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Police sirens ring out from somewhere below Jason, their shrill sound echoing between the tall gothic buildings and making it seem like they comes from everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. Off in the distance, even through the rain and faint thunder, he can also pick up on the sound of gunshots. Above everything, right up on the heavy clouds darkening the night more than usual and shining off the raindrops that fall heavily from them, the Bat-signal shines, high and mighty, brighter than the full moon would ever look in a big city, but especially in Gotham.
Jason stared over the streets of Gotham- the rain a light misting over the red hood he bore.
“Hello, Todd.” Shit. He thought. My Damian. My habibi. my baby The blood son.
“What do you want, habibi.” the habit was hard for him to kill, even after all their time apart.
Damian froze, staring over the landscape. “I was making sure you weren’t committing another crime tonight.”
“Go home, Damian. This fight’s not yours.”
“Why not?” Damian started in a whine. He took a deep breath. “You’re still my-”
“Don’t.” Jason bit out. “Don’t say that. We both know you don’t mean it.”
It was silent a moment. The rooftop, divided by the stars and the space between two brothers seemed to stretch further.
“Do you miss it?” Jason looked up.
“Miss what, habibi?”
“Do you miss us? Being close. Being…brothers.” Damian sighed. “Its harder, you know. Without you around.”
Jason stayed silent as he heard Damian come to the ledge besides him, nervous and unsure. “Dad doesn’t make qatayef like you do.” He added. “I remember when you’d make some, really late-”
“Ask Alfred to make you some, Damian.”Damian flinched after the words left his mouth.
“Alfred doesn’t know it. Not like you did.” He whispered. “No one…no one else tries to get me. They all think I’m like them. But I’m not.” Damian looked away. “I…I don’t get their ways. They’re…quiet. And they always speak English. And just-”
Jason’s heart froze, seeing the tears on Damian’s face. “Come on.” He said gruffly, hauling the younger boy up.
“Where are we going?” Damian asked softly, tears leaking down his face- his mask slipping a bit from the tears.
“My place. Rule one, of being like us.” He grunted. “You never. Ever. Let them see you cry.” Jason hesitated, then wiped his cheek gently, resituating the mask in place.
The two were silent as they traversed the city, landing in an allyway. “Take off the trackers here.” Jason grunted.
“But what if-” The look Jason shot him silenced any complaints he had about the odd rule.
“Just do it.” Jason demanded.
Damian took a deep breath, slowly peeling a tracker from his boot, the clasp of his cape, and mask. “Can I take this off?” He asked softly.
Jason nodded- his heart aching when the mask came off, revealing a bat-shaped inprint on skin too young to handle the weight of the mantle forced upon him. Damian rubbed his cheek, where Jason noticed the dark circles.
“Habibi, what happened? Your skin!” He exclaimed, shoving the young boy through a door and slamming it shut. Jason cradled his cheeks with the reverance one would give a fledgling, and for a moment- Damian almost believed he cared about him.
“I’m just tired. It’s hard.” Damian whimpered, relaxing a bit- letting himself pretend, for a moment, that the shadows in the night couldn’t touch him.
“When was the last time you slept? Ate?” Jason continued, seeing more bruises and scars.
“Slept a few days ago- we’ve been patroling nonstop. I ate…” Jason didn’t let him finish- drawing a curtained off area of the room, tossing an old shirt and a pair of Damian’s old sleep shorts.
“He kept these?” Damian mumbled, slipping behind the curtain.
The scent of cardamon and vanilla filled his nose as he slipped into the pajamas- already feeling safer than he ever had in his room at “home”.
“Habibi, taeal huna. laqad sanaetuk.” Jason called. “I made qatayef.”
Damian perked up a bit. “Promise?” He asked, darting out.
Jason froze, seeing the tiny boy before him. He was drowning in the fabric swathing little arms and little legs, reminding him once again just how young he is when Batman sends him out- a miniature sacrifice to the night, a shining light on the insideous “heroics” of Batman.
“Yeah. Y-yeah. I…Here.” Jason grunted, setting the plate down on a table nearby. Damian dove for the plate, his eyes widening slightly to be more rounder- relaxing in a way no childs eyes should ever have to.
“T’ank ‘ou!” He slurred out around a mouthful of food.
“Of course, habibi. Eat up. Then bedtime.” Jason murmured, stroking his hair gently. His mind raced, seeing his habibi, his baby, his fledling so damaged- all at the hands of the man who killed him too. His mind did not rest- even long after Damian curled up in his bed, a cup of mint tea on his belly and saffron stained dreams swirling in his head.
Bruce has to pay for this. Jason thought bitterly, seeing Damian flinch in his sleep.
“Jase?” Damian mumbled.
“Yes, habibi?” He murmured, at his side in an instant.
“Am I…am I terrorist?”
Jason’s heart stopped. “What?” He whispered. “No. No. No- stars above, no. You’re not- who told you that?” He gasped out.
“Joker said it. Then father…I got really, really upset and I was talking to him about it. He didn’t get the big deal- said that no villian would ever spare my feelings, so get a thicker skin. Then when he saw I was crying- he made us do a training. He made everyone call me a little terrorist. All day.” He admitted.
“Who’s everyone.” Jason asked darkly.
“Tim and dad, mostly. Grayson made up a reason to go to Bludhaven- but Alfred…he just didn’t talk to me. He made an earl tea- it was nothing like yours. I…I never realized I was so alone. I wouldn’t care as much if he did the tea right- but he didn’t and he wouldn’t listen when I tried to correct him and Grayson wouldn’t answer my call, and just- just-” Damians lip wobbling was the only warning before he burst into tears at the memory, an ugly, hiccuping sound. He slammed his face into the pillow, trying to curl into the blanket.
“Shhh, shhh.” Jason started, soothing the poor boy. “It’s alright. I’m here. I’m here.” His hand didnt stall as he whispered softly to Damian, until the younger fell asleep.
Both boys slept soundly, dozing off in each others arms- or rather, Damian slept soundly in Jasons arms. Jason, on the other hand, was plotting a murder or two. And a lesson to a certain british butler on how to make a proper tea.A knock on the door interrupted his scheming, and to his surprise (and disdain)- none other than the scourge of the night stood on the other side.
“Go away Bruce.” Jason started, opening the door. Before he could even draw his pistol, the head of the Wayne dynasty swept inside- going straight for Damian.
“Damian. Come on. Its time to wake up.” He started, peeling the boy from his bed.
“Noooo…” Damian grumbled, unaware of who he was batting away. “Jason, hia. la yujad waqt sabah alkhayr.” He added in a grumpy voice.
“Get away from him, Bruce.” Jason growled again- making Damian snap awake.
“Father!” He exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “What are you doing here?”
“Taking you home. Come along, Damian.” Bruce murmured darkly.
Damian stood up, going to Bruce at first- before Jason held his shoulder. “Bruce, no. Damians not going anywhere.” He growled.
“You can come with us.” Bruce offered. Jason flinched at the suggestion.
“You hung crowbars. From my bed. As a reminder to be strong, and a training excersize.” He deadpanned.
“Well, yes- because you’d have a panic attck when you saw them!” Bruce started.
“I WAS KILLED BY A CROWBAR!”
“We can get into it later- for now, Damian get dressed. We’re going home.”
Jason huffed- looking to Damian and sinking to his knees. “Damian. Dami-bird. Habibi- baby boy.” He whispered. “You don’t have to go. You can choose this. You can choose to just be seven. You dont have to fight baby, Im here. Im here, habibi. Im here.”
Damian had heard that voice before. In his grandfather- in his mother. It was the voice of temptation. It was him, when he was five, asking why he wasn’t allowed eidiya, why he never could have the sweet date-filled treats his mother ate. It was the pain in his stomach, when he snuck one- to find the sweetness was meant to hide a poison. It was the pain of the whip, lingering long after the vomit dried.
Damian knew temptation. And after 7 years- he knew the answer to it.
“Yes, father.” He echoed softly- not seeing the despair in Jasons features before he was iced out once again.
“Oh.” Jason murmured. “I…I didn’t realize it was a lie.”
Damian resisted the urge to peek behind the curtain- to run to the arms of his abéh and grasp onto the promise he offered, to run and laugh and learn to just be young- not the young heir of Wayne Enterprises.
“It wasnt. But…father asked. I gotta go-” He tensed, taking a deep breath. “I have to go, Jason.”
“You only have to be happy, Damian. Let me be the big one. Let me be abéh. Let me handle this, habibi.” Jason murmured, cradling Damian like he was something fragile- something precious and worth cradling.
Mother never held him like that.
Father cringed the first time he did.
Richard and Tim didnt even know how to hold themselves with such kindness.
But Jasons hands…they were always gentle. Even if they were stained in blood, even when he was too busy hurting himself- Jason never got angry with Damian. Jason never hurt him, or ran away. Jason was…safety. Was compassion, and warm.
Damian wasnt allowed to have safety. The only warmth he was allowed was enough to keep him alive.
Damian turned and walked away- every step driving a new knife through the sole of his boot, where the tracker sat under the heel that was just big enough to flop a little when he walked- since they were sized for Tim.
Jason died once. It felt painful- a slowly growing ache after a while, then heat. So. Much. Heat. And pressure- feeling his heart slowly give out as the stones settled around him, crushing him. The trickle of blood out his ears, filling his nose, blinding him and making every word a garbled, bloody mess.
That pain was nothing compared to watching Damian walk away with his hand in Bruces- trailing in his shadow like a duckling after its mother. Damian only ever followed after him like that before.
He distantly wondered if he remembered to put on 2 pairs of socks- so his boots didn’t flop so much as he walked and ran. Jason could only recall the number of times he fished a bright yellow boot out of storm drains and out of alleyways- depositing them at the batcave before patrols end.
“He didnt want you. Stop trying to want him.” Jason said sternly to himself- knowing its the one fight he could never win. Loving Damian was like breathing air- it was automatic. Yet Damian only knew love like a fist fight- it always led to pain.
When they arrived at the batcave, Damian noticed right away everyone was gone. Even alfred.
“Father? Where- where is-”
“Silence, terrorist.” Bruce growled lowly, steering him to the batcave. Damian followed dutifully behind him- even as he felt more and more afraid.
“Father? Whats going on?” Damian tried again, only to freeze as Bruce tightened his grasp on his arm.
“I said silence.” He growled- the stench of alcohol finally hitting Damians nose.
He smells like grandfather. Was his first thought. Father never smells like that. Not umelss Alfred says mean things to him.
Damian went to the ring at Bruces harsh coaxing- ignoring the lingering pains from the bruises his father left. Before he could even finish getting into position to train- he felt it. Bruce kicked him- hard.
“F-Father stop!” He shouted, all the training of the league of assassins fading from his mind as bruce attacked him. It was impossible to keep up- if only because Bruce seemed to have no qualms using the strength he gathered in the past 40 years against his smaller frame.
“No you brat, I wont stop! Your tramp of a mother should have stopped her pregnancy!” Bruce roared- unaware he did have an audience, after all.
Jason watched in horror as Bruce nailed attack after attack on Damian- leaving the young boy broken and bruised in ways no child, much less his habibi ever should have been, as Damians screams and wails filled his ears. It was the only sound Jason could hear over the pulsing of blood in his ears.
“BRUCE- Bruce, dad!” Jason sobbed, jumping down to get between them. Distantly, he recalled how the joker wore the same expression when he beat him, too.
“Dad. Dad stop.” He breathed out. “Hes- hes just a boy. Hes still…hes still so little.” He added. “Please. Please.” Jason breathed out, his chest heaving.
“Fine.” Bruce growled. “You take his place.”
Jason gasped, lunging after Damian as Bruce tossed him aside brutally, his heart freezing as he heard the sickening crack of a delicate rib snapping in two. “DAMIAN!” He bellowed, his mind racing as Bruce held him back. His voice twisted into a mangled scream as Bruce snapped his shoulder out of socket, turning the full force of his rage onto Jason.
He could faintly hear Damian crying in the background, somewhere far beyond what his own mind would see. Above him Bruce- no, not Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t hit him so hard. Bruce never hit him that hard. These hits felt like Joker, cruel and never ending, meant only to prolong suffering for the maximum cruelty he could recieve.
“Dad- dad please.” Jason begged, spitting up blood as Bruce ignored him- stopping as he stormed out the ring towards the bottle on the bat computer.
“That terrorist abandoned me.” He growled instead, downing it in a single gulp. Bruce growled as it ran empty- throwing it directly at Damien. The young boy thankfully dodged it- sobbing and trembling as Bruce stormed off to get another.
“Habibi, oh my baby.” Jason breathed out, limping towards Damian. “How bad does it owie? Are you okay? Shh, shhh. Little one. Let Jason see. Let abéh make it better.” Jason breathed out, cradling the little boy.
“Owies.” Damian whispered, sobbing as Jason cradled him gently- ignoring the headache pounding in his head and the dizziness.
“I know. I know baby. I know it owies. It owies so much, for such a little boy.” Jason cooed, rocking him gently. “Wheres the owie? Wheres my habibi hurting?”
“Head.” Damian whimpered.
Jason curled around him, gentle and soothing as he cradled the little boy- shielding him from the brunt of Bruces rage.
He didnt flinch as Bruce came back- swinging harder as he tried to pierce the protective shell Jasons body formed around Damian. He didnt even cry from pain anymore- his mind only thinking of Damian. How often he did this for him before, for a different man- Ras. How many times did he step between the two, when Damian had toddled off somewhere he shouldnt have? How many times did Jason walk into bedrooms, enduring touches meant for the toddler in his crib, only to come out far older in an hour? How many times did Jason take the pit, take a punch, a night in bed, a wound that Damian wouldnt? How many times was he not there? How often was it he was too late?
His mind roared with it- steeling his soul as Bruce keot pushing, beating a reaction from him as he cradled Damian, singing a soft lullaby Talia used to sing to him on the nights that Ras went too far, when he wouldnt be able to sleep the pains away.
“I love you, habibi. Be good for Dickie, okay?” Jason whispered, offering Damian a last smile before the light faded from his eyes.
Bruce only stopped when his song stopped, blood dripping from pale lips as he gasped- seeing the vivid technicolor red and realizing he was the one who put it there. Damian trembled- realizing Bruce didnt stop because Jason tapped out.
No. Bruce never stopped for tapping out. He called it a cowards way out.
Bruce stopped because Jason was dead.
Truly, completely dead.
The funeral was a somber affair- only Dick and Damain remaining when it was finally time to cover Jason in the dirt.
Damian vaugely thought of how underwhelming it all was- and not at all how Jason would have wanted. There was no al-Dafin. There were no shrouds. Only a boy- in a suit a size too big, stuffed in a casket.
His hands trembled as he squeezed the doll in his hands- a build your own Robin toy from that scam shop in the mall. The voicebox clicked, a crackling background filling the air.
“I love you, Jason. Dont…dont forget me, okay abéh?” Damians voice- lovingly recorded and captured pierced the tense atmosphere. Dick sniffled, slipping the doll from his youngest brother, and gifting it to the boy in the coffin- a memory now, long ago.
“I miss him, Grayson. I…I do not understand why. Im supposed to be better than that. But…I miss him.”
Dick shook his head no. “You’re meant to be seven Damian. Not better. Not emotionless. Youre 7.” He whispered. “You’re 7, and burying your big brother. You cry if you damn well feel like it.”
Damian shook his head, pulling away to go hide in his room- a habit he picked up when he was little. “Come back, Todd. P-please. Dont…” His breath hitched as he hid in Jasons closet- a place he never was allowed to play. “Dont leave me alone.” He begged softly. “Just…dont.” He whispered to the wind- knowing he already was alone, long before Jason went in the coffin.
Jason Todd Al-Ghul was dead.
Damian Wayne Al-Ghul died with him.