#maybe i have low expectations but tim not shitting and shivering in his boots over the idea of his “alter ego” taking over made me happy

[viscerast]

man i think its kinda funyn that tim/masky is some of the better DID rep i've seen out there bc i dont even think that was what troy was going for + he actively tried to make all his characters morally gray so it wasnt like masky was the Evil Alter he was just a guy in situations (that also kinda wanted a guy dead)

like bro wasnt even trying but i see him and go "oh it me :)"

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Just the Same

Summary:

“You’re sick.”

“You’re ugly.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?”

Read it here on AO3!

Bruce has a very simple plan for tonight, alright? He’s going to grab a quick post-patrol snack from the kitchen, then he’s going to take a shower, and then he will go promptly to bed. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. He just wants to sleep. (You absolute fool, the goblin in his brain screeches at him, because the goddamn Batman cannot get a goddamn break or else the world will literally split in two.) Fatefully, Bruce passes the den’s open doorway while half of his mind is preoccupied with sending Dick a goodnight text, and he happens to glance into the room. That’s when he stops in his tracks. Even more fatefully, Alfred is coming down the hall in Bruce’s direction, carrying a tray with a single cup of tea on it. “Alfred?” “Yes, Master Bruce?” “Were you aware that Jason was home?” Alfred looks over at where Jason is asleep on the den sofa, still in his leather jacket and boots. He doesn’t look remotely surprised by the sight. Then again, is Alfred ever surprised? “Master Jason got in while you were on patrol. I offered to make him dinner, but he said he wasn’t hungry.” Then there’s that classic Alfred Pennyworth eyebrow crease. “When he wakes up, do inform him that one does not forgo the need for nutrition when one has been dipped in a Lazarus Pit.” “I’ll be sure to do that.” “Now, if you will excuse me.” Alfred walks off with his perfectly level tray, on a perilous journey to Damian’s room. Bruce envies him. At least Alfred gets to go to sleep after Damian gets his nighttime tea. Bruce enters the den carefully, without a sound. God knows Jason hardly sleeps through the night without interruption as it is. Now, at least, he looks peaceful enough. So much time has passed since his last haircut that his hair curls against his temple, plastered with sweat. He must have come here straight from Red Hood business. At least he didn’t get blood on the couch this time. Quietly, Bruce pulls the knitted throw blanket from where it’s draped over the back of the sofa and lays it over Jason, tucking it in close when he catches a shiver rattling Jason’s teeth. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Jason’s cheeks are flushed as well. His mouth is locked in a grimace, even in sleep. Bruce presses the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead and clicks his tongue. Definitely a fever. Jason’s eyebrows wrinkle at the touch. His eyes crack open and take a moment to land on Bruce, sitting on the edge of the couch by Jason’s torso. It says a lot that he doesn’t go into battle mode as soon as he registers an unfamiliar presence in the room. “Mmph. Go away.” “You’re sick.” “You’re ugly.” “Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?” “I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.” “Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?” “Why don’t you mind your fucking—” Jason tumbles into a coughing fit, wet and hacking. “I’ll be right back,” Bruce tells him with a parting pat on the knee. His knees creak as he stands, heading for the bathroom down the hall. He digs through the medicine cabinet until he finds the thermometer, one of many that Alfred keeps in every bathroom in the house. He grabs a bottle of Tylenol as well. Bruce goes back to the couch and reclaims his spot next to Jason, who has stopped coughing by now, but his breathing is heavy. Bruce touches the thermometer to Jason’s temple, ignoring his weak swats. It reads out a hundred and one degrees. “When did you start feeling sick?” Jason grunts and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself. “Dunno. Yesterday, I guess.” Bruce frowns. Of course Jason would ignore any achy feelings for as long as possible. None of Bruce’s kids have a single self-preserving bone in their bodies. “Tell me your symptoms.” “Being a fucking snack.” “Jason.” Jason coughs. “Leave me alone, old man.” “Does your throat hurt?” “Yeah, so quit trying to make me talk.” “Any nausea?” Jason buries his face into a throw pillow. “You’re fuckin’ exhausting, you know that?” He sighs. “Not since last night. I’m freezing, lethargic, and my head is killing me. Happy?” Bruce hums. “It’s probably the flu.” “Yeah, no shit.” Jason closes his eyes. “Now will you leave me alone? You’re making my headache worse.” Bruce twists open the Tylenol cap and shakes out a couple of tablets into his palm. “Here.” He holds them out to Jason. Jason opens one eye, looks at the pills, and closes it again. “No.” “Jason—” “No. Don’t like pills.” Bruce can’t say he didn’t expect as much. Still, it does Jason no favors to continuously refuse any sort of medication, choosing to tough out the pain for as long as he can. It all ties back to his mother’s drug addiction, a disease which Jason watched slowly kill her over years and years. It makes sense that he’d grow up with an unwavering aversion to drugs. When Jason was a small tot, Bruce and Alfred spent what probably accumulated to hours of cajoling, trying to talk Jason into taking even the lightest painkillers. Lidocaine and numbing solutions were fine, but anything resembling a narcotic was out—and still is, apparently. It makes Bruce wonder how Jason reacted to the Lazarus Pit and its euphoria-inducing waters—part of the whole “magical healing” process. Maybe he was too out of his mind at the time to form a solid thought, much less remember his childhood trauma. This is one fight Bruce chooses not to get into, so he recaps the Tylenol and sets it aside. Miraculously, Jason is already asleep again. That’s fine with Bruce; it’s better his son sleeps this flu off than wastes his energy arguing. Trying not to jostle him too much, Bruce takes off Jason’s boots and leaves them on the carpet. He grabs the TV remote and settles in on the couch with Jason’s feet in his lap, pulling up a nature documentary on hyenas that he and Damian haven’t had the chance to finish yet. Looks like he’ll be catching up on his sleep tomorrow night. Right now, Jason needs him (despite how fervently he’ll protest as much). Honestly, this whole situation brings Bruce back to the old days. After moving into the manor, it took over six months for Jason to completely recover from the years of malnutrition he suffered on the streets. His weight was far too low for a boy his age, even more scrawny than Tim. Alfred provided Jason with plenty of vitamin supplements and extra servings at dinner to bulk him up, but his immune system was shoddy at best no matter how much weight he gained. During his Robin era it was illness after illness, from the common cold to a whammying case of pneumonia. This is the first time Jason has been sick in Bruce’s presence since his death, though. Bruce is learning about the eating habits of hyenas when Tim comes in from the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea, despite having supposedly gone to bed three hours ago. He stands there in the doorway for a moment, looks owlishly at Jason, then at Bruce, then back to Jason. He grins. “No,” Bruce says. “You don’t even know what I was going to do!” “I know you, and the answer is no.” “Jeez, Bruce. I’m not gonna kill him.” Tim attempts to cross his arms, forgetting that he’s holding hot tea, and hisses when it scalds his arm. “The hand-in-warm-water trick’s never hurt anyone,” he mutters. “Go back upstairs. You’ll get sick.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “This is prejudice against people without spleens, you know. I could sue your ass.” “Sue me from upstairs where I can comfortably know that you won’t die from the flu.” Tim rolls his eyes, but he goes. Bruce hears him stomp up the stairs, getting quieter and quieter until the footsteps are gone entirely. Bruce shakes his head. How did he ever think that having four boys would be a good idea? He questions his younger self’s judgement every day. For the next three hours, Jason sleeps in fits and starts. He never stays awake longer than five minutes at a time, drinking water when Bruce prods him to and grudgingly letting Bruce check his temperature for any spikes. Bruce learns quite a bit about hyenas in the meantime, until the documentary ends and a new one about sea otters begins. In between the hazy bouts of wakefulness, Jason tosses restlessly in the throes of nightmare after nightmare. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead. In the back of his mind Bruce wonders, is this just the fever talking or are nightmares a nightly villain for Jason? The latter would come as no shock, but that doesn’t mean he likes the idea. Bruce runs his fingers through Jason’s sweaty curls, a reflection of years ago when he would do the same thing any time Jason had a nightmare during his youth. Jason has been cheated out of peaceful nights from the beginning. Of course, back then there wasn’t a white streak splitting the darkness of his onyx hair—a reminder of the pit water swimming in Jason’s blood. Bruce moves a lock of hair off Jason’s forehead, gentle as a moth. Jason’s eyes fly open and he jerks away from the touch, a gasp ripping up his throat. Bruce doesn’t move. He gives Jason a moment to regain his bearings, stilling the hand in Jason’s hair. Green irises lock on Bruce, frenzied. “Where?” he croaks. “The manor.” Jason takes a deep breath in, clenching his jaw. “Okay.” He lets it out. “Okay.” Bruce grabs the water bottle he’s kept on the coffee table. “Here,” he says, moving his hand down to Jason’s back and prodding a shoulder blade. “Sit up.” “Fuck you.” It comes out half groan, the illness-wrought exhaustion catching back up with Jason. “You need to hydrate.” “Double fuck you.” Bruce shrugs. “Drink half of this or I’ll call Alfred and have him convince you. Your choice.” Jason rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle. Bruce will take that as a victory. Jason sits up with enormous effort, groaning at the aches in his body until he’s upright next to Bruce. He drinks the water, wincing when it hits his sore throat. “What were you dreaming about?” Bruce ventures to ask. Jason lowers the bottle to narrow his eyes at Bruce like he’s the biggest idiot in this room. “Shut up.” The annoying part is that Bruce genuinely has no idea what Jason’s nightmare could have been about. His childhood? His death? His resurrection? Any of the traumatic things that could have happened afterward, ones that Bruce wasn’t there for? There is such a disconnect between the two of them now. He should count it a blessing that they have moments like this, though Bruce would greatly prefer spending time with Jason while he isn’t sick and miserable. But Bruce will take it, nonetheless. Jason drains a sufficient amount of water, only to lurch forward in another coughing fit as soon as he gets in a breath. “Christ,” he rasps, eyes watering. “Just fucking shoot me already, will ya?” Bruce rubs his back. “I could tranq you, if you really think it would help. But I can’t guarantee that one of your brothers won’t take advantage of that and draw mustaches on your face while I’m not looking.” “Har, har. You’re a fucking comedian now.” Jason’s voice is coarse as gravel, scraping up his vocal cords. “Want some tea? It’ll help soothe your throat.” “Later. Just wanna...sleep for now.” In spite of everything he stands for, Jason tips his head to rest it on Bruce’s shoulder. Whether it was intentional or he’s just so disoriented from the fever that he has no idea he’s even doing it, Bruce won’t take the gesture for granted. Jason is shivering, so Bruce pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders where it slackened during his sleep. Then, in a riskier maneuver, he puts his arm around Jason and pulls him in close like he did so many times when Jason was a lot shorter and a lot less jagged around the edges. Bcuce still loves him just the same. Jason leans into Bruce’s warmth instinctively, but he warns, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll shatter your clavicle.” “Mm-hm.” “I mean it. You’ll need a goddamn orthopedic surgeon to fix you up if you breathe a word of this to anyone.” “I believe you.” It must be a good enough answer because Jason closes his eyes, relaxing in Bruce’s hold. “The only reason I’m gonna say this is ‘cause my brain is melting,” Jason says, “but...thanks. For being here.” He yawns. “Being sick alone fuckin’ sucks.” “I hear you.” “And keep Tim away from me, ‘kay? I don’t trust the little snot not to pull something.” Bruce snorts and unpauses the otter movie. “Go to sleep, Jay.”

[badacts]

crack in the ceiling/where the light bleeds in

Jason has a problem. Tim solves it because that’s his job in this family. Also on ao3.

The effects of the Lazarus Pit don’t last forever. Just ask Ra’s.

The thing is, Jason thought that might be a problem he’d have to deal with later. Like, ‘towards the end of a natural human lifespan’ later, in the event that he reached old age in his round two at all. Instead, he’s twenty-four, and he’s pretty sure he’s dying.

Or worse, not dying. It wasn’t, after all, the Lazarus Pit that brought him back to life. It just restored the function of his brain and everything that makes him himself along with it. Which he now seems to be losing.

So far, the extent of his problem-solving has been some quiet questions about the Lazarus Pits that still exist and also determinedly not saying anything to any of the bats. Of course, keeping it on the down-low from them precludes acting crazy in front of them.

Which is why, when the becoming-familiar need to puke comes over him while he’s working a case with Nightwing, he bolts.

“The hell?” he hears from behind him. “Red Hood!”

Jason ignores him, rapidly regressing from ‘feared vigilante’ to ‘scared animal’. By now, he knows the drill: first, the faint roll of nausea, followed by confusion, and then the visual hallucinations. Sometimes he hears shit, too. Then it’s followed last of all by the pain of his brain trying determinedly to break itself apart.

Pain is just electrical impulses. A reaction of the body - just the workings of fancy machinery, or maybe fancy meat. It’s the other stuff that scares the shit out of him. Particularly the shivering loss of control.

He can’t afford it. He can’t ever, ever afford to lose control.

He goes to one of his quieter places, with the entrance through a slanted skylight on the roof. His hands feel a thousand miles from his head as he fumbles through setting the security system. His vision is sparking, bubbles of light bursting and then dimming again too slowly.

The sliver of rational thought left to him wonders if this time will be the one he can’t come back from, but the rest of him is consumed by the need to get somewhere dark and quiet and just wait. He takes off his boots and the too-heavy outer layers that are chafing at his skin and setting his nerves on fire. Once he’s mostly stripped down, he lowers himself cautiously onto the mattress in his windowless bedroom.

In the dark, with his eyes closed, it’s almost like having a stomach bug, if he discounts the sense of impending doom. He breathes, and breathes, and determinedly doesn’t lose it.

*

He wakes with a start when the lights come on overhead. He makes the mistake of opening his eyes, and the resultant bolt of pain drags a sound disturbingly close to a whine from between his teeth.

“Fuck,” someone says, too loud. “Jason?”

Jason doesn’t reply, forcing an arm up to cover his eyes. The return of the darkness helps, but it also makes him aware that he’s breathing too fast. He wishes he could stop: it hurts.

“Photosensitivity,” Tim says more quietly, either narrating the work his big brain is doing, or, in a more likely scenario, telling the others exactly what’s wrong with Jason. “Rapid respiration. Nausea, if I had to guess.”

Fingers ghost over his brow, and then prod less gently at his chest and abdomen. He flinches away from the touch to his belly. “ Don’t .”

“Diffuse abdo pain,” Tim says. “Don’t touch? Sorry. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He sounds awfully relaxed, for someone who’s in danger. Jason remembers vividly before - Tim underneath him, breathing blood, and the sick and overwhelming sense of victory that he had won out over his replacement. Not caring that the kid under him might die. Hoping for it.

He can’t blame the Pit for his thoughts, not really, but it can take some of the responsibility for his lack of inhibitions, control and morality. These days, he’s pretty happy that Tim Drake is alive and kicking. He really, really doesn’t want to be one to put him in a grave.

“Go away,” Jason grits out. Each muscle in his jaw feels like high-tensile wire.

“One moment,” Tim says, followed by the distinctive click of an earpiece being muted. “I’m not going anywhere, Jay.”

The desperation sweeps over him like a tide. Thirty seconds ago, he couldn’t have imagined moving. Now, he forces through that and lunges at Tim.

Then he’s face down on the floor and retching, not quite sure how he got there. His head -

“Easy,” Tim is crooning, like he might have been going for a while. It has to be a tone he learned direct from Dick. “Yes, thank you, B. That’s very helpful.” And that tone is the result of years of dealing with Batman. “ Yes, B.”

There are fingers at Jason’s sleeve then, pushing it up, and then a pinprick in Jason’s arm. Tim says, “Ondansetron administered. Give it a minute.”

Jason lies there, trying not to inhale his own sour breath, feeling the right side of his head throb in time with his heart, until his stomach actually starts to settle. It feels like fifty years - with his metabolism, it’s probably more like ten minutes. He empties a sigh into his floorboards.

“There you go,” Tim says. He sounds like he’s talking to the victim of a violent crime, not Jason. “I’m going to help you back onto the bed, okay?”

His hands wrap around Jason’s forearms, and he starts to pull Jason up. But wiry muscle aside, one hundred and fifty-some pounds of Tim doesn’t have a hope of moving Jason if he doesn’t want to be moved. And he doesn’t.

“...or not,” Tim says, and capitulates by settling a blanket over Jason - being careful to avoid trapping his arms - and then raising his head to settle a pillow underneath it. It’s not much movement, but it still makes stars go off behind Jason’s closed eyelids. He bites back another groan.

“Your head hurts, huh?” Tim asks, because he’s some kind of detective or something. Jason would roll his eyes if he could. “Have you been knocked out recently?”

“No,” Jason says, and then a fragment of his familiar refrain: “Helmet.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tim’s definitely rolling his eyes. “What does it feel like? The pain?”

Jason presses his fingers into his right eye socket. Then he flicks them out to mime an explosion. “Throbs.”

He doesn’t need to see Tim to hear his metaphorical ears prick up. “Oh, shit. Did you see things, before it started to hurt?”

“Lights,” Jason admits. It’s less creepy than admitting that he also hears bubbling like boiling water, on and off, just quiet enough he can almost ignore it right before the pain kicks in. “They’re green.”

“Good,” Tim says, which absolutely wasn’t the response Jason expected. There’s more rustling, and then Tim says, “Little prick.”

“Fuck you,” Jason replies, letting Tim stick him with another needle, and then, when Tim snorts, “D’you have to do the clinic run too?” That was something he did once or twice when Bruce felt he needed the education - assisting Leslie at the clinic. Nothing makes you as appreciative of working on other bats as helping treat civilians. Normal people.

“Only when I really pissed him off,” Tim replies. “I’m going to roll you over now. Try not to puke on me.”

“Not gonna puke,” Jason replies, more out of stubborn will than any actual faith in himself. However, his stomach stays settled, though he keeps his eyes firmly closed.

“You’re lucky I brought my kit with me,” Tim mutters, more to himself than to Jason as he resettles the blanket. “What were you going to do next time you get a serious wound? Put a bandaid on it?”

Jason’s first aid kit is perfectly adequate, though maybe a little sparsely stocked right now. Normal people just don’t carry prescription anti-nausea medication on their person. Jason can’t think of a way to communicate that without moving his jaw, so he just gives an unamused huff.

There’s a ruffle of sound, and then the distinctive soft shick of someone pulling off their domino. “It’s just a matter of waiting it out now.”

“What?” Jason mumbles. He’s assuming Tim isn’t waiting for him to die - not even he would sound so cool about that - but he’s not entirely clear on what it is they’re waiting for, or doing, or what Tim just injected him with. It’s just that now the creeping anxious nausea has faded, it’s hard to worry about anything beyond the pain and the way his whole body feels like rocks shoved in a sack.

It’s the light - even through his eyelids, it’s uncomfortable. He’s just about to demand Tim turn off the overheads when a hand drops over his eyes, leaving him in blissful darkness.

“Sorry,” Tim says. “I need the light in case you actually are having an aneurysm. Do you get headaches like this a lot?”

Jason’s slightly offended by Tim calling it a headache. His brain is breaking. “Sometimes.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re having a migraine,” Tim says. “Have you been to a doctor?”

That question is frankly fucking laughable, and both of them know it. Jason mumbles, “I’m dead.”

“And as you like to tell us, you wear a helmet because you already died of head trauma once,” Tim says. “People with past TBIs are more likely to have migraines.”

“How’d I know that?” Jason’s slur doesn’t sound pissed off enough. Skipping the consonants hurts less though. “Didn’ finish high school.”

“Neither did I,” Tim points out.

“Nerd.”

“Loser.”

“Probably.” At least they’re in the same boat. “Migraine, huh?”

“Pretty sure,” Tim confirms. “If you were having a brain bleed, I reckon you’d be dead by now. Again.”

“Lazarus Pit. Thought m’head was broken,” Jason mutters faintly. He doesn’t mean to say it, would never admit it to Tim Drake in a million years. It’s just a moment of weakness.

“It is,” Tim replies, on the shadow of a laugh. “Not like that, though.”

*

The after phase is a real trip.

“Euphoria,” Tim observes. “Decrease in pain, plus all the dopamine your body has been pumping out - instant high. Same thing happens to new moms once they’ve pushed their babies out.”

“Thanks for that,” Jason rasps. He’s in bed now, though he’s working on blocking out how he got here. He’s already going to owe Tim for tonight, but he draws the line...right there. “Seriously, you can leave now.”

“No can do,” Tim replies. He’s still in his uniform, though he’s ditched the cape and the armed over-vest for just the pants and a slick-fabric undershirt. It makes Jason’s gear look clunky and old-fashioned by comparison. “I’m on baby-sitting duty.”

Not even the slow haze of hormones can dull the bite of irritation at that. “Fuck you.”

“To be clear, I don’t think you’re going anywhere right now,” Tim clarifies. “I’m just here for everyone else's’ peace of mind.”

“Anxious freaks,” Jason mumbles, though not unkindly.

“You can hardly blame them. It’s never a good sign when the Red Hood disappears without a word,” Tim says cheerfully.

Despite himself, Jason prickles. “They that worried for the safety of Gotham’s criminal element?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tim snorts. “They’re worried you’re going to get yourself killed. Again.”

Jason doesn’t have a reply to that. Sensing that, Tim continues, “I actually think you might be right about the Lazarus Pit. You thought it was wearing off, right?”

“Right,” Jason confirms after a moment, though grudgingly. Stupid detective brother.

“It might be,” Tim says. “Just enough for your brain to remember that it got seriously injured back then. Or you might have a different trigger. There’s something here about diarying your episodes and trying to figure out the causes from that.”

Jason doesn’t have to look to know Tim is scrolling through his phone where he’s sitting cross-legged on the mattress next to Jason. He said something brisk about being close enough to ‘monitor’ when Jason tried to shove him off, and he’d given up. His head doesn’t hurt anymore, not precisely, but he still feels wobbly-necked and fragile.

“Triggers?”

“Storms, specific kinds of food, stress,” Tim lists.

Jason opens his eyes specifically to give Tim a dubious look. “Stress?”

Tim looks back at him just as dubiously. “How many hours sleep do you get a night?”

“Fuck off,” Jason replies, and firmly closes his eyes again. Stress. Jesus Christ.

“I’ll get you a headache journal for Christmas,” Tim says lightly, and then, “So, why’d you try to beat me up?”

“I always beat you up.”

“Not tonight you didn’t. We don’t reward points for effort in Gotham.”

Oh. That attempt at beating him up. Jason mumbles, “Don’t know.”

“Whatever.” Tim can fit a lot of scorn in that tiny body of his.

“Maybe I just don’t want you around,” Jason snaps, sharp as he can make it right now.

Tim, predictably, rears back to give Jason one of his lizard-glares. It doesn’t last long though, fading into something a bit more evaluatory. He says, “You can’t make me leave.”

Jason sputters, caught between the desire to laugh derisively and the desire to get up and shove Tim out the window he came in through. Before he can pick, Tim lays down on top of the bedcovers on the empty side of the mattress.

“Hey, this bed is really comfy,” he says, as though he isn’t constantly being found asleep on hard non-bed surfaces across Gotham. Jason once found him napping on a rooftop.

“I’ll give you the website of the place I got it off if you go away,” Jason attempts.

“Like I couldn’t find it myself,” Tim scoffs, scrunching himself down into Jason’s pillows. “Hey, pass me that blanket?”

“No,” Jason replies, pulling the blanket in question tighter about himself. It’s his favourite, warm and soft, and the weight of it on top of him is already making him sleepy despite Tim’s rudeness.

“It’s okay, I don’t need one anyway,” Tim says.

“Seriously, go away.” What is the world coming to? The only brother Jason should have this much trouble getting rid of is Dick.

“Babysitting, remember? And when baby sleeps, so does sitter.” Tim pats kindly at Jason’s blanket-covered elbow. Jason kindly doesn’t strangle him for it.

Yet. He doesn’t do it yet. Because there’s a tickle of nervousness in the pit of his belly about having someone else sleep so close to him, and not out of fear for his safety, either. That on top of his incomplete acceptance of Tim’s migraine theory has him lying stiff in his blankets when Tim finally reaches over and flicks the lights off.

“Big spoon or little?” Tim asks, which surprises Jason so much that he actually laughs. “Go to sleep. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

“Did WebMD tell you that?”

“Nah. Everything is just always better with more sleep,” Tim replies, and then yawns. “Shh.”

Jason manages about five minutes of his commitment to stay awake while Tim’s breathing slows and evens out next to him. He’s warm and comfortable and his head doesn’t hurt anymore, and he might not be dying or going crazy after all. The closer he gets to sleep, the easier it is to believe.

He’s nearly asleep himself when Tim, sounding far more awake than Jason would have expected, says, “I’m not scared of you.”

He probably should be. That said, they’re Robins - not scared of much. Jason mumbles, “Go to sleep,” and promptly follows his own command.

[unboundpen]

Pandemonium [1/3?]

[Next]

Fandom: Batman

Characters: Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Pairing: JasonDamian

Rated: T

Warnings: Damian is aged up, should be in college.

Summary: 

After being away from Earth for a while, Jason notices that Damian is a lot more attention-grabbing than before. Eh, growing attractions are nothing....Right?

Read on AO3

A/N: So it’s been many years since I’ve truly sat down and finished writing a fic. Life has been hectic, I lost my mojo to continue writing, then went back to school and it pretty much consumed my life. Anyways, this was written based off of what @batboys-batboys-whachu-gonna-do had posted almost a year ago and I caught wind of it. It’ll be two or three chapters depending on if I’m up for writing smut with this fic. I said I was going to write something and then went MIA again. Anyways comment on ao3 or send me an ask or reblog with reactions if you guys enjoyed it. I’m very rusty, so go easy on me.

Jason isn’t even sure if he should be out patrolling Gotham tonight. He’s so dead tired that he feels himself get heavier on the cable he’s currently swinging on. Kori had landed the ship back on Earth the night before and if he were to be completely honest with himself, he should have just stayed in bed. The idea of sleeping for a few years before even thinking about getting back into normal everyday crime fighting was really starting to seem like the better option. And yet... here he was, swinging from building to building, looking out into the city he always called home.

Exhaustion crept heavily through his body. It made his vision blur and had been severe enough to make him go cross-eyed a few times. He scrubs at his face, trying to chase the fatigue away as he second-guesses his decision to patrol tonight -feeling the worn leather of his gloves rub against anywhere not covered by the domino mask. It had been a slow night anyway…but just as he reaches out to shoot another line to change his path back to the designated safe house for the night, he hears the very distinct but familiar sound of people getting beaten up in an alley.

Jason follows the sounds of muted groans and painful hits landing -and then sudden silence- until he drops down to the scene of unconscious baddies being zip-tied by another mask in the shadows. He surveys the destruction and lets out a low whistle while toeing one of them by the leg.

"Guess you didn't need any backup."

He hears a familiar snort, "I hardly ever do. It's only five men."

Jason looks over at the figure in the shadows and watches as they stand up and walk over to him. His eyes widen behind the mask.

There stood Robin in all his Robin-y glory. His eyes rake over Robin's form, noticing that the uniform had been adjusted to fit not just his height but also the lithe bulk he had also gained. It reminded him of a certain acrobat they both knew. It was close but not quite. He would have thought this was someone else who had taken on the mantle, but the same minute details were there: hooded cape encasing his head, sword, and sheath at his side, and the ever useful and painful clawed spikes that protruded from the kid's gloves. Not to mention the air of annoying haughtiness that only came from being the direct heir to Bruce Wayne.

"I gotta say, you certainly shot up from the last time I saw you." He feels his lips stretch into a grin.

"-Tt- It was inevitable."

"Nonetheless," Jason pauses to do another slow look, "you look good for someone who is supposed to be suffering through puberty."

"Considering my parentage, it has come as no surprise." Robin answers simply before reaching into his belt for a few more zip ties and holds them out to Jason, "Make yourself useful, Hood, and get those two."

Jason blinks, taking the offered items unconsciously. He half expected the kid to react a bit differently, maybe even get a little flustered. Jason certainly thought so.

Jason frowns in contemplation as he maneuvers one of the thugs in front of him onto their front, restraining the unconscious man with one of the ties before moving onto the next one. He hears the faint sound of bodies being dragged into a pile.

"So, what's a birdie like you doing in my neck of the woods anyway?"

"You were gone-"

“-Well, no shit," Jason interjects, shaking his head. Again reminded of how tired he really was. He looks over at the other mask currently frowning at Jason and arms crossed.

"You were gone," the other mask emphasizes loudly, as if admonishing Jason's interruption, "henceforth I took it upon myself to patrol your area until you got back."

"I guess no one told you I got back yesterday?”

“On the contrary, Father already has a written report of your return in the system."

Jason sighs, “Of course he has,” he opts to rub his eyes through the mask, "Guess I tripped the alert system he has over my known locations?”

“Actually,” Robin pauses, tilting his head to the side as the sound of sirens faintly begin to sound around them and then reaches up to shoot a line up one of the buildings.

Jason watches him glide up through the air, admiring the fluidity of the movement before he follows. Once he lands next to the bird, Robin continues, “Superman alerted father of your return.”

Jason grunts and crosses his arms thoughtfully. That wasn’t a surprising thing either. Clark had always been watchful of him even while he was still wearing the cape and green panties. Even the thought that the super could be listening in on their conversation caused a shiver to run all throughout Jason’s body. Before he could even say anything, Robin moves to the other side of the building without another look at Jason.

“I trust you have the rest handled from here, Red Hood,” Robin says flippantly over his shoulder. The older man watches silently as the Robin turns around, gives him a nod, then hauls himself over the raised concrete and over the other side of it.

And with that Robin is gone, leaving no trace of himself except in Jason’s mind.

xXx

It’s about four days later before Jason feels himself get comfortable with his place in Gotham again. He’s well rested now, but he realizes with the year or so he’s been away, his files aren’t up-to-date. It was one thing if a few robberies occurred here or there, but when he’s heard of several incidents involving a certain mob boss who had been steadily moving into his territory, he figures he needs to get on that asap. He doesn’t rely too much on the other members of the bat family, but he would have expected that the files would be constantly updated while he was away. It was most likely that Tim was more busy with the Titans and Babs was preoccupied with other things. Thus he finds himself parking his bike in the bat cave.

If there was one thing that Jason expects to not change significantly, it would be the cave. The same old giant penny and t-rex were in their respective spaces. The only things ever changing were all the tech that got recycled every now and then. He surveys the area, noting that he was the only one there in this moment. He makes it a point to himself to ignore the glass case holding a certain uniform.

Jason strolls over to the computer, booting it up and realizes that the program was updated when the screen prompts for a password. He decides not to risk it as the memory of the last time he tried to flashes up in his mind.

The ink had stained his skin for weeks….

He wonders who is in the manor for a moment before he feels a presence at his side. Jason is a bit too surprised to even move away as the figure types in the password, a nonsensical password that would have been impossible to guess. And before he could stop himself, his eyes roam.

“Someone needs to put a bell on you,” he states absentmindedly.

Damian…looked really good. A short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt snug around his shoulders and upper body as he was crouching over the control panel. His head was looking up at the screen, neck stretched invitingly while watching it. Jason’s eyes slide down until he reaches the jeans that fit very nicely on Damian’s legs, enveloping his thighs and….

“-Tt- I anticipated your visit.” Damian types on the keyboard for a third password and then turns his head to stare back at Jason, “I updated the system for better security as requested by father while you were away.”

Jason feels his eyes still linger on the brat’s ass before looking up to meet Damian’s eyes. Oh boy….

The older man clears his throat; it was just dry all of a sudden. Hopefully, the kid didn’t catch him staring too much. "Three passwords is a bit much, don't ya think?" He utters weakly.

Damian shrugs before straightening up, and Jason catches himself staring harder, to the point of his eyes crossing. He shuts his eyes for a moment and opts for making a show of rubbing his forehead as if he was exasperated by the nuisance.

“Alright, well, I should probably be put in the system again. Gotta catch up on what I missed and all that.” Jason waves his hand as he opens his eyes.

Damian hums thoughtfully. “That will not be difficult. However, I’m not sure if father has granted permission to give you access.”

The older man chokes out a laugh, “Oh Babybat, I get access one way or another. I only get locked out when shit like this happens. And last I remember you’re not one to ask for daddy’s permission on a lot of things.”

The younger man's eyes narrow while his lips morph into a frown.“I am not," he answers, "I-It’s a compromise for allowing me to patrol by myself. Besides, why should I believe that you’re allowed in the system?”

Jason grins. This wouldn't be the demon spawn if he didn't give any push back. “The replacement can vouch for that. And I got some downtime so if you really need to ask Bruce for the go ahead, I can stay here in the meantime and catch up with what I really need.”

“That will not be necessary, Father is predisposed at the moment. Getting any sort of response from him will not come till much later tonight, most likely a few minutes before he arrives back here,” Jason opens his mouth to say that wasn’t really a problem but Damian continues, “I have a meeting with a colleague in an hour. Thus leaving you here in the manor by yourself is not a wise choice. I can give you the files that you need -that is if you have a USB drive on you.”

Jason can’t help but feel a bit offended from that.

“Okay first,” Jason points a finger at the kid, “I can very much well click and drag files onto a thumb-drive just fine. Second, I’m pretty sure I can handle myself if I were alone. I’ve been managing that for the past few years now thank you very much. Third, wouldn’t Alfred be here anyway?”

Damian snorts and allows himself to lean on the control panel. And by God, if Jason doesn't feel his face heat up even more as he tries to maintain eye contact. “Getting the files is a bit more convoluted than that, Todd. Pennyworth has the day off. And I was very much alluding to this incident.” He reaches down to press a button -just one, Jason notices- without looking away before the screen flickers to the start of a video.

Jason looks up and realizes just what incident he was talking about once the sound echoes through the cave.

A much younger Jason balanced on the banister of the staircase, on the second floor, dressed in the Robin uniform, green panties, and pixie boots and all, while reading a few lines from Peter Pan out loud as he walks from one end to the other.

“I thought I deleted this.”

Damian tuts, “You know very well that my father had installed a program to reverse any erasures. He may be aware of this or he may not, but I am not the only one that knows of this video’s existence.”

Was he-? Holy fuck the kid was smirking. He definitely had this on retainer.

Jason glares at him.

Damian pauses the video and presses another button which causes a red circle to appear on the screen. “Cain mentioned that you start to get pretty confident with yourself here.” Damian presses play again and then pauses it at another point in the video. “She also said that this was where your balance starts to go off, and I’m inclined to agree."

“Who else-“

“-Brown commented that you get a little pitchy here.”

The video continues to play out and then Jason watches his younger self start to fall and struggle for the grappling hook on his belt and shoot it at the other end of the room.

“Drake stated that you should have been able to get to it quicker,” Jason continues watching, remembering the feeling of relief when he landed…until the chandelier fell with the loudest crash he’d ever heard in his life behind him, and now he is reliving that moment as the chandelier drops and breaks on the screen.

“And Alfred said that you had a difficult time cleaning up the thousands of pieces even when he got back home,” Damian pauses and then raises an eyebrow at him, "Really, Todd, a broom?"

“I couldn’t find the vacuum,” Jason growls out, feeling his face heat up even more now, but this time with begrudging embarrassment. He can’t even remember the last time he was this mortified and it was the kid -out of all people- that was teasing the hell out of him.

Damian seems to accept that answer for what it was and lets it go while still smirking that goddamn smirk.

And this is where Jason isn’t sure if he is angry, embarrassed or ...turned on? All three maybe? But he knows for sure that he was confused as hell at the turned on part no matter how small it may be. He’s gotta process this somewhat. And it’s a bit difficult to when the damned kid was standing right there.

Without another word, Jason turns and stalks towards his bike, resisting the urge to run to it.

“I didn’t take you for one to run away, Todd,” Damian calls out to him.

Jason shakes his head as he straddles his bike and flips the kid off before he starts it and heads back to his apartment.

xXx

It’s early in the morning and Jason finds himself laying on the rooftop of his apartment staring up at the starless sky, having smoked through one full pack of cigarettes and working his way through a second. He’s been done with patrol for over an hour now, so both the helmet and mask were off to the side...somewhere.

He closes his eyes as he takes an extra long drag of the lit cigarette held between his fingers. When he opens his eyes, there’s Robin standing over him with a frown.

“I find it hard to believe that you still smoke, Todd.”

Jason rolls his eyes hard as he takes another drag, “Oh look, Boy Wonder has come to save me from the perils of smoking."

Damian shakes his head before he holds out a fist over Jason and drops something onto the older man’s torso. Jason takes a hold of it in his other hand and brings it up to his field of vision.

A thumb-drive.

“The hell is this for?”

“You left before I could give you the files.”

“How do you know what files I needed?”

Damian sighs, “You are merely predictable when you need to be, Todd.”

“I’m hurt,” Jason mocks, throwing his hand over his chest and contorts his face into a pained expression. He half expects for Damian to just leave then and there, but is surprised when the kid opts to sit next to him. Jason turns his head to look at the kid and muses that he looks a lot smaller from this angle, almost like his eleven-year-old self with that scowl on his face.

"Father gave the go-ahead," the kid's scowl deepens when Jason blows another cloud of smoke up into the air, "for your access to the database."

The older man grins, “Told ya.”

There was a brief pause where Jason just continues to stare up at the sky peacefully. He can feel the kid’s eyes study him in a curious manner, no weight to it. He had to admit, it was nice. Typically when a bat clan member looked at him there was the usual range of emotions behind the gazes. With Dick, there was worry along with his need to use touch as comfort, often with a tentative hand that locked onto Jason’s shoulder. Most of the time it was heavy. Babs looked at him with a stoic expression but with the occasional fleeting recognition whenever he said something witty enough for her. To her, the rough around the edges but hopeful youth that he used to be was long gone, and in his place an almost stranger. Tim had just this hint of pity behind his mask of smiles. After forming a civil relationship that bloomed into this comfortable companionship, Jason had figured out that whatever Tim had researched on the older man would always be in the back of his mind.

And then there was Bruce. The head honcho. While Jason could say that their relationship was significantly better, he still couldn’t be around his old mentor for no more than an hour at most. There was only so much Jason could take from the disappointment behind that gaze. After those years when he was a teenager and the glinting amusement that Bruce looked at him with, he just could not stand the feeling of failure digging into and burrowing under his skin where it just spread throughout his body like an itching rash, getting worse with every minute till he felt like he could start to hyperventilate.

But then here was the son. At first, it was all just anger. Man, the kid was a tight ball of fury that tried to get at anyone that moved near him. Yeah sure it was annoying when it was aimlessly directed at anyone, but the intensity. He was actually impressed with how much the kid’s anger fueled him to do just about anything. And Jason had tested it with his goading, just to see how long Damian would last and just how far he was willing to go. Jason knew that feeling. He was familiar with it after he had crawled out of the grandfather’s pit. It was the only emotion he could latch onto that could keep him grounded. So he understood Damian’s confusion fueled rage. But now, even before Jason had left for a year, Damian’s looks had evolved into a feigned indifference, all just with the intent to study Jason more. If Jason were to pick anyone out of the bat clan, Damian was the least volatile on his psyche.

He feels Damian shift beside him for a moment before the kid sighed. “It would be a lot easier for me to give you access to the database if you let me into your apartment, Todd.”

“You could always just go in through the window.”

“That would be rude of me.”

And this is where Jason slowly turns his head so he can slow blink at the whites of Robin’s mask. They stay like that for a moment, neither of them moving. The older man waits, just wants to see if Damian knew how ridiculous that statement was coming from him of all people. But it never comes, just the blank look on his face. Jason feels like laughing in disbelief but opts for throwing his half cigarette to the side before reaching up to rub his face to keep his mouth from opening up to let out the bubbling of a laugh that was forming in the back of his throat.

Jason resists the urge to groan, the way that every aging adult does when they have to get up, as he shuffles slowly to his feet. He contemplates asking Roy for a long needed body cracking as he glances down at the kid, who was still sitting there.

"Come on then," Jason simply says and starts walking towards the fire escape.

He hears shuffling behind him. "What about your helmet?"

"Eh, I'll come back for it later," Jason responds as he starts to climb down the three floors before his apartment.

xXx

The cool breeze billows around Jason as he takes a single sip from the mug that had been set in front of him about 20 minutes ago. He scans the street lazily, knowing that the passing bell for the university would ring any minute now. He's not too sure why he's waiting for the kid, there was no emergency to the situation, he just felt drawn to approach him on his downtime.

The melodic sound of the bell rang throughout the air and almost immediately, students pour out of the entrances. Jason makes no rush to get up immediately. With the amount of kids coming out, it would be a lot more trouble to look for Damian now than it would after the crowd thins out in the next 10 minutes. And true to that prediction, the courtyard of the school is nearly empty as if there was some sort of repellent for college goers, said for a few stragglers. One of them being baby Wayne.

"What's this?" Jason whispers into the lip of his mug when he sees a redheaded woman jog her way to Damian's side. It doesn't take a lot for anyone to see the attraction to the kid. The lack of space between their arms, her big ass smile followed with one dimple in one cheek, and the admiring eyes had trained on him.

Jason couldn't help but think of Dick and Babs. But where Dick and Babs would be easy and open in public, Damian and this girl were...stunted... in a sense. The kid didn't have the puppy love-struck expression of a young adult, instead, he just looked charming. It was eerily similar to the charm Bruce used to work over the ladies at a charity event or something.

He gets up and crosses the street with his eyes still trained on the pair. He'll be honest with himself, it's something he can't really take his eyes off. Like he was watching a car crash. As he gets closer, he starts to hear a bit of their conversation.

"-this weekend?"

Damian pauses, looking thoughtful, then pulls out his phone, tapping the screen a few times. With his head lowered, the few strands of hair not held up by gel fall to his forehead, giving him a much more casual look. However, it's all disrupted when he runs a hand through his hair and looks back to her. Jason would have laughed at the audible hitch of breath from the girl if he wasn't distracted from the same action. "I have a few projects due next week, and then I have to help prepare for the hospital auction on Sunday."

She pouts, "Oh, that wouldn't happen to be the children's hospital, would it?"

"Yes," Damian ponders for a moment, "I believe your mother is on the guest list."

Jason catches her eyes and a bright tinge of pink stains her cheeks as she takes a small step away from Damian. The hellspawn doesn't even acknowledge Jason's presence and continues talking.

"If you attend, I could save you a dance." By god, he sounds sincerely earnest.

"I-I'll try to make it then...then," she blushes even harder, glancing back at Jason, "Bye, Damian." And then she hustles away.

It's almost scary when Damian's face drops into his natural faint scowl, directing it at Jason once she was out of sight

"You could have stayed away for a few minutes longer."

"Wanted to make out with your little girlfriend?" Jason teases, sidling over.

Damian scoffs, waving his hand flippantly, "Her mother is simple-minded. She donates more when she is in a good mood, and Leah attending is a major contributor. It's purely business."

Jason nods thoughtfully. That seems more on Damian's realm of doing things. There was always a motive. It was only natural that the kid would use the all good Wayne charm as another tool.

"So," Damian straightens, "what do you need, Todd?"

The older man mockingly places a hand over his heart, "Hurt, so very much hurt. Can't I just come see my younger bro without needing something?" He fakes wiping a tear from his cheek.

Damian rolls his eyes, "I'm hardly that,” then starts walking to exit the campus, but this time it's Jason that walks beside him.

"Okay let me correct you there. Your dad took me in so I grew up in that manor just the same as you, was fed by the same butler as you and if I had to draw a venn diagram of people we would consider family, " he gave a little air quote motion, "almost all of those people would be in the center."

"That is a very loose yet specific definition for brother."

Jason shrugs, "Yeah but that comes with the job. Anyways, yes you were right I do need something from you."

"What is it?"

"I need you to come work a case with me."

Damian raises an inquisitive brow at Jason, and that's not a good thing right now for the older man. "You could have sent a text or opt to shine an R up in the sky."

"True, but--Did you just make a joke?" And Jason is damned when the kid gave him a wry smirk that made him stumble in his boots. That was an interesting image in his head. Normally, Jason wouldn't think much of it if the kid were in the Robin gear, but out of the mask and with those bright baby blues and in civvies no less. The older man clears his throat and tries to alleviate some of the pressure in his pants inconspicuously as they stopped at the sidewalk. At this point, Jason has accepted that there is somewhat of an attraction to the kid. After that encounter in the Batcave, and furiously rubbing one out one, two, multiple times, it would be hard to deny it.

Jason coughs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, "Anyways, yeah, it seems like you've taken up my section of the city while I was out, so it'd only make sense to ask you, ya know?"

The kid nods after a moment. "Tonight. I can meet you at one of your safe houses and you can debrief me on what you have in mind."

And just then a car rolls up and comes to a stop in front of them. Damian opens the door without missing a beat and slides into the passenger seat, revealing a familiar face in the driver's side.

Jason grins and gives a two finger salute, "Hey Alfred."

The old man gives Jason a fond smile, "Master Jason. I trust your trip went well?"

"Very."

"I will send you a message," Damian states, leaning over to grab onto the door handle and looking up at Jason through his thick lashes.

Jason's throat goes dry. He's almost sure that he's staring way too hard at the kid, whom to his credit doesn't flinch from it. So all Jason can manage is a quick nod. Then the door closes and watches the car drive and turn around a corner before he realizes that he wasn't breathing.