Author's Note: Someone mentioned in the comments about the ages of the characters. As I mentioned at the beginning of the fic, this story mostly follows the New Earth canon. I disregarded anything in the New 52 that directly contradicts that. So the ages of the characters are about as follows:
Bruce: 45
Dick: 26
Cass: 21/22ish
Jason: 21
Tim: 18
Damian: 12
Ages have been approximated based on clues from the comics.
Tim's first instinct is to go after Jason, which is why his irritation is entirely justified when a caped shadow detaches from above and lands in front of him in a crouch, blocking his path.
"Father says to check to condition of Hood's victims, then wait for medical units," Robin informs him.
Tim frowns. "Good for him. You don't need two people to do that."
He begins to head off again, only for Damian to bar his way again. "Obviously. But he was adamant about it."
"And since when do you listen to everything he says?"
Damian's mouth thins, nose wrinkling as it does when Tim does something irritating to him, like exist. It takes him a moment to catch up.
"Wait—he meant me?"
"He meant both of us, for whatever reason is beyond my comprehension." His permanent scowl slides more to the side of a pout, suggesting he isn't pleased with the directive. "He was determined to reach Todd on his own when he requested help."
The kid sounds like he is confused and disapproving all at the same time, which Tim can kind of agree on.
Reaching out to Bruce for help is not something he saw coming. Though, maybe he should have, since Jason always did have a unique ability to act outside the parameters of his own established patterns. It's why it was so hard to pin him down when he first returned to Gotham.
It's practical, too, I guess.
Jason's the sort of no-frill logic kind of guy. He knows out of everyone in the family, the person best suited to take him down if he needs taking down is Bruce—and much as he cares about him, Bruce will do it, too.
He really must be rattled to go with that option.
Tim's heart thuds a little in sympathy at that, understanding exactly what Jason's afraid of.
Before he died, he acted rash and could be violent, and was already justifying why certain kinds of people should be forfeit their lives. That conviction magnified when he came back to life. Killing another person, that might not have been something outside the realm of possibility—in a purely utilitarian way. But this—the idea that he might lose control of himself to an extent where he has anything in common with the creeps he's killed?
Tim wants nothing more than to go after Jason himself, to assure him that he's nothing like those criminals. But he also recognizes why it's not a good idea right now.
Besides, B has him. Just have to hope their…usual issues don't get in the way.
"I'm going to find the kid that was here," Tim tells Damian. "Got to make sure he's okay, maybe explain what happened."
"Whatever," Damian replies, toeing at the faintly stirring bodies.
Nice working with you, too…
Tim finds the teenager three blocks away, ducked into a corner to avoid the wind, sucking down a cigarette from shaking hands. When Tim rappels down in front of him, he gives a curse and jumps backward, nearly upsetting a trashcan.
"What the hell, man?" he demands.
"Sorry," Tim replies. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't go anywhere."
"Why, so you can have a go at me to?"
"I need to know what happened back there."
"Twenty bucks."
If this were a gangster or some rogue's henchman, Tim would probably just beat the answers out of him. But he recognizes that this is a scared kid, who needs to feel safe right now, and who needs to feel like he's in control. Given the background Tim suspects, it's not something he gets very often, and will determine how helpful he could be in the future.
So, he counters, "Thirty, and you also give me your name."
The kid snorts, but nods; as soon as he pockets the cash, he says, "Paul. McGann."
"Nice to meet you, Doctor," Tim deadpans, and the kid smirks, but he lets it go. It gives him something to call him, helps ground himself in the fact this case is now involving actual people.
"Okay, Paul. Tell me what went down."
"Usual thing. Some guy wanted to, uh, show me somethin' in the alley. Turned out he had a bunch of buddies waitin'. Pretty sure I'd've gotten worked over if it weren't for the guy in the helmet showing up." Paul hesitates here, his eyes flickering with vulnerability in a way that tells Tim he hasn't been on the street very long. "After he wiped the floor with 'em, he went weird. Got real quiet, and he started lookin' at me like…" He shrugs. "Like, I couldn't see his face, but it felt like the way some of the junkies look when they think you're easy pickings. And…"
The kid actually shivers here.
"Man, I thought he was supposed to be cool?" he snaps. "That's what the girls all say. But if he's a creep too, why d'you Bats let him go around like he does?"
"He was exposed to a mind-altering substance some time ago, and it's messing with him," Tim replies. "He's not entirely himself right now, but I'm sure he'll be fine after a bit of detox."
"Yeah, whatever." Paul continues to look distrustful. "We done here?"
"Yeah, we're done." Tim digs into his belt and passes him a card for the Neon Knights foundation. "Take this, too. It's not just for younger kids, you know. There's a program set up for teens and young adults that have aged out of the system."
"So?"
"I'm not saying you have to go there or even asking you to trust them. But for tonight, at least, a bed and a hot meal are probably a safer bet than working a corner."
Paul's shoulder slump a little in defeat, and he looks away. "Whatever."
"Second person that's said that to me tonight. I might develop a complex being brushed off so easy."
The teen's mouth twitches.
Good sign. If you can still smile so easily, it's not to late for you.
There's buzz in his ear and Tim's comm crackles to life. "B is bringing Red Hood back to the Cave."
"Without a fight?" Tim asks, pressing the speaker to his ear.
"Hood asked him to sedate him."
Shit.
If that's not an indicator of how dire he thinks the situation is! Something like this only happens in life or death situations involving the whole Family, or the Joker. Or both.
"I'm on my way." He turns back to Paul. "You going to be alright?"
"I'm always alright."
That startles a chuckle out of Tim; he makes a mental note to track the kid down at as soon as he's got a better idea of what's going on
Hurrying back to Damian, Tim finds him watching with folded arms as an ambulance loads the last of the injured and unconscious men through their doors.
"Father, the clean up is finished. I am returning."
Batman's voice echoes in both their comms. "No. Continue with your patrol. Red Robin, he'll stay with you for now."
"Excuse me?!"
"What?!"
"Rendezvous at the Nest afterward and stay there until you receive further instruction."
He signs off.
Damian and Tim exchange looks that are easily interpreted even behind their dominos.
"He knows that's not happening, right?" Tim says. "You'd probably set my place on fire."
"And I'm sure it would be an improvement. But no, it's not happening."
"Good. Glad we established that. How are you getting back to the mano? B brought Hood back in the car, so…"
"Obviously, with your bike."
"Oh, obviously."
"You would take issue if I stole a car. And you intend to return to the Cave anyhow." Tim glares but doesn't correct him. "I'm driving."
"Fine."
"Tt, you people and your antiquated—wait." Damian sounds like his brain has to reboot. "Really?"
"You have an obsession with sharp objects, you've tried to kill me more times than Hood has, and you hate me. You really think I'm letting you sit behind me?"
Damian snorts. "That's the first intelligent thing I've ever heard you say."
"That is, of course, assuming you can reach the gears."
He's kind of surprised he doesn't get punched for that one.
It's an awkward right back, made even more so when Tim insists they duck into a treelined cove on the way to the manor and hide the bike to change into their civvies.
"You're ridiculous."
"B's probably keeping Jason in a holding cell," Tim explains, "which is on the same level as the garage. We'll be seen."
"So?"
"So, you want to get sent off to bed like a naughty kid before you even step foot in the door, or do you want to go down the stairs and find out what's going on before B can stop you?"
Damian thinks it over, and nods. "This is tedious, but very well. We'll do it your way."
Tim exhales a bit at that. Though none of that was entirely a lie, he's more concerned that if Jason's woken up, he might see Tim coming in through the parking area and get upset.
"Look at us getting along," he murmurs as he struggles out of his boots.
"This truce is temporary at best. If you continue to patronize me, I will have Titus defecate in your shoes."
They arrive in the manor, slipping in through the family entrance, where they are greeted by Alfred.
How does he do that?
It's a question Tim is pretty sure will never be properly answered.
"Master Timothy, Master Damian—what a novelty, you two entering the house together."
"We didn't enter together, Pennyworth, he followed in my wake. As usual."
Alfred and Tim watch him head toward the main study.
"He's in a good mood tonight," Tim remarks.
"Indeed. He spent the afternoon following his studies playing Cheese Viking with Master Colin."
"Oh, well, the world will be forever grateful."
"I am considering a gift basket."
"Can we get some coffee downstairs, Alfred? I have a feeling tonight's going to be a long night."
Actually, I have a feeling it's going to be a long week…
"Of course, Master Timothy."
"Thanks."
When they get down to the Cave, it's both a relief and not to see that Bruce isn't waiting. Mostly because it's Dick sitting in the big chair at the meeting table.
Crap. Crap crap crap, what is he doing here?
"Richard," Damian says, a frown in his voice. "I was under the impression you were on your way back to New York."
"O caught me on the way, said there was a Family emergency and I might need to hang around for a bit. Here I was hoping she meant something else by that, but…"
Tim's brain stumbles to come up with a reason why Dick shouldn't be here. Either this will become the stuff of teasing material for years to come, or Dick will be disgusted at the possibility of Jason entertaining any kind of feelings for Tim.
He has no idea which option is worse.
"B's handling it," Tim says. "Maybe you should do a quick patrol, though, since we're all back here right now."
"It's covered. O said Batgirl and Signal are covering any gaps in our routes tonight."
And Cass is in Hong Kong, which is at least a bit of good news.
He has a hard enough time hiding his feelings for Jason on a good day; if she were here while all of this is going on, there's not a prayer he gets out of it without someone knowing.
"So, who's going to fill me in on what's actually going on?"
"I will." By now they're all conditioned to ignore Bruce's sudden appearances. He's still in the suit, but the cowl's off, granting Tim a good view of the glare he's levelling at his younger sons. "You two aren't supposed to be here."
"Sorry. I didn't care," Tim replies, his discomfort starting to crack his usual composed mask.
"And I am your partner," Damian adds. "I will not be kept out of matters because of some misguided attempt to pander to my age. I had thought we came to an understanding on this, Father."
"This isn't about that."
"Then what is it about?" Dick demands; he's getting impatient.
"Jason's been infected by a toxin that manifests itself by triggering obsessive behaviour."
Dick processes that, then furrows his brow. "Are we talking Sheldon Cooper obsession or Alex Forrest obsession?"
"At this point it could be either," Tim answers, and gives a quick rundown of everything Cassie told him.
"And who exactly is the poor fool Todd's supposed to be fixated on?" Damian asks, looking repelled at the very thought.
Tim battles down his own embarrassment, reasoning that everyone needs to be on the same page if they're going to help Jason, and gestures wearily at himself. "That would be me."
Silence rings.
Damian tilts his head to one side. "Are we positive we shouldn't just allow this to play itself out?"
"Damian!" Dick snaps, scandalized.
"Well, the outcome benefits everyone. Todd gets to drag the object of his interests somewhere that's elsewhere, and we get rid of Drake."
"It's getting really old, Gremlin," Tim sighs, rubbing his temples.
"No one's getting rid of Tim! And Jason's not…doing that!" Dick snaps. "We're going to fix this. Don't worry, Tim, he's not going to get a chance to do anything to you this time."
Tim shoots him a sharp look. "You know it's not his fault, right? It's like being dosed by Ivy, only stronger."
"If what Wonder Girl told you is true, though, the infection may capitalize on feelings that are already there," Bruce says. "And the fact is—"
"Jason's tried to kill me before? Yeah. I was there. But it's been years, and things have been getting better." Everyone looks skeptical at that, and he scowls. "They were."
"Be that as it may, you shouldn't be here. Damian either."
"Todd's not obsessing over me, thank god for small miracles."
Bruce ignores the byplay.
"Since you are here," he says, turning to Tim. "I want Eros transported to the Cave. We can better interrogate him here and find out if he's holding anything back. I don't trust that he isn't manipulating you both."
"Oh, I know he's manipulating us," Tim replies. "I also know you won't be able to interrogate him the way you want to, not with his powers slowly growing more out of control—and yes, they are doing that, don't make me explain how I know that."
"How do you—?"
"Nair, Dick. In your shampoo," Tim snaps, jabbing a finger in his brother's direction without looking away from Bruce. "Also, there's no guarantee he won't try to escape and give us the sleep because we underestimate him. And since I can't be around Jason, I can at least keep working on that angle of the case back in the Nest."
Because no way in hell are you benching me from this completely.
He can work from his place, and if there's anything important, he can send it over. And he cam patch into the comms to follow along with the investigation from afar.
Whatever Bruce wants to say to that is interrupted by a tweeting noise from the computer. A beat later, a holographic projection of Wonder Woman appears in the front of them.
"You got my message."
"Yes," she replies. "You caught me just in time. I must return to Themyscira for a time."
Bruce's eyebrows furrow. "Is there trouble?"
"Nothing I will not be able to handle," Diana assures him. "But I will also not be reachable for several days. Your timing is fortuitous as always."
"So your take on our problem?"
"I can only corroborate what you already know. Nothing mortal can be done about the boy's condition. Only an arrow from Eros' bow, wielded by the god himself, will be able to temper the infection."
Bruce's expression doesn't change, but Tim can sense his disappointment.
"I must also warn you that the further his condition progresses, the less conventional sedatives will work. I am surprised they even worked this time."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Modern pharmaceuticals might be able to render him unconscious, but it will not stop his brain function. The fixation will continue, thoughts unrestrained, and could overstimulate his brain to a fatal degree."
They are all silent, digesting this.
"You said 'nothing mortal'," Bruce says after a moment. "There's another option, isn't there."
Diana sighs. "Yes. I will have access to a method of pausing a gradual descent into madness, or rather I can locate it once I arrive on Themyscira."
"Great!" Dick says. "Let's do that."
"What's the catch?" Tim wants to know.
"The only means I know of stopping the progression of such an infection is by using Stygian Sleep."
"No," Bruce says immediately.
"What's Stygian Sleep?" Dick asks.
"It's in the myth," Tim says, his research brain kicking in. "In the story of Cupid and Psyche—or, Eros and Psyche, I guess—Eros wife was put into a cursed sleep. But I thought that was just a poetic way of saying 'really deep sleep'."
"No. It's a philtre created using the waters of the River Styx. Extremely powerful," Diana explains.
"What happened to Psyche?" Dick asks.
"From what I read, she got woken up by her husband," Tim tells him.
"Well, that's good, right?"
"In the story," Diana agrees. "In actuality, he was unable to wake her. Her body wasted away and her soul was trapped in one of the darkest parts of Hades, bound to the Styx itself."
And…that's less good. Explains why Eros didn't want to talk about it.
"None of this matters, because it isn't an option," Bruce declares.
"Don't be closed-minded about this, Bruce, it isn't a magic potion in the sense you think it is. The Sleep functions as a means of preserving his brain function without allowing the same deterioration that would be caused by mortal medicine. As I understand it, it will freeze him in the moment, keeping him safe and preserved while you seek out the means of his recovery."
"Have you seen it in action before?"
"No. I have only heard stories. But I trust the sources. And if you don't act quickly, his condition will worsen, and by the time you employ the Sleep, it will be far from peaceful for him."
"And if we don't find that cure, he'll be effectively braindead. No. We will find another way."
Diana makes an impatient noise. "While I know you have every right to be confident in your abilities, you're talking about a life. Your son's life. Hubris is not a condition that was lost to the ancients." The translucent body of her hologram turns as if to leave the room. "I will procure some of the philtre while on the island. In case you change your minds," Diana says, not sounding pleased. "I would hope you choose to think of the boy and not your own feelings on the matter."
And she leaves them alone to stare at each other, the choice hanging over them more tangibly than the bats.
⁂
Jason is in the middle of a fight.
That isn't surprising, really; nor is the fact his opponent is Tim. That happens a lot.
What doesn't happen is Tim fighting him while shirtless. That's definitely new. And is it just him, or is he smaller somehow? He looks like he's about fourteen, which considering he usually looks like he has a severe case of underage, is an accomplishment.
Jason is smaller, too, at least in terms of bulk; he hasn't been so lean since he was seventeen.
A leg snaps out to the side of his head, and Jason reflexively catches it, pushing it away and backing up a few feet. Tim regains his balance, panting.
Jason smirks at him. "Are you going to keep dancing, or do you actually plan on hitting me?"
Tim's brows draw together, and he pulls back, throwing all of his weight behind his fist to deliver a blow that splits Jason's lip and almost has him seeing stars. A bizarre mixture of triumph and uncertainty flash across the younger boy's features.
Can't have that.
Jason spits out a mouthful of blood and grins. "You're about as threatening as a baby bird."
Goading Tim like this always yields results, and he isn't disappointed when the shorter boy runs at him, building up a momentum that allows him to barrel into Jason full force. It knocks the wind out of him as he tries to wrestle him off balance; Jason is only caught off-guard for about a moment, not nearly enough to make a difference, and immediately hammers at the other boy with his fists and the hilt of his practice blade. The way Tim is positioned, though, it's at the awkward angle where he can't actually land a decisive blow.
Sneaky little fucker.
It takes some maneuvering before he manages to rotate out of Tim's hold, then twist the smaller boy around in his grip. He has one hand clasping the back of his head, fingers buried in sweat-soaked hair, and his inner elbow nestled just beneath his throat. If he applies enough pressure, he can render him unconscious.
Tim struggles, legs kicking off the ground as he fumbles at Jason's arm; a beat later, he sags forward.
Jason lightens his hold the slightest bit, not actually wanting to suffocate him, but then Tim is moving again, snapping his body upward, using the momentum to flip himself over Jason's head and sending him to the ground.
As Jason recovers, Tim whirls around, tries to punch him in the face, but Jason rolls to one side, neatly avoiding it, and grabs the incoming fist in his own. He drives his other fist into Tim's solar plexus, the force of it sending the smaller boy flying several yards away, landing face down in the dirt.
Instantly, his stomach clenches in worry—he didn't mean to hit him that hard—and he takes a step forward, intending to check on him.
But Tim is moving, shoulders shaking as he pushes himself up off the ground, grey-faced and coughing up blood. He looks resigned, defeated, and Jason finds himself lowering his sword.
"Stop."
Both boys freeze and glance off to one side. A burly man with oily blond hair and mutton chops is watching them, thick arms crossed in disappointment. It's another moment before Jason notices he's not an ordinary man—his muscular torso fades into the equally muscular legs of a horse, smooth skin becoming a gleaming chestnut coat.
He's a centaur.
"Menoitiades," the man chides, frowning at Tim, "you are not giving your best effort. This does both your comrade and you a disservice."
Tim hangs his head, and Jason is quick to defend him. "I thought he was doing pretty well for once. He lasted longer than anyone else ever has."
The centaur either doesn't hear him or chooses not to.
"You both have different gifts, and you must use them. If you are able to defeat a stronger opponent by the grace of your mind, do so. If you lose, Peleides will have beaten you at your best, instead of being lulled into thinking he's better than he is."
"Unless I actually am that good," Jason points out.
"That right there is going to get you killed one day," Tim snarks at him.
"My being a better fighter?"
"Your being an egotistical son of a—"
"Have a care, boy, unless you intend to bring down the wrath of the gods on yourself," the centaur interrupts. "Now pick up your blades. I want to see you fight properly this time."
The two teens face one another again, circling warily, and Tim grins. "Ready to lose?"
"Do your worst, infant."
And the fight starts again.
Tim is fast—faster this time than he's ever been. Possibly because he's not wasting his time trying to meet the strength of Jason's blows; instead, he is throwing his all into his speed.
He charges, underhanded cut to Jason's belly, which he dodges, and when Tim comes for him again, he ducks under the overhead swing that follows. Sweeping to the left, Jason makes a move for Tim's back, but the other boy avoids the blow, slanting his sword over his shoulder to protect his back.
"I showed you that," Jason points out.
"Are you angling for a 'thank you'?"
"Well, it would be polite."
Tim spins around, slices toward Jason's neck, but he catches the wooden blade inches from his shoulder.
"Thank you."
"Sneaky little—"
And now, the competition is on in earnest, because Tim is getting cocky. And as much as Jason likes him cocky, he also has his pride to protect.
He darts forward, feints to one side, waits for Tim's weight to lean into that direction, then cuts at his open side; Tim staggers at the last second to avoid it, but ends up sacrificing sure footing, ending up on the ground.
Jason twirls his sword around, preparing for the deciding blow. Tim's eyes dart to the sword, then to his leg, and he scrambles to his knees, crouched over low in a position Jason recognizes as an ankle sweep.
This time it's Jason whose footing wavers, waiting for the incoming crack of a broken bone—
And at the last second, Tim falters, pulls back, drops his sword.
Automatically, Jason scrambles into the opening and thrusts his weapon forward, pressing it to the other boy's throat.
"Stop!"
Again, the centaur is approaching them, looking more disappointed than before. He's almost glaring at Tim. "Why did you hesitate?"
"It isn't fair," Tim answers, and nods his head at Jason's heel. "I know he's weak there. No one else would think to aim for that spot, there's no point in me using it to my advantage for the sake of a practice bout. In a real battle, I wouldn't have foreknowledge of an enemy's weakness."
"That is not the point of the exercise," the centaur sighs. "It is for you to use every tool you have to win. And the prince must prepare for the eventuality that someone, someday, will discover that weakness." He looks into the distance, eyes glazing over at something only he can see. "A great blooding is coming that will cut down many a would-be-hero. Think on this."
Jason and Tim exchange scowls at the implication they would be the ones to die.
"It is about time to adjourn," the centaur says then, shifting his gaze to the setting sun. "Go bathe and change your garments, and we will eat." He begins to trot away, and then pauses and shoots them a chastising look. "And I do mean bathe."
Tim blushes red to the roots of his hair, and Jason feels his own cheeks warm.
"You walk in on us one time and you think that's all we think about," he complains hotly.
"You are both still growing into manhood, of course that is all you think about," the centaur snorts and departs, disappearing into the thick greenery surrounding them.
Tim gives Jason an arch look. "He's not wrong, you know."
"Speak for yourself. I have more on my mind than what's between your legs."
"I know. You have a fixation with my mouth, as well."
Jason sputtered, and reached for him, intending to put him in a headlock and show him exactly who had a fixation, but Tim was already taking off at a run. Jason is, once again, running just to catch up with him.
He always feels so out of reach—
Jason blink himself awake.
His surroundings coalesce slowly, an unnatural brightness and scent of filtered air, and beyond that familiar craggy dark stone.
For a moment he's disoriented, still caught between the haze of dream and the first stirrings of wakefulness. The more aware he becomes, the more his brain falls back upon automatic reactions.
He's in a holding cell in the Cave.
Anger and hurt start to kindle in the usual way, that Bruce has locked him up here, that he went to him for help and—
Wait.
He remembers, and then relaxes. He wanted this. He had to protect—
"Tim," he murmurs, and it should trouble him right now that there's so much relief to speak his name.
Jason sits up slowly, shifting on the uncomfortable cot, and considers his surroundings. Nothing here but the basics—foam pallet on the floor, toilet that folds into the wall, a pitcher of water on a miniscule table. Not even bed sheets, though he knows that's for practical reasons.
It's not at all like what Tim set up for Eros, a glorified bachelor pad.
Jason frowns, unsure why that bothers him. Probably because Eros is a dick and Jason doesn't want him near Tim longer than he has to be; he's still got a sour feeling in his gut remembering the way he'd just let Tim practically plaster them together.
The Olympian was far too amused by it all; has been more amused about all of this from the beginning. Jason knows he's hiding something, and he has a growing suspicion it's got something to do with how he's being affected by Eros' blood.
The dreams he's been having—he always forgets the details upon waking, but he knows there's something important about them. If he could just hang onto something of them when he wakes up—
He hears footsteps approaching. Someone coming down the stairs.
"Tim?" he asks, already turning and craning his neck, hope blossoming in his stomach.
"Yeah, no, it's me," Dick's voice echoes, followed by his body easing out of the shadows. He's in uniform but without the mask, so Jason can decipher without problem the look on his face, like he's facing a rabid wolf.
"What the hell are you doing here," he growls, disappointed and embarrassed. Dick's supposed to be in New York. Not here, in the Cave, witness to Jason's shame.
"Here to help," is the careful reply.
"Like you helped when you stuck me in Arkham?" Jason challenges, reminding the older man of the last time they were separated by panes of bulletproof glass.
"That was different," Dick says, contrite. "We didn't want you hurting someone. This time it's you that doesn't want to hurt someone."
"None of which makes it okay."
Dick shrugs his shoulders, possibly in agreement, and changes the subject. ""Tim headed back to his place. Everyone…figured that would be best."
"Right. Yeah." Jason nods, because he agrees, even as disappointment suffuses him. He hasn't seen Tim for a week—no, that's not right, he saw him briefly earlier tonight. Earlier this morning? It doesn't matter; he didn't really see him, he saw him dressed in the Red Robin gear, so it doesn't count. "Is he okay?"
He notices Dick is still watching him, evaluating his reactions and silence.
"It seems like it. He's worried about you, though."
"Really? What did he say?"
God, can I sound anymore like an eager puppy?
"He said none of this is your fault."
"Yeah? That what you think?"
"I think I trust Tim."
Of course you do. Better not ask if you trust me. Hell, I don't even trust me right now.
"And I can see how weird this must be for you," Dick continues. "I can't imagine going through this. I mean, getting dosed on something from Ivy, it's different, it's all…physical, and there are protocols to deal with it. This is…it's like you like Tim. Somehow, that seems more awkward."
"That's because he's your brother."
"He's yours, too."
"He's really, really not."
Dark frowns. "That's the infection talking."
And it would be so easy to just agree and end the conversation there. Except, he feels like he has to make this clear, if only to Dick. Because Dick's all about family and bonds and being the protective influence.
"No, it's a fact. We didn't grow up together. I was legally dead when B adopted him. We're not blood related. We didn't even meet until I tried to kill him." Dick opens his mouth and Jason cuts him off. "More importantly, I never wanted him to be my brother."
A statement which, in any other instance, would not hold as much weight as the other reasons, but among a clan that is all about choosing one's family, stands out.
"You didn't want me to be your brother," Dick reminds him.
And yet, here we are remains unspoken.
Instead, Jason replies, "Yeah, well, you were an asshole. Still are."
Dick snorts, his gaze upon Jason becoming considering, as if he's trying to process the information he's just been given.
"Still weird," he says after a moment. "He is a guy."
"Also not really the issue here," Jason replies with a frown, for a moment feeling as if he has to justify his interest in Tim. When he realizes what he just said, though, he freezes.
Shit.
Dick is staring. "Wait. What?"
Goddamn it. How much of that was me putting my foot in my mouth, and how much of it was the infection trying to, I don't know, stake a claim?
"Since when?" Dick wants to know, voice going comically high pitched in a way Jason would mock him for if he wasn't so busy being furious with himself.
"Since none of your damn business," he snaps.
"Little Wing, did you just come out? To me?"
"Fuck no!" Jason throws himself back on his cot and turns his back on Dick; if he had a pillow, he'd use it to block him and the Cave and this whole situation out. Then he turns around and shoves an accusing finger in the older man's direction. "And to come out, I'd have to have been hiding it. Which I wasn't. Because it's none of your damn business."
He feels like his face is on fire.
It was a discover he made during his travels on- and off-planet with the Outlaws, and which he's sort of surprised didn't happen a lot sooner, considering Kori's views on sex and Roy's general 'anything goes' nature. Falling into bed with them both was a lot easier than expected, and on bad night, sometimes the only thing getting him through the hard days.
Dick is shaking his head, thoughtful. "Huh. Well. The more you know."
"In your case, it's the less you know," Jason grumbles.
"How did you figure it out? I mean, when you were here, there was only ever that one girl—what's her name, Rena? But I figured it was just because you were shy that you didn't have more girlfriends, not—"
"Well, a guy can do a lot worse than being officially recognized on Tamaran as one of the royal concubines of Princess Koriand'r," Jason interrupts, not wanting to confirm to Dick that he was shy, and that most girls weren't interested in a kid from the streets even if his adopted father was Bruce Wayne. "Roy complained a bit about it at first, but that was mostly because he doesn't like to share. But after a couple rounds, everything was fine. Kori's still the big spoon, by the way."
"Oh, god, shut up," Dick chokes, having gone paler with every word. He looks all at once like he's been punched in the gut and wants to throw up. "That's…more than I ever wanted to know."
"Good. If you don't leave this alone, I'll give you a blow-by-blow account," Jason promises fiercely. After a moment of thought, he adds, "And if you tell Tim any of this, I'll get Roy to come down here to add his commentary."
Dick shudders. "You grew up mean. They have a class in blackmail with the League of Assassins then?"
"Yeah, it's supposed to replace the 'how to be an asshole' as taught by Slade Wilson."
"Now, Master Jason, really."
They both jump, having not noticed Alfred approaching, carrying with him a tray of tea and various snacks. All Jason's favourites, he notices.
"Sorry, Alf," he says automatically.
"Master Richard, you are needed upstairs," the old man informs him as he opens the hatch in the wall to place the tray of victuals inside. "And perhaps afterward, if you're feeling particularly wild, you may even be tempted to get some sleep."
"Right." Dick pauses to assess Jason again, almost like he's expecting him to freak out at any minute, and then smiles comfortingly. "Try to keep calm in there, okay, Jan?"
"Fuck you, Marcia."
"Language!"
Dick's laughter follows him as he heads upstairs.
Asshole.
Jason is grateful for one thing, though. Talking with Dick, it got his mind of Tim; distracted him from the itch in his fingers and the desire to see and touch. It gives him an idea.
He might be locked up in here, but he has no intention of going insane left alone with his own thoughts.
"Hey, Alfred, can you do me a favour?"
"I can endeavour to do my best."
"Would you mind grabbing some things from the library? Anything on Greek mythology, or ancient history or curses and magic. I can't help with what's going on, but I need to keep busy. And there's a lot of stuff in books that B won't find with his fancy computer."
"Very good, Master Jason. I will bring down whatever materials I can find."
"Thanks."
He watches the old butler return up the stairs, and Jason exhales a breath he didn't realize he's been holding. Glancing down at his hands, he notices they've begun to shake now.
⁂⁂⁂
I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn't something you're comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!
❤️️ = I love this story!
😳 = this was hot!
💐 = thank you for sharing this
🍵 = tea spilled
🍬 = so sweet and fluffy!
🚔 = you're under arrest! the writing's too good!
😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER
😢 = you got me right in the feels
😫 = whyyyyyyy?!
Follow me on tumblr (violetsmoak) for news regarding updates-or just to drop me a line :)