#awbf

Jason couldn't recall the exact sequence of events that lead to him being back in the Manor. Back in the bed that he had spent his early teens in, whacking off to the thought of being Robin and tearing a swath through the Gotham underworld. He would have objected if he had been in his right mind, but he had been to distraught to focus long enough to stop Bruce and Alfred loading them all into the car. So, here he was.

He had slept for an hour or two, completely wrung out by the events of the past few days. When he woke, it was with a clearer head, and in many ways, a lighter heart. It was all out in the open now – he just had to weather the consequences, but the crippling guilt no longer felt like it was going to burst out of him in some sort of toxic explosion. It was progress.  

He sat up in bed to find Bruce sitting across the room.

A great start.

Bruce was stony faced, but beside him was Jason's new prosthetic. That was surprising. B was far too used to fighting his battles tooth and nail to offer up a potential tool to an enemy. That meant it might be some form of peace offering. If that was the case, it was possible that if he could control his temper and if Bruce would just listen to him without making snap judgements or agree to disagree on a few things, then they might be able to come out of this mess with the possibility of at least having a civil relationship. Something Jason wanted for Dick and Tim’s sake, as well as his own.

“Jason,” Bruce rumbled.

Jason pushed himself up against the headboard in response to that tone of voice, he just couldn’t help himself.

“I understand that the trauma you and Dick both shared has forged a tight bond between you, and that is partly my fault for leaving you both to deal with the situation alone. I should have offered you more support. I plan to rectify that now. But the relationship has to end, it’s unbalanced and unhealthy.”

Jason has been expecting the attack, when it came, to be about the bomb, not he and Dick’s relationship. He may have got his hopes up a little early. Jason sighed, loudly and with all the frustration and tiredness he felt. “Bruce, I’m going to say this as politely as possible, and I’m going to use small words so that you understand: It’s none of your damn business, so back off .”

Bruce's brows drew down, and his jaw took on the same stubborn set that Dick's did when he was going to behave insufferably.

“It’s not up to you, it’s up to Dick,” Jason tired again. “He’s the one calling the shots right now. He was the one that instigated this, I spent a great deal of time trying to rebuff him, even though I didn’t really want to, I know it’s a bad idea. I know it's fucked up and weird, but it’s come to a point that I don’t give a crap. He wants to be with me for some God forsaken reason? Then I’m all in. If he wants me to leave and never come back, he has more than earned the right to expect that of me and I will do it.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry at the thought. He wasn’t sure if he was even convincing himself, but it was true.“Go interrogate Dick if you don’t believe me.”

Bruce made a tiny facial expression that Jason translated as discomfort.

“Goddamn it, old man. If you’re going to attempt more input into Dick's well-being you’re going to have to get over the sex thing. I know It’s not what any parent wants to deal with, but Dick’s not particularly subtle with his sexuality any more. He’s said things about people that I wish I could wipe from my memory, but you just have to learn how to deal with it. You have to, Bruce.”

“What people?” Bruce asked dubiously, and in Jason’s opinion, foolishly.

“Shall I start with Talia and move smoothly through to Slade Wilson? Not enough brain bleach in the world for that one.”

Bruce made another tiny facial expression. Horror, maybe disgust, Jason decided this time.

“Yeah. It’s gross, but it’s just part of who he is. We all have those nasty thoughts, it’s just his follow through and come out his mouth.”

There was a new expression on Bruce's face, but Jason couldn’t quite identify it. He shifted awkwardly and wished he didn’t have to have these kind of discussions when he was in his underwear in bed, it made him feel vulnerable.

Bruce leaned forward a fraction of an inch and steepled his fingers together “So, Jason,” he said, voice even, like the uncomfortable conversation they had just shared had happened in some alternate dimension. “What do you suggest Dick needs?”

This was a test. Bruce was clearly waiting to trap him in some way. But Jason was so over jumping through hoops for people. And he was kind of done with lying, even through omission. The past six months had more than taught him how toxic that shit could be. So the truth it was.

“What Dick needs , Bruce, first and foremost is his family, his friends and community. Hell, despite his very obvious problems with verbal diarrhoea, he’s still somehow making friends. Ms Singh from number 29 barely speaks English but they still manage to hang out. He even charmed her over-protective grandson into parrot sitting once. Did you know Dick speaks passable Urdu? Apparently it’s similar enough to Hindi to communicate.”

Bruce smiled slightly, a tiny twitch of his lips, “He has always had a head for languages.”

“It’s a very Dick thing to be good at,” Jason felt his own lips curve up into a wry smile.

“So you’re suggesting I spend more down time with him?”

“Yeah, but not too much. You know you’ll just fight like you always do. But he needs more than your company, he needs you to be open with him. Show you love him, but tell him too. You remember that time you came over after the vet stabbing incident and he told you he loved you?”

“I do. I didn’t realise you had heard that conversation.”

“I was flat out on the sofa, I heard it all. Anyway, when we spoke after and he was confused because he thought he told you that he loved you all time. That disconnect was disturbing to him. He needs to know that expressing himself is okay, he needs to know where his boundaries are and he needs to know that people still love him, even when he says Slade Wilson is the hottest villain he knows. Which is wrong on so many levels it’s nearly a disowning offence.”

While he watched Bruce struggle through another small facial tic of horror, it occurred to Jason that this could be the thing that finally mended the rift between Dick and Bruce, the one that had been there before Jason had come into the picture and put on the pixie boots. The love between them was obvious and strong, despite their tendency to come to blows over the simplest of things. It was the source of so much of Jason's jealousy when he was younger, and if he was honest with himself, now too. Maybe Tim was onto something when he said they had gained as well as lost.

Bruce remained silent, he seemed to be digesting Jason’s words rather than tearing into him for speaking his mind, so he figured he could push his luck a little. “On top of that, he needs proper help, his wild emotions and violent responses hurt him more than they ever hurt me. He needs to feel in control of his actions again. I know a little something about that myself,” he admitted ruefully.

Bruce was staring at him, another one of those inscrutable expressions on his face. “You really care about him, don’t you?”

“Of course I fucking do! That’s the whole point, Bruce!”

“Be that as it may, my opinion about your relationship hasn’t changed, Jason. I think it’s unhealthy and morally ambiguous at best.”

“You’re going to lecture me about moral ambiguity? You ? Who has been banging Catwoman, and Talia Al Ghul for fucksake? And God knows who else, you do seem to have a thing for the villains. And it seems to have rubbed off on Dick some, what with his currant weird fixation with Deathstroke. It’s no surprise that he’s latched onto me too.”’

Bruce was scowling at him, but then seemed to get his emotions in check. He drew in a tired sounding breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not because you’re a ‘villain,’ Jason, although all our lives would be easier if you stopped killing people. My life would be much less morally conflicted if you did.”

“Because you want to put me in jail?”

“Because the law is for everyone. And yes,” Bruce held up a hand to stop Jason's retort. “Yes, I know we also break the law, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. I don’t want you to go to jail, but if you murder people in cold blood, then I am obligated to put you there.”

“But now you won’t because it will piss Dick off, and you wouldn’t want that.”

“Talking with you is an exercise in frustration.”

Jason was kind of impressed that he could still make Bruce get the particular look of aggravation on his face. Alfred and Dick used to refer to it as the ‘Jay special.’

Bruce drew in another calming breath and continued in a surprisingly measured tone. “Even so, that was not the point I was going to make. It’s not about your status as a ‘criminal.’”

Jason could hear the quote marks and it made him seethe. But he miraculously managed to hold his tongue.

Bruce leant forward again, face serious. “It’s because A. Dick is your adopted brother, and that doesn't sit well with me, and won’t sit well with the rest of the League or anyone else. And B. he has brain damage. I'm not sure how much he can consent to this. I don’t think it would have happened at all if he hadn’t been injured.”

Jason sat straighter and placed his foot on the floor, covering his stump with the blanket. “Okay, let’s start with point A, before I ream you the fuck out over point B.”

Bruce mirrored Jason's position. A challenge, the prick. Jason wanted nothing more than to go to to toe with him, but he could hardly do that when he couldn’t stand unaided and his prosthetic was the other side of the room.

“If Dick was banging Tim, or Cass, that would be one thing. But me? We spent time together before I died, sure, but it wasn’t brotherly, it might have become that, if things had been different, but that wasn’t the way the dice fell. It’s more like if two overly competitive childhood friends hooked up. And we didn't even spend that much time together out of uniform, you made damn sure of that by constantly comparing us. You made me feel inferior, so I resented him. You made him feel like he was being replaced as your son as well as Robin so he resented me. That was fucking shit, B, you fucked us over good.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but Jason waved him off, he was warming to his rant now. “And I don’t give a fuck what you or the League or the papers think about it. Jason Todd, adopted son of Bruce Wayne, died . I don’t have a legal name any more, not one that’s actually mine. And you didn’t even adopt Dick until he was twenty! So in the eyes of the law,  we ain't even related.”

He sat back to watch Bruce sort through that. Disappointingly, he was keeping his face tightly controlled, with none of his usual tells on display.

“And the second issue?” Bruce asked, after a moment.

Jason held back the smug smile that wanted to creep onto his face. He had so won that round.  “Are you going to ban Dick from having relationships or sex of any kind?”

Bruce looked vaguely constipated, his eyes narrowing  with realisation of where this was going to go, but he said nothing, so Jason continued, “Just because he has brain damage, doesn't mean he’s not a person who has needs and wants. And what he really wants, is much the same as it has always been – a strong and sappy romantic relationship – and sex has always been a part of that for him. You can’t deny him that. You didn’t like Kory, but you couldn't stop him having a relationship with her. And you can’t choose for him now, either. He’s not a drooling vegetable, he can make his own decisions, although they are often impulsive and stupid, to be fair.”

Bruce digested that for a moment, while Jason resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. He wished he had his prosthetic on, he felt vulnerable without it.

“You’ve changed, Jason,” Bruce said at last.

Jason scoffed. “No I haven’t, you’re just seeing me different.”

Bruce stood, and Jason tensed, but there was no threat in his posture or face, so he forced himself to relax slightly.

“That may be true, too. But you have changed,” Bruce said, he picked up the prosthetic and lay it next to Jason's bed.

“I haven't,” Jason said stubbornly.

“You have.”

“Have not!” This was a game Bruce would play with him as a kid, when Jason was attempting to bullshit his way into doing something stupid, like going on patrol with stomach flu. It was bittersweet now.

Bruce's lips twitched again. “Well, maybe not completely. But you have grown, we would never have been able to have this conversation six months ago.”

“I’ve had a crash course in controlling my temper. It hardly counts as amazing personal growth.”

“You still can’t take a compliment.”

“You still haven't given me one.”

Bruce sighed, but he still seemed amused. “Why must my family all be so stubborn?” he mused as he headed for the door.

“Karma,” Jason muttered, loudly.  Trying not to show his emotions on his face.

“Well, be that as it may, consider this your compliment: Your insight into Dick’s needs and behaviour and your obvious… affection for him, does you a great deal of credit. Rest now. I will think on what you’ve said, and speak to Dick when he wakes up.”

“Okay,” Jason said, stupidly.

  Jason was left feeling conflicted. There was a measure of forgiveness there, but the anger was also still simmering. Neither of them had apologised for the hurtful words said before – which in Jason's opinion meant they were still out there, festering. And Bruce was never going to be okay with this relationship, that much was obvious. Jason could live with that, but could Dick? Would they even be a relationship after the dust settled?

Feeling suddenly anxious Jason slipped to edge of the bed and began putting on his new prosthetic. It was a perfect fit, and instantly made him feel more centred. So much so he didn't even panic when the door opened while he was still in his shorts, contemplating his new leg.

“Hey,” Tim said, pushing into the room without even a by your leave. He was carrying two steaming mugs in his hands though, so Jason was inclined to forgive him.

“Earl Grey with milk, you heathen,” Tim said, handing over the cup of tea in his right hand and casually sitting in the chair Bruce had vacated.

“Thanks.” Jason casually attempted to put his pants on, without looking like he was flustered. Tim just sipped his tea impassively. “I thought you were grounded?” Jason asked.

Tim shrugged. “He’s not the boss of me.”

“Yes he is, you breaking the rules to come see me?”

Tim sniffed. “It’s hardly breaking the rules if it’s still within the house I live in.  That went okay didn’t it?” He looked mildly smug.  

“You were watching,” Jason said flatly. Because of course he was.

“Surveillance is how we show love.”

“Yeah? Well it’s creepy and weird.”

Tim just lifted a casual shoulder. “What now?”

Good question. Jason didn’t want to stay here and he didn’t want to be alone, alone he would start thinking about the things Bruce had said. Whether he was just lashing, out or if his words had come from the heart, didn’t matter, some of that shit had cut deep. “You missed the first show down,” Jason said, following his own line of thought. “It wasn’t so nice.”

“You know he probably didn’t mean anything awful he said. He loves you.”

“ Loved me. Young, starry-eyed me. Not the person I am now, not the fuck up screwing his favourite son. Or trying to anyway.”

Tim made a moue of distaste, but didn’t otherwise comment on the sex thing. “He finds you hard to deal with – hard to categorize. You make him feel very conflicted emotions so he responds aggressively. Dick does the same thing when he’s wound up. Even before the head injury it could be brutal.”

“Yeah, B didn’t like that comparison.”

“You do like to go the hard route don’t you?”

“Seems to be that way. Anyway, I guess I can’t do much except leave. I agree with Bruce when he suggests me and Dick spend some time apart. So I need to see if he wants the apartment. I have other places I can go.”

Tim’s brows drew down, and his mouth opened, to give some, no doubt infuriatingly good advice, when he was cut off by a screech from the hall.

“ Clunk fizz! ” That ear-splitting yell was followed up by some scuffling and a cry of, “Fucknugget!”

Tim and Jason looked at each other of a moment, before getting up and heading to the door. Jason opened it to find PB looking shifty and slightly ruffled. Behind him, the huge, hulking form of Titus was staring at him intently, his ears pricked forward and his head cocked curiously.

“Motherfucker,” PB tried, eyeing Titus suspiciously.

Titus gave a soft, ‘woof’ and wagged his tail.

“Made a friend, PB?” Jason asked, as the parrot sidled over and began climbing his pant leg.

“Motherfucker,” PB said again.

“ Woof ,” Titus said.

“I think they're communicating,” Tim was still sipping his tea, and looked very amused.

“Yeah, it’s like fucking Disney in here.” If PB was wandering the halls, where was Dick? There was never a freaking moment of downtime in Jason's life, what with Dick and the Parrot and his high maintenance family. “Do you think we need to mount a search party?” he asked.

“No, Dick is with B, they probably left the door open. PB isn’t a big fan of his namesake, so maybe he slipped out to come and complain about it to you.”

“Is that what happened?” Jason asked the bird, looking into his beady eye as he perched on his shoulder. He belatedly realised he must sound like an idiot, asking a bird a question like he was expecting an answer.

“Motherfucker,” PB told him, sullenly.

“ Woof !” Titus wagged his tail again.

“Okay then,” Jason said. “I’m going the fuck back to bed.”

  Jason next woke as the bed shifted beside him. A moment of panic was followed by recognition.

“Hey, Dick.”

“Hey, Jay.” Dick reached out and ran gentle fingers over the bruises on Jason’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Jason closed his eyes, but otherwise remained still under the caressing touch. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And I have too much. I would give my life to take it back.”

“I know. I know you regret what happened. I just wished you would have told me sooner. And I wish I had better control of how I react to things. I can’t stand this violence in me.”

“I deserved it.”

“Yeah, maybe you did, in theory. But not in practice. It’s the last thing in the world I want to do. I was mad enough I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“This time.”

Jason wanted to protest that, but there was truth in it. He could hold his own in a fight against Dick, he would probably lose, but he could defend himself. But if Dick had taken a gun out and threatened to shoot him, he would have let him. And as ridiculously unlikely as that particular scenario was, the emotional clusterfuck behind it was dangerous, for both of them.

“I think it’s a good idea if I stay here for a while,” Dick said, quietly.

Jason was glad of the darkness in the room, he didn’t think he would be able to hide the pain on his face otherwise. “You can take the apartment,” he said, and he thought his voice sounded mostly impassive.

“I don’t need it. Bruce is getting me some specialist help. Lots of it apparently, and time apart is a good idea. I need to process and learn to control my feelings more.”

“You can still have the apartment, though. It wouldn't feel right staying in it without you.” He didn’t think he could stand it, being there alone and knowing how he had fucked up their lives, how he had fucked up this stupid relationship, which was always destined to be a disaster. God, he felt like shit.  

Dick poked him on his bruised cheekbone. “Why do you sound so weird, do you have a cold coming on? Or did I break your nose? Anyway, you may as well stay, it has all your cripple gear already there, and that’s harder to move than my brain damage stuff.”

Despite himself, and his regret and guilt and grief, Jason snorted with laughter. Cripple gear and brain-damage stuff? Such a Dick thing to say, in both senses of the word.

“And anyway,” Dick said, poking him again, “It won’t be forever, I can come visit, and I’ll move back eventually.”

That was unexpected and let in a flood of glorious hope. Confusion and hope were uncomfortable bedfellows and Jason reached out and grabbed Dick’s fingers “You’re coming back?”

“Er, yeah?”  Dick sounded perplexed. “That is, if you want me to?”

Jason leaned to the side and switched the bedside lamp on, blinking at Dick in the sudden light. “So you’re just staying here for therapy? You’re not actually breaking up with me? I kind of need you to clarify.”

“Break up with you? Over a bit of violence and being blown up? Nah.” Dick pushed at him, “Shove over, there’s room in here for two.”

“Fucknugget.”

“Sorry, PB. Room in here for three.”

Jason sighed and shuffled over a bit, laying back and looking at the ceiling. It was the same as it had been when he was a kid. The whole room was kind of stuck in time. But everything else about the boy he had been had changed, was still changing. He wasn’t sure how he felt about those shifts yet. Dick pulled back the covers and let in all the chill air before clambering in beside him. PB walked across Jason’s face and over to Dick, who scooped him up and cuddled him like he was a fluffy kitten and not a half bald dinorat.

“So no, I don’t want to break up with you, Jason.” Dick said, after a moment. “I just need a little distance to get my head on straight.”

“Why wouldn’t you though?” Jason asked, baffled. “After everything?”

“Because I am totally and disgustingly in love with you, you dope.”

“Oh,” Jason said.

Dick snorted. “Oh he says, oh . Romance is not your strong suit is it? Nor is sex really, I guess, but I’m sure we can work on it.”

“Yeah thanks for that, Dickface.”

“For what?”

“Never mind. Bruce is going to have an aneurysm if he catches you in my bed tomorrow.”

“Don’t care.”

“You’re a rebel.”

Dick leaned over and kissed him on the nose. “I’m the original rebel wonder, don’t n ya know.”

“I did it better.” Jason was aware there was a dopey smile on his face but he couldn’t seem to tramp it down.

Dick waved an imperious hand above their heads. “You died, so it doesn’t count.”

“Ass,”

“Cooter flooter.”

“That’s still not a thing, Dick. Stop trying to make cooter flooter happen.”

“I can’t believe you’ve seen mean girls!” Dick said, delighted.

Jason decided not to remind him that they had in fact watched it together, not that long ago. The occasional gaps in Dick’s memory still upset him and Jason didn’t want to ruin this moment.

Dick snuggled down and into Jason’s space, so they were sharing the pillow. Unlike the first few times it had happened, having Dick invade his personal bubble felt pleasant and something in his chest loosened a little.

“I’m going to see the social worker tomorrow. Will you come too?” Dick asked.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Jason said, and he could hear the whine in his own voice. He hated that sanctimonious asshat.

“Will you?”

“I guess, if I have to.” He would do whatever it took. But he didn’t have to like it.

“Because you love me too?”

“I guess, for my sins,” Jason sighed after a moment. God knows how it had happened, but he was kind of disgustingly, stupidly in love right back.

“You say the sweetest things,” Dick said with a smile in his voice.

“I know I do, I’m charming that way.”

“Anything to add, PB?” Dick asked. “Do you love us too?”

PB seemed to think about that for a moment, then ruffled his feathers and settled down on the pillow. “ Woof ,” he said, decisively.

Dick chuckled, the sound reverberating through Jason’s body, it felt good and he grinned into the darkness. He was missing a leg, and a working penis, but he had Dick and PB and Tim and some sort of semi truce with B. All things considered things were actually pretty awesome. There was still a long way to go, but he felt at peace and more hopeful than he probably had a right to be.

END NOTES:

So thats a wrap... mostly. I know some people are dying to know if Jason regains full use of his penis, so there is a follow up fic in the works (after this years Xmas exchange has been written.) Tentatively titled:

36 Times Jason and Dick Attempted to Have Sex (and mostly failed)

It will no doubt be very silly and contain gratuitous parrots.

Jason spent a few long moments standing stock still in the ruins of his living-room. He was completely emotionally unprepared for this confrontation; he had no idea what he wanted to say – what he could say . He was exhausted in every possible way, the small boost he had felt from uninterrupted sleep had evaporated, to be replaced with a sickening bubble of adrenalin sitting in his gut. And to top it off, he was poorly balanced on a pair of crappy-ass crutches. On the upside, at least the house was already mostly destroyed, so no need to worry on that account.

Of course Bruce would turn up as Batman, and in typical Batman fashion, he just seemed to materialise from thin air. Stepping out of the shadows of Jason's own bedroom while Jason still stood in the living room clutching his phone and leaning heavily on his crutches.  The fact it was his bedroom just added insult to injury. If he came out of this confrontation in one piece he was going to have to look into better security.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Bruce said, by way of greeting. His gravely voice all Bat and all business. Just the tone was enough to straighten Jason's spine. He hated it, the quiet rage.

When he had been Robin, he had seen Bruce mad, seen him scornful and harsh – but Batman never struck him in anger. They spared, and he didn’t always hold back, and  Jason felt those punches like he was meant to. Because the bad guys wouldn’t be pulling their punches just because he was a kid. He had never feared Bruce's anger in a physical sense, but he had feared his disappointment, his disapproval and his disinterest. It galled him to know that even after everything, the same was still true.

“I was going to tell you,” Jason said at last, opting for a vague sense of honesty. He was already stripped bare. And there was likely nothing he could say that would stop this from reaching its inevitable conclusion.

“Really.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, really! I just didn’t know how. How do you say something like that?”

“That’s never been an issue for you in the past.”

Batman flowed towards him, cape moving sinuously behind him. His jaw was clenched with rage. Jason suspected it would only take a nudge or two to push him over into violence. Like father like son. Tim was the only one of them he had never seen lose his shit and start swinging his fists when pushed. The girls at least seemed to have more control over their uglier emotions – well, Babs had bashed him on the head a time or two, but that was fairly controlled bursts of irritation rather than the irrational fury Dick, Bruce and Jason himself seemed to fall into. Not to mention Damian, who was shaping up to be a real chip off the old block too.

There was a time, when pushing Bruce to that limit was the highlight of Jason’s week. When he had first come back, having Bruce’s attention and causing him to lose control was the only thing that made the chaos in his mind ease. It had been easy to do – he just had to go after the family. Tim had been easy, Dick more challenging in a fight, Jason could admit that he rarely won when going toe to toe with him – but it had riled Bruce to unreasonable levels.

He had wanted the violence, the quiet fury, because even back then, the truth was, words hurt more than fists. And when it came verbal warfare, Bruce was an expert at landing precise and debilitating blows. Jason suspected he was going to get a taste of that tonight.

“You surprise me, Jason. You never seemed like a person to enjoy charity, you certainly didn’t as a child. But here you are, living off my dime, enjoying the best rehabilitative care money can buy, when you are the one who caused your disability in the first place.”

Now that hurt. Because he was right and yet so wrong at the same time, and Jason couldn't find the words to explain how he ended up here, living off Bruce. It wasn’t because he needed charity, it wasn’t even that he needed help, if he had to go it alone, he would.

He was here because of Dick, and guilt and despair.

And love, somewhere under the mess, that was at the heart of what kept him here.

Jason was aware that he had a tendency to lash out when he felt cornered, when he felt attacked. And he could pretty much give as good as he got. But he barely had it in him today. “You’re a piece of work, Bruce,” he managed at last. “You act all holier than thou with me, but there's such spite in you. You know how to make your words really sting.” He laughed, and it sounded on the edge of madness. “Must be where Dickiebird gets it from, two peas in a fucked up hateful pod.”

“Don’t you dare talk about him,” Bruce growled, advancing. His boots crunched in the broken glass like t he precursor to a death knell. “You destroyed his life!”

“It was an accident!” Jason yelled back, he could feel his control slipping. He’d lost it in everything else in his life, why not himself, too? He teetered on the edge.

“It should never have happened!” Bruce said.

Jason let go another bitter, warbly laugh. “Yeah? Well there’s plenty that should never have happened. I’m a walking talking example of that!”

“Yes, you are.”

God he just wanted Bruce to hit him and stop with the words, it was stunning how alike they were sometimes. He might mock the similarity between Dick and Bruce, but damn if he wasn’t the worst offender himself.

And with that thought, came the rush of anger, soothing in its familiar intensity. This wasn’t even about Bruce, it was about Dick. “And where have you been, huh?” Jason said, his voice just a little too loud and wild. Despite everything he had done and despite everything Bruce had done for them – Jason realised he was mad at him. He didn’t deserve Bruce's respect after what he had done, sure. But Dick did, and Tim did. And Bruce had failed them. Again. “You talk about charity, but other than throwing money at us you haven’t done squat for Dick since he got hurt. He’s no use to you now he’s too broken to help in your crusade? What about Tim? Do you know how traumatised he was after the blast? He put you and your mission before Dick and himself, that’s fucked up!”

“You know nothing about Tim,” Bruce growled.

“I know nothing about Red Robin, I know plenty about Tim. You ever considered the impact of what happened on him? On Damian?”

“If you hadn’t blown Dick up, it wouldn’t be an issue at all.”

“Yeah, but I did , Bruce! That’s the thing. Do I regret it with every fibre of my being? Yeah. Would I do anything to fix it?” Jason's arm made an aborted gesture, almost letting go of the crutches and sending him flying. “I would give up my life in heartbeat if I could restore Dick to the way he was before. But I can’t, and done is done.”

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily.  He wasn’t ready for this, for the fucking pain of it. But that was nothing but the truth. And surprisingly, saying it steadied him, finally gave him a bit of control back. He had done a dumb, stupid and terrible thing. He couldn’t undo it. He had to accept that and do what he could from here.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Bruce, no, Batman was still there, still radiating icy fury. “There is nothing I can do to change what happened,” Jason said again. “All I can do is try to do what I can to make amends.”

“You can go to jail, Jason. For murdering that dealer. And for blowing up my son.”

Jason clenched his teeth, this was typical Bruce, he didn’t seem able to grasp it wasn’t about making amends to him . “If that’s what Dick wants. Then I’ll go, but I won’t on your say so.”

“You will ,” Bruce said. He was using his Bat voice, and that hurt, deep down. Jason didn’t want to have this discussion with an impersonal vigilante.

“It’s not up to you, it’s about Dick and what he wants from me,” Jason said again , because Bruce didn’t seem to be able to grasp the concept.  

“And the dealer who died in the explosion? They found his teeth embedded in the wall, Jason.”

“The building was fucking empty when I rigged it. He wasn’t supposed to be there any more than Dick was,” Jason shrugged. Honesty probably wasn’t the best policy in this case, but Jason had literally run out of fucks to give. “To be perfectly honest, Bruce I really couldn’t give a crap about him. He was a forgettable waste of oxygen.”

“You sound like a sociopath, with such a flagrant disregard for life,” Bruce shot back.

“Well it takes one to know one, B. If we’re laying on the blame, how about you, huh? Would I be like this if you hadn’t trained me to fight on the streets as a kid? Put me into the path of real sickos like the Joker? Would Dick be in the other room with his brain scrambled all to hell if you hadn’t stuck him in the short pants before he even hit double digits? Who's really the fucked up psycho out of the two of us?”Jason all but shouted. He took a step forward, so caught up in his rage he could barely even see straight.

Bruce shoved him back, a blow that in other circumstances wouldn’t have even rocked him on his heels, but unbalanced and precarious on his crutches, the force of it sent Jason toppling backwards onto his ass. He broke his fall slightly with an elbow and a flailing hand, cutting both in the shattered glass littering the floor.

Jason could feel humiliation burning his cheeks as he attempted to shove himself into a better position, cutting his palm further. Bruce was looking down at him, his face inscrutable behind the cowl. They both seemed too shocked by Jason's fall to know what to say or do.

Before either had a chance to rally and start throwing out further venom or punches, Dick dashed into the room and barrelled bodily into Bruce; the uncoordinated impact pushing him back a few steps making his boots grind against the glass on the floor alarmingly.

Taken by surprise, Bruce just seemed to stop himself before lashing out, a good thing in Jason's opinion or he would have to drag himself over there and punch his knees. Or shoot him, with the pistol that was strapped to the underside of the sofa.

“Leave him alone!” Dick yelled at Bruce. His face was a little puffy and his eyes were red. Jason couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been listening.

“Dick,” Bruce said, somewhat at a loss. “Do you know what he did?”

Dick nodded, sniffing wetly. “Yeah, he told me. He’s an asshole.” He stepped forward and shoved at Bruce again, although it lacked any force. “But that doesn’t mean you get to come in here and hit him. I already did, which I shouldn’t have done.” He clutched his hair, one of his very obvious signs of distress.

Jason could see the tension in Bruce's jaw, the sadness in the set of his mouth – he wanted to comfort Dick, that much was obvious, but he didn’t know how. Jason suddenly felt exhausted, tired and sad. He gave up trying to get his crutches and resigned himself to bleeding on the floor.

During the lull in the shouting, PB took the opportunity to emerge from Dick's room and scuttled across the floor into Jason's arms. He held it carefully, trying to avoid getting blood on its plumage.

“ Clunk fizz, ” PB said.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed absently while he pet it with his undamaged hand.

Dick stepped forward again. “Take off the cowl,” he demanded, drawing in a deep breath. “If you want to talk to him, or me about this stuff you doing as Bruce, not Batman.”

Bruce hesitated, but finally did as Dick asked, and pulled off the mask. His bare face looked more vulnerable, the lines of tension clear to see along with the maelstrom of emotion held in check behind his gaze.

Dick let out a soft, pained noise and threw himself into Bruce's arms, the impact staggered him again slightly, but he folded Dick into a hug that looked almost painful in its intensity.

“Dick,” Bruce said, his voice was full of emotion and confusion.

“Don’t put Jason in jail,” Dick said, proving that he had been listening for some time before exploding out of his room. His voice was muffled against Bruce's broad chest. Surrounded by Bruce’s impressive bulk he looked deceptively small in his superman sleep pants and one of Jason's old t-shirts.

“He deserves it,” Bruce rumbled, but the venom had gone out of his tone. He sounded exhausted too.

“Yeah he does,” Dick said, “and so do you. Me too. We all break the law. I know what he did was wrong, and a man died, but people have died because of our actions too – even if we didn’t mean it to happen.”

“It’s not quite the same, Dick. And what he did to you...” he trailed off.

“I know, I know what he did. And am fucking furious about it. But he told me, and that means a lot.”

“But-”

“ I deserve to go to jail, Bruce!” Dick burst out, flailing his arms. “I punched him because he ate my yogurt, I smashed a glass over his head because he changed over the channel and I beat him up with his own leg and threw it out the window.”

“You, what?” Bruce sounded honestly baffled.

“I beat him up with his own leg and threw it out he window. That’s why his face is all messed up and he’s on crutches.”

Bruce was looking at Dick in bewilderment, but there seemed to have been a shift in the atmosphere, it was still highly charged but it had lost the edge of insane fury of before, so Jason risked entering the conversation. “I deserved it, Dick,” he said.

“No!” Dick said forcefully, and then shrugged. “I mean, yes, you did, but deserving it and getting it are different. It’s domestic violence and I should be in jail. If I was anyone else, I would be, you would have seen to it.” That was directed at Bruce.

Bruce looked a little stumped; because Dick was clearly right, but also the circumstances were so complicated, it was hard to lay blame, or decide what the right course of action was.

But hey, at least Jason wasn’t going to jail, and Bruce didn’t seem like he was going to pummel him into the floor any more, Jason was getting a little tired of getting beat up.

Bruce seemed to be pondering, maybe reassessing now his fury had cooled. Jason and PB remained quietly on the floor, waiting to see how the dice landed.

“What do you want to do, Dick?” Bruce asked finally. “Things can’t stay like this, do you want me to move you somewhere else?” Back home to the manor was left unsaid.

“No, I want to stay here with Jason. But I need more help, to control my anger.”

“Why, Dick? After what he did? I know you’ve grown close, but surely the truth of what happened changes things?” To give Bruce credit, at least he was trying to understand Dick’s reasoning and not just vetoing on principal.

“No, I can forgive him, I think. Because it was an accident, and because I love him,” Dick said, after a moment's thought.

Jason was momentarily overwhelmed by the double whammy of the possibility that Dick might forgive him, and that he would just casually confess to being in love with him. Jason was under no illusions that wasn’t what he meant. It was slightly mind boggling.

But along with the rush of relief, affection and euphoria that was still tinged with guilt, came a sudden feeling of intense trepidation.

“I know you do,” Bruce said awkwardly.

And for one blissful moment, Jason allowed himself to believe that he knew the truth and he actually meant that. But reality was never that kind.  And nor was Bruce.

“He will still be your brother even with some distance, it might be good for you both.” Bruce said, he was right of course, it would be good for Dick to have some space, to work on controlling his emotions and to figure out if his affection could actually survive the truth of what Jason had done.

“No, I don’t want distance, I love him. I want to be with him romantically,” Dick said as he looked up at Bruce, who in turn looked flummoxed.  “I want to have sex with him,” Dick clarified, just in case he hadn’t fully got his message across.

There was a moment of silence, as Bruce digested that. And Jason took the opportunity to lay down fully, his head resting on a partially shredded copy of Guns and Ammo. PB climbed onto his face and peered at him with concern. But Jason just shut his eyes and waited for death.

“What, are you talking about?” Bruce said, and if his voice had been cold fury before, now it was practically glacial.

“We’re in a relationship,” Dick pressed on, oblivious or uncaring of the imminent explosion.

“You are in a relationship. A sexual relationship?” From the sound of his voice, Jason suspected Bruce was a hair’s breadth away from apoplexy.

“Sort of. Well, it would be, but Jason's impotent.”

“Oh my fucking God ,” Jason said, now praying for death rather than just waiting for it. “Is there anyone you haven’t mentioned that too? The mailman? Ms Singh from number 29? Mr. Harris form the neighbourhood association, maybe?”

“I haven’t been to the NA since they bared PB for calling Mr Wells a fuckbiscket.” Dick shot back, hotly. “But Ms Singh suggested Saw Palmetto and cumin as possible natural remedies.”

“ Why , Dick?” Jason said, everything about today was too fucking much.

“Because you love curry, and I’m terrible at cooking it, and Ms Singh is lonely and is giving me lessons in exchange for hanging out with PB and me when you’re at physio,” Dick said, defensively.

Despite the situation, Jason was kind of touched by that.

There was a crunching noise and Bruce moved stiffly towards a chair and sat. “This is completely unacceptable,” he said, no longer with the same cold fury, but with a certain about of bewilderment.

“Well, tough,” Dick said. “I wasn’t asking your permission. And we can’t break up, what would happen to PB? We would have to share custody of him, and I don’t think it would be good for him.”

Bruce sat and stared at Dick, who had his arms crossed and a stubborn cast to his face.

As soon as the sun rose, bright and warm in a disgusting show of spite for Jason’s unhappy state, Tim flew into action. It was mildly terrifying to watch him work as he made a flurry of calls and sent off emails with speed that would make even the best PA cry with envy.

Jason lay on the sofa and felt sorry for himself, while fighting down his own twinge of impressed jealousy at his little brothers brutal efficiency. Within the hour Tim had ordered - and received - a new pair of crutches, pancakes with extra bacon, coffee, a parrot-friendly breakfast, put in an order for exact copies of both of Jason’s previous prosthetics and had completed his mornings office work, or delegated it accordingly.

Even though some days it seemed that Tim was out to ruin Jason's life, it was increasingly apparent he owed the kid big time. Maybe he would by him a fruit basket or something.

“Can you get me a new PS4?” he asked instead of saying thanks, because he was a coward who couldn’t even offer that last shred of his own pride. “PB or Dick killed the other one with a combination of fruit juice and disembowelment. Fairly sure it was PB that did that bit, but you can never be sure with those two.”

Tim shoved a clean T-shirt at him. “I could get you one, yeah - but I won’t,” he said, curtly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re an asshole.”

“Fair enough,” Jason agreed, nodding and winching as the movement jarred his bruised body. “I think Dick gave me whiplash...”

“Yeah? Well you gave him a permanent brain injury, so fair’s fair.”

Jason winced again. “Harsh, dude,” he said, but it wasn’t untrue. Clearly Tim's kindness only went so far and he had moved past helpful and back to being pissed. Jason couldn’t blame him for that, but he wasn’t going to have the time to dwell on it as he reluctantly took the crutches Tim handed him and got shakily to his feet. Foot.

His life was the fucking worst.

He looked at PB whose pale, silver-gray eyes were watching him closely, as it made its way through a chunk of broccoli.

“You coming?” Jason asked him.

The parrot regarded him for a moment, then stuck the broccoli in its beak and climbed up Jason's right pant leg, settling on his shoulder with a ruffle of his damaged plumage, and began crunching loudly on his breakfast with an aggressive sort of determination.

“I think it’s pissed off with you,” Tim commented, somewhat smugly, then turned away before Jason could respond.

By the time they made it to the parking garage, Jason's gut was churning with so many emotions he didn’t even know which to start with; Anxiety? Guilt? Fear? Anger? Anger was always a good one, but in this case it was directed towards himself, and taking it out on either of his companions just didn’t feel right.

  Tim helped him into a nondescript car he was barely old enough to drive, and Jason settled into the seat awkwardly, holding PB in his lap.

They were silent for a few moments while Jason wrestled with his thoughts some more and Tim moved them into the downtown traffic, weaving his way through the honking cars.

“You mad at me?” Jason asked at last - a stupid question, but he had gotten kind of used to the fact that Tim had appeared to be in his corner. The loss was upsetting. “I get that everyone is, and will be when they find out – I am fairly sure Damian will make an actual attempt on my life at some point - but you’ve been helping me. I don’t get it.”

Tim pursed his lips, considering. “It’s a hard one to answer,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Because, yeah, on one hand I’m furious that something you did took away a part of my brother. I hate to see him hurting, both because he is having to struggle with new aspects of his behaviour and personality, and because helping people is a fundamental part of his identity.” Tim paused to viciously cut off a sleek red car, which sent a storm of honking their way. “It’s more than identity, it’s an obsession for him. And I’m worried that the two ways he had to slake that need have now been taken away.”

“Yeah,” Jason was fairly sure now was one of those times it was okay for him to wallow whole-heartedly in misery and self-recrimination. He held onto PB as Tim swerved in front of a truck, laying on the horn in casual defiance. The kid drove like someone who had been taught by Dick, and Jason wasn’t sure if it was terrifying or amusing. Maybe both.

Settling back into his lane, Tim let out a whoosh of breath, shrugging like he was trying to roll the tension out of his shoulders. “But, even though all of that’s true, Dick is alive... and although he’s different, he’s still Dick – just with a few complications. Something that would have been a lot harder to accept if you hadn’t helped me see it.” Tim shifted again, tapping out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel. “You really helped Damian too - they FaceTime every other day now, you know? He’s adapting to the changes and the way he needs to deal with Dick in order to do what’s best for their relationship. His behaviour has improved.”

“How can you tell, with the little demon?” Jason asked as he rubbed absently at his stump. So many lives had been fucked up by his actions that it didn’t feel like there were any amends he could make.

“I know right? But it’s noticeable. After the accident he was lashing out in general and provoking Bruce, trying to get a rise out of him. And he was working himself into exhaustion.”

“Like father like son, huh?”

“Yeah, big time. But since he and Dick have found a way to communicate properly, he seems to have mellowed again.” Tim made a rueful face, “Well, as mellow as demon spawn gets anyway.”

They drove the rest of the way in almost companionable silence while Jason mulled that over. It was no surprise Damian was taking things out on Bruce; after all, Jason had done the same in his time, when things hurt him in ways he couldn’t express properly.

He stared out the window. The morning was crisp and bright, and it didn’t seem right for the day to be full of singing birds and fragrant, fall leaves as his life fell apart again. It should be raining, or hailing, or maybe a tornado or something. Because, fuck, he was going to have to tell everybody. If he was going to at least try to make amends in some way, then he was going to have to start by letting people know what he was attempting to atone for. Now the process had been started, he realised he would not be able to live himself if he didn’t.

The dark of the parking garage in his building was almost a relief. After Tim pulled into a good spot near the elevator and turned off the engine, they both sat in the dim light for a moment – Jason attempting to figure out the best way to get out the car with out falling on his already battered face, and Tim thinking whatever Tim thoughts were knocking around in his big old brain. Maybe planning world domination, or maybe just steeling himself for whatever lay inside the apartment.

Just as Jason was getting ready to attempt his crutches, Tim broke the silence. “I guess that even though there is a part of me that’s angry and disappointed - and it is a pretty big part, I can’t pretend it isn’t - when it comes down to the line, I’ve gained as much as I’ve lost.” He leaned back in his seat and sighed. “I gained a brother in you and, although you are endlessly aggravating and make stupid choices, like, ninety percent of the time, that’s important to me. And I still have my family: Dick, Bruce, Cass and Damian, I suppose, even though he’s the worst little brother in the universe. And although Dick's lost so much in this mess – perhaps he has gained some things too.”

Jason's face was flushing and his heart was beating rapidly, like the wings of a trapped bird. He really didn’t deserve the gift Tim had just given him. It was worth more than any of the other things he had done for him over the past few months; more than the forgiveness, the reassurance. So much more. Jason was good at stuff, he was useful in a fight, at planning ops and getting things done, and he understood Gotham’s underbelly better even than Batman, but Occasionally Useful had been all he was worth to his so-called family, and often not even that – too trigger happy, too brutal, too unpredictable.

But as a brother? It had only ever been a word, not a reality. They were brothers because of circumstance, not blood, or love, or any other tie other than Bruce and his mission. He and Dick had moved past the brother thing into different territory, sure, but what Tim was offering was just as important – it was family. It was overwhelming and Jason didn’t know what to say, what he could say he didn’t even know if Tim understood the significance of his words to Jason’s damaged sense of self.

So of course he didn’t say any of those things and instead cleared his throat roughly. “You going to do a Dick and start chucking out terrible cliches now?” he asked, voice still hoarse with emotion.

Thankfully, Tim did him a solid and ignored it, letting him keep the last shreds of his dignity.

“Sure. If I was a religious man, I would say ‘the Lord moves in mysterious ways’ but I’m not, so instead I’ll say that I think, with time and hard work, the both of you can be happy. Happier maybe than you both were before. Or you could just mope about and fuck each other up further.” He shrugged. “Up to you.” And with that, the little shit got out the car with all the ease of a two legged person and headed for the elevator.

Jason scowled and followed at a much slower pace, feeling strangely grateful for Tim's parting shot. They were still on shaky ground, but he felt better nonetheless.

 The apartment was a mess. Actually, mess was not quite the right word to describe what looked like the aftermath of a tornado of Biblical proportions.

“Well someone’s been venting,” Jason said, not surprised at the state of all of his stuff but quite sad to see some of his possessions mangled beyond repair.

“Goddamn, clunk fizz,” PB said miserably and, in Jason's opinion, with an under tone of accusation. The parrot started a slow descent, claw over claw, from Jason's shoulder and down his back. Jason was distantly surprised that the creepy feel of the birds freaky-looking feet clutching at his clothes was no longer unpleasant.

“I suppose we should check on Dick,” was Tim's only comment as he started picking his way through the shards of broken glass that might have once been Jason's 72” TV.

Jason followed slowly – he wasn’t used to the crutches and he really didn’t want to land face first in a pile of glass, and as he maneuvered through the chaos he whistled for PB. He didn’t want the bird to cut his feet, but PB ignored him and hopped deftly through the mess towards the kitchen.

Dick was slumped against the open fridge, a half eaten strawberry yogurt clutched in one limp hand and a mostly empty bottle of scotch in the other. Thankfully, much of the whisky seemed to be on Dick and the floor, so at he was probably only drunk and not suffering from alcohol poisoning.

PB scuttled forward to investigate and stuck out his tongue to taste first the yogurt and then the scotch.

“Get the bird in his cage, Tim. I’m not dealing with a drunk parrot on top of the past twenty-four hours.”

Tim grimaced and bent hesitantly to attempt reach for PB - and then jumped back as the sharp beak snapped at him fearsomely.

“I’m not losing a finger to it!” Tim said, shrilly. “You pick it up!” He pointed the aforementioned finger at PB, but then hid it behind his back as the parrots beady eyes fixed on it with clear intent.

Jason huffed. The kid had been out on the streets pummelling bad guys since the onset of puberty, but one grumpy bird and he was shrieking like a four year old. “Which hand should I pick it up with, genius?” He attempted to draw attention to the fact he was currently using his hands to hold the crutches and nearly slipped. “Fuck!”

“Fine,” Tim said, still eyeing PB like he was going to suddenly remember how to fly and rip his head off. Being a smart boy, Tim found another way and instead of risking any limbs he fetched some parrot snacks and toys to tempt the bird away.

Jason stared at Dick’s slumped form. He didn’t think he could actually feel any more shit than he already did, but was still unsurprised when there was another deep twist of regret in his gut. Dick was a good person and didn’t deserve all the crap Jason had put him though. If he wanted Jason to leave then he would, he wasn’t going to case any more harm – but if Dick gave even the slightest hint he wanted him to stay despite all he had done, he would happily spend a lifetime making it up to him. Or trying to at least. God that might be the sappiest thing he had ever thought. Or at least it would have been, if the past few months hadn’t happened. As it was half of the stupid thoughts that passed through his brain these days seemed to consist of self pity or mushy feelings about his dumb family.

Thinking of family made him think of Tim and how grateful he was, which also served to piss him off, finally letting in the anger he had desperately tried to substitute for his feelings of sadness and emotional confusion. Because without Tim pushing him to tell Dick before he was ready this mess would have been one for another day, and not something he had to deal with right now.

The comforting familiar feeling of irritation and resentment relaxed him slightly as he waited hopefully for parrot/Tim warfare to erupt in the living-room.

He was disappointed though, because although Tim had failed to get the canny parrot into his cage, he had managed to get him distracted enough he was no longer in danger of consuming spilt scotch, instead he hunched on the back of the sofa gnawing on what looked suspiciously like an iphone.

Tim came back into the kitchen and eyed Dick’s slumped form. His next task was going to have to be single handedly getting Dick from the kitchen to the sofa. Jason, unable to do more than sit and watch, left him to it and took a seat on the arm of the easy chair – one of the few places free of glass and the other miscellaneous fruits of Dick's rage.

After a few false starts Tim managed to haul Dick more or less to his feet. Dick groaned and didn’t open his eyes, but he was taking a little of his own weight. Jason snorted when Tim staggered, nearly dumping them both on the floor.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Tim said, attempting to get Dick to move under his own power with little success.

Jason rather vindictively hoped Dick puked on him. “Shall I cheer you on from the sidelines?” He asked.

“I think,” Tim huffed, now attempting to take most of Dick’s weight as he maneuvered him around the debris littering the floor, “I think, we should put him on the sofa for now. That way I can keep an eye on him while you catch a nap, then we can swap.”

“And then what?” Jason was just so fucking tired. Tired physically, and emotionally. Tired of his own mercurial emotions, that were sending him from anger to grief to gratitude and then right back to anger.

Tim chose to ignore his yo-yoing attitude – something he did with ease, and Jason was forced to wonder if he had always seemed this way to his family and had just been lacking the self awareness.

Tim grunted as he heaved Dick the last few feet to the sofa. “Well at some point I’m going to have to go to work, so maybe you can call someone to take over? Roy maybe?” he said.

“Roy is a bad idea – he and Dick communicate by squabbling, often violently, but as soon as he finds out the reason he’s babysitting he’ll attempt to beat me to a pulp, and I draw the line at the indignity of getting a whipping from Harper so I’ll have to shoot him, and then Dick will whine about it forever.”

“Okay, not Roy then.” Tim said with infinite patience as he pushed Dick down on the couch with an expression of profound relief. Possibly due to the weight of his brothers semi-conscious body or, equally likely, because Dick always stank like a bar room floor after a drinking session.

“But,” Tim continued as he brushed the remains of Jason's ipad off a chair and sat, “you have to call someone. I really do have to work.”

“You’re sixteen, Tim. Why the fuck do you have to go to work?”

Tim shrugged. “Dick was the one who was supposed to get into the business, but he was completely disinterested, so I did it.”

“And now Bruce should be doing it.”

“He does. I enjoy working at Wayne Enterprises.”

“Of course you do, you Machiavellian shit.”

Tim grinned at him, showing far too many teeth and, Jason suspected, a shade of his true evil nature.

“Go to bed, Jason. I’ll wake you up in four hours when I have to go. My first meeting is at three and I will need to go clean up first.”

“Thanks.” And he meant it.

 When Jason woke, it was dark. Tim had let him sleep – or possibly Dick had killed him in a violent rage and he had been unable to wake Jason at the allotted hour. The possibility was not as remote as it had once been, and he was fully awake in moments and ready to go check. Or perhaps not quite fully awake as he spent a few fruitless minutes hunting for the prosthetics he no longer had. Infuriating and embarrassing.

Finally he made it out of bed, and discovered there was a note pinned to the door with some sort of novelty Batarang. Cute.

Jason,

I let you sleep on, as Dick woke before I left and was coherent enough that I have no issues leaving him. We spoke for a while - he is still extremely pissed, but seems to have calmed down somewhat. Or that could have been the hangover. I told him to sleep it off, and informed him you were in your room. He promised to only murder you while you were conscious, so I think it should be fine.

He has taken the crazy parrot to bed with him, in case you were wondering where it was.

I didn’t bother to clean up, because you deserve some added pain – but I did order some food and essentials so don’t shoot the delivery guy (I used your account and your security is useless).

Will touch base later over the Bruce thing,

T

Ugh the Bruce thing. That was going to suck no matter what they did. Jason opened the door to his room anyway, just as a precaution in case Dick had surfaced or PB had escaped from his clutches. The living room was still very much the same as it had been earlier in the day – sad, miserable chaos. His mildly chewed phone was still on the arm of the chair where he had left it, and it was blinking an ominous green light. He never used to get an adrenaline spike followed by cold dread when he realised he had messages. He did now though. Reluctantly he hobbled over and picked it up. Eleven missed calls from Tim, three voicemails. Jason's stomach dropped further – he almost didn’t want to know – surely he could just leave his phone and run away. Baghdad was pretty nice this time of year.

He played the messages. The first was Tim, urgent but calm: Jason, Bruce is back – he arrived this afternoon. He will almost certainly head out tonight but I will try and find something else to occupy him to give you some time. Call me when you get this.

The second message was also from Tim, but less calm:

He went out, and came back an hour later. He is pissed. I would be careful if I were you – not hundred percent what’s riling him but it might be you. Call me

Jason shut his eyes as the third message began to play – he didn’t want to fucking know, but forewarned was also forearmed.

Yeah, it's you. He’s on his way. Incidentally, I’ve been grounded for the rest of my natural lifespan, which I don’t appreciate. Damian is out with Steph, so that’s one thing less to worry about. Good luck. See you some time in the next decade, if you survive.

Oh good. That was just what he wanted to hear.

While he waited for panic to set in, he wondered if Tim had been reprimanded for aiding and abetting, withholding evidence, or some other mortal sin. Either way, Jason definitely owed him big time.