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“You’re about to go into a dead zone, you’ll find the object Zatanna was talking about almost directly in the middle.”
“Copy.” Jason says, glaring at the world, “So we just snatch the orb doohickey, get it back to the other, highly capable of playing fetch their damn selves Justice League, and we’re on our merry way?”
“Come on, Hood. You know they’re swamped, and mostly off world. I thought you liked Zatanna?”
“I do. I don’t like being a gopher.”
“You have the teeth for it,” Damian mumbles, trudging through the desert like it’s caused him personal offense, which, like, maybe.
Jason looks around for something to throw at his head. Unfortunately, they are surrounded by only sand. He throws that anyway. Damian hisses at him. Jason stops, squinting at him from behind his helmet, “Did you just hiss at me?”
“Guys.”
“Why do you get to stay out of this stupid sand anyway?” Damian complains, kicking some at Jason’s face.
Jason kicks some right back. “Because if he travels outside of the putrid air of Gotham city his lungs won’t understand it’s good for him and spontaneously combust.”
“Because I don’t have a spleen,” Tim says, “and you guys are assholes.”
“Probably drinking mocha’s and listening to music in sweet AC,” Jason mutters.
“Actually I’m being glared at by a bunch of soldiers for telling them their hand to hand stance was off.”
“Stop butting your nose in things.”
“If they give you trouble, we will incapacitate them.”
“Uh, that too.”
Jason can hear Tim roll his eyes, “My heroes.”
“How close?” Jason asks, finally giving up on trying to get sand down Damian’s shirt.
“Like, fifty feet. We’ll lose signal in about forty seconds.”
“Cool, see you on the other side then, literally.”
“Be careful.”
“Worried about the two people who’ve tried to kill you?” Jason asks wryly.
“No,” Tim replies easily, “but I am worried for my two brothers.”
“Damn, way to make a guy feel like an ass.”
“It isn’t very hard,” Damian tells him. “You be careful as well, Drake. You may not be in a scalding ocean of sand but you are alone there without backup.”
“Oh no, maybe someone will give me a patronizing look,” Tim says dryly. “You two have the hard job. Watch each other’s backs.”
“Yes, mom,” Jason says, and then the line goes dead.
***
There is sand in his helmet. He has an airtight, he could swim in the Gotham sewers and not smell a thing, helmet, and there is somehow sand inside of it.
Yanking it off, Jason growls. “I’m killing the desert.”
“Quite a feat,” Damian deadpans, dumping sand out of his hood for the fourteenth time in the last hour. “We should have taken the jet.”
“The military said no.”
“The military is run by assholes.”
Jason snorts, “When we get home, remind me to give you some of my Green Day albums.”
They keep walking, sand everywhere and sweat dripping off them, and Jason is starting to really wish he didn’t have a spleen right now, when his toe kicks something hard. He hisses, bending down to brush the sand away.
A small piece of metal sticks a few inches out of the sand. Shrapnel, or scrap from a bomb yard. Jason frowns, “Okay, why the hell would there be bomb scraps in the middle of a freaking desert?”
“The military is operating a base here, is it not?”
“Sure, but this is new stuff. Not dumped metal from projects or evacs. It wouldn’t be here, this fresh, unless this area was active.”
“Active with what?”
“I don’t know. Testing ground, possibly, unless there was some kind of turf war here at some point, then I guess it could have been a field of--”
“Mines.”
Jason’s head snaps up, squinting at Damian, only a yard ahead of him. “How do you know?”
“I think, Todd, this may be a good time for you to turn back.”
***
“Don’t move.”
“I know how pressure plates work, Todd.”
“Yeah? Well I think ‘don’t move so we don’t die’ is worth reiterating out loud,” Jason says, pinching his nose. “Christ.”
“Shouldn’t Drake have told us--”
“I can’t believe you stepped on a fucking mine,” Jason interrupts, either not hearing or not caring, he paces back and forth on the two foot path he’d cleared of any more surprises and doesn’t take his eyes off Damian. “I can’t believe no one told us about the fucking mines!”
“I’m sorry,” Damian says.
Jason stops. “What?”
“I made an error, so I apologize.”
“This is kind of a bigger deal than an error, Damian,” Jason snaps. Damian looks away, and his eyes widen. “Oh no, no way. Don’t you dare give me that ‘I just got scolded by Batman’ look. Don’t you dare.”
Damian crosses his arms, standing very still otherwise. He scowls. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. So stop it. Start smiling.” Jason pokes his fingers into either side of his mouth and mimes a smile, “Smile. I am not going to go home and tell everyone else that I, Jason Todd, who is very widely known for being great with kids and not emotionally stunted at all, couldn’t even make you, Damian Wayne, the most giddy child I have ever met in my life, smile.”
All he gets back is a scoff, but he can see the faint smile on Damian’s face, and he calls it a win.
Now he just needs to stop them from getting blown up.
***
“You should leave,” Damian says decisively, looking down at Jason, crouched at his feet.
“No.”
“Todd. We could die.”
Jason glances up, grinning lopsidedly, “Round two, huh?”
***
Jason slips a finger under the pressure plate, a hand on Damian’s boot. He bites his tongue, squinting one eye as he feels around. “Okay. It’s a pretty simple mechanism. Old, they’re probably just a precaution, not a certifiable defense.”
“So deactivate it.”
“Only one way to do that, kid. Release the pressure.”
Damian sighs heavily. Yeah, Jason gets it.
***
Not once has Jason considered himself a good brother. To be fair, he hasn’t really tried to be, at least not before the year Damian died. He’d always figured he was too far gone, or too unforgivable, or just down right too angry.
He knows he’s a bad influence, that he gets his younger brother’s into trouble more than he gets them out of it, but stability is Dick’s job. Jason just wants them to live.
If jumping rooftops without grappling lines and sneaking into drug busts just to see if they can is the Robin equivalent of letting them be kids, then fine. He’ll take the scolding from Bruce and Dick. Kids deserve to do stupid shit. It’s part of the programming.
Stupid shit does not include getting blown up in a freaking mine field.
He exhales through his nose, shifting to sit down, legs criss crossed beneath him. “How we doing up there?”
“I’m fine,” Damian snaps, “I can hold this position for hours.”
“Without shaking?”
Damian’s jaw sets, and he swallows. “Another hour. Perhaps two.”
“Cool. We’ve got a time frame.”
***
Damian clears his throat, and waits until Jason looks up at him. He looks like he’s debating saying something, and then he huffs, “Did it… was it horrible?”
“Yeah,” Jason says truthfully. “It was the most painful thing I’ve ever felt.”
“I can… I can take it.”
“You won’t have to, alright?” Jason clasps a hand around his brother’s ankle, “I won’t let that happen.”
***
Damian used to make him blind with anger. Because he was Bruce’s, because he was a brat, because he had this holier than thou attitude that made Jason want to punch him in the face.
Because he looked so much like Talia and Bruce that Jason wasn’t sure where righteous anger stopped and aching betrayal began.
Most of all though, he hated Damian because Damian reminded him of himself.
The sense of immortality, that somehow being Robin made him invincible, made him better. The need to be accepted, hidden behind a layer of pride and venom. Damian, like him, believed he’d always win. Damian, like him, realized he was wrong while breathing his last.
Jason doesn’t think he’ll always win anymore. He doesn’t think he’ll always be protected. But he’s a big brother now, for better or for worse, and that means looking Damian in the eye and telling him they’re going to be okay.
That means lying and saying he knows what he’s doing, because like hell is Jason watching a Robin get blown sky high. Never again.
***
“You know that thing Dick does, when he wants attention?” Jason asks, wiping sweat off his forehead.
Damian frowns, “When he throws himself over you and demands it?”
“No, like when he actually needs it.” Jason bites his lip, sliding the wiring from his helmet closer to the mines detonator. “When he asks if you need any company.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“He does that because he’s always trying to take care of people. He doesn’t know how to ask for help without making it seem like he’s helping you.”
“That is… sad.”
“I think I’ll ask him if he wants to see a movie with me, when we get home.”
“I think he will enjoy that.”
***
Damian groans, “Jason. I will step off this mine if it makes you stop talking.”
“No, no, this is the good part. Because after Dick tried to have that mortifying conversation with me and failed, Bruce tried to-- hold on.” Jason looks up eyes wide, a smile growing on his face, “Did you just call me Jason?”
“No.”
“Liar! You did!”
Damian glares down at him, “Shut up.”
“Jason,” Jason prompts, grinning.
Rolling his eyes, Damian groans, “Shut up, Jason.”
“I’m so proud of you right now.”
“I am lifting my foot up.”
***
Jason groans, slamming his palm into the sand. “You’d think, that after getting blown up, I would get all paranoid and prepare for this. But no, I had to spend all my energy on a stupid revenge plot I didn’t even follow through with.”
“Timothy did.”
“What?”
“After becoming Robin, knowing how his predecessor died,” Damian shrugs, “he trained himself to recognize and defuse almost every bomb.”
“That little shit. Of course he did.”
“Do you think he’ll come for us?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Damian looks around at the foreign landscape, the hot sun and the sand that won’t stop digging its way into every crevice, and down at the bomb under his foot. His voice is quiet when he says, “As do I.”
“Let’s just get out of here before it comes to that,” Jason tells him.
***
“I don’t wish for you to go through this again,” Damian says, and his voice is softer than Jason has ever heard it. “You should leave.”
“Yeah, probably. But guess what?”
“What?”
Jason lets himself smile, a real, not wolfish or teasing, kind smile, “I don’t want you to go through this again, either.”
***
“It’ll be fine,” Jason says for the thousandth time. “It’ll be just like an Indiana Jones movie.”
“Indiana Jones?”
Jason looks up at Damian in disbelief, “You’ve never seen it?”
“Is it a movie? No.”
“Don’t let Tim hear you say that,” Jason says, weighing the hunk of metal in his hand. “He’ll make you watch every single movie, then give you a whole seminar on why Indiana Jones is actually an ethically corrupt person and a pretty douchey guy for stealing artifacts from their cultures, and then give you another seminar on his whip cracking skills, and another on the physics of every single booby trap.”
“Just leave,” Damian advises him.
Jason snorts, “Yeah, okay. Like you can look at Tim when he’s passionate about something and go ‘no’, and leave.”
“Unlike you, Jason, I actually have some willpower.”
“You played Stardew Valley with him for eight straight hours.”
“That was of my own choosing.”
“You missed patrol for it.”
“Fine, his eyes get bright and I cannot refuse. Happy?” Damian admits with a dramatic huff.
Jason grins, “Very.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Yeah.” Jason tosses the hunk of metal away and goes back to studying the mine.
***
Jason fiddles with his helmet, taking apart the wiring and drive. “You know, when they put up a new memorial for me, I want it to be just a gun.”
Damian makes a face, “Just a gun?”
“Yeah. Like, my biggest gun.” He grins, “And I want that stupid plaque thing to say ‘I got this from the Hood’.”
“Dear god.”
“Get it? Because I’m Red Hood and I’m from--”
“I miss Richard. He’s funnier than you.”
“You take that back right now. You take that back right now, Damian.”
***
It’s been forty minutes. Forty. Damian’s knee is starting to quiver slightly, and Jason does his best not to let his hands shake. “I think I figured it out.”
“Finally.”
“Shut up.” Jason licks his lips, shifting into a crouch, “I can hook my helmet’s mainframe up to the detonator, trick it into thinking someone’s still stepping down.”
“How will that work? Isn’t it a tripwire, not a censor?”
“Sure, but it’s purely electrical. This’ll work. It will.”
Damian’s face is unreadable, and then he nods. “I trust you.”
Jason nods back, then focuses on the mine. He’s already programmed his helmet. He just needs to get the two wires to cross, and they’re home free. Hopefully.
His hands are surprisingly steady as he goes, and when he hears the definitive click he recoils, waiting for the familiar searing pain. It doesn’t come. He looks up at Damian, “Okay. You should be able to step off now.”
His gut twists when Damian lifts his foot without hesitation, putting blind faith into his brother. As soon as he’s off, Jason wraps his arms around Damian’s waist and yanks him into a clear spot, his nerves finally coming out of shock, arms shaking as he squeezes Damian tighter.
A tiny hand sets down on the top of his head, and the chest his ear is pressed against rises and falls sporadically. “We’re alright.”
“Yeah. God. Let’s just get that stupid orb and get out of this hell hole.”
Despite that, they stay put for another five minutes, and Jason doesn’t let go.
***
“Can’t believe fighting a fucking sand monster was the easiest part of this trip,” Jason mutters, rubbing his sore shoulder. “You okay, squirt?”
“Fine,” Damian says. He’s holding a canvas bag that’s glowing faintly, staring down at it in disdain, “Next time, make Superman.”
“Seconded.”
Behind them, the sand explodes. Jason drags Damian to the ground on instinct, even though they are very much clear of any danger. He sits up slowly, Damian shoving his arm off him.
“What was that?”
“I guess the bomb figured out I tricked it.”
“It’s a wonder you’ve only died once,” Damian tells him, standing and holding out a hand to help him up.
Jason takes it, but yanks and vaults Damian over him instead of standing up, “I can still kick your ass.”
Damian groans, throwing a handful of sand at him, “You got lucky.”
***
When Tim sees them, his shoulders drop, and his eyes get a little less wide, and he looks like he takes a breath for the first time in who knows how long. “Thank god. I was just about to say screw it all and come look for you. The freaking general withheld information because he’s an ass and now that I can see you guys I am going to turn right back around and I am going to kill him.”
“Tim.”
“No. No. You can’t even stop me. Screw the rules. I’m going to put his head through a wall. He should’ve told me what I was sending you guys into--”
“Timothy.”
“Huh?”
Jason waves his arms around, gesturing to their surroundings, “What the hell are you doing out of your disease proof bubble?”
“Oh.” Tim hums, “I didn’t think about that. I was worried.”
“You are such an idiot,” Damian says, turning him around and marching him back to the plane.
Jason drops his half ripped apart helmet on the ground once they’re inside, taking the orb bag from Damian and locking it in the safe. He tears off his domino mask with a hiss. “I’m gonna have sandburn for weeks.”
“And sunburn,” Damian adds forlornly.
Tim just stares at them. “You’re sure you’re okay? I have medical supplies and Clark on call if you need an evac, and I’ll go turn up the AC, but if you guys are injured you should tell me right now before we--”
“Tim,” Jason says, gripping both of his brother’s shoulders. “I will listen to you mother hen so much it puts Dickie to shame for as long as you want me to, but before that, if you don’t get me a giant Gatorade and a burger in the next twenty minutes, I will vault you to the influenza mosquitoes.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah. I can do that,” Tim says, then nods. He stands, leaning over to press a few buttons on the dash, setting autopilot, and pulls some energy drinks out of the mini fridge. Once he hands them to them, he sits back down, pulling at his fingers anxiously.
Damian mutters a thank you as he takes the drink, regarding Tim critically, “Take your antibiotic or you very well may get influenza.”
Jason realizes then, what would have been running through his mind if he’d been in Tim’s position. The withheld information, the dead zone, the explosion, the missed deadline. There’s a stiffness in Tim’s shoulders that wasn’t there before they landed.
“Hey, baby bird,” Jason calls, and Tim snaps his head up to look at him. Jason pauses. What does he say now? He can’t just say ‘I love you’, to make it all better. Worst case scenario he goes on to tell Bruce and Dick what happened and Dick will whine until he says it to him and then it’ll be like, a thing. Best case, Tim gets all emotional and they get all touchy feely and work through some familial issues and Jason does not want that either. He glances at Damian, and then he grins, “Baby brat hasn’t seen Indiana Jones.”
“You what?”
“Jason!”
Oh yeah, Jason is awesome at this big brother thing.