Author's Note: This two-shot is not part of my usual Wayne Brothers collection, but if you like those, you'll probably like this one. Takes place in the New 52 'verse with heavy spoilers to the current 'Death of a Family' arc, particularly the 'Red Hood and the Outlaws' and 'Teen Titans' issues. For those who aren't following, in the New 52 Tim and Jason are a lot closer than before, frequently showing that they work together off screen, and even calling one another friend and brother. There have been a few hints that the second title is more than just words...
Blood Brothers
By:Silver Spider
Part I
All Jason could feel was rage. There was nothing really new there; the anger was part of his being since well before his first death, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should be feeling something else, something good. Hope? Gratitude? Something! But there was no one left to direct a single positive feeling towards.
Not Dick, who was standing off to the side with his arms crossed wearing a look that was somewhere between pity and guilt and even, Jason could swear, jealousy. Good, the younger man thought bitterly. He's been with you way longer. You should have been there! You should have protected him!
Not Damian, who kept smirking and sending snide remarks like, "Rejects! This explains everything!" It took all of Jason's will to hold himself back from punching the boy in that smart mouth, ten-year-old or not.
And certainly not Bruce, whose unflinching stoicism was begging for that same beating and a lot more for everything else. He should have been uncomfortable, going on about how he should have told them sooner, begging for their forgiveness, but instead all he said was:
"Did you hear me, Jason?"
"I heard you," the youth bit back and began rolling up his sleeve.
Dick stepped forward. "You don't..."
"I 'don't have to'?" the younger man whirled on him. "Is that what you're gonna say, dick-head? After all the shit that lunatic put us through, put the kid through, I 'don't have to'?"
"This isn't a small blood transfusion," Dick went on with a steadiness that made Jason's teeth grind together. "It's major surgery, and with the trauma your body already suffered..."
"No," Jason cut him off. "Dying? That was traumatic. Everything else? Cakewalk. So unless you tell me you have a better donor on hand..." That one was directed at Bruce.
"No," the man replied calmly. "You're the best we're going to get."
"Then get on with it, old man."
Later, when he was on the operating table, arm outstretched with a needle – Jason hated needles – poking into his vein, he turned his head to glare at the man above him. The mask that would deliver the anesthetic was just about to be lowered, but first he said.
"When we wake up... when he wakes up... I'm the one that tells him."
It wasn't a request, but Bruce nodded, and again Jason felt fury coarse through him. It had not been a God-damn request! He turned to the side slightly, just in time to catch a glimpse of the teen on the table to his left before Bruce gently but firmly turned his head back to center. Jason caught his hand.
"It's not... laughing gas, is it?" Bruce gave him a look. "Yeah, okay. Shit's not strong enough anyway."
The mask came down.
When he awoke, more than eighteen hours later, it was Dick was by his side. The drugs must have worn off a little too soon because they were still in the cave. Jason was cold and numb, though what part of it was from the anesthetic and which from the nature of the environment, he didn't know. His mouth and lips felt dry, but he managed to get out:
"I wanna see him."
"In a little bit, Jay." There was a vague sensation of Dick's hand on his shoulder. "You both did really well, but you need to rest."
The second time he woke it was upstairs. He was in a bedroom, and it took Jason a moment to realize that it was the one that had been his when he'd lived at the manor. At any other moment he might have felt something about it, but at the moment he just felt tired, like his limbs were made of lead. Maybe another few hours was not a bad idea...
The third time he was better. Still weak, but he forced himself to roll out of bed and holding onto the rolling poll that held the IV drip still attached to his arm, and managed to make it out of the room. He was grateful someone had bothered to dress him in a pair of sweatpants and an old faded AC/DC t-shirt, but there was no one in the hallway. He was also grateful it didn't take him long to find Tim's room.
The sight of the teen made bile rise in the back of his throat, but Jason swallowed, closed the door, and sat heavily in a large chair by the bed. There were far too many tubes and IVs sticking out of the boy, and he looked so unnaturally pale. Jason supposed he should have been grateful that he was even alive with the amount of toxins that had been pumped through his system. Whether he would stay that way was still up in the air.
The door behind him swished open again, but judging by the weight of the footsteps, it wasn't Dick this time.
"You should be in bed," Bruce said evenly. "You'll pull out the stitches."
In the corner of his vision Jason could see him reaching out, maybe to help him up, maybe to simply put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't care about the intent. The snarl that sounded more animal than human ripped from his throat, and he saw with satisfaction that the older man had frozen in place.
"Don't," Jason growled. "If you touch me – touch either of us – I swear to God, I'll kill you."
That didn't make him flinch, only sigh and walk around to the foot of the bed to face him. He sat down heavily, hangs hanging between his knees. Jason glanced up to Tim's face to see if the movement had disturbed him, but regardless of his fear – or hope – there was no change. His fists clenched.
"How long?" His voice sounded softer than he thought it should.
Bruce sighed. "Jason..."
"How long have you known!" This time he spat venom. "Damn it, old man, you owe us! After all this crap..."
"It doesn't matter."
That tone drove Jason crazy. It was the I-know-better tone, the one that had made him act out just to prove he could, to prove the boundaries that Bruce had placed there were pointless. Maybe he'd been right then, but he wasn't now, no way, and that inability to admit fault made Jason wish he had the strength for violence.
"It matters to me!" He hissed. "Next time you say that, next time you think it, pretend it's... it's Damian. Pretend someone telling him you're dead and then yelling 'psyche!'. How long, Bruce? Just... just tell me."
The man took a deep breath. "Since shortly after your... death. When Tim first started looking into Batman."
Jason was stunned. "That's years ago! You've known all this time and said nothing! Why?!"
He shook his head. "Too many reasons. You were gone, Jason, so there was no good reason to tell him, to cause him pain. And then you weren't, and..."
"You should've talked him out of it!" The young man exploded. "After what happened to me... how could you let him put on the suit!? What the fuck is wrong with you!?"
"Jason..."
"Get out." It came out low through gritted teeth. "I mean it, Bruce. Get the fuck out. Now!"
He was only slightly surprised when the man actually left. With some effort, Jason scooted the large chair closer to the bed, and tool the teen's left hand. It was cold and clammy and completely unresponsive.
Later, Roy called.
"Dude, you need a pickup or what?"
"I'm fine, Arsenal."
"You sure? Friends don't leave friends alone with their psycho families."
The use of the word made him tense, but Jason let it slide. Roy didn't know, and Jason wasn't sure he wanted to tell him unless he had to. "I'm fine," he repeated. "Just a little banged up. Don't cry into your pillow on my account or anything."
On the other line, Roy snorted. "Jerk. How's the teen wonder? The titans keep asking. They wanted to fly out to Gotham and break down the door, but I talked 'em out of it. Convinced 'em kid's in good hands. Not that they'd know which door to break down."
"Yeah." Reflexively Jason squeezed the cold fingers he was holding. "He's in good hands. Where are you?"
"Heading back to the ship. Kori's there now."
"Alright, see you in a few days. Maybe."
He fiddled with the phone for a few more minutes after hanging up, then called Kori. The alien woman's reaction was, if anything, more emotional than Roy's, but Jason let it slide. He was too tired to talk anyone else out of fussing over him.
"Can I ask you something?" He said after she'd finally stopped.
"Of course, Jason. Anything."
"Your sister, Kom. Do you..." He swallowed. "Do you forgive her?"
"Yes." There was no hesitation in the woman's voice.
"Really?"
"Really. What is this about, Jason?"
"Nothing. Thanks, Kori."
That night, Tim woke up screaming. Muscles locked tight, even as Jason tried to hold him and calm him, the teen screamed till his voice was gone.
"Joker..." he coughed. "He... I... killed you."
"Bullshit," Jason spat, holding both of his wrists in a firm grip to prevent the boy from hurting himself. "You don't believe anything that lunatic said. Hear me, kid? Not one damn thing. It's all shit."
The boy's body went rigid, then he vomited up a string of bile that smelled like acid and medication and passed out again.
He woke up again a solid day later. Considering it consisted of a barely audible request for water, Jason wasn't terribly impressed, but it wasn't violent screaming so he was relieved. Eight hours after the first time, when the teen actually opened his eyes, he was already there with a cup of crushed ice. Tim took it gratefully but then wrinkled his nose.
"You stink, man."
For a moment everything felt normal. Tim was just Tim; Red Robin, the Replacement, the ridiculously smart know-it-all kid who should have been at some fancy school or somewhere on Wall Street or in Washington. Anywhere but here. Jason gave him a half-hearted glare and didn't point out that he'd thrown up on him. Instead he said:
"Can't tell me you smell anything with all that crap in your system."
The teen made a face, giving him an almost sympathetic look, as if he'd been the one at death's door for half the week.
"That's just how funky you smell, bro."
The title, thrown around so often and carelessly in the past, sent a pang through Jason, but he didn't show it, choosing to instead send the teen another very typical glare.
"You're kinda ripe yourself, kid."
"I've been in bed for like... ever. What's your excuse?"
"Babysitting your half-dead ass."
That earned him a frown, and he could practically see the wheel's in the boy's head turning, trying to gain momentum and work past the haze of medication. He tilted his head slightly, still regarding Jason in puzzlement.
"You're still here."
"So?" The young man blanched. "There somewhere else I'm supposed t' be?"
"Umm... wherever it is you usually go? Since when do you volunteer to stay at the manor longer than you have to?"
"Someone's feeling snarky." But he squeezed his hand and was rewarded with a light but certain squeeze back. "Go to sleep, kid. I'll still be here."
"'kay." The whole conversation must have worn him out. Tim closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows. "Be here. Just shower too."
He stayed asleep for the next day, but that was alright. Jason did as he was told too, washed and even ate the sandwich and gulped down the water that appeared like magic on the nightstand. None of the others bothered him, no doubt on Bruce's orders. He was dozing the chair when Barbara came to see him. She walked slowly around and leaned into the same spot on the edge of the bed Bruce had occupied earlier.
Jason took one look at her and raised a brow. "They told you."
Barbara nodded. "Dick did."
"And you really didn't know." He guessed. "Three years as Oracle and poking your nose into everyone's business and something like this just happened to slip through your fingers."
The red-haired woman glowered at him. "Believe it or not, Jason, you're not the center of everyone's universe." He laughed at that. "The world doesn't revolve around you. Or Tim. Or any of us."
"Yeah? Bruce sure cared enough to cover it up, and don't you dare tell me he didn't. A lie by omission is still a God damn lie."
"Okay." She conceded. "Then be mad at Bruce. Add it to the list. But don't be mad at Tim. You could do a lot worse than having him for a brother."
Finally!
Jason snorted, shaking his head again. "You know this whole time, no one's ever come out and said it. Not once."
"Not even you?" She ventured a guess, then smiled gently when he didn't say anything. "Jay, it's okay. After everything's that's happened... the... the Joker and... Tim's a great kid. You know he is."
She stopped, and this time Jason looked – really looked – at her. Barbara, always so pretty, now just looked exhausted, which wasn't surprising considering everything they had all been through.
"How you doing, Babs?" he asked carefully.
She took a deep breath and shook her head. "Not good."
The Joker had meant to rip their families apart. For Jason, who had been so very sure there was nothing left the Joker could do to him after his death, it was through Tim, who had not only become his only connection to the vigilante group in recent months but also turned out to be the last living biological family he had. But Tim had not exactly volunteered for the dubious honor.
For Barbara, a far more painful betrayal had come directly from her younger brother, James Jr., who had set up not only her, but their estranged mother.
"You could do a lot worse," she repeated, turning slightly to look at the still-sleeping boy.
Jason nodded absently. "What about the kid?" She gave him a questioning look. "Think he can do worse? 'Cause I kinda think he can do a hell of a lot better."
"That's really up to you, isn't it?" Barbara pointed out reasonably.
Jason didn't answer.
