns. He grit his teeth and bore it, knowing his freakish healing would kick in soon. 

Jason got to his feet once he caught his breath, reaching to tap his earpiece, only to find that it wasn't there. Shit, it must've fallen off in the fire. 

Well, it looked like he was walking home. 

Jason sighed and started to trudge back towards Bristol. Should he just take a taxi? Surely, he was nearing his six hour limit, but without a watch, he had no way of knowing. He begrudgingly set out at a conservative jog. 

After the first couple blocks of melted rubber soles slamming against concrete, Jason was already thinking about giving up. What if he just crawled back to one of his safe houses and forgot all about the stupid bet?

But then he remembered Kat and all the people counting on him, and began to walk a little faster. 

It wasn't until a dark figure landed in front of him that Jason realized he was being tailed. 

He stumbled back, reaching for his gun, when the figure exclaimed, "Jay!"

Jason groaned, "Why does it always have to be you?"

Nightwing darted forward, examining him for injuries and rambling at top speed, "Is that a burn? Holy fuck, you scared us, why weren't you answering your comm? Are you ok?"

"Fine. Get me back to the cave, I'm not giving up on the bet that easily," Jason grumbled. 

Nightwing gawked at him, "We thought you were trapped in a burning building." 

"And you can worry to your heart's content when I'm not in danger of losing five hundred grand to my dumbass brother," Jason insisted, "Where's your bike? I need a ride."

Dick wrapped an arm around him and led him down a side street. Jason didn't fight it, mostly because he was too strung out from the mission to care. "Seriously, are you injured?"

"Just the minor burns. They'll take care of themselves," Jason said gruffly,

"Wait, shit, I have to tell everyone," Nightwing tapped his earpiece, "I found Hood a few streets over. He's ok," 

"Of course I'm ok," Jason muttered, a little offended. 

"Spoiler says you're an idiot."

Jason turned to speak into Nightwing's earpiece, "Right back at ya, blondie," 

They climbed onto the Birdbike, or whatever Nightwing called his sleek monstrosity of a bike. It felt rather like riding a supersonic two-by-four across Gotham. He wished desperately for his own reasonably-sized bike, or even just his Red Hood helmet. Jason clung to Nightwing with his good arm to keep from falling off. 

Upon arriving at the cave, Jason immediately staggered off the bike and pulled off his suit jacket and vest. He then popped into the med bay to check on Steph.

"'Sup."

"Ayyyy look who didn't get burnt to a crisp!" Steph crowed, lounging on a cot with Cass beside her. 

Alfred bustled over to wrap Jason in a massive hug, "Never do that again, do you hear me?"

Jason nodded slowly, taken aback. 

"Come on now, let's see about that hand of yours."

"It's fine, I can just clean it quick, it'll be gone by morning," 

"You're going to let me dress it properly for you," Alfred informed him. 

Steph laughed, "Yeah, get him!" 

Jason was glad that she was at least feeling well enough to have regained some of her spunk.

Cass gave her a pointed sidelong glance. 

"You are in no position to berate him, Miss Stephanie," Alfred said, digging through the immaculately organized cabinets for antiseptic and burn ointment. He motioned for Jason to take a seat on one of the cots, "I seem to remember that you took an unfortunate spill just a few moments ago while attempting an ill-advised escape from the med-bay.”

"Aw, don't be like that, Alf," Steph complained. 

Dick, Tim, and Bruce swept into the room moments later, freshly showered and out of costume.

"How did you find the tracker?" Tim demanded, "It was actually a part of your shoe, my work was seamless!" 

"Hold on, you guys were tracking me that whole time?" Jason demanded, wincing as Alfred dug a piece of gravel out of his hand. 

"Not the whole time, clearly," Dick muttered, taking a seat opposite him. 

"The soles melted," Jason clarified, scowling, "I guess I should've expected a whole host of trackers in the bat tech,"

Bruce leaned against the med bay countertop, arms crossed, "Your tracker stopped responding in the middle of a burning building. There should have been a backup planted on you from the start,"

“There shouldn’t have been a tracker planted on me at all ,” Jason retorted. 

"It's not that big of a deal. I just started a little fire to deal with the gas---"

Tim's head snapped up. "You started the fire?"

"Uh, yeah, obviously," Jason gestured to his burned hand. 

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to create a spark in a room of highly unstable gas?" Tim's eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. 

"I can take a wild guess," Jason deadpanned, "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Call for backup to contain the hazard," Tim said, unimpressed. 

"This is why we have safety protocol," Bruce's voice slipped a little into the growly cadence of Batman, "You're not invincible."

"I am fine ," Jason snarled. 

"No thanks to you," Dick threw his hands up, "You can't light a fucking building on fire while you're inside of it!" 

"You have to be more careful," Bruce agreed, his expression grave. 

Jason was exhausted, in pain, and now he was being lectured by Bruce of all people about taking risks.  His temper snapped like a toothpick. "Or what? You'll bench me? That didn't go so well last time, did it?" 

Bruce's face slipped into an expression of agony for a split second, then melted back into its usual stoicism. "Don't."

"I have every right to," Jason snarled. Once the words started coming, they didn't stop, "You love to pretend that you cared about me. Did you even notice I was gone when I left for Ethiopia? Did you wave at my cab as it left for the airport? Or were you too busy recruiting the kid next door?" 

"We searched for hours," Bruce wouldn't look at him, his deep unshakable voice wavering, "The whole city was out looking for you. Alfred and I scrubbed every city security feed we could find, we even pulled in the Commissioner. By the time we figured out which plane you'd gotten on, it was too late. I pushed the batplane as fast as it would go but—" 

"You went after me?" The words were out before Jason could stop them. 

"God, Jason, of course I went after you! I....was the one who found your body." 

"Why?" Jason said hoarsely. "So you could hand my body over to the league yourself?" 

"We buried you next to my parents," Bruce whispered, "Then, the league robbed your goddamn grave and I—” Jason swore he saw Bruce's eyes glimmering with unshed tears, "---I lost you. I failed you again."

"And what about after they resurrected me? Talia said you knew, that you didn't give a shit,” Jason scrambled for some explanation, something he could blame Bruce for. 

"Of course I didn't know!" Bruce burst out, "I would've come for you. You have to know that. I would've fought every last goddamned assassin in there just to see you again." 

Jason wanted to shout back and insist that he was lying. Instead, he stared in shock. It was like a grapple line had broken midair, leaving him plummeting to the brutal ground. 

Was the story he told himself about his own life based on assumptions he’d never bothered to fact check? Jason swallowed hard. “...and after you knew the identity of Ref Hood?” 

Bruce’s gaze flickered to his cautiously, “You didn’t seem very interested in reconnecting,” 

Ah, right, that meant Bruce only figured out who he was when he revealed himself at Titans’ Tower. When he attacked Tim. When he swore his revenge on Batman. 

Jason searched Bruce’s face, heart thundering in his ears. 

It couldn’t be true. Because if Bruce didn’t abandon him, replace him, or resent him, what possibilities did that leave?

“I know this doesn’t change anything. But I…thought you might want to know,” Bruce murmured. He ducked away, disappearing deeper into the cave. 

The only thing Jason could do was stare at Bruce’s retreating form, his brain imploding from the pressure of all the new information swarming him. 

He didn’t register much after that, not until Dick placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, “...Jay?”

Jason’s head snapped to him. At some point, everyone else had fled the room. He hadn't even noticed. It felt like he was under water. He croaked, “Is it true?” 

“Which part?” 

“All of it! The—did you really—were you—-did he—he came for me,” Jason sputtered, “god, he really came for me. I never thought…”

“He did,” Dick said carefully, “I thought you knew that.”

Jason shook his head with a sardonic laugh, “Obviously not.”

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” Dick whispered. “I was on another planet at the time. Nobody told me until I got back, and by then it was way too late. But if I’d just been around then, Jay, I could’ve—I should’ve been there. As it was, I almost burnt Gotham to the ground when Alfred told me.”

“And…you killed Joker?” Jason asked desperately. He’d tried not to care, tried for so long to forget, but now he needed to know. He’d learned years ago that Joker died under mysterious circumstances. 

After glimpsing the case file then, he’d suspected it was Dick. Not Nightwing, but Dick Grayson, a broken and grieving man avenging his brother. It had never made sense to him. Not until that moment. 

Suddenly, it mattered a lot more to Jason. His heart pounded in the anticipation of the answer. 

“I did.”

Jason let the relief and the pain slam into him in a downpour of suppressed emotion. As a lump swelled in his throat, he gathered the courage to ask, “Do you regret it?”

Dick was already crying, silent tears betraying his pain as he pulled Jason into a tight hug, “Never.”

It was a long time before Jason could bring himself to break out of his brother’s desperate embrace. With a final squeeze, he fled up the stairs to the manor. 

Jason basically passed out from exhaustion rather than fell asleep that night. Every moment until then was spent lying on the floor of his childhood bedroom, staring up at the ceiling and wondering where the hell everything went wrong. 

Chapter Text

Jason woke up the next morning more determined than ever to get through the rest of the week. He didn’t know what the previous night meant yet; all he knew was that he had to win the bet and get the money he needed. 

His emotional quota for the year had been far exceeded already, so he resolved to think about all the recent developments later. Possibly never. 

Jason funneled all his restless and confused energy into helping Alfred out. 

"What's up for today, Alf?"

"You've contributed more than enough. The only possible thing left to do this decade is clean and reseal the marble flooring in the main ballroom," Alfred chuckled. 

Jason nodded, taking it in stride, "Where can I find the supplies?"

"Oh, no, don’t even think about it," Alfred warned, still teasing, “we usually hire a whole team to do that,” 

"We have an abundance of people who can help," Jason assured him, "they just usually don’t because this house is full of lazy bastards. Do we have sealant on hand?" 

"Well, yes, but----"

"Great. See you later, Alfred!" Jason bounded off in the direction of the main ballroom. He didn't bother grabbing any of his siblings to help. He knew they would come snooping around sooner or later and he would simply rope them in as they came. 

The first order of business was to clear the room of any tables and furniture, as well as collect the drapes over the massive windows to be washed. Damian was the first to peek into the room, "What are you doing?" 

"Cleaning. Come help," 

Damian gave a longsuffering sigh but did as he was told. 

Dick was a little harder to convince. He looked into the room from behind the door, obviously trying to stay hidden. 

"Get in here, Dickface," Jason demanded. 

Dick flushed a little, embarrassed at being caught. "Aw, man, but I just woke up!" 

"Why are you here, then? To watch us work?" Jason grumbled, carrying a stack of chairs in each arm, "Or are you stalking me?" 

He rolled his eyes dramatically, "What do you need?" 

"Why don't you clamber up the walls and take the drapes down, acrobat boy," 

"That's Mr. Acrobat Boy to you," Dick sassed, already scaling the wall. 

Next, they had to sweep the entire massive marble floor. They enlisted Tim as well to follow behind them with the vacuum. He vacuumed ever so carefully as to avoid scratching the floor. 

Steph and Cass joined to help seal the floor with a protective coating, using paint rollers to painstakingly cover every inch of floor. 

At one point, someone put on an annoying pop playlist that had Dick belting out Brittney Spears and Queen rather off-key. Duke chipped in for the last few hours of work once he'd gotten off of patrol. 

By the time they'd finished, they'd taken several meal breaks, it was dark outside, everybody was a little loopy from the fumes and exhaustion, and none of them really felt like going out on Patrol. 

So, to rev them all back up again, Duke suggested a Mario Kart Tournament. He won, of course, but Jason maintained a respectable position in the rankings, despite missing several key years of video game practice in his lifetime. 

Cass was a solid second place, while Tim was a salty third. "You can't just hit me with the blue shell two seconds before I cross the finish line!" 

"Can, actually," Cass smiled a devious little smile. 

Dick cut in, glancing at the gilded clock, "It's about time to get ready for missions, yeah?" 

"Aw, c'mon, one more," Tim complained.

"Have fun, guys," Duke called, relaxing into the couch cushions like a man who knew he was going to enjoy the next few hours of doing absolutely nothing. 

Jason stood to trudge down to the cave, but Dick stopped him, a guilty look already eclipsing his features, “Actually, Jay, would you mind staying behind with Dami this time? They need me to sneak into some vents and stuff tonight,” 

"What about Black Bat?" 

"Cass is smaller, but can't contort as well," Dick explained. “If you don’t want to stay behind, I’m sure—”

"I'll stay," Jason said quickly. 

"Are you sure?"

Jason gave a full-throated laugh. "Are you kidding? You've had to drag me out into the field kicking and screaming all week. Damian and I are gonna have the best time ever." 

"I seriously doubt that," Damian muttered.

"Hey!"

“Be careful, he’s quite the escape artist,” Dick stage-whispered. 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. Have fun in the vents, rat boy!” 

In the hours that followed, Jason caught Damian attempting to sneak off to the cave no less than three separate times, and eventually just threw the kid under one armand held him while they watched a movie. 

It wasn't cuddling, it was protective custody. At least, that's what he told himself. 

Eventually, Jason relented to Damian’s ceaseless demands and allowed the boy to listen in over the comms. 

Damian offered him a set of headphones as they got comfortable in front of the cave’s largest monitor. 

"Nah, I don't care. I'm just here to make sure you don't run off and twist your other ankle," 

Damian nodded once. 

Jason got bored within thirty seconds. 

"Sooo...what’s happening?"

“Nightwing is leading reconnaissance.”

“Where?”

"The Gotham Water Filtration Plant," 

Jason frowned, "The one on the Upper West Side?"

"Obviously." 

"What's he doing there?"

"Looking for Crane." 

"Is he there alone?" 

"Stop talking, I'm trying to listen!" 

"But is he?"

"Yes."

Jason frowned. That meant that backup would be at least a few minutes away. Their patrol routes very rarely strayed into the richer areas of Gotham, as the police were usually bribed pretty well to look after the wealthier residents. 

Begrudgingly, Jason slipped on his own set of headphones. 

The first thing he heard was Nightwing’s hushed voice, sounding like it was coming from inside a cramped space, "I have eyes on the target," 

"Crane?" Jason's head snapped up.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Who else?"

Jonathan Crane was a dangerous and unstable man, just the thought of Dick being stuck in a vent a few feet above him made Jason's heart pound. 

Because if Dick died, he wouldn't get paid. 

Right. That was why. 

Batman said immediately, "Do not engage."

"He's right there! I could put him out of commission right now, I---"

"Nightwing. Do not engage."

"Father is right," Damian affirmed.

"Alright, alright, I'm not engaging. I'm literally just sitting here, watching them---oh holy crap,"

"What?"

"I think I found his master storage of fear gas! There's this huge vat hidden in the middle of the main chamber of the facility. Oracle? Can you tell if they installed that?"

"Oh, yeah, that's definitely it," Oracle confirmed, "It's not marked on any of the blueprints for the plant." 

"We have to destroy it as soon as possible," Nightwing declared, "He could launch a full scale attack at any moment," 

"That’s exactly why we can’t act now,” Red Robin argued over the comms, “He has too much leverage. We have to destroy a larger portion of his fear gas stores before we confront him,”

“Get back to the cave when you can, we’ll talk then. Nightwing, have you been taking the LiDar readings like I asked?”

“Yep.”

“They’re pretty solid from what I can see so far,” Oracle backed him up. 

“Once missions have concluded, head back to the cave. Batman out.” There was a click as Batman exited the group call.

Jason snorted, “Does he still say that every time?” 

“It’s Batman,” Damian sighed, “Of course he does,” 

…..

Batman pulled into the cave first, the rest of his batlings arriving soon after. All except Cass and Steph, that is. Apparently, their mission was running late. That sounded a little suspicious to Jason, but no one else commented on it. 

Batman did a quick post-mission debrief, but wrapped it up early, sensing the exhaustion in the room, "I have a plan to ambush Crane and destroy the fear gas in the Gotham Filtration Plant, but we can discuss that tomorrow before we go out. Great work today, team. Dismissed." 

Damian muttered something about turning in early, so Jason let him go, trusting the others to alert him if Damian decided to go rogue. 

Before he followed Damian's example, Jason wanted to fix some of his gear. 

There was a strange clicking noise coming from one of his gauntlets every time he bent his wrist a certain way or tried to retract the knives hidden in the back of it. Some of his armor had been dented and bent out of shape as well, so he wanted to fix that before going out again. What would his gang think if he came back with shoddy gear?

Jason grabbed the faulty pieces and set up at a table in the corner of the bat cave's workshop. All of the tools and equipment were in the same places he remembered, even if there were some additions since he'd been there last. 

He had just disassembled his spring-loaded gauntlet knife apparatus when Alfred and an out-of-costume Bruce entered the workshop, taking no notice of him. 

"If Crane is to be taken care of by tomorrow evening, I am certain you don't need to map out new possible patrol routes this week, sir," 

Bruce grunted, dumping a pile of gear and tech onto a work bench, "Every contingency plan needs a contingency plan, Alfred," 

"You've spent hours arranging them already, I'm sure they're perfectly adequate,"

Bruce sighed and took a seat, "It's all to ensure their safety Alfred, you know that. What if I missed something, and someone gets hurt because of it?" 

"We've had this discussion a thousand times, Master Bruce," Alfred huffed, sitting beside him, "You cannot control every variable. If you are to allow your children to be crime-fighting vigilantes, there is a certain risk associated that you must accept,"

Jason stopped even pretending to work, just listening to their conversation. 

"I don't allow them to. If I tried to forbid them from doing so, they would disregard my orders altogether and form a vigilante group of their own. At least this way, I can mitigate some of the risk,"

"I suppose you're right. The children do 'yearn for the cape', as they say," Alfred chuckled, "I'm certain they could outsmart you, if they put their heads together."

"Don't tell them that," Bruce muttered. 

"Seconded," Jason added dryly, "They're already insufferable," 

Bruce's shoulders tensed, his eyes flicking to Jason. For anyone else, it would be like jumping three feet in the air and screeching in surprise. 

Jason gave a half-hearted smirk, "Better brush up on those observation skills, huh?" 

Alfred lit up, "Ah, Jason, come join us, my boy," 

Jason couldn't say no to Alfred. He plopped down beside them and continued his tinkering, resigned to the awkwardness surrounding him and Bruce. 

"I thought I was going to have to lock you two in a cell to get you in the same room together," Alfred smiled dryly.

Bruce gave him a side-eye, “Just when I thought you couldn’t terrify me any more,”

"But I didn't, did I?"

"How benevolent of you," Jason deadpanned. 

"Not yet, anyway, the night is still young," Bruce pointed out, twisting open a bottle of military grade adhesive to seal a bit of fraying on the end of the Bat Cape. 

"Don't give him any ideas," Jason said darkly. 

“I don’t see many other solutions, to be quite frank. Both of you are so busy brooding over your lack of connection that you cannot see what is right in front of you,” Alfred admonished,

“Thank god I’m leaving tomorrow,” Jason muttered, teasing. 

Alfred’s eyes twinkled, “You’ll be back, won’t you?”

Jason swallowed hard, popping a new spring into place on his gauntlet, “I don’t know yet,” 

“I see,” Alfred said, carefully neutral in his inflection.  

No one said anything until Bruce broke the silence, “Would you pass me the ruler there?” 

Jason did.

“Thank you, lad.” 

Jason switched to repairing a tear in the outer layer of his jacket, stitching the seam before gluing it in place. 

He realized with a start that he and Bruce were performing the exact same motions and processes, almost perfectly in sync even after all the time that had passed.

 It was then that he remembered that Bruce was the one to teach him this stitch, still the perfect method for repairing the thick fabric of the suits, even after all the time that had passed. 

How much of Jason really came from Bruce? His guidance, his mannerisms, a lot of Bruce had been instilled into Jason even if they weren’t biologically related. 

And that realization was a little too much for him. 

Jason stood abruptly, gathering his things, and left, muttering, “Goodnight,” 

Jason woke to find a furry face centimeters from his own. Alfred the cat stood on his chest, bumping his nose with hers. Gently, Jason pushed her off. 

Wherever the cat ended up, Damian was far off. Sure enough, Jason turned to find Damian asleep on the other side of his massive king bed. The sight of the kid lying there so peaceful and innocent and young made Jason's heart melt. He decided that maybe they could have a lie-in, just this once.  

He laid there until his phone lit up with an incoming call from his second. Jason reluctantly left the room to take the call. 

"What's up?" Jason murmured, slipping into the nearest hall closet to muffle his voice with the door and clothes hanging inside. 

"Good news this time! We've reduced Scarecrow's estimated amount of fear gas by almost 80%." Kat said, sounding a little too proud of herself.

"How did you manage that?" Jason asked slowly. He knew better than to get excited. There had to be a catch. 

"We bribed a few goons to replace the fear gas canisters with helium canisters. Then we destroyed the stuff."

“That’s…incredible,” Jason's eyes narrowed. "Where did you get the cash for this operation?" 

"Uh, well, I was sorta hoping you wouldn't ask," Kat murmured. 

"You didn't get a loan from somewhere, did you?"

"Uhm. Well." 

"Kat. What's the first rule of doing gang business?"

"Don't go into debt." She murmured. 

"And what have you done?" 

"Gone into debt. But you'll have the money soon, we just need to pay back the loan within the week! No interest if we do," She added quickly. 

"How much?"

"Less than five hundred grand. Barely even above two fifty!" 

Jason made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. 

 "Look, we didn't have any other option. And it worked!" 

"Are the Scarecrow goons safe?" 

"They're protected by the Goonion, Scarecrow can't touch them," Kat promised. 

Jason paused for a very long time, processing. Finally, he said, "Ok, ok, this is good. I trust your judgement." 

"I feel like there's a 'but' coming here."

"Nope. I just hope my dumb shit brother pays me on time," Jason slumped against the wall, relieved. Kat was right, maybe there was nothing to worry about. He'd last the week, get the money, and Scarecrow's plan would be foiled, letting them save Gotham with no casualties. 

Kat laughed. "Gimme his name, I'll make sure he does."

The mental image of the five foot tall ball of anger that was Kat threatening Dick made Jason snort. "You know what, I might take you up on that. Speaking of goons, how is everyone at home?”

“They’re alright. Even better now that Scarecrow is less of a threat. I dunno how much longer I can keep the operations up without you, though, they’re starting to get antsy. There’s a rumor going around that you’re secretly dead,” 

At the reminder of his gang, Jason sighed, “Tell them to knock it off,” 

“I will. I gotta go, though, the Leopard gang is waiting on a drop in a few ticks. Keep going, boss, you’re almost done!” 

“Yeah. Almost done,” Jason hung up. 

Why was he filled with a sense of dread? He’d always known he had to return to his old life. For the first few days, it had been a comfort. 

Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

………

 Jason made egg-bake the next morning for breakfast, and this time, there were actually people around to eat his food. 

He had to work to keep the pride and glee off his face when even Damian admitted it was good. 

Later that morning, Batman introduced the plan and indicated everyone's parts and timing, utilizing a digital 3D model of the Gotham Water Filtration Plant for clarity's sake. Jason was a little jealous; he needed a fancy hologram for his own gang debriefs. 

They would arrive in pairs, he explained, and place themselves around the venue in advance over the course of several hours. Then, they would neutralize the tank of fear gas with a custom chemical formula, then ambush Crane and his men when they showed up to start work for the night. 

Jason thought it was a pretty good plan. There wasn't nearly enough shooting involved for his taste, but seeing as it was a Bat plan, that particular criticism wouldn't go over very well. 

Batman made an effort to preserve human life as often as possible. Jason's ideology was that by killing mass murderers, he was preserving a hell of a lot more life than Batman was. 

Jason wanted to grill Bruce about it every time it came up, but he also wanted to make it through the week and collect his money, so he stayed quiet. 

Jason wasn’t due to leave for the next few hours, but decided to warm up with the others anyway. 

“How does one warm up for sniping?” Jason snarked. He waggled his index finger, “Yup, trigger finger is all good.”

“You can help me,” Cass beamed, “Ballet. Have you tried before?”

Jason hesitated, "I took a class, once. A semester for my degree. I'm, uh, not very good.”

Cass’s smile turned a little devious. "There are some lifts I want to try." 

While the others stretched and Dick did some fancy trapeze flip thing, Cass instructed him on where to anchor her. It started off easy enough. Jason caught her in an arabesque and twirled her around. By the end, she was balancing on one of his shoulders, holding one leg above her head in a graceful feat of strength. 

Jason really didn’t have to do much when he was working with someone as adept as Cass. He just had to stand there and not wobble as she moved around him and directed his hands. 

“How come you’ve never asked me to do that?” Duke teased, “I could totally balance you on one of my shoulders,”

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m way stronger, buddy,” Jason ribbed as Cass executed a graceful jump off his shoulder, nearly toppling him over with the force of it. “Geez, warn a guy next time!” 

She just smiled. 

“Pushup contest!” Steph cried as she passed, “We must know who is stronger!” 

“I’m down if you are,” Duke offered.

So Jason assented.

He beat the kid’s scrawny ass by almost twenty pushups. Which, for a person with higher bone density and body mass, was pretty good. 

Duke leaned back on his palms, laughing, “We definitely need a future rematch. When are you coming back to the manor? I need to prep,”

Jason’s face fell, “I, uh, I dunno,”

“Couple weeks?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be back,” Jason said, as chill as he could manage. 

“Oh. Ok.”

Jason gave an awkward nod and fled, going off to collect his gear for the impending mission. 

…..

The Gotham Water Filtration Plant was a multi-story concrete cube of a building a few streets away from the harbor. Jason got to go in through an upstairs window, while most of the others were stuck sneaking in through the sewer. 

Batman, of course, would burst in through the skylight when the time was right 

Tim was tasked with neutralizing the tank of fear gas by pumping an aerosolized polar solution into the tank to change the chemical structure and makeup of the fear gas, thus rendering it harmless.

 At least, that was what he’d said. Jason was half-convinced he was working witchcraft. 

The others were meant to shut off all the water flow happening throughout the plant while Scarecrow and Batman were fighting, so as not to complicate things by putting the city’s water supply at risk. 

Damian was still stuck at home on the comms with Oracle and Alfred. They were chatting about the merits of different kinds of bread as Jason got into position with his sniper rifle in the rafters. His job was to shoot Scarecrow somewhere non-lethal when the gas was fully neutralized, as to make him easier to catch and put in Arkham. 

Eventually, Scarecrow wandered out onto the main floor of the Water Filtration Plant, where goons and scientists already gathered. A massive metal tank took up most of the space. If he squinted, he could see Tim crouched on top of it, pumping neutralizer into the valve. 

Someone had started a smoke machine, shrouding the place in fog that reflected the flickering green overhead lights. 

"That's Scarecrow for you," Jason muttered, "always so extra with his special effects." 

The vigilante’s name was Batman, for goodness' sake. How could he be scared of dark, foggy places? 

Right on time, Batman crashed through the skylight, sending a rain of glass clinking over the metal grates and pipes across the space. 

Scarecrow’s stitched mask turned to face him, “Batman,”

Batman growled out, “Scarecrow,”

Jason zoned out as Scarecrow started monologuing (as the villains often did), Batman interjecting every so often to keep him distracted. A wave of goons was sent to fight him, but Batman picked them off easily, never requesting backup.

Then, over the comms, Tim gasped out, “Oh, fuck.”

“What? What is it?” Oracle demanded. 

“The neutralizer isn’t working as fast as we hoped,” 

“How long?” 

Tim took another long breath, “Another hour at least. We underestimated the air pressure in the tank,”

“Dammit, we need the gas neutralized before we make a move,” Oracle muttered, “If we leave the neutralizer connected, will it continue to work?”

“It should, yeah,”

“Ok, new plan,” Oracle announced, “We need to get Scarecrow in custody ASAP, then keep the site contained until the last of the gas is neutralized,”

“Permission to fire?” Jason rolled his eyes even as he said it, but he didn’t want to risk getting kicked out now, when he was so close. 

Batman growled out, “Hold.” 

On the floor, Scarecrow was finishing his monologue, “...and so, Batman, I am going to show this city what it truly means to fear, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me! Any moment now, this tank of fear gas along with my stores across the city will disperse into the air and the water of every Gotham citizen!” 

“Are the lower levels secure? All water pathways locked down?” Oracle asked over the comms,

“The hydraulic tunnel sealing system broke down, we’re trying to fix it now, but we don’t know if we’ll be able to seal the plant like we wanted,” Duke explained, “We need more time,”

“Shit,” Jason breathed. They needed more time, but there was no way they could stall Scarecrow for long enough to keep him from releasing his fear gas. Many of Crane’s stores across the city had been destroyed, but the largest tank was still mostly intact. He could do considerable damage, especially if they couldn’t protect the Gotham water supply. 

Crane brandished a release remote for the tank of fear gas, shouting something about the simple nature of man. He looked seconds away from releasing the tank into the city. 

“That’s fucking it,” Jason snarled under his breath. They wouldn’t let him fire? Fine, then, he was going to help some other way. 

Jason fired his grapple gun and hooked around the rafter above Crane. Jason lowered himself to the floor by his grapple line, kicking Scarecrow squarely in the back of the head with a thunk. Crane dropped the remote, and the goons rushed forward to aid him.

Every one of Scarecrow’s goons wore a gas mask, which was less than helpful when Jason was trying to knock them all unconscious. Jason lost himself in the push and pull of the fight, covering Batman’s flank so the man could swipe Scarecrow’s release remote. 

Nightwing charged into the fray at some point, and the three of them fought with skillful ferocity. 

At some point, Crane got up and ran off into the back rooms of the plant, Batman just a few seconds behind in his pursuit. 

With the entire batclan there to help, the goons didn’t stand a chance. Most of them surrendered within a few minutes, and the stupid ones who didn’t went down soon after. 

Batman returned to the main floor of the filtration plant, face grim, “Well done. Almost all of the fear gas is neutralized, and we’ve successfully prevented, or at least postponed a large scale attack on Gotham.”

“Status on Scarecrow?” Nightwing asked. 

“Crane escaped into a sewer passage. I will continue to search for him, the rest of you may head back if you wish.” 

“Allow me to accompany you, Batman,” Damian said quickly. 

Batman gave him a once-over, then assented, clearly satisfied with his assessment of Robin’s physical condition. 

The rest of them headed back to the cave. Jason was pretty sure everyone was accounted for, so he chucked off his gear and headed to his room to pack up. 

It was his last night. He was so close to securing the help Crime Alley so desperately needed. 

Not even ten minutes later, Dick walked right into his room without knocking, closing the door behind him a little too forcefully. "Did you really tell Duke that you're not coming back?" 

Jason didn't look at him, collecting his things from around the room to shove them back into his bag. "Something like that, yeah," 

"What? Why would you say that?"

"I wasn't gonna lie to him,"

"So after tomorrow, you're, what, gonna fuck off for the rest of time?" Dick snapped. 

"What's it matter to you? I've fulfilled my end of the bet." 

"Is that all this was to you? A quick way to make some cash?" 

"What else would it be?" Jason spat, "Did you actually think a week together would fix everything? That I would just come home and stay forever?"

"Staying forever and keeping in contact are two very different things," Dick shot back, "Forgive me for thinking you cared enough to come back sometime."

"You all were doing fine before I got here, and you'll be fine after I leave. Whatever thing you guys have going on here, I'm no part of it,"

"How am I supposed to break this to everyone else? To Damian? To Alfred?"

Jason spoke through gritted teeth, his temper stretching like an overfilled water balloon about to burst. "Dick, nobody wants me here. They'll realize that soon enough," 

"Are you shitting me right now? It's so obvious that they love you. That I love you. Isn't that enough?" 

"Then why didn't you reach out before now?" Jason finally shouted, shaking with suppressed rage and hurt, "You wanna know the real reason I never came back? Because nobody ever invited me. I came back from the dead and I thought nobody even fucking cared!" 

Dick scoffed, "We tried to contact you, but you never responded. Do you have any idea what lengths I went to just to get you here? I got stabbed by a common thug so you would hear me out and dragged myself to your safehouse---"

Jason reeled back, "You got stabbed just so I would hear you out? You did that shit on purpose?"

"That's how much we needed you back,"

“No, no, you got yourself stabbed to manipulate me, we are not glossing over that,”

Dick winced, “When you say it like that, it sounds bad,”

Jason could only gape.

“Let me put it this way, would you have come otherwise?”

“That makes it worse!” 

Dick approached him slowly, reaching out to placate him with a hand on his shoulder, “It’s been so wonderful to have you back in the family, I just thought maybe you—”

“Stay the fuck away from me!” Jason grabbed his bag, half-packed even as it was, and bolted for the door. 

“Jay, wait–!” 

Jason refused to respond, flying down the stairs two at a time and heading for the cave. He knew he had more than six hours left of the bet, but he would figure that out later. For now, he needed to get out of there. 

How could he have been so stupid? He'd allowed himself to grow complacent. To become so lonely that he couldn't see past the kindness handed to him.  Why did he ever think he could trust Dick? How could he have trusted any of them?

Jason was thankful to find the cave empty as he darted through it, grabbing just his helmet and a domino before hopping on his bike and driving away as fast as it would carry him. 

Wind whipped at his exposed skin. Jason shivered. It was strange to be wearing the helmet with civilian garb, but given that he tended to dress in cargo pants and leather jackets anyway, it wasn’t too much of a change. 

Jason couldn’t let his guard down even as the scenery changed from the wooded hills of Bristol to the churning maw of Gotham harbor. If the bats decided to chase him down, he would never truly be safe again. 

As he drove, Oracle’s voice crackled to life over the comms. Jason realized he hadn’t yet disconnected his helmet. 

He was about to do so when he finally processed the words Oracle was saying, "Red Robin must’ve left without telling anyone. One tracker is still online, the embedded microchip. He’s returned to the filtration plant. Red Hood, you’re closest," 

Batman had them all microchipped? Was Jason microchipped too?

But that wasn't the thing to focus on. RR was missing, and Crane was still loose. That pointed pretty solidly to kidnapping. Being kidnapped sucked generally, but being at the mercy of Jonathan Crane was one of the most terrifying experiences Jason could imagine. 

Jason swung his bike around in a wide arc, heading for the Gotham Water Filtration Plant without a second thought. Sure, he was still pissed at Dick. Jason was pissed off at everyone. 

However, he was the closest, he had the best chance of rescuing Red Robin. 

He could only hope that, unlike Batman years ago, he would make it there in time. 

Chapter Text

Jason arrived at the Plant in record time, burning rubber into the asphalt in his attempt to get there as fast as possible. 

Jason, being himself, took no time to think before bursting in the Water Filtration Plant’s front doors. Red Robin's wrists and ankles were bound, and he knelt before Scarecrow, who towered over him. Goons surrounded them on all sides.

Jason cursed, wishing he had brought his real guns. He managed to take out most of the goons in a few seconds with his dart guns, but by then, Scarecrow had a knife to Tim's throat. 

"Put down your gun, Big Red," Scarecrow snarled, "Or he gets it," 

Jason knew he should bluff, pretend that Tim meant nothing to him. Or else he should execute a clever maneuver to get Tim out of danger. But Jason couldn't bring himself to risk Tim's safety. So he dropped his weapon.

"Remove your helmet," Scarecrow commanded. 

"Hood, don't!" Red Robin shouted,

"I've hurt you before. I'm not making that mistake again." Jason was thankful once again for the domino mask he wore underneath his helmet. He yanked the helmet off. 

"Drop it," 

Jason hesitated. 

Scarecrow squeezed Tim, pressing the knife into the soft flesh between his chin and the high neck of his suit, "Drop it," 

Jason pulled it off and dropped it on the concrete floor with a clunk. He approached slowly, hands held up in surrender, "I've come with an offer," 

"Oh?"

"A trade. Me for him. Let Red Robin go and I'm all yours," 

"Done," Crane agreed instantly. He shoved Red Robin to the ground as the four remaining goons swarmed to Jason, holding him in place, "Right this way." 

Hood whispered to Red Robin as he passed, "Go get help, they're on their way," 

"No, I'm not leaving you,"

"Go," Jason hissed, “I have a plan,”

He did not, in fact, have a plan. But Red Robin scrambled away anyway, so it was a win in his book. 

An ominous feeling began in his chest as the goons led him down a dark hallway that ended in...a lab?

"Oh, I've wanted to get my hands on you for so long," Scarecrow declared. 

Jason was beginning to think he made the wrong decision as the goons began to strap him to a table with thick leather restraints.  "Why?" 

Scarecrow balked at Jason, "Why? Why? I invested millions in my newest generation of fear gas and you took it all from me! You destroyed everything I built! You and that pesky gang of yours,”

Jason paled. Had he charged right into Scarecrow’s trap?

Would Batman and the others even come back for him? Maybe they would take Tim and run, leaving him to his fate. 

Scarecrow continued, “But you know what, I don't mind. No, Hood, I don't mind at all. All I care about is that you have given me the greatest gift I could ask for: You,” 

Jason's chest was caving in. This could not be good. "I'm not special, Crane, I'm not fucked up like you."

"I beg to differ. Your tolerance for fear gas is---" he licked his lips with a disgusting slurping noise, "---extraordinary."

He tried to lean away, but Scarecrow gripped his face to hold it steady with one hand, long dirty nails digging into his flesh. A long needle pierced the thick flesh of his neck, and a huge syringe of green liquid was pushed into his system. 

Within seconds, Jason's heart and breathing were accelerating, though whether that was from the fear toxin or the expectation of it was beyond him. 

Distant laughter sounded, feral and echoing off the decrepit walls. Scarecrow's and Joker's laughs mixed in his head until they became one. 

When nothing else happened for a few seconds, Scarecrow growled, "It's not working fast enough! Someone fetch me a blade."

Jason could do nothing but writhe as Scarecrow stabbed him in the arm and twisted, letting a stream of blood flow, hot and thick against his skin. 

Jason was convinced this was the end. This was how he died. Abandoned by everyone in his life. Again. 

“That should speed up the absorption a little,” He purred, “Mmmm, how I love the smell of fear,”

Moments later, Willis was there too. He swung a freshly severed head over Jason, letting gore and guts drip onto his face and down his throat until he was drowning in it. Was that...oh, fuck, the head was Tim. 

"Look, what you've done now, boy," Willis snarled. 

Jason couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. His brain was a water balloon overfilling and about to pop. 

Blood dripped from his body, but he couldn't tell what was his own and what was from elsewhere. 

His skin shuddered and convulsed. Jason squirmed, but the restraints held firm. They started to cut into his skin, but instead of blood, this time spiders burst free, hundreds of them with tiny bodies and long legs poured from him. Damian was standing over him somehow, too, slicing off one of Jason's ears while singing one of Talia's lullabies. 

Dick was behind him, was he---yeah, he was bleeding out. 

All of his siblings were there, dead or dying or trying to kill him. Alfred looked on, too. 

Kat was seated on the table next to him, crying into her hands. It crossed his addled mind that he'd never seen her cry before. Was she even capable of it?

The sounds tearing from his throat were inhuman now, guttural cries of pain and fear. He could smell blood everywhere, iron and cloying against his senses. 

A great crash sounded distantly. 

Scarecrow screamed with rage, "Batman?!"

Something cool and cylindrical pressed against his temple, trembling slightly with the force of his racing pulse. 

"Don't move."

There was shouting and slashing and the scrambling of feet. 

The Joker was still laughing. Ash and marrow swirled in the air around him in a tornado of shadow. 

The cocking of a gun sounded, rhythmic clicking like the countdown of a bomb timer. Jason was in two warehouses at once, two lives being ripped from his body like muscle torn away from bone. 

Jason slipped in and out of consciousness, time passing like the dripping of a rusty faucet, emptiness punctuated with a periodic rush of motion and existence. 

He was shaking like his molecules were going to split apart, his muscles trembling of their own accord. Something punctured his neck, and he felt his grip on reality slipping. 

He blinked and Batman's face hovered above his, "I'm here, lad, it's ok. You're going to be fine," 

"Tim---" Jason slurred. 

A hand carded through his hair, he could only assume it was a last comfort invented by his fractured mind, "Shhh, Tim's fine too. He's at hom---"

An explosion burned the back of his eyelids, sending colors warping through him. 

Jason blinked again and then he was floating. The Gotham sky stared back. He tried to speak, but only disjointed syllables came out. 

His skin was ripping into pieces, dissolving until he became a puddle of quivering muscle and fear toxin. 

I don’t want to die again, no, please—

A breath later, everyone around him was shouting. The world was shaking and growling beneath him. 

Jason felt his consciousness slipping away as his heart fluttered its distress. Something was going to have to give out soon, be it his lungs, his circulation, or his brain. 

He closed his eyes and felt no more. 

Chapter Text

Jason drifted through restless sleep, occasional nightmares trapping him in a hell of his own imagination. 

Over and over, he dreamed that he woke in various places across Gotham, each time facing some new horror. 

Tim was dead. That was the only consistency in every false waking. He had to be. JAson had failed somehow. 

He opened his eyes once more, light searing his retinas. Everything hurt, like he had been placed in the middle of an intersection and been run over by cars from all angles. His shoulder throbbed especially badly. 

When he tried to sit up from where he lay supine, a hand pushed him gently back down. “None of that, thank you. Just relax.” 

“Tim,” Jason rasped, his voice barely audible, “Where’s Tim,” 

“I’m right here.”

Jason blinked, the blurriness clearing somewhat from his vision. He didn’t dare hope, not when every moment could have been invented by his subconscious. 

Then, he realized he was lying on a cot in the Batcave medbay. Tim was at his side, clutching his hand. Alfred was on his other, Bruce next to him. Cass and Steph were asleep on a cot across the room, cuddled up adorably. Dick, Damian, and Duke were playing a board game on the floor a few feet away. 

When they realized he was awake, everyone made their way over, 

It didn’t feel like a fear toxin nightmare; everyone was present and healthy. 

That could only mean one thing. Jason looked to Bruce, searching his face as he croaked out, “You came back for me,”

“Oh, lad,” Bruce breathed. He hesitated, then reached out to cup Jason’s face in a warm palm, a thumb brushing along his cheekbone, “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,”

Jason leaned into the touch, letting his eyes slip closed, “It’s ok. You made it, didn’t you?”

Tim squeezed his hand a little too hard, “You told me you had a plan, you asshole,” 

Jason glanced over to see Tim’s wide eyes filling with tears, “I did. My plan was to get you out alive. You’re welcome,”

“Do that again, and I’ll kill you myself,” Steph said darkly.

“Seconded,” Damian added, arms crossed. Jason could see his eyes were bloodshot. 

“Now, now, you can go after Master Jason once he’s had the chance to recover properly,” Alfred offered a smile, “How are you feeling, my boy?”

“Ouch,” Jason said, eloquent as ever. 

Alfred asked a series of boring medical questions, checked him for a concussion, and then offered him a glass of water. 

As he drank, he made eye contact with Dick, who looked particularly disheveled. Jason wanted so badly to ask about whether he’d won the bet, but didn’t dare in front of the others. Had he been gone longer than six hours?

Wait. 

The Bet. 

His Gang. 

Kat. 

“Fuck! How long has it been?”

“Thirty-seven hours,” Cass replied. 

"And how long was I away from the manor?"

"Not quite six," Dick admitted. 

“Good. Shit! Where’s my phone? I need to make a call.”

“I can grab it,” Duke volunteered. 

“Run,” Jason beseeched him, “This is important.”

Duke nodded and returned thirty seconds later, huffing as he slid out of a dead sprint, handing over the phone. 

Unfortunately, Jason’s hands were shaking too much for him to operate the device, so he let Tim press the call button and put her on speaker. 

Kat answered on the first ring, "Hood?"

"Hey, Kat," he croaked out. 

"Oh my god, what happened to you?" She gasped, "What did your fucking family do?" 

The rest of the family exchanged looks between themselves. 

"Scarecrow got me," Jason said simply. 

"Are you ok?"

"I'm alive? I think?" 

"He'll be up and running again soon," Dick promised, rolling his eyes at the dramatics. 

"Is that your asshole brother? God, I hate him already, he sounds so fancy."

Jason barked out a laugh at Dick's expression, "Yeah, that's him,"

"Give your brother the goddamn money you promised him! He has a loan he needs to pay off before the end of the day," Kat shouted at Dick. 

"She took out the loan to help our operation," Jason stipulated.

"It's your gang, wise guy. Your gang, your loan,"

"Fine."

"Master Dick, who did you promise money to?" Alfred raised an eyebrow.

Jason said hurriedly, "I'll call you back later, Kat,"

"Can I get a timeline on when you'll be back in the Alley?"

"Next few days. I'll get back to you soon, just gimme a minute,"

"Ok, don't die!" She said cheerfully. 

Jason hung up and before anyone said anything else, declared, "It was his idea!"

"He agreed to it!" Dick defended. 

"What did you do?" Bruce asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the med bay counter. 

"I kinda, sorta, made a bet with him," Dick muttered, "that he couldn't last a week in the manor with all of you. If he won, I promised him 500k," 

"That's genius," Tim sighed, "Why didn't I think of that?"

Steph took immediate offense, "We're not that bad!"

Jason ignored them, "Don't forget to tell them how you managed to propose it to me in the first place,"

Dick sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck, "I got stabbed and went to his safehouse for aid," 

"On purpose. He got stabbed on purpose," Jason clarified.

"It's the only way I could get him to hear me out!" 

"That's super fucked up," Duke commented. 

Alfred didn't bother correcting his language. "Indeed."

"I got him here, didn't I?"

"It has been nice," Cass said hesitantly, 

"Because Dick paid him to be nice, probably," Steph rolled her eyes.

"Ok, first, he didn't pay me off, it was a bet and I won," Jason corrected. He tried to cross his arms, then remembered the IV and let them drop back to the bed, "And the only conditions were that I went to dinner and didn't get kicked out,"

"You only came back because of a moronic wager?" Damian's expression was as hard and breakable as glass.

Jason realized his mistake, "No, Dami, I---" 

But Damian was already on his way out. 

Jason swore under his breath. 

Duke sidled forward, sitting cautiously on the edge of the bed. "When you said you wouldn't be back, is that what you meant? You only intended to be back for the week and take off again?" 

Jason nodded, not looking at him. 

Duke plowed forward, "Do you think you might be open to coming back anyway?" 

"I'm not sure anybody else in your household would be very fond of that idea," Jason said delicately. 

"We need to have another batkid council. To the lounge, everyone," Tim announced, then, when Dick started to rise, he added, "not you."

Everyone but Dick, Alfred, and Bruce left the room. 

Bruce turned to Dick, his face impassive, "A word, please," 

Jason barely resisted the urge to say oooh someone's in troubleeee as they left. The bastard deserved it. 

Then Allfred came to sit beside him and Jason grew sheepish once more. "Are you angry?"

"I am not happy about it," Alfred admitted, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze, "But I cannot be too angry with you. After all, you came back to us,"

Jason squeezed back. 

"I am, however, quite cross with Master Dick. After your father has finished, I daresay I will be knocking some sense back into him as well,"

Jason grinned, rather vindicated by the whole thing. Then, there came a crash above them, and he remembered that his siblings were currently attempting to decide his fate, "Man, it would be a shame to be banished right after I came back," 

"If your siblings don't come to the correct conclusion, I'm sure I'll be able to help them along," Alfred winked. His ways of passive aggression were legendary, "But I suspect they will. After all, it's not as if you were required to do their chores and indulge their whims,"

"Do you think Damian will come around?" 

"I'm certain of it. Give it time," Alfred assured him, "Though I do suspect an apology wouldn’t hurt," 

"I know, Alf," Jason murmured. He wanted nothing more than to spring up and chase Damian down to explain everything. However, his body wasn't in a good enough shape to do so. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, head pounding from the strain of being awake. 

“Why not have a quick kip?” Alfred patted his knee and rose, “I’ll bring you some soup later this evening,” 

Jason opened one eye to peek up at him, “Chicken and mushroom?” 

Alfred smiled, “I’m sure that could be arranged,”

Satisfied, Jason returned to a much more restful slumber. 

….

He woke hours later to find that Cass, Steph, Duke, and Tim were playing Monopoly, the board kept balanced on his shins as he slept. 

“Don’t trade with him, he’s a cheater!” Steph begged Cass, clutching her property cards close to her chest. 

“I don’t cheat, I just know how capitalism works,” Tim said dryly, rolling a tiny plastic house between his fingers.

“Bro, where did all that money even come from?” Duke added, “Does the game even come with that many five-hundreds?” 

“He constantly keeps his pockets full of Monopoly money on the off-chance he’ll have to play,” Jason ribbed, his voice still a little hoarse from all the screaming. 

Everyone but Cass was surprised to see him awake. 

“Lies and slander,” Tim poked him a little too enthusiastically, causing a few bills of monopoly money to slide out of his sleeve. 

“I fucking knew it!” Steph shouted.

Tim grinned, unabashed, “What can I say? I know how capitalism works,” 

“Oh my god, wait, we just got played so hard,” Duke groaned, flickering in and out of sight in his despair.  

“The true enemy is the corrupted system,” Cass nodded sagely. 

Duke turned to him, “Oh, Jason, by the way, the sibling council decided you can stay,” 

“Gee, thanks,” Jason started to roll his eyes, but stopped when it made him dizzy, “When do I get to attend the sibling council meetings?”

“When you accept that you’re a sibling whether you like it or not,” Tim challenged, 

Jason scowled, “Steph gets to go to them, and she’s not a sibling.” 

“I’ve basically married in,” Steph teased, leaning over to kiss Cass’s cheek. 

Alfred strode into the med bay, steaming bowl of soup in hand, “What do you all think you are doing? Your brother needs to rest,”

“We were just playing a board game,” 

“Loudly,” Jason added, trying not to think about how Alfred designated him their brother.

Alfred shooed them all out, then handed Jason his requested soup. It was light and brothy with perfectly cut cubes of chicken and mushroom throughout. Alfred seasoned it with garlic, onion, parsley, and a few red pepper flakes at Jason’s insistence. 

“Alf, this is incredible,” Jason mumbled, discarding the spoon entirely to slurp it from the bowl. 

“Slowly,” Alfred reminded him, “My goodness, you act like we don’t feed you,”

Jason finished the soup within thirty seconds. His tongue was a little burned but it was worth it for the disdain in Alfred’s face. 

Alfred shook his head in mock disappointment, “You always were an impish little child,” 

Jason grinned, “Thanks, Alf,” 

“He never had manners, it is no use trying to teach him now,” A voice piped up from the doorway. 

Jason almost dropped the bowl. “Dami?” 

“Please don’t kill each other,” was all Alfred said before leaving the room, taking the bowl with him. 

“Damian, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. You left me,” Damian said sharply, crossing to his side, “I do not know if I will ever be able to forgive you for that,” 

Jason nodded, trying not to let the hurt show on his face. It was completely reasonable, no matter how much Jason wished he could have his brother back. 

Then, Damian continued. “But I have decided that I am willing to try. If you promise to come back.”

Jason squeezed his shoulder, “I’ll be here every day if you want me to, kid,” 

Damian narrowed his eyes and switched into the tongue used by the League of Assassins, “Do you swear it?” 

“I swear it,” Jason promised. He opened his arms, “C’mere, habibi,”

“If I must,” Damian sighed, climbing up onto the bed next to him, resting his head against Jason’s good shoulder. 

Jason pulled the boy to his chest, enveloping him in a hug just like he’d long to do since he’d arrived. 

Damian eventually fell asleep against him, Jason dozing off as well. 

At least, until his dumbshit brother woke him up with his footsteps. 

“I’m—” Dick began.

“Wake Damian and you’re dead,” Jason whispered, glaring at Dick with the rage of a thousand suns.

“Oops,” Dick lowered his voice, “I wanted to apologize, I’m really sorry—”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Are you gonna let me finish?” 

Jason nodded begrudgingly. 

“I shouldn’t have gotten myself stabbed so you would listen to me. Thanks for not letting me bleed out, by the way. I thought it was the only way to get you to listen, but I was wrong to go so far without trying to talk to you first.”

“You are a manipulative bastard,” Jason agreed. 

“I meant everything I’ve said to you this week. The others didn’t know about my batshit plan. We really do like having you around, so I hope that even if you can’t forgive me, you won’t be too angry with them.” 

Jason rolled his eyes, “Don’t be stupid.”

“What?” 

“You’re a scheming, machiavellian little twat. A well-meaning one, though,” Jason said gruffly, “I can’t be that mad at you. Only because you made Alfred happy, and nobody else got hurt.” 

“You got hurt,” Dick looked at him so sadly, so gently, that it broke Jason’s heart a little. It was like watching a puppy get punted. 

“That was my own fucking fault, ok? But I’m gonna be fine,” Jason shook himself internally, “Anyway, try something like this again, and I really will let you bleed out. No more pity scrambled eggs for you,” 

Dick offered a half smile, “Aw, darn, there go my weekend plans,”

Jason flipped him off, but didn’t protest when Dick climbed up next to him and Damian, who was mercifully still asleep. 

“Are you gonna wire me that money?” Jason asked, suddenly remembering that Kat needed to pay off that loan by sundown. 

“You don’t want it in one dollar bills?” Dick teased. 

“You know what, I’ll give you Kat’s account numbers, just send the five hundred grand to her.” 

“Right now?” 

“Wha—yes, right now, you imbecile,” Jason didn’t stop harassing him until Kat texted that she had received the payment and was about to pay off the loan.

They laid in silence for a few moments before Dick asked, “So…do you think you’ll be able to make it back?” 

“Next weekend, maybe. I need a few days to sort out everything in the Alley. That is, if you let me leave,” Jason muttered, only half joking. 

“Only if you promise to come back and see us."

Jason gave an exasperated sigh, even as Dick tucked closer into his side, “I promise.”