#that shit either goes on ao3 or forever lives in my google drive

[laylaisthename]

you know im down bad when im actually posting my fics on tumblr.

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Lincoln McQuoid/M!MC || SFW || 3900 words :pensive: ||

Fic about two guys with terrible birthday experiences that are trying to do better. Set in a theoretical time after everything's been resolved. Timeline doesnt exactly match up since we're probably like a week away in game from Linc’s birthday but uuuh just pretend ok.

tw; mentions of under (american) age drinking (idk im european and he's 18 so its fine to me) 

"Lincooooln." Horus calls lazily from the couch.

"What?"

"You know what day it is?"

Lincoln pads into the living room, his eyes narrowing at Horus. "The day the Elric brothers set their house on fire?"

Horus snorts, "Of course you would say that you weeb. Aaaand...what else is today?"

Lincoln sighs. "Who told you?"

"I'll let you take one guess at who'd be texting me about your well-being."

He buries his face in his hands and lets out another deep, soul-weary sigh.

"Abel says to tell you 'happy birthday' and to make sure that, quote 'he doesn't spend the whole day moping around his apartment alone watching daytime tv and getting drunk.' unquote. Ouch. You really spend your birthdays like that?"

There's a thoughtful frown on Lincoln's face, a look that Horus knows a little too well by now. He opens his arms invitingly, and a small smile plays on Lincoln's lips as he moves to join him on the couch, resting against his chest.

"Bad birthday memories?" Horus asks.

"Melancholic ones. I told you what happened on my seventh birthday. My mom still tried after that but it just... hasn't been the same since. And then I lost touch with Abel, and she..." his words trail off. 

Horus' voice is quiet when he responds. "I know. I'm sorry." 

Unsure of what else to say he simply wraps Lincoln in his arms. Instinctively Horus' eyes flicker to the empty spot on the wall where Silvia's portrait used to hang, a pang of guilt lancing through his heart. He must have apologized a thousand and one times already, but it still never felt like enough. Sometimes he catches Linc glancing over too, expecting it to still be there- for her to still be there. 

His thumb subconsciously moves to twist at his mother's ring. It was a feeling he knew well. 

"Okay I'm gonna be real depressing here," he starts, "but stay with me on this. Every year on my birthday my dad used to take us to this nice Egyptian restaurant. I'd get baklava and chocolate cake and some damn good chicken and then we'd go home and watch any movie of my choice, so we'd usually end up watching A New Hope again."

"And you're calling me a weeb? Nerd."

"Shut up, I'm being genuine here for once in my fucking life. Anyway. Point is. We'd get dinner, watch a movie together, I got some gifts, and it was the best day I could wish for. Then after... everything happened, Amalia and her parents took me out somewhere." He takes a moment to gather himself. Talking about the past five years was still hard at times, actually telling the truth of his hurt rather than lie and say he was fine. "I spent my eighteenth birthday crying my eyes out on the floor of a restaurant bathroom. Told Lia I got food poisoning, but I knew she didn't buy it. Next birthday was barely any better. Amalia was off to college by then, so me and my new best friend 'Fake ID' hit up every bar in town for a free drink for the birthday boy. I vaguely remember making out with some hot girl in a bathroom stall, but mostly I just remember feeling incredibly alone. And, well, nauseous."

"Is this story going anywhere or are you rambling?"

"Right. I'm trying to be profound. Well, tl;dr, birthdays sucked. At 20 I ignored my birthday and 21 I got shitfaced again, but this time legally. Then this year I happened to find myself in the area after a hunt. So I walked into that Egyptian restaurant, I got myself dinner and some baklava, found the nearest movie theater and watched, uh," he falls quiet for a moment, thinking hard, "I don't remember the movie's name, it was pretty forgettable I'll be honest. But it was the best day I'd had in longer than I'd like to admit. Whenever I closed my eyes I could almost feel my family sitting next to me. My dad's lame jokes, my mom's laughter. Annie stealing food off my plate when she thought I wasn't looking..." Horus is quiet for a moment. "Sorry, I'm making it about me again."

Lincoln turns over in his arms to face him. "It's alright. Honor their memory instead of burying it deep, right?"

"Yeah. But, if you do wanne just laze around all day and watch shitty movies I'm down for that too." he tightens his arms around him a little. 

Lincoln hums, lying his head back down on Horus' chest, and he wonders if Lincoln could hear how his heart raced. Neither of them would spend another birthday alone if he had any say in it. They lay there a little while longer in comforting quiet.

Lincoln rouses after a while, quieting Horus' whine with an achingly sweet kiss as he heaves himself off the couch. "I think I know what I want to do today."

***

Their first stop was Westchester Elementary. Lincoln hadn't told Horus what exactly they'd be up to, wanting it to be a surprise. It was a warm autumn day, the warmth of summer not quite gone yet. 

The sounds of children playing outside  accompanied by a quiet ambiance of rustling leaves and birds' song. It was strange how nice Westchester could be when horrible men and creatures weren't actively terrorizing it. 

"So, this is where baby Linc took his first steps into becoming a menace to society?" 

He rolls his eyes, but smiles regardless, "You know Russ, I don't actually know much about what you were like as a kid." 

"Me? A model student once they got me to stop cutting up my clothes." 

"That's what I thought." he holds out his hand, and by now it's second nature for Horus to grasp it as they walk along. Lincoln leads them to the side of the building, stopping before they round the corner. 

"Close your eyes for me?" 

For me.

The gentleness in Linc's voice over shadows any dirty jokes in Horus' mind. He simply smiles, "Alright." letting Lincoln lead him a little further away with his eyes closed. 

He stops Horus, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around. 

"Okay, now, open your eyes." 

So he does. And before him, Horus sees something that was-

A stunningly painted mural adorned the old plaster, a deep indigo blue of a night sky, swirling into the yellows and pinks of dawn. Against that backdrop was the silhouette of a woman, leading a chain of children of different ages toward the light of a new day under a bright shining star. More stars dotted the dark sky, painted in such a way that they almost seem to shimmer in the sunlight. Among them Horus managed to recognize a few constellations; the Scales of Libra, Aries the Ram, the Eagle Aquila, the Archer Orion-

His eyes flit to Lincoln, who in turn is watching him with searching eyes and a kind smile. 

"It's gorgeous." Horus says after another breath. It was hard to put into words, but it felt as if a hopeful wish had been put into every brushstroke. 

Having apparently found what he was looking for, Lincoln turns to the mural. "My mother painted this. She told me she started the first draft a few weeks after she found out she was pregnant. The actual mural didn't go up until I enrolled here, and I got special permission to 'help' her out during recess." 

They walk up close, where painted in white, surprisingly neat, yet childish letters;

LINCOLN & 

and then in a beautiful curling script;

Silvia McQuoid

Lincoln traces his fingers along the letters, closing his eyes, a smile painting his lips. 

"There's more murals like these all around town. She'd always say this was her way of giving back a little kindness into the world. Something to inspire people." his eyes open again, looking up at the silhouette. "A couple were painted before I was born, but I loved coming along whenever I could. She always insisted that even if I just painted a single line, that I'd put my name up next to hers."

"She sounds awesome, wish I could have met her."

"She would have loved you, I'm sure of it." 

Horus laughs, "Ha! You're just saying that because I'm your boyfriend." 

Lincoln bumps his shoulder, "I mean it, Russ. Someone so full of life like you? She'd be making wedding plans after our first date." 

Horus was not a shy or bashful man by a long shot, so the blush creeping up to his ears and the sudden stutter in his throat caught him off guard. His eyes flick over to Lincoln, who also seems to realize what he'd said with a start. He didn't want to read into it too much, his racing mind already looking for a way to change the topic, but a small voice in the back of his head tells him that if Lincoln had asked him right here, right now, that he would not mind at all. But then a suitable deflection comes to mind, blurted out a little too tense, a little too fast. 

"I already promised to take you out for dinner today, no need to butter me up."

"Maybe I'm hoping to get free dessert too." 

"I dunno, you find me a dark and quiet corner and I can get right on that if you're so impatient." 

"At an elementary school? Really?" 

"Ah, you're right. So are we going to your highschool next? Behind the bleachers maybe." 

Lincoln laughs again, "Speaking of dinner, there's a few more murals I wanted to show you. Come on." Linc turns to head back to the motorcycle. 

It was like a light bulb flickering to life over Horus' head as he realized exactly what he would get Lincoln for his birthday. He pulls out his phone, sending out a dozen texts as they walk, nearly missing the helmet Linc tosses him. 

The last message is off and confirmed by the time they reach the second mural, and hours blur by as they ride all over Westchester. Every painting is somehow more gorgeous than the last, accompanied by anecdotes from Lincoln about inspirations, color choices, meanings. It was something incredibly dear to his heart, anyone could tell. 

Horus steps up close to Lincoln, leaving a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

"For what?" 

"Sharing this with me. But," he reaches his hand into Linc's back pocket, pulling out the motor keys, "I have a surprise for you too." 

Lincoln raises a brow, but doesn't make to grab for the keys. "Where are we going exactly?" 

"Ah-ah, wouldn't be a surprise anymore if I told you. But it's close by, I promise."

***

It's a short drive over. Horus parks the motor out on the side of the road, walking ahead down an alleyway to the back. 

And as his friends had promised, strewn around a blank wall was everything needed to paint a mural of their own. 

Brushes in all sizes, a dozen different colors of paint, lights that illuminated a smooth, blank canvas waiting to be filled. Off to the side lay a cooler filled with drinks, and a bag full of takeout food. 

"But how…?"

Horus counts it off on his fingers, "Had Connor call in some favors at city hall for the permit, Lia brought the food, Joss got us drinks, Dee and Noah took care of the supplies, aaand," Horus lets out a sharp whistle, and Abel appears from around the corner carrying a cake, followed by the rest of their merry little gang. A chorus of "Happy birthday, Lincoln." rises from the group. Joss rolls her eyes. 

"I'm just here for the cake." she nods her head toward Abel. 

Linc's eyes grow wide."Is that…?" 

"My mom's recipe? Yeah, I promised, didn't I?" 

Horus pulls a lighter from his pocket, lighting the candles. 

"Happy birthday to you." Abel starts, and Horus, Amalia, Connor and Dee are quick to join in, "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Lincoln, happy birthday to youuu." 

The look in Lincoln's eyes is part horrified, part touched and wholly embarrassed as the song comes to an end. 

"C'mon make a wish." 

Lincoln walks up and thinks for a moment, and if Horus wasn't head over heels before, then the way that the candlelight flickered in Linc's eyes surely would have done the trick now. The moment passes as he closes his eyes, blowing out the candles in one big breath. 

"Let's see if this cake lives up to the hype." Noah walks up, knife in hand, offering it to Lincoln to cut the first piece. 

Abel looks offended, "You doubt my baking skills?" 

"Cut him some slack," Connor says, "being a ghost for a few years made him forget his manners." 

Noah just shrugs, taking back the knife to cut up pieces for the rest as Lincoln takes the first one. 

The silence is broken by an incredibly inappropriate moan from Lincoln that almost sets something off in Horus. But that would have to wait until he had him all to himself.

"Just as good as you remember?" Abel says, unable to keep a large, goofy grin off his face. 

"Better somehow." he takes another large bite. 

Horus is handed a piece next and wastes no time shoving a large piece into his mouth. "Oh shit, this is good." Agreements ring out as everyone digs in. Their impromptu party is however quite short lived.

"As much as I wish I could stay," Abel says, "I was in the middle of grading papers that I really need to finish by tomorrow."

 Amalia pipes up, "I should go too, I got a long drive ahead to get back in time for my lectures tomorrow if I want to get any sleep. Cake was totally worth it, though." 

Connor walks up to Dee and Noah, slinging his arms around their shoulders. "The three of us promised Harper we'd stop by tonight to check something out, so we should get going too." 

Jocelyn grabs another bite off the last slice of cake. "And I'm not hanging around to play third wheel to these two, so bye."

Horus waves her off. "Good night, Joss." 

"Night, Red. Keep the old man’s spine intact.”

“Old man? I’m not even 30 yet.” Lincoln replies.

“I make no promises about his ability to walk tomorrow.”

Jocelyn grins, “Nice.” and heads off.

Abel hangs back for a moment, watching the others leave. He walks over to Lincoln, whose eyes still betray his feelings of guilt. Apologies were exchanged a while ago, but Horus could tell that Lincoln still had a hard time letting go of the hurt he caused. 

"Abel, I-" but his words are cut off as Abel envelopes him in a hug. Lincoln hesitates for a moment, before hugging him back. 

Abel lets him go, a kind smile on his face. "Happy birthday, old friend." he turns to Horus, giving him a nod, and Horus nods back. 

And just like that it was only the two of them left again. Horus polishes the last crumbs off his plate, quietly thanking Abel and his mother for what was maybe the best cake he'd had, ever. 

Lincoln walks up and hugs him tightly, burying his face in Russ' neck. And now it was Horus' turn to stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he returns the gesture. 

"Thank you," the words are a quiet murmur against the crook of his shoulder. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it." 

"No, I liked spending the day with you. You doing this for me? I love it. I-" he hesitates on the word. Lincoln pulls back a bit, cupping Russ' face in his hands. "It means a lot to me. I just don't know what to paint." 

He pulls him in for a kiss, short and sweet. But being pressed up against Lincoln's back all day on the motorcycle has left Horus with a desire for something more than that. He walks Lincoln backwards until his back hits the empty plaster wall, nearly tripping over a bucket of paint in his haste. He opens his mouth, and it was delicious, both of them still tasting of whipped cream and cake. 

Lincoln flips them, so Russ' back is now to the wall and pulls back. A groan escapes him as he leans forward after Lincoln, 

"Don't move." he places another kiss along his jaw. 

"Hm?" 

"I just figured out what I want to paint."

Horus stood there, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. "You're just going to leave me like this?" 

He laughs, a bright and joyful sound, "I didn't exactly bring lube along." 

"I'll run to the corner store and make the most suspicious purchase of my fucking life, I'll even throw in some roses, don't test me."

Lincoln comes back with a bucket of paint and brush in hand. "You can do whatever you want to me back at my apartment. Just keep still." 

He opens the can, a deep blue, and gets to work tracing an outline around Horus, lingering around his hands, leaving kisses as he goes along. Up his arm, over his shoulder, a kiss under his ear. 

"You're making it very hard to stand still, you know." 

"Better keep at it. Don't want to get paint in your hair- hold out your hand a little."

Horus does as asked, moving as little as possible, as Lincoln traces the paint over his head and down his right side. 

Lincoln steps back, admiring his handiwork- or maybe admiring Horus. With the way his eyes darted around it was hard to tell. He turns, reaching for a new brush and another can of bright red paint. It doesn't escape Russ that it's the same shade as the color of his hair. Lincoln holds them out for him to take. 

Horus shakes his head "I'm not much of an artist."

"Just the rough outline, I'll take care of the details." Lincoln stands with his back against the wall, hand overlapping with the silhouette of Horus beside him. 

"Alright, fine. For the birthday boy." 

Horus then realized that he probably had not held a paintbrush in his hands in a decade, if not more. He wasn't nervous per se, but still very cautiously went to work, part of him afraid to mess it all up. He kneels down to get started by Lincoln's legs. The red paint stands in stark contrast against the gray wall, overflow dripping down, and suddenly Horus freezes. 

His hands shake, breath catching in his throat, whole body tense and ready to spring. Blood dripping down the brush, out of a creature's mouth, covering his hands his eyes seeping into his chest the ground thick in the air-

A hand clamps on his arm and distantly his name reaches his ears -"Russ!"- his father telling him to run, Annie calling after him- he tries to pull away, hand balling into a fist so tight that his knuckles ran white, nails digging into his palm, fight or flight instincts setting in and he was afraid and wanted to, no had to fight there was no one else left-

"Horus!" Lincoln's hands frame his face, forcing him to look into his eyes. 

"I'm-" the word comes out as a ragged breath. Adrenaline ebbs out, his heart still racing at a thousand miles a minute, but he was back in the here and now at least. Realizing what had just happened, Horus slaps on his trademark grin, the gesture not quite reaching his eyes. "I'll get lost in your eyes like this." 

"You're shaking." 

His hands still tremble a bit as he pries himself loose, "Low blood sugar, you know how it is. Maybe we should eat some of the take-out before it goes completely cold." he drops the brush back into the bucket, avoiding looking at it too closely. 

"Horus-"

"There's one with chicken and one with beef, which do you want?"

Lincoln wraps himself around him from behind, plucking the beef noodles from the bag. "Talk to me, Russ. You were gone for a moment there." 

Horus hops up onto a crate, opening his food up, his voice quiet, but finding its confidence as he talks. "Ugh. It doesn't usually happen, red is my favorite color, and I've seen worse whenever I need to dye my hair again- seriously makes my bathroom look like someone died there." he lets out a breath, combing his fingers through his hair, "but, I guess the paint just… took me off guard. I'll be fine after I eat something." 

Lincoln sits next to him, frowning, 

"I should have realized-" 

"Don't. Don't start pitying me or, fuckin' saying its your fault. We were just making such good progress in getting you to stop blaming everything on yourself-" 

"That's not true," Linc says matter-of-fact, "I blame plenty on Matthias." 

Horus laughs. "True. But, yeah. I don't want my little episode to ruin this. I won't let it." He nods over, gesturing for Lincoln to go stand at the wall once they're done eating. 

His hand still shakes a little as he traces the outline around him, but everything was further from Horus' mind now. Focus on the motions, focus on his warmth, his voice-

"Look at that. You're a natural." Lincoln says as he draws the final line, vaguely linking the hands of the silhouettes together. 

"Are you gonna start pulling out gold stars next, or what?" He grabs himself a soda from the cooler, and a beer for Lincoln,

"Is that something I'll need to keep in mind?" 

"Everyone likes being told they're doing a good job, no? Don't worry about the drinking by the way, I'll drive us back." 

"Sure, but if I start lamenting about Naruto, cut me off." 

"No, please tell me more about how Naruto and that black haired guy were totally in love." 

"Oh, like you're any better about your space movies." 

"I just have a lot of feelings about the Clones, okay!" 

Conversation flows and time flies as Horus watches Lincoln get to work. It was mesmerizing to see how the piece came together, stroke by stroke; two silhouettes, hand in hand with a ribbon tying their hands together. Horus' figure set in a royal blue, Lincoln framed by an explosive red, the tie that binds them red on one side, blue on the other. The message rang clear; I’m a part of you, you’re a part of me.

"Now all that's left," Lincoln cracks open a black can of paint, dipping in a smaller brush. "is signing it."

He signs his name in beautiful curling letters;

Lincoln & 

Before holding out the brush to Horus, who glady, if a bit messily, adds his name underneath;

Horus Asar

[iamfitzwilliamdarcy]

Title: from dust, arisen Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne (also ft. Dick Grayson and Tim Drake) Summary: When Jason is fifteen, he almost dies. Now, he grapples with the life he still has. (Jason Lives AU) (ao3)

I...got tired of opening this periodically from my incomplete Google docs over the past two years so...here we go. Will (maybe, hopefully) turn into a series of vignettes. Timeline is intended to make as much sense as possible but...comics. 

When Jason is fifteen, he almost dies. It takes half a year to recover fully, his breath rattling against broken ribs and raw throat. He was protected, mostly, from the blast and has only minor burns, but his right arm is broken and so is his left leg, his shoulder dislocated, he needs stitches in multiple places, and he’s covered in bruises. He has a concussion, too, but he’s alive, and he almost wasn’t.

He’s confined to his bed for weeks. Bruce and Alfred hover. Dick’s there sometimes too. He feels suffocated, near the end, but mostly he’s too exhausted to care.

When he starts getting bored and antsy, Dick brings over video games and movies and little 5lb weights.

“I can only use my one arm,” Jason tells him mournfully. “The right one is already smaller. I can feel it.”

Dick makes a face at him as he wiggles the fingers on his left hand. Says, “Well it’ll just have some catching up to do when you get that cast off.”

“And 5lbs are for babies,” Jason adds.

“Guess you’re a baby,” Dick says and sticks his tongue out him.

Neither mention he’s still sore enough that he can’t lift even the 5lb weight for very long.

But he can handle a control with his cast, so Dick tosses him one and they race cars and beat up bad guys and aliens and shoot terrorists. Dick even, Jason swears to God, brings him over some dumb as shit Harvest Moon game.

“For when I’m not here,” Dick tells him. Because when he’s not here Jason reads a lot, but there’s only so much you can read, and he alternates between being restless, bored beyond imagining, and, well, kind of depressed.

(Jason beats it and saves his damn stupid farm three times before his bed rest is over; his cows love him.)

Mostly Jason is just glad Dick isn’t looking at him like he might still drop dead at any minute, all furrowed eyebrows and blank faced like Bruce or downturned, concerned lips like Alfred. Dick laughs and jostles Jason’s shoulder, gentler than he would ordinarily, but at least he knows Jason isn’t going to fucking break.

Jason gathers that Dick is staying at the Manor again but he’s still fighting with Bruce. They rarely visit Jason at the same time, and when one comes in, the other gets all tight and excuses himself after a few minutes. Jason suspects they’re fighting about him.

He doesn’t ask. Dick doesn’t say anything.

They don’t talk about what happened.

********

Jason begs Bruce to let him back in the field for a month. He gives it some time, after he’s up and about, goes to his physical therapy when his casts come off, but Bruce still says no. No. Flat. That’s it.

Jason trains harder. He knows he’s not 100%. He knows he’s chubbier, slower, that he’s out of practice.

He knows Bruce doesn’t trust him anymore.  Not after…

It only takes a month for him to get fed up with being left behind. He sits in the Cave as Batman leaves, pretending to look at the notes of the case Bruce has left him. A consolation prize, he rolls his eyes. Something shiny to distract him.

He waits a half an hour, and then gets ready. He realizes, quickly, that he doesn’t actually have a Robin suit anymore. He flinches, thinking about fabric being ripped from deep wounds, from its tattered remains Bruce didn’t know he’d seen.

He shakes his head and regroups. There’s always one of Dick’s old costumes. Jason’s…not sure he’ll fit in any. His weight has fluctuated so much over the past several months, as he weaned himself off pain meds, got his appetite back, sat around unable to do anything, threw himself back into his work-outs as soon as he could, got told off for working too hard when he was still in recovery.

Besides, Dick has always been slender. At fifteen, Jason isn’t done growing, but he’s already almost as tall as Dick and a little broader.

He could always go out in his civvies and a mask, but—

--the Joker can’t take Robin from him.

Batman actually falters when he sees Robin. Almost gets hit in the jaw for it, but recovers in time to duck. Jason jumps. They’re only some low level thugs. Small fry. He could have been helping all along.

He tells Batman so. Batman just looks at him for a long time. Long enough Jason wants to fidget, but he doesn’t. He holds his head up, clenches his jaw. Defiant. He can wait out Bruce.

Batman turns and walks away. But he doesn’t tell Jason to go home. Jason follows.

He guesses it’s a start.

********

“He’s stuck in that moment where he almost didn’t get to you in time,” Dick tells him seriously.

He’s come to Dick’s apartment because Batman is suffocating him. He swoops in when Robin doesn’t need him to, nearly breaks the jaws of thugs who so much as say the wrong thing to Robin, follows him too closely. Jason’s going to go insane.

He’s turning sixteen tomorrow. He almost didn’t make it.

Dick shakes his head. “You know how he doesn’t let go of things. I think part of him is going to live in that moment forever.”

Jason’s learned about watershed events. He wonders if Ethiopia is theirs. His and Bruce’s.

“Why are you packing?” he asks abruptly, because he’s interrupted Dick. “Are you moving back home?”

Dick looks guilty, fiddles with the shirt he’s holding bunched up in his hands. “Not exactly. I’m going back to New York.”

To the Titans.

“Why?”

Dick shrugs. “It’s time,” he says. “And I’m failing anyway. Waste of time to stick it out.”

“You’re smart,” Jason snaps. “Fuck, Dick, you’re a detective. How are you failing?”

Dick gives Jason a look. A little surprised at his venom. Jason is too. Finally, he says, “Not all of us our cut out for the college life, kid. Maybe I’m squandering an opportunity I’m lucky to have. But I can’t sit in class all day and not focus on a case I’m working. Or fall asleep because I was out late the night before and was only able to half-ass my homework in an all-nighter.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, but he won’t look at Dick either.

Dick adds, “Anyway, Bruce is driving me crazy, too. Need some space.”

“You didn’t have to come back,” Jason says hotly. His face feels hot, too, and tight.

Dick reaches out and touches his shoulder. “You know,” he says, thoughtfully, when Jason looks up at him. “It’s not really the Titans if there isn’t a Robin on the team.”

********

Jason turns sixteen and Alfred bakes a cake and Dick comes over because he hasn’t left yet (because he maybe kind of sort of hasn’t told Bruce he’s dropping out yet either) and Bruce is looking at Jason in a way that he never has before (at least not where Jason can see) and Jason feels warm for the first time since Ethiopia.

********

He has to repeat tenth grade. Alfred suggests, gently, homeschooling for the year, but Jason’s missed enough time.

******** “I didn’t die, Bruce!” They’re on opposite sides of the living room from each other and Jason is yelling, his fists clenched, his face splotchy red. 

They’ve been going at it for a while, the room hot and Jason hot, when he finally says it.

Bruce draws up short, and the room chills, and Jason suddenly feels deflated. He clenches his fists, adds quieter, “Stop acting like it.”

Jason doesn’t give him a chance to walk away first. He storms up the stairs to his room. He packs a backpack and leaves through the window. He takes the motorcycle and makes it to New York before morning.

Dick doesn’t ask, but his mouth tightens. He feeds Jason leftover pizza and lets him sleep in his bed. Jason snags a few hours, but he wakes to Dick’s hushed, tense voice speaking into a phone.

“No I don’t—obviously—well, I--,”

He gets up and pads over to where Dick’s hunched over on the couch, throws himself on the ground, leans back on his hands and looks up. Laughs a little to himself at Bruce being the one to do enough talking that Dick can barely get a word in edgewise.

Dick looks up and gives him a stressed little half smile. Mouths Bruce, as if Jason doesn’t know. Jason rolls his eyes to tell him obviously. Dick holds out the phone questioningly, and Jason shakes his head. He doesn’t feel as angry and restless as he did earlier, but he’s not ready to talk to Bruce just yet.

“Sorry, B, he’s still asleep. Yeah, we’ll just hit the City some tomorrow. He’s fine, I promise,” Dick sounds a little annoyed. “Go to bed, I’ll call later.”

Jason kicks Dick’s ankle in thanks and feels a little bad about how exhausted he looks. No one else is here, not even Kory, and Jason wonders if he really interrupted Dick in anything important. A local case or something.

Dick just raises his eyebrows at him. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Fuck, no,” Jason says because he knows Dick won’t reprimand him for his language, like Alfred. And also because he really, really doesn’t.

Dick shrugs. “I’m going to bed then,” he says. He stands up and stretches.  Adds, “You should get some more sleep. I’ll take Kory’s room.”

Dick’s as good as his word to Bruce, and he takes Jason sightseeing in New York. They do the standard tourist things—see the Rockerfeller, the Plaza Hotel, the Brooklyn Bridge. They rent bikes and ride around Central Park. They sit on a bench and eat ice cream and look out at across the water at the Statue of Liberty.

(Jason turns down going to Ellis Island. He’s had enough family history to last a lifetime.)

Dick buys him bagels and pizza and soda and presses cash into the hands of the homeless they pass. He stops and talks sometimes, and Jason watches him. Envies how charming he is, how easy it all seems to come to him. Jason’s sixteen, and he’s not uncool, but he’ll never be Dick Grayson.

They go out into the city that night, as Nightwing and Robin.

The New York skyline is different from Gotham. It’s not their city.

Jason goes back to the Tower early. “So,” Dick says, mid-morning Sunday, over breakfast. Jason’s actually a little impressed with his scrambled eggs; they’re not Alfred level, but they’re pretty decent. “So,” Jason says back because he feels like Dick is evaluating him. Searching him for something. “So,” Dick repeats, rolling his eyes. “You can stay here as long as you want, you know--,” “But,” Jason prompts. “But,” Dick agrees, “I think you should give Bruce a call.” “I’m gonna go back today,” Jason says. He pushes his empty plate away, runs a hand through his hair. “I just needed some space.” Dick smiles sympathetically. “I get it,” he says, Jason tries not to let himself get pissed off because he knows Dick does, knows he and Bruce have spent too many years fighting for Dick to not get it but- -but he didn’t almost die. Because he’s fucking perfect. He didn’t screw up like Jason did. He doesn’t have Bruce breathing down his neck because he can’t trust him. Jason doesn’t say any of that, but somehow, Dick reads it on his face. He leans forward and Jason resists the urge to lean back. “Remember what I said before?” he asks. “About letting go?” Jason nods. Dick’s not helping. “Sometimes, and I know I’m a hypocrite for saying this, but sometimes, you do too.” Jason gets home after Bruce has gone on patrol. He lets Alfred feed him dinner, does a few rounds with a punching bag, showers, and goes to sleep. He wakes up in the dark, red numbers on his clock flashing 4am, a hand brushing the hair out of his face. He almost flinches away, but some part of his brain recognizes that it’s just Bruce and he relaxes. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Bruce says, his voice a rough whisper. “’Sokay,” Jason says. He shifts, sits up a little, blinks blearily at Bruce. The fight from Friday lays between them. Bruce doesn’t apologize, but he pulls Jason into a  hug, holds him close. Jason doesn’t apologize, but he snakes his arms around Bruce and squeezes back.

********

He notices the Drake kid tailing Batman and Robin, snapping pictures of them, before Bruce does. He doesn’t see the kid every night, but when he does, he makes sure to do an extra special kick or flip just right or pause a little longer. It’s not posing exactly, but it’s nice to be appreciated. (And Jason won’t lie, he likes the attention.) Also  he’s a little curious to see how long it’ll take Batman to notice. Wonders if he already does and is ignoring it for some reason. It’s not like the kid ever lingers for long or isn’t as sneaky as possible, but Batman is, well, Batman. Jason finally gets a chance to talk to him about a month after he first starts noticing him. Jason’s by himself because, after their fight, he and Bruce are trying this new thing where Bruce lets him go off solo. At least a little bit. Because Jason’s sixteen now and not a kid and he’s not going to— The kid is startled when Robin drops down in front of him. He stumbles and Jason has to reach out to keep him from falling. “So what?” Jason asks. “Journalism class? You the next photographer for the Gazette?” The kid flushes and says “Oh my God” and “I’m sorry” and “Do you think he’ll be mad?” He’s stuttering over his words, and Jason finally takes pity. Says, “Chill out, I don’t care.” He sits down, swings his legs over the edge of the building, leans back on his hands and looks up at the kid. “Your parents know you’re out here?” He hesitates, then admits, “They’re out of town.” “Oh,” Jason says. He gets it. “Just for work,” the kid adds defensively. “They’ll be back.” Jason digs around in his belt and offers the kid a granola bar. He hesitates then takes it. After another moment, he sits down too, away from the edge. Jason leans back on his hands and looks at him, appreciates his mask lets him study without coming off as creepy. Kid’s scrawny, shivering in an overpriced jacket, can’t be older than 13, a giant ass camera hanging around his neck. He breaks the granola bar in half and offers the bigger one to Jason, who takes it. “What’s your name?” Jason asks finally. “Tim,” he says back. Glances up quickly, then back down. Back up again and blurts, “I’m glad you’re back. I wasn’t sure you would be.” Jason doesn’t say me too or me neither, but he wants to.   “You look familiar,” Jason says. “Have we saved you before or something? That why you president of the fan club?” “No,” Tim says absently. “But I’ve been to some galas at Wayne Manor.” There’s a pause where Tim’s eyes widen and Jason stiffens. Then Tim scrambles to his feet saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and Jason leaps up and grabs his arm, demanding, “Who are you and what do you know?” They both still and Tim draws in a deep breath. He lets it out and Jason notices he doesn’t look scared. Nervous, maybe, a little, but not scared. He says, “I figured it out. Who Batman is. A few years back. Well,” he backtracks, “I figured out who the first Robin was and then…everything fell into place.” Jason doesn’t admit he’s a little impressed. He lets go of Tim, sure he isn’t a threat and won’t run. Asks, still a little suspicious, “How’d you do that?” Tim gets this little half-smile on his face and he says, “The quadruple somersault.” “Yeah?” Jason asks. “How’d you make the connection?” “I watched two of the only three people who could do it die,” Tim says. Jason does some quick mental math and says, “No way in hell you remember that.” Tim huffs. “Well, I do,” he snaps. “It was one of the best days of my life. I was with my parents and they managed to let me meet up with the Flying Graysons before the show. They took a picture with me. I didn’t forget.” They’re quiet for a long moment. The moon is almost directly overhead, bright and full. “Are you going to tell him?” Tim asks finally. He slides a glance sideways at Jason, who doesn’t know if he means Bruce or Dick. Jason shakes his head. “Not yet, at least.” “I should go home,” Tim says, but he’s looking down, scuffing his toe across the roof, so Jason says, “Yeah, me too.” They start to part ways, but Tim turn again. “I really am glad you’re back,” he tells Jason. “He was…different without you. It was kinda scary. Batman needs Robin.”

******** Jason can’t get that out of his head. “He was different…it was kinda scary.”  He turns the words around in his head over and over again, until he can’t sleep, thinking about it. He asks Alfred about it, after two days of thinking. Sidles up to him while he’s making sandwiches and soup for lunch. Bruce has to go in for a WE Board meeting (“On a Saturday?” Jason asked horrified and Bruce shrugged. “Guess it’s important. And I maybe missed it on Wednesday.” He winked and was gone.) He takes the knife without a word and starts to cut the sandwiches so Alfred can stir the soup. Tomato basil. “How was Bruce,” he asks abruptly, keeping his eyes focused on the sandwiches, “when I was hurt?” Jason hears the spoon stop stirring, can feel Alfred still next to him. A moment later, the spoon picks up again, slowly. It’s another moment before Alfred clears his throat and says, “He took it very hard. We all did.” “Oh,” Jason says. He keeps looking at the sandwiches even though he’s finished cutting them. He looks up when he feels Alfred’s hand on his shoulder. Alfred is looking at him with fondness and sadness and something else Jason doesn’t know what to call but it fills him up so much he feels tears pricking at his eyes. Alfred cups his face and his hands are warm and wrinkled and soft despite all the labor he’s put into this house over the decades. He says, his voice low with purpose, “You are very dear to him. To me. To Master Richard. I hope you know that.” Jason nods and Alfred lets his hand drop. Gives Jason’s shoulder a pat and says briskly, “Now let’s see about lunch.” He doesn’t ask Dick because he thinks Alfred has sugarcoated or lied to him. It’s only that, he has said very little and he loves Bruce differently than Jason does, the same way he loves Jason—they’re not blind spots, per se, but there’s some sense of duty, some sense of needing to protect. Dick is quiet for a long time when Jason asks over the phone. Jason starts to get antsy, wishing he had gone in person to see Dick, to ask. Finally, Dick answers, almost reluctantly, “He was furious. I’ve never seen him like that before. I thought—for sure, I thought he’d—you know.” Jason does know, but it makes him furious Dick won’t even say the Joker’s name, won’t say what Bruce wouldn’t do. “He would have deserved it,” Jason says savagely and is surprised out of his anger when Dick agrees, quietly, “Yeah. He would have.” There’s a long pause and then Dick adds, “But it wasn’t just him. B was…it was to everybody. A petty thief same as the Big Bads. It was like—it was like he really did. Lose you. And I didn’t—I wasn’t enough, then.” “Oh,” Jason says.

********

Jason doesn’t see Tim again for a while, worries he scared the kid off. He stays true to word, doesn’t tell Dick or Bruce, but he does keep an eye out for him.

When he doesn’t see him as Robin, Jason starts looking for Tim in school. He isn’t actually sure they go to the same one, it can’t hurt to keep an eye out. He doesn’t see him around the high school classes, and, remembering how tiny the kid is, Jason slips into Gotham Academy’s lower school during lunch and spots him right away.

Tim flushes when he notices Jason zero in on him, but he keeps walking with his nerd friend, determinedly ignoring Jason. Jason doesn’t like being ignored. He saunters over and slings an arm around the kid’s shoulder.

Tim’s flush deepens, but he says, almost valiantly, “Uh, hi?” He waves his friend off when he looks concerned and then shoves his hands in his pocket, like he’s trying to make his tiny self even smaller. “Can I help you?”

“Just haven’t seen ya around in a while,” Jason says. He tugs Tim outside with him and adds, “Let’s have lunch.”

********

“Why are you spending so much time with the Drake boy?” Bruce asks one night. They’re in the Cave, still in tuxes from some charity thing Bruce has thrown. Alfred will be mad if he knows, but he’s upstairs, cleaning.

Jason shrugs. “Just a friend. He goes to my school. ‘Sides, everyone else at those things is boring.”

“Not me,” Bruce says and Jason yawns extravagantly. “Especially you.”

********

He wants to tell Dick first about Tim because it’s Dick who helped Tim figure it all out. When he calls to see if he can come up for a weekend visit, though, Dick is distracted, sounds off.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jason finally demands and Dick sighs. Says, “I’m leaving the Titans. I guess I’m moving back to Gotham for a bit.”

It’s good timing, Jason thinks, and immediately feels guilty. He tries not to feel giddy about Dick being back. Tries not to worry about Nightwing, who’s lost teammates and just sounds tired lately.

“To the Manor?” he asks and Dick says, “God no. At least, not permanently. I just…need some time.”

“I have a secret to tell you,” Jason says. “When you get back.”

“I don’t know if I like the sounds of that,” Dick says and actually laughs.

******** Dick takes to Tim right away and Jason tries to squash down any jealousy boiling up in him. It’s not Tim’s fault they’ve come into Dick’s life at different places.

******** Bruce finds out with Dick and Jason both playing mediator, but he seems more impressed than angry, a concerned furrow etching into his brow.

“His parents aren’t home a lot,” Jason tells him, as if Bruce hasn’t noticed the kid sitting in his kitchen, doing homework and eating Alfred’s cookies on a near-daily basis.

******** He watches Tim spar and they way he pores over notes Bruce leaves for him when Batman and Robin go out, and he calls Dick the next day. Asks, “How did you know?” He’s woken Dick up and all he gets is a muffled, “Whu?” “How did you know?” He repeats, more insistently. “How did you know when it was time to move on?” “From what?” Dick asks and Jason lets out a frustrated sigh. “From Robin, asshole,” he snaps. “How did you know?” “Oh,” Dick is quiet for a minute. Then, he says, “I think if you’re asking, you already know.”

********

Jason was fifteen when he almost died. He was fifteen when he took back Robin, sixteen when he and Bruce started figuring each other out again.

Jason is seventeen today, poised on the edge of growing up. He’s seventeen and he is giving Robin away. Tim’s hands tremble when he takes the proffered uniform.

“But it’s your birthday,” he blurts, and then, “Are you sure?”

Jason glances at Bruce, suddenly glad he’s run it by him the night before instead of letting it be a surprise. Bruce doesn’t smile exactly, but there’s something encouraging in his eyes, reassuring, and Jason says, “Sure I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You’re ready.” I’m ready.

“What will you do next?” Tim asks, voice softer, almost reverent as he gathers the Robin uniform close to himself.

Jason shrugs, but he’s grinning. “I have a few ideas.”

He does, too, scribbled down, sketched in a notebook. Because he is seventeen and he did not die and the world is open before him and he is ready for the world.