Bruce Wayne was a name he remembered, even if he wasn't sure why. He'd looked it up before. Actually, he had looked it up so many times, with the aid of Greg and Lee and even Wing at one point, that he knew how futile it was to bother with remembering it. He'd done the same with the names of Batman and Red Hood. No matter where he looked, who helped him, or how hard he tried, the results never changed.

Nothing.

Gotham was a city in New Jersey, and Jason could still remember how Lee had spit that little factoid out with a hatred he barely allowed to see the light of day. There was a family of people that shared the Wayne name in that Gotham, but there was no Bruce among them. They were also a family of rich assholes that the Queen family apparently knew far too well, so all Jason had managed to dig up on them had been on two opposing extremes that just made sense in the tax bracket they inhabited. This family shared rumors of scandalous cover-ups, members secretly and forcefully admitted into sanitariums, and supposed mob affiliation. But then there were also the official stories of huge donations for philanthropist causes and boring mentions of hyper intelligent businessmen developing the Wayne name in all kinds of economic venues.

Exactly the kind of family that would rub elbows with Ollie's.

There was no Alfred within the lineage, either, but Jason didn't feel like that would make any sense. He remembered the name Bruce Wayne. The fact that he remembered Alfred as just that told him that it was unlikely the man he had also probably known as Al belonged to the same family name as the Bruce.

Jason frowned at his plate of breakfast as he forced himself to calm his breathing.

For some reason, whenever he thought about Bruce Wayne, a swell of violent emotions never failed to wash over him. It was such a powerful wave of emotions, frenzied and sudden, that he had to work hard to identify and handle them. There was anger, but there was sadness; disappointment, indignation, horror, yearning... too many emotions, far too fast.

Thinking of Alfred, though... the emotions remained, but were covered up in a blanket of everything will eventually be okay. The mess of feelings was still there, but somehow, it lost most of its biting edge.

He may not know who either of these men were, but Jason was sure of at least two things: his relation to the both of them was complicated and Bruce Wayne could go kick rocks.

"I just don't know if I want to owe Ms. Adams anything. You all know the crowd she runs with."

With one big inhale, Jason forced his eyes away from his simple plate of breakfast and over to the rest of the people he shared the room with.

Everyone but Mary was now sat at the long dining room table, discussing what would take place tonight as they ate breakfast.

The mug in front of Lee was now filled with coffee as dark as Greg's hair.

"Oh no, how terrible." Ollie's snarky reply came quick, oozing with amusement and sarcasm over a situation none but Lee himself considered to be a predicament. "You might have to actually go on a date with a wonderful, beautiful, highly intelligent socialite that for a reason beyond all of us has the hots for you." the blonde lifted his hands up to his chest, cupping at his heart as his face pulled into a wide eyed mockery of concern, "My heart bleeds for you, Travis, it really does."

Everyone knew that Diana Adams had an interest in Lee Travis' life that went far deeper than just a yearning for a true friend that didn't run in the same circles as her. Sometimes, it felt like the only person that didn't understand her passion for getting to interact with them at all times was Travis himself. But Jason had come to learn that Lee knew just what, exactly, Diana Adams wanted to eventually create with him. He just didn't know why Lee didn't reciprocate; why he opted to act ignorant and oblivious.

Lee huffed at Ollie's snark, but didn't bother with responding. Instead, he looked over to Sylvester and Pat, who were sat side by side, quietly eating their breakfast. Pat lowered his right hand so his fork rested just slightly above his plate even as Sylvester continued to eat, "Are the both of you sure you'd be okay with leaving her with Ms. Adams?"

There was something that wasn't quite right about all of these men. It was the main reason why Jason was capable of calling them family. They were so kind when compared to everyone else out there in this cold, cruel world.

"She's our best shot to keep our secret without locking the kid up." Pat shrugged his shoulders, his face harsh with clear displeasure at the situation he was stuck in. "I ain't 'boutta complain."

After Sylvester had finished swallowing the bite of food he had been chewing, he followed up with a decisive, "It's our best shot. We can't let this get in the way of stopping Nebula."

It was the most important case the Soldiers had faced in the whole time they had been working together; Nebula was an entity unlike anything they had ever faced before. Threats that could bring about the annihilation of the world as they knew it weren't particularly common, either, seeing how most of the enemies they had ever faced could be reduced to 'guy in mask with interesting but simple enough technology that could be knocked out with one well-aimed punch'.

Jason knew that Nebula wasn't magical, they just didn't have the proper information to be able to figure out the science behind him. And they all knew that this thing had been created by the Hand to destroy them... it was currently running around on a rampage, forcing them to seek it out to stop it... which was exactly what it needed to destroy them.

They had barely managed to escape the first encounter with that thing with their lives intact... Jason felt anger begin to well up inside of him, but this time he could thoroughly understand it.

No matter the danger, though, Nebula needed to be stopped. And there was no one else around that so much as knew about the damn thing. So they all knew that even if they could die, they needed to get out there tonight and stop the bastard from destroying the world as they knew it.

Jason could tell how everyone in the dining room immediately sobered up at the mention of Nebula's name. He was able to see the way that Lee's face dropped with clear regret before he covered it up with a look of determination; so fast that it was unlikely that anyone else was able to see the moment of weakness on their unofficial leader's face.

Beside Lee, Jason was able to see Greg's own reaction. The cowboy's face was steeled with the killer resolution of a man that wasn't about to let anyone mess with his family.

The anger inside of him relaxed some at seeing the cowboy's face, calming at the reassuring sensation that came from knowing that Greg had a plan and was prepared. As long as Greg looked like that, then there was no need to worry.

"We shall stop him, mine friends." Sir Justin spoke up, his own face set into a glower of resolve. "We are the Law's Legionnaires for a reason."

Law's Legionnaires.

Originally, they went by the Seven Soldiers of Victory. In Jason's mind, they still did, really. But the men had started to change how they called themselves as a group because they were no longer just seven members. In their minds, Wing and Jason were both deserving of full induction into their little heroic family and the Nine Soldiers of Victory just didn't sound as good.

Jason didn't fault them for not counting him and Wing, though, for their official name. They had been the last to join, after all. And they couldn't just change the name every time a new member entered or an old one left the team.

"That we are, Sir Justin." Greg's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but it wasn't forced, either. "Now, let's finish our breakfast. Ain't no one gonna save the world on an empty stomach."

And those emboldened words seemed to fill all of them up with the courage to face an enemy they knew was the most dangerous adversary they had ever met; reassured them with the knowledge that no matter what the bastard threw at them, they would come out on top just like they always did whenever evil tried to oppress good.

Jason should have known better.

His nightmare never visited him without dragging something else equally as terrible along with it.

He awoke, a strangled scream trapped in his throat, with a violent jolt.

Even with his mind still reeling from the clashing sensations that the warm dream and harsh reality stirred inside of him, he was able to feel the way in which a warm, reassuring hand gripped at his upper arm. His first instincts told him to lash out and escape that grasp, for nothing good ever came out of being trapped. But that animalistic nonsense was quickly cut through by reason; that wasn't some unknown hand that could hurt him- it was Greg.

"You're alright, son. I'm here." Greg's voice sounded even more exhausted than it had the past night, when they had pressed into the farthest corner inside of a complete stranger's barn in the hopes of surviving the encroaching tendrils of what promised to be a scathing, frozen winter. "Another nightmare?" he sounded concerned.

Jason frowned at himself before bringing his hand up to press into his forehead- a headache was beginning to form. "I don't think it counts as a nightmare... I was back there- with the rest."

The silence stretched out before them; Jason busied his mind by looking at the darkness before him. The sun was slowly starting to rise, but was taking its time. It was dark enough in this barn to not be able to see much of anything; not even make out any silhouettes.

"Oh." Greg finally made a noise after far too long, and no matter how hard he had tried to cover it up, Jason could still make out how strangled the noise had been. "I'm sorry, son."

There was no reassuring We'll get 'em back. Not anymore.

Jason wished he could be strong enough for Greg to be the one to give him the hope he had lost along the way... but he couldn't. He didn't believe they'd ever see their family ever again. Not anymore. Not now that they had run all of their leads dry and a full year had passed since they had landed in a time Jason had barely known anything about.

Tears stung at his eyes, but Jason only breathed out heavily before shrugging his shoulders, "We should bug out; don't want to get caught."

The hand that had squeezed him before patted him two more times before dropping, allowing him to move away from Greg, "Right you are."

Jason didn't move immediately; the warmth they had been sharing was something he didn't want to let go of quite yet... it was a reassuring presence he knew he needed, even if he would never say as much out loud. When he finally moved, it was with an angry scowl pulling at his whole face.

Hero or not, it didn't matter to him. If he ever so much as saw a hint of Nebula ever again, no one would stop him from hunting him down and putting the bastard down like the rabid dog he was.

It was the least the ass deserved for destroying his family.

It was the first stroke of good luck they had stumbled into ever since they had fallen into this god forsaken year.

"I've only worked at a cattle ranch, and, yeah, my boy may be a tenderfoot, but he's a hard worker and sharper 'an a tack. We're both above-board, sir, and willing to work harder than any machine. Just had a 14-carat run o'bad luck this year." it hurt to see this man, so strong, courageous, and amazing brought down to basically having to beg. Jason hated it.

The name of this particular herd's boss was Gil Favor and, at the very least, he owed them something. If a job was something he could give, then that should be what he gave them back. If not for their intervention, he'd be down not just a notable amount of cattle, but four idiotic hands too.

Knowing their odds? They weren't going to get any more than a handshake, meaningless platitudes of appreciation, and a goodbye.

Jason crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at the ground between them. He was getting tired of the never-ending plains; getting tired of having to squat in random people's barns, as quiet as criminals avoiding the law, just to be able to survive. But he knew better than to hope for anything better. This far back in history, to get something good with what little proof of identity they had... they needed someone's help. And everyone was far more focused on helping themselves than anyone else.

The soft jangling of spurs, a sharp inhale, and finally the man was talking, "You've got a week to impress me. If you do, we'll draw up a contract. If you don't, you can keep on working with us until we get to the next town and then you're out. That work?"

It was like a sucker punch right to his solar plexus.

Luckily for him, it was Greg that was doing all the talking, so he didn't have to scramble to respond. Instead, all he had to do was keep his face from being too obvious in showing off how shocked he was by those words and listen to Greg thank the man profusely and promise that the offer more than worked- it was the best damn thing he had heard in far too long.

The work was strenuous, the food just barely edible, and the scenery mind-numbingly plain. Not a day passed without something going wrong, someone having to either chase off would-be cow snatchers or an unruly steer attempting to escape, one of the other hands getting into some kind of trouble, or some other unpredictable chaotic factor that could throw off the schedule Favor wanted them to keep.

But every night, he now had a proper sleeping roll to crawl into, a saddle that wasn't busted past any good use, access to food that filled him up enough, and the bare comforts of being part of a cattle drive.

There was no longer a stable roof over his head, but trading that in for the blanket that was a starry night sky didn't seem nearly as terrible anymore after ever-changing yet frustratingly-identical barn ceilings had become something to abhor. He didn't have access to the kinds of food that Greg had always kept around the house, to the sweet snacks Ollie would sneak in, or Lee's delicious treats for a job well done- but, even if the food was bland, he at least could eat again without having to scavenge or steal.

The living was tough and dangers lurked around every corner; bugs crawled all over him as he slept and he needed to shake out his boots to make sure there were no unsavory critters trying to kill him before he could begin a day that started well before the sun had even thought of rising on the horizon. He had yet to have to live through trying to control a stampede, feared the day that he'd have to live through one because it was a matter of when not if... and yet... Jason could say that, for the first time in a long time... he was happy.

From the chatterboxes that were the gossipy trail-hands, he had come to learn that the main reason why Favor had let them join up was because he had been in a bind- they were down a handful of drovers from what they had begun with, mostly due to walkouts from green wannabe cowboys Favor hadn't been able to properly interview before setting off. Those had taken their gear and horses with them. It was the ones that had been lost to the elements that had left behind the supplies he and Greg were now able to use to survive.

The work was dangerous and deadly, the pay wouldn't be coming in until they reached their ultimate destination, and there was no assurance of a future for them once they had gotten to where they were going. But Greg was a favorite pick for night-watch, which meant that at least twice a week he was able to fall asleep to the calming, dulcet tunes that Greg was able to create with the banged up guitar the cook had kept in the wagon, his melody accompanied by a crackling fire and the quiet sounds of nature at rest.

All things considered, it was the closest thing to happiness he had been been allowed in far too long.

"Guess I take after my mother."

Word around the crew had begun by saying that he was antisocial, rude, and had an attitude because he had been born all the way in glorious New York City; that he was difficult to talk with because he saw everyone as beneath him. Within a few months of proving himself day in and day out by rising up to all the challenges that came their way, word began to spread that he was just touched in the mind and cold due to misfortune, but a hard worker at the end of the day.

"Hard to believe a man like your pa would be interested in a woman that might cause that." Rowdy was the drover closest to him in age, so, even if they had very different responsibilities, they often wound up bunking near each other and sharing stilted conversations. "You sure you're related?"

He wasn't bothered by the question for a multitude of reasons, main one being that it had been asked so many times that by this point it was a barbless joke that was shared among them all. Greg and Jason Saunders were such exact opposites to one another that it was just ironic that they supposedly shared direct blood.

If Lee had been around, Jason would have found it cathartic to be able to point to all these men saying as much as proof to how wrong he was to insist that they were similar enough for Jason to be a mini-Greg. But Lee wasn't around anymore. And Jason found a modicum of relief in believing that he could share even a few tiny things in common with his adoptive father even when they were so different that the hands found it difficult to believe they were related.

Because that was what Greg was at this point. They didn't have the paperwork to prove it; hadn't even bothered with declaring it to just themselves but... That's what Greg was: his father.

"You're a right ray of sunshine yourself, Yates." with a huff, Jason stood up from the log they had been sharing with his plate of food. "You done?"

"Thanks." Rowdy passed his plate with a crooked smile playing on his lips, a look Jason had come to learn meant no good twinkling in his eyes. "Why don't you call him pa, then?"

Jason barely ever called for Greg by any name other than Ace or Saunders. It was an oddity strange enough to the time and their supposed story that Jason couldn't be bothered by others taking note of it and wondering about it.

"Just the way it's always been." he began to walk after that and Rowdy proved to know him far too well by staying put.

He'd never said as much, probably never would but... Jason sighed to himself as he forced his legs to continue moving forward. He didn't feel like he had earned the right to call Greg his dad, even if that was the role this man had played in his life for as long as he could remember. Or, at least, that's the only explanation he could come up with that made any sense.

If ever he tried to utter a word to talk to Greg directly by anything other than a proper name, his throat closed up and a cold shiver enshrouded him. He had stopped trying because it just didn't happen for him. And Greg, the bleeding heart, had never so much as brought the topic up, much less asked him about it or even told him to call him by a proper title to keep up appearances.

Wishbone sent a death glare in his direction as he set about cleaning up his plates, undoubtedly in a terrible mood because he only ever seemed to lose the glower on his face whenever they stumbled across women or children. But Jason did a quick job of washing up and grabbing the coffee for him and Yates before Wishbone could bark and growl at him for whatever slight the cook had decided was worth getting annoyed by this night.

When he returned to the lazily crackling fire and handed the second cup of coffee to Yates, he was met with a huffed comment from the other man, "It ain't fair."

Rowdy's pale blue eyes were focused on the horizon, far past the grazing herd they were in charge of. Jason followed the direction for a moment before eventually shrugging his shoulders and once again sitting down on the log.

"After the stunt we pulled, you should be happy we didn't get the boot." the coffee was the same incomprehensible blend of watered down and pungent as it always was and Jason found something deep inside of him curl at the warmth that began to seep into his body as he took a sip. "Still think we're in the right, granted."

"Those farmers were looking for a fight and I wasn't 'bout to roll belly-up." was the growled agreement from his companion before he too began to drink from his coffee. "Guns may've been a tad bit excessive."

Whoever had given this guy his name had either been a fortune-teller or a shit-stirrer. But Rowdy Yates, as competent and intelligent as he could be, was one of the most impulsive, reckless, and thoughtless men Jason had ever met; and that was something to say, seeing that he was the kind that would prefer to punch first and ask questions later.

He was aware of this particular issue of his, though, and tried hard to best it. He wasn't always successful but... well, with the likes of Rowdy running around, Jason felt just a little reassured that he wasn't nearly as bad as him.

He was also probably still less than seventeen years old, which meant that he at least had the excuse of being the youngest of the bunch in the crew.

"They'll be back come morning." Jason reminded his companion, before downing the contents of his coffee in a quick gulp. "And we've got more than enough work to get up to before they come back."

"Yeah, yeah." Rowdy waved his hand in the air dismissively before falling silent and finishing up his own drink. They fell into silence then, only speaking when they needed to coordinate with the rest of the night-crew that hadn't been allowed to head into town with Favor for a spell of something like a vacation due to the fight they hadn't backed down from.

The work was hard, his days long, with no access to luxuries in sight.

Jason could say, without a shadow of a doubt, it was the happiest he had been ever since he had lost all but one member of his family.