Cowritten by Dawnseternallight and I. She sent me a hc on tumblr, we got our brains working, and then it ended up being a fic. Also, this is latino!Jason so there'll probably be bits of Spanish littered throughout. Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated.

The doorbell rang, which was odd. Jason's doorbell never rang; he would know since he disassembled it himself specifically to avoid uninvited guests. There were only three people that would dare to touch his doorbell, and Tim was off-planet. Which meant it was Bruce or Dick. Jason peered through the peephole, fully expecting to give Dick a lengthy lecture on privacy and boundaries, when he stopped short. He was dreaming. He had to be. That was the only reason for what he was seeing.

Bruce rang the doorbell again, and Jason frowned—okay so maybe he wasn't dreaming. He unlocked the door and cracked it open.

"Is this the apocalypse?"

"What?" Bruce frowned.

"You know, jefe. Fire raining from the sky, total anarchy in the streets... otherwise known as the end of the world? There's no other reason I can figure for you being at my apartment during the day."

"I need a favor."

Jason blinked. "Okay, so yes to the apocalypse. You might as well come in." He swung the door open wide and Bruce stepped inside looking around.

Jason closed the door and leaned against it, arms crossed. "Well?"

Bruce finished his examination of the living room, and Jason couldn't tell if he was satisfied or disappointed. "I need you to watch Damian for a couple of days."

That was the last thing he'd expected to hear from Bruce. A request to go undercover and infiltrate a group of scumbags? Sure. Bruce asking him to cook dinner? Plausible. But a request to take care of Bruce's son? Nope, he couldn't believe it.

"I can think of at least seven other people more qualified than myself to take care of Damian. I'm sure you can come up with more."

Bruce sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dick has Parliament of Owls problems he's dealing with, Tim's off planet, Barbara is in the middle of something classified and is unreachable, Cass and Steph are still in Themyscira, and I have an emergency with the League."

"You left out Alfred and Duke."

"They're working on a child trafficking case," Bruce paused, "I'm not letting Damian near this case, he's... he's too close to this one." Bruce said softly.

And Jason understood. Although Damian was a little brat, he did just come back from the dead. Damian had played the hero before, and it had cost him his life. There was no way in hell Bruce was going to let him get involved in a case where he might get ideas about sacrificing himself, again.

"You can just say you're worried about him, Bruce."

Bruce shot him a look that said he did not appreciate Jason making him say it out loud. "Fine, I'm worried about him. Now please—can you watch him? I'll only be gone a few days."

Had Bruce just used the word please? To Jason? In the form of a request? In the sense that he was giving Jason the option, and doing it politely? The end of the word really had come, and it had come in the form of six letters.

"Okay, okay, jefe. You don't have to get all emotional about it," Jason nodded. "I'll do it."

The look of relief on Bruce's face was enough to distract him from Damian's silent approach.

"I don't need a babysitter, Todd."

Oh. So he meant now. As in right now.

Damian was beside his father, arms crossed, and frowning. It wasn't unusual really, the kid was always grumpy, but his brow had fallen like a storm over his face. It made Damian look older, angrier. He must really be upset about this.

"-tt-" the kid scoffed and swooped into the apartment like he owned the place. Jason sighed. It was about as warm a welcome as he was going to get, especially with Damian already irritated by the fact that Bruce had benched him from a big case.

"It's good to see you too, Bat Brat," Jason said with a healthy amount of sarcasm, taking the duffel back Bruce offered and swinging it over to let it dangle towards the ground.

Damian snatched the bag from Jason's grip and peeked inside. It was obvious Damian hasn't been aware of Bruce's plan until now. But he'd die before he let Jason know that. Bruce had hastily shoved some essentials in the duffel, intending to leave for his League mission straight from Jason's apartment. Bruce stood silently for an uncomfortable minute before pulling Damian into an awkward hug.

"Be good. Listen to Jason."

Jason groaned as Bruce waved a goodbye and shut the door behind him. Telling Damian to listen to him was only going to make him search for reasons not to. Jason knew how this worked. He'd been an ornery 10 year old once.

"This isn't going to be some great bonding time, no matter what my Father might have told you. I'll tolerate you because he asked me to, but if you slow me down during patrol—"

"I get it, don't be a pain," Jason rolled his eyes. "There's just one little detail you're forgetting."

"And that is?"

Jason shot his little brother a shit-eating grin. "That until your dear old dad gets back, I'm the boss."

Damian scowled and opened his mouth to argue, but Jason cut him off. "Ah ah ah! I'm el jefe now. And I have been making some—joder! My taquitos!"

Jason sprinted to the oven, grabbing his oven mitts, and yanked the pan from the heat. Black smoke billowed from the open oven, and Jason slammed the door shut, coughing on the acrid smell.

"I can't believe I burnt the taquitos," Jason muttered. The blackened hunks of charcoal were inedible.

There was a snort of laughter from behind him. "It doesn't surprise me, Todd. You were so busy blathering about being the in charge, yet you can't seem to manage it."

Jason bit his lip to keep an angry retort from making this arrangement a whole lot more unpleasant.

"Well, we'll just have to order pizza instead, right Damian?"

He heard the kid's scoff, but could tell he was interested. Alfred rarely let them order pizza. This could actually... be a good idea. Jason dumped the burnt taquitos into the trash, and grabbed his phone heading out to the living room to ask Damian what he wanted on his pizza. But he stopped cold.

Damian was sitting on the couch, looking at blueprints and a prototype that Roy was building. It was for a double barreled handgun, and Roy was doing it just for fun, but knowing him, he'd actually make it work. And Damian was interested. He could see it in the way Damian's eyes scanned the paper.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. The worst idea.

"Okay, grab your stuff, niño. We're leaving."

"What? Why?" Any other day, Jason would have found it kind of endearing that Damian wanted to stay. But not on a day when he was charged with Damian's safety. Not on a day when Damian was in a house full of half-finished weaponry straight out of Roy's imagination. Not today.

"We're going to the Manor."

Jason huffed as he hoisted his own duffel bag higher on his shoulder. Wayne Manor loomed eerily on top of its gloomy hill, somehow so much more lifeless now that it was empty. Jason parked his bike (he regretted not having a car for the first time in his life, when he had to plunk a helmet on Damian's head and drive him across Gotham) and crunched through the gravel up to the front door, eyeing the lock.

"Don't be an idiot, Todd. This is my house. I have a key."

It wasn't really that he needed to break in, just that Jason was dying to get back at B for his doorbell. But Damian was already inside with a loud huff, and was making a beeline for the Cave. Probably to train.

"Alright pollito, how about we get to ordering that pizza? I'm starving,"

"If you think that will appease me—"

"I think that and some popcorn might, yes. Especially if we go upstairs and put on..." Jason wracked his brain for that show Dick never shut up about because he and Damian watched it together "...Planet Earth."

"You want to watch a documentary about the most dangerous places on Earth?"

From what Dick had told him, that was not the point of the show, but he didn't bring it up. Instead he decided to mess with his brother a bit, making a flustered face. "Oi! Mocoso! I will have you know I am a cultured individual! What is this with the you want to watch a documentary, like it's a crazy idea?"

"-tt-" he scoffed, but Jason saw the hint of a smile on his lips. Good.

Damian crossed his arms but nodded slowly, "Fine. I will acquiesce to your demands. But vegetarian pizza only. And I get to pick the episode!"

With that, Damian flounced away, before Jason could even really comprehend that a ten year-old had used the word acquiesce. Jason shook his head, but pulled out his cell phone. What a piece of work.

It only took Jason about seven minutes to order the pizza, and explain to the delivery guy and then the manager that yes he did want the pizza delivered to Wayne Manor and no this is not a prank. When it was all sorted out, Jason trudged up to what Dick had nicknamed "the den" but was really much closer to a full in home movie theater. Damian was nowhere in sight.

Jason rubbed his face tiredly. "Mierda."

Damian inched around a replica longship, following the voices. If his intel was reliable, the art thieves he'd been tracking were planning a heist here at the Gotham Museum somewhere in the new Medieval Scandinavia exhibit. As far as he could tell, they weren't after things of monetary value, but more of a personal preference? Based on their behavioral patterns, they seemed to be looking for some specific artifact. Damian edged closer to the noise, making out a low chanting in... Norse? Why?

Damian slid some batarangs out from his belt. He'd show Father—and that ingrate Todd—that he could handle being on his own and didn't need a babysitter.

Damian jumped out from behind the longship, ready to attack... but there was nothing there. Damian growled in frustration and rubbed his eyes. He was tired. Was he hearing things? He wasn't that tired. Deciding to take inventory of the room to ensure that nothing was amiss, Damian scanned the old Viking artifacts. His eyes lit on a display featuring a few artifacts and weapons of a famous Viking King, Sweyn Forkbeard. The display held only a small intricately carved arm cuff and a huge round wooden shield.

Damian stepped toward it and scoffed. "-tt- only lumbering fools use shields," he muttered to himself, as he examined it. Made of smooth polished wood and reinforced with iron. It was built for defense and not beauty, and was gouged deeply from years of battle. But something caught Damian's eye, and he squinted. There were three small runes etched into the wood.

Damian brushed a hand over them, feeling the indents in the otherwise smooth surface. Thurisaz, Kaunan, Hagladaz. He remembered a little bit from one of his tutor's lessons. These were powerful runes, and magic users could activate them to perform spells. He let his fingers trail over them softly.

Damian yanked his hand from the shield, when the chanting suddenly grew louder. Cursing, he dove for cover, instantly realizing he'd made it here before he thieves, and now he was trapped until he could assess the situation further. He ducked behind the shield, just managing to keep out of view as a group of men and women dressed in cloaks marched into the room.

They were now close enough that Damian could make out some of the chanting. Their Norse was clumsy and chopped, but Damian recognized it as authentic. He was good with languages, but this was one he knew very little of. He could pick out one or two words, something about a god and a blessing maybe? No, a curse. Whatever. These weird idiots were about to get their asses handed to them.

His attention was pulled from the chanting by the fact that the shield was growing unnaturally warm underneath his palms. He had placed a hand on it for support as he'd been peering around it, and now for some reason he couldn't move his hand away from the ancient wood, that was quickly going from warm to hot.

Damn it. He didn't want to pull too hard and risk knocking the shield down and giving away his position, but neither did he want his hand stuck to some strange artifact while a group of zealots were pretending to be magical. He knew enough about magic to be wary, and he knew these idiots had no idea what they were doing.

Bracing himself against the pedestal, Damian pulled with all his might, and at last his hand came away. His palm was burnt red and blistering from the heat and it looked like there was an imprint of his hand in the back of the shield. That wasn't good. What was worse was that the shield had begun to glow. A dim glowing smoke was coiling from the shield in soft green wisps.

Damn. Magic.

The chanting paused for a moment before exploding back into excited noise. These imbeciles had no idea what they were doing, and their fevered chanting was making the magical smoke pour faster, the tendrils of light that had been lazy were now shooting from the wood in frenzied randomness.

One of the wisps of light was moving back towards him now, and no way was Damian going to let it touch him. He stepped back, and tripped on the edge of the display case. He lost his balance and fell, cursing himself the whole way down, his arms pin wheeling out to his sides in a vain attempt to regain his balance. Because nothing could go right, because the universe was against him, gravity pulled him towards the other display case, the one holding the iron arm cuff, and he knocked into it. The cuff went flying and Damian watched it crash to the ground with a loud clang.

"Hey! What was that?!"

The light was speeding towards him now, and the zealots were alerted to his presence. He could not stay, especially with unknown magic being used. Damian knew he needed to go, and he knew he had to do it fast. He turned on his heel and sprinted to the exhibit, ducking and dodging to lose any tail that might have followed.

He needed backup, and he knew just where to find it.

One by one the lights in the Batcave flickered on, and Damian stopped in his tracks, his hand tugging his cape around him a little tighter. He caught sight of Jason in his full Red Hood outfit, seated at the computer.

His eyes narrowed, "Todd, what are you doing?"

Jason stood, "When Bruce asked me to keep an eye on you while he and the others were away I figured we'd have some fun, get into some trouble, and you'd gain a whole new set of bad habits. I was not expecting to get ditched on our very first night of patrol, mocoso."

Damian smirked, "Well you should have. I told you I don't do babysitters."

"I'm your brother, not your babysitter. And that's no excuse to act like a child."

Damian bit his lip until it bled.

Jason crossed his arms, "You know what? No. I'm not playing this game. Where have you been for the past four hours? I haven't been able to get a read on you all night."

"I've been following up on a lead I caught before Father left," Damian shrugged, "I figured this would be the perfect time to check it out."

"AKA it's something dangerous and Bruce is going to kill me." Jason pinched his nose in a way that reminded Damian of his Father. "Okay, spill it niño. Where'd you go, and who were you tracking?"

Damian was saved from answering by an alarm blasting through the Batcave. Both of them turned to the monitor, temporarily forgetting their argument to watch the emergency message roll across the screen. Damian's stomach sank. The Manor was under attack.

They were both at the stairs in an instant, Jason just ahead of Damian. When they burst into the Manor Jason had to stop and stare. Green, glowing, skeletons wearing Viking armor were destroying everything; tearing into pillows, cutting through chairs, and knocking everything off the walls. Jason had seen a lot in his life. He'd even seen a lot in his death. But this was entirely new. Alfred was going to kill him, but only after he killed Damian.

"Damian," Jason growled.

Damian was by his side, seemingly unfazed by the ghost like apparitions that were currently trashing his home. "It's a long story."

The moment the words were out of his mouth the Vikings turned as one and faced him, their empty sockets staring hungrily at him.

"Damian!" Jason was starting to panic.

"I can explain!"

"What the hell—demonios!"

They both dove to the side as the specters rushed them, swords swinging and shields interlocked. Damian disarmed one, taking the sword for himself and began slicing. Jason was emptying his clips at a rate that revealed his panic.

"Please tell me these things are dead!" he asked.

"They must be; they don't look like the zealots from the museum!" Damian called back.

"Zealots?! Damian, what the fu-" he was cut off as a sword bounced off his helmet, he spun, pulled the trigger, and blew a decent sized hole in it's skeleton head. The thing somehow managed to look surprised, before evaporating in a puff of glowing green smoke.

Another one moved to take its place, and Jason scrabbled for his spare clips, but suddenly its head was cleaved from its body, revealing a grim Damian through the smoke, brandishing a sword. He managed to shoot Jason a sheepish smile.

"I might have interrupted a meeting of idiotic Nordic zealots, and may or may not have accidentally awakened a centuries old army of possibly undead Vikings."

"Oh? Is that all?" Jason deadpanned, before his voice rose in anger and fear. "It's been four hours, Damian! Four hours since your Dad left you in my care! What does this say about me?"

"That there's a reason you were Father's last choice?"

Okay, yeah he might be right. But that didn't mean Jason had to admit it.

"That was a low blow, mocoso."

"Only the truth, viejo," Damian grinned spinning around to grin at Jason.

But Damian had left his flank unprotected while he was busy teasing his brother, and fear flashed through Jason's blood as he realized with terror that Damian was going to get hit. Damian was going to get hurt. He did the only thing that made sense: Jason launched himself to Damian's side, and there was a loud clang and a crunch as something heavy slammed into his helmet and he dropped to the ground like a stone, unconscious.