All about whatever I feel like currently

Tim still had no idea that the Red Hood was Jason Todd and Jason wanted to keep it that way. After the timeline reset, when Jason realized he was 15 again and somehow in the middle of Romania with Danny Fenton, he’d considered going home for just a moment. But Bruce… Bruce never accepted Red Hood, never acknowledged the necessity of killing, and Jason… Jason didn’t want to pretend. He didn’t want to fake being 15 again; he could barely remember how he acted at 15 and Bruce would immediately spot the difference. Maybe think Jason had been replaced, or was mind controlled.

Then Danny had revealed that he was pregnant by his 40-year-old nemesis; that the babies were ripped from his stomach by his parents in the last timeline; that he didn’t know where to go because he and the babies needed to stay in the mortal world but needed ectoplasm to survive.

Jason had known exactly where to go.

He’d been surprised when Ra’s accepted them readily. Surprised that Talia latched onto Danny, accepting him as her adopted child. Surprised that the training wasn’t nearly as difficult as Jason remembered. Surprised that they never once hinted to Bruce or the others that they knew where Jason was, even as the family searched for him.

Happy surprises. Welcome surprises.

And then the final happy surprise of Tim showed up.

Jason personally requested to train Tim. Not out of affection—they were never close before the reset, and Jason didn’t blame the kid for staying as far away as possible—but so he could get to know Tim without the rage of the Pits in his head. This was a timeline where Jason Todd never went into the Lazarus Pits and he was determined to keep it that way.

It allowed him to get to know Tim. Jason focused on fixing the kid’s guard or the angle of a strike and he listened and obeyed without question. Tim wasn’t the mouthy, smug brat Jason remembered from Gotham. He was quiet, methodical, always watching for patterns. Scarily good at picking them apart.

It was like the entitled rich kid he tried to kill over and over again never existed.

Life seemed so much better without the Lazarus Pits in his mind. Life was so much better than the timeline they left behind. He’d wake in the morning to Danny snoring against his shoulder, the twins bundled between them in a tangle of blankets, and marvel at the contentment he’d never felt since his death.

It was true peace.

Still, it stirred something in him—a low, simmering thought always on the backburner in his mind. The League had rules for everything: for blood, for loyalty, for death. And even if Talia had called Danny her son and the twins her grandchildren, Jason knew what they really were. His. His family. His responsibility. His to protect, even from the League if it came to that. But he was leaving them without a protection he could easily give.

Marriage wasn’t about love, though he loved Danny. Marriage wasn’t about creating a legacy, though they already had children. It was protection. Legitimacy. A claim no one, not even Ra’s, could twist or break.

Talia’s office smelled like incense and steel. She didn’t even look up from the stack of reports when Jason knocked once and stepped inside. “If you’re here about 1-467,” she said, pen still moving, “I’ve already reprimanded them for use of unauthorized use of explosives in the field.”

“Nah.” Jason leaded against the doorframe. “Gotta talk to you about something.”

Her eyes flicked up. “Something?”

He huffed. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have inside a small room. “Walk with me?”

They ended up on one of the lower training areas, a courtyard lined with black lotus trees and hidden cameras. Jason waited until the guards left them alone before telling her, “I’m marrying Danny.”

Silver flashed before the last word left his mouth. A knife kissed his throat, cold and sharp. Talia’s expression hadn’t moved from cold indifference, but the edge of the blade stroked over his pulse. Jason didn’t move, didn’t breath. “Is that what you think you’re doing?” she asked softly.

Jason didn’t swallow. He’d long wondered if Talia actually cared for Danny and their children or if it had been an act due to how fond Damian was of them both. Talia had inserted herself into Danny’s pregnancy, despite never being pregnant herself, and Jason had allowed it. Or rather, he didn’t have the power to stop it. His experience with Talia in the past had left him wary of the woman…

But maybe she cared after all. Maybe she actually did see Danny as her son.

He’d informed her instead of asking, not actually caring about the answer, but now? When it seemed like Talia was willing to fight back about it?

Rage rushed through his veins, eager and nipping like a dog for her blood. It wasn't green anymore. Hopefully, it'd never be green.

Jason leaned into the knife. “It’s what you’ll accept if you know what’s good for you.”

Talia’s blade drew a thin red line down his neck, bright against pale skin. “Careful, Robin,” she murmured, eyes narrowing. “You forget whose house you stand in.”

Jason grinned, sharp and dangerous. “Nah, I remember exactly whose house it is. That’s why I’m saying it out loud.”

The knife moved—fast, a flicker of silver and silk. Jason caught her wrist before it could dig deeper, felt the tension coil through her arm like a striking viper. For a moment they just stood there, locked in that perfect stillness that only assassins could manage. The courtyard air shimmered with incense and heat.

Then Talia twisted.

Jason ducked, pivoted, and drove his shoulder into her ribs. The impact sent her sliding back across the sand. She didn’t stumble—Talia al Ghul never stumbled—but her blade spun out of her fingers, caught neatly by her other hand before it even touched the ground.

“You forget your place, child,” she said, voice smooth as she circled him.

Jason smiled without humor. “You keep saying that like I ever had one.”

Sand shifted under his boots as he turned with her, always keeping an eye on her. His hand gripped around his gun—but no, not yet. First—

Jason dodged, parrying a strike to his ribs and struck her wrist. The knife went flying, but Talia was no less deadly, pulling out another blade from her belt. Jason countered, low and fast, driving her back with brute aggression, falling into a familiar pattern of jab, jab, punch that Jason never formally learned but spent years watching.

He choke-slammed her to the wall, snarling into her face. “You forget who raised me,” he spat.

Talia barred her teeth. “And you forget who finished you!”

Jason hissed as the knife sank into the meat of his thigh, but didn’t let go. He had a point to make, not a mother-in-law to fight. “I’m marrying Danny,” he repeated, choking her harder to get her to stop. Moving. “I already have permission from the Demon’s Head; there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“You presume,” she hissed, voice low and venomous, “that I will allow you to taint what I have built here.”

Jason laughed, half-wild. “Lady, he gave birth to my kids! We’re already enmeshed together; why are you fighting so hard?”

“You think marriage will protect you,” she said. “Protect him.”

Jason’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “I know it will.”

“Daniel does not need you to save him.”

“Yeah.” He never did. Not even when they first came back in time, Danny was already figuring out a way for the kids to be born safely, far from Amity Park. Jason was lucky Danny let him stick around, and luckier still that Danny didn’t disappear into the Ghost Zone. “But I do it anyway. Danny deserves someone willing to protect him, always.”

Her eyes narrowed, but her struggles slowed. Jason could see it in her eyes; she was giving in. he went in for the kill.

“You know why Ra’s approved?” he said quietly, out of earshot of the cameras. “He wants us to stay here. He wants me teaching his assassins how to avoid the Bats, he wants Danny creating sustainable power and working on the conservation side. And we don’t mind doing that to keep the kids safe. But that’s not why we want to get married.

“I love Danny,” Jason admitted. He’d figured it out ages ago, and told the man himself seconds after realizing it. “I’d spend the rest of my life at his side, if I’m lucky. He’s already my husband in all but name. This is just… making it official.”

Talia’s gaze searched his face for a long, silent moment. Then she leaned back against the wall. Jason exhaled, slow and cautious but confident she wouldn’t attack, and let her go. She studied him like she was trying to decide if she hated him or respected him.

“You’re reckless,” she said finally.

“Yeah,” Jason said. He checked his leg; the knife was deep inside, handle sticking out. He’d have to go to medical. “but am I wrong, though?”

That earned him the faintest trace of a smile—thin, sharp, gone like a flash of light on a blade. Talia turned, fixing her green and gold clothing. “I will accept under one condition.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to stop me. I was telling you as a courtesy—”

“My condition,” she continued, talking over him, “Is your support towards Damian as the Demon’s heir. Public.”

Jason tried to recall if there was any threat to Damian’s position. No one came to mind. “Sure,” he agreed with a shrug. Jason and Danny never really got involved with League politics—he wasn’t entirely certain there were politics outside of hostile takeovers—but it was no skin off his back. “It’s the kid’s birthright, of course I’d defend it.”

Talia nodded, satisfied. “If you insist on binding yourself to Daniel, it will not be quietly done. You will not slink in the shadows with your little domestic fantasy. You will stand before the League and make your declaration.”

Jason tilted his head. “You mean, like a ceremony?”

“I mean,” Talia said, “a test.”

Of course she did.

Jason sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You can’t just let people be happy, can you?”

Her mouth curved in that half-smile she saved for when she was both amused and dangerous. “Happiness is fleeting. Strength is eternal.”

“Yeah, well,” Jason muttered, “I’m not planning on dying again anytime soon.”

He pushed off the wall, wincing as his leg protested, and limped toward the archway. Talia didn’t stop him, though her voice followed him, “You will have my blessing,” she said. “But do not mistake it for approval.”

Jason looked back over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He made it three steps before she added, almost absently, “Tell Daniel that I expect him and the children in the morning. The twins’ training begins soon.”

Jason froze mid-step, then glanced back. “They’re only three.”

“They are Al Ghuls by adoption, but even their mere association with the name will put them in danger. They won’t be assassins, as you wish, but they will know how to defend themselves.”

Jason let out a breath through his nose, part exasperation, part gratitude. “Yeah. I’ll tell him.”

He limped off down the corridor towards the clinic, blood drying against his thigh. The fight had burned through the last of his hesitation. It was done. He’d said it out loud, in front of someone who could have slit his throat for less, and he still meant every word.

He was marrying Danny.

Not because the League demanded it.

Not because Ra’s approved it.

Not even because the twins needed the protection.

Because he wanted to.

Because despite what he’d thought after his resurrection, Jason Todd had found something like peace. He found a family that looked at the blood on his hands and didn’t flinch. And Jason Todd wasn’t the type of man who let the people he loved go.

Leg patched up and clothes mostly free from blood, Jason reached their quarters, a small set of rooms not far from where Damian grew up, and a far upgrade he’d had in the former timeline, in the old Nanda Parbat. Danny was sitting with their napping twins, reading a report as Dante cuddled into his side and Ellie hugged his calf like a teddy bear.

Danny smiled when he saw Jason. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jason whispered back. He settled down on the mat beside them, his wound straining against the stitches. He ignored it. “Ra’s and Talia agreed.”

If his smile was bright before, now it was blinding. Jason’s heart skipped a beat. “That’s wonderful. I can’t wait—why are you bleeding?”

He looked down. No stitches had popped, but then what—Danny’s hand covered his neck. The small cut. He’d forgotten, and it was already closed. “It’s fine. Just a disagreement with Talia.”

“Jason.”

“It was a small fight.”

“Jason.”

“She started it.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “And you finished it?”

“Damn right I did.” Jason ran a hand through Ellie’s hair, wispy and soft like spiderwebs. “Ra’s is having a fancy dinner tonight to announce it and everything. Called it a family dinner, but I’m certain the Lieutenants will be there too.”

Danny just stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing—quiet, breathless, incredulous laughter that filled the small room like sunlight. “You really are insane,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” Jason admitted. “But you like me that way.”

Danny laughed again. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I guess I do.”

Leaning over, Jason pressed a kiss against Danny’s hair and settled in, resting on his shoulder. Danny pulled all the tension out of him—the fight, the adrenaline, the sharp words and sharper edges. It dispersed like blood in water, leaving only warmth and light.

Jason stayed there for a long time. He sat there, with his people, watching the slow rise and fall of Ellie’s chest, the way Dante’s fists curled and kneed Danny’s shirt. Danny brushed his fingers over the cut on Jason’s neck again. His touch was cold, soothing, with a faint hum of ectoplasm leaving his skin and sinking into the cut.

“We should get ready,” Danny said, reluctant. “If Ra’s called this a family dinner, he’s planning something.”

“Just a little longer,” Jason plead, and Danny was kind enough to allow it.

An hour later, Jason stood before the polished bronze mirror, tugging at the stiff collar of his formal League uniform. It wasn’t the ninja gear he preferred—this one was ceremonial, black with crimson stitching in the shape of the demon’s head curling over his chest. His hood was up, mask already in place, at least until they were. Danny stood beside him in deep green robes trimmed with silver, the faint shimmer of ectoplasm catching in the light. Their kids were dressed in Danny’s green—Talia’s green—in mini versions of the robes Damian used to wear. They might have been Damian’s hand-me-downs; Talia would never say.

“Looking good,” Jason said, adjusting the clasp at Dante’s shoulder.

He pouted, glaring at the ground. “Itchy…” he grumbled.

“It’s supposed to,” Jason said, smirking. “Means you’re special.”

Dante’s chest puffed up. “I’m always special, Daddy. Tell him, Papa!”

Danny scooped Dante up into his arms, settling the boy on his hip. “Super special,” Danny agreed. “The most—Ellie, don’t you take that off.”

Ellie, who had half her dress over her head, scowled. “Off!” she screamed.

Jason grabbed her under the arms and lifted her onto his shoulders. “No freedom today, demon,” he said, not really annoyed. Ellie settled down surprisingly quickly, taking in the sights from her new height. “Now, you two be nice to Grandpa Ra’s, okay? He’s super old, so he’s not used to loud noises, or kids running around, or fighting—”

“Jason, stop trying to convince our kids to give Ra’s a heart attack.”

Ellie buried her face in his hood. “Granpie Ra’s is boring,” she muttered.

“I know, bubbles, I know. Just put up with him for a little bit.”

Ellie yawned, fangs flashing.

They entered the main dining hall as the clock struck seven. The room was beautiful, with colorful mosaics along the walls. The table was made from ancient oak felled in 1847 and split vertically, showing off the hundreds of rings that made up its center. As Jason thought, the lieutenants and their families filled the table, going up in hierarchy towards the head of the table where Ra’s lounged in his throne. On his left sat Talia and on his right… Tim. What was Tim doing here?

“Ah—” Ra’s rose to his feet as they approached. “The prodigal son returns to my table.”

Jason bowed low enough to be polite but not servile. Ellie giggled, trying to stay upright. “You called, Demon’s Head.”

“I did,” Ra’s said, eyes gleaming with that mix of amusement and calculation that always made Jason itch. “It is a night for family, and the League’s future depends upon the strength of ours.”

He gestured for them to sit. There were two empty seats beside Talia, and two beside Tim. Jason took to Tim’s side, placing Ellie between him and the rest of the table as Danny did the same with Dante. Danny sat quietly, posture straight. Tim was staring between Dante and Ellie, worrying his lip with his teeth. Ellie stared back.

Talia lifted her cup. “To family.”

The assassins murmured the words in unison. Jason didn’t move to drink. Neither did Tim. At least Danny didn’t have to worry about someone poisoning him.

Ra’s waited for the silence to settle before speaking again. “Tonight, I share two announcements. The first, you already suspect. After his failure to return to our fold, I have decided to remove Damian Al Ghul from his place as my sole heir.” No sound could be heard from down the table. Jason glared at Talia, but with his mask, she didn’t notice nor cared. “The boy you have seen training under our own Red Hood—Timothy Drake—is being considered in his stead.”

Jason’s head jerked to his right. Tim froze, staring at Ra’s with wide eyes. Talia was also watching his reaction.

She’d known. Of course she did.

Ra’s continued smoothly, “He has shown promise beyond even my expectations. His intellect and resourcefulness are… formidable.”

Jason’s jaw clenched. He forced himself to keep his voice low. “You’re joking.”

Ra’s smiled faintly. “I do not joke about destiny.”

Jason’s stomach twisted. The condition. Support Damian publicly. Of course. She’d known.

Talia met his eyes across the table, and for the first time that night, her smile held something almost like apology. Almost.

Still, Jason had promised. And it wasn’t like Tim would be hurt he didn’t defend him. “You’d place the League in the hands of a boy who wants to leave? You’d take away Damian’s birthright due to factors outside his control? He is still a stranger to us, and Damian was an excellent heir.”

Ra’s smiled condescendingly. “He’ll want to stay. You did, after all.”

Jason swallowed back a sharp response.

Ra’s raised his goblet again. “And my second announcement,” he said, voice carrying through the silent hall, “concerns the union of two souls already bound to the League in loyalty and purpose. Daniel Al Ghul, my adopted grandson. The Red Hood, teacher and junior lieutenant. The League of Shadows recognizes your bond and welcomes your upcoming nuptials.”

The lieutenants toasted to their engagement, Tim copying them robotically. Jason felt every eye in the room on him. Danny tensed.

Ra’s smile sharpened. “Remove your mask, Hood. The League should see the man who stands beside my family.”

Jason hesitated. Few in the League had seen his face, years of paranoia keeping Jason from trusting them. His hand went to the side of his mask. He glanced at Danny—calm, unreadable—and at Talia, whose expression warned don’t defy him here.

Slowly, Jason unlatched the mask and set it on the table.

“Jason?” Tim whispered. Jason met his gaze and—without meaning to—smiled. Not cruelly. Just… softly. Tim was having a rough night after all.

Ra’s, satisfied, lifted his glass once more. “To legacy,” he declared.

Bruce blamed himself. He got worse, more reckless, more savage as he searched for any sign of his son’s body. Bruce lost all belief that Jason was still alive a year after his disappearance.

Dick never lost hope. Dick constantly searched through missing persons cases, busting human trafficking operations and searching drug houses and bribing street kids to tell him if they ever see something. Dick always got this look in his eye whenever Jason was brought up, half frantic, half despair.

Cass never met Jason, though she knew about him. She cared, in the way you care when someone you love is hurting. But she didn’t care like Bruce, like Dick. Like Tim.

Damian didn’t care in the slightest. The one time Damian spoke about Jason, it was praise him for knowing his place and leaving before the true Son of the Bat returned. Dick looked like he was going to beat him to death.

Steph was dead.

Jason Todd wasn’t.

Tim Drake was not a man prone to panicking, but god, was it a struggle today!

Jason Todd was alive.

Jason Todd was here.

Jason Todd had just taken off his mask at Ra’s al Ghul’s dinner table like it was nothing.

Tim was staring. He knew he as staring, but he couldn’t stop. Jason’s face was older than Tim remembered, the baby fat having melted off Robin’s face to be replaced by a strong jawline and broad shoulders. All signs of the malnutrition of his childhood seemed to have vanished. Mind racing, neurons firing, Tim’s brain fractured into neat compartments on instinct.

Fact: Jason Todd was alive. Fact: Jason Todd was the Red Hood, a member of the League of Assassins where he held rank. Authority. Respect. Fact: Jason Todd did appear to be kidnapped, restrained, drugged, nor freshly resurrected. Fact: Jason Todd had children.

That last one kept catching like a burr.

After Ra’s announcements—and Tim really didn’t want to think about the first one, fucking hell—dinner was served, with servants carrying out shared platters for the lower ranked lieutenants, while serving individual plated dishes to the… Al Ghuls. Jason is marrying into the Al Ghul family. Roasted Lamb—stuffed with rice, pistachios, and dried apricots—sat in front of him, with a small bowl of saffron rice off to the side. A rich red wine was poured into his goblet.

It was probably poisoned.

Jason’s plate was similar, but not exactly the same. His cut of lamb looked different, darker, tender, with a servant offering to drip a pomegranate reduction over the meat. It was the same cut of meat Talia and Ra’s were served. His bowl of saffron rice was jeweled with barberries and nuts. A plate of stuffed grape leaves was placed in between him and Danyal, and they served the children before taking a few for themselves.

Then, without checking for poison, without any of the pickiness Alfred had noticed with ‘rich people food,’ without hesitation, Jason ate.

Tim’s heart leapt into his throat.

Jason Todd looked like he belonged there. Like he’d eaten this food for years. That he’d adapted to it. That he liked it. That he trusted the kitchen implicitly. That he trusted Ra’s al Ghul implicitly.

Then, when everyone is engrossed in their food, Jason reaches out behind his daughter’s back and slides a stuffed grape leaf onto Tim’s plate. No eye contact. No comment. No one watching.

No. Oh no.

This wasn’t a hostage situation. It wasn’t a long con. Jason didn’t need rescuing.

Tim’s fingers curled around his goblet. He’s spend weeks in the League pretending compliance while mapping exits, gaining alliances, testing weaknesses. The Red Hood had been a tentative alliance. A blade of Ra’s that Tim thought he could wield against the man.

The Red Hood was Jason Todd. Jason Todd was marrying Ra’s grandson. Jason Todd had two children with his grandson.

Acknowledged children despite being born out of wedlock. A public engagement. A seat at the head of the table. A role training assassins. A hand in the League’s infrastructure. Jason was embedded in the League, like one of the millions of tiles in the mosaics on the walls. Extraction would require force. Force would require blood. Jason wouldn’t leave easily.

If Tim had his resources—the Justice League, the Titans, Nightwing, Bruce—he’d risk it. He could imagine it easily—Bruce storming Nanda Parbat, burning alliances, dismantling centuries of shadow work with brute moral certainty. He could imagine Dick insisting Jason come home. Babs running numbers that didn’t add up. Damian bristling at what had been taken from him.

And Jason—

Jason would stand in the way.

Not because he couldn’t leave.

But because he wouldn’t.

Tim’s chest hurt. He tried to ease the pain with a sip from his goblet. Pomegranate wine puckered his lips.

“Tim,” a soft voice said. No one called him Tim here. But now Daniel was using his nickname with familiarity, a small smile on his face, looking at him kindly. It was an act. “Jason has told me you’re an apt inventor. If you’d like, you’re more than welcome to join me in my lab. I’d love to get to know you better.”

“You would?” Tim blurted out.

“Yes? You’re going to be my brother-in-law soon. And, truth be told, I’ve been having difficulty with one of my projects. I’d love to get another set of eyes on it.”

Tim thought of what sort of experiments the League would be invested in, suppressed a shutter, and agreed, if only so he could sabotage it if need be.

“Wait, you’re Daddy’s brother?” The little boy asked from across the table.  “I thought Uncle Dami was Daddy’s brother?”

“No, stupid, Uncle Dami is Papa’s brother!” the little responded, and there was a thud under the table. “Papa! Dan kicked me.”

Daniel sighed. “Ellie, don’t call your brother stupid. Dante, don’t kick your sister. If you want to fight, you can wait for training in the morning.”

Jason laughed, and the sound scared Tim more than anything. Because Jason looked at the children, children already training to be assassins, with love. Happiness. Acceptance.

Jason had already made his choice.

The realization settled slowly, inexorably, like a door closing.

Tim had always believed—had needed to believe—that if Jason were alive, saving him would be as simple as reaching out, proving they were family, pulling him back from the edge.

But Jason wasn’t on an edge. He had built a life. A terrifying, violent, morally compromised life—but one that was stable. One that protected the people Jason loved. One the League itself now had a vested interest in preserving.

Tim was good at impossible decisions. He’d made them before. He’d lived with them.

He exhaled carefully through his nose.

Bruce was still out there. Every second he waited was a second Bruce couldn’t afford. And Tim—

Saving Jason would take a long time. Maybe years. It would involve extraditing him from the League, from his fiancé, from his children. Maybe even involve taking the three with them. But he couldn’t do anything with Bruce actively missing.

Ra’s lifted his glass again, and the hall echoed with ritual approval. Tim raised his own a second late, copying the movement by rote. His hand did not shake.

Jason wasn’t looking at Ra’s though. For the first time that night, their eyes met. And Jason inclined his head by a fraction. A soldier’s acknowledgement. A silent goodbye.

Tim returned the nod.

Decision made. He’d rescue Bruce from the timeline; he was almost done with the League anyway. But Jason Todd would remain exactly where he was. Not lost. Untouchable.

For now.