Really, Bruce should have realised something was amiss when he woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in decades. When his back didn’t ache with the years of abuse, and his eyes didn’t fuzz with the barely two hours of sleep, and even Jason hissing about what an asshole he was didn’t sting quite as much as it usually did.
As it was, he didn’t actually notice anything at all until he started shaving and the head snapped off of his razor.
“What the—” He stared stupidly at the plastic handle.
“Bruce!” A strangely familiar voice shrilled, much higher than perhaps he’d ever heard it. “Bruce, where are you?”
It was only then that Bruce actually looked in the mirror and realised that wasn’t his own face staring back at him at all.
“Oh no,” came Clark’s midwestern twang out of what was most definitely not Bruce’s mouth. “Oh no, no, no.”
He doesn't like to admit it, not in the slightest. But Jason Todd is afraid of bugs.
Insects, creepy crawlies, arachnids; worms, slugs, snails... Anything with too many legs or not enough. He hates them. All of them.
It makes his blood hurt.
It reminds him of soil and earth beneath his finger nails, down his throat and clogging his lungs. An itching in his hair and a crawling on his skin and—
He doesn't like admitting it. But creatures he cannot do.
He stares at the moth on his shower curtain. Monstrously huge, with thick, feathery, antennae. He's frozen, bile rising in his throat, blood rushing in his head, limbs aching with fear.
His hand twitches for his gun, and then the shred of sanity that remains takes control, and he steps back out of the bathroom. Shuts the door.
Ha. Bruce would be proud. No Red Hood kills tonight.
He stands in the hallway instead. Blood, and grime and dirt coating his almost naked body.
Patrol had been... rough. Probably the most diplomatic word for it. He'd taken more hits than he'd care to admit, now fresh wounds and old sting at his skin.
Sweat and smog stick to him. Gotham's summer coat, inescapable in the August heat.
And his only relief blocked, by an insect the size of a quarter.
A shudder runs through him.
The moth is all grey and brown. Indistinct markings and twitching legs. His eyes dart to the floor. It could definitely fit beneath the door.
He shuts the light off quick and the hallway plunges into darkness. Then he switches on the bathroom light. No sense in tempting the beast. Moths love the bright, after all.
He stands in the hallway in his boxers, feeling horribly exposed. Ideally he'd put all his armour back on. Set fire to the apartment and get the fuck out of Gotham. At least for a month or so. But his favourite nail clippers are in there and he'll be damned if he's letting those go up in smoke. His nails are immaculate, have been since he crawled out of the earth beneath Gotham and tore himself a new life.
The clock ticks.
His ears strain for the flutter of wings.
He should get over this. Get a grip and just vacuum up the fucking moth and have a shower, already.
He stinks. Of the city and corruption and filth. Of desperation, and that weakness inside of him that craves a kind word and a soft touch and... and just someone to come and take the fucking monsters away.
Someone who will tell him he did good, squeeze his shoulder or put a gentle hand to his back, say his name in a soft voice and make him feel safe.
But what about a Jason that never feels warm; not to the touch, not in himself, because he's dead. Or he was, but the lazarus pit can't fix everything.
When he was a kid and first got to the Manor he used to cuddle with Ace to keep warm, bury his face and his fingers in her fur after a long night on patrol, or a cold winter's walk. But now Ace won't come near him, can smell the death on him. When he was Robin, he used to hide in Batman's cape when it was cold, but now he and the Bat barely speak. Alfred used to light the fires in the Manor in winter and Jason used sit as near as he dared and feel the warmth on his face, because he'd known the deep ache in the bones of real cold, when he'd been on the streets and he'd swore he'd never take warmth for granted again. But now, even with his hand almost in the flames, he can't feel the heat of it. The cold is deep inside him, in his heart, in his blood, his soul. So cold he can't breathe, can't function and once he got off the streets, once he realised the manor and Bruce were home, God he swore he'd never let himself feel this cold again. But nothing works now he's back.
So he replaces it with anything he can to distract himself. The adrenaline of pushing Bruce as far as he can, taunting the Bat, taunting his father, anything to feel that heat of rage. The burn of cracked knuckles from a fight to the death, the hot thrill of killing. Anything to forget, just for a moment, how fucking cold he is. How desperately he misses the warmth.
And even the Bats don't notice. Because they hardly ever see him out of uniform, without gloves and gauntlets and armour. Only Alfred maybe, stitching a wound closed or Steph in one of those rare occasions Jason agrees to go for coffee, and their hands brush as she passes him the sugar. But never enough for them to notice something is wrong. Never enough to fix it.
Dick and Jason wake up in an alternate universe. Not just any alternate universe, the alternate universe. Bruce laughs, Jason graduates and Tim gets a full night's sleep Oh, and nobody has died. Not even once.
It's everything Jason has ever dared to want, nothing Dick has ever let himself imagine, and an impossible choice neither knows how to face: the life that was taken from them, or the life that shaped them?
Dick wakes with a jerk. Like he had been falling in a dream, and almost reached the ground.
He blinks, disorientated. The ghost of adrenaline still winds in his veins. He’s lying on something soft. Warm and he’s— dry.
It had been raining. It had been raining and Jason had just sucker punched him in the head on top of the Gotham Stock Exchange. He hadn’t been fast enough, not quite. Hadn’t dodged in time and his sometimes-almost-brother’s fist had clipped him where his domino met his temple.
He blinks again. Rubs absently at the spot where fist had met brow.
He’s in the Manor, which is weird. Not the Cave. Not in his own room either, which is even weirder, there are no glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling in this room. How hard had Jason hit him? He grumbles, pulling himself to sitting, and feels his stomach roll.
“Damn it, Jason.” He mutters. The last thing he needs is a concussion. That’s the last time he does Red Hood any favours. He waits for the nausea to pass, breathes deeply through his nose.
“You getting up any time today?” Tim’s voice comes from the doorway. He’s stood in his pyjamas, laptop under his arm.
Dick tries not to feel too affronted. Like it’s his fault Jason’s an ass. “How long have I been out?” He asks.
Tim raises an eyebrow. “It’s nearly midday.” He says, as though anyone sleeping past 11 in this house was unheard of. “And it snowed.” He adds, suddenly with more than a glint in his eye. “Dad says if you’re not up soon you know what happens.” He gives Dick a smirk and disappears back through the door.
“Dad?” Dick repeats to himself. Since when had Tim ever referred to Bruce as Dad? Out loud, even. Jason must have hit him harder than he thought.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, pleasantly surprised to find some slippers waiting for him, then feels the hairs on the back of his neck go up.
His eyes track the room slowly. Taking in details he’s only just noticing. A faded Haly’s Circus poster, framed on the far wall; medals and trophies and certificates over flow from the bookcase; and there, on the nightstand, a framed photo. It’s of him and Bruce, in a silver frame. It was taken a few years ago from the looks of it. They’re grinning, Bruce’s arm around Dick’s shoulders, the pair of them wrapped in an American flag. And there, clutched in Dick’s hand, is an Olympic gold medal.
“Ah fuck.” Dick sighs, shoulders dropping. Alternate universe. Just what he needs.
He stands in the hallway in his boxers, feeling horribly exposed. Ideally he'd put all his armour back on. Set fire to the apartment and get the fuck out of Gotham. He’s too tired for this. Too sore and unclean. He wants to cry. He wants to put a fist through his own face for being so pathetic. It’s just a moth.
Jason can handle anything Gotham has to throw at him. Except a moth in his shower.
He doesn't know which is worse. That the Red Hood is terrified of bugs, or that he still wishes his Dad would just get rid of it for him.
In the dream Jason has red hair. Red hair and freckles and two parents who love him. That, he supposes, is how he knows he’s dreaming. Willis had barely tolerated Jason, let alone loved him.
In the dream they live in a small travel trailer and work in a circus; a trapeze act, just like Dick’s family had been. And as dream-Jason scales one of the giant poles that holds up the ‘big top’, he sees Dick and Bruce in the audience watching. Waiting for him to fly.
Jason knows what happens next.
Had seen it once, maybe a year after becoming Robin. When Dick and Nightwing both had been cool and aloof and Jason still had stars in his eyes for his predecessor. He’d just wanted the older boy to like acknowledge him. Had tried to learn all he could about Bruce’s first son, find some common ground they could start from, but the video from Haly’s Circus had put paid to that. It was months before Jason could look Dick in the eye again, afterwards. Jason had never meant to— didn’t know what the video was when he clicked on it. And what do you say to a guy who saw his parents die like that?
He jerks himself from sleep before the dream reaches its inevitable conclusion. Wakes to the cool of his bedroom in the Manor.
Dick is sat next to his bed. Legs tucked up all awkward-like, in the not quite big enough armchair. His head resting on his knee as he dozes. Jason watches him for a moment, gut still sick from the memory of the dream and the video.
“Hey,” Bruce’s voice is scratchy with quiet, his whisper more of a rasp. Alfred says it’s because he uses the Batman voice too much. “How’re you feeling chum?” He takes a seat on the bed next to Jason. The mattress dips beneath Bruce’s weight, and Jason feels himself pulled towards him.
“‘M’okay.” Jason whispers back, his eyes flick over to Dick. The older boy hasn’t woken.
“You gave us quite a scare.” Bruce says softly, and he runs a hand through Jason’s curls. Some of the dread from the dream, from Dick, ebbs away.
‘I was scared, too.’ Jason wants to say, but the words catch in his throat. Instead he lifts his hands to his face, examines the bandages wrapped round his palms, his fingers.
“I’ve already started working on improvements for our gloves,” Bruce says. Gently he takes one of Jason’s hands in his own, his fingers ghosting over the burn left by the grapnel wire. “I’m sorry they weren’t up to scratch.”
“”S’not your fault.” Jason frowns. “Besides,” he yawns. “Knew you’d catch me.”
It’s only because Jason’s been at the Manor a few years now, that he catches the way Bruce’s eyes change at those words. A lightning quick flicker of emotion, guiltfearand— something else if Jason had to guess, before he’s back in control.
“It was Nightwing that caught you.” Bruce says, and somehow his rasp is even worse. “I wouldn’t have made it in time.”
That makes the dread churn in Jason’s gut again. He doesn’t want to think about Dick and falling and what might have happened if Dick hadn’t been there. Or hadn’t been close enough or hadn’t wanted to— Dick hardly talks to him after all. Only when he has to and even then—
Jason pushes the thought from his mind, gingerly takes Bruce’s fingers between his hands, and guides them back to his head.
Bruce’s chuckle is a low rumble, too quiet to be a real laugh, but Jason recognises it for what it is all the same. “Get some sleep, chum.” Bruce says, his hands carding through Jason’s hair again. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Bruce loves his kids, he just really doesn't know how to say it. So he shows it instead, usually with ridiculous displays and gestures of affection. Because he's a billionaire, ya know? And also a massive dork.
Eleven year old Jason comes to realise all of the above, from the middle of the Aegean Sea.
The first time Jason gets on a plane he's eleven.
Bruce is taking them to Greece for a vacation. He says it's because work has been hectic, but Jason's pretty sure it's because he (Jason) has been reading The Odyssey. Bruce might be the whole big boss of Wayne Enterprises, but every meeting Jason's ever overheard from the study starts with Bruce saying "Hello!" all cheery before going "But let me hand you over to the most important man at Wayne Enterprises", and then Mr. Fox takes over, so it can't be all that hectic.
Besides, Bruce does stuff like this sometimes. Like once, Jason told him he'd never seen a basketball game and Bruce took them to see the Gotham Guardsmen versus the Chicago Bulls the very next week. They sat courtside, and Jason had the biggest load of nachos he'd ever had in his whole life, and Bruce even let him try a sip of his beer (which was gross, by the way). And then after the game Jason got to meet both teams and try and shoot some hoops with Michael Jordan, who just "happened" to be there (yeah right, Bruce) and he got a tour of the entire stadium.
So, when Bruce looked over the top of his paper one evening, with the same look he had when he asked if Jason wanted to be adopted, and said "Shall we go to Greece next week?" Jason's pretty sure it's 'cause he (Jason) was reading The Odyssey. And nothing to do with work.
They fly from Newark to Athens, in the first class suite on Etihad. They have their own mini apartment on the plane, with two wide-screen TVs and a double bed, their own bathroom and a shower. It's almost as big as Jason's old apartment in the squat he was living in before Bruce found him, but not quite. It's a lot nicer though and Jason can't quite believe all this is on a plane.
The air crew greet them with a smile and give them bags full of expensive 'amenities' and stuff and hand Bruce a glass of champagne. He tells them he used to have a private jet, but that they're terrible for the environment and he's trying to reduce his carbon footprint. He says it in that stupid voice he does when he's pretending to be what Dick calls a "himbo billionaire" but there's the secret grin at the corner of his mouth that's just for Jason, that makes Jason feel like he's with the best man in the world.
When they're somewhere over the Atlantic, the lady looking after their section asks if Jason would like to see the cockpit. It's not normally allowed, she says, but Mr. Wayne is such a good customer (and man, she adds, batting her eyes at Bruce over Jason's head, as though Jason wouldn't know what she meant) that the Captain has agreed to make an exception.
It's dusk, and the sky from the cockpit is bigger and more brilliant that Jason has ever seen. A glorious canvas of pastel pinks and purple hues, stretching up into a deep dark blue where stars are slowly beginning to blink into life. The Captain greets Jason with a smile and Bruce with a handshake. Explains what all the different lights and buttons and switches mean, and let's Jason wear her hat for a photo.
By the time they land in Athens, Jason is pretty sure this is the second best day of his life. (The first best is the day Bruce adopted him).
They're spend the night at a fancy hotel, in a room on top of a cliff over looking the Saronic Gulf, which Jason has never heard of but is apparently part of the Aegean Sea. They have their own private swimming pool and two huge beds - one each, though Bruce says Jason can still share if he wants to.
The air is warm and thick, even as the day begins to fade, and though he's not that good at swimming yet, Jason is desperate to jump straight into the pool. "After some supper," Bruce promises, sounding a lot like Alfred. But he keeps his word and the two of them lie on their inflatables as night falls. Above them, in the dark, there are more stars in the sky than Jason has seen in his whole life.
~
The first time Jason has been on a boat he's still eleven.
He and Bruce wander down to a little dock below the cliffs wearing matching boat shoes and shirts. Jason is wearing his Gotham Guardsmen cap and Bruce has a white strip of sunblock under his eyes.
"Technically it's a catamaran" Bruce tells Jason, explaining the difference between hulls of the two as they step aboard. "Kalimera George!" He says, "O gios mou, Jason. Jason, this is our skipper, George."
Later, many years later, Jason will know enough Greek to realise Bruce introduced him as his son, but as he steps aboard the cat all he can do is wonder what Bruce said, smile shyly and shake George's hand.
They sail south from Athens, passing the Temple of Poseidon in coastal Sounio and onto the Aegean Islands. Jason has finished The Odyssey by now, but has moved onto other Greek myths, Theseus and the Minotaur, Artemis and Apollo, Icarus and Daedalus. The sea is a brilliant, turquoise blue, diamond bright under the warm Mediterranean sun and by the time they reach the island of Kythnos, Jason is itching to jump in.
They find a secluded cove, with a small rocky beach and George drops anchor.
"Last one in is a Green Lantern fanboy!" Jason crows, and he leaps from the back deck into the crystal cool water.
It's his first time in the sea, any sea, and he can taste the salt on his lips. The water is calm and he bobs lightly, laughing as Bruce makes a strangled cry and leaps in after him.
"You love Green Lantern!" Jason teases, giggling with his head thrown back to keep it above the surface. He's not so good at treading water yet.
Bruce drifts over to him, pouting. "I wasn't ready, no fair." He says, pulling Jason towards him and onto his back.
Jason closes his eyes to the sun as Bruce swims them round the cove a little.
"Let's swim back to the cat." Bruce says, and Jason chews his lip because it's a little far. "I'll be right beside you." Bruce promises and they swim back to the boat, together.
That night they lie out on the deck and Bruce points out all of the constellations from the Greek myths; Orion and Cassiopeia and Hercules, though obviously Herakles is the proper Greek name for him.
"Whose your favourite Greek hero, B?" Jason asks, his head on Bruce's stomach.
And because he's corny like that, Bruce says "Jason."
~
Jason's first crush, the first one where it feels like something, he's eleven still, and he and Bruce are on a tiny island called Nykterides. It's a nature reserve for bats and other animals and, honestly, sometimes Bruce is such a nerd, because of course he owns the island too. And of course it's a bat-island. Bat species in the Aegean are vulnerable to habitat loss and climate change (apparently), so the island offers a safe refuge. He tells Jason all of this with a very serious look on his face and all Jason can think is what a huge dork Bruce is. There's a tightness in his chest as he listens to Bruce explain, but it takes him a little while to realise the feeling is fondness.
Only a few local families live on Nykterides, Bruce says, as they sail up to the tiny harbour. The buildings are square and white, with some blue domes but mainly flat, low roofs. Conservation staff also live on the island, scientists and biologists too, and there's a small taverna on the shore where they can eat and drink together.
A boy, no more than 19 greets them as they approach. "Kalispera, Mr. Wayne." He flashes them a smile and Jason feels a little breathless all of a sudden. The boy's skin is a glowing golden bronze, his hair falling in dark, rich waves.
"Kalispera, Giannis." Bruce says, a hand on Jason's head. "This is Jason."
"Ah, like the Argonaut?" Giannis asks with a wink, and something in Jason's stomach flips. He thinks about Apollo, most beautiful of all the God's and tries not to blush.
Giannis serves them lunch, and they sit with George and the others on the island, in the shade of a few palms. They eat fresh caught mussels and clams, with salad of tomatoes and cucumber and olives. Fresh cheese with honey, and rice and vegetables wrapped in vine leaves. Jason feels like he's living in a dream, grins up at Bruce and smiles shyly at Giannis as they clink their glasses and say "Yamas!".
As the evening wanes, Giannis tries to teach Jason a few words of Greek.
"Efcharisto," The words roll off Giannis' tongue and Jason finds himself staring at the older boy's mouth.
"Eff-ha-rist-oh" Jason repeats, and Giannis laughs and says it's close enough.
That night Jason goes to bed giddy and breathless and dreams of Apollo.
~
The first time Jason realises he loves someone, truly loves them, other than his Mom that is, he's twelve. Just.
He and Bruce have been sailing for a week or so now, island hoping across the Aegean and the Cyclades. The sea breeze is just enough to keep away the mid-August heat and Jason is sure there isn't a more beautiful part of the world to be found.
Bruce has been promising something special for Jason's birthday. He's spent a lot of time on a ridiculous satellite phone (because there are zero bars in the middle of the sea) trying to sort whatever it is out. If he thinks too much about it, Jason's stomach flips with excitement, because what could possibly top all of this? Bruce is ridiculously rich, and just plain ridiculous, so it's probably a helicopter up to Mount Olympus or something totally crazy, which to be fair, would be beyond cool.
But when the night before his birthday Bruce comes to him looking forlorn, Jason is worried.
"I'm sorry Jay," Bruce says, and it looks like he's in physical pain for how sorry he is. "I really wanted to do something special for your birthday but it isn't going to work out."
"That's okay," Jason says, but before he can continue Bruce speaks again and says,
"I wanted to take you to Themyscira, and Diana thought she could get you in, but Hippolyta said no."
For the briefest of moments, Jason thinks he might be disappointed, but instead there's a rush in his chest and he laughs, head back and heart full. "Bruce, you big boob!" He says, shoving Bruce's arm. "Men aren't allowed on Themyscira."
Bruce slips his arm around Jason and pulls him in close for a hug. "Yeah, but you're just a little man, not a whole one. I thought they might make an exception."
"It would have been cool," Jason muses, from where his face is squashed against Bruce's chest. "But then I couldn't have spent my birthday with you."
Bruce makes a noise in his throat and hugs Jason a little tighter.
"Love you, B." Jason says, and it's the first time he's ever said it to anyone that wasn't his Mom.
Bruce grunts again, and hugs Jason even tighter. "Happy birthday, lad." He mumbles.
The air is warm, and the catamaran bobs lightly in the water. Waves lap at the hull and Jason grins.
Jason does not want to be adopted. He's already eleven years old and he's got his own life and his own thing going on in Crime Alley, thank you very much. He doesn't need a family and he definitely doesn't need a Dad.
Bruce Wayne might have other ideas, but Jason's always liked a challenge. This himbo billionaire is toast.
