When Jason was younger, he had formed the habit of wandering around the manor. He didn't know why he'd do it, sometimes he'd just find himself in some remote corner of the manor. This habit had continued after his resurrection. He'd thoughtlessly walk through the Bunker, completely lost in his own mind. Eventually, he'd grown out of it, but being back in the manor had brought that back.
After an hour, he'd found himself in a desolate room in some forgotten corner of the manor. It was a small, square room with an 'l' shaped desk pushed into the corner with an old leather office chair tucked under it. There were a couple of open files still scattered on it, the pages yellow with age. A silver photo frame was perched on the edge. Jason picked it up and examined it.
A black and white photograph with a building that vaguely resembled the manor and a woman and her son stood in front. The woman had a hand resting on the boy's shoulder and was looking into the camera with a kind expression. The boy was probably about seven and was smiling broadly, there was something oddly familiar about him but Jason couldn't place it. Both him and his mother were in formal wear and Jason frowned slightly at the tie. Jason could have sworn that he'd seen the woman somewhere before, and then it struck him. Martha Wayne. He remembered the ridiculously large portrait of Bruce's mother and father. Which meant that somehow he'd managed to find his way into Thomas Wayne's office.
He looked around a little more carefully and wondered how long it had been since someone besides Alfred had been in here. Swiping his finger across the edge of the desk made him doubt that even Alfred had been here in a while. The room had this stale taste in the air and he could make out tiny specks of dust drifting in the thin streaks of sunlight streaming through the gaps in the dark blinds. The patches of carpet that the light hit were significantly duller than the wine red surrounding it. It had probably been over thirty years since the room had actually been used. He recalled constantly bombarding Alfred with an ungodly amount of questions on the Waynes. Alfred, of course, had been more than happy to answer the ones that could deciphered from the unintelligible flood.
The sound of tapping against the wooden door brought him back with a slight start. Alfred was stood at the door, observing him with a faint smile. "Lunch is ready to be served, Master Jason." He announced. Jason frowned slightly.
"Everyone's gonna be there, aren't they?" He mumbled, biting his lip and rubbing the back of his neck.
"I'm afraid so, Master Jason." Alfred agreed, solemnly. "Would you like me to escort you to the dining hall?"
"Yeah, Alfie. That'd be great." Jason smiled. "I doubt I could actually find my way back anyway." Alfred did the closest thing to a chuckle that Jason had ever actually witnessed - a somewhat sharp exhale alongside the corner of his mouth twitching up slightly.
They walked through the corridors in a comfortable silence. Every so often, something would catch Jason's eye and some vaguely comforting memory would resurface. Still, it did little to calm his steadily rising heartbeat. The idea that he'd have to finally face everyone terrified him. What he supposed to do? What was he supposed to tell them? He knew that they would want to know where he'd been for the past six years. How the hell was he meant to explain?
'Hey, I haven't actually been dead. I was living in an underground base that belonged to some ancient, secret society that study the supernatural. Oh, and I've been living with two fugitives, a hacker, a prophet of the freaking lord, an angel in a damned trench-coat, and I occasionally hunt monsters and ghosts.' would go down a treat with all of them. Jason'd be carted off to Arkham in a straight jacket before he could even tell them about the monsters.
He was even sure how most of they'd take the whole 'I'm not dead' line. He honestly couldn't blame them for being sceptical. If he were in their shoes, he would be too. He just wasn't sure how they'd react. Dick would probably kill Jason again, hugging him. Barb probably would kill him, either that or slap him. Or both.
Alfred came to a sudden stop and Jason, who had been absently trailing behind him, just managed to avoid walking into him. "Here we are, Master Jason." Alfred announced, calmly.
"Yep," Jason repeated. "Here we are."
Alfred glanced at Jason, and, upon noticing his clear discomfort, placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll leave you to enter when you're ready." He said. Jason nodded thankfully. "I shall be in the ballroom, should you require me."
The butler turned sharply on his heel and left. Jason waited until he had disappeared behind the corner before he began pacing nervously. "Come on, Jason." He muttered hurriedly, combing his hand through his hair. "You can do this."
He stopped in front of the door and placed his hand on the cool wood. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.
When the door opened, the first person to notice him was Bruce, who briefly made eye contact before breaking it. Tim quickly followed suit, nodding slightly at Jason. Jason returned it. Damian was the next to look up at him. The scowl on his face was honestly something Bruce would be proud of. It didn't seem aimed at him, particularly, more like a seemingly permanent expression.
Barbara and Dick, on the other hand, were far too busy fighting over a platter of buttered bread rolls to notice him. "For the love of god, Dick," She chided, slapping his hand away from the plate. "No food until everyone is here."
Dick pouted and glanced away. His eyes grazed over Jason, stood awkwardly at in the doorway with his hand still gripping the edge of the door, and almost broke his neck doing a double take. "Jason!" He stood up so suddenly his chair toppled over. Barbara gasped, but remained still.
Honestly, with the look plastered all over his face, no one would have been surprised if Dick had clambered over the table to get to Jason.
"Um." Before another sound could escape Jason's mouth, Dick had sprinted across the room and Jason could practically feel the life being squeezed out of him. He tensed to it at first, but he eventually relaxed into the hug. He patted Dick's back hesitantly. "Hey, Dick." He murmured.
Dick looked up without removing his grip on Jason. Tears were brimming in his eyes but Dick's grin widened as he scanned over Jason's face. "It's really you." His brother. The brother whose funeral he hadn't been there to see. The brother whose death he hadn't even been aware of until two weeks after it had happened. The brother who he, after living in the same household for over a year, knew absolutely nothing about. The brother who had lived on, years after his murder, as a bloody, tattered costume in a glass case.
Dick wasn't about to miss the second chance he had been blessed with to be able to get to know his brother. He took Jason by the hand and pulled him over to an empty seat between Dick and Tim.
He glanced at Barbara's wheelchair and frowned slightly but this was quickly exchanged to return to bright smile that Barbara shot at him. It wasn't until Jason saw the food actually sat right in front of him that he realised how hungry he actually was. He felt the chilling sensation of eyes watching him and he looked around.
Tim was watching him with a calculating look but he instantly looked away when Jason noticed him. Bruce, on the other hand, was giving him an unrelenting stare. He had this little suspicious glint in his eyes. It made him feel uneasy, but he ignored it and reached over the table for a slice of pie.