Chapter Text
Jason had never expected Demon Spawn to die. It had been four years, and he still couldn’t believe it. Then again…he was aware of what that b*tch Talia was capable of all too well. He knew that his late brother had pissed off his mother…but for what, he didn’t know. He just knew that his brother had not deserved his end and had not gone down without a fight. The entire family had been slowly healing…but at the same time not really…it was strange to say the least. Dickie Bird never got over it really, Replacement got worse in his sleeping habits, Bruce hadn’t gotten better to save his life. Hell, little Mar’i hadn’t processed it fully. She was kind of spacey (no pun intended) and she often would stare off into space whenever something reminded her of Demon Spawn. It f*cking hurt to see her like that. He himself hadn’t gotten over it, despite how annoying the little brat could be…he was still his brother. The demon was the only one in the Wayne family that he could relate to via their shared time in the League. He had sworn the League would pay. He would avenge his brother. But for now…
“Another hit. We need to find the perpetrators.” A series of thieves had been stealing jewelry and other relics from museums everywhere, Gotham being the most prominent as of late. They hadn’t harmed anyone, but they had been the most elusive threat since the Joker…who was now paralyzed from the neck down, chained up in Arkham, for around two years…right when these thieves had started popping up. The disappointment that he hadn’t been the one to do it was palpable. He had sworn vengeance against the damn clown years ago…he had wanted to be the one to give it to him straight up. But seeing the bloody shard of glass, embedded into the psychopathic clown’s back, right in just the perfect spot to wreak havoc, was too satisfying not to give credit where credit was due. The clown’s reign was officially over, that counted for something. Bruce believed them to be connected in some way, which only made it worse. Everything had been worse as of late.
The gang of thieves seemed to have two leaders that no one had been able to see. Not even with security cameras. These thieves were no amateurs, and had given law enforcement a run for their money. The weirdest part though? The artifacts they stole were never the most famous, or worth the most. In fact, most of them were forgotten relics that weren’t given much attention. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason for the stealing, no visible motive. First it was a bracelet. Then a necklace. Then a brooch. Then a bejeweled hairpin. Then a pair of cufflinks. All of them were simplistic, not terribly old as museum artifacts go…and not worth the most out of the collections.
Apparently, Gotham hadn’t been their first stop. The first heist had been in Paris, of all places. Paris had been a sore spot for good ole Brucie. The city had been in a technological silence for years, and although they had recently opened up communications once more…it was still silent in the reasoning behind the complete blackout. Replacement, from what Jason could remember, had been trying for ages to hack his way into finding out the truth, but had never succeeded. Another sore spot…another aspect that created tension in the family. Bruce had that problem. He needed, to an obsessive degree, to know everything. A much younger, empathetic part of Jason knew that the behavior stemmed from the loss of his parents and what happened afterwards…but the Pits and the Joker had all but destroyed that part of him a long time ago. That street kid who fought tooth and nail to survive and rounded up adopted by the Waynes, becoming the second Robin…that kid had died slowly after being tortured and burned alive. That kid had died when the Pits swallowed him up, transforming him into a much more brutal vigilante with a brutal view of the world. A brutal, much more realistic view instead of the hopeful, scrappy street kid Brucie found attempting to steal car parts.
Ironic enough, now it seemed like he wasn’t the only one with this perspective now. Almost every one of his siblings had adapted the mindset in some capacity. The most concerning being little Mar’i. Or…not so little Mar’i anymore. She was…thirteen now. His sweet niece had lost some of her light. She loved Demon Spawn, but Jason and the others hadn’t realized to what capacity until after the funeral. They had no idea how close the two had become. Damian had given Mar’i twin daggers that would last her a lifetime. Damian had taught her how to properly clean, polish, take care of them, and even some basic moves. The whole fam had been surprised, including Jason. He didn’t expect Demon Spawn to have given his little niece something like that. They were incredibly detailed, beautifully crafted ornate hilts with blades that held a decent weight. When Dickie Bird had asked? All she said was:
“Uncle Dami told me he wanted me to learn too, so that if I was ever alone, I could take care of myself.” It sounded like the brat alright, yet…not at the same time. Jason could understand the kid giving Mar’i a pair of daggers, considering his background. Gifting weapons in the League meant a number of things, all of which make sense. Mostly, it meant a loyalty that ran deeply, the closest thing to trust the League had. Everyone else pretty much was shocked. It shouldn’t have been surprising really. Demon Spawn had been babysitting Mar’i ever since she was a baby. The two kind of connected and the brat softened a bit. He really loved his niece…in his own way. Mar’i wasn’t the only one left with something from Demon Spawn either. They all had a memento from him. It took a while to figure it out and find them, but eventually, they did.
- Mar’i had the daggers
- Dickie Bird had a small painting of a circus, specifically a trapeze with himself, Kor’i, and Mar’i
- Replacement had a contact card for MDC (how he got that Jason will never know)
- Alfred got Alfred the cat and tea blends
- Steph got a painting of herself suited up taking down her bastard of a father
- Cass got a new ballet costume that Jason could tell she loved
- Kor’i got a similar painting of herself and the family snuggling together in a pillow fort
- Duke got a painting of himself and his parents before they were jokerized with everyone in the Manor
- Babs got an improved systemized wheelchair that was electric and a lot faster than before
- Brucie got a painting of the entire family, including Demon Spawn and his dead parents all together in the Manor
- Jason…he got a first edition selection of every single Austen novel
It was clear that…he knew that something was going to happen…
…That he had been preparing for this for some time
Jason didn’t really know what to make of it. The kid had clearly been preparing and had clearly known that something was going to happen. He had most likely planned the whole ordeal, but why? He even had a last will goddamnit! Why? Why was he gone? What had happened? And goddamnit, why in the multiversal hell hole did he already have a will written up and prepared? What was he planning to do that caused something to this degree of caution?
No one had stepped into many of the places the brat used to occupy either. No one had touched his old art studio or his room since the night he disappeared four years ago. The brat would have been twenty at this point…and no one had dared to take in the rooms of the gigantic Wayne Manor that he used to live in. It was like a museum…collecting dust. Truly, Jason only believed the single person brave enough to dare venture into those barren places was Alfred…but the man was hardly human. Jason didn’t know what he was, he just knew the man was as close to a saint as anyone could get in their world. The butler lived above the realms of human logic and laws of physics at this point. No one had stepped into those places…because it reminded them all of how little they truly knew the brat…and how much they really failed him. None of them knew how close he and Mar’i were despite the several years he had been babysitting her. None of them had really gotten close enough to apparently break down all his barriers to find out…whatever it was he had been planning. Or how long he had been planning it.
But…
After four years…
The Manor erupted in a sound so inhuman that he and the rest of his pseudo siblings bolted to one of the few rooms that had been previously vacated…
Dickie Bird was in the old art studio.