i.
Jason's feet are numb as he walks the lonely streets of Gotham. They are barely protected against the ice and snow he treads upon, covered in the remnants of shoes that had been brand new five years ago. He wiggles his toes to bring back some warmth as he walks, hands tightened in his tattered jacket pockets. One of his hands is clenching the leather wallet he picked off a businessman chattering on his phone, the other a bracelet he stole from a woman when she helped him up after falling to his knees in the snow.
A stab of guilt worms its way into his young heart and he squashes it down resolutely. His mom needs this money, he needs this money. It's the only way they'll survive past this stupid winter.
Winter in Gotham City is much like everything else he's experienced in his life this far, brutally unforgiving and a death trap on the streets if you weren't careful. It makes him shiver in his sleep, the wind's screaming jolting him awake in the middle of the night. He loves his city, it's the only home he's ever known, but that doesn't stop him from being tired.
The stealing is rough, but it hurts less than coming back to his mom without anything to feed her. It doesn't help that she's getting weaker by the day, barely accepting anything to eat anymore. Jason fondly remembers the days before his life became a living nightmare, before his dad left and they were living out in the cold.
His mom was filled with life back then, her cheeks pink and eyes glowing. She was healthy, not starved and always exhausted. He had sobbed at first when he realized what the drugs were doing to her, depriving him of a mother who was actually capable of taking care of him. There is no sparkle in her eyes now, all traces of mischief and adventure gone.
Jason realizes that he doesn't really know his mom anymore.
Wind whips at his cheeks, pushing hair in front of his eyes. He brushes it aside with trembling fingers and readjusts his hood to cover more of his face, gasping when the wind steals its way through the cracks and engulfs his ears in the freezing cold air.
Better hats, better socks, better gloves- there's a list of clothes he needs to survive this season, all with expensive price tags. It's either being cold or going hungry, and even at eight years old Jason's smart enough to know which one will get him killed first.
He has an actual list too, one back in that ramshackle shelter he and his mom call their home. He used to carry it with him, but just looking at the store windows made him want to tear it to pieces with desperation. They need food that isn't stale, water that's hot, clothes that actually fit. He doesn't know how much longer he can go on like this.
They've only been out on the streets for two years now, and a part of him swears he's never been this cold. He spent the last couple of days nailing scraps of wood and plastic garbage to block up the cracks at their little shelter, trying to root out where the cold air forces its way in. He spends the rest of his time out on the streets, scrounging for anything that can substitute for blankets and stealing things here and there from people to buy food from the dingy convenience store around the corner.
He takes the time to check on his mom, usually just to reassure himself that she's still breathing.
"Hi mom."
His throat closes up and not for the first time he wishes he was less of a crier.
"I have to run out to get some things."
No response.
Jason sniffles and holds back tears. He can do this, it's been two years, but seeing his mom like this never fails to cripple him.
He clears his throat. "I'll be back soon."
He doesn't expect a reply as he whispers a quick "Love you" and bolts away.
So that's what he's doing now, out in the cold. As he passes the Gilzean's Turf he keeps his head as low as possible, making himself smaller as he inches away. He's perfected the art of being invisible over the years, the only way to get away with trespassing on another gang's land. He knows that the gang members in Gotham have no qualms about killing children, hell, half of them make a living by selling drugs to kids in public schools. The thought makes his blood boil with anger.
He skirts around one of the drug dealers, hands inadvertently clenching around his stolen items. If he's caught with the wallet and the bracelet he'll be a prime target for life.
He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally passes safely, but something bright stops him in his tracks.
The store window is closing for the day, but the lights are still on and the cakes are on display. He hasn't seen anything this beautiful in the two years he's lived on the streets. The cakes come in all shapes, colors and sizes, but the one that catches his eye is fire engine red, yellow and orange icing swirling on top to imitate flames. The whole thing has a ridiculous toy fire truck on the top, and at that moment all Jason desperately wants to know is if it's edible or not.
He's stomach is growling with hunger while his mouth waters in vain. His fingers twitch at his sides restlessly. He doesn't know how long he stands there, cold, tired, hungry.
It's his birthday.
He's turning nine, he knows he's turning nine. It's his second birthday on the streets and he misses everything he's lost.
He misses his full stomach, his friends at school, his warm bed. He misses his books and toys, and the way his mom used to laugh when they spent time together.
He misses it all, and none of it is coming back. The feeling hurts more than anything he's ever felt, and he wonders if the hollow feeling in his chest will subside over time.
Suddenly, someone in the store shuts off the lights and the cake vanishes from view, a pang of misery resonating within him. It's gone, and some lucky kid will probably eat it tomorrow.
He stuffs his shivering hands back into his pockets, hands immediately finding the wallet. At least they'll have food tonight.
He makes his way back home after stopping at the convenience store, purchasing two cans of microwavable soup and a bottle of water with a $20 bill. The cashier looks suspicious as he hands over the change, and unease ripples through his empty stomach until he leaves.
He wastes no more time getting back, drinking the cold soup straight from the can. It's the cheapest he could find, greasy and too salty, and the chilly liquid does nothing to prevent the chills racking his skinny frame. Pouring the other into a chipped ceramic Tupperware container, he makes his way to his mom.
"Mom?"
She's awake this time, eyes glassy. Catherine Todd is right in front of him, but all Jason wants to do is cry about how far away she is.
"I brought you soup. You need to eat some this time, alright?"
She turns her head to face him briefly but doesn't respond. He sits next to her and tries to stop his hands from shaking as he feeds her small spoonfuls of soup.
She gets through half of it before she's pushing him away. He leaves the bottle of water next to her, knowing with a heavy heart that he'll find it unopened in the morning.
He pecks her on the cheek and pulls their best blanket over her, pausing to say goodnight before he leaves.
He knows that it'd be warmer if they slept together, but he knows he can't handle seeing her so frail for longer than an hour, and his crying upsets her.
He pulls out his raggedy piece of carpet to cover himself with to bed. He found it a couple of weeks ago in a garbage can, it's the warmest thing he possesses.
He makes a wish, hoping that his mom will live long enough to be there for his tenth birthday.
He dreams of red fire trucks.
ii.
It doesn't take long for time to pass; the days blur into weeks and weeks into months. The cold fades away and suddenly Gotham is warm again, bathed in summer light. The trees grow new leaves, the birds come back, and in no time at all the world moves on.
Wayne Manor hasn't changed in the slightest. The famous Robin costume hangs in the cave, Batman's proudly standing next to it. The manor is spotless as always, the endless hallways and rooms free of dust. The banisters are polished, the fireplaces cleaned of any ash.
Bruce's life simultaneously feels normal and completely out of order at the same time.
He still gets dressed in the morning, still eats breakfast and leaves for Wayne Enterprises. He still deals with boring meetings and pesky co-workers who won't stop staring at him.
It's difficult to get out of bed nowadays.
That, at least, is new. The wretched feeling of hopelessness weighing him down like an anvil. It makes his head hurt and his hands shake. His chest is left feeling tight and it's always hard to breathe.
No matter how hard he tries to hide it, he knows almost everyone can see the change in him now, and a part of him hates himself for being weak while another part can't muster up the energy to give a damn. Lucius gives him pitying looks whenever he drifts off during a conversation. The league members are more gentle with him now, speaking in low tones without the biting remarks from before. Alfred tries his best to hide his concern when Bruce wakes himself up in the middle of the night screaming his son's name.
Everyone treats him like glass now, fragile, delicate, and liable of shattering. It doesn't help that it's exactly how Bruce feels, like one wrong word could break him for good. The only time he can remember hurting this bad was when he was eight years old and kneeling in front of his parent's bodies in that god forsaken alley.
He lets out a whimper of despair when he remembers finding a 10 year old Jason in that very alley, wrench in hand and grime on his face. He shoves his head into his hands to try and bury the memory, pulling at his hair.
The boy had looked so guilty, crouching in front of the Batmobile. He reminded Bruce of a scared cat, frightened to come forward but fierce in a fight.
He brought the kid a burger.
It had seemed logical at the time, Jason was obviously starving and he figured it was a smart way to get the boy to trust him.
That memory used to make him feel proud, now all he feels is nausea churning through his stomach.
If Jason never met him in the first place he'd still be alive. Maybe hungry and out of school but still breathing.
Adopting Jason had been different from adopting Dick. Dick was cautious as a child, still grieving over his parent's gruesome deaths. When Bruce looked into the acrobat's eyes he saw himself, someone desperately alone who needed love and support. When Jason was brought into his life it was sudden but welcome, and it made Bruce feel a little less lonely in the Manor since his first child spent most of his time in the Titans Tower.
Loving Dick felt like a responsibility, in a way. The boy deserved the attention Bruce had been deprived of after Martha and Thomas Wayne were murdered. It made him proud to witness Dick's journey through teenage years, standing by his side in some of Gotham's darkest moments. He's fought Penguin and Scarecrow and Riddler, and he gets better every time.
The arguing was new, but Bruce knows it's normal. He just wishes it didn't rile him as much as it does. Their fighting is loud, angry and sharp. Words are tossed around, ones that hurt, and they make Alfred sigh sadly. He can't help but feel annoyed at Dick acting out, but he knows that Dick hates it more when he gets left out.
It doesn't take long for Dick to realize he needs some space, and Bruce doesn't stop him when he leaves to train with the Titans.
But in that amount of time Jason Todd has wormed his way into his heart, slowly but surely. He manages to fill the gaping hole in Bruce's heart, and he comes to love the boy more than anything. While his love for Dick is as natural as breathing, instinctual at this point, his love for Jason is all-consuming, and it burns inside of him like a roaring flame.
Dick was never happy about Jason's presence in their lives, and he'd told Bruce once that it made him feel replaced and unwanted. It was hard work, but eventually the four of them had learned to make it work, coexisting with some semblance of normalcy. Nothing made Bruce happier than seeing his sons get along, and it made his heart swell with pride.
Life was good. Dick came by the manor more often and they fought less, Jason was settling in nicely, Alfred was overjoyed. Their small family wasn't normal, but Bruce gave up tradition when he put on the cowl for the first time.
Bruce wants that life back so badly. His heart aches and his head burns with memories. Dick is grieving as well, in his own way. It hurts to see Dick at his worst, awakens something primal in him that screams and shouts, demanding his attention. Dick runs himself ragged, stubbornly contributing to the Titans Team and Gotham at the same time. When Bruce voices his concerns, Dick shouts at him, cries out that he's doing the best he can.
It makes Bruce feel even more like a failure.
In the end he holds Dick while he weeps and tries to pull himself together, because Dick's grief is his fault, Jason's death is his fault.
Today is as bad as any day, his legs feel like dead weights and his brain is mush. He knows how to get past this, he's been battling this feeling for almost a year now. He swings his legs to the side of the bed and pulls himself upright.
He picks up the phone lying on the bedside table next to him and starts scrolling through his notifications. He reads through the schedule Lucius has made for him for the day, making mental notes as he goes along. He makes adjustments when needed, planning on the meetings he'll attend. He swears internally when he realizes he's overbooked for 5:00. He wastes no time switching to his calendar, searching for a free spot when he freezes.
The date is there, staring him in the face like a warning sign. He gazes at the letters almost hypnotically until they're etched into his brain.
August 16.
He barely gets the chance to register the fact that his legs are moving until he's crouching on the bathroom tiles, throwing up his dinner from the night before. Sweat beads his forehead as heaves, unable to focus on anything except the fact that it's August 16.
When it finally ends he pulls his legs forward and haunches himself up into a ball on the floor, head tucked inwards. Tears escape and he sobs, grief tearing his heart in two.
17. His little boy would have turned 17 years old.
The realization makes panic seize his chest until he's gasping for air, fingers trembling as they scramble for purchase. There are hands on his shoulders, warm steady ones pulling him out of his head.
"Bruce, it's gonna be alright."
The words float towards him like distant echoes.
"I need you to breathe for me B, c'mon."
He's had panic attacks before but in his experience there's no way to be fully prepared for one. His throat feels like it's closing up, palms sweaty. His eyes bounce back and forth manically, finally settling on his eldest son.
"That's good. Focus on me now."
He tries his best, and eventually his breathing slows. Dick eases himself onto the floor gracefully, covering Bruce's trembling hands with his own.
"Talk to me Bruce."
After months spent alone, struggling to get through the days and dealing with his grief alone it's all that's needed to break the dam.
"He would have turned 17 today."
The words are barely a whisper, but he can't stop the tears that roll down his face from the confession. Dick squeezes his hand and gives him a silent nod of encouragement.
"If I hadn't gotten him involved with being Robin in the first place he'd still be alive today."
Dick shakes his head firmly.
"This is my fault, Dick, I-"
"Remember when he put on the suit for the first time?"
His brain scrambles as he's taken back to that day. Like he'd ever be able to forget. Jason was so excited he'd been worried about him falling off one of the buildings while he ran and leaped, doing somersaults in midair.
"He put it on and preened in front of a mirror, then jumped onto a table and screamed about it being the best day of his life, remember?"
Dick laughs softly and Bruce can't help but return the favour with a watery chuckle.
They sit for a few more moments, collecting their thoughts. Dick turns to face him.
"Here's what we're going to do B. You're gonna change, I'm going to help Alfred with breakfast and call Lucius to tell him you're taking the day off."
Bruce groans. "No, Dick, I've got the product launch meeting to supervise, the company's been working on it for months-"
His eldest gives him a hand to help him off the floor and glares at him. "You're taking the day off. Don't make me bring Alfred into this."
He finally relents, heading back to his bedroom to find some clothes. Dick retreats to the kitchen, grinning victoriously.
He abandons the suit he was preparing to wear to work and picks out the softest sweatshirt he owns instead. His phone rings unexpectedly and he grabs it, expecting it to be Lucius.
"Bruce?"
Clark's soft voice rings through the phone and Bruce's breath catches. He hastily presses it to his ear.
"What's wrong? Is it Metropolis or the Justice league?"
He's already running the scenarios through his head, calculating the amount of time it'll take to grab his batsuit and get there.
The voice on the other end halts, Clark clearing his throat. His unease grows.
"No, Bruce." The kryptonian sounds surprisingly gentle. "This is about Jason."
Ah.
Bruce takes a minute to wipe the tears stubbornly forming at the corner of his eyes again. Clark uses that silence to continue.
"Look, I know what today feels like for you and your family. I've been there."
The emotion in his voice instantly lets Bruce know that his friend is talking about Jonathan Kent. Clark's father had passed away two years ago from a heart attack. The memory is still fresh in his mind, Clark barely holding himself together as he spoke at the funeral, clutching his mother's hand.
He swallows. "It's just hard-" his voice cracks with emotion and he starts over. "Hard to move on. A part of me feels like I'm just leaving him behind if I forget the moments we spent together."
He doesn't feel like locking his emotions away this time, he's been doing it for the last couple of months and it's definitely making him worse. The reasoning makes him feel significantly better about his breakdown.
"How are Dick and Alfred holding up?"
"Better then I am, but at this point I have no idea. A part of me is afraid that Dick's distracting himself from his grief by taking care of me instead. He's spreading himself too thin with Gotham and the Teen Titans and-"
Clark stops him before he starts spilling his soul into the phone. "Alright, so work through this together. It's pretty obvious that you both need each other right now."
"I know he needs me but I don't know how-"
He can hear Clark's smile through the phone. "Bruce, c'mon, you're overthinking this. Just be there for him, trust me."
Bruce swallows audibly. "Alright."
"I'm here too, if you need me. For anything."
And shit if that doesn't make him want to start crying again. He manages to whisper his thanks and accepts Clark's casual "Anytime."
He hangs up, and heads downstairs, eating breakfast with Dick and Alfred. The rest of the day passes without incident, Dick calls Lucius and they spend his day-off relaxing in the manor and taking strolls around the grounds. Overall the day is one of the best he's had in a long time.
That doesn't stop him from going to visit Jason's grave in the middle of the night, shakily opening up his copy of Oliver Twist and reading it out loud until his tears start to blur the words.
iii.
He spits out curses as he walks down the street, breathing laboured under his signature red hood. His ribs are bruised and he can't seem to muster up enough energy to hide his brand new limp.
Black Mask's men had attempted to take over some of his turf once again. Usually Jason didn't mind, it was pretty low on his list of concerns. He let them have it for a couple of days before moving in, killing most of the idiots on sight. He figured Black Mask would get some better men by now but it seemed he was as much an idiot as they were.
The problem with this particular spot was that it was home to an apartment he'd brought earlier and rented out to a couple of street kids. They were all minors, some of them living on their own while others lived with roommates. If Jason was loyal to anyone it was those kids and he wasted no time going in with guns blazing.
Not exactly the nicest way to start off his 23rd birthday but hey no one could say it hadn't started off with a bang.
At least all the kids were safe. Most of Sionis's men were dead, but that was normal at this point. One of the kids stopped him as he left, concern painting his features.
"You look like shit man, stay here."
At least the kid had spunk; not all of them were brave enough to approach him. He looked about 15, barely fitting into clothes that were dirty and about two sizes too large. Jason searches his memory for a name, comes up blank. He might have been one of the kids who tagged along when he'd picked up someone else.
His musing is interrupted as the kid steps in front of him.
"I'm serious, you look like you're about to keel over."
Jason ignores the lightheaded feeling as his surroundings spin lazily around him. He clears his throat.
"I'm good. Make sure you lock the windows and doors tonight, call me if anything happens."
The kid nods, looking unconvinced. Jason pushes forward.
All he wants to do is spend the night snoozing in one of his safe houses, but the thought of sleeping in one of his cots makes him groan with discomfort. The possessions he keeps in his safe houses are always meager, he doesn't want to lose his supplies over something as stupid as being caught.
He prepares to walk home and scowls when he realizes he's going to need to stop somewhere for food, his stomach is growling. He makes a right on the next street and propels himself to the nearest grocery store, grateful that it's a dingy place with hardly any customers.
He ducks into the alley next to it and ditches his helmet, breathing in the fresh air as it comes off. He swaps it for a baseball cap and covers up his suit with a light jacket. He zips it up as he makes his way into the store, head down and steps purposeful.
He browses the shelves and picks out some water bottles and stops at the freezers to grab microwave lasagna. He grins at the thought of Alfred shuddering at his meal choices, he could practically hear the man complaining about the unhealthy ingredients used.
On his way to check out he finds a table cheerfully advertising cupcakes that are 50% off. They look like they're on the verge of expiring but it's been a while since he's had something sweet. He shrugs and picks up a pack that isn't too crushed.
He dumps his items on the conveyer belt and roots through his pocket for money, groaning internally when the price totals to $27.88. Money isn't hard to find nowadays, what with all of the connections he's gathered over the years, but a small part of him is still a starving nine year old desperate to feed himself with the little he has.
He wonders dimly if that part of him will ever fade.
He's startled out of his thoughts for the second time that night but the woman behind the cashier. He knows he needs to bandage his wounds and sleep it off, but he can't do that unless he focuses and gets his ass back to the safe house.
The woman's name tag indicates that her name is René and she peers at him worriedly from behind her glasses.
He flashes her a tired smile. "Sorry, I'm a little distracted tonight." He hands over the cash and she busies herself with the register, printing out his receipt. While the machine spits out the paper she turns to face him again.
"Are you alright? You look like you were hit by a car."
Even when Jason was a street kid, he loved to watch people. It was a great way to practice his thieving skills, finding out who would be an easy target long before slipping his hands in their pockets. One thing all citizens in Gotham had in common was their bluntness when it came to the crazy crime sprees and sudden robberies. Barely anyone batted an eye when there was a home invasion, and unless the body count was above five it wasn't even featured in the local newspapers.
To outsiders the cold disinterest might've been considered cruel, but it didn't take Jason long to figure out that it was the way that people coped. Keeping yourself numb kept the pain at bay, and he could probably relate to that fact more than anyone.
So René's reaction to an injured young man showing up at her store instead of a hospital wasn't surprising, but at least he could deal with this.
"I'm fine. Just ran into some people, you know how it goes."
She nods as she bags his items, pausing with the cupcakes.
"You sure you want these? I know it's technically my store but you seriously don't want to know how long they've been on these shelves."
He can't stop the sudden bark of laughter at her words and tries to stop himself from doubling over and crying out. He's starting to reconsider his original evaluation of the state of his ribs.
In the end all he manages is turning away and wheezing, trying to quell the coughs that makes his insides feel like they're on fire.
René stares at him with unease, looking like she wants to simultaneously pat him on the shoulder and take a couple steps back at the same time.
She settles for grabbing him a bottle of cold water from the fridge behind her, unscrewing the cap and pushing it into his shaking hands. She glares at him until he relents and takes a gulp, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat. He keeps his eyes on her as he finishes it.
"Thanks."
"If you start coughing up blood like the dude in the horror movie I saw last night I'm kicking you out. I'm not staying overtime, I got a girlfriend to binge Stranger Things with," she warns, not unkindly.
"Wouldn't dream of it." He gives her a smirk, or tries to. He'd like to think he pulled it off. "And yeah, I'll take the cupcake. I am the birthday boy after all."
She raises an eyebrow. "No kidding? I'm guessing the blood and twisted ankle is from a surprise party gone wrong?"
He doesn't grin this time, eyes focused on the bags containing his items.
He keeps his tone carefully uninterested. "Nope. Decided to celebrate the occasion on my own this year."
He doesn't miss her sigh. Once you move to Gotham you see some things on a daily basis that make you stop questioning the why behind the crimes. It's just a fact of life at this point, trees are green, pizza is good and Gotham is where bloodthirsty maniacs call home sweet home. She's probably seen thousands of tired, ragged kids on their own stumbling into her store just like he's done tonight.
The thought stirs up the familiar rage he's been carrying with him since he was little. The sick feeling that haunts him as he sleeps, the knowledge that the children in his city are raped, beaten, kidnapped and killed almost regularly.
He grabs his purchases and avoids René's gaze, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He knows he's practically running out of the store but can't seem to give a damn.
He's already outside when he hears it, the shout muted through the glass doors.
"Happy birthday!"
It's enough to stop him in his tracks as he contemplates going back. She was nice to him, there's no reason to leave things awkward.
He settles for sticking his head back in the door and yelling out a "Thanks!" before bolting.
He heads back home, head throbbing in tune with his heart. He shrugs off the dizziness as he walks, pausing to catch his breath as he leans against the wall of a building. He inhales the sharp smell of cigarettes and gasoline, a combination he's been familiar with for longer than he can remember.
Cars speed past him, the bright lights almost dizzying as they flash across his vision. He rubs his hands against his eyes to get rid of the bright spots, trying to quell his rising nausea.
Miraculously he makes it back in one piece, and it takes all of his willpower not to collapse on his cot and pass out. He heads to the small shower and runs the water until it's hot, shedding his jacket and dirty armour. He climbs in and sighs out loud at the blissful feeling. He shampoos his dark hair, fingers dragging through his scalp as he works in the soap until it starts to foam.
He rinses it all off, wincing slightly when the hot spray of water hits the worst of his bruising. He grabs a towel and grabs some clean clothes, settling into a comfortable tee and a pair of sweatpants. He dries his hair methodically, swiping the first aid kit from his bathroom cabinet, an ice pack from the fridge and his plastic bag of items from the store.
He settles on the cot and cleans out his wounds with antiseptic. One of the cuts is deep enough for stitches, and he clenches the muscles in his jaw as he passes the needle through his skin. It's a task he's done countless times before, usually without anesthetic. He finishes the job neatly, snipping the thread and dabbing it with antiseptic before wrapping up the whole thing in gauze bandages.
He works on the bruising on his torso next, which is covered with black and blue. He rubs salve over the worst of them and bandages the rest.
His leg is last, his ankle throbbing from the walk home. He focuses on the part that's swollen and red, grimacing as he alternates between pressing the ice pack to his ankle and the bump on his head. He's fairly certain it's not bad enough to be a concussion but it's giving him a headache. He makes sure to keep his ankle elevated and rifles through his purchases, pushing the conversation with René out of his mind.
He's starving, hasn't had anything to eat all day. He's too exhausted to muster up the energy to get back up to heat his frozen dinner, so he leaves the lasagna for now and grabs the cupcake instead.
It's minuscule, barely the size of his palm and covered in bright yellow icing. Little blue sprinkles are scattered on top. He unwraps the white wrapper and takes a cautious bite.
It doesn't take long for him to register the taste and he spits it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeves. The cupcake is definitely stale, rock hard and inedible. Imagining Alfred's disapproving face makes him grin.
He decides that at least alcohol is worth getting up for and heaves himself off the cot. He's careful with his ankle, maneuvering his body to ensure that most of his weight is on his good leg.
He scoops up the frozen lasagna from the floor and heads to what substitutes for his kitchen, containing just a tiny fridge and a microwave. He puts his meal in a microwave safe dish and watches it as it cooks, grabbing a spoon and a can of beer while he waits.
The friendly beep signals that it's done, and he curses when the plate burns his fingers slightly as he walks back to his cot. He studies the books kept carefully organised on his shelf, picking one at random.
Finally he settles, sighing in relief when his twisted ankle is cushioned and iced once more. He pops the lid and takes a satisfying swallow, putting it aside to eat the lasagna.
Happy birthday to me! He thinks sarcastically. The lasagna is warm but doesn't even come close to some of the after-school snacks Alfred had made him when he was 13.
He digs through his food, pausing momentarily to flip through the book. His heart hardens when he realizes that it's a battered copy of Gone With the Wind. Memories flit through his head, Bruce reading it to make him fall asleep and Dick taking him to a library to renew his borrowed copy for the billionth time.
He figures that it's poetic enough for the occasion and opens it up to page one.
"Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. …eyes… brows… lashes… magnolia-white skin…so prized by Southern women… bonnets, veils, mittens… against hot Georgia suns."
He smiles at the familiar words, nostalgia overtaking him as he reads.
iv.
Steph and Cass were the first to bring it up, crashing into his current safe house like they owned the place.
He will grudgingly admit that it isn't entirely unwelcome, spending time with his sisters makes him feel less like a bastard.
That didn't mean the topic was a good one, and Jason is willing to ditch his very nice safe house in an attempt to escape.
"Please, Jason? For us?"
Steph is practically begging at this point and Cass is looking more and more like a kicked puppy every minute.
"No. Not a chance in hell."
Steph rolls her eyes. "C'mon big bro, live a little! It's not like it'll kill you."
Cass, the little devil that she is, grins at that while he groans.
"You did not just bring up the death card." He stabs a finger in her chest. "I'm the only one who gets to use the death card."
She blows a raspberry at him at him and winks. Cass tugs on his shoulders.
"It'll be fun."
Jason snorts. "Yeah right. Spending a whole evening with my greatly extended family for a birthday bash sounds exactly like fun to me." sarcasm drips from every word as he puts air quotations around "birthday bash".
Cass hits him and glares at her.
"Alright, ow, you don't have to be mean!"
Steph grins. "Does that mean you'll come?"
Jason shakes his head and dodges the expected blow from Cass. He smirks. "No, that means I'll consider it."
Step shrugs. "Good enough."
Thankfully that's the worst of it and they spend the rest of the time eating chips and playing Mario Kart.
His luck doesn't last though and Tim is next. They're barely halfway through staking out a weapons drop-off when the interrogation starts.
"So, your birthday's Sunday huh?"
Jason lets out a laugh. "Subtlety was never your element."
"Everyone's hoping you'll-"
Jason waves him off. "Yeah, yeah, show up at the manor out of the blue and spend the evening with you guys, Cass and Steph already gave me the rundown."
Tim smiles at that. "I'm not surprised." He frowns thoughtfully. "I am surprised that you didn't agree right away though, those two are fierce when they want something."
"And I'm not?" Jason can't stop himself from asking or the annoyance that comes with it.
Tim puts on a mock expression of sadness. "Don't worry Jason, I'm sure the street thugs are still scared of you. But face it, Cass is a full blown assassin, you couldn't compare in the slightest."
Jason shoves the younger teen and Tim cackles. "Fuck off!"
As Tim regains his balance the truck beneath them finally starts its engine. He knows Tim still wants to continue the conversation but he brushes him off hastily.
"Too bad, guess we'll have to finish this later!", He sings, unable to contain his smugness.
Tim scowls. "Whatever dude, but don't come crawling back to me when Dick finally makes his move."
And with that happy thought the pair are off into the night, conversation forgotten almost immediately.
As the week progresses he isn't surprised to see Dick's number ringing on his cell in the middle of a turf war. He ducks behind a car as the gunfire gets progressively louder as he groans out loud.
"Dickiebird, make this quick. I'm kind of in the middle of something here."
"Are those guns?"
Jason smirks despite his situation. "Nah, just some moron doing fireworks in his backyard."
"In the middle of the day?"
"Who are you to judge, going out in spandex at night-"
"It's not spandex, dammit, how many times are we going to argue about this-"
Jason cuts him off again. "Whatever dude, told you, I'm a little busy-"
His brother snorts at the end of the line. "Sure. What a busy life you lead, without a day-job and any personal relationships that haven't been forced onto you by your loving family."
Jason grins. "Hard day at the police station, Officer Grayson?"
Dick sighs audibly. "We've had three complaints filed at the station for incidents relating to this one stupid cat who invades people's backyards. The little guy's a menace and has no owner. I've been talking to angry neighbors all day today and i'm pretty sure Rowell broke the coffee machine too but he won't admit it and I haven't had any goddamn coffee all day today-"
Jason rubs at his eyes, trying to quell the headache that's already forming. "Slow down, you're starting to sound like Tim. Remind me why you work at the police station again?"
Dick sighs again and the sound flashes Jason back to Bruce after he used to return from a long day at Wayne Enterprises.
"To help people legally", Dick drawls, annoyance creeping into his words.
Jason snaps his fingers intentionally knowing his brother can't see him. "Exactly! If you weren't so hell-bent on being a good person you might be less miserable on a daily basis!"
"Shut up, Jason."
"Make me. Any reason you're calling me in the first place?"
"Just wondering if you have plans for Sunday-"
Jason hangs up immediately.
He's starting to tick off the family he has left, he doubts that Bruce or Alfred will approach him and that leaves Barbara, Damian and Duke.
He decides to grab some coffee and a croissant before heading out for the day, stomach rumbling at the thought. For once he's not in a hurry, so he smiles at the woman at the cafe who brings him his order and settles down to enjoy it on one of the park benches.
He's taken his first bite when Damian slides in next to him, trying not to choke at the sudden appearance of the youngest Wayne.
Damian notices his reaction and smirks like the little shit he is, folding his hands neatly in his lap. After he gets over his shock he's taken aback at how casually Damian's dressed.
"You look relaxed", he points out, sipping his coffee.
Damian scowls. "Tt. Jonathan's convinced I need to blend in using civilian attire."
Well that makes him grin. "Jonathan Kent huh?" He elbows his brother in the ribs. "Spending a lot of time with him lately, aren't you?"
The shade of red peppering Damian's face is gratifying and he can't stop himself from laughing out loud as his brother fumes silently.
"There's nothing going on between me and Kent, you imbecile, and even if there was-"
Jason puts his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, jeez. But if you ever need advice or someone to talk to, I'll be here."
The offer seems to take Damian aback and his shuts up, looking thoughtful. "We'll see," he finally mutters.
Jason claps his hands. "Awesome. I'm guessing you're up next to torture me about my birthday?"
Damian nods. He puts a warning hand on his arm.
"Don't even think about running away. I'm a trained assassin, I will find you."
"Having fun is hard for you isn't it?" Jason replies idily, staring up at the blue sky.
Damian ignores the jibe. "Think about Bruce's face, Todd. He'll think he's finally gone delusional if you end up showing up."
Jason opens his mouth with mock surprise. "Are you trying to bribe me with the opportunity to give your own dad a heart attack?"
The younger boy sniffs. "He can handle it. The others just want you to be there."
He doesn't include himself in that sentence but Jason gets the message. Damian wouldn't be here if he didn't care.
Oh, how he hated to disappoint.
Damian shakes his head resolutely, a gesture so Bruce-like it gives Jason deja-vu.
"I thought that'd be your response. Which is why I came up with a back up plan."
Well fuck if he doesn't like the sound of that, recalling Damian's earlier threat when he consideres running away for the hundredth time. Damian bends over to rummage through the bag he brought with him, and Jason smiles when he sees the amount of knives instead and something that resembles a katana sheath.
Eventually his brother finds his phone and presses a few buttons, handing it to Jason with a smirk as it rings steadily.
Jason contemplates dropping the phone and stamping on it until it shatters when the person on the end picks up.
"Master Jason, I assume that's you?"
He freezes like a deer in headlights and Damian's smirk grows impossibly wider. The little shit! He knew this was going to be a deathtrap.
"Master Jason, you know it's rude to leave someone waiting."
The british accent is one he hasn't heard in a while, and the familiarity of it makes him want to tear up. He holds the phone up to his ear with a shaky hand.
"Hi, Alfred."
"Ah, you're alive. I'm assuming Master Damian has explained what this is about?"
He shoots his brother a dirty look, the other inspecting his fingers smugly.
"Yeah, he may have mentioned it."
"Excellent. You'll be at the manor on Sunday then?"
His throat is dry. "Or course."
"Wonderful. Come no later than 7, Master Jason, the others will be delighted."
"I'm sure they will", he mumbles.
Alfred hangs up after they exchange goodbyes and he hands the phone back to Damian.
"You're a cheater."
Damian shrugs. "Honestly, you should have expected that to happen eventually."
"Demon spawn," he mutters under his breath.
"Piece of shit," the younger retorts.
Jason raises his eyebrows but can't exactly say that he's surprised and resigns himself to his fate, but not before delivering some well-deserved pay back.
"So, about Jon-"
Damian shoots him a warning glare and leaves.
"Karma's a bitch little wing!" he yells at the quickly retreating form, ignoring the annoyed looks of the people around them. Jason sighs and finally finishes his croissant in peace.
So now he's standing in front of Wayne manor, trying to school his features into something that doesn't look like apprehension. He's wearing casual clothing, jeans and a sweater. A part of him wanted to wear his full Red Hood suit just to get under the idiot's skins but there was no way he was wearing full bullet proof armour all evening long.
He jogs past the fancy garden sculptures and fountains, letting himself into the unlocked house. He makes his way through the foyer, finding his family huddled around an Xbox playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare.
The group is laughing, smiles all around as they banter back and forth. His heart aches dimly to be a part of that something, an intense yearning to be integrated into their family dynamic. It looked so easy.
The moment's ruined as soon as Dick spots him and wraps him up in a hug. "You made it!" The grin on his face is blinding. "Guys, birthday boy has arrived!"
Fuck this. This family sucks.
"Jesus Dickface, get off-"
"You're crushing him Dick", Barbara says, tone reproachful.
And jeez, literally everyone is there. Tim, Duke and Steph are crouched on the floor, still engrossed in the video game. Damian is standing beside Dick, looking too smug for his own good. Barbara and Cass are right behind them.
Someone starts to ruffle his hair as they walk past. He's about to shove the hand away when he sees who it belongs to.
"Aunt Kate?"
Kate grins. "Good to see you kid. Happy birthday!"
"I wasn't expecting you to be here."
Kate shrugs. "Life's been slow recently and besides, there was no way I was going to miss a Wayne party!"
He laughs at that, making his way over to give her a hug. Kate has always been one of his favourite people, he distinctly remembers the chocolate she used to smuggle to him when Bruce wasn't looking and she hung out during patrol.
Bruce and Alfred are next to enter the room, and Jason smirks when he sees Bruce stop his sentence abruptly when he sees his second son. Jason catches Damian's eye as he winks.
"Hey Bruce."
Bruce cautiously steps forward, unease rippling across his features. Things have been better lately but some wounds take longer to heal then others. He squashes the guilt as Tim's bloody face flashes beneath his eyelids.
"It's good to see you Jason."
Jason spreads his hands. "It took some convincing," he replies, words directed at the others. Tim smiles and Dick laughs.
Alfred wastes no time drawing him into a tight hug, one that no one comments on after Jason gathers his composure.
Alfred smiles brightly at all of them, and fuck, Jason knows that coming was worth it.
"Dinner will be served shortly, if you all want to follow me to the kitchen?"
There's a mutter of agreement around the room and Jason is soon swept into various activities. Dick grabs the plates while Bruce helps Alfred with the dishes. Cass and Duke chat as they swipe cutlery while Tim and Steph set the table. Damian carries the knives, rather ominously in Jason's opinion but no one bats an eye.
There's some jostling as everyone finds a seat, Damian and Tim shoving each other to get the chair next to Dick. Cass finally sighs and switches with Tim, whose face brightens considerably.
He chats to Dick quietly about things in Blüdhaven, Bruce resuming his conversation with Alfred and Tim. The girls talk about school, Damian bringing up the art show he's participating in next week. The food is as good as he remembers, roast paired off with potatoes and countless salads, sauces and side dishes. Unfortunately there's no alcohol but he eats enough for two.
As the food is cleared away and multiple praises are directed Alfred's way for the meal, they drag Jason to another room. He grins when Steph pulls out the alcohol.
Damian and Tim groan out loud and Kate shoves them. "Don't worry, I'm sure there's juice in the fridge", she teases. Damian scowls at her.
Alfred informs them that he'll be in the kitchen preparing dessert and he leaves promptly, Damian following him to the fridge.
Bruce raises an eyebrow at his daughter. "We do have better drinks."
Steph shrugs. "I'm convinced there's a difference between getting drunk on fancy red wine and getting wasted on cheap beer that's past its expiry date."
Bruce relents, an incredulous look on his face. They sit in a circle, passing chilled bottles around.
Steph grins. "We're gonna play 'Most Likely'."
A mixture of gasps of delight mingle with complaints as the room descends into chaos again.
Steph raises a finger and whistles piercingly. "Ah ah ah, no buts. We're playing. It's simple, one person says a scenario and everyone else chooses a person in the group who they think is most likely to do it. The person with the most votes takes a drink."
Duke opens his bottle and takes a gulp, laughing at Dick' expression, Damian returning with cranberry juice for Tim and himself.
Cass laughs. "I'll start. Most likely to set the manor on fire?"
Bruce chokes at that one, eyes flashing dangerously. Jason grins. The votes are casted here and there but when he counts most of them are on Kate.
The woman in question smirks and gives a mock bow as she takes a swig of her beer.
"Can't say that I disagree."
That makes a bunch of them nod and laugh out loud. Kate swallows and starts the next question. "Most likely to get punched in the face by a stranger?"
Jason can count six other hands pointing at Dick, including his own.
The five others are pointed in his directions, but like Kate's answer earlier he can't really argue. He's gotten punched by tons of strangers, usually people undercover for Roman Sionis or other drug dealers he's managed to piss off. He takes a mouthful of beer, smiling from the burn.
"What are you talking about?" Dick complains. "I'm a nice person!"
"Sure, but you're also oblivious as fuck-"
"Language." Bruce mutters.
"-and you can't catch a hint to save your life. I can name some of the girls and guys who've flirted with you and didn't get a reaction," Tim finishes.
Dick pouts dramatically and takes a drink. "Most likely to giveaway hints by accident while playing poker?"
That one causes an uproar and Jason can't really choose who gets this one. They're all pretty decent liars, they have to be in their line of work. He ends up picking Barbara, only because she's had trouble keeping Batgirl a secret from her dad.
He's not the only one who brings that up and the votes are tied between her and Duke. The pair each take a drink.
Duke chews his lip as he thinks, brow furrowed in concentration. His face lights up when he figures out what to say.
"Most likely to use their kids as an excuse to get out of commitments?"
Simultaneously, everyone points at Bruce, who looks guilty and amused at the same time.
"How many times did you tell Wayne Enterprises I was sick as a kid to leave a meeting early, B?" Dick asks with a raised eyebrow.
Bruce smirks. "Not nearly enough times, those meetings give me migraines."
He unscrews the cap and takes a long swallow, his kids cheering. He shoots Steph a look. "You prefer this to red wine?"
Steph grins and nods, Cass and Barbara agreeing along with her.
Kate claps him on the back. "That's more like it!"
Bruce smiles and proceeds with the game. "Most likely to kill someone out of spite."
Jason counts two fingers pointing in his direction, one at Tim while the rest point to Damian.
The youngest Wayne scowls, raising his glass and taking a grudging sip of his juice, eyeing Dick's bottle wistfully. Dick gets the memo and pulls his beer away from his younger brother, tightening his hold just in case.
The game continues for the next hour, all of them getting progressively more drunk as the sun sets. Tim's declared to be the 'one who's most likely to be a criminal mastermind', Bab's 'most likely to run for president'. Alfred steps in just in time to win 'most likely to manage to survive while being stranded on an island'.
Overall, Jason is happy and sleepy and wasted.
The cake is brought out, cheers ringing out as plates and forks are passed around. The cake is shoved in his hands, and he takes a moment to blink with surprise.
"You made a cake in the shape of my helmet?"
It's really the only possible explanation, the cake is absolutely drenched in red frosting. It's in the shape of an oval, frosted white slits substituting for where his eyes would be. It's bigger than his actual helmet, and Jason turns it around to inspect it from all angles. A single candle glows brightly on top.
He stares at them. Dick and Alfred are squeezing his shoulder supportingly, Tim and Duke flashing him grins. Kate looks nostalgic as she hands him a knife, Damian's face carefree. Barbara starts to sing happy birthday softly, Steph joining in while Cass gives him a hug.
"Happy birthday chum," Bruce whispers, eyes bright as they reflect the flames. He smiles in response and blows out his candle.
Tim nudges him. "What did you wish for?"
To stay here forever.
Jason snorts. "I wished that one of those birthday presents you all suck at hiding contains a new gun."
Dick laughs at his response and Alfred smiles. Cass gives him a comforting look however, and not for the first time Jason's taken aback at how well she can read him.
It doesn't take long for everyone to settle down with a piece of cake. Jason takes his first bite and sees stars. It's just moist enough and the icing melts perfectly on his tongue. He gives Alfred an appreciative nod.
As the plates are returned to the kitchen they all find themselves in front of the TV, arguing on which movie to watch.
"For the last fucking time Dickface, no one wants to watch Dumbo because it makes you cry every single time his mom gets taken away!" Jason retorts.
Tim opens his mouth hopefully.
Damian cuts him off before he can even speak. "The same goes for you, asshole. No more Lion King fiascos."
Tim shoves Damian and he stumbles, both of them tackling each other to the ground. Kate claps slowly while Bruce breaks it up.
Jason takes the opportunity and steals the remote, grinning with triumph.
"It doesn't matter what you losers want, it's my birthday so I'm picking." There's a chorus of groans and Jason's smile widens. He scrolls through the Netflix suggestions and finally decides on Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
Steph yells with excitement and throws a pillow at Duke who groans, Cass's features morphing into one of confusion.
Barbara shrugs. "It's a classic."
Jason whoops as the movie starts, all of them fighting for popcorn and soda. Halfway through the film the mood gets increasingly more relaxed. Dick's head is on his shoulder, Damian's fighting for more leg room with Tim on his other side. The girls are spread out on the floor, Cass's head in Steph's lap, Babs sitting comfortably in her wheelchair beside the couch. Duke is falling asleep on Bruce, who Jason realizes is already asleep, snoring lightly into the cushions. Kate's perched on the edge of the sofa's armrest, watching the movie with interest. The only person who still looks dignified is Alfred, lounging in a chair he's pulled up.
The movie marathon continues with Steph's suggestion, Mean Girls, and they're halfway through King Kong when they finally shut off the TV. Alfred wakes Duke and Bruce, Cass and Tim pulling Jason through the room for presents.
The pile of presents is larger then he would have guessed, boxes covered in shiny wrapping paper and small parcels. Everyone scrambles to sit around Jason, pushing their gifts forwards. He doesn't know if he should be amused or terrified at the looks of eagerness around the room.
Kate gives him her present first, grinning slyly at her cousin. Bruce frowns, knowing he's not going to appreciate what's in the package. Jason tears the wrapping paper and lovingly pulls out one of the knives from its sheath.
He holds it out and tests the balance. "Well these'll be useful."
Steph hands him his present next, the weird object decked out in black wrapping paper with comic style font all over it. He squeezes it and scowls immediately. "Please tell me you didn't."
Steph shakes her head, eyes bright with mischief. The plushy Jason's holding is a frog that looks like it's seen better days, a dirty brown color that may have originally been green. One of the buttons used for eyes has popped off and he's pretty sure the hole at the bottom has been leaking stuffing for years.
He holds it up to face her and she smirks. The others are laughing as well. "What the hell is this?"
"Your birthday gift!", she sings. "Found him at a thrift store last week and I couldn't just leave the poor guy there, his eyes are so full of love, you know?"
"You mean eye, singular", he points out.
"So he's a cyclops, why does it matter? Turn it around."
He does, biting back the urge to start laughing uncontrollably. The front of the sorry looking toad indicates that his name is Jason. He groans out loud when he sees the tell-tale smear of sharpe under the frog's name.
Jason Toad.
Dick throws his head back and laugh, while Babs gives Steph a high five.
"Yeah, yeah, very funny. Now shut up or I'll leave him here." He abandons the plushy and grabs the nearest gift instead.
The package is soft and he crinkles the wrapping paper as it tears. His breath catches when he finally sees his present in its full glory.
"Whoever brought me this is automatically my favourite sibling." his gaze slides over to Damian and Tim and reconsiders. "Unless it's Replacement or Demon Spawn, they can be promoted to third."
Tim rolls his eyes and Damian shoots him a disinterested stare.
"Be nice Master Jason", Alfred chides lightly.
Duke puts a hand on his shoulder. "Guess I win then."
Jason grins at the other man. "Thanks dude, way better choice then the toad."
He wastes no time pulling on the soft leather jacket, stretching his shoulders out comfortably and digging his hands into the pockets.
Tim's present turns out to be a keychain with a mini chainsaw attached, because "Bruce wouldn't let me buy you a real chainsaw."
All of his other gifts are just as good, Alfred gives him Bluetooth headphones, a brand new copy of Life of Pi from Dick plus boots and eyeliner from both Barbara and Cass respectively.
Damian's present is one of the last and when he pulls apart the wrapping paper he's left with a thin rectangular box. He stares at his younger brother.
"If this is jewelry it better be nice."
Damian shakes his head, a small smile forming on his lips. "Better than jewelry."
The gift turns out to be bullets, all of different sizes and shapes. They're organized carefully, each with a label attached underneath.
Jason studied one that's sleek and silver, little slits in the sides. The little lettering in the case lets him know that this one is filled with gas. He grins.
"Are these personalized?"
Damian nods. "Each and every one, tailored to your favourite gun. I modified the version father uses for his Batarangs and transferred it to work with bullets." He shrugs. "I figured they were more your style."
Jason stares at him, silent for a beat before turning back to the weapon. "Fine, I guess you can be my fourth favourite sibling."
Tim huffs. "I helped him with the tech."
Damian elbows him smugly.
He almost doesn't register Bruce standing in the back until the chatter dies out. His adopted dad looks like a kicked puppy and Jason feels an unexpected fondness shoot through his heart.
"You have something for me Bruce?"
Suddenly something is roughly being shoved into his hands and he stares at the thin object for a second. The room goes silent, the entire group fixated on Jason and Bruce.
The slips of paper are familiar and he swears he's held them before. He turns them over to read the minuscule writing.
Gotham City Knights vs Gotham Giants
Featured in Gotham City Stadium
Mon Aug 31 2020 7:30 PM
"You got me baseball tickets?"
Bruce clears his throat and presses on, looking uncomfortable. "You used to love going as a kid, and I brought two so you could take someone with you if you wanted."
Jason's voice catches and he swallows around the lump in his throat. "Sure, are you free Monday?"
Bruce's "Yes" sounds more like a croak but it's there, an open invitation to spend some time together. It's not an apology but it's a start, and he'll take it. Jason's heart swells.
After that they all goad him into sleeping over, an offer he would have declined if not for Alfred's stern glances. They decide to grab some pillows and blankets and settle on the floor, everyone comfortable and sleepy.
Well, if anything, it's not the worst birthday he's ever had.