#it is actually entirely possible that Roy got chewed out by dick and just wants to get a rise out of Jason

[succo-al-limone]

Nightwing finds them tussling on the ground and sighs

[elareine]

Vigil

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Injury Relationships and characters: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd (implied), Tim Drake/Damian Wayne (implied), Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Damian Wayne-centric, Hurt/Comfort,  Feelings, Complicated Relationships, Polyamory, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Hurt Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Guilt, Cuddling & Snuggling, Not sure how to describe Bruce's parenting in this one

For @scootboot97​. Find here on ao3.

Damian was chewing on his lip.

It was an old habit, one that his mother thought she had trained out of him by age three—but right now, he couldn’t stop. It was stupid. There was nothing to be afraid of. He just wanted to check on Jason, make sure he was taken care of. Not that he doubted Alfred, but sometimes the elderly butler needed help when moving someone of Jason’s stature.

Yes. That was all. It would be fine.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened the door.

There was no blood. There should still be blood, Damian thought inanely; Jason had been bleeding so much when they had brought him back… but now he was clean, covered in white bandages and a white sheet, and attached to a white IV and vitals monitor.

There was entirely too much white. Jason should not look that pale. Or that still.

It took movement to draw Damian’s eyes away from the bed.

“Damian?” Tim looked surprised to see him. For some reason, that hurt.

“I—” Damian became aware that he was hovering in the doorway. He could still pretend he only wanted to do a quick check and leave.

He took another step inside. The door fell shut behind him with a gentle ‘click.’

“I—I didn’t think he should be alone.”

Tim was still looking at him with these weary eyes, but Damian thought he saw something soften in them. “There’s another chair.”

There was, in the corner farthest from the bed. After a moment’s thought, Damian dragged it over to Tim’s side. Not because he wanted to be close to him, but because that way, he could see the monitor.

“Alfred says he’s on heavy drugs and will sleep for a few more hours, minimum,” Tim told him quietly. “He was shot in five different places, so… yeah.”

“What happened?”

Weird as it sounded, he didn’t know. Dick and he had gone to the other location. The wrong one, as it turned out. All he knew was that Red Robin had been frantic on the coms; that they brought back Jason bloody and unconscious; and that Dick and Father had been engaged in a screaming match about Jason’s actions when Damian had snuck past them.

“He was protecting me.” Tim’s voice sounded empty. “I was disabling the bomb. He got between the group and me, and when they started using the heavy ammunition, he didn’t take cover.”

He thinks this is his fault, Damian realized. “Did you do disable the bomb?”

“Yes.”

“Would that bomb have killed everyone in the hospital?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then how can you presume that Todd did anything but the right thing, the necessary thing? You are doing him a disservice if you assume that he would’ve wanted you to help him instead of disarming the bomb.”

“Damian—” Tim’s white face was suddenly a lot closer. Damian had somehow stood up from his chair and gotten into Tim’s space without noticing, so immediate and urgent was the need to make his point.

Embarrassed but determined to win the argument, he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest and giving Tim a stern glare. “Your guilt is illogical. Todd would say the same thing, and you know it.” Damian was sure of that. Well. “Using more swear words.”

Tim gave a weak laugh. “Quite a few more. You should’ve heard him during.”

“I’m sure it was impressive.”

“It actually was.” Tim’s voice turned pensive. “Sometimes I forget how effective he is. I’ve rarely seen anything like it.”

Damian could well imagine. Even now, to him, fighting while actively avoiding killing—without allowing even the possibility of one badly-placed hit—felt like having one arm tied behind his back. He didn’t mind the restriction anymore, respected it, even; but when confronted with a mass of people attacking his brother for trying to save innocents…

No wonder Father had been shouting at Dick.

“I didn’t stop him from killing some of these people,” Tim whispered. “And I still don’t regret that.”

Damian looked at the figure on the bed. “Neither do I.”

There seemed to be nothing else to say after that. To be frank, it was weird they had even talked that much. Damian couldn’t remember the last time looking at Tim hadn’t made something bubble up inside him that he’d interpreted as anger and resentment. This was as good as it got between them. Better.

And yet he found himself antsy. The quiet of the room was oppressive. Damian began to crave his sword, or his dog—anything to hold onto, to distract him.

“I kind of feel like someone should hold his hand,” Tim said as if he’d read his mind. Maybe the silence was weighing on him, too. “But…”

One of Jason’s hands was injured, the other had the IV on it. “I don’t think he would appreciate it right now.”

“No. No, he wouldn’t.”

Again silence descended like a heavy blanket.

“You could hold mine,” Damian blurted out. Immediately he felt himself flush. Where had that come from?

“…I have no idea what the fuck to say to that.”

“Forget it,” Damian huffed.

“Okay.”

Fantastic. Now the silence was awkward in addition to oppressive, Damian chided himself. Where had the urge to comfort Tim even come from, anyway?

Suddenly there was a warm pressure on the hand that had been resting on the side of his chair. Damian’s head jerked to stare down at where Tim’s hand now rested on top of his.

He’d never noticed before—Tim’s fingers were thinner than his own. Paler, too. Damian knew it to be the hand of a skilled fighter, but like this, it just looked vulnerable.

No one said anything. It seemed like eons, but finally, Tim moved again, lacing their hands together.

Damian glanced to his left. Tim was determinedly not looking at him, but Damian thought he could see a smile there. It made him feel all weird and warm, so he tried not to think about it.

The silence wasn’t so bad, after that. By the time Alfred entered to examine his patient, Damian almost felt comfortable. They watched as he checked Jason’s dressings and assessed his breathing.

“Has he been moving at all?” Alfred finally asked.

Tim shook his head. “No.”

“The pain medication is working properly, then. Very gratifying. Master Bruce has been trying to develop something for Master Jason’s accelerated metabolism for some time now.”

Damian didn’t know what to say.

“Are they still arguing?” Tim finally asked.

“Yes.” Alfred looked reluctant to say even that much. “I’m sure Master Dick will be here soon.”

Damian tried not to show how much by their father’s absence hurt. If he was taking such exception to Jason using lethal force even just to defend himself and Tim…

It was just one more thing telling Damian that he would never be fully forgiven.

Still, Alfred must’ve seen something on his face (and maybe Tim’s, too,) for he continued speaking: “My instincts are somewhat different than Master Bruce’s. I find myself thankful that he was there to protect you, Master Tim, and that you were there to bring him home.”

Alfred put a hand on Tim’s shoulder and squeezed, then did the same to Damian.

“Now. I’m sure you lads could do with a hot drink. I will be back shortly.”

When the door opened again, however, it was Dick.

Damian had seen that man through a lot, including traumatic brain injury, the death of their father, and his own. He couldn’t remember Dick being that defeated before. His cheeks looked hollowed out, his eyes were red-rimmed and his shoulders drawn so tight it was like he expected to be hit.

If he was surprised to see Damian and Tim holding hands, he didn’t comment on it. Damian wasn’t sure if he even noticed—Dick was looking at Jason as if he had expected him to vanish while he was gone.

“No change,” Tim said softly. “But he’s been calm. Alfred thinks he’s doing okay.”

“Good.” Dick rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s good.” Then he unceremoniously slumped down to the ground at the foot of the bed. One hand wandered to Jason’s ankle, gripping it through the sheet, but his face was turned toward the door.

Damian recognized the position. It screamed protectiveness.

Did Jason need protection? Was that why they were here? Damian had never contemplated that aspect of injury before. Not in relation to Jason, who had always seemed invincible to him.

The door opened again. This time Damian didn’t think it could be Bruce or Alfred. Neither of them would slam the precious old oak like that.

Roy Harper and Koriand’r strolled in. Neither of them was clad in the outrageous outfits they were known for. In fact, Damian was sure he recognized the jumper Koriand’r was wearing as one of Jason’s.

(He was uneasy around her whenever she dressed in her usual style, but it wasn’t for the reason everyone thought. She just reminded him a little too much of his mother when she looked like that.)

They stopped short of Jason’s bed as if noticing the small group around him for the first time. Harper was the first to speak. “Oh, hi. We didn’t expect anyone to be with him.”

“I was the one who called you,” Dick pointed out.

“Yeah, well. There was a time where that could’ve just mean ‘come collect him.’” While you leave him out like trash, Harper didn’t say but they all heard.

It was unfair. Damian knew that. This family had good reason to be wary of Jason. Despite everything that happened between them, they had always given any aid he would accept.

As far as he knew.

Koriand’r put a hand on Harper’s shoulder and looked at them. “How is he?”

“Stable,” Tim said again. “He was shot five times, but nowhere vital. Alfred thinks he fixed him up okay.”

“You were with him, right?” Harper asked. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

Damian felt Tim tense at the question, but he nodded.

“Good.” Harper exhaled. “Good. That’ll reassure him.”

Tim had the gall to look surprised at that. The fool had probably expected recriminations. Damian squeezed his hand in an ‘I told you so.’

“We burned the warehouse, by the way. That’s why we’re late.”

“What? Why?” Dick frowned. “We left the evidence for the police to find.”

Koriand’r raised her chin. “And we burned it down.”

Her gaze met Dick’s and held. The air seemed to crackle around them; Damian almost didn’t dare breathe.

Dick broke eye contact first, nodding. “Okay.”

Harper snorted quietly but didn’t say anything. His attention was visibly on Jason, now. “So we just… wait for him to wake up?”

“Yes.” Dick swallowed. “It would be good if you leave him here at least that long. I—Alfred said he shouldn’t be moved any more than necessary.”

“Sure.”

Finally moving, Koriand’r and Harper took advantage of the enormous beds that adorned every guest room in this manor and squeezed in on Jason’s left side—the least injured one. That shoulder they could touch without worrying about hurting him, and Damian noted that Koriand’r did so immediately. Her hand buried itself in Jason’s hair. Next to her, Harper slumped over so his face was hidden in her shoulder.

The silence began to grow. Damian could feel his grip on Tim’s hand tighten. The pressure was expanding in his lungs. The fear in the room was palpable. What were they waiting for?

For Jason to wake up, Damian told himself. That was all.

“Okay, no,” Harper suddenly said. “This isn’t a fucking funeral.”

Everyone flinched.

He looked up. “Jesus, guys, no. Just—we should be talking about something fun.”

“Fun.” Damian’s voice was disbelieving as he felt.

Harper just ignored his sarcasm. “Yes! Like the time we ran into cosplayers in Star City.”

Damian had never heard that term before, but Tim asked: “What were they dressed up as?”

“Every member of what they called ‘the Batfamily.’” Damian snorted involuntarily, and Harper laughed. “Exactly. Red Hood was holding hands with Spoiler while being a head shorter. Jay’s face.”

Koriand’r smirked. “I particularly liked their rendition of Dick’s old suit.”

Dick groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Will I never live that down?”

“Never.” Koriand’r shook her head. “And then there was one kid dressed as the Joker.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yes, except he was seven and way too cute. And then he told Jay that he’d wanted to dress up as Harley Quinn because she’s, quote, waaaay cooler, but his mom wouldn’t let him.”

“Speaking of Harley—Tim, do you remember the time…”

As they talked, Alfred finally returned with the promised drinks. Hot chocolate for Dick and Koriand’r; tea for Damian; something that smelled of caramel and coffee for Harper and Tim. It prompted Tim to remember a story of his own concerning Jason and a very flirty barista who insisted on thanking the Red Hood properly.

Eventually, Damian couldn’t take it anymore. Amidst the laughter, he gently extracted his hand from Tim’s grip and slipped out of the room.

Once in the bathroom, he took a second to stare at himself in the mirror and just breathe. It felt like the world was moving on too quickly and too slowly all at once. Jason was hurt, his father angry, Tim and Dick vulnerable; and here Damian was, trying to make it right for all four of them and unable to.

Even as he turned away from the mirror and went about his business, however, anxiety began to take over. Damian didn’t deal well when he didn’t know what was happening. He wanted to be back in that room. There wasn’t anything he could do about Father—he suspected himself to be the last person in the world to be helpful in that matter—but he could be there when Jason woke up.

And, miraculously, Tim seemed to accept comfort from him. Damian could admit to himself that he was okay with giving it. Dick was taken care of, but perhaps Damian could contribute to the storytelling. There had been that time with Jason and the youngest assassins…

He wasn’t helpless, Damian told himself as he walked back. He wasn’t.

Nothing seemed to have changed in his absence. Dick was even starting to look less on edge. Koriand’r was in the middle of a story about the time Jason tried to make Tamaranean food and stumbled upon a drug dealer in Washington state. She didn’t pause when Damian entered but smiled at him encouragingly.

When Damian made to sit down again, however, Tim pulled him into his lap instead. Immediately, Damian stiffened.

“What are you doing?”

Tim didn’t answer directly. “It’s comforting, right?”

It felt a little bit like being treated like a child, and a little bit not. Damian couldn’t take the risk. He hissed: “I don’t need this.”

“I know.”

Damian waited.

“But… I kinda do.”

Oh. Well, then. Damian had thought that he wanted to comfort Tim. He did his best to relax. It became easier when Tim’s arms wound around his middle.

(He wondered if he would grow taller than Tim one day. Probably. The other wasn’t exactly towering over him even now. Maybe Tim could sit in his lap, then.)

(It was inevitable that he’d want him to be there, Damian supposed. Now that he’d let the other in, there was no turning back.)

“That,” Harper said, pointing at them and interrupting Koriand’r, “is an excellent idea. Dick, why are you all the way over there?”

“What do you mean?” Dick looked confused. Damian didn’t understand the question any better. There were mere feet between him and the couple, even if Dick was sitting on the ground.

Koriand’r got up and into the air in one smooth movement. “Excellent idea.” Before anyone could object, she grabbed Dick and lifted him, bridal-style, then plopped him down across her and Harper’s laps as she sat back down. Harper immediately wound his arms around Dick’s waist and held on.

“Guys—” Dick protested, but it was weak.

“Shush.” Koriand’r was playing with Jason’s hair again, but her free hand was moving toward Dick. “Anyway, as I was saying…”

Damian watched Koriand’r’s and Harper’s hands lace together over Dick’s hipbones and tried really hard not to draw conclusions about his brothers’ romantic lives. Better to focus on Koriand’r’s story again.

“…so the guy had a treehouse.”

“The meth dealer had a treehouse,” Damian repeated, incredulous.

“He did.” Koriand’r grinned in remembered mirth. “He converted the original farmhouse into a meth lab and then used the gains to pay people to build him a giant treehouse. It had all the amenities.”

“How do you get plumbing in a treehouse?” Tim asked.

“Put up a water tank in the tree.”

“When we say all the amenities,” Harper interjected, “we mean all of them. Including…” He paused for effect. “A fireplace.”

They stared at him. “The fuck,” Dick said.

“Drugs, man.” Harper shrugged.

“Jason said the same thing.” Koriand’r smiled down at the sleeping man fondly. “Followed by an extended lecture on the dangers of leaving fireplaces unattended.”

“This was meth dealer, yes?”

“Oh, yeah. He had taken over most of the market in Washington by then. Though apparently, he was about to get out anyway ’cause the mafia was sniffing around, trying to find out who was pissing on their turf.”

“He had ‘insurance packets’ buried in his garden,” Harper added, unwinding one hand from around Dick’s waist to add the air quotes.

“You mean insurance papers?” Tim asked, then immediately corrected himself: “No, you don’t. Gold?”

Dick was already laughing. “He had drugs buried in his garden?”

“He did!” Harper grinned.

“His plan was to sell it little by little,” Koriand’r explained. “Just enough to get by, and presumably, to keep sampling his own wares.”

“Because that wouldn’t upset the mafia at all. There was enough meth in there to supply a prison for three years.”

Damian grinned and felt Tim shake against him in silent laughter.

Suddenly, Koriand’r lifted a hand. “Be quiet!”

Startled, everyone obeyed. And then they heard it.

Jason groaned.

As they watched, something changed in his face. Where before there had been absolute stillness under his eyelids, there now was movement.

The three sitting on the bed got up and gave him some space. Everyone turned quiet, expectant. Tim’s fingers were tapping out a rhythm against Damian’s abdomen. Damian finally took his hands again to keep him from fidgeting.

And then, finally, Jason opened his eyes.

He looked at Tim first. “The bomb.”

“Disarmed,” Tim whispered.

The relief was evident on Jason’s face. “Good job. You okay?”

Tim nodded. Damian couldn’t see his face, but Tim’s hands in his were trembling.

“Good.”

“Yeah, about that,” Harper piped up behind him. “We will have words, Jay. Why the fuck weren’t you wearing your armor?”

Jason shrugged. It probably hurt, but Damian couldn’t deny that it looked pretty cool. “Restricts my movements too much. We had to be quick.”

“That’s not a good excuse,” Dick said.

Harper pointed at him without even turning to look. “You, shut up, your suit rips if a guy looks at it the wrong way. Seriously, Jay—”

“Hey, I didn’t go in expecting a fucking melee, did I?” Jason rolled his eyes. “Can I get a fucking kiss, please? I’m hurt, in case you didn’t notice.”

“In case I didn’t—” Harper took an audible deep breath, and then he kissed Jason.

“Oh,” Tim breathed against Damian’s skin. It was quite a good summary of the situation.

When Damian looked over at his oldest brother, he saw that Dick had gone slightly red, his gaze weirdly intense as he watched Jason and Harper break the kiss and smile at each other.

Koriand’r smiled, too, and leaned over, her hair hiding her and Jay’s faces for a long moment as they kissed. Damian was kind of glad. Watching this made him feel all warm and squirmy. Tim’s arms around him had tightened. He tried to concentrate on that.

After a long moment, Koriand’r stepped back, and Jason turned to look at Damian.

“Hey, kid,” Jason said, and to his complete and utter humiliation, Damian felt tears rise to his eyes. He tried to stop them; pressed his lids shut as tightly as he could, bringing up his hands to cover—but it was to no avail.

“No, hey, I’m fine.” A strong hand came up and pulled him onto the bed and into a hug. Damian didn’t fight it; melted into it, even.

“Wanna know a secret? Bruce is sitting two rooms down, staring at his surveillance monitors and tracking my vitals,” Jason whispered. “If anything happened, he’d be here in a flash.”

“But—”

“Nah. Lemme guess, he was worried, decided I only got hurt ’cause I was using live ammunition and then got into a screaming match with Dick about it?”

“Got it in one,” Dick confirmed with a humorless chuckle.

“Then it’s all fine. He’s just a fucking coward. Don’t worry about it; he’ll never mention it again. You’re good, Dami. This isn’t about you.” Jason paused. “Actually. Dick.”

“Yeah?”

“Come closer for a second.”

Damian was smiling into Jason’s skin even before he heard the yelp as Dick was pulled into the same one-armed embrace.

“Don’t be awkward, dickhead,” Jason murmured.

Damian couldn’t decipher what Dick said in response, but that was okay. He had no idea how this has happened—last thing he’d heard, the outlaws and Dick weren’t on speaking terms—but he was glad. They seemed to be determined to stand up to and take care of Dick, which made for a nice change.

“Everyone,” Alfred interrupted, “while I’m sure Master Jason appreciates your presence, I will have to examine his wounds now. If you could step back for a minute…”

Damian was about to reluctantly detach himself from Jason’s neck when he felt his brother pull him tighter, shifting him to his side and into the curve of his arm as if he weighed nothing.

“Aww, c’mon, Alfred.” Jason grinned engagingly. “Such a little thing won’t disturb you, will it?”

Alfred sighed. “I believe I can work around Master Damian, yes.”

Damian saw everyone smile at that; felt Tim’s hand slip back into his as they watched Jason complain all through the examinations even as his words began to slur together with exhaustion, and he was so, so glad.

They were going to be okay.

[violetsmoak]

Pieces of April [9/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Warning(s): Past Jason/Isabel, kidfic, minor canon character death (pretty sure you can guess who), I’ll add more warnings/tags as I think of them.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place in between the two RHATO series, so after Roy and Kori and before Artemis and Bizarro. Jason and Isabel Ardila

Author’s Note: Exactly what it says on the can. I’ve had this idea kicking around my head for a while, getting in the way of finishing the next chapter of Philtatos and I figured if I started jotting down the basics of it, I could stop thinking about it.

________________________________________________________________

Jason really wants to say something caustic to Tim about that Robin comment—about how it’s something Dick would say, or that he’s watched one too many Hallmark specials.

But the thing is, he can’t argue the logic.

There is something about being Robin that creates a bond, and an inherent something you can trust in. They might disagree, and fight and even try to kill each other on occasion, but when it’s down to the wire, there’s no one you can trust more to have your back.

Not even Batman.

Which is why Jason hefts his duffel bag and allows Tim to lead him up the stairs of the open-concept apartment, through the upper floor that’s just as unnaturally clean as the rest of the house. Jason suspects that’s down to not really being lived in; his replacement probably spends more time falling asleep in his secret nest than anywhere else. Jason would bet his no-longer-extant trust fund that the only bit of the house that Tim spends much time it is in front of the flatscreen TV in his living room, playing on one of the fancy gaming consoles.

“This room’s yours for as long as you want it,” Tim says, disrupting Jason’s musings. “That’s the bathroom over there—clean towels in the cupboard under the sink—and my room’s down the hall if you need me for anything. Just shout.”

Jason takes a wary step into the room and blinks.

Tim probably thinks it’s entirely modest, but the room is huge, possibly bigger than some of his bolt holes; it’s practically its own self-contained unit minus a kitchen or bathroom. In addition to the usual trappings of a bedroom, there’s a loveseat and coffee table by the window, a desk and shelves in the corner, and another flatscreen on the wall opposite the queen-sized bed. Even with all of that, it doesn’t even feel crowded.

In fact, they could bring up all the stuff Tam Fox bought, store it here, and Jason still would be in no danger of knocking into any of it.

The reminder of the pile of baby things downstairs makes him frown again. Just how much help is he going to be accepting? He doesn’t take charity well under normal circumstances and receiving it from Tim—fellow Robin or not—is a bitter pill.

Could be worse, he tells himself a beat later. It could be Dick or Bruce, and then he’d have to endure the double-teaming of concern and disappointment from both.

Right. Disappointment from Bruce. Because that’s new.

Still, he feels a very pervasive and irritating sensation in his stomach at having to take Tim Drake’s help, especially after everything he’s done to him in the past. He sort of wishes the kid was being an asshole about it—holding it over his head or something—but the fact he’s not makes it ten times worse.

“Listen, I’m going to pay you back for all of this,” he begins. “Once I figure everything out, I’ll make sure we’re square.”

“I already said you don’t have to,” Tim dismisses.

“I’m still going to. I don’t like owing people. So, name your price.”

Tim sighs, and fixes him with an exasperated stare, like Jason is being needlessly stubborn or something. “I can’t think of anything. But how about we start with you getting some sleep? At some point, you need to be capable of making decisions for the baby yourself, and it’s not going to happen while you’re brain is stewing in shock and the attempted alcohol poisoning you subjected it to earlier.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. But your sleep schedule’s about to take a major hit. Tonight might be the last time you actually get a few solid hours in a row for a while.”

“If you think I’m sleeping tonight after all this…” Jason trails off, shaking his head.

“Fair,” Tim allows and turns to leave. “I’m going to head out now. I won’t be doing a full patrol, so if you’re still awake when I get back, I’ll help you bring the bassinet up and set it up. Unless you want to do it yourself. But Tam says those things require an engineering degree, and you’re not exactly the most patient person ever.”

“I’m not going to set fire to anything in your place. Probably.”

“Is it weird that that’s actually somewhat reassuring?”

“It’s the honesty. I’m fully aware of my faults. Unlike some people.”

“Speaking of…are you absolutely sure you don’t want to tell anyone else? I know for a fact Alfred’s way more qualified—”

“No.”

Bruce’s disappointment he can live with; Alfred’s, not so much.

“Right. Then I’ll see you later.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Jason alone once again.

He stares around the room, imagining a cradle set up beside the bed, and the mountain of baby supplies. Even having seen and held the baby—even knowing her name—he’s still having a hard time picturing bringing her home.

However temporary that is.

It’s yet another reason he’s not cut out to have a kid—you have to have a home and roots and stability. And the closest thing he’s ever had to a father figure was far from stable, judging by the propensity to dress up as a giant bat and fight crime.

Jason digs out his phone, tempted to call his friend again and to try to convince him he needs him to be here.

Except, if Roy’s in the thick of a job, Jason doesn’t want to risk calling at an inopportune moment just to bother him with his shit. And he knows how touchy a subject it is, especially considering what happened to Lian.

Better not.

Roy will contact him when he can, or he’ll likely just show up. Until then, Jason just as to…figure all this out on his own.

Which he can do.

He’s a goddamn adult, isn’t he?

Shit, I’ve got to be now.

There’s a knock at the doorway, which even if he didn’t know it was her, would tell him it’s Tam Fox.

(Bats don’t knock; that would mean understanding the meaning of privacy.)

Tam lingers against the doorjamb, shifting uneasily, and isn’t this a blast from the past?

Jason has done a pretty good job of avoiding running into anyone who knew him before he died, especially when it comes to civilians. The only person who knows for sure outside of the Family is a prostitute named Rhonda that’s walked the streets of Park Row since before Jason ran away from his first foster home. And while she knows he’s Jason Todd, she doesn’t know he’s the Red Hood or that he was Robin.

Which, I guess, Tam probably doesn’t either. Tim just said I was a ‘friend’, not what kind of friend.

Still, it’s a whole different thing, having someone from high society, who remembers the kid he was, even if it was the distant relationship of acquaintances. He has to remind himself that Tim trusts her, and Bruce has always trusted her father, and if those two paranoid freaks consider them good people, it would be stupid of Jason not to do the same.

“Tim asked me to stick around for a bit and keep an eye on you,” she says after a few seconds of awkward lingering. “I think it’s kind of pointless—I mean, look at the size of you.”

Jason shrugs. “He probably thinks I’m going to take off.”

“Are you?”

“Considering it,” he admits. “But what’s the point? It’s not like it would change anything.”

There would still be a kid out there—my kid.

Tam’s eyes soften. “You must be scared out of your mind.”

“I don’t get scared,” he replies automatically.

“That’s a bald-faced lie. Even people who plan to have kids are terrified when it happens.” She folds her arms. “Now, I don’t know your story or where you’ve been all these years, or how you’re involved with Tim and his…night job. And I probably don’t want to know. But you’re barely older than me, and if I was in your place, I’d freaking out.”

Jason clenches his fists.

“Also, Tim probably didn’t bother asking, but are you going to be okay?”

“I have no fucking clue,” he admits at last. “This was never the plan. It was never part of any plan.”

“I bet. The, uh, nightlife isn’t exactly one you want to bring kids into. Especially if you’re like Tim.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…look, Tim’s a good guy,” Tam says. “But when it comes to stuff like this, he’s sort of…” She tilts her head to one side as though thinking of the right words, and then says, “He’s sort of like Pinocchio.”

Jason huffs in amusement. “Because he’s so small and wooden?”

“Because he spends most of his time pretending to be a real boy and has a very casual relationship with the truth,” she corrects. “That’s not the sort of environment you want to raise a child in. Parents shouldn’t have to lie to their kids, even if it’s to protect them. And kids shouldn’t have to lie to their parents.” She pauses, clearly chewing on something, and then asks hesitantly, “Does your…um…does Mr. Wayne know you’re…?”

“He knows,” Jason replies shortly.

“Right. Of course. Though…I mean, I would have assumed if he did there’d have been a big press conference or media thing.”

“I didn’t exactly come back here on good terms with him.”

“That wouldn’t matter. He was devastated when you died. He stopped going to work or doing anything. Dad had to take care of everything.”

“Oh, yeah, he was really broken up,” Jason pretends to agree, feeling his mouth twist unpleasantly. “Didn’t take him long to move in the new kid, though.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Tam protests. “Tim told me. He said that B—”

She cuts herself off, clearly unsure of how much he knows. Jason can’t help be impressed by how in the know she seems to be; knowing about Tim’s extracurricular activities is one thing, but knowing Gotham City’s biggest secret as well? He begins to reevaluate just how far up her metaphorical security clearance is.

“He said Bruce was self-destructing,” Tam concludes, clearly deciding to remain vague. “It was going to get himself or someone else killed if Tim didn’t step in.”

And Jason knows that now, of course, and doesn’t even blame Tim for it anymore; but it doesn’t make things hurt less.

“Who’s to say that wouldn’t have been the better option?” Jason challenges. “Maybe if Tim stayed out of it and B crossed that line, Gotham would be safer now.”

The slight widening of Tam’s eyes is the only indication she’s noticed his acknowledgment of just how much he knows. But Jason is now too distracted by his thoughts to remark on it.

“See, dear old Dad and I have philosophical differences about some pretty common sense stuff. Namely, taking out the scumbags who deserve it. The unforgivable types, like rapists and child molesters and the Joker.”

“You went up against the Joker?” Tam gapes. “Are you crazy?”

“Seemed fair, since he was the one who killed me,” Jason shrugs. Tam’s mouth actually drops at this; clearly, she hasn’t heard those details, either. “Not that I’ll ever get the chance since B’s always there to get in my way. The number of times that crazed clown almost killed me—almost killed all of us—”

He cuts off with a choked growl because it’s an argument he can perform by rote now, in several languages.

His fists clench tighter in anger, seething at the old resentment. It’s not as fresh as it was when he first came out of the Pit, or even when he was carrying out his plans to force Bruce’s hand. But there will always be a stinging ache just beneath his breastbone whenever he thinks about the situation.

He remembers that other Earth, where after losing him, Bruce effectively ripped apart Gotham’s rogues and made the place safer; where the cost of peace for the city was his own soul.

It’s a sacrifice Jason’s always been willing to make.

He wonders if that’s all going to change now, with the…

Jason pauses, and realizes for the first time tonight since receiving that voicemail from Dr. Kerry, he hasn’t been thinking of the baby.

Granted, it was because his mind went back to fixating on the psychopath that killed him, but he’s finally feeling something beyond numb disbelief.

This feeling he knows; these thoughts are familiar ground.

He squints at Tam, considering.

“You’re good at that,” he says at last.

“At what?”

“Being a distraction. I see why he keeps you around.”

“He doesn’t keep me around, I keep him alive,” she retorts. “I’m way more than a distraction, thanks very much.”

“Obviously. You know the big secret and you’re still here. There are only a few people who can cope with it.”

And not everyone does it well.

“It’s been a steep learning curve. A lot of which was playing catch-up and learning to decode Tim’s everything. And I almost walked a few times,” she admits. “Last year was the closest I came to it. Tim faked my father’s death for another one of his convoluted plans. He didn’t tell me anything, and then just expected me to be okay with it.” Her mouth turns downward; obviously it’s still a sore spot. “After a few weeks of thinking about it, and talking things through with my dad, I understood why he did it. But I also decided I’m not cut out to be kept in the dark. If I’m going to be in on this stuff, I’m going to be in on it.”

“That’s a different take from your dad,” Jason says. “He always liked being ignorant until the last possible moment.”

“Pretending to be ignorant,” Tam corrects him. “For plausible deniability. But if there’s anything I’ve learned working for WE and for Tim, it’s that ignorance can get you in just as much trouble as knowledge can. And if I’m going to get killed by ninjas, I’d rather I knew what it was for.”

Jason can’t help a chuckle at that. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“Well, if you’re too wired to sleep, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Jason pauses for a moment, not entirely comfortable with the offer—it’s somehow too easy, too normal; in his experience, sitting down with old acquaintances leads to bloodshed.

But the lure of keeping his mind off his own troubles is too much.

“I’m all ears,” he tells her.

⁂⁂⁂

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