Damian "what are boundaries?" Wayne pesters Jason. Sabine goes to the library. Babs meddles.
Chapter 19 of What's Up, Danger?: Have You Heard the News That You're Dead?
6:20 PM, Friday
It began to rain by the time Jason arrived at home. Curtains of rain pummeled the streets, amassing into large puddles that reflected distorted neon lights of the city. It was well past sunset, the atmosphere outside was dark, dreary, and very wet.
Once inside his apartment, Jason was instantly peeved to find Damian sitting in his lounge chair with the corner lamp on and the heater turned on for moderate warmth. At least he bothered to close the window he snuck in through this time.
Sometimes it felt too much to ask to get a day or two of alone time without someone swooping onto his doorstep, or slipping in through the window. After hosting a rambunctious Roy for several days, he'd been looking forward to unwinding by himself until patrol later in the night.
Without so much as glancing up from the book in his hands, Sense and Sensibility, Damian grunted tersely, "Hello, Todd."
Jason unzipped and then slid his drenched red hoodie down his shoulders before throwing it over his shoulder.
"Hi, demon spawn," he countered, not hiding how miffed he was at the teenager's uninvited presence.
He ruffled a hand through his hair, shaking out some droplets. Damian arched a brow at this, disapproval apparent by the annoyed line he formed with his lips as he internally likened the behavior to something a wet dog might do after a bath, but remained silent.
With their usual barbed greetings out of the way, Jason did his best to ignore Damian and went to his bedroom, took a hasty shower in the adjoining bathroom—the hot water and steam were a welcome change from the freezing rain outside— and changed into something dry; sweatpants and a black and white ringer tee. He tossed his soaked clothes into a hamper, deciding he'd run the washer and dryer later once Damian was gone. Knowing the demon brat, he'd probably complain about the noise of the machines.
Jason set up at his table after setting out all the materials he needed. Disassembling his handguns and then laying them flat on the table in pieces in front of him, he fell back into the familiar and comforting rhythm. His hands worked steadily, gently cleaning and scrubbing the surfaces with a small nylon brush, getting into all the little nooks and crannies to remove traces of powder and grime.
Less than fifteen minutes into his groove and almost wonderfully forgetting that he had an uninvited guest, Damian cleared his throat—loudly—to catch his attention.
"Several of my classmates informed me that a popular true-crime podcast did an episode on your death," Damian said.
Jason lifted his eyebrows (a podcast episode about him?—that was new), but didn't look up from the firearm in his hands. Was Damian trying to have a civil conversation with him? There hadn't been any notes of condescension in his tone. Unusual for him. Jason swept a rag over the piece in his hands, wiping the surface and returning the shine to the metal.
"Oh, you're listening to podcasts now? Look at you, finally joining the masses and getting a hobby other than pointy stabby things," Jason teased with a bite of snark.
On the chair, Damian turned a page in the book and insolently huffed. "I listened to part of it because I thought it would be interesting, but between the inaccuracies and outlandish theories, some even implicating father and Grayson having a hand in the matter, it wasn't worth the time to finish it."
Jason chuckled as he leisurely placed the gun down on the table, admiring it. He felt Damian's burning gaze on the back of his head as if the younger man was trying to laser holes into his skull.
Jason half-turned his head as he slung an arm casually over the back of the chair. "Why the sudden interest?"
It didn't need to be said that Damian knew the story by this point—a cautionary tale for all who took up the Robin mantle and how dangerous the Joker could be.
There was a pause as Damian uncharacteristically chewed on his next words, trying to stave some of the venom off his tongue. Again, unusual for him. Silence stretched between them for several seconds, but it felt like hours.
Damian's sharp green eyes flickered between the pages in front of him and Jason. "Father mentioned that he wants to retract your death certificate," he answered with a strained and careful voice, "declare you're legally alive to the public."
Jason's muscles stiffened. His jaw clenched hard enough that his molars ground against each other, not anticipating the subject or for Damian to be the one to bring it up out of the blue. There had been discussions about it before; some heated and tense, and others sobering and emotional. He left all the conversations without resolving things with Bruce.
Jason tried to approach such discussions pragmatically, there were advantages to being declared legally dead, of course. For one, he enjoyed the anonymity of being able to operate as a vigilante without having too many personal connections or responsibilities. Being part of the Wayne family was too high profile and complicated.
Sure, the dying part royally sucked and so did the whole messy affair of being brought back to life, but he was given a second chance. How many other people could make that claim? A second chance to do what he could to make Gotham a better place—a safer place.
In the end, it always came down to the fact that Jason didn't need some silly little piece of paper to tell him what he already knew: he was alive. The blood pumping through his veins and his beating heart was proof of that.
Besides, what was going to change when he was declared legally alive? Would he have to make appearances at galas with Bruce and the others? He'd rather die again than be forced into a tux and made to mingle with Gotham's wealthy elite and socialites.
It was his (second) life and he was going to live it how he wanted, whether or not that appeased Bruce.
After another few moments of bitter contemplation, Jason chuckled and deflected the news with his usual style of grating humor.
"Does that mean he's finally going to add me back into the will?"
Damian scowled darkly to himself, intensely disliking the cruel fact that the inheritance and legacy that so rightfully belong to him—the blood son—was already set to be split several ways. But who knows? Maybe he'd be lucky and Todd would die a second and final time. Or maybe Drake would be the next one to bite the dust. Not that he wanted any of those things to happen…but his mind did wander from time to time.
"He's considering it, yes," Damian snapped in a low voice after squashing down his shadier inklings.
A tempest of emotion swirled inside of Jason; a wicked mass of bitterness, sadness, and anger spiked with thorns but he kept a straight face. Bruce had shown Jason how easy it was for him to move on after his death by replacing him. Did he think bringing Jason back would make things right and that it would absolve him of choosing not to avenge him?
In the dark corners of Jason's mind, he recollected how it felt to wrap his arm around Joker's neck and hold the muzzle of his gun against the deranged clown's temple as he urged Bruce to choose. The sting of the memory of that night hurt more than the crowbar and the explosion.
Damian noticed the tight jaw that bracketed Jason's cheeky grin, but let the older man continue with the delusion that he didn't care when he very much did.
Another huff and Damian continued, "I only told you so you'd be prepared for the conversation if you see him at the Manor."
Jason pushed away his mangled thoughts as he stood up with a sneer plastered on his face. "Aww," he cooed with false sweetness, knowing exactly what tone pushed Damian's buttons, "trying to look out for me? That's so sweet of you."
Jason almost snorted with laughter when he spied Damian's nostrils flare in irritation.
Damian rolled his eyes at Todd's saccharine theatrics. Did he expect a 'thank you' from him? He shut the novel between his hands. Why did he even bother? He should've anticipated Todd's response.
Jason reached down to pinch his cheek. Damian heatedly swatted his hand away and sent him a warning glare. Cheek pinches were for children.
"Do not touch me." Damian approximated each word with as much indignation as he could muster and stood up, bristling at such attempted juvenile mistreatment.
Jason's shoulders rocked as he tried to stifle another laugh.
Face scrunched in annoyance, Damian brushed past him and reshelved the book into the empty slot on the bookcase. He spared Jason one last spiteful look before leaving out the window into the rain that'd reduced into a drizzle. A cold burst of air swept through the living room, temporarily relieving the stuffy air.
The glass plane rattled shut and Damian disappeared down the fire escape.
Like a cork popping off a bottle, the tension coiled in Jason's body released. With a hand on the back of his head, he cricked his neck and sat back down at his desk to continue with his project, satisfied that he was finally alone even if he had to piss off Damian.
11:10 AM, Saturday
After she'd worked up the nerve, Sabine listened to the podcast episode link that Paloma had sent her—all 65 minutes of it—while she lay in bed and earbuds in, with CEO curled up by her side for comfort.
The hosts went into great detail about Jason Todd's past—his life in Park Row, his father's disappearance and apparent death, his mother's drug addiction and eventual passing, his placement then subsequent escape from the boys' group home he was placed in, and his serendipitous adoption by Bruce Wayne. He missed a lot of school due to traveling with the philanthropic billionaire, but he didn't have any issues with keeping up with his academics despite his numerous absences. By all accounts, it sounded like he was a bright and quick-witted young man with a glowing future ahead of him despite his turbulent upbringing.
And then one day, three years after his adoption, he skipped school and disappeared. A paper trail of credit card receipts revealed that Jason had traveled to the Middle East by himself. Wayne quickly followed once he realized where Jason had gone, but again lost track of the boy overseas after briefly reuniting with him. Reports were muddled on the exact cause of death. Some speculated he died in a natural disaster, others insisted he died in a terrorist attack. The autopsy records were kept from the public by Wayne and the investigators—if there was even a body to recover.
That's where the conspiracy theories started.
Some insisted that Jason faked his death and was still alive and well. Some claimed that Wayne wanted the boy gone as reports of their relationship souring in those last days came to light. And some asserted that Richard Grayson, who Wayne hadn't adopted at this point yet, had a hand in his demise.
The past few mornings, she'd woken up with a jerk and a kick. The vertigo-inducing falling dreams replaced with nightmares of a rosy-cheeked young Jason withering into nothing in front of her eyes—skin rapidly decaying and falling off his bones until nothing remained but his skeleton and even that crumbled into ash until only dust remained.
Sabine spent far too much time dwelling on what to do next instead of studying or reviewing her lecture notes. It consumed her, gobbling up all her mental real estate.
Her first instinct was to confront Jason and demand answers.
Was he really Jason Peter Todd?
Did he die?
How the hell was he still alive?
However, after sitting on the information she uncovered she inevitably concluded that exposing him was pointless. It wasn't as if Jason had done anything wrong by dying and coming back to life. It was almost as if she wound herself up for nothing. Still, anxiety ravaged her mind.
What would she gain by confirming her suspicions? Some concrete sense of certainty, maybe. But Jason loved to dodge direct questions. If she asked him, he would probably just smirk and shrug his shoulders in his typical coy fashion.
What if he didn't want to talk about it? What if he was mad at her for Googling him? (Jesus, that sounded not only bad but dirty). She didn't want to ruin their nebulous friendship over this. Her anxiety over this was her problem to deal with and it would be unfair to burden Jason with it.
Could he be considered a zombie? She'd seen him drink and eat like any other human, so perhaps not. Unless he devoured human flesh and brains on the side. Nothing could be ruled out until she knew for sure.
She vividly recalled how it felt to be pressed against his back on his motorcycle with her arms latched securely around him, how it felt to stand with him right behind her, the grip of his fingers around her forearm…for a dead man, his presence radiated warmth. Something she was sure a walking corpse couldn't imitate. So maybe he wasn't undead after all.
Maybe I should just avoid him forever, so I never bring it up?—the idea frantically popped into her head, and just as quickly as it came it burst like a soapy bubble because she didn't want to avoid him at all.
A stubborn and troublesome notion wiggled its way to the forefront of her mind: she wanted to know because she cared. A lot. She wanted to know what he kept hidden behind those walls he kept up. That small smolder of desire encouraged her to spend time with him, text him, and talk to him. Her week felt off in a way she couldn't describe whenever she didn't see him.
Besides, it wasn't like she didn't have secrets of her own that she didn't want to reveal—namely, magic.
It wasn't something she could easily talk to her father about or her friends at school. Not because she thought they wouldn't understand, but because it felt like breathing life back into her mother's ghost. How unfair was it to be marked by the 'gift' that was responsible for ending her mother's life?
With that, empathy unfurled inside her; how would she feel if Jason backed her into a corner and pushed for answers over a topic she didn't want to talk about? It would be hypocritical to expose him when she had secrets.
But did she trust herself to stay quiet? She was almost bursting with nervous energy from the number of questions she wanted to ask him. The word vomit would eventually win out and she'd slip up, and then they'd either have a very awkward conversation or never speak to each other again. Sabine didn't want the latter to happen.
Sabine's thoughts spiraled and she needed some air as well as time away from campus and her apartment, which started to feel suffocating from all the time she spent there.
Final exams were impending, there was no escaping that unpleasant fact; compounded with the mystery of just exactly who Jason Peter Todd was and why she cared so much, her powers that she desperately tried to ignore, and the nefarious presence that Madame Xanadu warned her about, she felt her head on the verge of splitting open from the stress.
So, with a heart and head full of doubt and anxiety, she headed to the closest library branch in hopes that a brisk walk in the cold would assuage the tremendous weight of misery she felt crowding in on her from all sides.
Feeling a little less overall sounded like a good idea to her. A silly little walk for her silly little mental health, through the icy streets under the grey sky.
The beginning of December was marked by the first snowfall of the season after several days of on-and-off rain. Tiny crystal flakes gently drifted down from above, catching on Sabine's red scarf. The biting chill in the air turned her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink as scurried up the stone steps. All the windows in the library were frostbitten from the cold, and condensation clouded over the glass.
Once inside, heat from the furnace in the aged building warmed her cheeks and hands. She pulled off her beanie and mittens, shoving them into her coat pocket.
This branch of the Gotham City Public Libraries was old, the inside more akin to a dreary maze of books and computer stations than the bright and welcoming atmosphere at the library at Gotham U. The building consisted of one long chamber with an atrium, dramatic barrel-vaulted ceiling, and galleries of books on the first and second floors.
But even inside the library, shaking off her worried thoughts proved difficult.
She wandered between the shelves, unsure of what she was searching for. All she knew was that she needed a distraction, something else to focus on then the mess inside her brain. The library was loud today, the delighted and high-pitched voices of children carried over from the north wing to the adult fiction and non-fiction sections. Typical for a Saturday.
Needing a bit of direction, or even just a suggestion, Sabine spotted the adult reference desk and made her way over.
There was a woman sitting behind the desk with auburn hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, tapping away at a keyboard.
Unsuredly, Sabine's lips twitched into the shape of something resembling a tiny smile. "Umm, hi."
The librarian's eyebrows raised slightly as if in recognition after she pulled her bright blue eyes away from the computer screen. She adjusted her glasses. "Good morning, how can I help you?"
Sabine was sure she appeared rather undead herself; the bags under her eyes were darker than they'd ever been before, and her skin was pale, devoid of its usual golden undertones, from the lack of sleep and loss of appetite the past few days. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
"Do you have any, uh, recommendations?" she asked, somewhat meekly.
"Well," the librarian said with a calm, inviting smile, "what interests you? Any favorite authors or genres?"
She swallowed anxiously, nerves still working themselves over and over again in her head. "Usually young adult fiction, sci-fi, and fantasy stuff. Sometimes romance. I'll read pretty much anything by Sanderson, Pratchett, and Novik."
The red-headed librarian hummed thoughtfully, her teeth pulled over her bottom lip as she wheeled herself around the large reference desk.
"I know this suggestion might be a little out of left field," she began as she led Sabine down the adult fiction aisles labeled with the letter A. The librarian stopped near the end of the shelf, her index finger running over the titles until she found what she was looking for. She pulled a book off the shelf and held it up, her eyes twinkling. "Ever read Austen?"
Sabine squinted and tilted her head, reading the script on the cover. "Pride and Prejudice? I've seen the movie adaptation. I think."
The librarian offered her a sly grin. "I know I said it's a bit of an odd suggestion, but I think you'll like it." She pushed the book into Sabine's hands.
Sabine rushed out a nod as she took the book. "I'll give it a shot." Her eyes darted between the text and the librarian. "Thank you…" she trailed off.
"Barbara," the red-headed woman supplied with another smile as she tapped the nametag on the left side of her cardigan.
The corners of Sabine's mouth shyly curled upwards. "Thanks, Barbara. This was…helpful."
Barbara looked pleased as she slotted her fingers together in her lap. She pressed her thumbs together and said, "If you have any other questions or if you ever want another recommendation, you can always come to the reference desk."
Sabine nodded again in gratitude before she watched Barbara return to her spot behind the reference desk to help another patron.
She stood in place for a moment, her chin tilted downwards so her gaze settled on the book jacket. Pride & Prejudice, huh?
After checking out the book at the circulation desk and slipping her gloves back into her hands, Sabine trudged over the sidewalk laced in fresh snow and ice. Sunlight and spots of blue sky peeked out through the clouds.
Book tucked her arm, Sabine crossed the street and exhaled a misty breath. She felt a smidge better even though she still didn't have the faintest idea what the hell she was going to do.
A/N: Sorry for the wait! I injured my lower back deadlifting at the gym and now sitting down to do anything hurts :'(
anyway, the secret wayne family book club might be getting a new member ayyyy
Thanks for reading! I appreciate all of you!