#dick lost one dad and gained two that's a profit

[naqueemi]

"dc needs better writing", "dc needs a stronger continuity", "dc needs to bring back old teams" WRONG dc needs to bring back superman and batman acting like robin's gay dads

[bioticgoddess]

Songbirds and Baby Bats (XII)

Series Summary: Jason Todd returns from the dead and, after the events of Under the Red Hood, he goes from Gotham to Bludhaven in search of himself…and an old friend. But getting your life back is never easy and Black Mask has enlisted the aid of Gotham’s other Crime Families as well as a few ghosts of Batman’s past. He’s coming for the Red Hood and everyone of his allies.

As per usual, save for my OFCs, I own nothing.

Part XII

“Would you go sit down,” Jason ordered, sprinkling a mixture of salt and pepper over the two strip steaks. “I know you’re sticking out your tongue,” He added, putting the two hunks of meat in the skillet that he’d been warming on her stove. AS they sizzled and apartment was filled with the glorious smell of roasting meat. He heard her settle into one of the bar-stools between the couch and breakfast nook counter.

Excitedly she drummed her fingertips on the faux-granite counter top. “There’s something extra attractive about this whole scene,” she purred, despite the prep space looking like the rubble from demolition. The black-haired young man hopping around her kitchen was somehow smartly dressed, compared to his usual jeans or sweats and an “I think it’s clean” shirt. (Fact: They were often not.)  He’d even worn an apron over the layered button  and black tee-shirt in a surprisingly successful endeavor to keep the somewhat nicer clothes nice. From her perch she could even see the pride in his body language.

He took the steaks off the heat and transferred them to a cutting board, covering them with a sheet of foil before turning his attention to the beeping over timer. His whole process clockwork: out came the baking sheet and twin baked potatoes were tongued into two plates, followed by portions of asparagus. Jason had splurged a little on the meal, both with the semi-fancy vegetable and a better cut of meat. Splashing tom of the juices from the skillet over the plates, he smiled triumphantly.

“Alright Irish, prepare to be amazed,” collecting the two plates he walked over to the dressed up workbench. He’d cleaned it up earlier in the day, when he’d tasked her with going out to get a bottle of wine and some honey. Those were both things he’d intentionally forgotten as a way to get her out of the apartment so he could dress it up. And dressed up the whole place was: he’d taken their gear and moved it to the bed room. Firearms under the bed, their suits folded and hung in a closet. He’d even gone so far as to vacuum and dust.

Absentmindedly he added, “Could you get the lights?” It was a request she obliged without a word as the lights in the kitchen and living area went out or were dimmed. The two full plates landed on the table with a gentle tap. A pair of matching, clean, hand towels served as place mats. Paper towels were  rolled like they were fancy napkins. Far as he was concerned, it may as well have been one of the high end restaurants Bruce had dragged his wards to over the years.

“Well,” he asked anxiously after they’d settled into the rolling chairs that served as stand-in dining room chairs. Amy was chewing some of the steak with a bliss filled expression on her face.

--

“He did what?!” Jason nearly choked on his wine, eye wide and face open. He couldn’t comprehend what he’d just heard.

Swallowing her own mouthful of drink - like a champ, she laughed softly, “That’s exactly what Dick said, same expression too.” Laughter echoed in the apartment, a bright song that was a balm their wounds.

“Holy shit. And here I’ve been, well, y’know,” he waved a hand at his gear, tucked out of the way. A fair portion of his funds had come from the resale of his illicit bounties. Stealing the guns, drugs, and other weapons had been easy. Selling them for profit, or parts once dismantled, had been significantly more difficult. It had, however, netted him some decent income - along with the kickbacks from anyone he offered protection to, right until his confrontation with Batman.

Winking playfully she pushed the now empty dessert plate aside, “Sure do.”

“Geez. I mean...shit,” Jason rubbed a hand over his face, grunting into his palm.  

The visible mental stuttering was concerning even to Amy, “You alright there?”

“Doesn’t change shit though,” he shrugged finally, setting his nearly empty glass down on the table. He was fidgeting, left leg bouncing energetically under the table. Inevitably he banged the leg and the underside of the table top.

Reaching across to him, the Irish woman rested a hand on his. Jason had balled them into fists on either side of his plate absentmindedly. She squeezed his hand, “Didn’t expect it too, but it’s there. What do you think you’ll do with it?”

“Take it, figure he owes me - all of us - after turning us into his pet soldiers,” the blunt force of his words wasn’t lost on her. Bruce had talked about ensuring that his adoptive sons all had funds available to them. It was the least they all deserved, considering the things that they’d been through as his wards and soldiers. Even Tim Drake - the “replacement” - had a trust fund, though with less money than the others since he’d only been a Wayne for a short time but it was there and they’d gained access to them when their 21st birthdays passed. Jason’s had even been left alone following his death; Bruce was distraught and even looking at the balance sheet had been more like salt in the wound. Or so Alfred had told them. 

“Same decision I made with the one he’d set for me,” she nodded as he turned his hand over. Their palms pressed together and their fingers clasped one another’s hands loosely. It gave them each comfort and a measure of safety as they mulled over the existence of the Wayne Ward Trust Funds.  Half mumbling Amy wondered aloud, “Though sometimes I do wonder if it’s not just blood money for his his guilty conscious.”

“Your dad,” he reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “I’m sorry Irish. If nothing else, the old man kept the promise to take care you.” 

Nodding she looked away, past the other Wayne Ward and out the corner of the window. Like his had weeks earlier, her face clouded over.  “It’s not just  my da, granted he was excited when he got that job with the port. Thought it’d be a new life for us, guess he never thought…” 

“It’d end up being without him. Sweetheart, you’re making him proud.” Jason reached out with his free hand,  brushing it along his her cheek. When she smiled, leaning into to touch, he continued, “Got a best friend and partner out of it,” he grinned, standing and leaning across the table Jason pressed a kiss to her lips. 

“You were the biggest part of Bruce’s guilty conscious too. Especially when it came to Dick and me. He talked about losing you as much or more than I had the heart to, his little brother.” 

“I’m glad someone cared.”

 “We all do,” she clarified. As if on queue, Amy’s mobile phone began chirping at them and interrupting both the conversation and their date.  The unique ringtone she’d assigned to Bruce’s phone numbers, and he had several, echoed through the apartment. “Who’s that,” Jason asked.

“Arugh. Bruce. Basterd can go to voicemail,” she glared across the room to see the device light up and vibrate a little ways across the counter closest to the sink. A second and third round of calls - all from the Batman - and her phone fell off the counter with a heavy thud. 

“Good, can’t have him interrupting,” he grinned, leaning in until his forehead rested against hers and he could capture her lips with his. Jason had to take the victories where he could, and having this kind of makeshift romantic evening with Amy was worth every second.