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Chapter 3 – Jason
Jason doesn't notice the two boys standing in the doorway of his garage at first. Of course, that's completely understandable, given that he's got his head under the hood of what should be a beautiful car (a 1967 Shelby Mustang that the owner has painted a sickening shade of pink) trying to figure out how the owner fucked up the engine as badly as they did.
"Should have fucking blown up before it got this bad." The complaint is a common one, so Roy, who is under the car shining a light so Jason can see better, ignores him. "Damn idiots that can't take care of a..." Jason's complaints trail away to unintelligible mumblings as he leans further forward.
"Jason?" Jason drops the socket wrench he was holding at the sound of that voice and stands up fast enough that he slams his head on the underside of the hood of the car. He ignores Roy's swearing (the wrench managed to clip him on the upper jaw) and turns around fast enough to give himself whiplash.
Jason can't honestly do anything but stare - it's been seven years since he's seen anyone in his family and for this family member to track him down... he really wasn't ever expecting this. Roy finally makes it to his feet and glares at him as the red head gingerly touches his teeth.
"What the hell, Todd? What the fuck could - can I help you?" Roy switches conversations in mid sentence and Jason appreciates that. He needs a few seconds to get his bearings. This person should not be standing here, in his shop.
"We wished to speak with him." Jason resists the urge to get sarcastic with the kind on principle alone at the tone of voice he uses. Or break the finger that's pointing at him…Jason starts counting to ten in an effort to get his temper (which is so, so easy to set off and something that he's spent the last seven years learning to control).
"Sorry." Tim - Tim who is still smaller than he should be - is apologizing for the brat. "We were wondering if we could ask you some questions?"
"In my office." Jason points to the only other door in the garage and waits until the two boys head in that direction before turning to Roy. "Anybody needs anything, I'm busy."
"Alright...Sarge, you gonna share with the class?" Jason ignores Roy's question and follows his brother(s?). He has a few questions of his own. Namely, why the hell is he even here?
Tim is sitting in one of the customer chairs, watching the door, as the younger one wanders around, looking at the paraphernalia that Jason has managed to amass in his year here. They both turn to look as he softly shuts the door behind him and sits in his chair.
"Tim." That's apparently all he needs to say, because the younger one drops down into the other customer chair with a huff of breath and an, "I told you Drake."
"Shut up, Damian." The rejoinder is said with the ease of long practice as Tim refuses to take his eyes off Jason - which Jason finds to be slightly unnerving.
"Alright." Jason leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. "What the hell are you two doing here? And actually, who the hell are you, brat?"
"We're...we..." Jason watches as Tim flounders for an explanation. So does the brat - Damian? - though he's watching with exasperation and Jason can almost see the point he gets fed up with Tim's incoherent-ness.
"I found your room in the attic and endeavored to find you - Drake assisted me." Jason's gut clenched - his room was still...? He had assumed that Bruce or Alfred would have thrown anything to do with him away. But apparently his old attic room was still intact.
"Still not telling me who you are..." Jason prodded, wanting that point cleared up. Followed by why the kid wanted to contact him in the first place.
"I am Damian Wayne - the biological son of Bruce Wayne." If the kid was expecting Jason to be impressed, he was about to be disappointed. Jason didn't care if Bruce had managed to have a litter of kittens in the last seven years - he just wanted to know why his old life was suddenly being dropped in his lap. He couldn't leave Gotham – the city had a way of drawing you back, but he'd be damned if he allowed his old life to interfere with this new one.
"Great. You've seen the black sheep of the family, now get out." Jason stood, getting no satisfaction from the way that Tim flinched as he rose to his full height. His younger brother was scared of him. The brat – Damian – stood off to the side, just watching him, his face expressionless. That actually grated a bit, Tim's reaction, though Jason could admit he probably deserved it. He turned and made it to the door before Tim managed to actually make an unintelligible noise.
Jason pauses, but doesn't turn, his hand on the doorknob. "It should be fairly obvious that I didn't want to talk to anyone in the family, replacement." Jason knows that Tim hated (hates) that particular description. "So get out, take the brat with you, and leave me alone. I'm fine without any of you – I have been for years."
Jason leaves the office and grabs his jacket on the way to the door, ignoring Roy's questions and not bothering to see if the two boys were leaving. He needed to clear his head and try to get to a more level place, mentally. He had thought that he might have been alright, if he had seen his family, but this pretty much proved that theory was shit.
Timmy hadn't even done anything to him and Jason had just hurt him just as bad, if not worse, than he had seven years ago. Probably worse – who said that stupid saying about sticks and stones was an idiot. And he had pulled out the one word that he knew had, before he left, hit every . single. one. of Tim's insecurity buttons.
Jason came to a stop in front of an older brownstone building and eyed the large set of double doors with a resignation. He hated coming here and dreaded it at the same time he returned, faithfully, at least once a week. Sometimes more, if he felt overwhelmed enough. He started forward and pushed open one of the doors, disappearing into the dimly lit hall.
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