Chapter Text
Jason had a plan that started with a bomb underneath the Batmobile and ended with a grand, explosive finale involving himself, the Joker, and the big, bad Bat. Then Talia strode into the room he was occupying one day after a particularly brutal mission.
"Follow me. There is something you must see."
Jason got up even though he was in the middle of unpacking. He was so beyond exhausted that he couldn't quite feel anything anymore, except for the twin, flaring bright spots of pain where he had been shot twice. Sloppy, and he would pay for that tomorrow in the Fighting Pits. He really should be resting in preparation for that ordeal. But Talia was not a woman to be denied. So he followed her through the winding, dimly lit stone corridors of Nanda Parbat until they arrived at a window overlooking a courtyard.
"Watch," she commanded.
Jason stepped forward, leaning against the wall. Damian was practicing katas under the searing noon heat.
"He's been at it since sunrise with no breaks for food, water, or shade," Talia said conversationally like she was discussing the weather and not her son being tortured. "Ra's ordered it after Damian tried to save a couple kittens."
Damian stumbled, and there was a harsh shout. Someone hurried forward from a shaded entrance and hit him. The kid straightened and began again. The plaster underneath Jason's hands cracked as the world started to tint green.
"He's been learning kindness from you," Talia added. "Mercy. Do you think that's fair, considering what type of place this is?"
"No," Jason said through gritted teeth. "What do you want, Talia?"
"To ask you a question," she said. "I know about your hopes of returning to Gotham and your petty plans for revenge. My Father and I were the ones to plant such ideas in your head, after all. You could pursue that futile dream, or you could give him a better life. Which option do you choose?"
Jason thought of the little baby placed in his arms right after he emerged from the Pit. The little toddler who pulled him out of Pit madness. The child that unsteadily copied him in everything he did, including rebelling against Ra's in so many little ways that led to so much pain.
The kid had been genetically modified to mature faster. Through some combination of fucked up magic and science, he was physically around eight or nine, even though he was technically four. Mentally, though, he'd also been forced to grow up too quick. And while the growth was slowing down to a more normal rate of human development, the trauma was only getting worse. Damian, like Jason, existed at the sufferance of Ra's. The creepy old fuck was making that increasingly clear.
"Well fuck that," Jason said, mostly to himself. Then, a little louder, "Don't suppose you have a plan for getting us out?"
Talia smiled. "No, but I know you can be quite inventive when explosives are involved. Whatever you need, I will do my best to grant as long as I can do so without raising suspicion."
"Well, first things first," Jason said. "I'm already in trouble. What's the name of the trainer overseeing this? I have other ways of finding out if you don't want to tell me."
Talia gave him a list of names of people who were involved in this particular punishment. Jason was too tired to be showy, but he still managed to get the point across: Damian was not to be harmed. It took him a while to heal from the punishment he received for that particular stunt, mostly because he wasn't given the time to heal properly. Ra's kept him busy, too busy to do much except plot how to get himself and Damian out of the League.
It took a while, but eventually, they escaped in a truly gratuitous and extravagant display of C4 and arson. It was a handy way of releasing some pent-up anger and ensuring that all of Ra's' — and, as a result, the League of Assassins' — attention was on him and not Damian.
Still, there was only one place in the entire world that was completely safe from the League: Gotham. More specifically, within Gotham with Bruce fucking Wayne. Neither of them were completely happy about this. Damian idolized his Father, of course.
"But, akhi," he said, staring up at the wrought iron gates of Wayne Manor. "I do not wish to be separated from you. Could we not find another way?"
Jason didn't want to be separated either because this kid was the start and end of his world. Bruce had already gotten one kid killed; could he say with complete certainty that things would be better this time? But with the way the League was tearing apart the city, trying to find Jason and Damian, the safest place for the kid was with B. Not to mention that Damian needed people in his life that weren't fucked up six ways to Sunday; Jason had issues compounded by supernatural Pit Rage, and Damian needed a stable home life.
Jason didn't say any of that, though. He just knelt down and pulled the kid into a tight hug. "Anything you need, habibi. Anything. I mean it. And I will do it for you. You have to promise me one thing, though."
"What is it?" Damian asked anxiously.
"You have to be safe," Jason said. "Please. Okay?"
Damian nodded, silent and solemn, and Jason couldn't remember why the hell he ever thought revenge was more important than the little kid that was his, as much as he was Talia's and Bruce's.
"I promise, only if you will do the same."
"It's a deal, then," Jason said, pressing a kiss to the crown of his little brother's head. "We'll meet again, but until then, be happy. Please."
And starting up his criminal empire was harder with the League dogging everyone of his steps, but Jason made every assassin sent his and Damian's way an example. Eventually, the League decided it wasn't worth it, especially once B started noticing an uptick of ninjas running around Gotham. Jason could then finally turn his attention to making Crime Alley a little safer; Red Hood was no longer just another gang leader but someone that the citizens of his home trusted. He killed the Joker, too, breaking into Arkham and forgoing all the fanfare of his original plan. That monster didn't deserve some grand finale. Two bullets to the head, while he plotted his next sick scheme in his cell, was more than enough. It took a while for the city to settle down after that, but Gotham eventually moved on; Jason could finally take a breath.
It was on a quiet night — or well, as quiet as night ever got in Gotham — when he decided to take a well-earned day off. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken an evening for himself. The city (hopefully) wasn't going to crumble into flames the one night he decided to go to sleep at a reasonable time, and for once, he was caught up on dealing with all the minutiae that keep the wheels of a criminal enterprise turning. So, it was time for a break. Burnout was a bitch, and Jason was determined to avoid it for as long as he could.
Which was why, when someone knocked on his door, Jason sighed. He lived in one of the worst parts of Crime Alley; people didn't just knock on other people's doors, especially at night. That meant whoever was out there probably wanted to kill him or capture him. But did it really have to be at this moment? Maybe whoever the mysterious assailant was would just go away. Please just go away.
Another knock. Jason got to his feet silently, mourning the chance of a quiet night off. He grabbed his gun, fully prepared to shoot out knees and ask questions later, and positioned himself in the perfect spot to jump whoever came through the door.
"Your security is abysmal," Damian said haughtily as he entered, stuffing a lockpicking set pack into his pockets.
Jason flicked the security back on his gun before setting it on the coffee table. Then he vaulted over his couch and scooped his little brother up, kicking the door closed.
"Missed you," he whispered in the League dialect.
Damian let himself melt into the embrace even as he said, "I am not a child. You can put me down."
"And you shouldn't have been wandering Crime Alley at night," Jason scolded, flicking the kid on the forehead. "What the hell are you doing here? And what do you want to eat?"
"I'm technically on a school trip," Damian said without the least bit of guilt. "An overnight stay at the science museum. I missed you and determined that this would be my best opportunity to see you. The city is safer now, no? I know there have been no sightings of the League for quite some time."
"Just because no assassins are running around doesn't mean this city isn't batshit insane," Jason said, reluctantly putting Damian down so he could relock and re-arm the door. His security was not abysmal. It was just that this was his apartment, not a safe house, and there was no reason Todd Peters should have his apartment locked up tighter than Fort Knox. It was strategic not to have a dozen alarms rigged.
"Tt, as if anything in the city could pose a threat to me," Damian said. "Especially when you are watching over me. I want something spicy."
"Something spicy, huh?" Jason said. "Alfred's cooking not up to your standards?"
"He is an adequate cook," Damian said. "However, everything I have eaten so far has been quite plain."
"How about curry?" Jason asked, walking over to the kitchen. "I have some sauce in the freezer. You can pick out whatever veggies and fruits you want in it."
Damian hummed as he considered the idea. "Acceptable."
"You know damn well it's better than acceptable," Jason said with a huff. "I was right about ready to go to bed, you know? And now I have to make an actual dinner instead of just eating cereal."
"You were going to bed at eight-thirty?" The little brat actually sounded judgemental. "And since when do you eat cereal for dinner? You always told me that it was one of the most important meals of the day."
"Listen," Jason said, opening the freezer and rooting around. "I have a pretty demanding day job and night job. Crime Alley is a powder keg waiting to blow, and keeping it from going all to hell is a 24/7, round-the-clock job. Every once in a while, I want a break, and by that, I mean a chance to actually sleep. Go wash your hands so you can help me prep." He pulled out the tub and grabbed a pack of frozen spinach, too. Should he grab the peas? Probably. Corn would be pretty good, too.
"Can you put potatoes in it as well?" Damian asked as he scrubbed his hands with meticulous preciseness at the sink.
"Sure," Jason said, closing the freezer and opening the fridge. "How about carrots? And eggplant? There's some zucchini and squash, too. And onions, of course."
"I would enjoy that," Damian said. "There is very little variation in the vegetables at the Manor, although Pennyworth is trying for my sake. He was very alarmed when he discovered I hadn't been eating everything since I am vegetarian and has been trying new recipes. None are as good as yours. Where do you keep the ingredients to make rice?"
"Pots are in the cabinet by the sink," Jason said. "Along with a glass measuring cup. Oil is above the fridge, rice to the left of it in a big jar. Preheat the oven and heat a pan and two pots, will you?"
Damian nodded. He pulled out a couple pots and a pan and placed them on the stove. In order to reach the top of the fridge, he had to grab a chair. It was adorable, so Jason snapped a surreptitious picture. Then he went back to cleaning and chopping the veggies while Damian heated the pans with a little oil.
"So, what's bothering you, kid?" Jason asked. Damian was tackling the task of making rice with a seriousness that meant he had something on his mind. His little brother was peeling garlic with an intense concentration usually reserved for disarming bombs and negotiating with terrorists.
"There is no hiding from you, is there?" Damian pressed down a little too hard on the clove of garlic. Instead of bruising it, he nearly pulverized it. With a hiss of frustration, he grabbed another clove.
"No," Jason said, reaching over to give the pulverized clove a quick mince before scooping it up and dumping it in the frying pan. The oil sizzled faintly; Jason added the eggplant slices along with the zucchini and covered the pan. "Was it Dick and Tim? Or Bruce? Or Alfred? All of the above, maybe?"
He tossed the onions into the curry pot so they could sweat a little. Where had his pepper ended up? Jason swore the damn thing migrated 'cause it was never where he left it.
"Perhaps," Damian admitted, dropping the bruised garlic in the rice pot. "I am struggling more than I would have thought adjusting to my new life." He added the rice, shaking the pan and staring at it while it toasted. "Do you have any peppers?"
"I think so," Jason said, turning back to the fridge. Did he still have a couple of jalapeños left over from the last time he made enchiladas suizas? Apparently, he did. After giving them a quick rinse, he tossed them over to Damian, who scored them lightly before adding peppers and water. There it was. How the hell had the pepper ended up in the snack cabinet? He seasoned the onions liberally with it, then gave the pot another shake before deliberately putting the pepper container back with the spices.
"So?" Jason prompted as he took the zucchini and eggplant out of the pan and transferred them to a plate. He turned off the pan, leaning against the counter so he could face his little brother.
"It's different," Damian said simply, turning the heat down on the rice now that it was boiling. He put the lid on, frowning down at the pot.
"What do you think of everyone?" Jason asked.
"Pennyworth is as kind as you described him," Damian said, not looking up. "Although he pities me, I believe, and I have no need of that. I do appreciate the cookies he gives me as a result, however. Father is complicated. Grayson and Drake still do not know what to make of me. As I said, things are quite different. I am still struggling to understand my place."
Jason hummed, giving the curry pot another shake before adding the potatoes and squash. He grabbed his wooden spoon and began to flip over pieces.
"And they don't understand me," Damian admitted quietly. "It has made things…difficult. Father wants me to go to therapy and has set Grayson and Drake to the task of encouraging me to go. They think I was raised without love, which is ridiculous. I had you and Mother, though that reassures them little."
"Me?" Jason asked, a little alarmed.
"They know you only as my guard," Damian reassured. "And the man who raised me. I may have also told them that you were the one to get me out and that you are still in the city, watching over me."
"B must love that," Jason said with a snort. "A rogue League operative in his city that's skilled enough that Talia entrusted her son to him."
"Indeed," Damian said. "The only thing that occupies his worries more than that is your activities as Red Hood."
Jason dumped the curry sauce into the pot, giving it a couple vigorous stirs. A dream come true, practically, being a pain in the ass to Bruce two ways. Just because he had tabled his plans for revenge didn't mean that he didn't want to annoy the man. He put the lid on the curry and set a thirty-minute timer.
"So they don't understand you," he said.
Damian nodded. "And they don't listen to me."
"Because everyone in that family is cursed with selective hearing," Jason said, shifting the dirty dishes to the sink. "Don't take it personally, and do give it time. Eventually, you'll settle in. How about you tell me how things are going when we meet up every week?"
Damian looked up from the pot of rice sharply. "Truly?"
"You said it yourself; the city is safer," Jason said with a shrug, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head screaming that this was a terrible idea. B would find out because he always found out, and then he'd kick Jason out of the city. It was the logical step, considering the man had thrown him out of the house 'cause he thought Jason had killed someone. Now that Jason was a confirmed killer with no intent to stop, there was no way Bruce would let him even near Gotham. "I think we can figure out a way to meet up once a week. Maybe on Thursdays? There are art lessons at the Gotham Museum of Fine Arts. We could both sign up for them conveniently. And you know, you could always tell B that you'd like to hang around for half an hour afterward to get some homework done. I'm sure he'd let you."
Jason closed his eyes to push back the memory of Bruce screaming at him, You're not my son. I don't need your teenage rebellion. The Pit had taken nearly everything the grave had spared of Jason Peter Todd; those included most of the memories he had remaining after his death. That one was still shatteringly crystal clear.
"I would like that very much," Damian said softly, abandoning his post by the stove to give Jason a hug. Since it annoyed him so much, Jason scooped his little brother up again.
"Put me down," Damian demanded, all traces of gentleness in his tone gone.
"Nah," Jason said, moving back to the couch and flopping down. "'Cause you're my baby."
Damian hissed like a disgruntled cat, although he made no move to free himself. Jason draped a blanket over them and picked up his book with his free hand.
"Just started Beowulf," Jason said. "Do you want me to read it to you while we wait for the curry to cook?"
"What is it?" Damian asked, closing his eyes and leaning against Jason. The cat metaphor wasn't too far off, actually.
"An Anglo-Saxon epic," Jason said, cracking it open. "This particular copy was translated by Seamus Heaney, and it's fucking fantastic."
Damian gave a hum of agreement, and Jason quietly began to read it out loud. Weekly meetups were a frankly terrible idea, but damn, he had missed his little brother. And he had risked it all once before for him; what was one more time?