Note: Still inspired, apparently :) Thank you all for your comments!
Chapter 2
It was hard not to remember the day when the men in black had come. Jason hadn't made any joke about aliens. First, because gothamites didn't make jokes about things that could possibly happen in their city someday. Then because those had obviously been either mobsters coming for some payback or officials. None of which were good news.
So Jason had run. He had been living in the streets for four years and was good at it. Good at survival, good at fighting, good at avoiding cops even on what they claimed to be their territory. Gotham was his, always had been. No one knew her better than he did.
He had managed to hide for some time – but they hadn't left. They had stayed around Crime Alley, then spread all over the Bowery, asking about Jason Todd. That had closed him all the doors which might otherwise have been open. After a week, he'd been starving, and left with one choice: leaving Gotham or ask what the hell they wanted from him.
Gotham was his city. He wasn't about to let people scare him away. So he had gone to them, chin high, ready to be killed or worse.
Instead, they had brought him to Wayne manor, where an old butler and a young, broken kid had been waiting, surrounded by an army of lawyers and journalists.
Jason had ignored the adults and gone straight to the kid. The butler, whom he hadn't known by name at that point, and whom he certainly hadn't trusted yet, had won his first good point by making a protective gesture toward his charge. As for the younger teenager himself, he was obviously grieving and scared out of his mind, but he had still stared at Jason right in the eyes.
"They say you are my half-brother," the kid had declared, the first one to give Jason an actual explanation for his presence there. "That you are my father's illegitimate son."
Jason had winced, because it was hard to ignore where he was even if he hadn't been told, with all the stylized W's everywhere, the same as in several spots of the city itself. The Wayne's murder had been all over the news, as well as the way the shareholders were trying to take his inheritance from their orphan kid, so even a street rat like him had some idea of the situation.
"I've got no idea if I am," Jason had admitted brutally. Then added, more softly, "I can disappear. This isn't my life."
Surprisingly, the kid, Bruce, had shaken his head.
"Family is important," he had said.
Observing him, Jason had only been able to see a rich kid, soft and young; maybe 12 to Jason's 14. Being who he was, Bruce Wayne shouldn't have known a thing about life. He ought to have still lived in the little golden bubble his pairs grew up in. Then his parents had been murdered in front of his eyes.
He had still been a kid, and still rich. But he had known, from that point on, some facts about life that no kid should be aware of.
So Jason had shrugged.
"I guess this makes you my brother." And with a smirk, "Should I tell those guys to get the hell out of your house?"
Bruce had stared at him with surprise. Jason had snorted at him.
"I'm the oldest, ain't I? That means protection."
Bruce had stared some more. Then, slowly, he had nodded.
"Please, do."
Jason's smirk had widened. Twenty minutes later, the only adult remaining in the house had been Alfred.
Since then, Wayne manor had become his home. Mostly. There had been good days and bad days, especially at the beginning, but he had found himself a family. Bruce certainly had needed one as much as Jason.
A home he could call his…. Well, until now, at least.
Jason was slightly aggravated by the situation, but he was willing to be patient. After getting over the fact that he was his half-brother – at least in his Earth – Bruce had brought him to the Cave and promptly parked him in one of the holding cells. It was angled so he couldn't see the screen of the Batcomputer, while being close enough for Bruce to be able to keep an eye on him.
Which was marvelous, because it meant Jason could observe him.
The first test had of course been based on his DNA, but if the technology was anything like in his world, it would take at least a few hours for the results to be ready. Jason was actually curious to discover if he was genetically Thomas Wayne's son in this world as well, or if his Bruce didn't share all his genetic material with this one.
There were other things to check in the meantime, such as his blood, his facial structure, and his bones, which would give away his training in case his behavior hadn't been obvious enough. Jason might not see the screen; he knew Bruce well enough.
Which meant he hadn't asked any question, nor talked at all since the tests had started. Alfred came and went, cleaning the place, bringing tea to both Bruce and he – his favorite, even, so he shared at least some of his doppelganger's taste.
Despite this most probably being half a test as well, Jason had thanked the old butler with a sincere smile. He might be patient when he put his mind to it, he was glad to at least have tea to pass the time.
And he waited. And kept waiting.
This Bruce seemed much more patient than his Bruce. Then again, he looked at least ten years older – that gave Jason some hope. Maybe his little brother would learn that as well at some point.
This was, however, still Bruce. Jason could see him tensing more and more with every minute passing. He hid it well; but there was no mistake. Jason could guess this man wasn't used at having this technique – his own, really – sent back to his face.
Having someone at his back, in his own house, who ought to wonder what was going to happen, ought to have started talking and hence give up little pieces of information. And who wasn't asking.
Jason was too far to hear the sigh, but he still saw when Bruce had enough.
"Was it on your mother's side or your father's?" he asked abruptly.
Jason rolled his eyes. Of course Bruce's first question would regard his parents.
"Father. Don't start explaining how much of a saint he was; I heard it all already. I'm sure he loved his wife very much. Those things still happens, even in the best families."
The grunt he got as answer was so much Bruce that he couldn't refrain a chuckle. The man at the computer turned around, a metaphorical cape flying behind his shoulders. Jason managed to keep the exasperation from his face.
A vigilante, honestly. How many Bruce in all Earths had made the same mistake?
"Your father didn't do the same mistake as mine," Jason added to calm him down.
That got him a pointed look.
"You call yourself being born a mistake?" Bruce pointed out.
"Well, despite the benefits on my side, from Thomas Wayne's perspective, it most certainly was," Jason mocked gently.
That answer seemed to unsettle Bruce. What had he expected? Lack of confidence?
Mhh. Considering this Bruce's older age, he had imagined his doppelganger would be, likewise, older. However, this presumption might have been incorrect.
"How old is my other self?" Jason asked.
Having started the conversation, Bruce had no choice if he wanted it to keep going and to dig more information than to answer.
"22," he said grudgingly.
Rather than his 28. Well. His Bruce was 26...
"And you must be about 35?" Jason guessed, before frowing. "Oh no. You didn't adopt me, did you?"
Bruce didn't really wince. He didn't need to. Jason pinched the bridge of his nose.
Then he realized the implications, and paled.
"You were alone," he stated out loud. "You adopted Dick later on as well, didn't you? You were alone when you started." His incredulity was quickly turning into anger. "You were alone and you still decided to start this fucking crusade."
Bruce merely stared at him. Jason forced himself to lower his eyes not to glare right back at him. He managed to smile, though with too many teeth, and brought his eyes back to Bruce's face.
"I hope there is, in all the world, at least one Bruce Wayne who didn't choose to follow this path."
"One of them didn't," was Bruce's immediate answer. Then, after a moment of silence, "He became a criminal instead."
On those words, he turned back to the computer and kept working.
Jason exhaled slowly through his nose, wishing for anything else to deal with – even Luthor on a bad day wouldn't be as difficult to handle as this.
###
There had been a time when soft, clean sheets had welcomed Jason back to awareness. A time when the only sound to be heard had been birds in the garden, and the smell of coffee had been a promise of family breakfast and cheerful mornings.
Jason's eyes snapped wide open, his body jumping in a crouch even before his mind was totally awake. His instinct screamed that he was at the manor.
Then he looked around him, only to gape; because he was, in fact at the manor.
"What the hell…?"
His head felt dizzy, and he winced at the too bright window whose curtains weren't closed. He looked around the room to give his eyes some time to recover.
It really looked like the manor; he recognized the old wooden floor and ceiling pattern. Yet, he couldn't imagine a scenario that would lead to him being there. If Bruce had caught him – and he had no recollection of that happening – he would have brought to the Cave, if not directly to Blackgate. So how…?
He could feel his gear still on him, so at least there was that. And yet it was another cause of worry; why wouldn't Bruce have taken it away from him? At least his damn guns. But no, here they were in their respective holsters. His side hurt – his everything hurt – because he had slept in armor.
The room was weirdly familiar, yet he was sure he had never been in it. The bed he recognized as his old one, or a similar one at least; some of the manor's furniture had been bought at the same time after all. There was a soft carpet at his feet, looking comfortable enough to actually sleep on it, and a board, light-wooden desk beneath the window. The farthest wall had been covered in books, fitting in an obviously custom-made shelf. A recent one, too, not part of the original design; it fit perfectly but Jason could see the differences with the overall feeling of the house.
Besides, if there had been such a library in any other room than Bruce's study, he would have known about it.
He slipped out of the bed toward the window now that his eyes had stopped hurting – and stared in disbelief. Yeah, he definitely was at the manor. He would have recognized this view among thousand, for having seen it regularly back when he lived there. From Dick's bedroom.
"What the fuck…?"
This certainly wasn't Dick's room, and Jason was equally sure Alfred wouldn't have modified it so much without Dick's approval. And Dick would never had wanted it to look like this – it just didn't fit him.
Alright. He needed more information. Preferably before crossing path with anyone from his so-called family.
He opened the window and slipped out. Once on the ground, he hesitated, then headed quickly to the garage. He didn't recognize any of the cars but among those stood a gorgeous black Ducati.
He smirked. Oh, yeah.
###
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