A/N: Hi, everybody. Yay, I'm not dead, I promise! I got a new job and a new kitten and they have been taking up all of my time recently. Also, I have to admit I hit a bit of a roadblock with this chapter. It was difficult to figure out just how I wanted to tackle it and I ended up rewriting it about ten times. But then I ended up with 20 pages, so there's that, at least? Please enjoy and let me know what you think!
Damian was in a haze, letting his body be tugged and pulled behind Nightwing without argument. He wasn't even quite sure how they gotten from the rooftop to the Cave; he just knew that one moment they had been watching Batman lower Red Hood's broken and bleeding body down to the Batmobile, and the next he was pressed against a railing and told to stay.
There's blood everywhere, Damian noticed distantly, staring blankly at the spots of red that trailed from the car to the medical table on the other end of the Cave. He felt numb. His fingers were tingling unpleasantly. His body was heavy in the worst way possible.
Grayson had wasted no time in changing from his uniform into a pair of tight scrubs and an apron, but once he had been dressed he had hovered unsurely between staying with Damian and rushing to help an older man work on fixing Jason's injuries.
"Dick! Get over here!" Bruce Wayne snapped from beside the older man, who Damian distantly identified as the family's butler, Alfred Pennyworth, who was already stained red up to the elbows. Damian felt his stomach roil as Grayson sent him one last look before sprinting across the room.
Damian stood alone like a green-hued statue for the next ten minutes, wondering idly if he was going to throw up when he heard a bone crack from across the room.
And then there was someone else standing next to him, wrapping him up in their cape and slipping an arm around his slight shoulders. He hadn't realized how cold he had been until he wasn't anymore. Damian turned and saw Tim Drake standing beside him, in uniform but without the mask hiding his eyes.
He looked as worried as Damian felt.
There was still a simmering, ingrained hatred for the older boy brewing away in his heart, but at the moment, Damian allowed himself to sag beneath the weight of his arm and curl into his warmth, burrowing into his side. He was so scared; what was going to happen to his brother? Was he too injured to recover? Would he be permanently affected? He was too frightened to ask what was going on, or to call out and interrupt their life-saving attempts, but he was slowly growing more and more livid.
Why wasn't anyone talking?!
"Do you have a cell phone?" Damian croaked, voice hardly more than a whisper. Drake stared at him in silence for a long moment, looking more confused than suspicious as he started rifling through his pockets until he was able to hand over a sleek black cell phone.
"Would you like me to stay with you, while you call whoever-it-is you're calling? Or do you want some privacy?" And damn him, but he didn't even sound pitying or condescending; he sounded as if he actually cared. It was getting harder and harder to hold on to that grudge and that realization annoyed him more than anything.
Damian glared at the ground; no, he didn't really want Drake listening in to his conversation. But his warmth and his presence was comforting and he was shaking with fear and shock and adrenaline and everyone else was too busy to help. He swallowed, his throat clicking uncomfortably as he nodded, wrapping his free arm around Drake's waist and squeezing to root him there.
He tapped out the memorized number on Drake's phone and waited. No one answered for the longest time, and Damian was just beginning to worry something was truly wrong when the line finally clicked and he heard her harsh, commanding voice echo through.
"Yes?" she hissed, her voice betraying her exhaustion. But she sounded good, better than good, actually; fierce and demanding and powerful as ever. It made something jagged and aching in his chest release, just a bit.
"Mother?" Damian said, speaking to her behind his hand, hiding his words from any prying ears or eyes. Drake, though, seemed more interested in the impromptu surgery going on across the room. "Jason's hurt. W-We need you here."
This was probably the worst possible way to introduce Damian to his father, and Dick just did not have the time to worry about that right now. Not with Jason bleeding out on the gurney and Alfred elbow deep in Jason's blood trying to staunch the flow and Bruce in full-on pissed off overprotective dad mode trying to micromanage every move they made. Eventually Bruce's anxious backseat driving caused even steady old Alfred to snap, growling at him to back off, Master Bruce, I mean it, before Bruce had finally decided to slink off to the Bat Computer in a huff.
With Bruce out of the way, Dick and Alfred got down to work, falling into an easy give-and-take, Alfred giving orders and Dick taking them. After a few minutes of silence on Alfred's part while he worked on stitching up a nasty cut on Jason's ribcage, Dick glanced up just in time to see Bruce looming over Tim and Damian, his cowl down around his shoulders but his expression definitely more Batman than Bruce Wayne.
Tim seemed to be taking the third-degree fine, face a bit more pale than usual as he glared at Bruce, but Damian looked green beneath the helmet, huddled up against Tim like the arm around his shoulders was the only thing keeping him up.
Great, Dick sighed, Bruce is on the warpath.
Definitely not the best way to introduce Damian to Bruce.
"Bruce Wayne!" Dick shouted across the Cave, scowling. "You leave them alone!"
And Dick didn't wait to see if Bruce listened to him or not, because Alfred was calling for his attention again, asking for a rag with antiseptic. They fell into rhythm again, the give-and-take, focusing on nothing but Jason and the medical assistance he needed to survive. Dick's heart was pounding in his ears as he handed tools to Alfred, put pressure on Jason's wounds, and hoped and prayed that his brother would be just fine.
A few minutes stretched into an hour into half the night until Alfred let out a sigh, gently put his tools down, and took a shaky step back. He wiped his hands on a stained rag, scrubbing at his bloodied skin with an almost single-minded scowl. His eyes ran over Jason's body from head to toe as he frowned, the expression tugging down at all of the lines on his face.
"What exactly happened, Master Dick? None of you have said," he whispered gruffly, his sad eyes wandering from Dick's face and then back down to trace Jason's pale, dirty form.
"The Joker escaped, as I'm sure you heard. I was trying to talk Jason into going home, but you know how stubborn he gets. He got Oracle to tell him what was going on and then he went haring off on his own." He scrubbed his hands across his face and then realized he still had blood on them, and he had just smudged blood all over himself. He lunged for another rag and scrubbed as hard as he could, his voice shaky and desperate when he said, "By the time I tracked him down, he was already on the ground like this and the Joker was gone." Dick ran a shaking hand through Jason's dirty hair, absently twirling the white bangs between his fingers.
Alfred's exasperated sigh was jarring and Dick watched him as the butler turned to look further into the Cave, apparently just noticing the extra bodies waiting on them. "And is that Master Jason's ward? The boy I've heard next to nothing about?" His words were politely accusating but his tone was amused, and his eyes had regained that familiar twinkle once more.
Dick followed Alfred's gaze and saw Damian still sitting on the railing leading down to the vehicles, exactly where Dick had left him hours ago, wrapped up in Tim's cape and Tim's arms.
"Yeah," Dick admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his now-clean hands. With Jason finally stable and definitely surviving, Dick could focus on other things, like his remaining conscious brothers who had to be just as frightened and exhausted as he was. "Sorry about keeping him such a secret. Jason wanted to be the one to introduce him to the family, but, well," he trailed off awkwardly, eyes falling down to Jason's chest, watching it rise and fall with his breaths for a moment before he carried on. Alfred sighed into the pause, but he was also nodding, his face full of understanding. "Why don't we go say hello?"
Bruce was still hovering near the boys, but at least he had trained his laser focus onto something more productive, such as Batgirl's and Oracle's reports for the night. His eyes were glued onto the tablet in his hands and he would bark a new question out every few minutes, but other than that he seemed to be lost in his own mind.
As Alfred and Dick made their way over to the boys, Damian glanced up, springing away from Tim's side to stand on his own feet. Tim had shoved his cowl back, as well, but Damian was still sporting his whole uniform, including the helmet, which Dick had to admit was probably the best way to go about keeping his identity concealed from Bruce and Alfred. Dick had seen old pictures of Bruce, and Damian was an almost exact carbon copy of him.
"How is he? How is Jason?" Damian demanded before they were even within shouting-distance. Tim perked up at the sound of Damian's voice and slid off of the railing to stand beside him, his face tugged down in a worried frown.
"Hey, it's okay," Dick quickly rushed to say, reaching out to tug the two into his arms once they were close enough. He squished them together against his chest and they muttered and complained but settled easily enough. Tim didn't waste any time hooking his left arm around Dick's waist and hiding his face in Dick's neck. Damian, meanwhile, was more hesitant; eventually, he did reach out to grab on to Dick's shirt, fisting up the fabric between his fingers and holding on for dear life. "Hey now, Jay's one tough cookie; he'll be up in no time. You'll see."
Alfred watched the scene with no small amount of pride shining through in his eyes. Dick knew he had always worried about the bonds forged between all of these orphans and vagabonds that seemed to congregate around Bruce Wayne. Dick was sure the older man always worried in the back of his mind if this crisis or the next would be the one to break them apart, shatter their little family to pieces.
This crisis, it seemed, would not be that breaking point.
"Master Jason has been through worse than this in the past. He'll heal nicely, young masters, but in the meantime, I think perhaps we should all retire upstairs. We all need a good meal and some real sleep. Master Bruce, I will require your assistance getting Master Jason upstairs and into his room." And just like that, Alfred had them all moving towards the stairs and the elevator, the gurney with Jason's prone form following along behind them.
I fear I am beginning to get too old for this, Alfred lamented to himself as he helped Master Bruce heft Master Jason's dead weight from the gurney to the boy's childhood bed. The room was just the same as Jason had left it all those years ago; Alfred hadn't had the heart back then to change a thing, to box up the boy's possessions and act as if he had never been there at all.
"Thank you, Master Bruce," Alfred said, dusting off his hands and breathing just a little heavy. Master Bruce eyed him critically for a moment, worry clouding his dark eyes before he moved on, hooking his fingers around Alfred's elbow and leading him from the room.
"He'll be fine for now, Al. You should get some rest. It's been a long night." Alfred appreciated the concern, but honestly, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without checking in on the other boys, too.
"I will, Master Bruce. But I need to check on a few things first, and then, I promise, I will gladly head to bed." Alfred leveled a no-nonsense glare, the same look he had used on the boy since infancy, and wasn't surprised in the least when Master Bruce sighed and immediately caved, following him down the stairs with a good-natured grumble.
They could hear the boys talking in the kitchen all the way from the stairs, and Alfred only felt marginally guilty for eavesdropping as they made their way closer.
"Buddy, Jason's going to be just fine, I promise. Alfie's the best and I'm sure he'll be keeping an eye on him all night until he wakes up." Alfred groaned to himself; he hoped he wasn't going to be sitting up all night with poor Master Jason. Everyone else might believe he ran on tea and iron will alone, but even he required a good few hours of sleep. Perhaps he could convince one of the boys to stay with him for a few hours?
"I-," a young voice, the voice of Redbird, he recalled, hesitantly spoke, "I called my mother." He sounded reluctant, slightly ashamed, but totally unrepentant. Alfred felt his brows furrowing; why would he sound so hesitant to reveal that he had called his mother? It was only natural, wasn't it, to want to inform one's parent that one had had such a trying night?
But Master Richard did sound surprised. "Okay," he said after a lengthy pause, and Master Bruce and Alfred both paused in the doorway to the kitchen, interested in where this conversation was going. "Is she coming here? Bruce probably won't be too happy about that, but we can work something out."
Alfred's guilt had reached its boiling point and he could take no more; he stepped through the doorway just as the boy was opening his mouth to answer; his mouth audibly clicked shut instead and he fiddled with his fingers, refusing to look up at any of them.
"Why wouldn't I like his mother coming to town?" Master Bruce asked from behind him, suspicion dripping from his words. Alfred sighed again; ever the master strategist, with the all the tact of a bull in a china shop, at times. Alfred watched as Master Bruce scrutinized their newest recruit from head to toe.
Alfred matched his gaze and allowed himself to attempt to see the boy through Master Bruce's eyes, just this once. He was small, smaller than a boy his age should probably be, but that seemed to be more due to genetics than neglect, seeing as the boy was obviously stocky and well-muscled. The boy must have been training for many years to be on par with the rest of the Family and able to keep up with Master Jason at such a young age. But with the helmet on, there was not much more Alfred could pick out. And one fact just kept screaming at him, no matter where he looked.
The boy was so small, so young!
"No reason!" Master Richard practically shouted, and how that boy had ever lied to them about a thing was beyond Alfred's comprehending; he had no trace of deceit or deception in a single cell of his body. Both Master Timothy and Master Redbird turned to glare at him in unison and Alfred nearly broke composure right then and there. "Apples?" Master Richard asked instead, a very obvious attempt at misdirection but admirable all the same. He shoved a plate of sliced apples into Master Bruce's face and then quickly backtracked, eyes wide and hunted.
Alfred leveled his single most effective glare their way and then stepped further into the kitchen, grabbing a sponge to start mopping up the mess the boys had made with the apples' juices.
"We are going to ignore your disastrous attempts at subterfuge for the moment, Master Richard, and move on to more pressing matters, as it has been an extremely long night for all parties involved." Alfred enjoyed the fact that Master Richard had the good grace to at least look sheepish. "Now. Master Redbird can stay in the room directly across the hall from Master Jason. The sheets are clean and there are fresh linens in the closet. There is a house rule," Alfred warned, peeking over at the young boy perched on their countertop, "that there are to be no uniforms in the house. However, as this is your first night at the Manor, and there are extenuating circumstances, I will overlook it just this once." When Alfred felt that he had the boy's full, wide-eyed attention, he moved on. "There are spare pajamas in the dresser, and no one will enter your room without first asking permission." He let his voice soften, as he knew this must be a confusing, trying time for the poor boy. "You need not keep your helmet on, and you need not fear any of us breaching your privacy."
Master's Richard threw Alfred a grateful look before snatching up both Master Timothy and Master Redbird and yanking them out of the room with a shouted thanks over his shoulder. Alfred watched them leave with a fond smile on his face before he turned back to Master Bruce and the considerable mess the boys had left behind.
"What do you know about the boy, Alfred?" Master Bruce asked, staring at the doorway with narrowed eyes, as if he could find his answers there. Alfred could see exactly where his charge's thoughts were heading and he was going to wholeheartedly throw himself in front of that train before it inadvertently harmed any of the children.
Besides, he knew where this line of questioning was coming from. Master Bruce was attempting to ignore the more emotional issue at hand by focusing on the less important mystery of who Master Jason's ward could possibly be.
Alfred sighed once more. World's Greatest Detective, indeed.
"As much as you, no doubt. None of the children have confided in me about the subject," Alfred admitted coldly as he wiped at the counters, letting Master Bruce know just how unimpressed he was with the man's priorities. "However, he seems like a proper young man, from what little I've seen. Master Jason would not put up with anything less, I'm sure."
"Hmm," Master Bruce grumbled, glaring at the wall for a moment before he grumped one more time and turned towards the stairs, stomping up them and out of sight.
Alfred rolled his eyes at the man's dramatics; sometimes he wondered if he was looking after another teenager and not a fully-grown adult. It would no doubt explain the ridiculous amount of time Master Bruce spent brooding on rooftops.
Damian was a mess and Dick felt horrible for him, he did, but he was exhausted and just a bit of a hot mess himself. So around the twentieth time Damian asked if Jason was really going to be alright, Dick had to make the conscious effort to remember that Damian was super close with Jason and was probably out of his mind with worry and fear. Not to mention the kid was only ten. He had probably never seen someone so close to him so severely injured before.
But when Damian bit his lip and hesitantly asked to check on Jason before they went to bed for the night, Dick couldn't help the way his heart melted. The kid was not hesitant, should never be hesitant, and it was jarring to see how much this was affecting him.
Dick reached down and took Damian's hand when they reached the top of the stairs, Tim trailing along silently behind them. He saw Damian gulp painfully at his side when Dick opened the door to Jason's room and they all got a good look at him.
He was pale, far paler than any of them thought healthy, but it was to be expected with the amount of blood he had lost. Dick watched Damian's reaction closely, wondering just what he was seeing when the kid's eyes grew distant and blank, like he was seeing something else in that bed.
After a loaded moment of shock, Damian slipped his hand from Dick's grasp and wandered closer to Jason's bedside. His eyes roved up and down Jason's body, lingering on the white bandages and the bruises already forming on his skin. "And he's going to be okay. You said he's going to be okay," Damian whispered, voice shaky. The words could have been a question but to Dick, they sounded more like a mantra, a reminder to himself.
"He's gonna be a-okay, Dami. It's going to take him a while to bounce back, but you know how stubborn Jason is. I'm sure he'll be up and around soon enough." Dick told him, crouching down beside him and grabbing his hand back.
Damian ignored him, reaching his other hand out to touch Jason's arm. He was warm, he always ran warmer than anyone else, and his pulse was thrumming beneath Damian's fingers. There was no response to the squeeze, though, no twitch or shake or grimace.
Dick let them stand around Jason's unconscious body for a few more minutes before his aching knees had to call it quits. He stood and gently tugged Damian's hand away from Jason's arm, gave Timmy a quick hug around the shoulders, and then led Damian across the hall to his new room while Tim went to his own.
"Alfred said you could use this room. I'll head over to Jason's apartment in a bit and pick up some essentials for you two. Should I bring your cat along, too? I doubt Bruce or Alfred would mind and he can't really stay home by himself, can he?" Dick asked playfully, tugging the blankets back from the bed. Damian slipped the helmet off with a sigh and then went on a search through the dressers for any pajamas that may fit him.
"If you need anything tonight, my room is right next to yours and Tim's is just down the hall. I'll come and get you in the morning, okay? Is there anything else you need, buddy?"
"No," Damian hissed and growled, but seconds later he already looked repentant. "Thank you, Grayson." Damian held the clothes close to his chest, looking equal parts angry and exhausted.
"Okay," Dick relented, still worried but willing to take Damian's word for his state of mind. He leaned forward and wrapped Damian up in a tight hug before heading out. "Goodnight, kiddo."
Dick had just closed the door to Damian's room behind him when he looked up to catch Bruce hovering at the end of the hallway, just standing in the doorway to his office, watching him. The man had an inscrutable look on his face, eyes sharp and shrewd as he looked Dick over.
They stood in limbo for a few long moments before his features relaxed, his whole posture softening as his shoulders sagged. Dick felt his own body fall slack in response. Oh, thank God, he breathed out, please no interrogation.
"Come chat with me, chum?" Bruce rumbled softly and there was no humanly possible way Dick could tell him no, not when he was looking at him like a drowning man. So Dick dutifully shuffled down the hall, body heavy with exhaustion. Dick headed straight for the sofa across from Bruce's desk, collapsing into a heap on the absurdly comfortable cushions. Bruce, in turn, settled down in one of the wing backed chairs across from him.
Bruce had never been one for silence when there were things he could be asking instead, so Dick didn't have to wait long for the questions to begin. "Dick," he started, face hard but sincere.
Dick groaned before he could even get another word out. "Please, don't," he whined, running his hands over his exhausted face. "Jason can fill you in on whatever you want to know, but none of that is my call. He wanted to be there to introduce you two and, trust me, you'll definitely understand why once you know."
"Hmm," Bruce growled suspiciously, not at all pleased, but pressed on. "What can you tell me about the boy, then? I was watching him tonight; he and Jason must be very close."
Dick couldn't help the goofy grin stretched across his face. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, he's a pretty good kid. Brings the best out in Jay, I have to tell you. Poor guy was having a real bad day a few weeks ago, and he actually called me for help. Not for himself, of course, but so I could look out for the kid while he couldn't." His sappy smile was sickening even to himself. "You'll like him, I'm sure, once no one is freaking out about injured family members. He's got a mouth on him and he likes to run it most of the time, but as long as you disregard at least 50% of everything he says, he's fairly easy to get along with."
"He seems very well trained. Where did he learn to fight?" Bruce had to know it could be a loaded question, most likely was, but he had asked anyway. Dick hesitated and decided a half-truth wouldn't give Bruce too much to chew on.
"Yeah. He's been training since he was really little. Jason said he was taught to kill first, ask questions never. Jay's been trying to show him ways to incapacitate rather than kill the bad guys. From what I've heard, he's really reigned himself in."
"And his mother?" Bruce launched at him, barely waiting for Dick to catch his breath. "You said I might not like her being here. Do I know her, or at least, know of her?"
Dick looked physically pained at the question. "B, I told you. Wait for Jason to clue you in on all of this. He doesn't even know the whole story, not really, but neither does the kid. Just, I know it's hard but can you at least try to be patient?"
"Fine," Bruce growled, obviously only backing off because Dick knew he looked about two seconds from passing out.
Dick groaned, enjoyed the comfort of the sofa for another blissful moment, before admitting to himself that if he didn't get up soon, he would probably pass out right there, and dammit but Damian and Jason were counting on him.
"Ugh," Dick moaned as he sat up again and ignored Bruce's questioning stare. "I've got to go. I promised I would pick up some things for Jay and the kid. I'll be back soon." And with that, Dick disappeared out of the office and Bruce turned back to his work at the desk, glaring at reports and wholeheartedly not thinking of the little boy sleeping down the hall.
Light was shining on his face, and that more than anything else was the thing that shook him awake. He glanced at the bedside table and found the clock resting there, surprised to find that it was already mid-morning. With the high emotions of the night before, he hadn't thought he would get much sleep at all.
He laid in bed for a few more minutes, trying to pool together the will to stand and start the day. He had to remind himself what was waiting for him across the hall.
Jason was hurt. Damian was in his father's house, under strange, confusing circumstances. His father had no clue who he was and Damian had to admit, at least to himself, that he was frightened to introduce himself without his brother there as a buffer. One shining star for the day was that his mother had promised to arrive by early afternoon, at the latest, so he wouldn't be alone for long.
A knock at his door had him springing from the bed, eyes wide as he hid behind the bedroom door. That butler, the old man from the night before, had promised that no one would bother him without an announcement. So what was this?
"Hey, kiddo. It's just me. I brought some clothes and other odds-and-ends for you. Also got a little buddy here who misses you like crazy." Damian didn't hesitate, reaching out to swing the door open, taking pains to keep himself hidden all the while. Grayson stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind himself, turning to find Damian standing there behind him.
"Hey. How'd you sleep?" he asked, setting down the black cat that had rapidly grown up over the last week or so. The poor thing was still nameless, as he and Jason couldn't settle on a single name they both approved of.
Damian disregarded Grayson for the moment in order to pet his cat, crouched down on the floor to get a better look at him. "I slept fine, Grayson. Mother said that she should be here sometime this afternoon." He turned so he could look up at Grayson, one hand still resting on the cat's back. "Has Jason woken up yet?" He knew he sounded hopeful, the tone painful even to his own ears, but Grayson seemed to understand, smiling down at him and dropping his bag of odds-and-ends beside him.
"He woke up for a few minutes earlier this morning. Alfred said he was asking about you. He seemed a little surprised to be in his old bedroom, and was pretty lucid, so hopefully he'll wake up again soon."
"Good," Damian said, nodding as he stood, grabbing the bag as he went. "I want to see him." Damian left no room for argument as he moved toward the bed to start getting dressed for the day. Thankfully Grayson had remembered to grab one of his favorite sweatshirts, and Damian wasted no time sliding it on over his head, throwing the hood up over his head. Just to be safe, he stuck the domino mask on too, hoping it was enough of a deterrent that his father wouldn't place him immediately if he did happen to see his face.
Grayson led him across the hall once he was ready and opened the door for him. His cat followed a step behind him before rushing into the room, hopping up on to Jason's bed without a second thought, curling up comfortably at his feet.
"I'm going to stay here with him until he wakes up," Damian said, tugging the desk chair over to his bedside and settling himself down comfortably. He tugged the sketchpad and a fresh pencil from his bag and idly doodled, watching Grayson hover at the edge of his vision. The older man hesitated in the doorway for a while, as if weighting his options, before he eventually sighed and stepped back out of the room.
They were left in peace together for the next hour or so, but then there was a soft rap at the door. Damian turned to glare in that direction and found the butler standing there, holding a tray of food and drinks in his hands. "Hello, Master Redbird. Master Richard said that you were awake, and I thought you might be hungry." He set the tray down on the desk before moving towards Jason, resting a hand on his forehead before reaching under the sheets to check on his bandages.
Damian hesitated, but it didn't take long before his curiosity got the better of him.
"He is going to recover, correct? Grayson keeps assuring me, but he doesn't know anything about wounds or medicine." Damian scoffed offhandedly but he was biting his lip and wringing his hands. He hoped the elderly butler couldn't tell he was too worried.
He turned slowly toward Damian with soft eyes and nodded his wizened head. "Of course he will, young sir. Master Jason will bounce back from this, just as he has bounced back from many other injuries in the past. But he's going to require your assistance for the next few days, at least. He'll be very sore and no doubt attempt to overdo things. You know how he gets. We will all need to keep a close eye on him to make sure he goes slow. Can I count on you to be my eyes and ears when I am not here?"
Damian sat up straighter, rolling his eyes behind his mask. "I am not a child. I understand that he is hurt, but I do not require some arbitrary job to feel as if I am doing something to aid in his recovery. I do not need to be coddled," he grumbled. He held the strong façade well for the next few moments, but once the butler's eyes turned away, he felt his whole body sag against the chair.
"But yes, I promise to keep an eye on him. He's my brother. I don't want to see him hurt himself," he mumbled awkwardly at the old man's back. The man didn't seem to react for a moment, his hands freezing over his brother's body, but then they were moving fluidly again as if nothing had happened.
"Thank you, young sir. I greatly appreciate it." He turned to run a hand through Jason's shaggy hair before sighing sadly. The cat chose that moment to make himself known, and padded across the bed towards the old man, rubbing up against his outstretched hand eagerly. "Ah! And who might this be?"
Damian brightened considerably. "That's our cat. I found him in an alley with Grayson about a month ago. We haven't chosen a name for him because Jason keeps suggesting idiotic names yet continues to disregard my ideas because he says they're too long." He grumbled good-naturedly before standing, coming to rest beside the seated butler. The cat flopped over when he saw Damian, purring loudly at all the attention.
The man smiled and Damian felt a weight in his chest slowly lift; he knew that this man was important to Jason and the others, and was proud that he had been able to cheer him, at least for a moment. "And do you prefer the companionship of animals over humans?" he asked with a knowing smile, carefully nudging Damian in the shoulder.
Damian sighed but returned the smile with a smirk of his own. "I do. Animals are far better company than humans, by far. Much quieter, at least."
The butler laughed, deep and true and clearly amused. "Master Jason had a similar opinion as a boy. He never could convince Master Bruce to allow him to get a dog, though, poor boy." Damian smiled, sweet and sad, right back as his eyes fell back onto Jason. "You know," the butler said softly, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Pleasure to meet you, Master Redbird." He held his hand out for Damian to shake and Damian didn't even hesitate.
"I know who you are," Damian replied cockily, glancing back down at Jason as he said more softly than before, "He likes to tell stories. You've come up quite a lot."
The butler, Pennyworth, let out a pleased, surprised chuckle. "I have no doubt. Now, I'm afraid I have to return back to the Cave for a bit. When Master Jason wakes up, please let me know so I can take another look at him. He wasn't awake for very long this morning." Damian nodded and settled back down, slipping his art supplies back into his lap, and waited patiently for Jason to wake.
His head was pounding. His thoughts were foggy and disjointed, but there was something important, something he knew he had forgotten about, something he was supposed to be doing. He cracked his eyes open, just enough to peek around the room, and saw Damian wrapped up in a thick blanket in a chair next to his bed.
Crap, did he have another bout of Pit Madness?
Slowly, the memories began to trickle back in. The Joker. The bomb. The crowbar.
The rage that overcame him made him ignore his pain long enough to surge up off of the bed, struggling with the sheets covering him. He was screaming and cursing before he saw Damian at his side again, shoving him back into the bed, a severe scowl dragging his lips down.
"Get back into bed!" he commanded, shoving Jason down onto the mattress. "We are at Bruce Wayne's manor. You are in your childhood bedroom. Grayson, Drake, Wayne, and Pennyworth are all downstairs. They've spent the night and most of the morning tracking down the Joker. Batgirl dropped by earlier but stated she had lost his trail overnight. Oracle called, too, and said she is searching as well. Eat this," he demanded, shoving a sandwich in Jason's face, a complete turnaround from the rest of the information dump.
Jason took the sandwich in a daze, mulishly nibbling on it when the kid just glared. "Stay here!" he said authoritatively before he hopped up, sprinting from the room and down the hall.
Jason watched him go in shock but figured he had been told to alert someone when he woke up. He settled back against his mountains of pillows (damn you, Dick!) and waited.
When the door swung open, he had to admit he had been expecting Alfred or Dick. Instead, Bruce stood in his doorway. His dark gaze rolled over Jason's prone form carefully before he made to step forward, settling on Damian's seat without a second thought.
"How are you feeling, J?" he asked, like this was any other day.
Jason squirmed, that everlasting rage and fear and exhaustion that he always felt in Bruce's presence rearing its ugly head, but he just sagged back against the pillows, scowling. "Fine," he muttered, but that wasn't quite true, either. He was sore and bleeding and pretty sure he may have a broken bone or two. Realistically, though, he knew it could have been so much worse. At least he wouldn't be down for long, maybe a week or two at most. He had always healed quickly, and after his dip in a Lazarus Pit he found he healed even quicker nowadays. "I'll be fine," he amended sheepishly.
Bruce looked Jason over critically before he crossed his arms over his chest, giving him his most potent Dad Glare. It was chock full of disappointment and severity, a layer of no-nonsense wrapped around it, all together creating one horrifying look. It was very effective. "It seems you and I have some things to talk about, don't we?" he said softly, hopefully.
Bruce posed it as a question but Jason knew better, of course he did. Bruce had cottoned on that there was something going on beneath his nose and was willing to worry away at it until Jason spilled everything.
"I know, B. Just. Let Alfie take a look at me, I know he wants to, and then I'll sit down with you and the kid and we'll all talk this over like real grown-ups."
Alfred was hovering in the doorway, the kid right behind him, looking pale and awkward and decidedly more nervous than he was earlier. Jason tried to give him a comforting smile but he knew it had to look more like a grimace.
"Hey, buddy. Why don't you go feed your cat while Al checks me over and then you can come right back, I promise." The kid scowled but came in the room just enough to grab his cat, skirting cautiously around Bruce's legs. Jason watched him leave with a fond twinkle to his eyes and then settled back again, wincing at the movement.
"Okay. I'm going to lay this on you now, before he gets back," Jason revealed when Alfred started tugging at his bandages. "His name is Damian. He's ten years old. And his mom's name is Talia al'Ghul."
And he knew that that was enough information for Bruce to figure the mystery out. Bruce was definitely smart enough to do the math and realize that the kid was old enough to correlate with that fling he had had with Talia in the desert eleven years ago.
"Please don't freak out," Jason pleaded weakly, glancing anxiously between Alfred and Bruce.
Alfred's hands had stilled on Jason's chest, shocked motionless while he turned to gauge Bruce's reaction. Bruce, for his part, looked shocked, confused, and worried.
"You're freaking out! I can see it in your eyes. Stop freaking out!" Jason demanded, throwing a pillow right into Bruce's face. Bruce caught it reflexively but it hadn't helped; his eyes were still faraway, a calculating glint in his gaze. "Yes, he's your kid. Talia asked me to look after him when it got too dangerous for him at the Compound. Ra's is getting more unhinged in his old age, I guess."
"He called you his brother, when I spoke with him earlier," Alfred admitted quietly, hands finally moving again, shock apparently overcome. Jason smiled gratefully at the old man.
"Yeah. He's real attached. I've known him since he was little. Talia used to tell him bedtime stories of all of Batman's antics. She wanted him to know about the rest of his family, and what he was probably going to get himself into once he was older."
"Dick said that he was raised to kill people." Bruce's voice was empty and broken, like it physically pained him to speak.
"Well, yeah. I mean, he was raised with the League. Of course he learned how to be an assassin." Jason was confused with the way Bruce's brain was working, and honestly didn't understand how this was what Bruce was hung up on. "Talia's his mom, man."
"You knew about him, knew who he was, and didn't tell me after all this time." Bruce's voice was now cold and jagged and Jason was beginning to honestly fear for his life.
"Bruce. You gotta understand. Talia asked me to keep quiet. She was just protecting him in the best way she knew how," Jason argued, but Bruce obviously wasn't listening anymore. His face was quickly contorting with the force of his anger and rage.
"You knew!" he hissed, like he couldn't believe Jason had sunk so low. "You knew I had a child with her, that he was being raised like that, and yet you said nothing! Was becoming a killer, a murderer really preferable to being here, with me? Is that what you really think?"
"Yes!" Jason screamed, pushing himself up so he could glare at Bruce on even ground. God, but he was grateful for that final growth spurt that had given him an extra two inches on the old man. "Because neither me or Talia wanted to see him become another dead Robin! First me, then Stephanie. No, I wasn't going to let Damian die like that!"
Bruce fell preternaturally still beneath Jason's logic. And then, like a whirlwind of fury, he reared back and punched Jason right in the cheekbone. Jason crumpled back onto the bed, a hand to his cheek. He turned just enough to spit a wad of blood at Bruce's patented leather loafers. Bruce was standing now, posturing over Jason's bed, fists at his sides, face red as he looked about two seconds from going on.
And then there was an ice cold voice calling to them from the doorway. "Enough, Beloved. That is more than enough." Jason turned, wide hopeful eyes landing on Talia al'Ghul in all her glory, her face set in a rictus of righteous motherly fury as she glared at Bruce. "I hope you don't mind, but I let myself in," she hissed, her teeth flashing in warning when Bruce made to move towards her. "Enough. Just, enough. We have much to discuss, you imbecile. Now."
And Bruce didn't look happy about it, glancing between Jason and Alfred and back to Talia before he set his shoulders and silently followed her out of the room, slamming the door shut behind himself.
Alfred stared dumbly at the door for a moment before turning back to Jason, who looked just as shocked.
"Well," Jason drawled slowly, wincing when the skin around his cheek pulled as he spoke, "arguably, that could have gone better."