Chapter Text
Jason didn’t mean to hear it.
He’d just needed a second—just one second—to breathe. Too many eyes, too many questions, too many people acting like they cared. It was messing with his head.
So he slipped out, quiet as he could, ducking into the hallway outside the conference room. No one stopped him. No one noticed.
At least, that’s what he thought.
Until he heard Steve’s voice.
“…We can’t just let him go.”
Jason froze.
He knew he should keep walking—shouldn’t give a damn about what they thought—but his feet stayed planted, back pressed to the wall just out of sight.
Bruce would’ve said it was a weakness. Listening when he should run. Caring when he shouldn’t.
Jason listened anyway.
“He’s not a threat,” Natasha said evenly. “Not to us.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Steve said. “I’m not worried about him coming after us. I’m worried about what happens when we let a nineteen-year-old with that much trauma walk out the door like it’s nothing.”
“He won’t take the offer,” Banner said quietly. “He’s too used to doing everything alone.”
“He’s a kid,” Steve said, frustration bleeding into his voice. “A kid who’s been fighting for so long he doesn’t remember how to stop.”
Jason’s chest tightened.
He didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to be reminded of how damn obvious his damage was. But still, he stayed.
Tony’s voice cut through next, sharp and clipped. “So what, you want to chain him to the couch? Wrap him in bubble wrap and hope he doesn’t bolt?”
“No,” Steve said. “I just… I think we’re the only people who’ve ever offered him a hand without expecting something in return.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Natasha, quiet but firm: “So we keep the door open. That’s all we can do.”
Jason backed away before they could say anything else.
He didn’t want to hear it.
Didn’t want to want it.
Didn’t want it to matter that for the first time in years, someone had seen through the mask and decided not to look away.
He tried to leave that night.
Backed his gear, cleaned his weapons, left a note on the counter that just said Thanks.
Simple. Clean. Easy.
He got as far as the elevator.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?” a voice asked from the shadows.
Jason sighed. “Jesus, you ever not sneak up on people?”
Natasha stepped into the dim light, arms crossed. “Only when I like them.”
He gave her a dry look. “I should feel honored.”
“You should feel something,” she said quietly.
Jason looked away.
“I don’t belong here.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious,” he snapped. “I’m not one of you. I kill people. I don’t play well with others. And I sure as hell don’t fit your ‘team bonding’ aesthetic.”
“We’re not trying to dress you in matching uniforms and braid your hair, Jason.”
He snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”
She took a step closer. “You’re scared.”
He stiffened. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” she interrupted. “Not of us. Of what it means if you stay.”
Jason didn’t answer.
Because she was right.
It would be easier to go. Easier to stay angry, stay alone, stay in control.
Letting people care was dangerous. Letting people matter was worse.
And yet—
“You really think I could be part of this?”
Natasha tilted her head. “I think you already are.”
The elevator dinged behind him.
Jason didn’t move.
He didn’t sleep that night.
Too many thoughts. Too many memories.
But he didn’t leave, either.
In the morning, he found Clint at the kitchen table, shoveling cereal like he hadn’t eaten in days.
Jason hesitated in the doorway.
Then—“You always eat like a raccoon?”
Clint looked up, mouth full. “You’re still here.”
Jason shrugged.
Clint smirked. “Huh. Guess I won the bet.”
Jason blinked. “Bet?”
Clint popped another spoonful into his mouth. “We had a pool. Nat thought you’d sneak out after three days. Cap said two. I gave you five.”
Jason narrowed his eyes. “You’re kidding.”
Clint grinned.
Normally, he’d be pissed. Insulted. Maybe even out the door already, gear slung over his shoulder and middle finger in the air.
But this time he stayed.
“Stop looking so shocked,” Clint said, licking his spoon. “You’re not that unpredictable.”
Jason snorted, leaning against the counter. “Pretty sure ‘unpredictable’ is my whole brand.”
“Sure. Right behind ‘brooding’ and ‘weapon hoarder.’”
Jason rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eased a little. Just a little.
The sun was streaming in through the massive windows. The whole tower felt too open, too quiet, too clean. But Clint didn’t act like he expected anything from him. No speeches. No judgment. Just cereal and sarcasm.
Jason could live with that.
He crossed the kitchen, grabbed a protein bar off the counter, and bit into it without ceremony. Still better than Gotham gas station jerky.
“You’re not gonna start some morning mantra about friendship and feelings, are you?” he asked through a mouthful.
Clint grinned. “Nah. That’s Sam’s job.”
“Sam’s?”
“Falcon. You’ll meet him soon.” Clint’s smile turned smug. “He’s got a thing for strays.”
Jason narrowed his eyes. “I’m not a stray.”
“Sure you aren’t.”
Before Jason could come up with a sharp reply, the elevator dinged again.
He turned, half-expecting another lecture or awkward talk—but instead, it was a blur of nervous energy and messy brown curls.
“Uh—hi!” the newcomer said, half-stepping out before freezing. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
Clint waved a hand. “You’re good. Jason, meet Peter. Peter, Jason.”
Jason frowned.
The kid—because he was definitely a kid, barely taller than Tim and way too chipper for eight in the morning—grinned and offered a hand. “Nice to meet you! I’ve, um… heard a lot about you.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”
Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mostly from Mr. Stark. And Nat. And Cap. And kinda everyone.”
Jason glanced at Clint.
Clint just grinned wider. “Told you. Strays.”
Peter tilted his head. “Is it true you disarmed ten mercs in under five minutes?”
Jason blinked. “What?”
“Clint said you went full John Wick in that warehouse.”
Jason shot Clint a glare. “Really?”
Clint shrugged, unbothered. “What? You’re a legend now.”
Peter’s eyes were wide. “That’s so cool.”
Jason didn’t know what to say to that. No one had ever called what he did cool before. Dangerous, reckless, psychotic—yeah. But not cool.
Peter shifted awkwardly. “I know it’s weird, and we just met, and I probably talk too much, but… I’m really glad you’re here.”
Jason blinked.
“I mean it,” Peter said, serious now. “We don’t all fit the clean-cut mold. Some of us… we’re just trying to do our best, even when everything sucks.”
Jason stared at him, heart kicking against his ribs.
How the hell was this kid saying exactly what he didn’t know he needed to hear?
Peter gave him a shy smile. “Anyway. I’ll, uh, let you eat. But if you ever wanna spar or hang out or, I don’t know, play Mario Kart—I’m around.”
He turned, heading down the hall, his voice trailing behind him. “Also, don’t listen to Clint. He cheats.”
“I heard that!” Clint shouted.
Jason watched Peter go, something strange settling in his chest.
Warm.
Unfamiliar.
Hopeful.
He wasn’t used to this.
He didn’t know what it was supposed to be.
But maybe…
Maybe this was what it felt like. Not family. Not yet. But something.
A beginning.
His fingers curled around the protein bar. He could do beginnings.
He could try.
Just as he turned back to the counter, the lights overhead flickered.
Clint frowned. “That’s not supposed to happen.”
The tower’s security panel lit up red on the wall. A sharp alarm beeped once, then again, louder.
Jason dropped the bar, hand going to the knife strapped to his thigh out of instinct.
Peter’s voice echoed from the hallway.
“Um, guys? We might have a problem.”
Jason’s heart jumped.
Clint was already moving. “JARVIS?”
“Multiple unregistered hostiles approaching,” came the AI’s calm voice. “Breach detected. Rooftop access compromised.”
Jason’s blood ran cold.
He was out of the kitchen in a flash, bolting for the hall, for the elevator, for the stairs—
He didn’t know what he was going to do.
But he knew one thing:
Bruce had found him.
And Gotham didn’t let its ghosts go without a fight.