Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

September, 200X

Darlingest Brucie,

It’s me, God, you’re going to hell. Just kidding, it’s good ol’ Red, Redd ‘n’ Reddie.

This was inevitable. I mean, seriously, you snatch a crusty kid off some dusty alley named after crime and then have the galls and balls to be shocked when they are killed or kill or have any proximity to killing. Wow, Sherlock, so called Greatest Detective, Helen Keller could see and hear this coming.

Nevertheless, consider this a warning. A dark proclamation of a six-foot man from six feet under:

I’m going to college. I need $100,000.

P.S. Kindly refrain from informing the other groin spawns of this update. Talia will kill me, and I’ll be dead. Again. And coffins are so last year.

xoxo, J.

Alfred was smiling in the way he usually does—he wasn’t. Bruce has the butler’s language downloaded in his genetic coding and the way Alfred was peering down, smile lines more prominent than usual, eyes slightly watery and crinkled at the sides, arms empty of a tray carrying seemingly unlimited finger foods—

Alfred was laughing, almost hysterical. At him, not with him. The worst possibility.

“I take it you’ve read this.”

“Of course, Master Bruce. If I do not illegally open all of your mail, who will?”

Bruce, the forever law-abiding citizen, ignored the confession and pinched his nose bridge, or at least attempted to instinctively, only for the massive cowl he donned to get in his way.

Jason was always a dramatic soul but mentioning his extra-curricular hobby of murder and then college in a subsequent paragraph had Bruce leaning towards his wine cellar.

Instead, he opened a side drawer and reached for his chequebook.

It’s better to not question Alfred, he has learned, but the urge was poking him and Bruce had never been able to control himself when it came to his second eldest. “I also take it that you’ve known about this. For a while.”

“If you define ‘a while’ as two minutes ago, then yes, you’d be correct. Well done, Master Bruce, amazing deduction.”

“Oh, don’t you start.” Bruce sighed, signing and ripping the page claiming Mr Bruce Wayne gifts $1,000,000 to—

“Wait, did he—”

“His updated P.O Box, account information, and brand-new name are on the back, sir.”

“Ah, of course.” All boxes ticked to limit their interaction.

Alfred hummed and Bruce recognised it as his ‘you have made a mistake, and I refuse to elaborate’ hum. “What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, sir. I was simply under the wrong impression that you knew there were five zeroes required in a hundred thousand. My apologies.”

If a gust of wind somehow struck the underground bat-cave, Bruce’s eyes would permanently face the back of his head with how strong his eyeroll managed to be. “Yes, I’m aware, Alfred. If he asks, though yells is more likely, blame my clumsiness, my drunkenness, or my lack of sleep. The usual.”

Alfred wiped a speck of dust—or maybe it was dandruff, if you count the state of the Riddler’s appalling hair—and smoothly placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “He won’t mind.”

“He minds everything I do.” Bruce pouted and it must’ve looked very odd for fridge-built Batman to puff out his cheeks in immaturity but around Alfred he never cared. The man changed his diapers, he’s seen everything and more.

When he didn’t immediately reply, Bruce turned slightly to see Alfred clearly mentally counting to five. Bruce internally slumped.

Of course, Alfred took Jay’s side, he always takes Jason’s side.

Bruce ignored the voice in his head eerily resembling Tim that he was being more childish than Damian.

“Master Bruce, he wouldn’t complain, per se. Just anger for a moment and move on. Who would remain mad with that obscene amount?”

Bruce bit his tongue. Jason always hated when he indulged in wealth, never hesitating to warn the older man that he was fortunate enough to be his foster parent, or else he’d call him a big boob and hit him with a tyre iron for a second time due to his out of touch spending. Forever his little privilege checker, Bruce laughed once at his antics and Jason tripped him in public for that, shrieking due to Bruce’s apparent ‘gaslighting and condescension’, vocab courtesy of his sociology lessons.

Bruce was just happy he was passionate about engaging in learning, in or out the classroom.

“Speaking of classrooms,” Alfred interrupted, and Bruce added another point to the billboard in his mind palace that Alfred can in fact read minds, “it seems he intends to attend Gotham University. Oh, how wonderful.”

Yeah, it was amazing, if you didn’t know Jason. He’d always wanted to leave Gotham, leave America even, and gift a prestigious university like ETH Zurich, Edinburgh, even Tokyo with his ambitious mind. One of Bruce’s fondest memories is of a random gala, watching wearily as Jason loudly argues the infamous Oxbridge debate with a business partner alumni, whose look of both politeness and infuriation still makes Bruce giggle at every board meeting.

So, no, it wasn’t that wonderful. Especially with the letter name-dropping one of Bruce’s deadly evil exes.

“But what does Talia have to do with this? Why didn’t he ask her for money? Is she blackmailing him again? Or Damian, does this have to do with Damian? What am I saying, it’s Talia. It smells like something has to do with Damian. Can you smell it too?”

Alfred’s nose tilted higher in the air, and then down to the letter, and then a hand lightly smacked Bruce’s cowl. “Absolute nonsense. All I can smell is a few days-old parchment and my pot roast waiting for you in the dining room, which grows colder and lonelier every second. Now, stop your mental marathon and join us at once.” Alfred smoothly made his way out of the cave, but not before adding, “And please take a shower. It smells like you’ve had a tussle with Mr Croc in our unfortunate city sewers.”

Bruce, knowing when he has lost an argument, grabbed the makeup wipes to begrudgingly remove his black eyeshadow. He heard the pitter patter of footsteps faintly above, identifying Damian and Tim followed by a hyper Ace. Bruce smiled, glad that Damian had grown out the phase of demanding Bat-Cow a plate at family dinner.

If Jason didn’t want his younger brothers to know of his intentions, then that’s fine. But he never mentioned anything about the dog, so Bruce mentally scheduled time with the family hound—they really were a man’s best confidant, though he’d never tell Selina. He had begun to value his life, after all.

Bruce would do what he has always tried to—let Jason live.

2 DAYS EARLIER

One usually wondered how to prevent tragedies before they commence. One looks before they leap, keeps enemies as close as their lungs, bring sniper rifles to knife fights… but one must be a normal, blessed individual to have such naivety.

Survival isn’t something you prepare for. It’s like improv, in a way. Your world is your stage, but you control the script instead. Your birthday suit is the actor, and your brain is the playwright, and ‘to be or not to be’ isn’t the question you ask. The question you ask is—

“Can we do this tomorrow?”

Jason crossed his arms in the tiny chair the LOA lovingly gifted him. And by gifted, Jason meant thrown through his window one night with an obscene pink bow and pathetic confetti. It’s neon green with yellow legs and red handles and inscribed on the chair’s back is his date of Lazarus resurrection with the quote ‘the day hell gained alumni’.

Jason focused on the fact that he earned himself a bench dedication, for his thin sanity.

The random soap opera blaring from his TV screen stared back at him in disbelief. “No, Jason. Tomorrow is Monday.” The character—Gabriella, Jason’s secret favourite—informs in routine tiredness.

Jason failed to see the issue. If the worlds going to end, it might as well happen on a Monday. Cherry on the cake if during peak rush hour and especially in September.

“But why? I haven’t done anything wrong!” In the past two weeks, at least.

“Exactly. You haven’t done anything wrong or right. You’ve turned slow and lazy. Your skills have begun a steep decline, your plans are either non-existent or so foolish that I’m reminded harshly of your parentage—”

Jason didn’t want to ask who is being referred to when it comes to parentage. “Okay, but genuinely, I’ll do anything. I’ll polish Shiva’s shoes, I’ll be a loser background character in Damian’s winter recital, I’ll drink the green slop after Ra’s takes his yearly bathe. Please, Tails.”

No response. The TV didn’t miraculously change to a news channel with anchors giving awkward nods, or to football teams delight in celebration. No indication at all that Talia’s budging.

This is it, Jason realised. His true death.

“Stop being so dramatic, child.” Talia’s voice reverberated from glitchy static, Gabriela mirroring Jason’s position by lounging on a sofa as she lip-synced, differing through good posture, less blood stains, overall better sanitation, and a serene look of apathy rather than Jason’s cloud of gloominess. “Many would consider you lucky for this opportunity. Your younger self included.”

September’s eclipse on summer drew too quickly for Jason’s liking. Longer nights meant higher light bills and colder air meant greater heat bills. September is the warning for December, which was a whole other problem entirely, with jolly holiday cheer shoved down sore throats and blocked noses.

But Jason never thought he would loathe the beginnings of Autumn for this reason. “I can’t go to Gotham U, T. I won’t, I won’t do it.”

“I truly apologise for offering the illusion that you have a choice in this matter. It was quite a struggle, enrolling legally expired identification, so enjoy your new identity, Jason Peters. I definitely will. Make sure to take pictures and smile in a few of them. Farewell.”

The TV turned black. Jason saw his reflection, the bleak backdrop of his old but not yet decorated apartment, the slowly tearing wallpaper, the out of place grandfather clock that hadn’t budged since 1940, his sole remaining punk rock poster.

He never did paint a pretty portrait.

It took all of Jason’s restraint to not hurl the remote at the blocky television with bulls-eye accuracy. He couldn’t afford another one and he’d rather dirty earthworms dig into his ears again than beg for money from Talia.

School. College. Professors and frats and icebreakers and sports and group work and STDs galore. Jason didn’t remember what hell looked like, but he was picturing it quite well, considering it’s a bus ride and twenty minutes on the subway. Gotham U fit the profile of eternal punishment like OJ’s real glove.

He didn’t even know the mission. Talia’s summons were rare but welcomed and that was Jason’s first mistake, entertaining the idea that she was just checking up on his credit score or sending him groceries. She was synonymous with familiar polarity, but this request was so out of character that Jason pinched himself to believe that yes, he was alive and yes, the League of Assassins across the pond gave a bats ass over Gotham’s next generation of job market victims.

Jason wanted to meet his target just to give him a firm pat on the back.

Was this a set up? Definitely. But Talia wasn’t wrong—Jason has learnt very quickly that she never is—he was bored. Social isolation aside, Red Hood’s patrols were relatively peaceful. Of course, there was the usual stabbing, pickpocketing, attempt at kidnapping, and the one or two toddlers pissing on him, but nothing else.

Gotham was a permanent damsel in distress, but she was mild this season. Jason wasn’t bothered much with her anymore, like she was a light itch that sprouts on dry skin every now and then.

Jason knew he was bored simply by the fact that he was comparing home sweet home to eczema.

On many occasions has Jason been tempted to light a warehouse or two on fire just to reignite the chaos she’d reign over the bat-clan. But that was too much effort and resources, and his warehouse stock was wearing thin.

God, he was getting lazy, there was no denying that.

Jason stood up and climbed out his window, flicking some dry paint and making a note to actually invest in a decent habitat, though there was no point anymore. He lit his cigarette and exhaled, watching the puff of chemicals dance in the streetlight and ultimately diffuse. Sirens blared, running shoes scuffled against the sidewalk, drunkards yelled and sobbed.

Jason smiled—his fire escape is an escape in more ways than one. It reminded him that life can always be worse.

And, judging by the first blank page of his new library book being graffitied and sabotaged by coordinates and a time frame in painfully ineligible yet familiar handwriting, Jason was reminded that life always does seem to get worse.

PRESENT DAY

There was a line for the printer and Jason felt violated like he’s leaked on his period.

There was a faint stain of blood splattered on his upper eyebrow, a bluish yellow bruise on his cheekbone, and his white strand acted as a feather duster for his eyelashes, refusing to fall in a conventionally attractive way, leaving Jason annoyed and ugly. The icing on his cake. Too much blood, too much colour, too much dry cleaning needed.

Park Row’s Public Library moonlights as a community centre, food bank, shelter, crocheting club host—which Jason definitely didn’t consider attending—and daycare. Services such as these have always been Jason’s natural habitat when his mum spent a bit too long at the confessional booth down the road.

If Jason had to nominate a peak pillar of Gotham society, there would be no hesitation in his vote, Wayne Industries be damned.

But Jason, with all his lack of memory, didn’t recall it ever being this busy.

“Honey,” a sweet voice interrupted Jason’s laments, “if you frown anymore, the wind will shift, and you’ll be stuck in eternal misery. And who wants that?”

“Don’t you know it’s considered rude to tell people to smile more? Unless I’ve misconstrued the dynamic of our relationship, Miss Kelly.”

He was greeted with a practised unimpressed look.

“Give me a reason to smile and then I’ll change, by all means,” Jason retorted, though his light tone eliminated any intimidation. That, and his helmet hair. He knew he looked like a wet dog but couldn’t seem to muster up the strength to care, especially in the familiar face of Jess, the current matron librarian. She didn’t know him as the desperate and homeless Jason Todd, which was one of the reasons he was friendly with her. That, and she replaced his library cards free of charge whenever he lost them on patrol.

Jason didn’t think he ever qualified for the fluffy wings and halo, but she gave him hope that maybe angels did exist.

“Well, if anything, you should’ve warned me you were turning your life around. Who’s going to be unemployed enough to bother me on my shifts?”

“It’s just school,” Jason mumbled but the words don’t deliver as confidently as Jason intended. Everyone in the tough parts of the world knows that school is never just school, just like jobs are never just jobs, food is never just food, and a roof over your head is never just shelter.

But Jason’s goal for the year wasn’t to achieve emotional intelligence, it’s to complete the mission objective and murk some sons of bitches. Whoever they are.

“I’ve got to say, I’m proud of you. You might put me out of a job, Mr English Major.”

Jason’s expression mirrored his confusion, but Jess just grinned and pointed to his documents, his department’s crest and details on full display behind the transparent wallet.

He chuckled, lifting them up from his chest slightly. “Yeah, well, I’ll be sure to keep you on your toes. Can’t get too comfy with a gig like yours.”

“You’ll linger alright.” She replied and with a comforting pat on his arm, walked to her desk, leaving Jason to his boring enrolment errands. The dude in front of Jason finally finished scanning whatever massive stacks he had, and Jason made his way toward the machine, setting the papers down to fax them off to Gotham University.

Registering for school in the first quarter of term wasn’t ideal for anyone, not the admissions team or Jason. He knew damn well that Talia could snap her fingers and make someone else do this, but she feeds off of disturbing his routine. Lectures of discipline and independence and laziness echoed in Jason’s ear, and he suddenly felt sick.  

Luckily, a new distraction flipped in front of him. Literally. Jason got a face full of legs and arms and torso and wondered how on earth Dick managed to cartwheel in a cramped place like this and, more importantly, how he gets away with it every time.

“One delivery for a Mr Jason, courtesy of a Mr Alfred and associates.” Dick smiled, all pearly whites on display, and Jason heard the swoons of the single parents in the library trying to stop their kids from poking the outlets.

Dick had always been worthy of his name. He can never go anywhere without being the point of orbit, the sun that the lowly planets move and dance around like a king laughing at the jesters. Jason was his first victim in the lineage of pretender brothers but even after all this time, Golden Boy still perched on the nerve Jason has named after him.

“What are you doing here?” Jason managed to grumble out, shoving Dick out of the way to reach the machine. He quickly gathered his papers and scanned them, hoping to whichever angel that was bored enough to listen to him that Dick understands this is private, unimportant, and has nothing to do with him.

Dick failed to see Jason’s panic thankfully as he was too occupied in ruffling through his duffle bag, humming some lullaby to himself. Whatever he was looking for was buried deep underneath and, considering his choice of outfit being a black and blue tank top and shorts with worn out trainers and an awful headband, Jason used common sense to conclude he just came from the gym. Dick’s awful stench of sweat sealed the deal, but it appeared that only Jason was turned off by it. Almost everyone was staring at Dick, like his B.O was some pheromone used to attract mates.

Maybe it was, who knows. Sounds like a genetic trait precious Richie would have.

“Aha!” Dick rejoiced after a minute or so, but Jason was already halfway towards the door. Dick ran up to him and Jason cursed internally at his decline in stealth. He used to be so good at being unnoticed, uninvited, and all around ignored, especially when it came to his older brother and he wished for nothing more than for that ability to return.

“Jason, wait!” Dick called out.

“What,” barked Jason, “do you want now?”

“Dude, did you not get my note?”

“I did. I ignored it.”

Dick’s face fell before annoyance etched into his features. “I’ve been waiting for hours!”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Yeah, well, I would’ve, if I didn't catch you here.” Dick explained like Jason was some rare Pokémon sighting. Him wanting to meet up and conveying his desire to do so through shitty notes on Jason’s prized books was nothing new, but Jason knew him. He knew his stupid cop job and stupid Bludhaven and stupid Nightwing took precedent over him, and Dick was always late. Every time, no fail.

Jason wasn’t going to dispute that Dick was willing to wait, because he’s an imbecile who has too much faith in others. Jason cannot relate in the slightest.

“So dramatic.” He chastised but when Dick held out a slip with an engraved crest on the back Jason recognised all too well, he held his complaints back.

He snatched it before Dick could do something moronic like hold it up in the air and wait for him to reach up and grab it, despite Jason being taller. “Why didn’t you open up with this, Dickface? Never mind, I’m in a stellar mood now.”

When he wrote the passive-aggressive letter to Bruce, he giggled the whole time. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but Batman has always been the one person Jason can’t seem to predict. Jason obviously can’t afford tuition fees and thought that maybe he’d be a good fake son for once and let Bruce live out his fatherly wet dream of paying for a kid’s college.

God knows Jason is the only one going to attend, with the direction the younger ones are heading, and Dick would never stoop so low as to go to school when he already has straight A’s in being perfect.

Dick laughed confusedly at Jason’s switch, “I actually have no clue what it is. I mean, duh, money, but you get so prissy whenever we offer you anything. So, what’s the occasion?”

“My wedding,” Jason deadpanned, but Dick didn’t budge, not that Jason expected him to.

“How much did you get? You can tell me that, at least.”

“It should be the exact market price for a nuclear grenade launcher that blows up the whole planet…” Jason trailed off as he opened the cheque. He stared at it for a moment, his software rebooting before flipping the numbers towards Dick. “I know I never got my GED, but I don’t remember my math being this bad. What’s that number?”

Dick’s expression soured at Jason’s self-deprecation but sighed, squinting to examine the cheque, “That’s a million, little wing. I didn’t realise weapons of mass destruction were that cheap—”

“Cheap? What the fuck! I didn’t ask for this much, that asshole!”

“Hey!” Dick interjected, “Don’t call Alfred that.”

Jason was in ever more disbelief. “Alfie?”

“Yeah, he gave this to me, I told you.”

Jason’s confession that he tunes out half the drawl that crawls out of Dick’s mouth was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it down, not wanting Dick to take it as motivation to double his talking to him.

“I’m nothing but a peasant messenger for royalty. So, don’t shoot. You know the quote, of course you do.” Dick continued and it got quiet for a beat before Jason looked down at the obscene wealth concentrated into a tiny signature.

This will never be normal to him.

Dick grabbed his attention with a quick pat on the arm and softened his face. Being a great empath, he finally noticed that Jason was upset. “Don’t be overwhelmed, Jaybird, just be… whelmed. While I don’t see the issue considering that no one tells me anything anymore, if you need a shoulder, you know where to find me, okay?”

Jason was about to tell Dick that he had two shoulders that worked just fine but was instead surprised that Dick didn’t pry for more, watching as he strut out of the library, the swoons of Gotham’s public following him. Everyone knew the great Dick Grayson-Wayne, heir to the Prince of Gotham title, and it looked like he just gave a massive amount of money to some loser homeless guy who needed a wardrobe change.

A perfect exit for a perfect person.

“Whelmed.” Jason scoffed, “Never makes sense.”

It turned out to be a great idea that Jason never bothered to build his life back up again as all his assets and wealth fit into two cardboard boxes.

When applying for dorm rooms, Jason found out there was no need. Talia had taken initiative to do so, for some reason, applying on his behalf for an en suite at a separate university provided house, with three other roommates.

He didn’t know who his roommates were just yet, only their names, but that’s a pandora’s box he was willing to open on site.

Jason would be touched by Talia looking out for him if he didn’t figure the reason why she did so is that he needed a private bathroom to patch up his wounds freely and spaces were running thin.

Jason trudged into his main space with the second box and placed it gently on the floor. Looking around, Jason wondered why he didn’t feel… well, anything.

This shitty apartment was his shitty apartment, after all. Pre-dating the beginning of the end (greed for the batmobile’s tires) but also commencing the end of childhood (his mom’s sickness) Jason thought he should do something for commemoration.

 A new, dreaded chapter was starting and that’s what average people do for college.  Maybe he should shed a few tears, have a beer for old time’s sake, even leave a housewarming gift to the poor fool he’s renting this place to for the year.

But sentimentality rots logic and he won’t allow himself attachment. Anyone who ties themselves to cursed objects will share the same fate, Jason has learnt. It only took him having to be buried to get it drilled into his thick skull, but it’s wisdom he doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon.

The landline rung suddenly. Jason was glad to know it still worked—he wouldn’t know considering no one called him and he barely remembered the number for it—and he bent down to answer, the long black string twirled into his fingers subconsciously.

Jason was in the habit of not answering the phone instantly. It was something the bat instilled in him, a preventative measure against an enemy that might use his voice for nefarious reasons, and Jason thought it far-fetched at the time, but now he was prepared for anything.

“Good morning!” A chipper voice bellowed in Jason’s ear, causing him to wince. “Is this the residency of one Jason Peters?” The voice cracked at the end of the sentence and Jason couldn’t tell if it was from his shitty service or the other guy’s shitty service, in more ways than one.

Jason distanced his ear from the speaker and drooped for a moment, his fight or flight activated from the enthusiastic, for lack of better term, tone that erupted his eardrums. How was this person so ecstatic in the early hours of the morning? He sounded like an eight-year-old with the caffeine intake of a nine-to-five corporate slave.

“Um, yeah. This is he. Who is this—”

“Excellent!” The voice cracked again. Puberty had clearly not finished its round with this guy. “Welcome to Gotham University! I’m Ted Evans, one of the deputy heads of our lovely Student Union, president of the Maze Machina Robotics society, and proud member of the English Department! And, you lucky son of a gun, your father figure!”

Ever since he was gifted with a tongue, Jason was rarely silent. With a young Robin’s charm and snark from the narrows of Crime Alley, he always had a comeback, something witty to say.

There was absolutely nothing he could contribute to this call except an intelligent sounding, “Huh?”

“Don’t get too hyper on me now,” the voice carried on with possibly even more vigour, “I’ll meet you later today, don’t you worry! I just wanted to get in touch with you right before your special move in, you know, answer some quick-fire questions, soothe any concerns, get you in touch with the finest piece of action this city offers.”

There was a moment of peace before Jason realised this Ted person was waiting for him to reply, “Ah, yeah, um, what do you mean by piece of action?”

“Me, of course!” Ted cackled and Jason regretted opening his eyes from slumber, “I won’t keep you for too long, I know how much stuff you need to pack, any teary goodbyes that need to be made with the old folks.”

Jason awkwardly huffed. “Yeah, don’t I know it.”

“Silly, you don’t know the half of it. Anything you wanna ask me?”

“Yeah, actually, I do,” Jason’s brain finally caught up with what just happened in the last thirty seconds and needs clarification before he calls Talia with a resignation letter, “Why did you say you’re my… dad? Unless I heard completely wrong.”

“You heard right, my son.” Jason gagged at the thought. He’d take family therapy with Bruce any day over this, “It’s our new tutor programme! Seniors guide the freshmen and, as an honorary fifth year myself, you’re in good hands.”

“Fifth year?” Jason hesitantly asked.

“Yes, well, everyone has to retake a year or two, it’s normal.”

Great. Jason was stuck with a super senior as his university father. Did Talia purposefully arrange this? He had a feeling she was a secret sadist underneath, every Al-Ghul seemed to be, but this had to break a few Geneva conventions.

“Right. Um, I’m gonna end the call now…”

“Okay, great! Oh, and make sure not to piss yourself from nerves. Happens to the best of us. Welp, I’ll see you soon, Jason. Congrats on getting in! Trust me, this is a time you’ll never forget.”

Jason didn’t doubt that for a second. This would definitely be coming up in government mandated therapy sessions.

The landline tone clicked, and a long silent beep was left in the wake of that stunning convo. Jason left it dangling and peered behind him at the pathetic display of his belongings. Two boxes, including the non-expired food he had in the fridge.

Jason would always hear people rave on and on about the sweet college days, where they truly found themselves, when they made life-long friends and partied hard and were hungover at every lecture.

Jason thought that was an average day on the streets, so he was never drawn to that aspect. His social skills were appalling to say the least. Batman and the League didn’t focus much on conversation starters and his lack of companionship with fellow child-heroes like the Titans was a sore spot.

That introduction sounded horrible, but it was one a long time coming. Jason hadn’t talked to anyone his age meaningfully since his rebirth. It would’ve been refreshing, Jason thought, if it were anyone else.

He wasn’t here for mingling or fun, though. He was here to blend in and follow Talia’s orders. She assured him that he’d gain more information soon—most likely communicated in very odd ways but that was how assassins rolled—and that he should, in her own words, ‘go with the flow’.

So, he shall. Who was he to defy her orders?

He climbed out of his fire escape for the last time. The early day greeted him with pigeons flying, pink and orange chemtrails, the hues from his freshly lit cigarette lending him a false sense of ease.

A new dawn. A new mission. Roommates and societies and freshman and normal people without scars like his.

Jason’s chest swelled with dread. This was going to be the worst time of his life.

Chapter Text

Dick showing up to the Wayne Manor and running up to Tim’s room could only mean three things: something’s wrong with Damian, something’s wrong with Bruce, or something is wrong with Tim himself, and he just hasn’t realised it yet.

“Something’s happened.” Dick announced as he crashed onto Tim’s bean bag by the bay window, legs spread haphazardly across the decorative blanket Tim stole from the Drake Manor.

“What a shock.” Tim replied, huddled in his duvet, retainers in mouth and tongue in cheek.

Bruce was patrolling with Damian, leaving Tim to his many devices. Whilst they were out, Tim raided the fridge, spoke to Steph for a little while—listening to her complain somehow always made his problems seem small, although annoying college deadlines aren’t as bad as rogue galleries—and tucked himself into bed, feeling like he deserved an early night.

Obviously, Dick thought otherwise.

“This is serious, Timmy! Imagine Jason… but with a million dollars.”

“Oh.” So, this was about Jason. May he reiterate, what a shock. “He’s a crime lord. A million dollars to him is probably a two-hour shift. Drugs are a very profitable business, he’d know.”

“Tim” Dick said, and his tone conveyed brotherly disappointment, almost admonishing Tim for stating the obvious. A drug dealer would know about drugs, that’s common sense.

Tim was tired, finally in the mindset to rest and relax and have a good time with his dreams and he couldn’t be asked to entertain Dick’s morality policing.

Also, if anyone did, Tim felt as though he had a right to be sarcastic towards the guy who, very publicly, proclaimed his hatred towards him on multiple occasions.

Tim turned in his makeshift cocoon to face his brother, understanding that Dick wasn’t budging. “What do you want me to do about it then?”

“Us, Tim. What I want us to do about it,” Dick corrected as if he’s the spokesperson for communism, “is to hack into Bruce’s bank account and find the reference, which will explain why he gave Jay that much, and what is so important that Jason went to go fax something for university? Fax, Timothy, fax!”

Jason was going to school? Huh, maybe Crane would turn out not to be the worst thing that place produced.

Great, now he’s intrigued as well. “Okay, okay, I get it, relax. Now, get out the way, you’re blocking the moonlight and I wanna tan.” Tim grumbled, reluctantly stripping himself of his comforter and getting out of bed. His superman PJs—a birthday present from Dick—were on full display, along with his custom-made Robin socks. Those were ones his parents got him at a random airport at some pop-up store in Duty-free, the rare occasion they remembered they had a child, but he has cherished them like a dragon hoarding gold.

Dick sighed in relief and smiled, stretching out of the bean bag, and Tim wondered how Jason is able to be so mean to him. His heart must’ve been rock hard from the get-go to be able to constantly reject Dick’s hugs, roll his eyes at the infectious positivity, insult Dick’s flamboyancy and enthusiasm.

Tim would’ve done anything to be Dick’s successor, once upon a time, and even better, be someone Batman thought was good enough to inherit the mantle.

Jason didn’t deserve him, Tim always thought. Didn’t realise how good he had it. Dick had recruited Tim’s help to sort out Jason’s mysteries and he never got a thank you. Jason suited Damian a lot more, both prickly asshole assassins.

But Tim wasn’t salty enough to argue his side, to bring up a lifetime long argument that benefitted no one in the end because Bruce infected all he adopted with his infuriating stubbornness.

Instead, he guided Dick to his cluttered desk, abundant with empty cans and Chinese takeout, and opened his computer, praying it wasn’t some massive spending on something stupid, like porn mags or Jane Austen’s underwear.

“Thanks Tim, really. You’re the best.”

He’d never forgive Jason for disappointing Dick yet again, and he’s all but forgotten the attempted murder. Just one minor example of the things Tim did for broken families.

THE NEXT DAY

Jason could never have died without leaving a piece of his youth behind but staring at the dirty door in front of him, he knew old habits die hard, and that this place was in dire need of a flood of Dettol.

At first glance, Hope Park residences looked like your average cul-de-sac, and, for Gotham State University, it was luxury. An offshoot of the campus grounds, it sat in the middle of a renovated lot like remnants of an earthquake. The drywall was styled to resemble bricks and lull the inhabitants into a false sense of security, and the front lawn was mangled with grown weeds and a desire path that led to the front door. The separate houses were all identical in size, placement, and style, only differing in colour.

But for Jason Todd—who was currently Jason Peters, an uncomfortable alias but one he won’t forget easily—the cobwebs, the blown-in crunchy leaves, the broken lantern that swung above the porch, the faded in welcome mat with rough straw sprouting from all sides, risking splinters in bare feet…

Jason would’ve demanded a refund if he was paying roughly $75,000 for this—which he was, but it was Wayne money, so he wasn’t too fussed—but still, principle of the matter.

If international kids came here for the real Gotham experience, they wouldn’t be disappointed.

He never comprehended the the decrepit state students lived in; he was only envious they had a chance to learn. No wonder he’d always see them hog bar stools as a child, ranting to the bartenders about their woes with vodka shots.

The path towards the University felt more like the River Styx leading tortured souls to the underworld, or maybe that’s just what 9 AM lectures felt like. Considering his ghastly timetable, Jason would learn soon enough.

Not one to be deterred by initial disgust, Jason fumbled for the silver key he was given at the security gate, the complimentary keychain of Gotham’s logo hitting his knuckles as he did. When he twisted the door handle, however, he fumbled for a moment, reading off a list of names that were engraved on the mailbox to the right of the door.

Ah, his pandora’s box. The roommates.

Sam Kennedy, Mar Rocks, Dally Dawson, and just underneath, a chicken scratching of one Jason Peters.

Okay, could be all guys. That’s fine, made his deception a little easier. Jason had first hand experience that girls are harder to fool, their instincts too homed in and trustworthy, if Barbie and Cain and Tails are anything to go by.

Minutes prior, when he pulled onto the gravel of the driveway on his motorbike—the not too expensive looking one he decorated himself with red highlights and a stupid looking basket attached to the front—he’d taken note that no one seemed to be home. All windows were closed, no cars or bikes or scooters or anything were near the house, the garbage bins were empty, no recent signals of human life.

It felt neglected, all abandoned, and Jason was ecstatic. He had time to prepare and reboot, before it all changed.

He didn’t waste time on the ground floor, eyes immediately locating the stairs and climbing up them. The ascent felt like when he climbed K2, though tougher, because he was alone. By himself with no plan, no flimsy rope and safety net, no promise that someone would find his freezing corpse and do him the honour of a cremation.

Jason wasn’t usually this apprehensive. He’d gone against Black Mask and his goons with less hesitancy, he’d gone against Batman and Nightwing combined with enough self-assurance to fuel a steam train, but, historically, interacting with people, especially people in his age range, had always bit him in the ass. He’d stumble over words, never say the right thing, exude such awkwardness that they’d leave within five minutes of meeting him and never return.

Jason could blame his upbringing, his poverty that reeked heavily disturbing the preppy rich kids of Gotham Academy. He could direct his anger towards Willis and his jail cell, at his mom and her plights against sickness that forced him to focus on her survival rather than his, he could point the finger at Bruce for stunting his charisma by isolating him—a change in pace from his usual accusations to Bruce for letting him be forgotten.

But Jason ran out of excuses. He could spend his second life never taking ownership, and he continued to do so for many such cases, but the one thing he owned is that he was too fractured for his own good—he could never match the friendliness of perfect Dick Grayson, or the suaveness of Brucie Wayne, no matter how hard he tried.

So, ultimately, he stopped trying. Forgot all about his yearning to fit in, but now he had to, for the sake of the mission. Go figure.

The staircase was carpeted, all thirteen steps, with a grey and brown stripy pattern that carried on to the upper floor, where a spacious hallway opened itself up to him. Two doors to the side with one directly in front of him and a corner where Jason suspected the rest of the house was hiding. Examining his surroundings, he could see a trapdoor leading to an attic and decorations of flower paintings hanging on the wall, slightly bent as if the nail attached was faulty. Like it was recreating a home but wasn’t truly one. Yet, at least.

An excessive inspection, sure, but it wasn’t like Jason was scared. No, he was just out of his comfort zone. A normal day in the life for him didn’t include civility or pumpkin spice candles.

He walked down the hallway, blood rushing into his ears so forcefully he could hear the stream turning his skin red like they did when he tried the Robin costume on for the first time, all traffic lights and short shorts.

It also happened when he fit the red helmet on his head a year ago. It had served its purpose well, though Jason left it to rot in some safehouse near the Gotham Ports. He’d return to it like he always did, but not right now. Now, he was a crummy student, eager to learn and please.

He shut his eyes briefly, willing his heart to halt in its drumming and his breathing pattern to regulate. He did calm down as he turned the corner, and Jason almost smiled at his control, but all progress came crashing down as a door opened, and out through the mist of water vapour, stepped a body.

A living body. A living naked body. A woman’s living naked body.

“Oh, hello.” The body spoke, and Jason froze, hands suddenly empty of boxes, eyes not leaving the face that greeted him with a sultry tone.

“Hi.” Jason felt as though he was looking down on himself, an odd astral projection of his body, and couldn’t tell what he saw, but definitely heard himself, and he sounded like an automated response from a robot.

Was this normal?

“Which one are you, hm?” The girl asked as if she wasn’t one hair flip away from revealing her breasts. Jason didn’t dare to look anywhere but her face, resolving to keep his chin up. It wasn’t tempting to look down, but Jason felt like a fish out of water. He instinctively resorted to old tactics, how he’d treat the working girls when he was shorter than them, always looking above their chins and nothing more. A minor offer of respect.

He didn’t want tension or to give this girl the impression that he was a sleaze. But, with the way her smile was perking up at the corners, transforming into a teasing smirk, Jason wondered who was actually trying to comfort who.

“Jason. Ahem, um, aren’t you cold?” He choked out.

The girl laughed, loudly. She sounded like a witch, a harsh cackle that was bubbling in her throat for long, and Jason felt pinned by her gaze as she gestured behind him, “Honey, you give me my robe and maybe I won’t feel cold anymore.”

Jason’s head whipped around to see a bath gown folded neatly near the radiator and didn’t hesitate to pass it to her. He kept his head up, ignoring how she chuckled in a secretive way.

She was clearly confident, having made little effort to cover herself, and Jason didn’t consider himself a prude, but usually anyone would shriek at a stranger seeing them naked. But as he looked up, seeing her secure the red robe on her shoulders and tie it up at the front, he thought to himself for the first time in a while that he maybe he was the ‘normal’ one in the room. Or hallway, to be precise.

Her voice knocked him out of his thoughts. “Samantha Kennedy, lovely to meet you.” Her hand stretched out and Jason went to clasp it, but not before subtly wiping any sweat from his palms. Her grip was firm, challenging, and Jason found himself breathing out his dread. This was fine, this was fine.

“Nice to meet you too.” He began, “Metropolis?”

Her right eyebrow raised, and she looked as shocked as he was moments prior, but recovered far quicker, smoothly passing by him and making her way downstairs in matching red slippers. Jason had no choice to follow. Or perhaps he did, but felt compelled to anyway, like a mere mortal near spirituality. “Yep. Born and raised. Is my accent that strong? I’ve been known to tune it down near Gothamites.”

“Nah, I just have an ear for these things.” Jason wasn’t about to say that he oversaw a few dealings across the pond right under Superman’s nose, so he was familiar with the tone. “So, you live here too?”

“No, I just like having showers in random people’s houses.” She teased and didn’t let up when Jason huffed in response. “Yes, I live here. Have been for… an hour, officially. I take it you got your own set of keys, or should I be calling 911?”

His assessment was wrong then. The house didn’t look lived in at all, but Jason gave himself some slack. She did say an hour, and who leaves an impact in sixty minutes?

He lifted the keys from his pocket, hearing them jangle as he shook them slightly, and Samantha smiled. Her confidence was astounding, something Jason had never seen authentically exude out of anyone.

She was Brucie Wayne, if the persona was real.  

She moved to the fridge, stroking a finger against the counter and blowing the dust off her fingers. “Ugh, you’d think they’d tidy up a bit, huh?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Jason concurred. He was leaning on a pillar awkwardly like a child waiting for their parent and Samantha turned away from the fridge at his silence. “There are chairs, you know. People traditionally sit on those, why don’t you try it out?”

The kitchen counter did in fact have backless stools and Jason wasted no time in following her instruction. However, just as he relaxed just slightly, the front door burst open with a bang, and all Jason saw was long black hair run past him and up the stairs, a trail of wire following behind, almost knocking down a dead plant if Jason didn’t catch it in time.

Samantha whistled. “Nice reflexes.” And carried on inspecting the fridge, like she missed a dead dove the first time around.

“Who was that?” Jason tentatively asked, still clutching the indoor plant to his chest.

“That,” Samantha began, slamming the fridge door closed as she offered him a carrot stick, “is most likely roomie numero tres. I bet it’s Dally—she seems like a riot.”

“Dally’s a girl?” Jason said as he munched on the carrot stick, having calmed down at the somewhat unpredictable atmosphere.

“Honey,” Samantha prowled, “we’re all girls here.”

“…What?” A piece of carrot fell out of his mouth embarrassingly.

Before that tidbit of info set in—he could hear his siblings laughing at him in his brain—a new girl entered through the backdoor, her flannel and skateboard dirty with mud, and her eyes laser focused on her open book.

Jason thought he would recognise it, taking pride in his like of literature, but the cover looked too bodice-ripping for his tastes.

The new girl wordlessly held a hand out and Samantha placed a carrot in her palm. She took a bite and nodded in appreciation before sitting down next to Jason, eyes still avidly reading.

She reminded Jason of Tim when they would begrudgingly work on cases together. “Um, hello?”

“Mar.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mar Rocks. My name, it’s written on the mailbox, not on my ID, but let’s not get into that.” She finally looked at him, “Dally or Jay?”

“Jay.” He debated on sticking his hand out like Samantha did but decided against it. Mar’s hands were full of book and carrots. “I didn’t realise we were on nickname basis.”

Mar shrugged. Her bangs, messy and tangled and looking as wild as she probably was, hid her side profile, but Jason didn’t miss her smile, “I move fast, what can I say.”

Jason was certainly not expecting this. This weird home welcome, this natural camaraderie with people he’s never met. He never addressed his underlings with this level of freedom, nor had those above him. He hadn’t even seen his room yet but was eating the food, participating in conversations. The bar was low, but he had raised it higher for himself in the span of minutes.

He was surprised he felt so comfortable, especially with Samantha’s robe slightly coming loose at the front, but he did. No one knew how dangerous he was, the sins he proudly committed. He was just a lowly college boy, and they were just college girls. Normalcy. Average life. The American Dream. The life he saw Dick living before, the life he saw Tim live after, the life he had seen millions live during.

Jason gave himself a week before he’d crack.

Before the conversation died down, the little runner from before came crashing down, a Walkman and earphones blaring muffled Nirvana coming to his line of sight.

“Yo,” she greeted and pointed at Jason, snatching an apple in a complimentary basket—or Jason assumed it was complimentary. He hoped that apple wasn’t rotted to the core. “Lemme guess, you are… Sammy!”

Jason shook his head. She pouted, “Hm… you don’t look like a Mar, you’re definitely not Dally, and unless you’re some weird old man, which you’re not, that leaves Jasy.”

Jasy. Jason understood Jay, accepted Jaybird as a kid, and admitted to loving Little Wing, but Jasy was a new one. He was indifferent either way. “Yeah, that’s me… wait, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, but I’ll say it anyway.” She leaned on the counter as if unleashing a wild secret, “Dally.” Jason blinked. He knew he didn’t hear wrong. She just said Dolly.

Samantha beat him to the punch, “Sweetie, I thought it was with an a. Like Dallas, or something.”

Dally grinned, the apple skin showing on her teeth, “Nah, the a is an o, and the second l is silent, by the way.”

Okay, weird naming conventions aside, Jason was more focused on her t-shirt, the black fabric and white logo blaring alarms in his mind. “What’s that?” He said, pointing to the article in question.

Mar snorted, “What, boobs?”

“Don’t worry, the virgin has seen mine, at the very least.” Samantha reassured.

Jason took the teasing in stride, too confused to get prickly. “No, the shirt, the logo. The name.”

“Oh,” Dally looked down as if just noticing she dressed herself today, “Yeah, It’s my battle plan.”

“What has it got to do with Barbara Gordon?”

“Dude, she tutors comp sci here. Didn’t realise she was that much of a celebrity.” Dally swiped a few crumbs off of Barbara’s face she had printed out on her shirt and Jason gaped.

He had no clue Barbie worked here. All he knew was she daylighted as a librarian. Since his first life, he admired that about her. His own love affair with books aside, she was steady in everything she did, and that solidified her as a role model to him, Wonder Woman aside.

Computer science made sense for Oracle, but not for Barbara. Was she not busy enough, carrying Batman’s crew on her back singlehandedly?

She was always distant to him, not too far but not near at all, but the news kept Jason silent, the background noise of his roommates becoming as muffled as the Nirvana.

Another obstacle in the way, especially since he took English—if he avoided the library and the engineering buildings, he’d be safe.

“Can we come back to the whole face-on-shirt thing? Why did you do that?” Jason spoke.

Dally frowned as if it was obvious. “I need to be a teacher’s bitch.”

“I think the more adequate phrase is teacher’s pet.” Samantha corrected.

“No, you don’t understand. I’m already a teacher’s pet. I need to be a bitch. Full submissive, I need girl Gordon to dominate me.”

“I’m lost.” Mar echoed Jason’s thoughts, “Do you have some weird fetish?”

“What? No, I need tutoring. I need to guarantee her guidance. I am but a lost soul.”

“Right,” Samatha voiced slowly, “There are better ways… isn’t her dad one of the policemen here?”

“Yeah, the commissioner.” Jason supplied, having more knowledge of Jim Gordan than he’d like to.

“You pseudo-stalking the chief’s daughter isn’t going to bode well. It’s the first day, for heavens sake. Go upstairs and change.” Samantha advised, eyes sympathetic at Dally’s frown.

“First of all, ACAB.” Jason chortled at her deadpan response. He’d get along splendidly with her. “Second of all, this isn’t even that bad. I’ve done worse and gotten better.” Dally confessed but went upstairs anyway, to change or not, Jason had no clue. He couldn’t read any of these people.

A wet grape hit the side of his face, “What, disappointed this ain’t a sausage fest?” Mar grumbled.

Samantha sat down next to him, sandwiching him between the two, with no hope of escaping “I am the one disappointed. I put myself down as Sam and they put me here with you lot! I played too smart.”

“You wanted guys?” Jason questioned.

“Honey,” Samantha drawled, and Jason felt sized up like facing a predator, “I’ve never been able to be friends with a guy, why would I? Men are for fucking.”

Jason choked on a grape, “Pardon?”

Mar was laughing with no shame, “I doubt she’ll go for you, no offence.”

Samantha hummed amusedly, “Yeah, a virgin in my bed is one virgin too many.”

Jason didn’t dare ask what made it that obvious he was one. He couldn’t even be mad, they weren’t wrong.

“If anything, I have a date scheduled today, so I’d recommend you all leave around the hours of… 2100 hours to 0200 hours, give or take.” Samantha drummed her fingers on the counter before standing up.

“Five hours?” Jason gasped out.

She simply blew a kiss and walked away, her red slippers clapping against the stairs.

Mar whistled, impressed. “I know where I’ll be. What about you, newbie?”

“What about me?”

Her dog-eared book finally escaped her grasp. “What’s your future looking like right now?”

Jason had no clue. Never really did, but now, thrown off kilter, Jason felt naked, and not in the literal way Sammy was or the raw way Mar seemed to be or the heart—or face—on sleeve way Dally seemed to be.

Jason was in his own way naked. Vulnerable like a newborn grasping at the umbilical cord, trying to rip it off.

He had a new take on the notion that college changes you. Here, he might find out who he always was. Or who he wasn’t.

But first, he had a redhead to find and avoid.

Stephanie Brown was many things, and an optimist was one of them. After the shitty hand life constantly dealt her, how would she survive realism? Nonetheless, catching a glimpse of Jason Todd casually walking around campus was a dog whistle for disaster and no amount of hope could deter that.

He had always been mythology to her. The second Robin, the local, the shadow Tim creepily lurked in, the scar Bruce tried to hide—and failed, clearly. She’d always been drawn to him, her curiosity that led her to trouble rather than treasure most times, and she had the awful sense they’d get along like an orchard on fire. At least, that’s what Dick thought, and Dick was never wrong when it came to Jason.

He knew of Spoiler—had kicked her ass too many times for the constant defeats to be forgetful—despite his morals of not hurting kids. Though, maybe he didn’t see her as a child. She definitely didn’t see herself as one.

But the college freshmen around her were kids, everyone knew that. What she was terrified of was the fact that Jason didn’t see them that way.

Her hiding behind a conveniently placed hedge on the side of the building’s entrance wasn’t dignified in the slightest, and she would’ve been mortified if not for world peace hanging in the balance.

She couldn’t figure out his motive. She’d been following him for the past twenty minutes, shocked he didn’t immediately notice and throw a grenade at her, and still had no thesis to go off of. Was he trying to get a degree in business studies, to see the best way to finance assets of a criminal empire? Or was he going a different route, entering pre-med like her, to see which tendon hurts the most to slash?

She couldn’t see him as a healer, unfortunately, so morbid conclusions had to be made.

Just as he turned to the side to face a stall handing out free wristbands and tote bags—which she really wanted, they were so cute—her mobile rang, jolting her out of focus. Steph huffed, not having to check the number, “Tim, what is it?”

“Jason’s at Gotham State.” His voice was sharp, almost hysterical. Steph sighed at the dramatics.

“Yeah, I know, I’m staring at his back right now.”

“What!?” Tim yelled and Steph hissed, shushing him as if he were right next to her blowing the cover.

“So what, I’m not a baby—never mind. Do you know why he’s here?”

“Why the fuck would I know?”

Steph pinched her nose, sensing a migraine coming on, the cold September air crisp as she began putting her jacket on, “Does Dick know?”

“Nope.” Tim popped the p, and Steph heard the clacking of keyboards, “It took half a day to find out, but we just did. This is a code red, Steph!”

“Why? Maybe he’s finally turning his life around. Watched a tear-jerking Hallmark movie and got inspired.”

“Please,” Tim scoffed, and Steph frowned at the tone, “He’d focus on getting a GED.”

“The path isn’t always linear, Tim… why are you getting so worked up over this. Better yet why are you warning me?”

Tim took a heavy breath and started to speak but before Steph could hear his words, a hand shot out and crumpled her phone. Literally, almost crumbled it into dust. The pathetic remnants were left laying on the grass as Steph flinched, almost screaming before a gloved hand clasped her mouth.

“Hello, Stephanie,” a familiar voice whispered and if Steph wasn’t used to threats, she’d have pissed herself three times over, “let’s have a chat, hm?”

Stephanie closed her eyes in defeat as Jason dragged her inside the building, limp in his casual yet bruising grip. No one bat an eye at this kidnapping and Steph cursed the Gotham instinct of every man for themself.

This was definitely what Tim was calling about. What were the chances of her dying twice to a boy who died once? Judging by Jason’s frown in her periphery, she refrained from doing the math. For her own piece of mind.

This was totally not going to be her year.

Chapter Text

Alfred had low expectations from the get-go, but his boys still managed to find a new rock bottom to lay in.

He cleared his throat and watched happily as Richard and Timothy jumped simultaneously in their seats, “Master Bruce didn’t permit you two down here, did he?”

“Come on, Alfred,” Dick began nervously, employing his charm that would usually work on others, but Alfred Pennyworth wasn’t just anyone, “This is our home. We can roam freely. Why can’t we browse in our spare time?”

“Certainly, Master Grayson. However, Gotham University isn’t your home, so mind explaining why I am looking at the security camera feed?”

The pair in front of him exchanged a glance and Alfred watched as a silent conversation happened through their eyes. Though, looking at blonde-haired lady being dragged into a spare study room by a broad man with a white streak, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who is who.

Tim, always more emotionally intelligent than the other children, decided to clarify to Alfred anyway, “Jason’s going to Gotham State for some reason—”

“Alfred knows, Timmy. He gave me the cheque.”

“Wh—you knew?”

Alfred just looked at them with mild exasperation. If they hadn’t learnt by now that he made it a rule to know everything, then they can gladly remain in blissful ignorance. “Do go on, explain your involvement in Master Todd’s private affairs.”

Dick cringed at Alfred’s choice of wording, “I was worried, Alfred, honest. Me and Tim did some ethical digging, and the next thing we know, we call Steph and she’s being interrogated by him. This is just a precaution.”

“Precaution for what, exactly.”

Dick awkwardly laughed, “Tim, elaborate?”

Said boy scowled at his elder brother’s cowardliness, “I’m not taking any chances with Steph’s safety, Alfred. He broke her phone! If he tries anything, I swear to—”

“There’s no need to swear anymore, Master Timothy. He’s giving her money now.”

Three pairs of eyes were now pinned to the grainy projection of the two. The camera angles displayed a clear sight of Jason handing Steph a wad of cash from his backpack, which she snatched eagerly with a bright smile.

“Oh, fuck no.” Tim swore, either forgetting Alfred’s presence or ignoring it entirely, “That slick son of a bitch, he’s buying her off! He knows she can be bribed. Steph, you weakling!”

“There’s no point in yelling Tim; they can’t hear us.” Dick tapped the speakers on the side, “but we can hear them. No need to assume what might not be the case.”

Alfred focused on the screen, tempted by the devil to gaze upon the boy that escaped him all those years ago.

It was a terrible thing, having someone you care so deeply for transform in a blink of an eye, but it is not too difficult for Alfred to envision Jason’s formative years. The change was honestly minor—apart from the obvious height difference and perpetual scowl—but his clinging to his backpack, his strong eye contact with whoever he addresses, his clear humouring of Stephanie that lacked any malice despite the young master Tim’s beliefs…

Alfred never had the chance to tell Jason how much he resembled the late Martha. Most believed his resemblance to be closest to Bruce, and therefore Thomas, but he had all the charms Martha embodied through her pearls and smile, her passion for those who never had fortune, stemming from her own struggles. Her ambitious integrity that made the young Alfred Pennyworth small in the face of it.

Jason had Robin’s magic from Master Richard, and he also had hers. And that superpower isn’t one easily forgotten.

And now, he was at school. Nefarious reasons aside, he was going to attend lectures in the hall Martha Wayne founded in her name for her love of literature. The irony was almost metallic on Alfred’s tongue with how potent and poetic it was.

It was a flaw on Alfred’s part, how much he forgives in the heat of nostalgia.

“Master Timothy, accusations with little to back them up with are an affront to our criminal justice system. Innocent until proven guilty.”

“For Hood, it’s the other way around.” Tim grumbled but let up.

Alfred wasn’t offended by his response. He had always found it charming that Tim had to get the last word in. Before, during the dark times of the household when Timothy first arrived, he was too afraid to ever speak up, the tumultuous atmosphere swallowing his pride as a child. Timothy’s snark was a signal of comfort, proof that the household was healing—never fully, however. Not until their lost one finds his way back to them.

Dick had been tinkering with the keyboard, attempting to activate audio through the camera footage. Very quickly he succeeded, and once he did, the low timbre of Jason’s voice reverberated around the cave, causing a few bats to flutter around near the high rooftop.

“Just tell me where Barbie is, I’m sick of these fucking puzzles. Do I look like The Riddler to you?”

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Barbara?”

“No, but you look extremely annoyed, which is a bonus.” Steph grinned, “Also, why the hell do you have so much bleach in your bag? Are you gonna pour it in some unsuspecting kid's drink?”

Jason zipped his bag up loudly, “I’m spring cleaning.”

“Huh, a domesticated Jason. Who knew?” Steph murmured and Alfred looked at Tim pointedly, trying to soothe his nerves.

“See, she’s annoying Master Jason. No murder here.”

“Let’s not speak too soon. Maybe she’ll be the one to do it.”

Dick’s smile faltered ever so slightly. Alfred noticed—he always noticed—and offered him a stuffed date from his tray, which he ate with a grateful nod.

The wound will always be fresh to Dick, the boy who loved too fiercely for his own good. Bruce was one thing, Dick was entirely another, and the news shattered his very being. It was no wonder he was doing all of this—even skipping his police patrolling—for his first brother.

Though, the line of love and guilt is very thin. Alfred hoped that he knew the difference.

Steph voice crackled as she moved further away from the camera, sitting on top of a white table in the middle of the room, “About lovely Miss Gordon, if you get me a chalkboard, we can play Hangman for your information. Make this a little fun, have a laugh for once. God knows I haven’t smiled in a while.”

Tim frowned at her words. “She seemed fine to me earlier.”

Dick shrugged. “Probably college, bud. I dropped out for a reason, it was torture.”

Tim clearly was not comforted by this, his urge to fix and make things better still intact, but he remained quiet.

Jason sat down against the wall adjacent to the door, “Listen, Stephanie. I gave you enough for your stupid phone and your stupid textbooks and your shitty apartment. It’s charity. Be grateful.”

All three people in the cave winced. That was not an appropriate thing to say to the spitfire that was Stephanie Brown.

She opened her mouth to retaliate, her face shocked at Jason’s audacity, but he lifted his hand and continued talking, “But we can make this an equal trade. No longer charity, our relationship can be… business, of sorts.”

Alfred didn’t need to look at Jason, his words said enough. His calmed demeanour, him sitting on the floor, his mention of Stephanie’s insecurities, it was manipulation at its finest.

A far cry from the honest boy with his heart on his sleeve.

“I don’t do deals with the devil, thanks.”

“You just did,” Jason said, hands crossed in front of his chest. He had full control over the situation, and with the way Dick and Tim leaned forward, it felt as though even they were puppets on his string, “You took my money, rather enthusiastically in fact. Didn’t bother to tell me that I gave you more than what the phone is worth, which tells me two things.”

He put two fingers up, “One, you are desperate. Two, you are willing to lie and steal to get what you are desperate for, which in this case, are the wads of greenbacks in your dirty satchel.”

Steph, for all of her strength, didn’t flinch, but she shrunk slightly at the words. Jason noticed and smiled, “Not so saintly, are you, Miss Spoiler?”

Steph’s head shot up in fear, but Jason just winked, suddenly facing the camera to his right, “Don’t worry. Only the people who know are listening right now.”

Dick and Tim weren’t surprised he knew. Batman’s training was ingrained into their souls, lining the showy cracks of their civilian façade’s. Noticing the unnatural flickering of a camera lens was basic.

Jason’s expression softened at Steph’s anger, “Hey, no judgement here. Gotta do what you gotta do, right? To survive. That’s what we are, Steph. We’re survivors. You don’t get to go to a nice, fancy college when you’re born in Crime Alley.”

“I am nothing like you.” Steph replied firmly.

“Maybe. Maybe not. You don’t know me.”

“I know what you do,” Steph sneered, any hint of light-hearted conversation dissipating away, “You kill. You hurt people. I don’t even want to know where you got that money from, just take it. It’s probably blood money anyway.”

Steph reached into her bag to give the money back, but Jason wasn’t worried. He looked up at the ceiling before confessing, “It’s Bruce’s.”

Steph stopped, “What?”

“It’s from father dearest, all right? Don’t get your purple panties in a twist. Unless you consider generational wealth and capitalism ‘blood money’, which you definitely don’t, you hypocrite, it’s clean.”

“You accepted his money? What, did your little assassin buddies confiscate your allowance?”

Jason didn’t dignify the quip with a response, “My God, have you always been this slow or are you just naturally blonde?”

He gestured towards the door as Steph squawked in indignation, “You can run out of this door right now with my donation to you. Or you can proudly walk out the door a thousand bucks richer with the knowledge that you didn’t get it for free. Info’s expensive.”

Steph hesitated before asking, “What are you going to do to Barbara?”

“Nothing, actually. I’m trying to avoid her.”

Dick shook his head in confusion, “Why is he so bothered about Babs?”

Tim snorted, “Isn’t it obvious? Oracle knows everything. He doesn’t care about her, just about what she does.”

“Come on, there’s no escaping her, Tim. Jason’s not that stupid.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, “What, you think he’s going to hurt her?”

“Absolutely not.” Dick’s words were almost instant, “He would never.”

The cave was still for a moment before Alfred decided on his input, “He must be telling the truth, then.”

Alfred agreed with Dick. For all of Jason’s calculated cruelty, he would not hurt another victim of the Joker.

Steph broke the silence finally, “Fine. She’s only in two days a week, Wednesday and Friday, in the Lovelace building. Right now, she’s probably introducing preppy middle school kids to analytical engineering. I don’t know.”

Jason nodded once, “See, wasn’t too difficult.”

“You know I’m going to tell her about all of this, right?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Enjoy your money, Steph. Here’s a tip, invest in some stocks instead of blowing it all on grapple hooks and early graves.”

“Oh, screw you.” Steph huffed and her eyes narrowed slightly before she turned and left, attempting to slam the door, but the door was too slow and creaky, so it just left an awkward impression.

Jason’s eyes finally turned towards the cameras, and he smiled, “Make sure to get my good side,” he called out before pulling a pen out and pressing a button.

The screen went blank suddenly, with a red error message flashing wildly.

Alfred was going to treat himself to some chamomile later. Some rest and relaxation seemed mandatory at this point.

“That went well…” Dick tried.

“Yeah, he didn’t shoot the cams for once. Should we give him star of the week?”

Before Dick could counter in Jason’s defence, Tim stood up, “I’m calling Steph now,” he said as he rummaged through his pockets.

Alfred demurely cleared his throat, “Steph does not currently have a phone, Master Timothy.”

Tim stopped halfway up the stairs, “Oh yeah. Fantastic.”

Alfred collected his tray, leaving a pitch of water on the side for Dick, who looked like he really needed it for all his emotional constipation, and walked to Tim, putting a gloved hand on his head, the hum of the Batcave dimming behind them.

“Don’t fret, Master Timothy.” Alfred smiled, a lifetime of experiencing warming his words. “There has always been more to life than spying.”

Jason sighed in relief when Stephanie finally slipped away. He was a bit poorer, but the trade was worth it in more ways than one.

Because sure, he figured out where Barbara was quickly, saving him some time from questioning strangers or walking around in circles—this place was a maze to the point that Jason wondered if the architect was some sick sadist.

But Jason, contrary to Talia’s belief, really wasn’t lazy. He cornered and interrogated Steph to get a scent on his trail. Steph would snitch to Tim or Cain or whoever she was in cahoots with, which would then lead Bruce to find out, and the mystery of why he was so interested in Babs would act as a wonderful fake lead, and his true intentions would be lost due to gossiping stupidity.

A rather old trick in the book, but Batman was an old dog, and you can’t teach them new tricks.

Jason went over Barbara’s whereabouts in his head. He got her schedule, which was definitely a bonus, and Steph and her were close friends, so it was likely legit.

And of course, Barbara was accommodating snotty middle schoolers and connecting them to higher education, like a bona fide angel. Jason wanted to gag at the sweetness.

Jason made no move to leave. He was still sitting on the carpet, eyes closed, exhausted like it wasn’t only midday. Mar and Sammy urged him to explore the school grounds before he left as the welcoming events were on for only another day, and Dally quickly explained how she needed to find a specific USB-C cable for her self-made physics project, leaving him all on his lonesome.

He might spill Barbie’s daily routine to Dally, depending on his mood. He had to keep up his awful person routine.

The window was open, the slight autumn breeze swaying the blinds, causing them to brush against each other in a rhythmic pattern. Sunlight streamed through the gaps, blinding Jason’s periphery slightly, but he hadn’t been some amateur to not notice when someone was in the room with him. Both Batman and The League trained him to take advantage of every sense, manipulate his orientation in any way, trust his animalistic instincts and nothing else.

This meant that Jason felt the footsteps before he heard them.

Smoothening his face, he opened his eyes and nodded, “Adam.”

The covered figure looked insane standing up, to say the least. Out of everything to disguise yourself as, the table Steph sat on was definitely an unfortunate choice. Jason was close to bursting out laughing when she did. But Adam did this to himself, always choosing the most elaborate camouflage that no one would suspect him of. He was one of the assassins that didn't forget his sense of humour. He pulled it off though, it was no wonder he was one of Talia’s personal messenger men.

But Talia had a system, one that Jason had memorized. And Adam meant Talia was enacting genesis, meaning the mission was beginning. That, or the A in his name stood for anger, which made sense as he was always the one she’d send to Jason when he fucked something up. Which was more common than not.

The tablet in his wooden hand faced Jason and when it turned on, the seemingly innocent news reporter on the screen had a face deep faked onto it that Jason both loathed and yearned to see.

“Talia.” He breathed.

“Jason.” She was never the warmest star in the sky, but Jason detected more frost than usual in her tone.

What had he done now?

“I see you have begun making friends. How quaint.”

“Talia, are you mad at me for doing what you asked? My dad was right, women are never pleased.”

She never found his jokes funny, “When did I ask you to make flower crowns with Gotham vigilantes? As far as I recall, and excuse my inferior memory to yours, I requested you enrol.”

“Which I did.”

“Yes, you did. With whose money?”

Jason knew this was a trap. It was a classic bear trap, a fake entrance, a red flag for the raging bull, but he was never one to escape from such schemes.

He couldn’t hide his sarcasm if he tried, “Nepotism.”

Talia slammed her hand down onto the host’s desk, a coffee mug spilling from losing its balance, “One million is obscene greed for you.”

Says the princess. “Sorry, should I have been thinking of the homeless?”

“He is using it to track you, fool.”

Jason did think about that but then decided he didn’t care. “So what?”

“So what?” She seethed and Jason was close to commenting on the echo in the room but reigned it in. He was currently sleeping on the metaphorical couch when it came to Talia, and he would rather not be disowned a second time.

“Why should B care? This has nothing to do with the Bats, you assured me. Unless it is and you’ve kept things from me, again.”

“You should always be grateful for the things I have kept from you.”

Jason heard that phrase before. A few minutes after his worldview collapsed as he stared at the fresh newspaper image of Batman with a shiny new Robin. When he was betrayed in the most disgusting way imaginable, when his tear drops smeared the headline, disrupting the slogan of ‘New and Improved’ Batman, she comforted him with those words.

He still flinched when he felt ink on his fingertips. Not even the crowbar made his chest ache more than that realisation.

Reminded of the sad truth that there is only one person he should be grateful for, he became slightly pliant, the little fight that had been bubbling inside him simmering down. But not too much, for his pettiness knew no bounds.

“So, you have another mission for me?”

“Yes, I do. You must join a society. I have already set you up for success, so failure isn’t an option.”

“If you expect me to do naked car washes with frat boys, then I’d rather you hand over my special noose.”

His special noose was a gift from Ra’s after he bested one of Lady Shiva’s top trainees in hand-to-hand combat. It had his name on it and everything. Jason was oddly touched, and it remained in his dormitory at Talia’s quarters underneath his mattress. She never liked seeing it.

He was missing it severely these past few days.

Talia leaned back in the reporter’s chair, looking above as if praying for patience, “No, it is an educational society that focuses on weaponry, biological warfare, and the destruction of your precious Gotham.”

Talia had the talent of making Jason sound like Gollum when he spoke about something with a little care. It was funny, when he spoke about Gotham, he replicated the way Talia spoke about brat baby Damian.

“Wow, Gotham destroyed? Is it Tuesday already?” Adam had enough of the disrespect to his boss as he bonked Jason’s head with the table leg.

Jason rubbed his head, “Aw, come on, that wasn’t even that bad!” No response. Adam was never the talkative type.

Talia ignored his injury, like she normally does, “You should be familiar with the name already, Maze Machina Robotics. I don’t care what you have to do, find a way in.”

Jason’s eyes widened when he finally placed why that name should be familiar, “Oh, fuck no, Talia, you didn’t. You cursed me with that guy!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” She said, “But, like I said, use the connections I gave you. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, or what your father would do. Remember the mission, remember where your loyalties lie. I don’t like being disappointed. Take care of yourself and Damian. Goodbye.”

And with that, she hung up. She always had to be the one to leave first. Adam tucked the tablet into one of his hidden sleeves and, with all professionalism, returned to being a table.

Jason felt like a table in that moment as well. Didn’t know how, or why, but he just did. He felt like a stupid table.

He had been hoping to avoid his college father. Ted seemed like a tool, but his timetable didn’t say they were scheduled to meet for another two days, so he was safe. For now. Just had to brace for impact.

His entire life up to this moment felt like a constant brave for impact. Forget the grave though. Maybe this mission was the big disaster he had been waiting for.

Jason opened his room door to be greeted with a made bed, his punk poster, an empty bedside table save for a lamp, and silverfish. The starter pack for dorm life.

He dropped all of his collectibles; the million tote bags that were thrust upon him, the thousands of free pens and stickers and badges of every club imaginable, a hat he randomly one in a raffle, and a flag screaming ‘Go Gotham Bats’ for the sports teams.

Jason couldn’t remember which one he signed up for, but he did, and it was probably going to bite him in the ass later, but his eyebags were too heavy to spend time pondering.

He unpacked what he had and laid on his bed. This was the most he had talked in weeks, and he didn’t remember the last time he had met so many people.

He didn’t know where his roommates were, nor did he care, but he wasn’t used to lying in wait, so he did the next best thing, and finally set out to clean.

It was only seven, the moon rising from its slumber, but it was a cloudy night, so the sky felt darker than what it actually was. Standard Gotham evening.

That never deterred him though. Jason grabbed his bag and went downstairs, passing the untouched stove despite his stomach growling, and stationed himself right outside.

He began with scrubbing, a general introduction to the extent of grease and grime. It was from neglect, mostly, and a dried spilling of alcohol on the welcome mat, but it wasn’t unsalvageable. And Jason was willing to fix it.

He remembered his apartment and how he couldn’t fix it. Not his recent one, but his childhood one, though they were one and the same, just Jason was different.

Car tyres were not the cleanest things in the world, and some grime and grit could not be helped, but he made sure to keep it manageable. The home reflected the heart, and little Jason would be damned if he made it obvious he was struggling.

It was why he was so affected when Batman took one look at his house and decided it needed to change. It was also why Jason was distraught when he moved into Wayne Manor originally, the unfairness of the world having never been so distinct until that moment.

It was also why he spent so much time with Alfred, polishing the silverware, dusting under the dinner table. Not only did he cherish that time with Alfred, his first ever friend, but it taught him what he always wanted to learn. How to take care of a home.

And those moments proved beneficial when, after a mere hour and a half later, the first floor of the house had been transformed, almost as good as new.

Jason finally got rid of a rather stubborn stain inside the last kitchen cupboard, when he wiped the back of hand on his forehead, grimacing at the grease and sweat. As he turned to see his masterpiece, it glistened in the light. The sofa was vacuumed, cushions were plumped, crumbs scattered around were taken care of. The TV was wiped of any fingerprints, the stove no longer had scrapes of coal on the sides, the doors knobs were shiny, revealing their true brassy colours.

Jason felt as though he covered up a crime scene, as he had done many times in the past, but for the first time, it felt worth it, this felt real.

Until Mar climbed in through the sink window, dragging in all the mud from her converse.

“What the fuck?” Jason flinched as she threw her skateboard at him.

“Is she here yet?” Mar panted and Jason looked confused until she elaborated, “Sammy, is her slutty ass here yet?”

“No, why do you care?” Jason was now more annoyed than confused, “Slutty?”

Mar grinned, “Dude, when you hear what goes down, that would be an understatement.”

Once she climbed out of the sink, she looked around, and the look of pure disbelief almost made Jason forgive her, “Dude, this is insane. Did you do this?”

Jason nodded and opened the back door to throw her skateboard outside, “Yeah, let’s keep it that way, hm?”

Mar ran outside to get her skateboard back, “Okay, okay. I’ll just shimmy up there.”

“Or you could use the door, like a normal person? What do you even do all day?”

She was already halfway up the second branch of the tree that loomed over the side of their house, “I skate. I sit in the toilets. I mind my business.”

Jason heard the thud of her falling onto her room floor. “I made it!” She yelled but Jason wasn’t sharing her happiness.

“You can come down and clean your mess, asshole!”

He was nobly ignored. Jason internally screamed and grabbed the mop. He made a note to send Alfred a basket of confectionaries for his boundless patience. This was infuriating enough, having a little tiny Dick swinging around the chandeliers like a monkey must’ve been worse.

Once Jason felt the downstairs was adequate enough, he eagerly climbed into bed after taking a shower. Dally had come downstairs for a bit whilst he fixed Mar's mess. She turned the TV on to watch some cable and Jason was impressed. He didn’t even know she was at home, and she didn’t leave any crumbs at all. At least one person respected the house. But he later figured out that Dally might be the only one, unfortunately.

Because his room was opposite Mar’s—he assumed from the ‘KEEP OUT’ sign she had boarded up and the middle finger sticker next to it—and next to Samantha’s.

How he knew it was next to Samantha’s was unfortunate.

The loud moaning was next to impossible to block out. He tried everything. Muffling his ears with his pillow, taking yet another shower, even crying to himself. Nothing worked, the walls were too thin, and the sex was too good. He could even hear the headboard slamming. 

Jason was suspicious—she had to be faking it. But he couldn’t even be mad at her. She did warn him; he just ignored it. No wonder Mar was so eager to get here before Sammy did.  

But he was still irritated as anything. So, he did what was best, and he escaped through his window, landing on the garage tiled roof, jumping down and sprinting to his motorbike in the dead of night.

As he cruised through the mostly empty streets, he wondered where he should go. This side of town was new to him, only the parallel streetlights giving him indication of the roads ahead.

He did try to explore Gotham before. This part of town, the slight suburban neighbourhoods and countryside seemed alien. They had clean train stations here, supermarkets that had whole foods, people walked their dogs. It wasn’t safe, far from it, nowhere in this cursed city was, but it wasn’t the cesspit of evil. Explosions must be rare.

Jason definitely didn’t belong. The county probably smelt the corpse on him.

But as he was tearing the streets, his screen lit up with a green blinking light. Apparently, he had a destination. Huh. Jason was too bored to discuss the danger of this in his head and instantly made a U-turn, entering the junction he sped past before.

As he reached the blinking light, he narrowed his eyes underneath his helmet. Nocturnal mode was activated anyway, but the highway was surrounded by forestry, so it was difficult to distinguish.

Yet, as Jason slowed down, focusing on the tiny silhouette that sat on the metal that lined the road, feet not even reaching the floor, he recognised exactly who it was.

He parked his motorcycle and ripped his helmet off, stalking towards the target.

“Damian?”

A smile. “Hello, brother.”