#implied jayroy

Jason, second heir to the throne of Gotham, was a happy little boy with a very loud personality. A former street kid, he was adopted into royalty at the age of 2 following his mother’s death, much like his older brother Richard, by the current King of Darkness.

Make no mistake by the title he holds, Bruce Wayne is a very Just king, though he cloaks himself in the fine fabrics of midnight and gold emblems that glitter like the stars.

But the young prince Jason was a ball of energy with a smart mouth and a baby as he were, often got on the wrong people's nerves. There was one man in particular, the Jester of the court– who was perhaps something more than a simple Jester to the King, maybe even a friend– had joined the Royal staff after a terrible accident that disfigured him many moons before Jason himself was even born.

On this day, Jason was only five when he trod on the odd man’s toes. He can’t remember what he’d said to the man, but it was something with loud youthful ignorance behind it, maybe something about his permanent smile and moon-pale skin. It wasn’t anything nice, to say the least, but who can blame a child of such brutal, unthinking honesty without the better knowledge on how such things were hurtful.

Maybe a man with a soft heart, and the belief he could give everyone in his Kingdom a better life and a second chance, should be blamed on keeping criminals and the insane in his company. Maybe a toddler in bright mocking colours shouldn’t have been left unattended to in the palace halls after a silly disagreement regarding his biological mother.

The Jester never returned to the King’s court after that night.

The boy, Jason, had been found in a puddle of his own bastard blood in a storeroom downstairs by the cellar, in teeny tiny shackles with his small bones shattered, tear streaks still wet on his cheeks as he lay limp on the freezing cold cement floor.

The King had wept, cradling the young Prince’s broken body close to him, wailed and begged for the boy to come back to him, pleading for forgiveness from a child who was no more. The King of Darkness caressed the soft face of a lifeless shell, and that was when the shadows spoke.

A deep eerie voice had filled his ears from all directions, reminding him of a tale he had believed to be only myth. The story of the moon when she wept for her own son once very long ago …

A single tear of moonlight had fallen from the heavens, and from this small drop of sorrow bloomed a magic, glowing flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured– and in extremely rare cases, even raise the dead if the moon wished it so.

“However, the Flower of Lazarus is protected by a Demon whom hoards it for its youth restoring power”, the low voice warned. “And you have only until the fourth day, beginning when the sun breaks over your Kingdom at dawn, to retrieve it. For when the sun sets on that day, the boy will remain in a tomb forever.”

Bruce, because he is no King down here with a dead son in his arms, remains speechless and confused. Before he could gather his thoughts and interrogate the validity of this supernatural voice, a flock of bats screeched and swarmed and then the voice was gone.

And a man was left in a cold empty room with his beaten bloody five year old, fear and determination filling his heavy heart. A hope that in four days time, his son will be returned to the earth and fill the Palace with his laughter once more.

⧫

The quest carried out by the King’s Guard had proved successful, and the magic of the Lazarus Flower, brewed into a glowing green liquid potion heals the dead Prince’s body on the morning of the fourth day.

A new tale of rebirth bringing the kingdom together as the King launched a floating lantern into the darkness of the night sky. A symbol of prevailing hope and new life, to celebrate the return of his beloved young son.

Even though Jason remained asleep, recovering his strength after lying limp and dead for days, he was alive, and his father was grateful as he watched his peaceful sleep, watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath and cried. He held his tiny hand in his, warm and living, a steady pulse beneath Bruce’s thumb.

For that one moment, everything was perfect.

And then that moment ended.

A cloaked woman had entered young Jason’s room that very night by way of the balcony, silently creeping towards the boy’s bed where he slept soundly, unknowing to the threat of her presence. The woman pulled back her hood and stroked a deadly gentle hand up over his face until she reached his soft baby curls as she sang in hushed tones.

“Flower gleam and glow”

And glow the child’s hair did, a bright green hue filling the room. She pulled a long lock of the glowing hair taught between calloused fingers, reaching into the deep green of her garments for the jewelled hilt of a small, sharp knife as she continued.

“Let your powers shine”

The blade glinted in the unnatural light as the woman’s tan hand brought the sharpened knife up…

“Make the clock re–”

But as the knife sliced through the strands of hair it turned lifeless and lost its colour, turning moon-white and powerless.

The shock and confusion was clear on the woman’s face, a frown carving its way into her beautiful features as she realised what she must do in order to fulfil her father’s wishes.

Just like that, Jason was stolen, gone.

The Kingdom searched and searched by order of their devastated, grieving King, but all their attempts at recovering the small boy proved futile. They could not find the Prince of Gotham.

For deep within the forest, in a tall hidden tower, the woman– Talia Al Ghul– raised the child as her own.

⧫

When Jason had finally awoken, his memories were muddled and hazy and not all there. His head ached like it was splitting and the lamp light in the room was much too bright.

The comfort of a woman who claimed to be his mother held him close in her warmth and sang to him with her gentle voice, easing his worry as he hid his face in the soft silk of her robes.

“Flower gleam and glow,

Let your power shine

Make the clock reverse,”

A strong masculine hand combed through Jason’s precious curls, soothing the painful pressure in his skull with rough, wrinkled fingers that softened and grew young with the green glow above his head.

“Bring back what once was mine,

What once was mine”

And that was that. Jason knew he belonged here.

⧫

The Al Ghul’s– Ra’s in particular– had found their new magic flower, and this time they were determined to keep it hidden. To keep it safe and unharmed, and away from the rest of the world.

It’s one day, whilst his Grandfather is combing through Jason’s wavy hair as he finished singing, that the then 8 year old boy asks:

“Why can’t I go outside?”

His mother had looked up from where she’d been concentrating hard on some scrolls in front of her that he wasn’t allowed to read. “The outside world is a dangerous place, filled with horrible, selfish people. You must stay here, where you are safe. Do you understand, Rayean*?”

*(Arabic: flower, bloom, flowering)

Jason nodded his head obediently. “Yes, Mama”.

But the walls of that high tower could not hide everything.

Each year on the day of his rebirth and disappearance, April 27th– a day that should have been filled with sunshine but fell sorely short of anything more than gloomy– the King of Gotham and his trusted royal butler would release thousands of lanterns into the sky, in the hope that one day, their lost Prince would be returned to them.

And every year, on his birthday, Jason watched them from the tower window in awe and curiosity.

⧫

[many years later]

A small robin hides behind a terracotta flower pot by the open window, seemingly holding its breath, and doing its best to blend in amongst the floral pattern etched into it.

Inside the tower, a young man, with long, wavy ebony hair, shoves aside rich purple tapestries draped over the wall above the home’s hearth.

“HAH!.. hmm, well… I guess Pascal’s not hiding here”.

The small bird twitters in amusement, only to be snatched up by a thick lock of hair as it shrieks in surprise. Jason laughs loudly at the robin’s expense, letting it perch on the back of his hand as he grins. “Gotcha!!! That’s twenty two for me. How ‘bout twenty three out of forty five?”

The robin, Pascal, shakes his head in disagreement, chirping unhappily.

“Okay, well. What d’you wanna do?” Jason asks.

The bird turns and gestures his bright yellow beak at the window, eagerly indicating that he wants to go outside. The young man lets out a puff of air in response.

“Yeah no, I don't think so. I like it in here and so do you.” but all the bird does is turn all the way around, facing away from Jason altogether. “Oh c’mon Pascal, it’s not so bad in there”.

The robin doesn’t turn around, choosing to ignore the boy, who pouts in response.

“Pascaaalll”, Jason drags the name of the small familiar out, making pleading eyes at him. The robin puffs out and finally turns around, making the young man smile. “Sing with me?” he asks, and the bird weighs his head from side to side before chirping his agreement.

And so they sing as Jason goes about his daily routine of mopping and sweeping the tower’s gorgeous tiled floors. Then he’s doing the laundry for his mother and going for a shower to freshen himself up, going through the tremendous effort of cleaning and brushing out his wavy hair.

But it’s still early morning by the time he’s finished, and he’s desperately bored with Mother and Grandfather away doing whatever it was that is so damn important.

So Jason is flopped out on his bed, still working on a small braid that he had started maybe half an hour ago.

He’d taken a few pieces of hair tucked behind his ear and decided that there was nothing better to do. It was difficult enough, with just how long his hair was, to make the small braid on his own. The strands of hair had gotten tangled further down as he focused on twisting it together, and almost made him give up several times in frustration. But Jason was stubborn, and now he was finally, finally tying off the end of it.

And… he’s bored again.

“Urghh”, he groans, rolling over and burying his face into his silk red pillowcase. His words are muffled as he complains, “when will my life begin, Pascal? I’m so sick of being stuck in this stupid tower!”

Pascal chirps from where he’s sitting on the bookcase, one filled with all sorts of books, mostly poetry and theatre, in both English and Arabic. And the bird chirps again, even louder, as he tries to get the young man's attention.

“What?” Jason groans once more, pulling his head up out of the pillow and glaring at the robin. Pascal tilts his head before he starts pecking at the cover of one of the many books. “Read?” he asks, and the bird nods.

“I’ve already read every book in this tower thrice over! There’s nothing to do heeere”, the boy whines loudly, rolling himself off the bed and onto the soft Persian rug below with a heavy, dramatic thud.

On the floor, he catches a glimpse of his shell-based paints tucked away under his bed, an idea popping into his head. He grins, reaching forward to scoop them all up and place them on top the geometric pattern of his sheets. “What should we paint today, Pascal?” Jason asks with enthusiasm, and the little robin twitters happily in response.

Hours later and Jason is practising guitar, waiting for certain areas of paint to dry before he can continue adding to the art on the walls. He paints some more, then he’s knitting and playing Chess with Pascal, and soon enough his stomach is growling.

“You hungry Pascal?” Jason asks.

The bird chirps in response and flies into the kitchen, making the young man smile as he huffs out a soft laugh.

“Good, ‘cause I am too”.

Jason makes himself some toast, humming a made up tune while Pascal whistles along with him. “Breadcrumbs my good sir?” Jason asks in a dramatic flourish as he sets out a plate of broken up bread on the small but lavish dining table. The robin twitters happily and digs his little beak in.

After lunch Jason fills his time with puzzles, throwing darts and weightlifting. Then decides to bake some cookies as a treat for when his mother and grandfather return, and while he waits for the timer on the oven there’s another game of hide and seek played between him and Pascal.

By nightfall, Jason has finally exhausted his boredom, yawning as he sits on the windowsill and sketches pictures of Pascal in a near-ful sketch-book by the candlelight.

“Hmm, maybe I could make some more candles tomorrow while I'm waiting for them to come home?” He wonders aloud, he hasn’t made candles in a long while now, and it’s a good activity to fill his time with.

Pascal chirps quietly, as if in agreement with the idea, nestling into Jason’s side. He lets out a breath of amusement at the action and yawns again. “I guess we should be heading to bed then…” he says as he tucks the book under his arm and cups the little robin in his palms, making his way to his bedroom.

There he sets the little bird down on a cushion on his bedside table and flops back in his bed.“G’night Pascal”, he sighs. Staring up at the night sky he painted above his bed, wishing he could be laying on the grass outside instead.

He closes his eyes and has the same odd dream he does every night. The one with the smiling man, and the cold rough concrete scraping against his skin, cold metal against his ribs, and the laughter– but not happy laughter… It’s just a dream, though, and it passes. And he sleeps through the rest of the night dreamless.

So early the next day Jason made candles, then made candle holders with clay and painted those too. And he re-read a book or three, sewed together some holes he found in the sleeve of his shirt and put himself together in something nice to greet his folks with when they got home later that afternoon. Then went through the most tedious chore of brushing and brushing and brushing his hair.

“Arggh! I wish I could just cut all this stupid hair off!” he complained several times, Pascal twittering mockingly at him.

By the time he was done there was still time to spare, and he layed out face-down on the cool tiled floor quite dramatically as he groaned. “When will my life begin, Pascal?” he asks the bird again, as he would ask him everyday.

“Will I ever get to leave the tower? Go away on long trips like mother? Or away for important business matters like Grandfather?” he huffs and presses his forehead into the mosaic of the tile. “What do they even do out there!?”

Jason's throat closes up and his eyes water and burn with unshed tears. “What are they doing out there… when they leave me here, alone and all by myself, for days on end– Mother for months at a time even!” A tear carves a path down his cheek as his hands clench in fists against the cold floor. “If it’s so dangerous out there why don’t they just stay?”

The small robin chirps at him from his perch on the windowsill and Jason rolls onto his back to glare up at him, but the blue morning sky outside catches his eye instead and he sighs, feeling defeated and lost.

Like he’s missing something he can’t quite place, and somehow it’s somewhere out there.

“Tomorrow night those lights will appear”, he says more to himself than the bird watching him carefully. “Just like they do every year on my birthday…”

He sits up and wipes the wet away from his face, turning to look up at one of his paintings, hidden by the tapestries hung above the hearth, but peaking out just enough to remind him it’s there. The bird tilts his head as Jason stands and moves towards it, pulling the rich fabrics aside to gaze up at his art.

Then he pulls himself up onto the hearth to sit on the sturdy ledge, running a hand over the bright spots of light he’s painted against the dark blue night sky he’s made of the wall, tracing his fingers down the length of his painted raven hair that spills down the sandstone canvas.

The full painting altogether depicts Jason himself, outside the tower somewhere, reaching up towards the blots of light as if he could touch them with his fingertips if he just stretched his arm up high enough.

“What is it like out there, where they glow? …now that I'm older, mother might finally let me go”. Jason frowns and turns his head away. “Just maybe”, he whispers to himself.

⧫

Back in the Kingdom of Gotham, two shady figures are scaling the rough brick of the Palace walls, expertly leaping across the roof and making sure to keep hidden from the guards patrolling below.

The man, with fire-bright orange hair tied in a messy bun, bow and arrows strapped to his back, stops and looks out over the Kingdom and the dark rolling hills beyond, a stupid smile on his face. “Wow, I could get used to a view like this!”

The woman behind him, in a form-fitting green and gold one piece suit– resembling one much like a ninja’s, glares at the back of his head. “Arsenal, come on.”

Arsenal just grins and waves her off. “Yeah, hold on, Cheshire.” Sitting his hands on his hips he stares out at the view for a little longer, taking it all in for a few moments as the woman scowls. “Yep, I'm used to it. Man, I want a castle”.

Cheshire rolls her eyes, huffing out an irritated breath. “We do this job, you can buy your own damn castle”, she groans, yanking him by the collar and over towards their entrance between the whether-worn roof tiles of the Palace.

Arsenal is slowly and carefully lowered down into the Royal throne room by a strong, thick rope tied sturdily around his waist. As the woman above lowers him further down, until he’s just hovering over the glass case holding the lost Prince’s crown, one of the Guards sneeze and the redhead lets a stupid smile curl his lips.

“Oh, hay fever?” he asks with an amused, cocky grin on his face.

“Yeah”, the guard replies before quickly spinning around in surprise, catching the smug man leaning against the case with the Prince’s crown in his hand. “Wait, what?” he buffers in confusion.

And Arsenal is quickly lifted, well more like harshly yanked, up towards the high ceilings, escaping through the roof as the guard shouts up at him.

“Hey! Wait! Thief!”The other guards posted in various other places of the room rush over, as this happens, before one of them shouts, “After him!” and they all rush out to ready a chase on horseback.

The duo make their escape, over the bridge joining the island of Gotham to where those dark rolling hills lay, Arsenal running his mouth as they rush to get outside the borders of the dark and gloomy Kingdom. “Can’t you picture me in a castle of my own? I mean, I certainly can. Oh, the things we’ve seen and it’s only 9 in the mornin’! This is a very big day for us!”

⧫

Back at the tower, Jason has taken on an air of determination, re-tidying up a few things as the clock ticks closer to the time his mother promised their arrival.

“Alright, this is it. This is a very big day, Pascal”, he says with confidence– more of a facade to cover his shaky nerves. “I’m actually gonna do it, I’m finally gonna ask them!” he lets out a wavering breath and hypes himself up for it.

And that’s when he hears his mother’s familiar voice calling up to him from outside. “Jason! Let down your hair!”

Jason turns to the mirror and quickly fixes his outfit, wanting to look presentable and like he hadn’t been lying on the floor earlier. “Okay, it’s time, it’s time. Deep breaths Jay.” Then he turns to the robin watching him. “Go Pascal, hide! Don’t let them see you”.

“JASON! I’m not getting any younger down here!” his grandfather shouts for him from below, and the boy in question hurries over to the large window.

“Coming Grandfather!”, he calls back, throwing his hair over the large hook overhead and casting down his 70 feet of hair.

His mother is the first to be pulled up though, and once she’s through the window, kisses Jason’s forehead and wraps her arms around him in greeting, before sweeping down the hall to put her bags down in her room.

He pulls his grandfather up second and, once inside, Ra’s pats Jason’s shoulder as the boy tries to catch his breath. “Oh how you manage to do that almost everyday without fail, Hafid*, it looks absolutely exhausting”, he says as he slides the heavy, emerald-green cloak off his broad shoulders.

*(Arabic: Grandson)

“It’s nothing. Really”, Jason replies reassuringly, taking the older man’s coak and hanging it on the wall behind him.

His Grandfather sighs as he walks further into the large room. “Well then, I don’t know what takes you so long”, he laughs. And Jason tenses uncomfortably and lowers his head, promising himself he’ll do better next time, when his mother catches the look in his eye from the arch of the hallway’s entrance.

“Oh, aleaziz*”, her voice is gentle as she sweeps across the room and tilts his head back up with a sharp finger under his chin. “He’s just teasing.” she smiles up at him, warm brown eyes soft with affection as she pets through his hair.

*(Arabic: darling, dear, poppet, lamb)

“All right… so, um”, Jason starts, his mother moving to start up the fire in the large fireplace. “Tomorrow-”

His mother cuts him off before he even starts. “Close the window would you, Jay, it’s cold outside still.” Because the first day of spring was only yesterday, and Jason knows that somewhere out there, there’s still patches of ice and snow defrosting.

“Yes Mama”, he replies, and obediently moves to pull the window closed and latch it shut. “So, as you know, tomorrow is a very big day-”

“Jason, look in that mirror”, his grandfather cuts him off as he stands behind him in view of the delicately crafted object. “You know what I see?” he asks, but doesn’t seem to be looking for an answer from Jason himself.

“I see a strong, confident, handsome young man”, Ra's tells him, grinning at their reflection, and Jason smiles too, until- ”oh, look you’re here too”, he chuckles, clapping a hand over Jason’s shoulder, then moving away to take a seat on one of the lavishly furnished chairs.

Jason frowns, admittedly hurt by the egocentric remark, and turns his blue-grey eyes on his mother, who just sighs. “Don’t take it to heart habibi*, you know he only teases.”

*(Arabic: my dear)

The boy sighs back. “Yes Mama.” Talia goes back to fussing over the fire, and Jason tries to continue, “anyways, as I was trying to say before, tomorrow is-” only to be cut off again.

“Jason, please, I’m sure your Grandfather’s feeling a little run down after our trip,” Talia begins with a tired sigh, not looking up from where she keeps herself busy feeding and stoking the growing flame. “Why don’t you sing for him, Rayean? Then we can talk?” she asks almost apologetically.

And the boy knows that his mother must be exhausted from her long trip over the seas, but it still stings that Jason can’t even talk to her after she’s been gone for so long. Especially when he’s trying to talk to her regarding his birthday– which she missed last year because his Grandfather sent her away to do something that was apparently more important than him.

“Yes, Mama”, Jason replies obediently, plucking up one of his brushes from the low coffee table and sitting on the plush footstool in front of his Grandfather, handing the brush to the older man over his shoulder.

Ra’s hums in approval and Jason begins begrudgingly singing for him, watching in the mirror across the room as his Grandfather’s greying hair changes and becomes a thick, deep shade of brunette.

He watches as the wrinkles in his face smooth out into a youthful, soft skin; as his complexion grows brighter and his dull greyish-brown skin blooms with colour, becoming an even shade of golden tan. He watches as the fingers holding the large brush stop shaking, as they become firm and steady and more gentle in his glowing hair.

His mother finishes up with the fire and sighs as she sits back in the opposite chair, resting her feet up on Jason’s lap and smiling at him as he instinctively begins massaging her feet. They’re tense and Talia groans in pain when Jason presses his thumbs into the arches of her feet, causing him to wince and give her an apologetic look.

Talia’s eyes fall closed as Jason continues and he’s glad to see her relaxing, even in this short moment; she’s always so stressed about something or other, and Jason thinks she should just stay with him in the Tower and get some proper rest for once, let him look after her, instead of going away all the time.

When his Grandfather sets the brush down, Jason lets himself up, picking his mother’s feet up and gently placing them back down on the velvety footstool. He tucks the hair that’s fallen in front of her face behind her ear as he slips past her and into the kitchen.

He makes his Grandfather tea, knowing he’ll ask for it soon, and puts some of the cookies he’s made on a plate for his Mother. “So, Mama”, he starts as he re-enters the room and sets the tea and cookies down on the low table.

Talia, eyes still closed, hums in reply to let him know she’s listening.

“Earlier I was saying tomorrow’s a pretty big day… you see it’s going to be my birthday, y’know, and I-”

“No, no, no can’t be”, Ra’s cuts in with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I distinctly remember, your birthday was last year.”

Jason clenches his fists, biting down his frustration at being cut off again. “That’s the funny thing about birthdays. They’re kind of an annual thing.” he states, undertones of sarcasm sneaking into his words, and his grandfather raises a chastising eyebrow at him, challenging him to try taking that tone with him again.

Jason doesn’t take the bait and instead turns back to Talia. “Mother, I’m turning eighteen tomorrow, and I wanted to ask, what I really want for my birthday…” he starts

“We should’ve put a time cap,” Gar muttered despondently, falling onto Kori’s and Rachel’s laps. The sudden weight was startling, and Kori nearly lifted her arm from Rachel’s shoulders, but then he twisted into a housecat and curled up between them

“Sore loser,” Rachel said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Let them have their fun. We’ll beat them at charades.”

Kori agreed that they had a fairly good chance, but she was sure the inevitable Outlaw or Bat or Young Justice team would give them a run for their money. Instead of voicing this, she glanced over towards the crowd around the television. Wally had dropped out, apparently, leaving Bart, Bizarro, and a woman Kori assumed was Dick and Jason’s sister Cass to throw their avatars at each other. On the sidelines, Victor and Tim were conferring by the bracket.

“Twenty minutes!” Gar complained, but he quieted when Rachel started stroking his head. “At this rate we’ll be here for a week. Maybe a month.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Dick said, leaning over the back of the couch. “Hey, you guys wanna play Jenga while we wait for the tournament to be over? Donna’s setting it up.”

“I would love to,” Kori replied, carefully moving Gar fully over to Rachel’s lap as she stood.

“I think we’ll stay here,” Rachel said. “Have fun.”

Dick inclined his head and turned, heading towards a snackless table. Donna was there, making the last adjustments to the Jenga tower.

“Just the three of us?” she asked.

“I can try to find someone else,” Dick offered.

“Hold on,” Donna replied. She stood and waved, and then Roy came over.

“Where did your hat go?” Kori asked, frowning.

“Jay took it,” he admitted.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t see that coming,” Dick scoffed, and Roy just offered a shrug and a lopsided grin.

“Okay,” Donna said, as she sat back down. “How’re we doing this? Boys versus girls? Outlaws versus Dick and I?”

“You’re trying to get rid of me?” Roy asked, affecting a shocked demeanor. “Why, Donna! How could you?”

She rolled her eyes. “You and I versus the ex-lovebirds, got it.”

Dick leaned over to Kori and whispered, “Roy’s got good eyes.”

“And yet he cannot avoid unnecessary property damage,” Kori sighed, perhaps loudly enough that Roy turned to her and gasped. She wiggled her fingers at him, and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure most of that’s on purpose,” Dick replied. She lifted a brow, and he shrugged. “I’m a competitive spirit, you know. Gotta make up for my inglorious Smash defeat somehow.”

“Oh, of course,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have your comeback here.”

“And if we lose?” he asked.

“We finish it the same way we started,” she insisted. “Together.”

“You two done with the speech over there?” Donna demanded, resting her elbows on the table. “It’s Jenga, not an active battlefield.”

“If it’s not Kori, it’s Jay,” Roy informed her. “Trust me, she’s way more concise.”

There was a commotion from the television crowd; Kori glanced over and saw Bart now standing, relinquishing his controller to Victor. Once the noise died down, she mused, “You enjoy Jason’s speeches, I thought.” Roy made an aborted motion as she added, “Didn’t you tell me that you adored his voice?”

“What,” Dick said.