Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason woke up. No. Wait. Did he?

...

He definitely did. He wasn't supposed to. That, he's sure of. He can't quite feel his body and his memories are all jumbled, but he can notice the person about to enter his home. It's a young woman, even though Jason can't see her covered face, she holds a tray with food on it. She stops when she takes notice on him, and next thing he knows she's dropping the tray on the floor. Jason hisses at the sound, too loud for his ears. The woman shrieks, "Young prince! He has awoken!" And Jason doesn't hear anything more because she runs away.

Now that he's alone, Jason studies the place he's in. It's a room, all made of wood and stone and not a single drop of color other than shades of green, brown and gray. There's a huge amount of greenery and plants, but it seems accommodating. It's not any room that Jason has ever known.

...

That leaves a question, where is he? What happened? He remembers green, a lot of it, but unlike the green of this room, a toxic vivid kind of green, a repulsive shade–

He remembers... something. A body. Someone. A small, little thing. A presence unlike the others. Safe. His.

More than anything he remembers pain. Different kinds. The ones followed by the green. The ones to protect the Safe. Older, deeper wounds. Different. The one followed in a basement, with a cold floor full of cracks, blood all over, red, a disgusting smile and laughter, so much laughter and more and more and more AND MORE—

"Akhi, I see you are awake."

Jason blinks. He's sweating. Huh. When did he start to sweat? He can't remember.

Jason blinks. He should be dead. That's right. Why did he wake up? He was dead.

Jason blinks. He looks to the figure that spoke, and it's safe, his, the presence—

A small, little thing. A boy that holds himself up with so much regard, confidence and superiority it should be stupid, but it feels right. Familiar. He's young, really. Jason takes notice. His eyes are green, but green like his room and not green like toxic, repulsive green – green like emeralds, or a forest. His eyes are dollish, but then again everything about him feels almost unreal in a way. He likes his eyes. Different shade of green. Nice.

But then Jason takes notice on all the exposed tan skin and his face was devoid of any unblemishes but his torso is marred by scars and Jason sees green again and—

"Akhi."

The green is gone again. Huh.

The boy moves out of the door and inside the room, back straight and perfect posture, stepping over the tray still strewn across the floor. He snaps his fingers and, like magic, another man – servant – appears by his side and begins cleaning it up. The boy looks every bit the regal person he posed himself as. Then Jason thinks, "Akhi." My brother. He doesn't question how he understands the language, he chooses to focus on the word. Akhi, the boy called him. My brother. Were they brothers?

It explained the safe, the familiar. His. Suddenly a lot of memories fill out. He remembers training until his muscles gave out, he remembers reading to someone by his side, he remembers parties, festivals, he remembers blood and the pain to protect, he remembers fear. They're vague, but they're something. Most of all he remembers the small, little thing. Always there, in every memory of his that's not contaminated by that awful, shrill laughter.

The boy in front of him, his, forrows his brow and wrinkles his nose. "Akhi, do you remember?" And Jason doesn't know. Does he remember? He remembers the ugly laughs, and a man in black and— He'd prefer to not think about it, if at all. The green creeps in when he tries to think and he's not a fan of the anger that follows the thoughts of the laughter. The man that left him to die. The brother he left. The butler he didn't deserve.

"I guess so. A little." Jason answers, and that's only because he's his. He wouldn't say a thing otherwise. The boy fidgets with his fingers, losing a bit of the composure he had this whole time. Jason wants to ask... something. Anything. Where was he? How did he get here? Why was he... alive? Who was this kid?

The boy turned sideways and sat on the foot of his bed, Jason couldn't help but think he fitted in this room much better than Jason would ever fit. He stopped fidgeting, but he didn't look at Jason. "I'm... sure you have questions." He wasn't a native speaker, it seemed. Well, his appearance was enough to figure that out. Jason was probably not in North America, if he had to guess. The kid's accent was difficult to place– he sounded a little british, which would make sense if he learnt english as a second (maybe third even?) language, there was another influence he couldn't place but sounded vaguely asian and then there was a more familiar one to him, but he couldn't place it either.

"I do," Jason sighed, "Where am I?"

The boy seemed to straighten up at that, if Jason didn't know any better he'd say he almost looked relieved, as if he was thankful Jason chose that question. Huh. "You are in Eth Alth'eban, with the League of the Shadows, or," the boy got up at this, huffing, "the League of Assassins, as foreigners most know us by."

Huh.

The boy turned to him and placed a hand on his chest, tilting his head downwards slightly and momentarily closing his eyes. He still managed to make it look like a commanding gesture. "I am Damian al Ghul, heir to the Demon's Head," he paused and inhaled, slightly nervous, as if he wasn't sure about the following part "and to the Bat."

Something clickled in Jason's mind. He didn't care about the League mention, neither the boy's name or the fact he was apparently the next Demon's Head. No. And to the bat. Something clicked. Ibn al X'uffasch. Son of the Bat. Jason looked at the boy – Damian – more closely, really looked now, beyond the tan skin, and the dollish green eyes, and heart shaped lips, and pointy ears (he hadn't noticed those?). He saw his face for what it was. The eyebrows by themselves were a dead giveaway.

Of course, of course he was– It was stupid. Of course. An al Ghul that looked like a Wayne and was the heir to the Demon's Head. The existence of Talia al Ghul was enough of a clue. There wasn't anyone she was more obssessed with than the Bat. Of course.

Jason needed to breathe. Damian didn't know Bruce, they were at the League far away from America. Damian didn't know Bruce and fuck how did they not know a thing? Damian was old enough that he'd be a child when Jason was still there, it couldn't have been that long ago when he... died. He felt older but even if he was eighteen now and of age Damian would still already have been a thing back then so why– Damian was Bruce's– except, he wasn't. Bruce didn't know. Damian was Jason's brother. He was his. Bruce didn't matter.

Jason needed to breathe. "Okay."

Damian was the one blinking now. He blinked once, twice. He looked surprised, a expression of bafflement painted his face. The expression reminded him of Bruce's. He was opening his mouth like a fish, as if to say something. He recovered quickly, though. Still, he didn't say a thing.

Jason inhaled, exhaled. "Okay. I'm at the League." He looked up at the kid. Damian was nervous again. "Why?"

Damian seemed to think about this, pondering. The reason why he was caught of guard earlier is probably because he was expecting Jason to freak out, and don't get him wrong, Jason is freaking out. A little. Maybe more than a little. But that isn't important at the moment, so he's just going to ignore it for now. He'll have a mental breakdown later, hopefully somewhere alone. Damian spoke again, "Ummi- Mother brought you here. She healed you. Nursed you back to life."

So it was Talia that had... helped him? Whatever. She healed him at least. That means she didn't bring him back from the dead exactly. He thinks he knew this. In the back of his mind there's some sort of memory, Jason remembers a lot and doesn't at the same time. He remembers a feel. Fear. Panic. He remembers a dark, humid place. Remembers dirt and cold. Cracks again, but cracked wood instead of concrete. He remembers asphyxiation. Remembers banging and yelling and begging until his voice was scratchy and he couldn't yell anymore. Remembers the dirt and blood under his nails, his fucked up fingers and his aching hands.

He was dead. That's for sure. How he came back? The kid doesn't know it, and Jason himself definitely doesn't either. He's willing to bet Talia herself doesn't have answers to this question.

Well, he's alive now, apparently, and he's stuck in a place with a bunch of assassins and psychos. Could be worse, no?

As long as he has Damian. Jason doesn't know what the fuck happened between the time Talia found him and him waking up now, but it's clear he's got attached to the kid. Really bad if even his subconscious can tell. Anyways, he's a tiny kid, probably... ten, eleven? Yeah, he looks to be about eleven, doesn't seem to have hit a growth burst yet. He's smaller than Jason too. Actually, the room itself seems pretty small. A league thing, maybe?

The point is; he's a little kid, assassin or not, so even if Jason has to fucking flee or something, bringing Damian doesn't seem like it will be much of a problem. Actually, dealing with Talia and Ra's might be a problem, but if he says he's bringing him to Bruce... Yeah. He has a plan. For now, he's staying, but he knows what to do if escaping is needed.

He hopes it never comes to that. He doesn't feel like ever returning to Gotham if possible. They need to stay strong here. He needs to keep protecting the kid. Judging by his few memories it's likely he used to do that before.

Jason runs his hand through his hair. He can feel his muscles more or less already and they hurt like shit, plus his hair feels like sandpaper. "Talia brought me here." It isn't posed like a question, but Damian nods nonetheless. "So, what the fuck happened in the meantime that made me bedridden?" Jason wrinkled his nose, holding the silky covers. "Or whatever this is." 

Damian perks up at that question, some of that stiffness in his posture going away. "You were.... endangered recently." He said cautiously, almost too cautiously, as if Jason was a cornered hurt animal. Damian chewed on his lip and began fidgeting with his fingers once more, he wasn't stiff anymore but he seemed to have slumped, hunching his shoulders forward. "In the time you were here, you were in a catatonic state." Now, that strangely didn't surprise Jason, it would explain why his memories of staying in this place were all wonky. He wasn't quite aware during that time, apparently. Damian wasn't done, though. "This... state of yours... didn't favour Grandfather, so" Damian took a breath. "you were dipped in the Pit. The Lazarus waters."

Huh. What. Wait- Wait wait wait wait- What? What? What the FUCK?

In the midst of his panic, Jason can see the green, the ugly, repulsive green creeping in his vision— Fuck fuck fuck fuck that's what the damn green was he was fucking thrown in the Lazarus Pit and the ugly green—

"Akhi!" Jason blinked. Damian was beside him now, holding his arm down with a determined look on his face, but under that he could see a hint of worry. Fear. Fuck. Fuck, fucking hell, he's fucked up. "Akhi, you are fine here. Do not lose yourself." The boy chided softly. Jason almost wanted to laugh. He wasn't fine, he was far from it.

But- but. Maybe he could. Just for a little he'll pretend to be. Just to hold on. For the kid's sake. He's right about here being fine. He wasn't in Gotham, staying here should be fine. As long as he isn't in Gotham, as long as he remains himself and as long as no one hurts the kid. He's scared to think about the fact he might hunt even Ra's himself down if he hurts Damian.

That's what I get for getting attached to a brat. An assassin one. Jason chuckles.

Damian looks at him weird, "What?" He asks suspiciously, the frow and scrunched nose makes him look like a especially grumpy kitty, which is just stupid. What the hell is Jason even thinking right now?

Jason waves a hand, "Nothing." He places his other hand on the boy's hair and messes it up. "Thanks for that, brat." Damian makes an indignant sound of protest and slaps his hand away, but he can tell the kid is hiding a smile. Jason grins. "Am I supposed to stay here? Or can I just, walk out, y'know?"

Damian straightens up and smooths out his hair, getting impossibly brighter, Jason doesn't get how someone can show so much emotion without a single change of expression. "You have recovered nicely and if it is possible for you to walk, it is expected that I give you a tour." Damian walked away towards the door and Jason moved the blanket, getting out of the bed. Standing up, he could see that the room really was smaller than he's used to.

He can't one hundred percent feel his legs but he guesses they're good enough to walk. Damian turned and smiled at him, a small, flimsy thing, but it was a smile. That honestly surprises Jason, it has to be the biggest show of positive emotion he's seen from the boy so far. In the back of his mind, he feels that he's seen similar smiles before, but they're too buried, hidden from view. "I assume you must have questions?" He lifts a brow, and Jason smirks.

"Course I do, what do you think of me?" Damian huffs, probably feining discontentment, but Jason could spot that hint of amusement from miles away. It's the same as Alfie's.

The younger boy hurries him along, urging him to come with a beckoning hand. "Well, let us go, then. I will answer your questions as we walk."

Jason breathes a breath of fresh air as soon as he steps out of the door, he's not sure why – they aren't exactly outside yet. The hallways of the place aren't much of different from the room, they have lots of greenery and flowers, nature. Now outside, with a clearer mind, Jason decides to take a closer look at Damian. He really is exposing a lot of skin, and yeah okay, different culture or whatnot, but Jason doesn't think this attire is very League-like.

Jason is also beginning to think that maybe the kid isn't eleven either. That's okay. He could just be very short. Like, really short. Shorter than Jason and he himself isn't that tall already, unless he grew up in the few years he was here, but that shouldn't place him that much higher. Jason's like, what, maybe 5'9 at best? That already feels like too much, but that means the kid is really short. 4'11? 4'10? Really short, seriously.

Getting back to the problem at question– his clothes. Damian has a kind of cropped top on? Something like that. He has pants that go up to his knees, but they're opened at the sides and he has a sort of fabric around his waist, in what looks like to be a skirt but Jason wouldn't know the correct name. He's also wearing weird sandals. Totally not assassin worthy clothes in his opinion, but who is he to dictate what people wear to slice some throats, anyway?

What catches his attention is actually the necklace around his neck. Jason noticed it earlier, but Talia must really be into parading her wealth, huh? Damian has a decently big necklace made of gold with a single emerald in the middle. It kind of makes him wonder if it's like, a prized possession or something. Like a family heirloom. It'd make sense, wouldn't it?

Jason was so distracted by his thought process that he wouldn't even notice them getting outside if it wasn't for Damian holding out a burgundy robe for him, already having a cloak on himself, "Put this on." Jason did as he was told, struggling with tieing it and having Damian help him, the younger ignoring his protests.

"Let us go, now." He huffed, opening the door and stepping outside, Jason following right behind. As soon as they moved off the compound Jason thought he had promptly hit his head. Great. He's dead and dreaming now. Maybe in the afterlife or something of the sort. Moving through the streets by Damian's side, it was quite difficult for him to think otherwise. It was as if Damian's attire was very normal, everyone had similar clothes, all in various states of exposed and undressed but with cloaks on.

Damian looked to have noticed his buffering, and Jason hopes he took pity on him. "You seem to be struggling with understanding what you see."

"Well, yeah? 'm not still dead, am I?"

Damian rolled his eyes, huffing. "Of course not. You are very much alive, Akhi."

Jason wanted to ask him what the fuck was going on then, but Damian beat him to it. He was still looking straight ahead, not once turning to Jason. "It is complicated and I guarantee you will learn more when the time comes, but you are now watching our community."

Jason took his words into notice and observed his surroundings, much like inside the compound there was a lot of nature here. The people were walking the street without a care in the world, some dusting off their porches while others were cleaning their shop's windows. It was the image of a normal town like any other.

Jason noticed that, as they walked, some people particularly looked at Damian, either from the corner of their eyes or straight up staring. This was made clear when a young woman, in clothes not unlike Damian's, bowed her head at him gracefully and followed with a clear, "My Prince" in arabic. Damian merely nodded in acknowledgement.

All of this invoked questions but, for some reason, the one he chose to ask was, "What's with the pointy ears? Assassin thing?" Was it a valid question? Jason thinks it was. What? Can't a guy ask about the very clear, very pointy ears of a cult organization that kills people?

Damian didn't seem to mind the question either, he actually looked grateful he finally decided to start talking. "You see, pointed ears are common features of an elf."

Ah, yes. Of course pointy ears would be expected of elves–

Pause. Elf? Okay. Right. That makes sense, sure.

Jason isn't going crazy, is he?

He tried to look at Damian to see if the kid was joking, if he could find any hint of sarcasm, but to his utter dismay he was dead serious, apparently. Oh, great. Elves. Because that makes a real lotta sense.

God, Jason is going crazy.

Damian must have decided to really take pity on him for once, because he soon spoke without waiting for questions, "No, you are not crazy. Yes, elves exist. Yes, the League is a elven community."

Now, Jason was not worrying about the League being an... elven... community, but maybe he should've had. The Leagues were elves, how did they never notice? Did anyone know? "How is it that I don't know anything about this?"

Damian sighed, waving away a particularly stubborn butterfly that didn't seem to want to part ways with him, "There was no way you would know. Us of fantasy species are guarded from the world, and the League is careful with our identity." 

It makes sense. If elves existed no one in the world would know. If they knew, then Jason would've heard about it. "Fantasy species?" He watched as a elven old lady shook her carpet at the window. To his surprise, she immediately caught his eye and smiled. Jason turned his eyes away.

Damian hummed, "Yes, fantasy species. You could not think us elves are the only species hidden from the rest of the world, could you?"

He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "It's not like I'm a specialist on this shit." There were kids running down the street, their laughs mixing in with the other sounds of the place. This was the League's community, but Jason found that a lot of these people didn't seem to have any training at all.

Damian practically ignored him, choosing to instead pay attention to the birds flying next to him. "Besides elves, there are other hidden species. Some of those you might be more familiar with are werewolves and vampires." Jason was so caught of guard by this information that he barely payed attention to the bird that pecked Damian on his head, the younger boy chastising it while hissing something that sounded oddly like "Respect me, you fledgling."

Werewolves and vampires. Why is Jason even surprised? If elves existed, then may as well add vampires and werewolves to the mix. What's next, goblins? Trolls?

If Damian noticed his little crisis, he didn't seem to care, instead continuing with his little history lesson. "Werewolves are actually more commonly found in the Americas, especially the North where you came from. The most and biggest packs reside there." Well, Jason thinks he's dealing with the fact he could've seen a werewolf without knowing rather well. He's not freaking out as much as he thought, or as much as he probably should.

He just learnt the werewolves' biggest home is America where he lived his entire life and he could've talked with an werewolf and died without knowing. It just took actually dying to know it now. That's kind of ironic. Jason was brought out of his thoughts by the goat that sped across him and almost tripped him, the little thing only stopping to butt it's head on Damian's hip, going on it's way again after the boy petted it. Huh.

Damian pointed him to a building on their left and there, on tiny letters under a language that Jason couldn't read, was "Library" written in arabic and then english, together with another unknown language to Jason. So they had a library here, it made sense, this looked like any town would. Just more folklory, and fantasy, and green. Looks like the kid was also taking up on that tour promise. "Vampires, as you might guess, are not enjoyers of the sun and prefer cold weather, thus they are mostly found in Eastern Europe and other Slavic countries."

"I guess I'd have never seen a vampire, then."

Damian tuts at him, waving his finger 'no'. A passerby bows his head to the Prince. "I said they are mostly found in Europe, but that hardly means vampires are not spotted in other areas." He smiles at older elven ladies and looks at Jason from the corner of his eye. "Besides, there is another place outside of Europe where vampires reside. I am sure you must have an idea." A place where vampires live outside of Europe? Why would Jason– Wait. There's no way–

Damian smiled a little thing and Jason is so sure his eyes just glinted– "Yes, other than Europe, the most vampire populated place is Transylvania, in North America." Jason kind of wants to laugh at how absurd it is. Seriously. Vampires in Transylvania. 

"I doubt that you would ever see a vampire nonetheless, they are quite endangered and thus difficult to spot." Damian drawls, skipping over the cracks on the floor and sending a peeble skidding off. "They are naturally antagonistic towards werewolves and both species can not coexist."

Okay, so that part is just like how media portrays it as, at least. That makes him wonder if elves have a natural enemy? Some uknown, probably superhuman species he should worry about if he's keeping watch over Damian. "Do elves have any enemy?"

Damian turns to him and considers this, answering then: "Not specifically. Elves are a mostly neutral people, but you will learn more about that later." Okay. It's not a clear answer, but it's good enough for now, probably. Damian points him to a bigger establishment on their right, it reads "Mall Bonaparte", and then one a bit in front down a curve that has a sign saying "Azril's Garments", probably a tailor.

What seems to be a litter of kittens suddenly rush over to them and Jason is worried they will be runover or stepped on for a moment, before they just stopped in front of Damian. The kittens meow at the kid and some try to climb his clothes, Damian patiently takes the claws of those out of the fabric and settles them on the ground, tutting at them softly. He pets every single one before a very flustered teen makes their way to them, holding their knees and breathing harshly. Probably was running after the little things. "Oh my Sweet, I apologize terribly, my Prince." They finally say, bowing so low Jason almost feels bad for their back. Almost. Damian simply waves him off, clicking his teeth. "TT, it is nothing. Keep a better grip on these little rascals, they could be easily hurt." The teen nodded eagerly, giving Jason whiplash, and took of with the litter.

Damian seemed completely unbothered by the situation and simply walked ahead. Jason blinked behind him. This was, what? The sixth animal accident this far? What's with this kid and attracting animals like a Disney princess?

Damian scowled at him, pouting (Jason thinks he might be unconsciously doing it, or he'd probably stop it). "Akhi, you are slowing us down."

Jason grinned at him, "Sure thing, Princess."

Damian rolled his eyes and continued in front, grumbling and forcing Jason to take off if he wanted to keep up with him. They reached a pair of stone stairs that would lead them over a small mount and walked up it, Jason looking all over and noticing the trees lined up perfectly. Damian turned around, becknoning Jason's glance towards the community.

From up there, they could see a fair share of the space. It was pretty damn sick. There was a lot of green, as always, but the people seemed busy and content. There wasn't a single street empty, all of them taken up by working adults, gossipy teenagers or playful children. If someone told him the League was like this he'd never believe it.

Damian had a sort of somber look watching his community, but he quickly shut it off. Jason almost grimaced at the sight, he felt kind of helpless. Damian just pointed to an establishment in the distance that was also on top of a mount, it was a weird looking building and Jason couldn't tell what it was or read the sign from this far.

He didn't need to, though, because Damian answered for him, "The local blacksmith. He makes all League weapons." That caught Jason's attention. A blacksmith, huh? Interesting.

Jason looked at Damian again from the corner of his eye, but when the kid didn't move from his position watching the view, he decided to speak, "Nothing more in the tour for me?"

Damian finally glanced at him, simply just staring before he huffed, "Besides these fantasy species there's also faes or faeries. They're much more evenly distributed around the world than others."

Jason's eyes slightly widened at this. Faeries. He wasn't exactly expecting to hear about another species now. He wonders if there's any more? At this point he's barely surprised anymore. Sure, faeries exist. It's totally normal when you think fucking werewolves and vampires and damn elves are also real.

He just wonders about the nature of these so called 'faes'. After all, fairies have been depicted quite differently thorought media, and while some are just pretty whimsical shit, there are other depictions that he would rather not encounter. Ever.

"And are these 'faes' like Tinkerbell fairies or just, dark shit evil fairies?" Jason asks, seriously trying to get an answer out of Damian, even though he remains stubbornly unfazed.

Damian glances at Jason with a considering expression on and purses his lips, "I do not know of this Tinkerbell you speak of but I would not say faes are evil. They are not exactly kind either, though. They are... complicated."

Jason files the information that faes might be dangerous on his brain to think about later and proceeds to take the rest of Damian's words at face value, because– "You don't know Tinkerbell?!" He squawks, because, really, how? Does the League not have classics or something? "Do you even know Disney?"

Damian blinks at him and frowns, agitated. "No, I do not. Is that some kind of western propaganda?"

Jason almost has a heart attack. What the fuck. How does someone not know Disney? The classics? This is crazy... Alright, he will have to put up some kind of big Disney marathon event for the kid later or whatever. There's no way he can just go about not knowing Disney. That's one less lost childhood experience out of the way.

When it seems like Jason won't elaborate further, Damian sniffs and goes back to watching his community. Jason follows his example and admires the view, enjoying how peaceful everything looks at the moment. Only at the moment, because he can feel he won't have peace for much longer.

He wishes he could simply breathe and enjoy the view just a little more, but life isn't that kind for those living. Jadon would know, life took his last breathe – but it gave him a new beginning.

Jason won't screw up this time.

Chapter Text

simply a placeholder so this shows up as recent lol :p