#jason sees bruce answer his code with such desperation and thinks that maybe bruce still loves him just a little

[funkysecretvillain]

The biggest oooffff (but in a good hurt way)

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Living is Harder

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim drops the knife like it’s white-hot. Oh, god. Oh, god.

Tim did this. He was...he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. He would never. But the man was on top of him and Tim couldn’t breathe, and...he didn’t mean it.

Tim is walking home from Steph’s house, his light-up Sketchers the only things illuminating his path through the Gotham night. He stayed out later than he planned, utterly captivated in the Among Us tournament he and Steph were playing against their Titan friends all the way in San Francisco. (And Tim would have gotten away with the murders too, if it weren’t for that meddling Bart Allen who stared Tim down every time he killed a player, watching it happen but never reporting until Tim finally cracked from the shame and called an emergency meeting on himself.)

Tim rode in Steph’s car on the way to her house, but forgot that it would mean he’d be without a ride home. Steph offered to drive him back to the manor, that she doesn’t mind losing a measly hour of sleep, but Tim insisted he didn’t mind walking. Besides, it’s not like it was a lie. Sure, it’s Gotham, which means Tim can see drug deals going down on street corners and the occasional drunkard puking into a trash can, but Tim feels at peace here.

It brings him back to his early days of climbing fire escapes, tailing Batman and Robin under the cloak of night in the hopes to get just one more photo for his collection. It was a simpler time with fewer psychotic clowns—back then it was just the one, and all he did was tell shitty jokes and occasionally tie Robin up over a swimming pool filled with Jokerized sharks. Nowadays it’s all grotesque murders and creepy masks made of human skin. Where’s the showmanship? Where’s the pizzazz? Disgusting. Deplorable. Lazy beyond all reason. Tim is insulted by the lack of artistic ability in these new Jokers, and you may quote him on that. Regardless, Tim takes comfort in knowing that if something did go wrong, Cass is patrolling somewhere a good five blocks ahead. Maybe he can track her down and pick them up some corn dogs. He’s currently in the Red Hood’s territory, but whether Jason is around at the moment is a gamble at best. His schedule is harder to tamp down than a solid answer on Ted Cruz: Zodiac Killer. Jason might not even be in Gotham right now; he could be in space for all anyone knows. Sometimes Tim feels like Jason is more of a feral cat than a brother, which isn’t too far off, really. Tim happens upon an empty beer can on the sidewalk in front of a boarded-up store that he’s fairly certain used to be an adult film shop. Good ol’ Gotham City. He stoops down to pick up the crinkled can like the good samaritan he is and drops it into a trash can at the mouth of a nearby alley. He wipes his hands on his jeans, designer style be damned. That’s when Tim is grabbed from behind, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth and muffle his shout. He’s pulled into the alley and pushed up against a wall, the bricks digging into his back and knocking the breath from his lungs. Shit, shit, shit. How could he have been taken by surprise so easily? It’s hard to make out his attacker in the shadowed alley, the only discernible features being dark eyes and bared yellow teeth—never a good sign. Tim’s hands are pinned together above him in a strong grip, practically wrenching his shoulders from the sockets. He tries to scream, but the man’s disgusting hand presses harder against his mouth. Tim freezes when he feels the poke of a knife at his throat, digging into the skin just below his Adam’s apple. “Make a sound and I’ll gut you,” his attacker says, his voice a low rumble. The stench of cigarettes and alcohol assaults Tim’s sinuses and makes his stomach roll. He’s going to have to be careful about this. Robin could get out of this hold in five different ways with varying degrees of injury to the opponent, but a civilian couldn’t. Even if the only witness is a low-life scumbag, he shouldn’t run the risk. Better to wait until he’s at the point of no return to bust out the Robin moves. Instead, Tim goes for the oldest trick in the book and knees the man in the crotch, hard. It has the desired effect and the grip on Tim’s wrists slackens, the man dropping him with a grunt. Tim ducks out of range and makes a run for it. If he can just get to the street, he should be home free. Even in Gotham City, there are always witnesses to help out a poor, defenseless teenager under attack. Tim almost makes it to the sidewalk when he’s grabbed by the hair, crying out as he’s thrown violently to the ground. Then there’s weight on top of him, pinning his shoulders to the dirty ground under his back. Tim fights, kicking out and delivering purposeful hits under the guise of a panicked struggle. “You little shit,” the man spits. He’s still got a hold on Tim’s hair, which he uses to slam Tim’s head against the pavement so hard that Tim goes blind for a good ten seconds, his head spinning. The back of his scalp feels wet, and he hates to think about what bacteria must be lurking on the ground beneath him. The knife clatters somewhere to Tim’s side and he’s almost relieved until a hand wraps around his throat, cutting off his next breath. Instinct plunges him into panic, choking on the lack of air and scrambling to get a hold on his attacker. Scratching, kicking, desperately trying to loosen the grip crushing his windpipe. “You didn’t have to make this so difficult,” the man tells him. His body presses down on Tim’s smaller form, keeps him trapped against the unforgiving asphalt, and this is it. This is the point of no return he’s been waiting for, but now Tim is here and he can’t do anything about it. Not even Robin could get out of this without a weapon, and Tim has none. He’s powerless. The creep releases Tim’s hair with a whisper of, “Don’t move.” Before he can do anything more with his newly freed hand, though, Tim’s body is thrown into action faster than he can comprehend moving at all. The world goes hazy, time itself turning to molasses. Absently Tim feels muscles flex, sees shapes move in front of his eyes, but someone else might as well be controlling Tim’s body while he’s locked in the backseat, missing the entire ride. One minute Tim is on his back with the creep on top of him, and after a chunk of time that Tim can’t remember participating in, he’s standing against the alley wall with something clutched in his hand. Tim blinks back the fog, but it lingers. He looks down and studies the way his fingers clasp the handle of the knife. That can’t be right. He wasn’t holding a knife before. Tim comes back to his body in increments, a stop-motion reel. First there’s a stinging ache on the back of his head, blood soaking into the back of his shirt and plastering his hair against his neck. His gaze slips from the glinting knife to the blood that covers his hands, warm and sticky. Then he catches a shape on the ground in front of him and Tim’s breath catches in his throat. The man from before is on the ground now, his eyes closed and blood spreading from a stab wound directly over his sternum. Tim drops the knife like it’s white-hot. Oh, god. Oh, god. Tim did this. He was...he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. He would never. But the man was on top of him and Tim couldn’t breathe, and...he didn’t mean it. Tim staggers back until his back hits the cold brick wall, his pulse pounding in his ears so loud the entire city must hear it. He just stabbed a person. He just killed a person. The one rule he’s supposed to follow, the one thing he promised never to do, and he just did it. Without even a second’s hesitation. He took a life. What is Bruce going to say when he finds out? Tim’s legs are made of jello, wobbling in warning until they give out entirely and he slides to the ground, knees pulled in close to his chest. His hands are still covered in blood. A dead man’s blood. He should...he should do something. He should act. First-aid, stop the bleeding, do whatever it takes to help in case there’s a chance. Tim doesn’t move. He doesn’t even try. His limbs have been replaced with rubber, his brain with slush. He just killed a man. In the back of his mind he knows he can’t go home, not like this. Not covered in another man’s blood. Even if he tried, Tim isn’t sure he’d make it two steps without collapsing into a puddle of whatever emotion is making him feel as though he’s rotting from the inside out. His family lives by a code, would sooner die themselves than take a life. Bats don’t kill. Tim doesn’t kill. Tim killed. His fingers shake as they take out his cell phone on autopilot, and the screen is cracked at the corner from when he was slammed into the ground. That’s going to cost money to fix. Tim gets blood on the screen, smudging over his contact list and warping the names. He finds the one he’s looking for and puts the phone to his ear. A ring. Two rings. A click. “This had better be important,” Jason says. Tim swallows. “Um. I—um.” He can’t take his eyes off of the body, lying there still as a corpse. Because it is a corpse. “My...head isn’t working. It’s—something is wrong. With me.” “Are you high or something? Because if you are, I’ll fucking kill you.” That does it. What little resolve Tim held on to cracks in one clean split and a sob bursts through. He covers his mouth with his elbow, choking on gasps. “Jay, I—it was an accident. I swear to god, I didn’t mean to. He was...it wasn’t...I didn’t mean to.” There’s a creak on the other end, maybe Jason sitting up in his chair. Or maybe he just sat down. Maybe he closed a door. Too many things in the world are creaky. “What the hell are you talking about? What happened?” “He’ll kick me out. He’s gonna take Robin away from me.” Something slams—definitely a door. “Kid, tell me where you are.” “I don’t know. It was—” His brain isn’t working. For the first time in his life, logic and reason escape him and Tim’s mind pushes into overdrive, drags him deeper and deeper into oblivion. Bruce is going to find out. He’s going to find out and he’s going to hate Tim for the rest of his life. Bruce doesn't like murderers. “Goddamn it. Tim, listen to me. Can you do that?” It takes a moment, but Tim manages to get out an affirming noise. “I’m going to track your phone and come get you. Don’t move, got it? Stay right where you are. I’ll be there soon.” Jason hangs up, leaving Tim alone again. He drops his phone back on the concrete, uncaring of potential breaks. It’s already been cracked. “He’s going to kick me out,” Tim repeats to the empty alleyway. ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim is cold by the time Jason arrives. Or maybe he’s been cold this entire time. It’s hard to tell. “Fuck,” Jason swears as he takes in the scene before him. The body on the pavement. Tim, huddled against the alley wall, his eyes glazed over as he stares at the body like a horror movie he can’t turn off. Jason isn’t wearing his helmet, just a domino mask. He takes it off when he kneels in front of Tim, makes Tim meet his eyes. “Hey, kid. You with me?” “I killed him.” The words taste acrid on Tim’s tongue, sour. “Don’t worry about that now. Are you hurt anywhere?” Tim doesn’t answer. The back of his head stung before, but the pain is muffled now. Everything is muffled. “I killed him, Jay. I’m a murderer. Bruce is...I’m not supposed to kill. Robins don’t kill. They don’t.” His chest is tight, getting tighter by the minute until it feels like every breath is being sucked in through a tiny straw. “Tim, breathe,” Jason tells him. He puts his hand on Tim’s shoulder, and that helps a little. Gives him something to latch onto. “You’re in shock. Try putting your head between your knees.” Tim does, stares down at the dirty pavement between his sneakers. His eyes linger on an old fast food receipt. It has droplets of blood on it. “I don’t know what happened, I really don’t. He was—it was an accident. He was on top of me and he had a knife and then he was choking me and...I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe, so I just—I just moved. And now he’s dead. I killed him. What am I going to do?” “It was self-defense,” Jason says, as if the answer could really be so simple. “If you hadn’t acted, he would have hurt you. Maybe even killed you. You did the right thing.” “No, it’s—” Tim picks his head up, digs his nails into his knees to keep himself above the fog. “No. I took a life. I’m guilty. I can’t—there’s no coming back from that. There isn’t.” How can he live with himself after this? Does he even deserve to? “What, so you would rather be dead than have to tell Bruce you took a life? Seriously?” “Yes.” There’s no hesitation, not even a pause to let the words soak in. Jason sighs, and Tim is too far gone to decipher what it means. He squeezes Tim’s shoulder once and stands, goes over to the body still lying on the ground. (As if a dead man would go anywhere.) Jason crouches down and takes off one of his gloves, presses two fingers over the man’s neck. After a moment or two, he lets out a breath. “He’s still alive.” Tim’s breath hitches. “Really? Are you sure?” “Pulse is thready, but he’s not dead.” All of the air leaves Tim’s lungs in one huge whoosh, making him lightheaded. “Oh my god. That’s…” That’s good, right? It’s a good thing. It should be a good thing. “Yup. That’s one hell of a relief.” Jason straightens up from his crouch. He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a gun, and fires it into the man’s head. “Jason!” It happens so fast that Tim doesn’t even have the capacity to think about the blood and brain matter splattered over Jason’s clothes, Tim’s shoes, the cracks in the alley’s pavement. “How could you—” “What? It’s not like he was going to walk it off or anything.” “We just—” Tim’s stomach churns. It feels like he’s going to be sick. “We just killed a man.” “No, I killed a man.” Jason holsters his gun, then kicks the body in the side for good measure. “You, however, are off the hook.” “What are you talking about? I stabbed him.” The knife is around here somewhere. That’s evidence. Proof of what happened tonight, what Tim did. What Jason finished. “And I shot him in the head. One of those is worse than the other.” “But I—” “No,” Jason snaps. He lowers himself to look Tim in the eyes. “You didn’t. Kill. Anyone. Got it? I killed him. Your slate is still clean.” “There’s a body. Evidence. I still did this.” Jason grabs the bloody knife and tucks it into his jacket. “No, the Red Hood did this. He cornered the guy in an alley, stabbed him, then shot him in the face. That’s what happened.” Tim shakes his head. “You can’t. You can’t take the fall for me.” “I’m not. I’m the one who killed him, right? I’m just taking responsibility for my own actions, which nobody is going to look twice at because this is the third one this week.” Jason takes Tim by the arm, pulling him upright and keeping him steady when he wobbles. “What about Bruce?” “We’ll tell him the truth. That you got attacked by some creep, I killed his slimy ass like he deserved, and then I let you crash at my place for the night to make sure you were safe. That’s it. Understand?” Tim isn’t sure if he does or not. He’s too numb to attempt puzzling it out, but he does know one thing he can say. “Thanks, Jason.” “Don’t mention it. Just try not to puke on me until we get to my place and I’ll call us even.”

[youngdreamer3214]

Parting Words

Disclaimer- I don't own the Teen titans or anything related.

Jason Todd is Red X.

The titans are in their mid- twenties. Raven and Jason are living together in Gotham after the titans were taken over by younger heroes; but they still go on missions assigned to them by the league.

Strong winds blew as dark clouds adorned the sky. Thunder raked through the skies and the clouds were desperate to shed the water they had been holding. A storm was brewing.

But it was nothing compared the storm of emotions which trapped Raven and Jason which was ready to swallow them whole.

"How can you not tell me Jason?" Raven said in anger, a few objects rattled in dark magic. Jason sighed in frustration "It wasn't important."

Raven sharply turned to face her boyfriend and hissed "How can you think it wasn't important? You took three bullets Jason near your heart...three bullets! You almost died."

"I'm not dead, so how is it any important now?" he said, anger and frustration creeping in his voice.

"You are my boyfriend Jason, it is important to me." She yelled, a few more objects rattling now. They had been fighting for about an hour now and they both were incredibly thin on their patience.

"I am fine now, so why are you making it a bigger deal than it is." He yelled back.

She took a step towards him and exclaimed "It is a big deal because you are important to me. Don't you get that?"

He also took a step towards her and yelled "No, what I don't understand why are you so mad?"

"I am mad at you because I love you." She spat turning away from him in frustration.

Raven and Jason had been dating for two years now and were living together. Jason had just returned from a long mission and Raven got to know that he didn't tell her that he nearly died had Batman not intervened. Which was also why Jason didn't want to talk about it, he was pissed off because Batman saved him; needless to say he still had some issues with his adoptive father.

After Batman found out that he was the anti- hero, Red-X; he tried to get Jason to join the family again, Jason was a little reluctant about that but he became a hero again.

Jason growled and grabbed her arm to make her look at him, his eyes were pulsing green from the pit as he snapped "Maybe that's the problem" Raven gasped and looked at him with shock and hurt.

"...I can take care of myself, I don't need anyone and even if I did I am sure as hell that I don't need a pathetic demon like you." He added after a couple of moments of shocked silence, his eyes still pulsing green.

They were silent for a couple of moments as his words hung between them like poisonous daggers. Raven looked at him with tears welling up in her eyes, his eyes lost the green tint as the realization of his words dawned upon him. He took a step towards his girlfriend who was on the verge of crying and reached out to touch her and protect her against his harsh words but she stepped back and chanted her mantra to teleport away from him.

He was reaching forward to grab her before she teleported away but he was too late, he looked at the spot which was previously occupied by his beloved girlfriend and he sunk his face in his hands and pulled his hair a little roughly.

This wasn't how today was supposed to go; he wanted to spend time with his beloved girlfriend after being away for so long. He had missed her so much.

He honestly wasn't thinking when he spoke, he just saw red at that moment and he didn't mean anything he said. He loved her, more than anything in his life and her love was one thing he treasured more than anything and that would never ever be a problem; and he couldn't live without her.

He knew that his words hurt her, despite her emotionless appearance Raven felt everything very deeply and she had told him that she never felt like anyone needed her or wanted her and hearing those words from him would have really broken her heart.

He grabbed his phone and his gear and rushed out of their apartment to find his girlfriend while he dialled her number and tried to track her phone.

Meanwhile Raven teleported herself away from their apartment, she wiped her tears but they continued to fall, she slowly walked to the nearest bar and sat ordering a drink for herself. His words had cut deep and had hurt her a lot more than she could fathom and the only thing she wanted to do now was drink.

Yeah, many of her boyfriend's habits had rubbed onto her.

She sighed and placed her head in her hands, silently crying while his words repeated themselves in her mind. She was brought out of her thoughts when she heard her phone ring.

She pulled it out of her pocket and saw the picture of her boyfriend and his name flash on the screen. She cut the call and switched off her phone so that he couldn't track her and shoved it back in her pocket.

As she drank she thought about her options, she could go to her big brother but he was off on some mission with Kori. So the alien was also out, maybe she could speak to Richard, no she stopped that train of thought.

After her last encounter with Damian and now with Jason, she couldn't speak to him. She couldn't deal with bats anymore. 'Maybe what they said was true, why will they need me?' she thought sadly and ordered another drink.

Damian Wayne, the blood son of Bruce Wayne was her close friend but even he tended to say things without thinking. And what he said last time to her had felt like he had stabbed her.

Yeah, she wasn't having good days.

After a few hours, she sat in the bar almost drunk when she felt a familiar presence approach her but she didn't bother to look. Nope, she didn't care who it was or what they wanted, they could all go to hell.

"Finally Raven, Jason is going crazy looking for you." Came the familiar voice of her good friend, Richard as he sat beside her on a bar stool.

Richard was actually worried because if Jason had called him for help finding Raven then they must have had a bad fight. Jason usually stayed distant and didn't call for help unless he was really desperate. And now his worries increased as he saw Raven drinking, many glasses surrounded her and she was holding one also. Raven was usually level headed and logical; and if she was drinking heavily then she must be really upset.

"Don't care...leave me alone." She slurred and continued drinking from the glass in her hand. He sighed and turned to look at her, her shoulders were slumped in defeat and she was holding onto the glass as if her life was depending on it. He couldn't see her face as it was shadowed by her now long wavy hair.

He was about to say something when he saw a few tears drop on the bar as she finished her drink. She placed her glass on the table and extended her card towards the bartender to pay for her drinks. "What happened Rae? Tell me" he said calmly but also firmly as he placed his hand on her shoulder in a friendly way.

"Nothing...just leave me be." Came her low reply. Raven internally snarled at her demon anatomy, she couldn't even get drunk fully; she was just tipsy right now. She got up, shaking off his hand and turned to leave the bar when he grabbed her hand to stop her from leaving. She just jerked her hand back.

"You are one of my best friends, please tell me." He pleaded again. She wrapped her hands around herself and mumbled "Damian and Jason are right."

And she walked out of the bar leaving a confused Richard behind, what were his brothers right about. He ran to catch up with Raven who was walking slowly; he jogged beside her and asked "Where are you going?"

The streets seemed a little empty for it deep in the night and a storm had just passed, leaving puddles of water in its wake.

She didn't have a destination in mind, she was just walking. "Jason doesn't need me." She mumbled again, her eyes droopy and her legs shaky. Richard turned towards her as he walked, not seeing where they walked.

Richard had directed all his attention towards the young woman in front of him who was a very strong demon, who was the queen of hell and could destroy the world on a whim but right now she was vulnerable and sad. He was trying to understand and maybe then solve what was troubling her but he couldn't understand anything from her cryptic answers.

Before he could say anything, a light flashed behind him, Raven turned and pushed him away. He was caught off guard by this and he fell and as he fell he heard a crashing sound and a sound of a vehicle stopping forcefully. His heart skipped a beat as he realized what happened.

He got up quickly and ran towards the truck; he hadn't realized that they were walking on the road. When he reached he saw the bleeding body of Raven near an electric pole with sparks falling from the pole because of the collision and a few wires laying near her, and a man panicking as he dialled a number. Richard ran towards his friend and saw her clothes seeping blood, she was bloodied and bruised with a deep gash on her forehead.

He drew her to his lap and said frantically "Raven...look at me." Her eyes were half hooded, there were silence as he quickly scooped her up and made his way over to the cave as that was the place nearest to them and one of the very few places equipped to help her. His heart was jumping loudly, his friend saved him but maybe at her cost. "Jason." She mumbled and passed out; her body limp in his arms as he rushed.

'Oh God, Jason! How would he handle this?' Richard knew that he had to call Jason but right now his priority was making sure that his friend would survive.

He jumped quickly but carefully and ran as to not hurt the empath, he didn't care if his clothes were bloodied, and he just had to make sure she was all right.

Richard didn't want to think about the worst, he pinged the emergency button which he always had on his belt to alert the cave. He was panting for air by the time he reached but he quickly entered the pass code and saw his mentor, his father standing there with his younger brother, Tim.

"What happened Richard?" Batman asked as he took the young woman from Richard's arms and rushed her to the medical wing. "Accident...she saved me." He said in between long intakes of air.

Batman carefully but swiftly took the young woman to the medical wing, blood was seeping from her wounds and her bruises were turning blue-black for some reason.

Batman was quite fond of the young empath, at the beginning he did not approve his second son dating an inter- dimensional demon's daughter but she had slowly won him over. He saw that she made Jason happy and made him feel loved and honestly he didn't want anything more than that. After everything Jason had been through he deserved happiness.

With extreme caution he did a scan of her and started her treatment.

Richard sighed and saw his hands and clothes which were covered in the dark beauty's blood. He sat with Tim; they didn't say anything for they were sad and worried for their friend. Richard rubbed his eyes and took out his phone and dialled his younger brothers' phone.

After a couple of rings Jason picked up his phone.

"Did you find her?" Came his desperate question. "Jason...something has happened."

Jason reached the cave and yelled "Where the hell is she?!" his heart was thumping so fast and loudly that he could hear it over the lightning raking the city outside the shelter of the cave as he approached Richard and Tim.

When he saw his older brother, time stopped for him and his heart started beating faster if possible, adrenaline pumped through his veins. Richard's clothes were stained in dark blood along with his hands; Jason tried to steady himself when he saw that Richard didn't look at him.

He growled and asked again in a dangerously low voice "Where is my girlfriend?" Richard looked at him with concern and guilt lacing his expression and sighed sadly "In the medical wing..." Jason pulled Richard's collar so that they were eye to eye as he roared "What the damn hell happened?"

Richard freed himself from his brother's grasp with a deep breath and told him everything. Him finding her in a bar, she almost drunk and unwilling to speak to him, and her saving him from being hit by a truck but getting hurt instead.

Richard turned and saw fury and concern on his younger brother's face, before Jason could say anything Batman walked towards them. Jason ran towards their mentor and asked frantically "How is she? Is she okay?"

Batman sighed and looked at his son who was fidgeting in his worry and was two seconds away from running towards his girlfriend. "Jason, she hasn't woken up yet and is very weak. We won't know fully about her condition until she has woken up."

"What happened to her?" He demanded. Batman sighed and said reluctantly "She has lost a lot of blood and has four broken bones and one fractured rib."

"But she can heal herself." Jason stated in anger. Batman took off his cowl and said "Her powers are exhausted after protecting her heart from the current."

Wordlessly Jason ran towards the medical wing and towards his weak girlfriend. He opened the glass door with a shaky breath and saw his strong and beautiful girlfriend now looking pale and fragile. Her head was bandaged as were some parts of her hands and she was hooked onto several machines, he slowly walked towards her and saw her midriff also bandaged.

He carefully held her hand, cautious enough to not cause her more pain than she already is in. He kneeled beside her on the floor and kissed her hand "Wake up, love...if only to be angry at me; but please wake up...I need you." His heart beat was mirroring the thunder that was echoing in the city.

He said the last part shakily and rested his head beside her, trying to blink away the tears forming in his eyes.

Bruce, Richard and Tim saw the scene before them and were astonished seeing Jason like this, so broken over someone. They all hoped that Raven would wake up soon, for she was the only one who could heal Jason also.

Jason woke up to a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly. He lifted his head hoping it was all a bad dream but when he met with the bandaged body of his girlfriend his face fell. He looked over his shoulder and saw his father standing with a concerned expression.

"She'll be okay Jason; she loves you too much to leave you." Bruce comforted his son. Jason sighed sadly and rubbed his eyes saying "I screwed up Bruce...I said some things I didn't mean, I hurt her...I am the reason she is like this. If I hadn't said all that then she wouldn't have left...and then she wouldn't have been in this condition."

"Thinking like this won't do you any good Jason, all you can do right now is learn from your mistakes. And I am sure that she will be okay, she's very strong." Bruce said wisely.

"You haven't slept in two nights, go on. I'll sit with her." Bruce added. "I can't leave her." Jason said stubbornly.

Bruce sighed and said "At least go shower and eat something...until then I'll sit here."

Jason thought over his mentor's words and then reluctantly nodded and kissed his girlfriend's hand which he had been holding and got up "I'll be back soon, love."

Bruce watched his son walk out and then turned his attention towards the young empath in front of him and said softly to her "Jason needs you, he's happy with you and I haven't seen him this happy since a long time."

After a couple of minutes the dark knight saw a twitch of black magic on the empath's fingertips; he sighed a bit in relief knowing that she was in there somewhere.

After an hour, the glass doors swished open and Bruce met with the face of his eldest son, "Where's Jason?" the older hero asked.

"He passed out on his bed." Richard said with a slight chuckle and the dark knight just smiled a little and then turned his attention back to the dark beauty.

0O0

"Where's Raven?" Jason roared as he saw the empty bed in the bat cave, his fury was surfacing as Tim approached him and said softly "Bruce and Dick shifted her to the Manor while you were sleeping...they are with her at the moment."

"Thanks replacement." He nodded at his younger brother and approached his old home through one of the many secret entrances to his old home. He approached the medical room, situated in the depths of the manor and saw Raven still unconscious and Richard sitting on a chair beside her and reading some novel to her sleeping form.

Jason walked inside and grabbed a chair, and pulled it so that he could sit with by his girlfriend. Richard paused from his reading and said with a tiny smile "Bruce said that her wounds are healing rather quickly."

"Then why isn't she waking up?" Jason said with desperation and worry lacing his voice. Richard placed a hand on his brother's shoulder "She'll wake up, Jaybird...she is too stubborn. It will just take some time."

Jason didn't reply instead he just looked at his girlfriend.

After a couple of long, slow moments "I'm sorry...if only I had paid more attention to where I was walking then she wouldn't have to save me."

Jason turned and looked at the guilty expression of his elder brother, he couldn't pretend that he wasn't angry at him for not protecting Raven but then he remembered that his girlfriend was Raven, and if the choice came to save herself or others then she would chose others in a heartbeat.

Her selflessness was something he both admired and hated at the same time.

"Don't apologize Dick, I asked you to help me find her...in a way it's my fault." Jason muttered. Richard placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and picked up the book again and began reading from where he had left off.

Jason didn't say anything instead he lightly kissed her hand before holding it tightly between his. He also noticed the light flame of magic on her fingertips and smiled in relief internally, knowing that her magic was slowly coming back, which would help her heal.

A week went by; Raven was still unconscious; she had begun to show signs of rapid healing when one day her heart beats started to slow down. The whole bat family started panicking but Bruce had restarted her heart via electric shocks. Jason was two seconds away from losing control but when he heard the rhythmic beating of her heart, he calmed down.

And since that day he refused to leave her side but after his brothers, Alfred's and Bruce's constant coaxing he was made to eat, shower and sleep. And he was not to be given entry unless he did all that, Jason grumbled as he left his girlfriend's side after kissing her jewel lightly and muttering an 'I'll be back.'

Today Damian was watching Raven; he hadn't come to see her ever since he found out that she was in the medical wing. He couldn't face her as he remembered his last words to her. His heart was filled with guilt when he remembered how hurt she looked.

"I didn't mean anything I said." Damian muttered softly.

"What did you say exactly?" Richard asked from the door. Damian whipped his head towards the source of the voice and sighed knowing that he cannot lie to his elder brother.

"I said something I didn't mean...I said that she was a mistake and when Todd realizes that fact he will also leave her."

There was a moment's silence, Damian looked at the carpet in shame; unable to meet his brother's disapproving stare.

"You said WHAT to my girlfriend." Jason yelled from the entrance of the room, which had Richard and Damian's gaze snapping over to him. And he looked furious with his eyes pulsing green. Jason stalked towards the ex- assassin but before he could say anything Richard came in between them and placed a hand on Jason's chest, holding him back so that he wouldn't bruise the youngest Wayne.

"He didn't think before he spoke, Jaybird and he regrets it." Richard said.

"And that makes it forgivable!" yelled Jason. "No, it doesn't. Let me speak to him while you sit with Raven." Richard said calmly.

Jason glared and growled as he sat on the chair near his girlfriend as Richard pulled Damian out of the room.

They stood outside in silence; Richard's glare was piercing into Damian. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me...you need to apologize to Raven when she wakes up...and next time think before you speak, your words did hurt her a lot and made her think that what you said was right." Richard said and walked off.

Damian walked in the room when Jason had left for a minute or so; he walked over to the unconscious form of his best friend and said "I apologize for my cruel words Raven, I didn't mean any part of it...we are lucky to have you in our lives and I hope that you wake up soon." He saw her fingers twitch and her magic seep through her fingers.

That evening, Bruce was watching Raven and Jason, as he had slept with his resting beside her on the bed and his hands holding hers in a gentle but firm grasp. Bruce silently did a scan of her and saw that all her wounds were healing quickly.

Suddenly the young girl gasped lightly and blearily opened her eyes, she felt a heavy weight on her hand and when she turned she saw her boyfriend sleeping with his head near her and her hand in between his. He stirred a bit but didn't wake up.

"Finally you're awake." Bruce said with a soft smile towards the girl he was coming to think of as a daughter. "H-how?"

"Dick brought you here." He replied softly. When he saw that Raven was about to say something he added "Sleep, we can talk after you have fully rested."

Raven wanted to protest but her eyes were droopy from the medication, she slowly gave in and slept. The dark knight looked at the now sleeping young woman and smiled in relief, she was awake and all right. He then turned to his son and lightly shook him awake to give him the news.

Raven slowly opened her eyes and was met with the beautiful aquamarine eyes of her boyfriend and his smiling face. "There she is, sunshine." He said softly.

"You gave us quite a scare Rae." Richard said; Raven turned towards the source of the voice and saw the Tim, Richard, Damian standing near the opposite wall with Bruce standing on her right side with relief shining in his eyes and Alfred standing at the entrance with a small smile. Jason helped Raven sit up as he placed pillows behind her to support her.

Bruce saw the confusion on her face and said "Let's give them some privacy; we can speak to Raven later." They all nodded and shuffled out of the room, as the door closed behind them, Raven found herself crushed to Jason's chest.

"I'm sorry Rae...I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it." He said frantically. Raven could feel his tremble as he pulled her tighter against him and kissed her hairline.

She slowly pulled away and saw the worry written on his face "Don't let me go again." She placed her hand on the right side of his face and he leaned into it "Never little bird, never again." He kissed the inside of her palm and pulled her closer so that he rested his forehead against hers. "I was so scared little bird...so scared."

She looked up at him with the dark, enchanting eyes of hers and said softly with a smile "I know...I could hear everything." He then leaned forward and kissed her passionately, pouring all his love and worry in that kiss. She responded with equal passion and wrapped her arms around his neck.

They parted and Jason kissed her nose saying "I love you...I love you so much." Then he saw the smile that made his heart beat a little faster and she replied kissing him lightly "I love you too."

Jason smiled at her words and then saw the tiredness in her eyes, he grinned and said "Come on, rest for a bit...your body hasn't fully healed." She smiled and laid back on the pillows, Jason was about to get up when she caught his hand and muttered "Stay..."

Jason kissed her hand and saw her making space for him on the bed; he smiled and got on beside her. He curled around her and placed his hand around her waist, carefully enough to not hurt her injuries. She placed her head on shoulder and her hands on his.

He kissed her temple and pulled her tighter against him and muttered "You're my little bird and I am never letting go ever again." And he could feel her smile against his skin before she slept and after a few moments of watching her sleep he also gave in.

And that's how the bat family found them later, Jason curled around Raven with her head on his shoulder; both having happy and peaceful expressions. They didn't have the heart to wake the couple up so they left silently, letting the couple find comfort and love in each other.

[is-it-art-tho]

This is Chapter 3!

Chapter 1    Chapter 2

Summary: Jason will not let this happen again. He can't. But what if he's already too late?

Jason hated Halloween.

It didn’t used to be that way. There was a period, a lifetime ago, when he loved trick or treating.

Even now, he could still feel the bulky zombie teeth in his mouth, could hear the sound of miniature candies rattling around a plastic pumpkin bucket. Years of practice covering Bruce’s own bruises and scars had turned the older man into a savant with a palette and latex, and Jason could still picture the depths of Bruce’s eyes as he hovered practically nose to nose with the younger boy, skillfully crafting gruesome wounds and sutures across his face.

Back then, Halloween had been one of the few times a year when Jason and Bruce got to dress up for fun rather than battle or ritzy, soul-sucking fundraisers. It was a day when blades were made of plastic and Styrofoam rather than steel, and the things that lurked in the shadows were not deadly adversaries but friends and neighbors. A time when they moved with their feet planted firmly on the ground instead of along rooftops or soaring through the air, and the coming of night did not bring with it danger or violence.

On Halloween, blood tasted like food coloring and corn syrup. The bruises on Bruce’s face were bright and fake, and his scowl, usually menacing, was little more than a poorly disguised grin.

“No, you gotta be scary!” Jason had complained once after glancing up to find a wide smile on Bruce’s blotchy green face.

And Bruce had laughed, a full-throated sound from deep in his chest before promising, “Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

But that was then, and dwelling on those times now was an exercise in masochism.

These days, Halloween was easier to get through from inside a bar or holed up in his apartment. While miniature witches and cartoon characters trickled into the streets, he intended to spend the night plastered, eating too much food, watching mind-numbing TV, and praying the “No Candy” sign on his door would be enough to deter any would-be sugar gremlins.

As he kicked up his feet in nothing but his boxers and started scrolling through a selection of movies on the TV, though, he couldn’t quite manage to sink into the blissful detachment he so desperately craved. He shifted on the couch and glared at a movie synopsis without taking in any of the words there, a growing sense of frustration twisting through him.

It had already been two weeks and still his stomach was in knots, and he found himself swinging wildly from fits of aimless rage to bouts of queasy silence as Dick’s words reverberated through his head. Or rather, not his words, but his quiet.

And Jason hated himself for it because hadn’t he wanted this all along? To be free from the shadow of the bat? To assert himself as his own being with his own code? Hadn’t he personally waged war against them; wanted them dead?

How stupid to think a year and change of tenuous comradery might change any of that, might undo years of animus and at times outright violence between them.

They were right to keep him at arm’s length and expect him to be exactly what he had shown himself to be – a killer. It didn’t matter that it was because of them – because of Bruce’s inane code – that he hadn’t killed anyone in almost two years. Some things could not be undone. If anyone understood that, it ought to be him.

He glanced towards the linen closet in the hall where a duffel bag was crammed behind a couple towels and bed sheets. Inside was the new body armor he’d had Harper help him create. It was almost identical to what he usually wore, except this edition featured a brilliant red bat insignia across the chest. He’d been planning to start wearing soon.

He scoffed at himself.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. And maybe he wasn’t. But damn, if this didn’t still suck.

A ringtone went off, and Jason hopped up and made his way to the drawer in his kitchen where he kept his burners. He fumbled around before finding the dinky flip phone with a new message that simply said:

He’s out.

Jason sprinted into his room and emerged again in his Red Hood gear – the classic all black version – leaving a box of takeout and a scrolling screensaver on his TV as he slipped out the door.

The thick tires of his bike squealed against the asphalt as he tore around corners and down the still-sleeping streets of Gotham. Slowly, the store fronts, overpriced apartments, and new construction crumbled to ruins around him. Windows were replaced with graffitied plywood, buildings stood gaping and abandoned, some blackened with decades-old fire damage, others missing all together, just piles of rubble and garbage and overgrown weeds in empty spaces that reminded Jason of missing teeth. Even with the harvest moon drenching the city in pale light, these few blocks remained in shadow as if some invisible force hung overhead, blocking out the light.

Hood was headed for The Yards, a rougher part of town that reminded him of his old stomping grounds in Crime Alley. There were no trick or treaters out here. The few folks that walked the streets were mostly junkies and barflies and scantily clad girls. They noted him and offered nods of acknowledgement, unafraid.

He’d spent enough time in these parts now, that people who might typically shy away from cops knew that as long as they weren’t hurting anybody, he wasn’t going to bother them. It was a point of pride for him, that his reputation preceded him in that way; it made it easier for him to help the people who needed it most.

He pulled up in front of a defunct pizza shop and sauntered in through the boarded-up door, past the grimy tables and yawning brick oven, through the kitchen, and out the back door to the small alcove behind the restaurant lined with dumpsters and buzzing with the sounds of rodents and pests scurrying through trash.

A kid was sitting with his back against one of the dumpsters, a collection of glass bottles beside him. On the brick wall opposite him, Hood noted splatter stains over a glittering pile of broken glass. As if on cue, the kid picked up a bottle and flung it into the wall where it exploded in a spray of old beer and golden-brown shards.

Hood slipped off his helmet and tucked it under his arm so that he was only in his domino. A lot of the kids around here preferred when he stayed in the helmet. Some thought it was cool, but others, he could tell, found him easier to talk to that way. It was the eyes, he thought. There were certain things that were easier to admit aloud when you weren’t looking someone in the eyes.

This kid, though, was not one of them.

“Yo,” Hood said, walking over to slide down the side of the dumpster so that they were sitting side by side. Not touching, but close enough that a shift in weight, an adjusted leg could easily result in contact. This was another thing that not all kids around here liked – the physical closeness.

“Hey.” The boy didn’t look at him right away, instead waving his fingers over the bottles as he hunted for the next one to throw. He landed on a retro Coke and weighed the thick glass in his scrawny hands.

Hood watched him chuck it at the wall and grin at the explosion before asking, “How are things with you?”

Fry – that was what everyone called the kid around here; Hood had no idea why – shrugged, and his grin faded. Not into a frown, but a careful absence of expression. An absence that managed to say I’m fine and Please ask me what’s wrong and Please help all at once. It was the kind of look that Hood recognized too well; one he’d practiced in a mirror on more than one occasion when he was a kid, hoping someone would see it and understand.

They never did.

“Henry’s back,” Fry answered.

Hood already knew this. He had little informants all over this area; it was what the text had been about. But still he said, “Already? What about the trial?”

“He got bail.” Fry toyed with the neck of a new bottle, still not looking Hood in the eyes.

“And?”

Fry shrugged again, and Hood inwardly cursed the whole goddamn police department. It was a song he’d heard too many times before. Scumbag gets put away, makes bail, goes straight home, takes it out on the family, GCPD is nowhere to be found.

Stopping bank robbers and metas was easy. Those guys were loud and when they went away, they went away for a while. But this stuff, the villains who masqueraded as family men, as loving fathers and husbands – those were the real monsters. The masks they wore were more effective than any cowl or secret identity Hood had ever seen.

And it seemed that no matter how much time he spent talking with the kids in this area, working with them, trying clumsily to help them understand what to expect from social services and offering them numbers to some of his burners, he still felt like he wasn’t doing enough. There weren’t enough hours in the day, there wasn’t enough of him to singlehandedly pick up the pieces where the entire system was letting these kids – these families – down.

And God was it letting them down.

He wanted to get up right then. Every instinct in his body was screaming for justice, for revenge, and he wanted to go straight to Fry’s place and then to the GCPD to tell them to do their damn jobs and where they could find Henry’s body.

And maybe he should do that. It would be easier and more effective than anything the cops would do, and he felt now like he suddenly didn’t have anything to prove anymore. He was who he was, and if that made him the bad guy then so be it. A small price to pay in the grand scheme if that’s what it took to get things done.

As the rage swelled and Hood got ready to stand, he felt a small hand wrap around his. He looked, but Fry was staring away, his cheeks glistening in the orange glow from the light mounted above them on the brick wall.

And just like that, all of his restless fury melted into something dull and simmering, and Hood took a breath and tilted his head back against the grimy dumpster. “I’m sorry,” he sighed.

Fry shrugged again and sniffled. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asked, letting go of Hood’s hand to wipe his face.

“I can’t just come hang out with the coolest kid I know?”

Fry offered a shaky laugh. “Wanna try one?” He offered another Coke bottle and Hood took it.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the bottle careening into the wall. Something about the motion reminded him of throwing a batarang – like muscle memory.

“Whoa!” Fry shouted. “That was a good one! Do it again!”

Fry shoved another bottle at Hood, and Hood chuckled as he launched it at the wall, the sharp crash mixing with the Fry’s delighted whoops.

And though Fry was now openly elated, there was still something in his face, a deep, unwavering kind of hurt.

It was the kind of pain that Hood knew would stay with the kid even if he managed to set Fry up with the best family in the best city tonight. Even if Hood made sure nothing bad ever happened to him again for the rest of his life, that wounded shadow would cling there, if only barely.

It was the mark of a kid who had experienced too much too soon, during those formative years. A kind of broken that could not be fixed, but instead was lived with, grown into, like a childhood birthmark or a scar.

It wasn’t the debilitating kind. He’d seen those kids too, the ones who were already so far gone, the scars so numerous and deep that it would take a miracle to reach them. Fry wasn’t there yet, and Hood just hoped he’d be able to help before he got there.

“So, no trick or treating, huh?” Hood asked. “What? Too good for candy or something?”

“Don’t have a costume. My mom said she would make me one but then…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged again.

Hood stared at him for a while then popped up, saying, “Wait right there,” before jogging back through the restaurant. He returned holding a leather jacket. This one was more casual than the one he wore on patrols; it lacked the sewn-in armor and additional slots for concealed weapons, but it matched his Red Hood jacket close enough.

“Stand up,” he said, and Fry obeyed, eyes wide. “Turn around.”

Fry turned and Hood slipped the jacket onto Fry’s small frame. It dangled off of him like a cloak and must have been fairly heavy judging by the slouch in Fry’s shoulders, but when he turned back around, he was beaming.

“Yeah,” Hood said, smiling and looking him up and down. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Oh–” He reached into his own jacket and pulled out a spare domino. “Put this on.”

Fry put it on, and the way his smile grew to encompass his entire face was almost cartoonish.

“Nice,” Hood said with a grin.

“I’m the Red Hood…?” he whispered. Then he looked up into Hood’s eyes. “I’m you?”

“Looks like it.” Hood breathed through the ache in his chest that made him want to change his mind and urge Fry to be somebody – anybody – else. A voice in his head moaned:

You don’t want to be me.

“So now for candy,” Hood continued. “I’m guessing there’s not much around here to work with.”

Fry shook his head.

“If you want, I can take you to one of the rich neighborhoods where they give out the good stuff. I’m talking king-sized name brands.”

“You’ll let me ride on your motorcycle?” Fry’s voice edged toward an eager shriek.

“Yeah, long as you promise not to make that sound again,” Hood laughed. “And that you won’t fall off,” he added.

Fry nodded vigorously as Hood clapped him on the back and steered him back through the kitchen saying, “Then let’s blow this joint.”

After they’d gotten on the bike and Fry had securely wrapped his arms around Hood’s mid-section, he asked, “Um, Hood…?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you… walk with me, too?”

Hood went still for a moment. His grip tightened on the handlebars as he turned around to smile, saying, “Well, duh. You think I’m gonna let you get all that candy to yourself?”

And Fry smiled, squeezing Hood’s torso even tighter and burying his face in the young man’s back as they roared down the street – slower, of course, than usual.

[damian-dreamz8442]

Missing in Action Part II

Hola, back with the second half of the fic. Should I link Part I here?

Psych, I already did. 

BTW this is NOT canon compliant and I do not even try to be accurate at all, just in character. 

Basic re-cap (spoilers) Damian is missing, kidnapped by a pack of goons in clown makeup, right out from under Dick’s nose. Afterwards he got a call from the Joker saying he has Damian, and gave Dick a bit of a clue as to where. 

Meanwhile, the Joker is very angry over the fact that he doesn’t actually have Damian, and the little punk is, in fact, nowhere to be found. 

Dick called the batmobile to his location, putting it on autopilot as he was in no condition to drive. His pounding head was only a minor distraction compared to the all-encompassing worry over Damian. He needed back-up if he was going to find Damian. 

Stephanie was, unsurprisingly, the first to answer. “Batman?” She questioned, no doubt noticing Dick initiated a group call with her, Cass, Tim and Jason. 

“I hope this is quick, Batman,” Tim added, keys clacking audibly in the background, “I’m in the middle of a case with the titans and-”

“Damian is missing.” Dick blurted, abandoning code names. 

“What?” Jason barked. Dick could hear Cass narrow her eyes. 

“He was kidnapped on patrol,” Dick explained, “a pack of goons took him, wearing clown makeup.” 

“Oh my god.” Stephanie breathed, at the same time as Tim’s “the Joker? He’s back?” 

“We don’t know that.” Jason reasoned, voice tight. “There are copy cats of the Joker all over Gotham.” 

“I got a call.” Dick cut his brother off, trying to focus his eyes on the road despite not being in control of the car. “A payphone, somehow he knew I would still be in the area. He gave me a clue.” A really messed up, useless clue. Dick hated even remembering the words as they came along with that familiar nasal voice. He’d written down the message, scrawled hastily on a sticky note in his belt, but somehow he’d dropped it in his panic. 

“He said he took Robin to ‘the place little robins go to... die’.” Dick ignored his voice crack, hoping the others would as well. 

Tim’s typing stopped, “like actual birds or-”

“The warehouse.” Jason growled, eliciting a curse from Dick. “You don’t think...” Jason’s only response was a grunt. 

Jason’s constant death jokes insured that at least they all knew which warehouse he was referring to. It did nothing to instill confidence in Dick. 

“How long do we have?” Tim asked as Dick went about changing the coordinates in his GPS. 

“It’s the Joker,” Jason grumbled, emotion lost from his voice in a transparent way of blocking out old memories, “we’ll be lucky if Damian’s even recognizable when we get there.” 

The line went silent, the implications heavy on the group of siblings. Dick wished for the thousandth time that Bruce was there. He could’ve stopped all this, surely. Dick didn’t have time to think about the irony; losing his first robin the same way the first Batman lost his robin. Dick wouldn’t let his brain go there. He couldn’t. 

Damian finally made it back to the street Dick was supposed to be on. Between limping and sticking to the shadows as much as possible in red and green, it had taken him nearly another hour. Quite the pathetic display, Damian told himself. No doubt if his father had been alive, he would’ve been disappointed. 

Despite it being two hours, Damian was at a loss when he found the alleyway deserted. There was a creepy box, mostly broken, and a stuffed clown face that laid decimated not far away, but no Batman. Damian did not like the idea of limping all the way back to the manor. His ankle pulsed with constant pain, it was getting harder to breathe around his ribs, and the cuts littered all of his limbs had yet to stop bleeding. It was tempting to just sit against the wall and wait for someone to come along and put him out of his misery. 

Instead, Damian limped over to a phone booth across the street. The receiver was unhooked, emitting the most sound, second only to Drake speaking. Damian hung it up with a grimace. He was surprised it worked at all, considering no one used phone booths anymore. Unless they were desperate. Which Damian was. 

He was about to try to remember the number for Wayne manor, when Damian noticed something yellow discarded haphazardly outside the phone booth. It wouldn’t have been of much interest to him, except the handwriting was unmistakable. 

Dick had used the phone booth and carelessly left behind a note. No doubt he was over reacting to Damian being missing, but at least it ensured he was alive. The note made little sense. 

‘Where little robins go to die’, who would even come up with that? Damian made a face at the sickening notion. 

Sluggishly, Damian’s brain aligned the clues. Dick thought he was missing, already on a scale of six of worry. He and Tim categorized a scale of worry for their family. Dick was almost always a five, Damian had never seen Jason rise above a two. 

Someone had called him on the phone booth, obviously. It was unlikely Dick’s communicator was broken in the skirmish and even if it was he wouldn’t think to use a phone booth. For what purpose? He could just call the batmobile. 

So some sicko had called the phone booth and given Dick the message. A clue perhaps? Damian read it again, allowed his mushy, bruised brain to comprehend the words. Wished he was as good a detective as Drake. Bashed the intrusive thought with a mental crowbar. 

Crowbar! Damian would’ve smacked his head if it didn’t already hurt so much. Finally Jason’s fatalistic sense of humor came in handy; his cause of death ingrained in the back of Damian’s mind. A rather dark turn of thought, but Damian was more results oriented. 

The Joker had beaten Jason with a crowbar, then killed him, in a warehouse on the other side of Gotham. It never did get rebuilt, but the Joker had erroneously threatened to do the same thing to Damian. Despite it being a lie, Dick would believe it. He didn’t know Damian escaped. 

Great, just great. How unbelievably fantastic. What an amazing turn of events, now Damian would get the absolute privilege of walking all the way across Gotham, trying to catch up with Dick who was probably a hair shy of a ten. If Damian was wrong well... that would really suck. 

Damian was really starting to understand why Joker was the most disliked criminal in the batfamily. (There was a vote. Ironically, they all like Harley Quinn the most.) 

With no other options, Damian began limping in the vague direction of the infamous warehouse. A street later, he passed a marooned motorcycle. After that, his night got much better. 

Dick ran across the grounds of the warehouse district to find the rest of his siblings not far from the remains of the blown up warehouse. Cass had a hand on Jason’s shoulder, while he quietly muttered about not letting Damian die the same way he had. It was cruelty on another level, this scheme of the Joker’s. Dick just wanted his robin back. 

Tim and Steph were formulating a strategy. Well, Tim was, having pulled up an overhead view of the warehouse rubble. Steph kept suggesting they go in fighting, get Damian, and set Joker on fire. Tim pointed out eight reasons that would not work. 

Dick stood next to Jason, taking a deep breath. “I don’t think we have time to wait, or make a plan.” He shot an apologetic look at Tim, “we just need to go in, canvas it, find Damian-”

“That’s what Joker wants!” Tim insisted, gesturing lamely to the building. “He probably has some game set up, or the entrance rigged, and we’ll all get blown up!” Jason bristled at the prospect of being blown up again, noticeable only to Cass. She squeezed his shoulder. 

Suddenly, a sharp disc cut through the group, lodging in the tree behind them. They all looked at it in shock, Joker’s logo laughing at them. It blinked to life, emitting a hollow cackle. 

“You’re too late!” Came a raspy voice. It hissed, a pathetic amount of laughing gas bubbling out of its edges. The frisbee was not meant to do damage, the real threat...

Dick spun around just as ruins of the warehouse let out a sickening crackle and exploded. Again. 

“No!” Dick screamed, lurching forward. Cass jumped in front of him to hold him back, eyes trained on the building. Jason couldn’t tear his eyes from the flames, memories and horror clutching him. 

“No, no, no, that can’t be it!” Tim insisted, burying his hands in his hair. “It’s... it’s the Joker! Where are the mind games? The... the...” 

Stephanie crashed to her knees, gaping at the scene. “What just-what just happened?” 

“Damian...” Dick’s voice cracked painfully, throat raw. He could feel the heat, there were debris floating down. Cass hugged him tightly. 

Jason spun around and punched a tree, it was unclear if the following crack came from the wood or his knuckles. He let out a furious growl, which morphed into an anguished roar. “I’m. Going. To. Kill. That son of a b-- !” 

Damian nearly stopped his stolen motorcycle as he saw the warehouse rubble go up in flames. What the... who would go through the trouble of blowing up that heap of cement? He could only hope Dick wasn’t in there, it would be just like him to do something stupid without Damian. 

Finally making it over the grassy hill - one of the few greenspaces in this area of Gotham - Damian ditched the bike. He was about to hobble forward when he heard a haunted wail from none other than Jason Todd. Damian broke into a run, despite his bodies protests. 

Had Dick gone into that building? Was one of them hurt? Damian could see his whole family gathered not far from the explosion. He could barely breathe, thanks to his ribs, and tripped on his ankle. He was panting by the time he got close enough to call out to them. 

Are you ok?” He straightened to talk to Jason, the only one looking at him, “what happened? Sorry I’m late, but someone ditched me in central Gotham and-” 

His whole family spun to look at him. Jason looked close to tears. Dick was crying. Stephanie was on the ground. Maybe she was hurt? Before Damian could ask, Dick was running full speed at him. 

“Robin!” His voice was thick with relief as he swept Damian into a hug. Normally such contact was unwarranted but not uncomfortable. This time, could Damian just say, ow. 

“Batman, release me!” Damian managed through gritted teeth, his ribs screaming at the pressure. There were definitely a few broken. 

“Robin, I can’t believe... you were... and then we!” 

“Batman! My ribs!” Dick let go immediately at the pained sound of Damian’s voice, supporting the boy as he doubled over painfully. He looked up to find his whole family gathered around him in concern. 

There were hands all over him, noting his injuries, bracing his ankle, rubbing his back. Someone - Todd, probably - even took advantage of the situation to mess up his hair. It was too much to keep track of, making him dizzy. 

“What happened?” He asked, batting the hand away from his hair. 

“We thought you... you were in there.” Stephanie finally explained, pointing at the burning cement foundation. 

“Joker, he... I saw you?” Dick was still unable to formulate a proper sentence. 

Damian scoffed, which cost him dearly as pain seared through him. It took him another second to get enough breath back in his lungs to explain. “I got away from those buffoons in like... five minutes.” Two hours, but who was counting. 

“Your ankle. Ribs. Head.” Cass countered. Ah, her hands were bracing his ankle. 

“Well, I didn’t get away entirely unscathed.” 

“We were really worried about you.” Tim’s voice was choked with emotion. He was rubbing Damian’s back. Damian couldn’t help but look at him in shock.” 

“So you all rushed here... to try and save me?” 

“Obviously!” Jason scoffed loudly. “Always.” He finished, locking eyes with Damian. 

Damian cleared his throat - another act that rendered him speechless in pain for a few seconds. “Thank you for coming. As you can see, I’m fine.” The siblings shared an incredulous look. 

“Is that Damian for ‘my body frigging hurts and I want to go home’?” Steph asked, leaning down to Damian’s level. He glared at her. “No, I’m-” he was about to say ‘not even that hurt’ but then Cass let go of his ankle to stand and Damian nearly fainted. To his utter mortification, a pained whimper left him. 

“Oh, lil’D, c’mere.” Dick cooed sympathetically, slowly gathering him up. This time he was mindful of Damian’s ribs. Damian would not admit that a huge wave of relief washed over him as soon as he was being carried, weight off his ankle and head cradled on Dick’s shoulder. 

“Put me down. I can... I can walk.” Damian’s protest held no heat, it was basically a whine. Dick leaned his cheek on Damian’s head softly. That was all it took for Damian’s body to finally give into the darkness. 

When Damian came to, he was in the batcave on a bed next to Dick. Dick was holding his hand, half asleep, pristine bandages wrapped around his head. Despite the calm scene next to him, the batcave was anything but. 

Tim and Cass were playing a video game on the huge monitor - correction, Tim was losing against Cass in a video game on the huge monitor - while Jason and Steph cheered them on. Alfred was cleaning up medical supplies when he noticed Damian’s attempt at awareness. 

“Master Damian,” Alfred greeted with a soft smile. Dick jerked awake, already grinning. “Dami! You’re awake!” The game was paused as four more people came rushing to his bedside. 

Damian hated being on pain meds. The sight of his family being so worries about him was enough to make him want to hug them. Humiliating. 

“How are you feeling?” Tim asked. Before Damian could bite back with a harsh ‘fine’, his emotions betrayed him. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, surprising no one more than himself. “Thank you for always coming for me.” Damian bit back the rest of his words, and the tears. He refused to be as pathetic and young as they expected of him. 

Dick saw right through him, he always did. He reached over and hugged Damian - something that was quickly becoming a normal action, not that Damian could bring himself to mind. “We love you.” 

[amazingflyingdick]

encrypted.

WHO: Dick @amazingflyingdick, Jason @thatsjasonfkntodd & Tim @redrobin-timdrake, mentions of Slade @terminator-deathstroke WHERE: The batcave WHEN: May 15th, 2020 WHAT: Tim and Jason uncover Dick’s past with Deathstroke.

Tim: Tim didn't pay Jason much mind as he scrolled through Dick’s file. It all looked pretty standard. It wasn't like Dick kept secrets from Tim, really. He didn't know about Jason so much, but he knew what he and Dick were like.

At least, he thought he did. But when he reached that line of code Tim blinked. "Uh. This can't... mean what I think it means." If it did, then he supposed he could see why Dick was preoccupied with Deathstroke. Jason: "What do you think it means?" Jason definitely wasn't inept, but he wasn't so sure that he was seeing whatever Tim was seeing, judging by that reaction. It looked like nonsense to him, but he was willing to venture a guess that that was the incorrect assumption. Bruce was too anal retentive to put something meaningless in there, or not to know if there was some kind of error. Tim: "Hold on one sec," he said as he pulled up the source box. "Bruce has a highly sophisticated cipher that he uses in some of his files. In the less encrypted ones, which I cracked a while ago, a lot of it just looked like gibberish. I sat there scratching my head for ages trying to figure it out." He began typing the key into the source box, fingers flying across the keys. "When you enter the key, it all becomes plain." He paused for a moment, fingers hovering over the 'enter' key. Should he expose Dick like this? Well... it was too late now. And there was a part of him that was desperately curious as to why Dick had never said anything to him.

Entering the key, he sat back from the screen as the code changed to display: Confirmed physical relationship with Slade Wilson, codename Deathstroke, circa December, 2010 to November 12th, 2011.

"Confirmed..." Tim furrowed his brow before entering a few more things and nodding. "Yes. There's a link here. He hid it." Biting his lip, he glanced to Jason. "Should I... I guess I should open it, right?" They had come this far. But it felt like an invasion almost. Did he care? He was sickly curious, but what would Jason say? Jason: Jason read the line of text twice, looked at Tim, looked back to the screen. There was a stretch of silence from him as he heard Tim ask about the link. He didn't reply to it right away, but eventually he did fling his hand in the general direction of the computer to say, "What the fuck is this? Click it." If Tim hesitated, he was going to do it for him, because no way in hell was he just going to walk away like he hadn't just read that with his own two eyes. Tim: Tim swallowed before biting his inner cheek. Pulling up the photos, he took in a clear image of Nightwing sitting on a roof with Deathstroke standing behind him, hand in his hair. “What the hell?” He swallowed. “This was in Blüdhaven,” Tim said, clicking forward to Nightwing looking up at Deathstroke. “Taken by Black Widow...” Raising a brow, he looked at Jason. “Why would Black Widow be taking pictures of Dick and Deathstroke? These have to be staged.” He clicked over again and paused. “Bruce took this one.” And it was definitely not staged. “The date is Dick’s birthday.”

A clear image of the two men in suits, Dick’s arms wrapped around Slade’s neck as they... kissed. “Is it bad that I... kinda wanna throw up?” Deathstroke? Why Deathstroke? Glancing at the year, Tim’s mouth fell open and he pushed to his feet. “This was when I was Robin! I used to visit him. 2010-2011, I spent so much time with the Titans then.” Jason: The dates were significant to Jason in the sort of way that he had no memory of them. Not in the “forgotten” kind of way, but just that most of it had been in that period of time where he was no longer in the ground but not exactly a complete person yet, either. He’d been half alive and Dick was off fucking Deathstroke? Notorious assassin and all around bastard, Deathstroke?

“Obviously you weren’t paying much attention.” He couldn’t immediately place why it was anger that he felt, rather than just disgust, but it was. “Call him.” Dick: There was the familiar sound of someone entering the Batcave from above, followed by Dick's ringtone, and he was fishing his phone out of his pocket when he came into view. He laughed when he saw Tim's name on the screen and glanced at him. "Perfect timing, I guess. What are you two working on?"

Leaning against the edge of the desk, his brow furrowed as he studied the image on the screen. People kissing? Okay. "Who a -" The question died in his throat. His hand against the desk clenched and all the color slowly drained from his face as he realized what he was looking at. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at Tim and then at Jason. "Where did these come from?" Tim: "Why don't you tell us?" Tim asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Is this why you wanted me to 'look into Deathstroke', Dick? Because that's pretty messed up." He shook his head, looking at Jason. He did anger better. Was he angry? Or wasn't he? Was Tim being a jerk? Well... he was mad anyway. Jason: “What does it matter where they came from?” Although he had no intention of leaving out that information for long. “You get to ask zero questions right now. What the hell is this?” He gestured toward the screen again, his movements sharp, and got up to move until he was standing right beside Dick. “Except for the most hypocritical shit I’ve ever seen, I mean.” Dick: Dick was still in shock. He knew when and where that picture was taken even though it was years ago. Seeing it here, in Bruce's files, when he didn't even know it existed left him cold. This was his file. He recognized it. There was no footnote. Did that mean Bruce took this picture?

He was silent as Tim spoke, but the tightness in his jaw and the rigidity in his body signaled his slow, rising anger. Jason's accusation made him jerk back, as if he'd been burned, and he snatched a paperweight from the desk. Without warning he hurled it at the center of the screen. The image shattered into a complex spiderweb and most of it went black. 

Dick turned to Jason, pointing at the broken computer as he moved right up in his face. "Fuck you, Jason. You don't know anything." Tim: Tim literally flinched when Dick lifted the paperweight. "Dick no!" he tried as the smashed the screen. "Are you serious?!" He cried. As he swore, his eyes widened, darting to Jason and standing stricken. How were they going to explain the broken computer to Bruce or Babs? Babs was going to kill him. Jason: The busted screen was the least of his worries, and it didn’t erase anything besides. Everything Dick was running from was still going to be waiting for him, even if they weren’t standing there looking at it.

When Dick got close to him, Jason felt a shot of heat run up the back of his neck. He’d take that challenge. He took advantage of the lack of space and grabbed the front of Dick’s shirt in one fist. “I know a few things. Two really important ones. You were fucking somebody who kills for a dime and crawling back up on your pedestal when you were done. How’s the view from way up there, Dickie?” Dick: Even though Dick could hear Tim yelling, he could barely make sense of the words. His ears were ringing and he still wanted to hit something. He wanted to hit Jason, but as soon as he felt the impulse he shoved back against him. "Get off of me."

He laughed, but the sound was forced. "So that's how you want to frame it, huh? You have no idea what it was like back then. So weave whatever narrative you want. I'm tired of trying to be something I'm not. I'll gladly take hypocrite." Tim: As he watched Jason grab Dick and then the resulting shove, he darted forward to put his body right between Jason and Dick's. "That's enough. We're not getting into a fist fight in the Batcave." One hand rested on each brother's chest, keeping them apart.

Looking over at Dick with a sharp gaze. "What the fuck is going on, Dick?" He could tell it was important, because of Dick's immediate reaction. He had needed a moment to process what was going on, but now he had. He could tell that this wasn't just embarrassment. This was something else. "Explain." Jason: “Yeah, I was busy being dead and then wishing I’d stayed that way. Super sorry I didn’t have time to get the details on your love life with Deathstroke, bro. I get to write my own narrative because you,” he raised his finger at him again, “never said shit about any of it. You don’t get to be pissed at us.”

There was a moment where he genuinely considered just shoving Tim out of the way. He certainly didn’t give a damn that they were in the Batcave. What better place for it, really? It was Bruce’s files that broke the news anyway. He only chose not to because he still wanted an answer. Dick: Tim's palm on his chest was the only thing that kept him from shoving Jason back again. Dick's fists were clenched, but he was shaking hard underneath Tim's hand. Maybe they did only want an explanation, but that wasn't what he was hearing. It was all accusations and anger.

"You're right, you were dead. You died months before any of that ever happened. You think you died in a black hole, Jason? It just didn't affect anyone else? I'm not playing your I suffered the most because I actually died and then came back and went through hell game. Why should I tell you anything? You don't care to know anything about my life or about me. You never have. Just because you get the chance to call me out for shit that I..." He suddenly found it hard to continue, so he switched focus. "I don't know what I expected. The benefit of the doubt, maybe. From Tim, at least."

He turned and went back over to the computer. By the time he got there he was starting to feel overwhelmed by what this all meant - not only for him, but for Bruce and the rest of the family. He rested an elbow on the desk and leaned his forehead against his hand, his jaw tight. Tim: Tim swallowed, looking at Jason as Dick walked away, watching him sink into the chair. What was going on? He swallowed before giving a breath. He wasn't going to be able to be outward in his emotions. It was better he didn't. So he schooled himself. If they wanted any information, they were going to have to let up. It was clear that Dick was freaking out, and maybe they should ask.

When he was calm, Tim moved over to the chair, resting a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Dick... what's going on? Can you just... explain it?" Jason: He could have continued yelling, and that was both his first instinct and what he wanted to do, but he wasn’t going to give Dick the satisfaction of feeling right about fucking anything. So he didn’t. He bit it back, quite literally, and chewed at the inside of his cheek.

Let Tim be empathetic if he wanted to be. Let him worry. Jason wasn’t going to. He didn’t make a move toward either of them again, and instead stood apart with his jaw set. Dick: Dick lowered his hand when Tim touched his shoulder, exhaling softly. He could explain it even though he didn't want to. They deserved to know something that had the potential of affecting them directly. "I made a mistake, Timmy," he said quietly. "A big mistake. You remember what I told you recently? About how Bruce and I were estranged for a year? I barely ever saw him. I was angry with him, that he didn't..." He stopped, his gaze shifting to Jason briefly. "It made me... confused about what I believed in. What I should believe in."

Bringing up Slade was the difficult part. A long silence passed before he continued. "I know it's hard to believe now, but there was good in Slade. He helped the Titans and things were changing, I thought. Bruce's black and white thinking didn't make sense to me anymore. Nothing he said made sense. I was convinced he was wrong about everything, and... it got out of hand." Tim: "So what? You just... it was an accident?" How could it have lasted for a whole year, then? He shook his head before pulling back. "That doesn't make any sense, Dick. And Deathstroke is more than just 'out of hand'." How could he have let this happen? Deathstroke was a really bad guy. Murder for money. No remorse. And it wasn't like Jason. Jason killed but only really bad men. Deathstroke killed whomever got him paid the most.

Looking over at Jason, he blew out a breath. "Dick moved to Bludhaven before you came back. I remember because Slade Wilson used to help the Titans train. I remember meeting him." Jason: For once, he continued to keep the roll of thoughts in his head trapped there, rather than speaking all of them. If he had it all wrong, Dick did, too. What was he going to do, though? Assuage his anger and say that he had cared, had wanted to know. It wasn’t as though Bruce and Dick hadn’t been good enough for him. He hadn’t been good enough for them. Hearing it that twisted was a joke.

“Yep. Put that together,” he said flatly. Dick had been in Bludhaven by the time Jason made it back to Gotham. He’d done his research, connected the dots. “There’s dates in that file. Over a year. That’s not out of hand, that’s a relationship.” He was still angry, desperately angry, but his tone was ice cold. Dick: "No, it wasn't an accident. It was a mistake, that whole year. I made a mistake when I believed Slade could change. I made a mistake in trusting him. I made mistakes over and over and over again. I just didn't know they were mistakes at the time. I believed in him. Almost like..." He stopped, deciding against making that comparison.

It was harder to justify the part about Deathstroke. "I know, Tim. I know. But he had his moral codes, he just..." It wasn't like Jason's. Dick knew that. He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. "A relationship, fine. It was still a mistake to have it. I was still stupid to want it. I was naive to believe in it. What else am I supposed to say? I was wrong about everything." Tim: "Almost like what?" Tim asked. He wasn't about to let that lie. Dick had been about to say something, and he wanted to understand. He needed Dick to be open. No sensoring.

This was all too much. Tanya had been weird enough. At least she was repentant. He didn't think Slade Wilson had ever once felt bad about a contract. "What good did you see in him? I knew you let him train the Titans, but I always thought it was more of like a needs must, enemies closer situation." Jason: “Are your mistakes the reason you’ve got us chasing him all around the fucking city?” Dick had said it was because Slade would be there to kill someone, and while that had made perfect sense at the time, now he was hard pressed to believe there was a single simple layer to it. Jason knew as well as anyone that you didn’t hand someone a year of your life and then actually walk away entirely. That wasn’t how it worked. Some piece stayed, even if it was tiny, and if that wasn’t true then Dick wouldn’t have had such a meltdown over being confronted with it.

“Say the rest of it. All of it. You think nobody wants to know you, Goldie, but here we are asking.” Maybe he wasn’t reigning it in as much as he’d thought. Dick: Dick just shook his head at Tim's question. It wouldn't sound right if he said it. As desperately as he wanted to be open with his family, it was because he wanted acceptance. But this entire conversation only highlighted all the reasons why he shied away from it. The only reason he kept going was because they asked for answers and he was doing his best to provide them. "He helped people when he didn't have to, when there was nothing in it for him. He didn't take all contracts. I knew he wasn't evil."

Jason's question made him grit his teeth. "No. And I didn't ask you to chase him, Jason. I asked you to let me know if you heard anything. I told everyone to say away from him. I just didn't think you'd be too dumb to do it."

The nickname made him jump to his feet. "You know what? I'm sick of hearing that. You force this image on me and you put me on a pedestal because you need me to validate your complex. And Bruce, Bruce puts me on there and pretends all that -" He gestured to the computers. "Doesn't even exist. You know he never even talked to me about that? Ten goddamn years and I had no idea he even knew. It's more important to him to hide the truth than it is admit that I'm not who he wants me to be." Tim: He nodded. Dick had been young. Tim remembered when he had been young. Tim, of course, had been young too. He remembered that Dick had believed harder. It disappointed him that Dick didn't go back to the train of thought he cut off, but he could tell that this was hard. Tim just really wished he understood why.

He winced as Dick talked about the expectations on his shoulders. And about Bruce. Bruce did this to all of them. They all had the desire to please him. Dick had to be perfect, Tim had to prove he was worthy of following Dick and Jason. Jason tried to run from his desire to please Bruce, but none of them could really escape it. "Dick... it's okay. Really. We're your brothers. We're just trying to figure out what's happening?"

He swallowed, trying to think. "He's not here in Star City for you, is he? Are you afraid that's it?" Jason: “I put you up there? You think I wanted to spend all that time trying to get to you to satisfy my complex that I didn’t have yet? I wanted a fucking father, I wanted to give Bruce what he wanted, and all he wanted was you.” And Dick had been too busy not wanting a real part in any of it anymore to give a damn about what that had looked like on the other side.

It was almost a shame Dick had already shattered the screen, because it would’ve been a perfect moment to do it himself. Instead, he swiped a hand over his mouth and just shook his head. “Maybe I don’t know anything, but neither do you. And Bruce knows all of it and doesn’t care.” Dick: Dick sighed, but shook his head. "He isn't here for me, Tim. It was ten years ago. It has nothing to do with me." He still wasn't sure why, unfortunately.

Everything Jason said eliminated his anger instantly. Dick stared at him, shocked and devastated to hear aloud some of the things he always feared were true, but never knew how to ask. There were things he wanted to tell Jason about his death, but he wasn't willing to turn it back around to be about himself, not after hearing that. Instead he said nothing.

"I want to know," he finally said quietly. Tim: That was good, at least. Because Deathstroke was... strong. He had beaten Bruce. He was smart, too. Maybe smarter than Tim. Dick would be compromised if Slade came for him. Because he was clearly compromised just talking about it. This was something that Tim didn't know. He didn't understand but he wanted to, as he wanted to understand and know all things so he could process them. This was true for Dick and Jason both.

"We can know," Tim said. "But I told you once that we can't lie to each other. Remember that, Dick?" He blew out a breath and looked between his brothers. His family. "Fighting about our greater issues isn't going to do anything. Jason is right that Bruce does know. I'm sure he does care, but even if he doesn't, he knows a hell of a lot more than we do. Even if we read all the files. It's just words on paper."

Pushing a hand through his hair, he sighed. "You know that we should work together. No secrets." The reason he had come back to the fold after Bruce had returned to the cowl, even when he had kept Damian on, was because he knew that the family fought better together. Even with their pain and their trauma. Because all of those things fit together like a puzzle piece. The three of them, especially, made a balance that was unstoppable. The head, the heart, and the fist. "When we hide from each other, things like this happen."

His eyes turned to Jason and then to Dick. "I know I don't have the same issues with Bruce that you guys do, but our relationship isn't perfect either. The three of us are always going to understand each other better than anyone else. No one else in the world has quite had what we did. Not even Dem--" He paused, stopping himself. "Damian."

He was trying to be the voice of reason here. Dick's conviction about the strength of their bond, the knowledge that they were a better weapon joined as one than separate to keep Jason, and his own gratification that there was some insight to be gained here.

"Dick... I think you should start from the beginning of all... this. And you can't leave anything out. If you want us to know, we have to know. I said to you before that sometimes I have trouble being open. I learned it from Bruce. But we--the three of us--have to have each other's backs and interests. We can't do that if we're at each other's throats." He hoped that sounded fair. "We can't do that if we don't know everything." Without knowledge, they could miss important connections and patterns, misconstrue things. End up with pain like Jason and Dick were expressing. Tim needed to channel them. This was an opportunity. And Tim very much wanted to understand. Jason: Jason had said more than he’d really intended to already, even in the context of pointing out even a fraction of what Dick didn’t know, and if he could have pulled the words back into his mouth he would have done that. He couldn’t, so he let Tim rattle off his speech about brotherhood instead and let the moment die. If Dick was fine being labeled a hypocrite, then he was fine going along with the idea that he coveted whatever complex he supposedly had.

He put a little distance between himself and the two of them until he had his back against the wall and his arms folded. “All ears,” was the only comment he offered up. He’d said plenty. More than plenty. Dick: Dick was still looking at Jason, frowning, but he didn't interrupt what Tim was saying. It made sense and he was proud of him for taking on the role he usually fell into. "I know. You're right." It never should have been a secret. At some point he should have told Bruce, at least, even though he knew now that Bruce had been aware of what was happening the entire time. 

It occurred to him that Bruce must have found out before his birthday if he'd been able to get the photo. Suddenly all the tension from that time made a lot more sense.

After a long pause, he slowly took a seat at the computer chair. Running a hand through his hair, he winced when Tim stressed that he start from the beginning and not leave anything out. It was the last thing he wanted to do, even if he understood why Tim would want to make sure every detail was covered and nothing important slipped by him. "Um... okay.” It surprised him that Jason was still there, but he was grateful despite how he didn't want either of his brothers to hear this. He still needed them there.

But he struggled to start. He wondered how clinical and brief he could make it without Tim forcing him to backtrack and elaborate.

“So…” His throat already felt dry. He kept his gaze down and spoke in a quiet, matter-of-fact way, and continued to tell himself that he owed Tim and Jason this information after keeping it to himself for so long. “Deathstroke was in Bludhaven. I tried to stop him from a hit, but I got there too late and she was already dead. I was mad, so I went to his safehouse. And I was even angrier than usual because… by then, I had seen how he was capable of doing good things. He asked me to train Rose because he wanted her to grow up with morals. I saw him lose his son, his wife, and we’d worked together. I cared. And I didn't understand why he would choose Deathstroke and abandon the good things he had in his life. So, I went there to yell at him, or lecture him, I don’t know.” He laughed softly. “I was an idiot. Just showed up in the middle of his kitchen with some morality lesson.” It was funny in retrospect, sort of. It was a miracle Dick was still alive. “We argued. I wasn’t getting anywhere. At some point he wanted me to give him another reason to change. I don’t know why I said it, but… I cared. So I asked that he do it for me. He agreed, and that’s how it started. Okay?” He was fine giving details about the conversation, but he wasn’t about to explain what happened after they stopped talking. Tim: As Jason closed off, Tim bit down a sigh. He could have some time with Jason later. He thought that Jason needed it and perhaps he should have tried to have some time with him earlier. He had known, of course, that Jason felt displaced, and Tim did understand the feeling of trying to be good enough. It wasn't quite like Jason's, and he wouldn't claim that it would be. Regardless, he didn't want Jason leaving this heated and then deciding to just fall off the planet. He was finally here with them.

But this was about Dick right now. Dick and Deathstroke. Thankfully, as Dick started talking, Tim listened and the other seemed willing to tell them what had actually happened. This all sounded wild. Hard to believe. It wasn't really that Tim thought Dick was lying, so much that he didn't think it was possible for Deathstroke to agree to any level of change. What was Dick to him that he had agreed to that? It must be some kind of game that Slade was playing, or some manipulation he had concocted for Dick to believe because he was naive enough at eighteen that it had just was bound to happen. Already, Tim's mind was work. Did Dick know why he did it? What had Deathstroke really wanted?

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest in almost a mirror of Jason, though that was unintentional. He just needed to think. "How did it go from a conversation to a relationship?" He asked. "Was he just... lying? Or did he actually change?" Tim hated that he didn't remember the details, but he hadn't really thought to focus on Deathstroke at the time. He had just believed Dick when he said that the threat he posed was more or less neutralized thanks to the alliance he had with the Titans.

Jason: Jason had never looked into Deathstroke's entire record closely enough to know if there was really a period where he'd stopped taking contracts. It seemed difficult to believe that the guy would just drop off the entire map for a year with the reputation he had, and had worked up for essentially as long as either Jason or Dick had been alive. If he'd actually put that aside for an entire year, even if he went right back to it after the date in the file, he was going to be genuinely shocked.

"What'd you get out of that whole thing? Just the gratification of thinking somebody turned it around for you?" If he wanted to take that as a hateful question, Jason didn't really care, though he hadn't entirely meant it that way. It would't have exactly come as a shock to learn that Dick god off to the idea that he could fundamentally change someone, though. Dick: "Yeah, Tim. He was lying," Dick said simply, his tone direct and oddly emotionless. "But he seemed to change. He didn't take many jobs. He spent most of his time helping the Titans. It was different." He was about to continue, but stopped at Jason's question. At this point his rage had already been snuffed out and the question stung, but he tried not to let it show. "No," he replied quietly, but another silence stretched on before he continued, with effort. "He knew me, and he never asked me to be anything more than what I was. I didn't have to be perfect or put up an act. I could just... I don't know. Exist."

He realized he'd never explained how it went to a relationship, but he didn't know how to. "A lot of things led to it, Tim. I don't know how it happened. It was too gradual. It wasn't ever... officially anything." There was one big incident that he was inclined to skip over, but he remembered what Tim said and he knew he couldn't leave it out. "At one point I found out Joker was in Bludhaven. Happy's, remember that place? The casino? I made a plan to go after him. By myself. I didn't want to involve the Titans." Or Bruce. "I thought I was prepared, but Joker pretty much handed my ass to me. I wouldn't have made it out if Slade didn't show up." Tim: Tim swallowed, glancing to Jason. If Slade had made Dick feel secure, he was sure that had meant something to him, but... of course Deathstroke had lied. He was a liar. A murderer. He wondered what his angle was. All Tim remembered was that suddenly he had left the Titans, Rose tried to kill Dick, and then there was the whole thing with the fake Titans. He didn't know that much, but he knew he enough.

His breath caught, though, when Dick said he went after the Joker. He had said that in front of Jason? Like Dick had thought the Joker would just go down after he had murdered their brother without a thought? And what was Deathstroke doing there anyway? He didn't want to say anything out loud, but why would Deathstroke have dated Dick, allied with the Titans, and saved Dick from the Joker? There was a part of him who wondered if he hadn't collaborated with the Joker to gain Dick's trust. Dick wasn't an idiot, and Slade probably knew that. Still, he kept his mouth shut about that. "You went after the Joker alone? After... what happened to Jason?" Jason: Whether he believed that answer completely or not, he wasn’t incapable of seeing what the appeal of it was. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the relief that came with being someone who didn’t have the same expectations of you that everyone else did, even if he’d been at least partially incapable of figuring out the first time around that he had that with Roy. He didn’t really want to compare the two, similarities or not. Dick had still expected a change out of Slade in the same breath that he said Deathstroke just let him ‘exist.’ He wasn’t fully willing to withdraw his hypocrite accusation yet.

His concern over Deathstroke wavered at mention of Joker, though. Unwilling to listen to another implication that he was making the conversation about himself, he settled for letting his nostrils flare rather than immediately speak. There was a long delay before he finally did. “Was he keeping tabs on you or was that just a coincidence that he could swoop in and save you?” Dick: Dick was a little surprised by Tim's reaction, but he looked at him for a moment before shaking his head. "I went up against the Joker plenty of times before then on my own, Tim. Plenty of times after, too." He wasn't going to bring up one particular time and he hoped Tim wouldn't either. This wasn't the time for it, especially because there was a lot more he needed to talk about with Jason after he answered everything they wanted to know.

"It wasn't a coincidence. I told him what I was doing." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dick realized how it sounded. "I never even..." He had to stop again. It was too much to go back and analyze it, look at it in a different light, and make new revelations that he was't prepared to handle. "Joker was expecting me. You're thinking Slade tipped him off, right? That he set it up." How did he never even consider that? "You're probably not wrong. I never... even suspected it. Not until right now. The thought was never in my head." Tim: Tim swallowed. It wasn't that he hadn't known that, but the times that Dick had squared up with the Joker had always been dangerous. He would worry about Dick regardless. But Jason had been freshly dead then. And he knew about Dick's bullet wound. Dick had told him about it not too long ago. So the times he had gone after the Joker before that had been dangerous too. Just because he did do it didn't mean he should. But they shouldn't dwell on what they should and shouldn't do. They had all done things they shouldn't have. "You're right," he acceded. "I'm sorry. Go on."

Dick was quick to catch on to what Tim and Jason were both thinking and Tim pressed his lips together. He didn't want to say that to Dick because... it was clear that Slade had made him believe something. It was clear to Tim that talking about this hurt Dick, but... it wasn't unlikely that Slade had had something to do with it. "Bruce once said that Deathstroke plays games. His manipulation is in his files. And you remember how he was with Terra before everything got better and he allied with the Titans." He had made a team member turn again the Titans. Dick and the team had apparently forgiven him--even Gar--but it was a prime example that it wasn't unheard of that Slade might have been in league with the Joker or might have at least told him.

He sighed before running a hand over his face. "What does all this mean now, Dick?" He asked. "How should we deal with him? Because I'm not letting you deal with this by yourself." Jason: What had Dick really thought? That Deathstroke was going to turn hero for good? Most people were incapable of turning over a new leaf that thoroughly, and more than that...not many wanted to. Jason didn’t exactly have the same gooey moral center than Dick and Tim did, but despite how vehemently they often got opposed he did at least have moral guidelines. But Deathstroke? Not even Dick could just manifest something that wasn’t there. “If he’ll throw in with somebody like Black Mask, there’s nothing stopping him from doing it with Joker, too.” He’d accused Dick of being naive with Tanya, and he’d been right, but this was even worse.

“What do you think you’re going to do, Tim? Nicely ask him to fuck off? I used bullets and the only way I got him down was because he was poisoned.” Apparently. That had been the claim he’d made at the docks, anyway. Dick: "I know. I wasn't really listening to Bruce anymore, Tim." The only reason Dick went to Gotham was to see Tim, check in, and he rarely even saw Bruce. They avoided each other for an entire year. He knew now that Bruce had been right, but he couldn't silence the nagging doubt completely and he was frustrated, tired. At some point he knew he would have to accept what everyone was showing to him and not be so naive. "He was convincing. Even now, I..." He quickly stopped and shook his head.

This is where he knew the conversation was headed. Dick winced and held up a hand. "No. It was ten years ago. Nine. Whatever. It was a long time ago. We need to find out who he's here for. That's still the plan. But if it comes down to a confrontation, then he's mine. I know how he fights. I know him better than both of you, and I deserve to be the one to take him down." Tim: "Even now what?" he asked. He was certainly aware that there was something else to this. Dick wouldn't still be so weird about it if there wasn't. He had a thousand questions he wasn't asking just yet because they weren't relevant even if they would burn through his brain if he didn't eventually ask. But that one he wouldn't let lie. Even now what.

"I'm not actually an idiot, Jason, much as you like to say 'I thought you were the smart one'. There are ways to deal with a guy you can't beat with a gun." Deathstroke was all about his bottom dollar. Tim could drain him dry without leaving the batcave if he wanted to. "Plus the three of us are stronger than just you, me, or Dick." If they wanted to take down Deathstroke, he could put his research to use, Dick's understanding of his emotions or at least an intimate understanding of the way his manipulation worked, and Jason could beat the hell out of him. He was confident they could do it and Bruce wouldn't need to be involved at all.

Tim set his jaw. "That's a bad idea. He knows how you think, Dick. And he helped train you some when you were with the Titans. He probably knows how you fight, too. We can help with this." Jason: “So you can go alone and get your ass kicked? Or killed? Unless you’re banking on the idea that he wouldn’t do that.” Which was even more stupid than practically anything else he’d heard. “If you know him, he knows you. Probably better.”

He lifted one hand in an impatient gesture. “I’m sick of going back and forth about this. If you want Deathstroke out of here, we can’t exactly do that without getting him. If he’s got a contract in the city, he can’t complete it if we get his ass out of here before. Lure him out and we’ll deal with it.” Dick: Dick shook his head and made a gesture to indicate it didn't matter. It didn't, really. The confusion he still carried over the events of so many years ago made no difference. It didn't help to talk about it.

What he didn't want to consider was how well Slade knew him, even though it was true. He couldn't deny it. "I'm not the exact same as I was when I was eighteen, Jason." The years made him a better fighter. Even though he wouldn't bring it up, fighting against Jason had played a big role in that. He had also beaten Bruce. His skill and ability wasn't at question, but he was legitimately unsure if he would be able to go through with it. He wanted to think he could.

"Lure him out? How?" Dick frowned, looking between Jason and Tim. "I don't want him dead."

Tim: Tim was definitely cornering Dick after this. He kept pushing things off and Tim didn't like it. He wasn't having it, but now wasn't the time to call Dick out. He had things he wanted to know but he could wait.

"Well... there a number of ways that you could do it. But... have you considered just flipping the switch? He made you believe he cared for you..." He didn't like suggesting it and he didn't know if Dick would go for it, but it would be one way to make Slade lower his guard. If he already thought Dick was manipulable, then it would be a good way to go about it. Dick had used his charms before but never quite like this. Jason: "What, you think Deathstroke hasn't paid attention in those ten years? Come on, man. Don't be stupid. He didn't forget you exist." Especially because they'd all crossed paths with him at least once since then, including Bruce.

He couldn't keep himself from rolling his eyes. "You don't have to prostitute him. Christ. I'll set up a fake job and make sure he knows the buyer is out for Deathstroke. Surprise, you're the buyer." Dick: Dick shook his head immediately. "No, I'm not doing that." The thought of manipulating Slade in that way made his stomach turn and he recognized the feeling: guilt. Setting up a trap didn't feel any better, but he knew it could be the only way to prevent Slade from killing someone. That was why he was here. There was no other reason that made sense.

After a long, long pause, he sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and rubbing his head. The thought of pitting his brothers against Deathstroke and the very real possibility of them getting seriously injured gnawed at him. It made him feel sick. "No killing. No lethal force. We just get him down and bring him in." He never seemed to wind up in prison, but at least he'd be in jail while awaiting trial. That bought them a lot of time. Tim: "I wasn't saying prostitute him--which is a valid life choice by the way, Jason. Get woke." It was a bad joke, but the entire room was incredibly tense. He blew out a breath before sighing. "It would have worked, though."

He paused at Jason's suggestion. It was... actually a good one. Not that he thought that Jason wasn't smart. He just... wouldn't have thought of it that fast. But he supposed the Dark Web was more his world. "We're actually doing this?" Tim did have the money, if they needed it to be legit. But... jeez. "Should we... I'm guessing we shouldn't tell Bruce?" Jason: Jason just stared hard at Tim, but since he wasn’t close enough to him to respond the way he wanted, he elected to not acknowledge it any further. Asking Dick to manipulate Slade because they’d been involved was actually worse, as far as he was concerned, but since his idea was markedly better he was just going to pretend like Tim’s hadn’t existed at all.

“We do it or risk Deathstroke completing whatever contract he took to get here and then bailing.” Besides, when was the last time Jason had a real challenge? Even if Dick was insisting on no lethal force, taking Deathstroke down in any sense was going to take some planning. “Fuck that. He gave up his right to be involved ten years ago.” Dick: Dick shook his head slightly, but he didn't say anything. If Slade truly had lied to him all those years ago, then he wouldn't even have any incentive to meet up with him for a reason like that. Not unless he thought he could use it to his advantage.

"It can't happen," he said quietly. If Slade did follow through with the contract and someone died because he dragged his feet, he wouldn't be able to live with it. "And we're not telling Bruce. He knows Sl - Deathstroke's here. He obviously knew everything and never said a word." Leaning back in the chair, his gaze caught the second screen that had the words from the file instead of the pictures. "He wrote it down. Like it's kryptonite or something."

Annoyed, he ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. "If we do this, if we plan it all out, then I'm going in alone. He'll use both of you against me. Like you said, he... knows me. If I hesitate, it risks your lives. I won't do that." Tim: Tim scoffed. “No. Sorry, but that’s not going to work. I’m not letting you and Jason is good at this stuff. He actually runs in this world. You’re not going alone.” Tim would literally create an annotated file, with footnotes, as to why it was a dumb idea for Dick to go alone. So help him, he would. And they ought to expect that of him.

He looked over to Jason. “Back me up here, Jay.”

Jason: “Yeah, not happening. If you were going alone you would’ve already done it.” He hadn’t. He’d been chasing ghosts. Now that he and Tim were involved, there was no way in hell he was going to set the whole thing up and then twiddle his thumbs while Dick did whatever he thought he was going to do. Fight him? Or try to reason with and persuade him again? Not even Dick could be that naive.

He uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. “We’re helping. You can have the first word and the last one if you want it. I don’t care.” Dick: This was exactly how he knew they would respond. It made it even more difficult to explain why he didn't trust himself to carry this through without putting one (or both) of them in danger. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head slightly. "Jason." His voice was strained and almost pleading. He breathed in to continue, explain, but he knew there was nothing he could say that would alter the plans set in place - and if he disagreed entirely, there was no doubt someone would die as a result of his hesitation. Tim: Tim reached out, putting his hand on Dick's shoulder, tipping his head back to look him dead in the eye. "Not this time, Dick. If we work together, no one's going to get hurt." He shook his head, looking at Jason. The expression was set, firm. This was something they could do together. They didn't need Bruce. They could get Deathstroke.

Jason: “That’s it then. Get me a timeline. I’ll figure out details for the job.” It had to be believable. It wasn’t like Slade was an idiot; he’d be able to sniff out something obviously fake. Tim could take it from there. “Unless anybody else has some feelings to share, I’m done here.” And even if they did, he’d had his fill of them for the day.

Dick: Dick knew things didn't always work out that way, but he didn't argue with Tim. He wanted to believe that it would all go to plan. If this were anyone else, he would, but the situation was too unique - and too raw, even after a decade. He seemed about to say something, but then he just nodded instead, not looking up from the desk. Tim: Tim nodded, pulling away from Dick completely to look at Jason. “I can help you put out the pings. And any kind of financial justifications... I can be that guy if you need?” He could create an encrypted account so it wasn’t traced back to him and allocate his trust. He blew out a breath. “We don’t tell Bruce and... we handle this quietly. Deathstroke won’t hurt anyone.” Least of all Dick.

Jason: “Sure, Timmy. Later.” For the time being, he was done. He needed time to process that didn’t take place near either one of them, and he had nothing else to say that was going to get anywhere. He glanced briefly to the two of them before making his exit. He was stuck in the manor for the time being, but he could go claim a different part of it.

[violetsmoak]

Philtatos [6/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47723155

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: Mature (for like one thing this chapter)

Beta Reader: None at the moment, but if anyone’s interested, message me through Tumblr.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #art #jealousy #reincarnation #secrets #undying love

Author's Note(s): Chapters are all still unbeta'ed, but I'm hoping that will soon be fixed :)

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Tim leaves the Cave and collects his bike and gear, preoccupied with conflicting thoughts.

On the one hand, he wants Jason spared as much discomfort as possible, but on the other, the possibility of him never waking up again makes his heart clench. Temporary or not, it’s still killing Jason, and there’s a reason why everyone is so reluctant to do that.

The fallout from his death the first time still haunts them all today. Still influences the Mission.

And either way, whether we use Diana’s cure or not, it all comes back to finding Eros’ arrows, right?

And speaking of Eros…

Tim returns to the Nest and the sight of the Olympian sprawled against his cot, completely naked and his own hand busily moving up and down his very erect dick.

“Oh my god what the hell,” Tim chokes, whirling around to avoid the sight.

“Fuck,” is the reply he gets, breathless and more irritated than anything else. “You…had to walk in now? Come back in…like…ten minutes.”

“I’m not leaving my own—” The distracting sound of heavy panting and the wet slide of skin on skin interrupt him. “I’m standing right here, stop it!”

“Not really much incentive,” Eros sniggers.

Tim scrambles over to his computer console, trying to block out the sounds, and punches in the code to activate the fire safety system. There’s a sputtering sound as the sprinkler in the ceiling sets off, followed by a shriek of surprise.

“What the hell, man?” Eros yelps, trying to scuttle away from the cold spray.

“Pants,” Tim bites out. “Now.”

“Okay, okay, geeze!”

There’s the rustle of jeans being dragged on, along with a great deal of cursing in more languages than Tim can recognize. Deeming it to be safe, Tim turns off the sprinkler and turns to face his unwanted houseguest, who’s glaring at him as if he wants to set him on fire.

“I can’t believe you did that. What happened to respecting guy-time?”

“There is no guy-time while you’re here,” Tim growls. “It’s enough I have to deal with your attitude, I’m not listening to sex noises. Or watching you get off.”

“Not something you’re into?” Eros questions. “I bet if I was 6’2” and with muscles like Thor, you’d be singing a different tune, darlin’.”

Don’t bet on it.

Eros’ personality aside, Tim’s never really had a taste for men. He considers himself open in terms of preferences, but until Jason, there’s never been any guy he’s ever thought about that way.

He clenches his fists.

Jason.

“Why didn’t you say anything about Stygian Sleep?” he demands, desperate to reroute this conversation pronto.

Eros snorts and rolls his eyes. “Of course someone brought that shit up. I’ll tell you why—because it’s a cure that’s as bad as the disease. Worse maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean its price is steep and I didn’t think you’d be willing to pay it. I was saving time.”

“What did we say about not sharing all the information?” Tim snaps, and then pauses as something occurs to him. “Wait. Is that price the reason you couldn’t help your wife?”

It’s been confusing him, since Eros is supposedly a god; you’d think he’d be able to figure out a way to save the life of someone he supposedly loved.

“The Styx is older and more powerful than we are,” Eros replies, his entire demeanor shifting, as if to put distance between himself and the topic. “It has rules that make it pretty much impossible for a soul that’s been bound to it to leave. Only a soul that’s already returned from Hades can make that sacrifice…and it must be of equal value. Soul for soul, you see? God for god, mortal for mortal.”

Tim frowns.

“Put it this way—bodies are like this Zesti container,” the Olympian says, grabbing one of the many empty cans lining his table. “There’s only room for a certain amount of soul. No more.”

“And when Psyche was cursed, she was mortal,” Tim realizes; a beat later, “And you were a god.”

“Exactly.”

For the first time since they met, Tim feels a flicker of sympathy for the Olympian. It doesn’t make up for his generally irritating personality, but no one wants to lose someone they love. It’s especially hard when you know how to save them but are physically unable to do it.

Something else occurs to him.

“If we used the Stygian Sleep on Jason, there wouldn’t be anyone who could bring him back,” Tim realizes.

There’s no shortage of colleagues they know who have been dead, but no one with enough of a connection to Jason to willingly consign themselves to the death for him. And in the Family, the only one that’s actually been dead and come back (Dick doesn’t count, his heart only stopped for a few minutes) is Damian. And there’s no way Bruce, or anyone else, would let him make that sacrifice, even if he were so inclined.

“See?” Eros says. “I was sparing you the pain of a bad option.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Somehow I doubt it was as altruistic as that.”

Which means they’re back to square one, with the only way to save Jason being finding Eros’ diviners.

There’s a hollow pain in Tim’s stomach. Jason’s in trouble because of him. If he hadn’t thrown himself in front of Tim to save him from the gunfire, he wouldn’t have gotten tagged with Eros’ blood.

On the heels of that is the feeling of disgust.

His harmless daydreams of Jason ever liking him in that way have been twisted in mutated into this.

So, Tim dutifully throws himself back into the investigation.

Video-chatting with everyone back at the Cave, they work together on cross-referencing areas where Eros’ robberies took place and the locations where he last sensed his bow.

For two days, it’s just endless sifting through data and ignoring Eros’ increasingly obnoxious behavior and trying not to think about Jason.

Then, at last, there’s a break in the case.

“All these places you robbed,” Tim begins, frowning at his digital murder-board. “They all correspond with instances of murder-suicides. The victims are always a couple that never showed any sign of domestic issues.” He had noticed them earlier in his investigation, but thought they were unrelated. “Wasn’t there something in the stories…your arrows, they can make people fall in love, but that’s not all they do.”

Eros blinks and then his eyes narrow. “The golden tipped ones make people fall in love. The lead-tipped ones make people hate each other with a bitter passion.”

“I’m going to run a search on the victims, see if there are any connections.”

“I can tell you right now there aren’t,” a mechanical voice interrupts, freezing Tim’s screen.

“Oracle,” Tim greets, not even surprised that she’s been listening in.

“Oracle?” Eros repeats. “What is it with you people and muddying the legacies of the great ones? Have you ever even been to Delphi?”

“The only link between the murder victims is they were all newly married,” the flat, digital voice continues, ignoring Eros. “If you widen the net to track murder-suicides during the past month, most of them occur in or around areas where Eros was looking for his bow and arrow. The interesting thing is, though, they all happened before Eros committed his robberies.”

“What?” Tim asks, confused.

“That’s probably what I was sensing,” Eros says, perking up. “If someone’s using the bow and arrow to incite hatred between lovers, that’s what I was drawn to. But if there were more than one death happening in the area, it’s no wonder I couldn’t get a strong trail. It’s like the scent was overlapping too much.”

“Which means whoever took your diviners not only knew what they were taking, but also from who. And how to throw you off their trail.”

Eros’ face is stormy.

“Still no clue who this could be?” Tim asks, and receives no answer in return. “Great. Very helpful. Do you even want to solve this case?”

Oracle interrupts whatever quip the Olympian has prepared. “Red Robin, you might want to return to the Cave.”

“What? Why?”

There’s a sinking sensation in his gut.

“Red Hood isn’t doing well. And Nightwing might be on the verge of convincing Batman that Wonder Woman’s solution is the only option.”

“What? No! I sent them the report of exactly why that’s a bad idea!” Tim snaps, already hurrying toward the garage.

“I know that,” Oracles replies, her voice switching from the screen to his comm. “But if you could see what Hood looks like right now…it might be a kinder end.”

“And what’s Hood’s opinion on this?”

“He’s…not exactly lucid at the moment.”

And now he feels like throwing up. He was sure they had more time! “I’ll be there in ten.”

“I’m blocking any incoming and outgoing transmissions from Wonder Woman, but at some point, they’re going to clue in to that fact. Drive fast.”

The ride is a blur to Tim, whose thoughts race without registering anything beyond a desperate disbelief.

Think! There’s got to be something we can do, something we missed.

As he weaves in and out of the traffic on the bridge to Bristol, he goes over every interaction he’s had with or about Eros and his abilities. Anything that was said, no matter how seemingly insignificant or unrelated.

One idea needles at him, a shadow of an inkling…

He doesn’t bother with the roundabout route this time, tearing into the Cave’s parking area and barely parking the bike before he’s hurrying toward the containment unit. Bruce isn’t there, which is a good sign—he must still be trying to get a hold of Diana; if he were ready to carry out any action for Jason, he would be here with him.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t!” Tim orders, striding forward.

“Tim,” Dick says, getting up from the chair he’s been occupying beside the unit. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He ignores him, eyes drawn immediately to Jason. The older man is sitting curled in a ball at one end of the glass cage, surrounded by books and papers that look like they’ve been thrown in a fit of rage. He presses the heels of his hands against his temples, and Tim can see the bags under his eyes from here. And the angry red welt around his wrists and neck, like he’s been scratching into his skin.

Tim’s heart lurches.

“I didn’t know he was doing this bad,” he whispers.

Dick sighs. “He hasn’t slept in two days, and we can’t sedate him after what Diana said. It’s like he’s going through withdrawal—fever sweats, hallucinations, throwing up. Which isn’t great because he hasn’t been eating, either.”

And on top of that, he’s probably feeling trapped in that claustrophobic cell.

“He’s deteriorating right in front of us.”

“I know. We’re trying to contact Diana, but—”

“No. Not that. That is not an option.”

“Tim—”

“It would kill him, Dick! There’s no waking him up from it!”

“This is killing him, too! Wouldn’t you rather he didn’t suffer anymore?”

Tim’s fists curl into balls and he glances back at Jason.

He knows he;s is fighting. Bruce’s training and whatever he learned from the League is probably keeping him tethered—even if it’s only looselytethered now—but that’s only a stopgap. Jason looks like he’s on the brink of bashing his head against the glass until he knocks himself unconscious.

The mental image makes Tim recoil.

Jason’s in pain and it’s my fault.

He needs to help him, needs to do something, even if it means tamping down his own inconvenient feelings and letting Jason do…whatever he needs to.

Tim will do it; if it means giving Jason more time, he’ll do it.

Even if the idea of it makes him nauseous because right now Jason isn’t in his right mind and when they fix him, he’s going to hate Tim. But then…he’s hated him before, so at least Tim will know what to expect. And maybe if he’s careful about it…

Something Eros said about the nature of desire comes back to him then, and he considers it alongside what he knows about Jason.

He can’t take it anymore.

Tim strides to the door of the containment unit, ready to input the code. Dick blocks his way.

“You can’t!”

“I have an idea.”

“Then tell me what it is, and I’ll do it.”

“You can’t do anything right now,” Tim replies with a sad smile. “Just trust me, okay?”

Dick is still conflicted, but after a beat, he steps out of the way.

Tim opens the door to the containment area and slips inside, letting it close behind him. Slowly, he approaches Jason, almost the same way he might a wounded animal, moving slowly so as not to spook him.

Jason is shaking his head, backing away from him, and murmuring something to himself. Something foreign sounding, like a grounding chant; swear beads on his forehead.

His eyes are clenched shut, as if he’s trying not to see—either Tim or whatever hallucination has been plaguing him.

“Jason,” Tim says quietly. No response. “Jason, look at me.” Clear blue eyes snap open, locking with Tim’s. “I need you to focus on me, okay? And, uh, don’t punch me.”

He can see the difficulty Jason is having with comprehending right now, but he’s lucid enough to flinch away when Tim reaches for him.

“Tim!” Bruce barks somewhere in the distance, having finally made his appearance.

He ignores him and seeks out Jason’s hand, wrapping his hand around it. Or trying to; the other man’s hand feels huge compared to his.

He gives a fully body shudder at the contact, and then he’s clasping back at Tim as if he’s his lifeline. Something is at war in his eyes, that bit of sanity that tells him Jason’s still there.

“Philtatos,” he whispers, and Tim shivers at the way the strange word rings like a verbal caress.

Tim’s thumb automatically swipes across Jason’s wrist, and skin to skin like this he can feel the frantic beat of his pulse. Too fast for someone that’s been sitting still.

“You’re going to be okay,” Tim tells him. “Remember your training. Just breathe…and focus. Hold as tight as you need to.”

Jason’s breath shudders in a way that suggests he trying to comply.

Tim isn’t sure how long they stay like that, him crouched in front of Jason just holding his hand and murmuring calming words. But at some point, Jason begins to look visibly better. His pulse is returning to normal, the cold sweat on his face is beginning to cool and his breathing evens out.

“What…” Jason begins, eyes unfocused in their exhaustion. “Tim…?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“…shouldn’t be. I might…”

“You won’t,” Tim insists, confident. “It’s like what Eros said when we met him, remember? Desire is not just about…physical attraction. That’s not what you’re fixating on right now, is it?”

Jason shakes his head, slow, though his eyes don’t leave Tim’s face.

And I know what skin hunger looks like, Tim doesn’t add.

Before becoming a Wayne, before Dick and Alfred and Bruce and Steph—no on ever touched Tim in kindness or just casually because they wanted to. He was so touch-starved that for the longest time he flinched whenever Dick tried to hug him, even as he craved it more than anything.

He had been so worried about it seeming creepy to want to be held or hugged by his former mentor that it was, he’d let himself believe he wasn’t worth it. It’s a thought that occasionally comes back to him even now. And Jason…

Well, he wasn’t just starving for food when he was living with an abusive father and a drug addicted mother.

“Fuck, babybird, I’m so tired,” Jason murmurs, and there’s something in his voice like he’s asking permission. Tim feels a grating burn at the back of his throat and a swoop in his stomach.

“Go to sleep,” he says quietly. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

And utterly uncharacteristic of him, Jason listens. He lets Tim lead him back to his cot and sit him down, their hands still clasped, and almost the moment he closes his eyes, he’s passed out.

There’s a lingering heavy silence.

Tim takes one last moment to make sure Jason’s asleep and not about to wake again anytime soon, and in a more level voice remarks, “Could you guys stop gawking like this is a side show?”

Outside the glass, Alfred and Dick watch with bemused expressions; for Bruce, it’s disapproval.

“Uh, Tim?” Dick asks, clearly uncomfortable. “Explain?”

“It’s something Eros said. And Cassie, too,” Tim explains, settling back against the wall beside the cot. He keeps his fingers threaded between Jason’s. “This infection, it capitalizes on feelings that are already there, right? With Jason, his instinct when it comes to physical desire…it’s probably not a sex thing. Not with his background. But there is a touch component; having physical contact with another person—in this case, the object of his fixation.”

Alfred appears impressed. “How could you be sure of that?”

“I…wasn’t.”

But his theories are usually correct, so it balances out, he thinks. Dick and Bruce look like they disagree, though.

“Tim, this was foolish,” Bruce lectures, looming as best he can from the other side of the glass. “This might have gone very differently.”

“But it didn’t. I might not be great reading people, but except for you, I don’t think anyone ever bothered to learn about Jason the way I did.”

“He has a point,” Dick agrees carefully. “He was a persistent little stalker.”

There’s a degree of fondness in the statement.

Tim scowls at him and continues. “Besides, like I said, I know the look.”

Bruce doesn’t seem convinced.

“This is only a temporary solution,” he points out. “It won’t work forever.”

“But it will work for now,” Tim insists. “That’s what matters.”

And there’s really no more arguments against it.

⁂

Of course, Jason complains about it when he wakes up.

“I’m going to lose all my street cred,” he grumbles, shoveling a plate of Alfred’s oatmeal into his mouth with his left hand. The fingers of his right remain interlocked with Tim’s.

Tim makes to pull away. “I can stop—”

“I didn’t say that,” Jason interrupts, tightening his hold on Tim’s hand. He knows Tim has no intention of following through with the thread, but that doesn’t make it easier to look him in the eye.

Since waking up with Tim by his side, Jason’s condition has improved drastically. The color is back in his skin, and he’s entirely lucid if Tim is sitting within his personal space. And, of course, his appetite for actual food as returned.

It doesn’t completely quell the gnawing hunger, but he knows that’s not a physical hunger. There’s not much anyone can do about that until the damned arrows are found.

“I think you’ll eventually be okay to leave the containment for short periods,” Tim tells him, looking thoughtful. “At least if I stay in close quarters.”

“Out of the question,” Bruce interrupts; he’s been looming in the corner with a glare since before Jason woke up.

Oddly enough, I don’t think it’s directed at me this time.

“Definitely not a good idea, Timmy,” Dick adds.

“Why? He deserves to shower in peace and eat and groom and act like a normal human being instead of a quarantine patient,” Tim points out. “It’s not like he’s contagious.”

And, yes, Jason could definitely go for a goddamn shower; the grit on his skin has grit. But almost as soon as he has the thought, another image appears in his mind.

“You planning to shower with me, babybird?” he asks, voice tense as he tries to joke it off, because Tim couldn’t possible mean—?

“What? No!” Tim’s cheeks darken. “I think after another hour or so, you should be alright with light or no contact. And once we reach that point, I can probably sit outside the bathroom or something. If I’m within reach it should be okay. We can test it out.”

“Just what I always wanted, to be a science experiment…”

“No,” Bruce says again. “He might attempt to make a run for it or lash out and hurt someone. You in particular, Tim.”

“It is the whole reason I agreed to come here,” Jason concedes.

“And do you have any intention of going away again?” Tim shoots back, and frowns at Bruce. “At least not voluntarily. Also, the idea of him harming anyone is unlikely, he only reached out for Matt because he was disoriented and mistook him for me.”

“Who?”

“The kid from the alley,” Tim clarifies.

Jason’s stomach churns. “That doesn’t excuse what I almost did.”

“He was fine. He was a little shaken up, but I made sure he knows it wasn’t you. That you’re not like that,” Tim assures him, and refocuses on Bruce again. “There’s no one here he can do that with because he knows us all. If that weren’t the case, he would probably have gotten upset at the fact Damian’s been here for the past hour.”

In the shadows, Damian scoffs at being caught. “It’s not like I was hiding.”

And Tim…has a point there. Not sure if it’s because he’s sitting here with me or not, but now that I think about it, the past two days I couldn’t care less about Damian being here.

That’s actually a relief. So he’s not going to become a creeper to anyone that passably resembles Tim. Just Tim.

Okay, maybe relief isn’t the right word.

“As for trying to hurt me, I doubt he’d be capable of doing that in his current state,” Tim concludes. “Besides, I know how to defend myself. The fact that you don’t think I can do that much is a bit insulting.”

Jason can’t help the snort of laughter at that. He always likes when people other than him stand up to Bruce, but it’s somehow better that it’s Tim.

“If I might also point out,” Alfred speaks up. “It has been a rather long while since Master Jason has been able to enjoy a dinner at a table. With other people in attendance.”

Bruce doesn’t respond beyond exhaling through his nose.

“And that’s it, B,” Dick says, trying for levity. “Alfred’s spoken.”

Bruce doesn’t seem amused, either by the situation or the fact he’s lost the argument. Nor can he pursue it, because a notification pops up on the Batcomputer that Firefly is making a nuisance of himself again.

Which is how an hour later, Jason finds himself showered (fastest shower in his life while Tim waited outside the door), wearing fresh clothing (how the hell does Alfred always have clothes in his size around?) and sitting in the library with Tim, who’s doing something clever on his tablet.

“I figure you’d prefer not to be in the Cave unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Tim tells him, not looking at him.

“And I have taken the liberty of returning all of the materials you requested earlier,” Alfred adds, walking in with an armful of books. “I should hope you treat them with a mite more respect this time though.”

“Sorry, Alf,” Jason winces.

“Never mind that, Master Jason. Extenuating circumstances, and all that.”

He departs again.

“Anyhow, you can keep looking into whatever you were doing before,” Tim goes on, still not meeting his gaze. “It’s a good idea. Not all information on the subject has been digitized, so it isn’t searchable. I’ve got remote access to my system and the Cave from here, so I can keep working without having to leave you alone.”

“Right. Because you’ve got no choice but to be my babysitter.”

He tries to dial down the bitterness there, but Tim detects it easily. Finally, he glances up; his expression is surprised, and strangely soft.

“Being here is my choice. Or didn’t you notice the glares B was sending me all night?”

“Yeah, but he always looks like that. That could be about anything.”

“True, but in this case it’s because I have an issue with you getting dosed with some Olympian Death Kool-Aid.”

Tim had explained about the Stygian Sleep when Jason woke up and was trying to understand why they were holding hands. “Better that than me doing something I’d regret.”

“And I say what I said before—give it time.”

Jason scowls. “It’s not fair for you to use you against me right now.”

“If it means putting off the possibility of you dying, it’s totally fair. Besides, in this family, you know no one is above manipulation. Least of all me.”

“Why do you even care?” Jason wants to know. “After everything I’ve done to you?”

Tim shrugs, eyes darting away again.

“I don’t want Bruce and Dick and Alfred going through it again,” he mumbles, returning his attention to the tablet. “Losing you again. It…wasn’t pretty.”

Which Jason’s heard before, but he’s never exactly been willing to hear the specifics. He wonders if Tim decided to tell him this time, if he’d listen.

They lapse into silence then, both drawn into their respective avenues of research. Thankfully Tim’s theory about Jason’s affliction has proven true, and he seems to be regaining some control over himself.

Jason recalls what Eros said, about his condition depending on how far Tim was willing to go for him. He’s not entirely sold on the idea—there have to be limits, of course—but he won’t argue that it’s nice to be able to focus on something other than Tim for a few hours.

Just as long as he’s within easy reach.

By the early hours of the morning, though, Jason has grown bored.

“We’ve been at this for hours,” he grumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

“Uh-huh.”

He shoots a look at Tim, who’s frowning over his tablet and clearly didn’t hear him, and rolls his eyes.

He wants to have this whole mess sorted out, of course, but right now it doesn’t look like it’s going to be finished for a while.

They need a break.

Tim needs a break, or he’s going to pass out.

“Time to take a breather, babybird,” he declares a good ten minutes later, after debating with himself about how much of this is his regular concern and how much is Eros-induced mollycoddling.

“We don’t have time for breaks.”

“Right now, we do. And you’ll be able to think better if you get some air and come back with a new perspective. Never know when you might get an idea from something random.” Tim still doesn’t appear very enthusiastic, and so Jason tries another tack. “It’ll make me feel better at least, I feel like I’ve got ants in my brain.”

Which is what convinces Tim; Jason feels only a little guilty about that, figuring it’s for the greater good.

No one is above manipulation, right?

“Go sit in the family room and queue something up on TV,” he orders, something like enthusiasm manifesting in his stomach. “Casablanca or whatever.”

Tim makes a face. “You really think that’s the best movie idea for right now?”

He considers, then winces.

“Good point. Fine, choose whatever. Something with car crashes and explosions and shit. I’m gonna grab provisions.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s downstairs, not navigating Gotham’s sewer system,” Jason retorts.

“Okay…” But Tim still looks doubtful.

Which Jason remembers the reason for once he’s in the kitchen making coffee.

Alfred won’t let him cook, insists on whipping up a tray of sandwiches because he doesn’t trust anyone in this house to make healthy food choices. Normally Jason would argue the point, because he eats just fine thank you very much, but his thoughts are straying back to Tim, and the fact he’s not here.

And if he glances at his phone every so often, finger hovering over the Contact button for Tim, well…he can’t do anything about that, can he?

At last, Jason heads for the family room, carrying a tray of coffee and tea.

“I’ve got the drinks, and Alfred said he’s going to bring up the rest of the—”

He freezes when he discovers the room is not occupied with just Tim. Dick is sprawled beside him on the couch—close! Too close!—while Damian hunches over his sketchpad in the corner, Titus and Pennyworth curled beside him, looking mutinous as ever.

“Bruce is still out on patrol. Gordon needed him for something, so he suggested we head back here and check on you,” Dick answers the question that wasn’t asked.

‘Suggested’ my ass.

Unsaid is the knowledge that if anyone has a chance of taking Jason down if he loses it, even if it’s just stalling him until Bruce gets there, Dick and Damian have the best chance.

He can’t even argue the point.

Scowling, Jason wanders over to the end table beside the couch and puts down the tray before handing Tim his coffee. The younger man takes it, sniffs and makes a perplexed face. “How’d you know that’s how I take my coffee?”

“Hell if I know, apparently it’s something I noticed,” Jason mutters as he finishes steeping his tea.

“Aw, Little Wing, don’t I get any?”

“Fuck off and get it yourself,” Jason snaps, still testy about how close Dick is sitting to Tim.

He knows that Dick has no interest in Tim that way, and vice versa, and that he’s just here to protect everyone. But the older man is also the one everyone likes best. Tim already likes him better than Jason, which puts a bad taste in his mouth and—

And he’s getting lost in his thoughts.

“Move,” Jason tells him. “That’s my spot.”

“You can’t have a spot. You don’t even live here.”

“Neither do you.”

“I’m here more often than you are.”

“That’s irrelevant. It was my spot when I lived here but you were too busy being elsewhere and an asshole, so I guess you wouldn’t know that.”

“I can move,” Tim pipes up quietly.

“Or Jaybird could just sit over here beside me,” Dick suggests innocently

Jason is not gritting his teeth. “No thanks. Your ego’s already suffocating me from over here, I don’t need the added burden of your cologne.”

“Guess you’re sitting on the floor then.”

Tim huffs. “If this is an issue, we can just go back to work. We really should be—”

“No, this is supposed to be a break,” Jason interrupts and glares at the older man, “and he’s ruining it.”

God, he sounds like a child. Tim must think so too, because he stands up and points to the space he was occupying. “Sit.”

“No, I don’t—”

“Jason, if you don’t sit, I’m going back to work.”

Which translates to Jason going back to work, since he’ll inevitable end up loitering wherever Tim goes. So, he scowls, and throws himself down in Tim’s spot, arms crossed and glaring at Dick, who watches the whole thing with a wary look on his face.

That gets blocked when Tim sits between them and shoots them both an irritated glare. “Are we good now?”

Not really, Jason thinks but doesn’t say, because Dick is still too close to Tim. A beat later, something occurs to him, and he smirks.

He stretches out, wrapping his arm around the back of the couch. Not touching Tim, or his shoulder, but there’s a heavy implication of hands offfrom his body language. Dick’s eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his hair, and there’s worry now written in his eyes, but Jason ignores it.

He’s the one who even made this an issue.

Tim, meanwhile, sits very still, his cheeks stained red. Jason shifts with sudden guilt.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, considering pulling his arm back. “I can sit on the floor if—”

“No, it’s fine,” Tim cuts him off, crossing his arms tight against his body. “Now are we watching, or what?”

“You people are ridiculous,” Damian informs them, having watched the whole interchange with mild derision.

“Your face is ridiculous,” Jason shoots back and tries to concentrate on the television screen.

Which is more difficult than he expects.

The movie is boring. Worse, it’s predictable. He makes a mental note to never let Tim choose the movie ever again, at least until he gets some taste.

Early on, he loses interest in the formulaic plot and static characters, instead occupying himself with studying Tim out of the corner of his eye. The kid really isn’t that bad looking, for someone who lives on coffee and microwave dinners. His lashes are longer than he’s seen on most men, and his cheekbones are sharp without making his face look pinched. There’s also the curve of his mouth, where it’s not really smiling, but quirking upward in dry amusement.

It works well with the snark, Jason muses as his eyes grow heavier.

He drifts off, the family room fading away, dim light and tinny sound from the television blurring end ebbing, until it’s gone and he’s no longer there.

He’s in a large chamber, warmed by the dry breeze that winds through the open concept room. The walls are decorated with rich, colourful frescoes, and the floor with meticulous mosaic.

He leans over a wooden table, frowning down at piles of vellum and papyrus. There are discarded styli and other design tools lying across the sheets of military maneuvers and maps. The nearest one shows a hastily sketched city plan of roads and buildings; the one with the most notations reads Вιβλιοθήκη but it barely registers for him.

His attention is instead on the man seated across the room.

It’s Tim—because, of course it is—and he has a stylus stuck behind his ear while he uses another to etch something into a wax tablet. He’s also chuckling and shaking his head.

“You’re the one who wanted to stop here and found another city. What is this, the fourth one?”

“Fifth,” Jason corrects, though he knows Tim is just teasing him. “And it’s all planned now. Someone else can do the heavy lifting. Dinocrates is champing at the bit to get to work.” He shoves at the maps in front of him in frustration. “And I have things to do! You know that bastard Darius is holed up across the Euphrates trying to dictate to me?”

“He knows he’s losing, he’s just trying to cling to some semblance of power.”

“Exactly!”

“That doesn’t mean you should be impatient. Think it through—you’ll regret it if you just rush in. Remember what happened last time? You sliced a relic of the gods in half.”

“I was fulfilling a prophecy.”

“You were vandalizing public property. Call it what it is.”

“They threw me a parade.”

“Because they’re superstitious old goats.”

Jason crosses his arms. “You’re questioning my gods-given destiny to rule all of Asia. I could have your tongue for that.”

“You already have my tongue,” Tim says dryly. “Among other things.”

Though his face remains solemn, his eyes dance with irreverence and a heat that has Jason licking his lips and suddenly wanting to do something about that smile.

Which is when there’s a sound of approaching footsteps beyond the chamber. Tim looks down quickly, attention back to his etchings, and Jason draws himself up with an air of irritation that isn’t completely false; he hates interruptions.

A man wearing something like a linen caftan darts forward and bows.

“Your majesty, the sculptor Lyssipos has arrived.”

“Send him in,” he replies, a bit of the irritation waning.

A minute later, an older man appears, graying hair and beard oiled into curls; behind him, two darker-skinned men follow, carrying a large crate between them. From the way the old man snaps at them it’s obvious they are slaves.

“Your majesty, as always, you look to be in the prime of health!” the old man says; he has a smile like a salesman.

“Conquering the world agrees with me,” Jason answers in dry amusement. “What brings you so long from your workspace?”

“The piece you commissioned is ready.”

He makes a gesture to the men, who are quick to open the top of the wooden box and bring out a two-foot bust. It has been painted lightly with color, less garish than most artists prefer, closer to realistic. The face and shoulders rising from the marble are stocky, nose straight and locks of hair painstakingly hewn from the stone.

“I spent much longer on this than any other before it, majesty, and believe you will be pleased, though I would be humbled to know your thoughts on it.”

“I don’t know,” Jason chuckles as the men place it on the crate, and turns to Tim. “’Wife’, what do I think of it?”

Tim rolls his eyes, and both ignore the scandalized expressions from everyone in the room not privy to their dynamic. He lays his tools gently aside and wanders over to circle the bust with a critical eye. It is some time before he speaks.

“Master Lysippus has done well to hide that receding hairline you’re so worried about.”

Jason scowls, running a hand through his hair—it’s longer in the back than he’s used to—but the expression doesn’t remain long. He’s too busy studying Tim as he continued to evaluate the sculpture. Jason likes the way he wrinkles his brow and the set of his mouth.

Tim traces the statue’s eyelids and cheekbones with a finger, then brushes across the curved lips almost lovingly. Jason is reminded of the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, and rather hopes Tim isn’t about to embrace a piece of stone in his place.

“It is graceful, elegant and has good symmetry,” Tim pronounces at long last, and Lysippus preens. “Although I have to admit, for being the work of the only sculptor the king has ever trusted with his likeness…it doesn’t look a thing like him.”

The earns a sharp gasp, and the old man looks as if he has just been struck. The slaves’ eyes flick toward one another, and no one seems to know what to say to that.

Irritation flares in his chest and Jason feels the inclination to snarl, until he notices the teasing in Tim’s eyes.

That little shit…

“My liegeman is simply enjoying a joke at my expense,” Jason informs the old man. “The piece is perfect. A true artistic marvel, as expected.” He reaches for a piece of vellum and scribbles a hasty note, ignoring Tim’s pained expression at the informal proceedings, and then uses his personal seal to legitimize it. “Take this to Harpalus, Machatas’ son. He oversees the treasury and will see to your needs.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“Now, I’ll say farewell, as I must have some words with philalexandros here about inappropriate humor.”

“Your majesty,” the men echo, and soon Jason is alone with Tim once more.

He grimaces at him. “Do you see what you did? They’re scandalized by your irreverence.”

“Maybe, but you like that about me, and that’s all that matters,” Tim replies, approaching.

“Yes, but no one else is supposed to know that. I’m meant to be the god-king—remember that cynical philosopher in Corinth? He insisted I’m ruled by your thighs.”

“Hm,” Tim considers. “Aren’t you?”

“Rather the opposite,” Jason grins, drawing close to the shorter man. “I seem to recall you having a few choice things to say about my thighs.” He tips a finger beneath his chin. “Come, let’s take this somewhere else.”

“Why?” Tim teases. “Are you afraid your double is watching?”

Jason’s eyes flit to the lifeless stone irises of the statue, and shudders. “Well, now I am…”

He bends closer to Tim, and can feel his breath on his face—

Jason jolts awake to discover he’s nodded off against Tim’s shoulder—no, worse; he’s practically curled into him, face in the crook of his neck.

Tim is sitting rigid, neck and cheeks radiating warmth, though he’s staring carefully ahead of him. Jason hurriedly shoves himself away. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Tim croaks.

Dick is watching the whole thing with evident concern his eyes. “You were talking in your sleep.”

“Shit. What did I say?” He doesn’t remember everything from his dream, but he’s pretty sure at the end there he was making some kind of innuendo.

“No idea.”

“It sounded like Greek,” Damian says, glancing up from his sketching. “Not any dialect I’m familiar with, though.”

“Oh. Good.” Jason swallows. “Also, what the hell?”

From everyone else’s expressions, they’re wondering the same thing.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

[ideas-ideasideasideas]

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[vexinglyvolatile]

@honestmagpie

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[yeahthisisabadidea]

Bruce almost never hesites.

Batman never does.

But he found himself frozen in place on one end of the roof staring at Jason? his dead boy? the boy, who seemed simularly frozen, though, that might have been the induries, too hurt to move.

He seemed surprised, green-blue eyes locked on Bruce's face.

"you came."

Bruce, not Batman, responded, rushing to catch his son before the blood loss so much blood, his son beaten and limp in his arms, fire all around got to him.

He hatted how his son's voice broke around the words, like he never expected it to work. the only thing running through Bruce's head at the moment was a singular thought.

He made it this time. His son was in his arms again, breathing. He'd always come for Jason. he would spend every day of the rest of his life making sure his son knew he loved him.

"I'm here."

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[late-tothe-party-07]

Crying. Thank you.

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[ajhasmademistakes]

#Jason sees Bruce answer his code with such desperation and thinks that maybe Bruce still loves him just a little#maybe he doesn’t need revenge maybe he can just go home#maybe when HE calls it instead of Damian Bruce will come get him too#and because of that there’s ​no red hood in this au#even though I love crime Lord red hood Jason#maybe he can still be a crime lord idk just not one called red hood who baited Batman into choosing between him and joker

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[batfsm]

The tags OP…I love them.

#Jason sees Bruce answer his code with such desperation and thinks that maybe Bruce still loves him just a little #maybe he doesn't need revenge maybe he can just go home #maybe when HE calls it instead of Damian Bruce will come get him too #and because of that there's no red hood in this au #even though I love crime Lord red hood Jason #maybe he can still be a crime lord idk just not one called red hood who baited Batman into choosing between him and joker

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)