Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason read over the words, again and again, in case his eyes failed them:

Jason Todd, we extend our condolences as we invite you to the funeral of Alfred Pennyworth, longtime member and dear friend of the Wayne family.

He swallowed, his saliva thick in the back of his mouth. Torso leaning out of the window, Jason looked up from the invitation, breathing in the corrupt Chicago air before he abruptly shut the window and began packing.

—

The lights along the subway station blared in Jason’s face. He caught a glance at himself in the dirty CTA window, his reflection tired and lawless. In his hand, he held the ripped envelope, the content inside peeking out: Invitation … Condolences …

How the sender managed to find Jason was unknown, but he would rather contemplate his security at a later date, his mind bouncing between his old friend’s passing and the utter audacity of the train being over 20 minutes late.

He gripped his backpack strap with one hand, the abrasive fabric scraping along Jason’s palm, slowly stripping the protective layer of skin away. His other hand, firmly grasped on a duffel bag, cracked each time he flexed.

After the train’s arrival, Jason could not bear to remain lucid, his conscious mind shutting down as soon as his shoulder rested against the cold, dirty metal of the train pole. In a blink, he was gripping a paper ticket (who has those anymore? An airport secretary murmured to another, her eyes suspiciously tracking Jason’s movements as he zipped through the airport crowd) and boarding a flight, his backpack and duffel bag still on him. He neglected to make eye contact, mind flooded with possible causes of death - he checked public sources, and none strayed from the vague excuse of natural causes; Alfred was an associate of the Wayne family, not a patient at a long-term care facility, so the words seemed no short of unreliable.

Again, Jason could not recall how the flight ended, nor could he disclose his offboarding from the flight, or the departure from the airport. He regained consciousness as he was staring out of the window from the back seat of an unmarked black sedan, its leather seats squeaking each time Jason shifted uncomfortably, and the cold air from the vents blowing at Jason’s body. The driver wore all black, as Jason was accustomed to, except the gloves were a black suede rather than the white satin or silk that Alfred wore.

Alfred. Jason blinked, wondering when the dam of his emotions would crumble and break. He knew it was a matter of time, but when he began to contemplate when he would allow himself to cry, his lucidity drifted afar, too far for Jason to grapple and retrieve to complete the thought.

“Jay?” reality snapped back into his mind like a broken rubber band when a familiar voice called him. Jason peered through the large foyer and saw Steph, her eyes round with shock, and puffy from, presumably, crying, and his heart cracked upon the realization - he was fond of Stephanie, who, despite herself, still explored the dark trenches of her emotions without rage overtaking her (with the rare exception naturally occurring, of course); to Jason, Steph was a cool older sister (a title he would never dare admit to her until he was on his deathbed).

She threw her arms around him, pulling him into an affectionate hug. Jason, overwhelmed by the sudden physical contact, audibly tensed with a huff, his eyes widening. Steph ignored it though, hugging him for a few moments before she let go with a sharp exhale. “I’m glad you could make it.” she admitted, looking up at him with a crooked smile. Up close, her whole appearance was visibly shaken, her skin frayed with grief.

“Yeah,” Jason replied halfheartedly, his frown causing his cheek muscles to strain. “How have you been?” He found himself asking, brows reacting to his words.

“I think it’s been…” her voice wavered with emotion, and she cleared her throat to recompose herself. “It varies from time to time, honestly.”

Jason swore he could see a tear forming in the corner of her eye, but she turned away, her blond hair acting as curtains to her eyes as she drew them closed. He let his shoulders fall, the best form of sympathy he could muster at the moment.

When she walked away, Jason opened his mouth, wanting to push the words from his throat, but when she turned the corner and disappeared into the hall, Jason found himself lost, another thing to later apologize for.

Jason felt his boots weigh him down with each step up the tall stairs leading to his old room. In the back of his mind, he had a sliver of hope that he would trip and fall, leading to a blissful demise away from revisiting himself, but when he reached the top, his heel planted on the carpet below his soles, he sighed with a twinge of disappointment. He walked slowly to his room, analyzing each cobweb that formed in the corners of the hall and tables, each fabricated photo that hung on the walls, and the chipped wood of the floor trim.

They were all clues leading to his room. The door was different from the others, its wood stain fading and door-knob brass worn and oxidized. Nobody touched it, Jason noted to himself when he stepped through the door frame, dropping his duffel bag and backpack onto the floor with a thump as he re-entered the past. The walls were still littered with music posters, all labeled with different bands that he would listen to on his patrols in his tenure as Robin. On his desk, he noticed the same etched lettering he made with his knife, a habit he found himself forming when Bruce punished him after Jason’s abnormal behavior admonishing a criminal. He recalled the first time Alfred cared for the boyish teen when he was injured, noting each wound he acquired from his previous night’s work with Batman. When Alfred rolled up the uniform sleeve of Jason’s right arm, he noticed slashes on his forearm, the marksmanship similar to the etching on Jason’s desk. Without a word, Alfred unrolled the sleeve, his tender hand remaining on the wounds longer as he continued his inquiries about the patrol injuries sustained.

And the following day, when Jason returned from school, he found a notebook and a heavy ink pen on his desk, along with a note that simply read:

Spill only ink onto the paper.

As Jason rummaged through the drawers of the desk, he found the note, the paper weathered from age. His calloused thumb ran through the penmanship, and his throat became thick with tension again, the corners of his mouth quivering as he felt another crack heave on the dam. Water trickled from it slowly, Jason feeling it in his chest as his breathing became uneasy, but he cleared his expression when he heard a knock at his door.

“Hey Jason, it’s Dick.” Jason bit back an insult as he heard the introduction. “Steph told me you were in here.”

“Yeah you can come in, Edward Cullen.” Jason replied, without hesitation. He heard the door hinge creak as it opened, a musty draft wandering in with Jason’s older brother.

This was a detail Jason dreaded to face upon his return to Gotham: not necessarily Dick’s presence, although Jason found Dick’s charm to be quite maddening, but rather the control in environment Dick possessed when he wanted to carry himself into ‘big brother mode’; whether it be a monologue regarding the complexity of morality as a vigilante in adulthood or a simple remark, Dick reflected a sense of authoritative status since becoming Nightwing. “Listen,” Jason heard the serious tone and rolled his eyes instinctively, “I know emotions are tough for you. I get it. But if you need anyone, I’m here.”

Jason was irritated not by the vulnerability in Dick’s statement, but that he felt Jason needed a reminder in the first place. When Jason returned from the Lazarus Pit, his head trauma still ruminating, Dick was the sole Bat-member who harnessed a level of hope for him. Even though it was years ago, and his memory of it was static and fuzzy, Jason could remember when Dick, after disarming Jason in the Titans Tower, dropped his escrima sticks and listened to Jason’s torrential storm booming in the corridor, words fumbling, one after another, as the realization of everything finally hit him.

“I believed in him!” Jason cried, his voicebox torn. Dick nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on Jason. “I can’t believe he left me there to die! He couldn’t find me? He couldn’t help me?”

Jason’s palms echoed louder through the corridor than the sniffling he made. “Why…” Jason clenched his teeth, tears forcing themselves from his bloodshot eyes. “Why couldn’t he have just avenged me? Why wasn’t I enough for him to kill the stupid fucking clown?” Jason’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles pinned to the cold ground. “And he replaced me so easily?”

“He didn’t want Tim to be Robin.” Dick replied. “But when he gave in, I tried to stop them. Tim showed up to the Tower without Bruce ever telling me. He knew I wouldn’t turn Tim away knowing he was this far from his home.”

Jason could hear the torment in Dick’s voice as he explained, but it was too late: Jason submitted to his unconscious need to revolt one last time, his shoulders rounding forward as he began to openly weep. His mouth quivered as tears raced, two by two like marching soldiers, down his broken skin. The heartbreak in Jason’s chest channeled into rage, a petty conquest to return the perceived ambiguity he believed Bruce and Dick felt toward him.

After months of plotting and executing, Jason felt the sharp blade press into his chest, below the breastbone, past each protective layer of muscle Jason exercised to protect this invasive betrayal to himself; Dick witnessed the assimilation of information, the translucent blood falling from Jason’s face and swirling into a pool with the pearl red blood already there. He felt that no amount of bandages or days of rest could aid in Jason’s recovery from an injury this penetrated. Instead, Dick uttered the words no person had thought to convey to Jason, about Jason:

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know.” Jason dropped the sarcastic voice. He did know Dick would always be there - especially after the confrontation at the Titans Tower - but Jason refused to allow his feet to rest from the heavy treading through the globe. Eventually, Jason relished in the anonymity of each new destination, and the drones of people who could not pin a name to his face; he claimed it was because he had always wanted to see the world when he was a kid, but when the missions were completed, and he sat alone in his filth, he washed his face from every lie he told and the truth lie across his forehead in emboldened letters.

Dick nodded to himself, his shoulder resting against the doorframe as he folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” he left the hook in the air before he left, Jason finally turning to face him only after he left.

—

The funeral procession was drawn out, but Jason felt it pass sooner. He still struggled with memory issues it seemed - likely from the falls from buildings, or perhaps even the blows to the head - but could not escape himself when he stood before the casket, opened and showing a lifeless Alfred peacefully sleeping in a way Jason wished he could experience too.

The selfish thought ate at Jason, along with the guilt he felt for even thinking such a thing at a time like this, but…

Even as an adult, attending as many wakes and processions as he had, Jason believed it could have been a lie. Maybe, if he stared for long enough, he could spot an eyelid twitch, or lips part, or even just the nostrils flare. Instead, Jason squinted his eyes at Alfred, lifeless and gone, with so much he still had to say to him that could not possibly be said now.

Nor could they be said when the very same casket that carried Alfred’s body slowly lowered into the deep ground. Jason swore he heard the sound of a faintly beating heart through the casket, smelled dirt as it penetrated his nostrils, and tasted the nitrate-rich soil in his mouth, but none of it was real. He repeated those words as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the glossy headstones nearby, his ironed suit replaced with the old clothes with which he was buried, the tattered clothes barely fitting his grown body, but when he blinked and did a double-take, he only saw his freshened up attire: black overcoat and vest, black pants, black and gold watch (inherited from Alfred, per his lawyer), black shirt, and shined black shoes with only specks of dirt on them.

He watched from afar as the rest of the procession continued, staying behind at the cemetery for a moment alone with his former family. He approached the freshly sorted dirt and headstone with his hands in his suit pockets, wrinkling the coat arms more than Bruce would have wanted. Jason’s head was buzzing with thoughts, serious and witty, that he could say to the air, but he stood in silence for a few minutes.

“I will find whoever did this to you.” he promised with a nod, so sure that somebody else could have ended Alfred’s life - not just a slow progression of disease or illness.

But behind him, a voice squashed the promise right into the soil, away from sunlight or oxygen or water where it could harvest. “He was over 100, Jason. He died of complications from his cancer treatment.”

The voice stirred a boil in Jason’s stomach. “And none of you bothered to call me? Seriously?” Jason snapped at Bruce, pushing his chest. “You just fucking waited until after he died to contact me?” Bruce stood with arms crossed as Jason continued. “First you don’t tell me about the Tim situation, then you didn’t tell me about Barbara, and now this?”

“You don’t take these things well, Jason.” Bruce surmised as much without allowing Jason the opportunity to present himself differently. Secrets were commonplace between them - Bruce having to find out about Jason’s identity under the Red Hood, and then unveiling that Jason was also the source of several drug ring operations in Gotham.

“No shit I don’t take them well,” Jason spat, the curse like fire on his tongue, “you don’t communicate things differently!”

“I need the suit back by tomorrow.” Bruce opened the conversation, then closed it shut with a loud thud of his feet walking into the other direction, leaves crunching under his soles as he became smaller and smaller in Jason’s field of view.

Chapter Text

Jason fumed as he sped his motorcycle through the streets of Gotham, tracing every street with his tires. His head raced as fast as the engine underneath his last ounce of control, and he couldn’t stomp out the thoughts as much as he normally would. Every time he stopped at a light, he was met with a familiar area, each one more painful than the last.

First, it was the floral shop. The windows were partially shuttered for the evening, a selection of marigold and mums poking through, but Jason felt he saw Alfred walk through the entrance with a large bouquet in hand. “This is for Mr. Wayne’s prospective client.”

Next, Jason felt eyes glaring at him through the butcher’s windows. He turned his head in his helmet and saw emptiness, only displays of cold cuts and accessories appearing on the window.

Jason’s bike sputtered a few blocks over, near a secondhand store on the East end. Jason walked his bike over to a nearby alley and flipped out the kickstand with his foot. Jason bent down to examine his bike, one that he had spent months perfecting in a Bruce’s abandoned storage unit prior to his death.

Jason finally checked the gas tank, opening the lid after turning his key and… “Fuck, I forgot.” he muttered in disappointment. It was completely bone dry, the reservoir even having its resource spent.

Staring at the bike for a moment, Jason wondered if retrieving gas was worth the effort; yes, it was only a block - a few minutes - away, but Jason’s legs were heavier, his knees heaving under the heavy grief he carried on his back.

Hands in his pleated pant pockets, Jason walked away, stepping toward the secondhand store. He faced the window, staring past the spider cracks and smudges and at the mismatched toys and figurines sat untouched on the display shelves. He moved his fingers in his left pocket to gather change, but found nothing, only pinching the thin fabric lining.

“Can I get it? Please?” Jason looked up at the tall man with two swollen eyes, his eyelids purple and bruised. His hair was untidy and visibly dirty, specks of drywall and broken-down insulation littering his locks.

He was pointing his bony finger at a Wonder Woman figurine, who shined her scratched teeth down at him. The tall man scrunched his face in disgust at the figurine, then at Jason. “A girl? Who am I raising, a pansy?” Jason’s head slouched forward when the man struck the boy across his head with an open hand. “No son of mine will be a goddamn fairy, you got that?”

The shopkeeper kept her distance from Jason and the tall man, her expression apprehensive as she passively watched the man torment and shove Jason through the thin aisles of the small shop.

When the man stomped out of the shop in a huff about a call and a cigarette, Jason was left alone with the toy guns, his fingers collecting the loose change and lint in his pocket.

The shopkeeper walked over to Jason and crouched down, her eyes meeting a pair of hazel irises caught in a frightening storm. “You know, if you want it, you can have it.” She reached over across the aisle and grabbed the figurine from the shelf, handing it to Jason. “I can pack it in a leftover G.I. Joe box we have.”

“But all I have is,” Jason pulled out the coins from his pocket, counting them in his palm, “Seventy-five cents. It’s marked as three dollars.”

“Well, then it must be your lucky day,” the shopkeeper smiled at Jason, her muscles fighting the instinct to frown and cry at the broken child in front of her. “We are having a sale today. One day only - Wonder Woman figurines.”

Her heart warmed when Jason responded with a beaming smile, a bottom tooth missing. “Thank you, Mrs. Chen.”

They walked to the counter as Mrs. Chen discreetly packed the figurine into a tattered G.I. Joe box, before placing the box into a plastic grocery bag. She handed Jason the bag as she felt warm coins fall onto her open palm. “You are welcome anytime, Honey.”

When Jason’s bottom lip stretched into a frown, he figured it was because of the rain now falling onto his suit, the drops stinging his face as they fell. He wondered why she was so kind to him, and if his father knew, and that’s how she was found dead in the alley behind the shop. Jason hid the figurine in his room closet at Bruce’s residence, unwilling to admit that he believed if his fingers held it again, another person may lose their life, all a tragic result of his selfish impulses.

He felt a brush against his back, and snapped around, his body immediately tensing; a woman passed him, phone in hand, as she carried her burgundy briefcase. Jason watched as she turned the corner into the alley where Mrs. Chen bled to death, and disappeared from his sight. He listened intently to her every footstep, quieting his breath to better focus on the clatter of platforms against dirty asphalt.

“Jesus.” he heard a gasp from a female, then a thump of an item hitting the ground, before Jason paced toward the alley, rounding his body and hushing his every step in an attempt to remain covert.

“You wanna go snoopin’ around where you’re not supposed to, huh?” Jason heard a gruff voice.

“The boss says you’s seen too much, gotta be put down.” Another voice said, and Jason heard a ping of a pocketknife being released.

“Ha ha, put down. Like the bitch she is, right?” The gruff voice remarked, making Jason’s blood boil. He swore to himself he wouldn’t return as the Hood upon his return to Gotham, making a silent promise to Alfred at his wake, but it was too late now, Jason emerging from the blind spot behind the alley, and running to tackle one of the armed goons.

He attacked one, then another, kicking and dodging as he knocked both of them unconscious, their bodies flat against the ground.

Jason huffed, his chest visibly lifting and dropping as he collected his breath. He turned around and faced the woman who bumped into him earlier, her face painted shocked as she gathered the intensity of the moment. Her eyes were frightened of Jason, and he didn’t realize he was still towering over her, muscles tense as the goons’ blood dripped from his knuckles.

“Are you okay?” He strained as he spoke.

The woman nodded slowly, attempting to stand on her feet, when she dropped to her knees again with a flinch and a curse released from her lips. “I’ve got this.” She put a hand out for Jason to stop, which he did, as she attempted to stand again, her obviously sprained ankle stopping her from planting her weight against the ground.

“Listen, I’m no doctor, but I think you need a little more than I’ve got this.” Jason replied, his accent accentuating the sarcasm.

The woman exhaled loudly. “This is just what I fucking needed.” She slapped her palm against the ground, bits of asphalt sticking to her skin. “I guess the editor in chief was tryna tell me something when he told me to focus on a sports piece about the Academy’s win.”

Jason moved his hands to the woman’s underarm, lifting her slowly from the ground. He took one of her hands and wrapped it around his back, as she was unable to reach completely around his shoulders, and walked her toward the wall, where she slumped against it.

Jason learned from Alfred how to measure injuries after a scuffle, and he reflected his acquired knowledge when he studied the woman’s torn jeans and top, mentally listing each scrape he could identify on her body. He ignored the softness of the skin surrounding the wounds, but his body still swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving slowly. “Who are you, anyway?” she glared at Jason as he continued inspecting her body, her insides still calming down from the attack a few minutes prior. She first spotted his hair, untidy yet clean, the color jet black with heavy streaks of salt white near his forehead. She couldn’t pin how her skin burned when his large hand rested against it, or how she trusted him - a stranger - with her body this vulnerable, but she chalked it up to a complex she would have to divulge to her therapist at a later time.

“Just a really handsome guy in a suit who saved your life.” Jason flashed her a flat expression with a thin-lipped smile. “Though with the Men in Black briefcase and two armed men just cornering you in an alley, I should be the one asking you who the hell you are.” he scolded her with a glare through his salt and pepper hair.

The woman pursed her lips. “I’m - Ah! - a journalist.” She grimaced as she spoke, flinching at Jason’s contact with the cut on her lower left thigh.

“For the Gazette? I thought they only did fluff tales stroking Bruce Wayne’s three incher and stirring up stories about vigilantes?” Jason spat, remembering the headline Red Riding Hood Rides Out of Gotham!

The woman shook her head, her curls swaying with her. “An independent online source. I had this lead on a man who could have been connected with the death of Bruce Wayne’s butler.”

The words echoed through Jason’s head, his hands stopping at the woman’s inner thigh as he looked up at her. “Alfred?” He dropped the sarcastic mask he wore.

“Yeah, some guy was seen with Mr. Pennyworth hours before his supposed stroke.” The words burned in Jason’s ears, and he felt his heart ignite into a vehemence. “I followed the guy yesterday, and saw him going to Abner’s hideout. It reeked of Gotham corruption, and when I went to scope out Alfred’s funeral, I didn’t see anyone suspicious then.” She explained, eyes closed. “I thought I might have been safe. Gregorio - my boss - told me to just lay low and focus on another story, but I was getting so close to finding out.”

“I know how it is.” Jason spoke through tight lips, his hands moving from the woman’s inner thighs down to her ankle to inspect the injury. He ran his fingers over the swollen skin, and chewed on his bottom lip.

The woman cocked her head at Jason’s response, vague but intriguing. “Who are you?”

Jason shrugged. “Like I said,” he sighed, ripping her jeans effortlessly and wrapping the denim around her ankle. “I am just a stranger passing through. A good samaritan, if you will.” He flashed another grin at her, his face met with a squint from the woman. “Now I’m gonna make a call to a…friend. See if he could swing by with a car since I’ve only got a bike a couple of blocks over.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Mysterious man in a suit, freakishly jacked, looks 28 but talks like he’s 42, and he drives a motorcycle?” She shook her head in disbelief, muttering to herself as Jason stood on his feet and removed his phone from his pocket, dialing Dick.

“Hey, Jason. How you been?” Dick answered after two rings.

“Dick, could you do me a favor?” Jason heard a sigh from the other end of the line. He knew that if he didn’t explain himself, he would have a strongly spoken admonishment waiting for him at Wayne Manor. “It’s not for me. It’s…these goons jumped this reporter, and she’s possibly got an inversion sprain on her right ankle.”

The woman corrected Jason. “Journalist! Reporters are on TV.”

Jason rolled his eyes at the correction. “Journalist. I just…could you please bring me a car? And spare me the moral speech.”

“No problem. Ping me your location, and I’ll swing by.” He noticed the heightened defensiveness in Jason’s tone, and added, “I’ll bring the Mercedes.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jason replied flatly, moving his free hand to rest on his hip. “Can you do without showin’ off for one goddamn minute?” He turned away from the woman, retorting through gritted teeth.

“Just drop the location, Jay. You’ll thank me later.” The call ended and Jason entered the address of the secondhand shop into the text line with Dick before setting his phone into his back pocket.

“And who is that that you called?” The woman crossed her arms in front of her chest, her black buttoned top wrinkling.

Jason waved his hand at her. “Just a friend. Really good friend.”

“So a girlfriend?” She asked.

“No.”

She hummed. “Boyfriend…?” the word lingered in uncertainty.

Jason shook his head. “I know what you’re doing, Lady, and it’s not gonna work.”

“So you’re single?” She grinned.

Jason whipped his head around to stare at the woman, his mouth opening. He did not know what she was doing. “No. I mean, yes, I am, but that’s not relevant right now.”

The woman watched with a mischievous smile as she continued to pry. “Whether or not it’s relevant is debatable. So are you gonna tell me who you are, or am I gonna have to keep asking questions?”

Jason growled to himself. The last time he was stuck in an alley with someone as persistently nosy was when he was 12 and Bruce caught him stealing the Batmobile’s tires. Jason believed Bruce’s questioning was the longest thirty minutes of his life - until now.

“Come on, Dick, where are you?” Jason began pacing, peeking from the alley at the empty street.

“Dick?” The woman echoed. “Who is Dick?”

Jason glared at the woman, both hands on his hips. “Nobody. Now can you let this go?”

She shook her head and probed again in determination. “Not until you tell me who you are and who is the guy who is going to pick me up. I don’t get into cars with strangers.”

Just as Jason opened his mouth to respond in a series of curses, a car approached from the other end of the alley, its headlights nearly blinding Jason.

“Thank fucking god.” Jason muttered. “It took you long enough.”

Dick opened the driver’s door and exited the car, fixing his navy buttoned shirt into his suit pants. “Yep, we got someone back at the mansion to help see her. Did you find out who busted her up?”

Jason pointed his head at the two goons still lying unconscious on the ground between the two brothers. A part of Jason wanted to be unconscious on the dirty ground, too. “According to this chick, they could have been sent by Abner. She said she saw a guy connected to him with Alfred a couple of hours before he died.” Jason leaned forward, arms crossed.

Dick passively nodded his head as he approached the woman, running his hand through his hair. “Hi, ma’am, are you okay?”

The woman nodded. “Just a few cuts and scrapes. Who are you?”

“Dick Grayson.” Dick smiled as he introduced himself, shaking the woman’s hand. “I hope my brother wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass with ya here.”

The woman looked over Dick’s shoulder to stare at Jason. “Brother? See, this guy introduced himself and told me who he was within a minute of seeing me. It isn’t so hard, is it?”

Dick chuckled at the woman’s remark. “Ah. You found someone as witted as you are. Perhaps more so than you, if she’s got you irritated like this.”

Jason rolled his eyes and scowled at the woman, who still wore her ‘I told ya so’ expression. “Can you take her to the infirmary? I gotta fill my bike with gas.”

Dick shook his head. “You saw these guys, so you gotta come with.” He kneeled in front of the woman. “Just gonna press lightly here on your ankle. Tell me if the pain is too much.” He warned the woman before he gingerly pressed his finger on her skin, the woman hissing above him. “What’s your name? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“I didn’t tell you, don’t worry.” She responded. “It’s y/n.”

Dick hummed at the name. “Oh! Aren’t you one of the writers for the Gotham Informed?” he didn’t look up from y/n’s wound, still inspecting it.

“Yes I am.” She nodded, her curls bouncing from her shoulders. “My condolences about Alfred. I saw you and Mr. Wayne at the wake.”

“Well,” Dick began, patting his thighs before standing on his feet. “At least there are now two people who think his death was suspicious. Right, Jay?”

Jason stepped closer to Dick and y/n, but his stare passed them, eyes fixed on the rain-dampened street. “Yeah.” He admitted. “I thought it was a little odd that he died like that. So suddenly.”

Jason’s stare shifted to y/n now, his eyes intense as he gazed at her. Y/n’s stance stiffened under Jason’s stare, uncertain at his next move. “Let’s go.” Dick cut the tension with his words. “Maybe it’s time you’re introduced to the family, hmm?” He spoke to y/n softly. “Jason, can you please take y/n into the car? I can drive.”

“No, Dick, c’mon-”

“Uh-uh.” Dick tutted. “We don’t know if this is preventable, given how sloppy you fight.” He glared at Jason before walking to the car, keys in hand.

Jason sighed dramatically and walked toward y/n. “Here, can you just…” he started, motioning to her arms and his neck. Y/n nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck, bracing herself as Jason swept her from her feet, carrying her bridal style to the car. She felt his hand firm against the back of her knees, cupping her as if she was glass. He avoided eye contact with her, especially when she rested her head on his left bicep. “So your name is Jason.” she grinned, looking at him.

Before setting y/n down into the plush velvet backseat of the car, Jason quirked a brow at her. “You just don’t stop, do you?”

Y/n let go of her grip on Jason’s neck as she felt her bottom hit the seat, Jason’s right hand dragging across her clothed back as he set her down. She swallowed the feeling of safety she felt enveloped in his arms, and body pressed against his. Perhaps it was a post-adrenaline rush sensation. “Not until you make me.” She teased, earning a stifled giggle from Dick in the front driver’s seat.

“You all settled?” Dick turned his head to peek at y/n, who nodded at him. “Next stop, Wayne Manor.” Dick announced before shifting the vehicle into first gear, leaving the alley - and y/n’s briefcase in the rearview mirror.

Chapter Text

Y/n’s ankle throbbed in a numbing pain that referred to her lower back, the pain shooting up like reverse lightning. Jason begrudgingly agreed to sit in the backseat and act as y/n’s pillow - Dick heavily implied a type of punishment or unwanted course of action otherwise; y/n’s feet rested on Jason’s thighs, the flexed quads serving as a firm, temporary recovery site. Neither of them were particularly worried about the dirt from y/n’s shoes staining Jason’s pleated pants (“Bruce wouldn’t notice.” Jason rolled his eyes in apathy.), but Jason still worked to remove her footwear anyway, his hands resting on y/n’s shins until they reached the mansion.

The sight was…formidable. The cobble road bended in a tight turn that didn’t bother Dick as he weaved the vehicle accordingly, the tires bumping lightly over the pavers. When the vehicle came to a halt before a set of wide black garage doors, Dick exited the vehicle with a brief excuse murmured to Jason; in the meantime, y/n bent her head in awe at the architecture of the building - gargoyles sitting atop the vast corners of the rooftop, several windows varied in size and type, including stained glass windows on the first floor in what appeared to be the ballroom.

Y/n looked at Jason for his reaction, only to be met with stoicism and indifference. What a brat. Y/n thought to herself before she continued to sit up and glance at the seemingly endless green and browning grass.

“This is your first time, I take it?” Jason asked, his face turned toward the window.

Y/n nodded as she continued to peek around as much as the vehicle windows allowed her to. “Yeah, I didn’t have the connections to attend any of the infamous Wayne galas…I always thought they were orgies.” She explained, triggering a chuckle from Jason. “But this is just massive. And you live here?”

“Lived.” Jason corrected. “Dick and I are only staying here for the weekend before he heads back to Bludhaven, and I to Chicago.”

Y/n heard a soft disappointment in Jason’s voice, as if he was going to miss his older brother. “How come you live in Chicago? I mean, the crime’s not as bad there, but it is at a different pace.”

Jason nodded, patting y/n’s leg. “You’re doing it again.” He shot y/n a knowing look.

Without passing another glance at Jason, y/n shrugged, “A woman’s gotta try, Jay. I’m a journalist - it’s my job.”

She didn’t see Jason’s gaze linger, then soften, at her, nor did he feel one of his thumbs stroke her leg as she spoke.

—

Jason carried y/n with ease out of the car and into the garage. In it, she spotted several whiteboards, a metal laboratory table holding neatly organized, empty beakers, and a medical table, upon which y/n was placed. A woman in a white medical coat entered the garage with a chart and a pen, her stringy orange hair held together in a navy blue hair claw.

“Hey, Kate,” Jason greeted blandly.

“Dick said it was a possible sprain. Do you remember what happened leading up to it?” Kate asked Jason without looking up from her chart.

“No, I wasn’t there. You could just address her directly since she’s in the room with us, y’know.” Jason remarked, clearly agitated by Kate’s line of questioning.

Kate glared at Jason through her glasses and then pointed her eyes at y/n. She proceeded to ask y/n a series of questions, one directly after another, in a rapidfire style interrogation. Y/n didn’t budge though, her expression unfazed as she answered each one as quickly as they were thrown at her. Jason watched the interaction, almost impressed as his lips pushed down.

Dick entered the garage through the door connected to the main building, and stood aside the medical table, his hand on y/n’s shoulder. “How is everything looking, Doctor?”

“She probably has a sprain. Since it’s been over an hour since the incident occurred, it’s unlikely that she has a lateral fracture, but since we don’t have the X-ray tech in today, we can’t rule it out.”

Dick rubbed the space between his eyebrows with his thumb. “Meaning…?”

“She will have to lay low here with proper medical assistance and security. We don’t know if Abner will send more.” Doctor Kane’s tone was blunt but understanding of the situation. Y/n’s eyes opened wide at the prognosis. “Miss, do you have anybody that can care for you in the meantime? Anyone that we can drive you too out of town, or preferably in a state Mr. Wayne can fly you to?”

Y/n shook her head. “All my family’s gone. It’s just me.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jason’s shoulders slouch down, his arms still folded at his chest.

“Very well.” Doctor Kane clicked her tongue. “Dick, if you wouldn’t mind, could you let Mr. Wayne know about our indefinite guest?”

Dick whipped his phone from his pocket, typing away on the keypad with his thumbs. “Already on it.”

“And you said that Jason found you, correct?” Doctor Kane’s hair was sleek but untamable as a few strands escaped the grip of the tight claw. Y/n nodded. “Then Jason, our guest will be under your direct care. I suppose that is a good thing because Jason was closest to Alfred and was the only one of Bruce’s adoptive children to pass a youth medical test and receive his CPR certificate.” She informed y/n with a cocky smile, turning her head to Jason and patting him on his large back.

Jason kissed his teeth before letting out a curse under his breath. “Seriously? We got a house full of people. Can’t you put her with Steph and Cass?”

How many people are in this castle? Y/n thought as she heard Jason namedrop more potential siblings. Is he collecting orphans or something? Dr. Kane stepped closer and spoke under her breath, “Jason. You know as much as both of us that when we find someone on a mission, we are the ones in charge of their recovery and discharge-”

“I wasn’t on a mission, Kate!” Jason gritted in response. Y/n overheard both of them, mentally noting each abnormal word they exchanged, but pretended to be fascinated with the medical equipment hung on the wall. “I was just coming home from the funeral. Hence the suit.” He motioned his hands to his outfit, already wrinkled and dirtied from y/n’s rescue and escorting to Wayne Manor. “Fine.” he huffed, clenching his jaw. “Y/n, you’ll be staying in my room. We don’t…unfortunately, we don’t have enough space for another guest room to be used.”

Y/n glanced around her, dumbfounded at the excuse Jason gave. Dr. Kane nodded. “If you don’t need anything, I have your notes right here, including any recommended dosage of Tylenol or swelling reducer. Do you have any more questions?”

“Who…are you?” Y/n cocked her head as she asked, propping herself by her arms to a seated position.

Dr. Kane removed her glasses and folded them into her pocket. “He,” she pointed to Jason, “can call me Dr. Kane; however, you can just call me Kate. I’m just a friend of Bruce’s.” She grinned briefly before leaving the garage, leaving y/n alone with Jason.

Jason leered at y/n from the other end of the garage, his expression unreadable. He visually traced the outline of her face and chin, and wondered if her hair typically smelled of apple cinnamon. He smirked to himself, amused at the fact that y/n was more distracted by the tools and strangers wandering in and out of the garage than focusing on the potential danger (Jason) staring at her.

Or so he thought. “Are you going to keep staring at me like that, weirdo?” she voiced, back still toward Jason. “Or are you going to help me to our room?”

Our room? Jason nearly took the bait, but restricted himself, only returning the wise-cracks aimed at him. “How would you like to be carried, Sweetheart? Bridal?” He stepped closer to her, his hands on his hips again.

“You’ll be lucky if you get a chance.” Y/n snapped back at him, her tone suddenly defensive when she remembered the feeling of his hands on her, and her head rested against his arm.

Jason tsked at her,  shaking his head in amusement. “Keep it up and I’ll be carrying you continental soldier style.”

—

Y/n’s arms were loosely hooked around Jason’s neck as he carried her from the garage into the main building of the manor. Her focus was unfixed, eyes divigating from a spotless gothic fixture to an unusually modern security device. Her mind became inundated with endless questions, each one more complicated than the last; Jason’s head faced forward as he walked them up the stairs, his feet planted firmly on each step, too careful to slip backwards and drop y/n.

When they reached the top of the stairs was when Jason began to answer y/n’s unspoken questions. “Bruce inherited it from his parents,” he was tightlipped, eyes still forward despite speaking directly to the person in his arms, “who inherited it from their parents, which means this thing is likely over 120 years old.” Y/n nodded passively as she heard Jason’s commentary. He reached out with his right hand, shifting y/n’s weight onto his left, and opened the door to his room, pressing his back to the wooden frame as he pivoted his feet to let them both in through the narrow threshold.

“Dick was the first one to be adopted.” He said as he laid her down on his bed, which was surprisingly tidy despite the mess he made hours earlier. He was too preoccupied to care, shutting the door behind him as he sat down on the other side of the room at the desk. “His parents died when he was 12. They were part of a circus, and…” Jason shook his head. “It was preventable.” His mind drew the image of Dick’s prepubescent face in shock as his parents fell to their death before him, the circus crowd gasping in terror.

“I heard about it through other people, and vaguely remember reading about it when I was younger, but I didn’t know that he saw them die.” Y/n sat up on the bed, moving one of Jason’s pillows to elevate her ankle. She flinched as she moved her wound. “It was really nice of Bruce to take him in so young. Probably because of Bruce’s parents too, right?”

Jason nodded his head, leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on his quads. “Bruce was 21 when he saw it happen at the circus. He was in the crowd.” Jason’s eyes lasered at the ground, studying the singular cracks running along the planks of wood flooring. “He found me when he was 26.” Jason smacked his lips, wiggling his lower jaw at a poor attempt to unclench it. “I was in the street.”

“Is there more to it, or…” y/n mirrored Jason’s actions, leaning forward with him as her voice trailed into an unfinished question.

Jason rubbed his forehead with his palm. “You gotta understand that this is all off the books, okay?” He glared at y/n, looking for approval - she nodded her head. “Cool. Look, none of us are who you think we are, okay? I mean it. Just…” he was careful with his next words, his lips glossy after he ran his tongue over them. “Can I trust you?”

The four words left Jason’s mouth in a hurry, as if he would regret his next words that were sitting in the back of his throat like imminent vomit. He awaited y/n’s approval again, which she hesitated to give, her face turned in apprehension. “You have to understand that you’re bound to see some things about us over the next couple of days.” Jason’s hazel eyes stared directly at y/n’s. They were strange, an expression unseen before, as if Jason possessed an authentic worry for her. Or himself. “Just understand that as soon as you heal, you need to get yourself away from here.”

The warning served as a chilling breeze that intimidated y/n, her skin growing goosebumps as she acknowledged his heed. Still, the words were no match for the sheer disparity in his eyes, as if he was holding words back that were rising like hot lava in his throat, struggling to swallow them back down in the wasted acidity in which they arose.

“Are you okay?” One of y/n’s hands slid across the bed and toward the edge, contemplating jumping the space and extending it further to reach Jason’s unsteady hands combing through each other in an absent worry. She allowed the question to linger for a moment as she watched his eyes gloss over, his face freezing into an icy state as he sat in his chair.

“Jason?” y/n called his name, scooting her whole body now to extend her arm for his hand. She reached and reached until she lost balance and fell to the ground with a loud thud, groaning in pain as she curled up.

The sound snapped Jason’s conscience back into his body, rushing to y/n’s side as he scooped her into his arms and placed her back onto the bed, his touch more ginger than ever. He reached under his bed and pulled out an aged shoebox, its cardboard scraped; Jason pulled out a cloth bandage, unraveling the spool around y/n’s elevated ankle. He cursed himself under his breath, murmuring quiet insults aloud he thought nobody could hear, although y/n caught each one poisoning her inner ears.

Though he was comforting her pain with his tender care, his wings emerging from his back as his shoulders rounded over her, y/n spoke through winces of pain. “It’s okay, Jason.” She recognized his face and behavior as though she were looking into a mirror into her past self. “Just breathe, Jason-” he hadn’t realized he was panting, or that his chest was heaving as much as it was. “I’m okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” But he did sense her touch on his forearm, her cold fingers curling over his muscle, holding on to him willingly.

They remained close like this for a minute, the silence deafening between them as his eyes were on her hand, and her eyes on his face. She stroked his forearm with a thumb, her nail softly grazing against the hairs on his skin; Jason stroked her calf graciously, each breath slower than the last as he collected himself.

It was the first time in years he felt himself grounded without medication or a swift punch to his body. Without turning his head, his eyes moved to y/n’s face, and noticed her patient gaze at him. Then, two words: “I’m sorry.” He knew that she knew, and it was enough information for Jason to willingly give someone in a single day. Perhaps too much information for anybody to have on him.

Before y/n could retort, the door opened without a knock. “Jason, dinner’s almost ready.” An adolescent-appearing male with a buzzcut and espresso skin popped out of the room as quickly as he walked in, muttering, “What the hell is that?” and “I didn’t see anything, but lock the door next time!” as his footsteps quickly left the vicinity.

Jason’s hand rushed to his face, his fingers and palm covering as much space as they could to shield his worn guilt. Y/n, on the other hand, painted her expression puzzled as her head tilted. “Who…how many of you-”

“Too many.” Jason replied. “Are you hungry?” He asked, face still covered as he hung his head now in embarrassment.

Y/n nodded. “Unfortunately, I am.”

Chapter Text

Rising to his feet, Jason scooped y/n into his arms once again, with seemingly more ease than the last, and walked them both down the helixed staircase and onto the first floor. Rather than directing y/n toward the dining room, Jason strolled into the kitchen, busy with several cooks finalizing their meal. Jason set y/n down on the far-end counter of the kitchen, away from the opened produce and meat, before turning his back to her, his shoulders shielding her view of the controlled chaos.

“What are we having tonight, Raul?” Jason studied the steel bowl of chopped carrots and onions.

“Bruce wanted a four-course tonight.” The man who spoke to him had a heavy accent that accentuated each ‘o’ sound. He was finely mincing shallots, flinging the finished product onto the landfill of produce in the bowl. On his face was repugnance, though not from the pungent produce he sliced and diced on the wooden cutting board– “I told Bruce, I said, ‘You know, we only have three hours to prepare for this,’ and you know what that bastard said to me?” The man pointed the broad kitchen blade at Jason.

“‘I pay you to do this once a week. Shouldn’t be too hard.’” A female voice chirped from the other end of the kitchen, her face hidden from y/n’s view as she was stirring contents from a pot on the stove. “El piensa que es muy muy.” Her tongue slid the words from it as smoothly as Raul slid the diced garlic onto the bowl. “He thinks he’s all that. Que menso.”

The insult earned a chuckle from Jason. “Oh my god, Xo, él es mi papa!” Jason spoke with a thick American accent, but his sarcastic tone delivered well enough for the cooks to snicker and chortle through their efforts.

“Okay, chistoso, can you grab a pan and start sauteeing these?” Raul handed Jason a small bowl filled with rinsed petite asparagus.

Jason glanced into the bowl for a moment before thoughtlessly grabbing a pan from the overhead rack and lining it with the burner on the stove nearby. He set the heat on low before snatching a glass bottle of olive oil and drawing a circle with it on the pan, setting it aside; he then placed some spices on the pan - salt, pepper, and dried lemon peels - before finally setting in the asparagus bit by bit.

Y/n watched intently as Jason proceeded to cook without instruction. Clearly, she thought to herself, this wasn’t his first time in the kitchen; however, how many languages can he speak?

Again, as if clairvoyant, Jason responded, “Raul and Xo, y/n; y/n, Raul and Xo.” he introduced them to each other without looking up from the pan, y/n halfheartedly grinning at Raul and Xo, who briefly nodded their head before returning to their work. “They taught me how to cook.”

“You mean kept you out of trouble?” Xo corrected. “Jay here was kicked out of boarding school on the West Coast before we decided to take him in. How long ago was that, Rau?”

“Must have been no less than 14 years. We had the Dodge then, remember?” Raul pushed a series of produce into the pot Xo was stirring, the paprika-garlic aroma dancing near y/n’s nose.

“That’s right!” Xo stood with her back against the counter on the other end of the kitchen, looking at y/n. “We would help him make dinner for Bruce to impress him,” she began. “And then cuando terminamos at the end of the week, we would take him out to see a play at the theater by Bristol.”

Raul hummed in agreement. “And the Spanish…” y/n began to ask.

“I picked up a thing or two from them.” Jason responded. “Bruce wanted me to learn at least one language.”

“El payaso wanted you to learn Russian or something like that.” Raul added. “It was crazy - who spoke Russian, right?” Xo nodded in agreement. “Exactly. And we sat down with Mr. Bruce and said we could teach him, and Alfred also knew Spanish, so it worked out.”

“Y la hija también sabe, ¿no?” Xo asked.

“No, fuera el hijo después de Jason.” Raul reminded her, his voice a bit more hushed. “Tim es el puertorriqueño.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Xo exclaimed, smacking her forehead with her palm. “Anyway, Jay, is the asparagus finished?”

Jason shook his head. “Pienso como dos minutos más.”

Xo made a noise of acknowledgement. “And who are you asking these questions?” Her eyes narrowed, her sandy skin crinkling near the creases of her eyelids. “Are you some kind of reporter?”

“Dejala. Esta conmigo.” Jason replied simply, shutting off the heat for the stove. “She’s a journalist.”

Xo and Raul exchanged glances at each other before dropping the question altogether, Xo poking in a different direction. “So, y/n, how do you like it here?”

“There’s a lot of people.” y/n admitted. “I’ve never been around this big of a family.” She let the words echo across the room, her voice bouncing from the unused pots and pans hanging over their heads.

“You said that earlier,” Jason looked at y/n with an unreadable expression, his lips pursed and eyes squinted.

“My parents weren’t exactly great, and, to be honest, I didn’t get along with my siblings.” Xo and Raul listened sympathetically to y/n as she spoke, her words slowly placing puzzle pieces together into a well-formed picture of isolation. “I always had dreams of traveling, seeing different places, but I don’t know…” she didn’t allow herself to daydream any longer; it was an unhealthy habit at one point manifesting in posters taped to the wall and tattered clippings of her desired destination barely kept together by the thumbtack penetrating the wallpaper. Y/n became tired and weary after enough robberies, each betrayal reopening a wound she claimed had healed.

It was why she became a journalist: y/n was too preoccupied with finding the source of all evil, justifying the means of her pursuit to honesty, the absolute determinism sharper than anything else dangled in front of her like a weak temptation. In all honesty, if it were not for the throbbing of her ankle as the blood rushed to her dangling feet, y/n wouldn’t feel an ounce of pain.

Yet she felt something again when Jason picked her up from the countertop and carried her into the dining room, away from Xo and Raul with a quick salutation. His hands were so delicately pressed on her clothed skin, almost insulting her with the insinuation that she was too…fragile.

Had she not been greeted by two people sitting in chairs across from hers, y/n would have divulged farther into the source of the feeling she had. Maybe another time, when she was alone.

“Dick told me about you!” The blonde said first, her demeanor a sharp contrast from the dull and aged decor in the room. “It’s so nice to meet you!” She reached across the table and lent out her hand for y/n to take, which y/n did thoughtlessly. “I’m Stephanie, but you can call me Steph.” She beamed as she tied her hair back into a low ponytail, tucking loose strands of gold behind her ear.

“I’m Duke.” The adolescent next to Steph introduced himself briefly, nodding at y/n. “I hope Jason hasn’t scared you too much.” His eyes flickered to Jason, who rolled his eyes in response at the tease. “You’ll probably find out soon that he’s a big softie.” Duke leaned in and whispered with a wink. He fixed his hoodie, the fabric covering more of his amaretto neck.

“How many of you live here?” Y/n counted the number of empty seats. “I feel like as soon as I think I’ve met all of you, there’s another one that pops out.”

“Like a clown car.” Steph added. “That was Duke’s first thought when he came here, right?” She grinned at the adolescent next to her, who nodded in response.

“Yep. So many people here. And most don’t stay overnight, just so you know.” Duke informed. “There’s probably like 11 of us if we don’t count Luke, right?” He glanced over at Jason, who shrugged. “Who have you met, other than us and Dick?”

Y/n sat back in her seat, the back of her neck rested against the intricately designed wood. “Dick, Jay, you two - Duke and Steph, right?” Y/n waited for confirmation. “And Dr. Kane. So that’s five. You’re saying there’s six more?”

“Because Duke didn’t count Kate, there’s actually seven. And if Dami overhears that Duke didn’t count all of his pets, that would be, like, an additional four.”

Y/n massaged her forehead in utter confusion and defeat. She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it, her mouth making a popping sound. It was merely dinnertime, not even 24 hours since she crossed paths with Jason, yet her life was much more complicated, y/n’s face entangled as much as her thoughts were.

That is, until Jason cut the cobwebs in which she was stuck with three words: “You broke her.”

Apparently it was the second time he said it, his hands folded as he sat back on the chair, balancing on the back legs of the seat. “Brown, I told her she shouldn’t be asking all these questions. Utterly ridiculous.”

“Almost as stubborn as you, huh, Lil Bro?” A smile crept up on Steph’s face as she retorted with a chuckle, Duke stifling his own eruption of humor as he took a sip of water from a glass at his seat.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Y/n’s eyes only widened. “You’re the younger one?!” Jason’s eyes were daggers that Steph dodged when she keeled over, succumbing to the fit of laughter she fell into with Duke. None of them noticed a quiet child solemnly stepping into the room and seating himself, placing his napkin on his lap as he stared at the commotion at the table.

“This is our first dinner as a family without him. We should have better composure.” Though his body was small in frame, and his hair was cut to a quarter inch past his scalp, the boy spoke with the elegance and composure of a taxpaying adult. His eyes wore maturity, too, as closed bags hung below them, dragging the skin of his rounded cheeks. “Thank you.” He simply stated as the laughter abruptly stopped in its tracks, Steph and Duke’s faces falling into a solemn state similar to the boy.

“You must be y/n.” The boy barely paid mind to y/n’s presence, his eyes glaring at her haphazardly before fixing back at the empty place setting before him. “Although Richard and Jason brought you here, don’t get too comfortable.” His words were sharper than his eyes, cutting into y/n’s curious bubble before she had a chance to question him.

Yet it didn’t stop her, the inquisitive nature as persistent as ever. “What’s your name?” Her voice softened, aware she was speaking to a child.

“Don’t patronize me.” He spat in return, upper lip twitching into a snarl. “You don’t know who I am? I am–”

“My youngest son.” A man emerged from the shadow, silencing the boy’s zenith voice with a hand on his shoulder. “Damian, say hello to our guest.” The boy murmured inaudibly. “Pleasure to meet you.” The man grinned, lips tight-lipped as his eyes were a dead sea after a mendacious storm. He placed a hand to y/n’s upper back, just between her shoulderblades. “I’m Bruce Wayne.”

Y/n shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she gave Bruce a fake smile. “Nice to meet you.” At first, she thought it was because of the sudden contact; then, after looking away to fix her dinner napkin, she spotted Jason glaring at her and Bruce - more specifically, at Bruce’s hand on her back - and Bruce smiled deceivingly at Jason, a sorry attempt at diffusing the escalating situation. “I apologize about Mr. Pennyworth’s death. My condolences.” Bruce bowed his head in gratitude, and to momentarily hide his face of grief peeking through the mask of a good host.

“Jason, I appreciate you taking the time to take care of y/n. I hope he isn’t too much of a bother, y/n.” Bruce walked to his seat on the far end of the table, scooting his seat as he allowed the silence to linger in the air as long as Jason wanted.

“It’s no problem, Mr. Wayne, really, I–”

“Please.” Bruce loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. “Mr. Wayne is my father. Call me Bruce.” Y/n felt Bruce’s charm and if she hadn’t met with enough heirs in her career, she too would become enchanted by the spell.

But in a blink, it wore, and she watched the dust from Bruce’s lips fall flat on the table. “Jason’s been really helpful, actually.” Her eyes pointed to Jason, tightlipped and standoffish as she continued to poke fun at him through unwarranted praise. “You know, on the way over, Jay made sure to elevate my foot. Didn’t even have to tell him twice.” Her lips were stained with clover mischief as she spoke.

Jason’s face began to redden, and he quietly excused himself from the table in a hurry.

“If you change your mind, by the way, we have a selection of canes and a wheelchair at your disposal.” Bruce added when the waiter rushed into the dining room with the appetizers.

Y/n tilted her head in confusion. “How do you mean?”

“Dr. Kane informed me that you refused accommodation.” Bruce stabbed his plate of salad with a fork. “Jason told her that you said you’d rather have him carry you, isn’t that right?”

Y/n’s face shifted into a state of confusion. Eyes across the table began to fall on her with varying reactions. “I didn’t know Jason told her that.” She began, chuckling disheartenedly into her plate of salad as she pushed the romaine aside. “But I do appreciate your offer, Mr.--Bruce.” She corrected herself as she spoke to Bruce with a crooked smile, her thoughts filling with Jason’s potential intentions when he lied to the medical doctor.

It certainly didn’t help the tension in the room when Jason returned just as quickly as he left, gripping a fork as he inhaled his salad, loose greens falling from his mouth like leaves from a summer tree.

“Jason?” Bruce gave him a knowing look across the table. “We talked about this.”

Y/n understood where Jason’s paternal instinct came from.

—

The prickly sensation in y/n’s skin returned when Jason’s hands carried her, her head resting on his bicep. She avoided looking directly at his face for as long as she could during dinner, her eyes pointed either at her plate, or at the silverware around it; yet now, it was inevitable, the magnetism from his warmth drawing her closer to him. In the silent minutes of him carrying them back to his room, y/n grasped for the remaining apprehensive thoughts that were racing across her mind at the dinner table, but felt them melt away slowly under his touch.

Back in the room, the silence continued, but only until Jason felt an itch to end it. He felt it during dinner, too, sitting beside y/n, almost hip to hip, but witnessing her as quiet as a mouse for the first time since their first encounter; however, it was also in Jason’s nature to question his environment.

“Do you mind if I play music in here?” Jason’s eyes didn’t meet y/n’s, nor did his body even turn to face her, as his body was glued to the desk chair.

“Sure.” Y/n piped up, her voice shaky as she was unsure of his next moves. Jason reached for a speaker and clicked the dial, a light emerging from the device. When he pressed a button, he sat back in the chair, folding his legs at his ankles. He let his head fall back, exposing his neck in a light y/n hadn’t previously seen, and if it wasn’t for her injury, she would have acted on the urge to–

She suppressed the urge, surprised at the thought. Yet, like a bandage on a burst pipe, another leak sprang, the thought of her fingers raking over Jason’s long hair as she straddled his lap, her lips pressed against the pulse of his throat. The image triggered a wave of goosebumps to coat y/n’s skin, and she licked her lips as she again avoided eye contact with Jason, focusing only on the music playing in the room.

Her eyes closed, she hadn’t noticed Jason now turning his eyes to her, fixed on her soft features as her jaw relaxed at the sound of the pre-recorded strings. His hands came to his top, unbuttoning the top two buttons as he began to relax himself, following y/n’s lead - but his attention was easily phased. Each time her chest rose, Jason’s rose in tandem, watching intently at the shirt that hugged her skin, and thinking of the possibilities of what may lie underneath.

It continued like this, the silent game of cat and mouse as one tensed while the other relaxed. Y/n ogled at Jason’s chest tight under the thin fabric of his shirt, and she wondered how many other eyes have dragged themselves on them - her heart burned with envy for only a moment before she caught herself and returned her attention to deep breaths.

When her eyes closed, she pictured Jason’s lips - plump, broken skin with both fresh and aged cuts as his tongue flickered to wet them when he spoke. How did she only notice this now? Why hadn’t she asked the question that sat on a shelf in her mind?

She knew why, but was entranced by the ignorance and denial wooled over her eyes. She knew that if she were to accept the truth standing in the room alongside them, taking up more space than either of them, then y/n would have to accept that she had a crush, and the crush was reciprocated, and that the possibilities would endanger not only her, but Jason, too.

Y/n hadn’t forgotten that she was in Wayne Manor hidden from a bounty on her head - whirlwind romance, no matter the duration, was the last thing she should indulge in. Except no matter how much she attempted to convince herself of the logical thing she had done one-thousand times over, it fizzled away when she opened her eyes and found Jason hovered over her, fixing a blanket atop her body with a soft grin on his face. His irises were bright stars so far above in the sky, as his lips were clouds she wished to reach for and touch.

They were no match for him, though, the gentleness of his caress as he brought a hand to her cheek and stroked it.

“Why did you tell Dr. Kane that I wanted to be carried by you?”

She knew the answer, and Jason was aware of the acknowledgement. What he did not know, however, was that y/n asked the question as a means to draw the truth out of Jason, the very same truth y/n deduced when Jason’s feet landed firmly on the second floor rug.

Jason was no stranger of such games, and he felt his face form a smirk. “You know.” His brows raised when he replied, and his voice was so low, they resembled the dirt in the ground, so dry and coarse in the cool climate. “Tell me, y/n. Why did I say that?”

Y/n watched Jason’s Adam’s apple bob as he finished his statement, and she knew the ball was back in her court. With the hair draping over his eyes, y/n couldn’t see them darken with desire as they bore into her, but she did notice that he was resting more weight on the bed now, his left arm resting next to her waist, fingers so close to her skin that if she scooted, there would be contact, and maybe she would fill her need.

Y/n was speechless again when Jason was too impatient to let her decode all of his intentions, instead leaning his head down to press a soft kiss on y/n’s lips. Her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed into the kiss, her heart pounding underneath her top. She gasped when Jason’s hand moved from beside her waist to holding her waist, his thumb brushing against the exposed skin. Y/n fulfilled her impish impulse to rake Jason’s hair, her fingers sprawling as she did so. When her fingers were caught in an unruly clump in Jason’s hair, they tugged his locks, causing Jason to moan lowly into the kiss.

He pulled away shortly after, hands back at his sides as his chest rose and fell with his breathing. “I’m…I’m sorry.” he looked down in a quiet shame. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

Y/n read his expression and miniscule movements. She registered the same anxiety that possessed him earlier before dinner, and when she did, she lent out a hand to squeeze Jason’s forearm. “I wanted it.” she admitted. “Now, are you going to stop keeping secrets from me?”