Chapter Text
Jason
He’d been to the graveyard before. It was the first place he went when he came back to Gotham. He remembered waking up in the ground, gasping for air and finding none. He remembered beating against the lid of his coffin, putting all his weight behind his shoulders and pushing, thoughts senseless, I’m not dying here blending together with I’m already dead. The only thing that had come through clearly was the same thing that had gotten him through the first twelve years of his life: his indomitable will to survive.
He remembered the wood finally splintering, and then dirt everywhere: in his mouth, in his eyes, under his fingernails. He’d thought, feverishly, about Bruce teaching him how to swim, and how it felt to be underwater, how easy it was to forget which way was up. And he remembered emerging, arms first like a zombie, face next, choking the dirt out of his lungs, dry-heaving onto the ground, looking up and rubbing the dirt out of his eyes and seeing his own headstone like a fucking nightmare, like a horror movie: Jason Todd-Wayne, and two dates that were only fifteen years apart.
He remembered a lot of other things after that. He preferred not to think about them.
It was two years and six months since that day when he’d dug himself out of his own grave. It was three years since the day he’d died. He was back at the graveyard, and they were all here.
He kept his distance, and he’d worn a disguise. He was standing in front of another grave, some stranger’s grave, pretending to be someone else in mourning like they were so no one would bother him. Not that anyone had ever bothered him when he’d been here before. What kind of asshole bothered someone in a graveyard?
They were all dressed in black. They stood for a long time in silence. Long enough for Jason to wonder why he’d come here today. What had he been hoping to find?
Dick spoke up first. Somehow Jason had known that he would. Dick had never been any good at keeping his mouth shut. “A born entertainer,” Bruce used to say. “Fucking annoying as hell,” Jason would say now.
“I miss you, Jay.”
Jason stared off into the distance, hands in the pockets of his thrifted jacket. It was too warm to be wearing a jacket, but Jason liked being warm. Or, more accurately, he hated being cold. The sky was gray. The sky in Gotham was always gray. Jason had actually missed it, when he’d been halfway around the world, training. He’d missed Gotham. How fucked up was that?
“I know I tell you that almost every week. But I miss you the most today.”
Dick’s voice sounded broken. Jason had never heard him sound like that. Dick had never even sounded like that talking about his parents. He’d always sounded more wistful when he talked about them, like the pain wasn’t as fresh and he could dwell on the happy memories instead of the sad ones.
“I haven’t been here in a while. I’m sorry. Things have been going on at home and I didn’t think I could keep it together if I let myself come here. And you know I have to keep it together because no one else will.”
Of course. Dick was always keeping it together. He always had to be the perfect son. The perfect brother. But Jason remembered when he hadn’t been. There had been about a year there when Dick had never been around, because he and Bruce hadn’t been speaking to each other. About a year when Dick had refused to even acknowledge Jason as his brother. Would hardly even acknowledge his existence.
These were the memories Jason had to hold onto when he thought about Dick. They matched the way he felt inside, angry and vengeful. Sharp, jagged edges and teeth. The other memories, from the two years after Dick had become an actual presence in his life, those didn’t fit in Jason’s brain anymore. He couldn’t figure out where to put them.
He remembered the first Hanukkah Dick had spent with the family after Jason’s adoption. He’d given Jason eight different books, one each night. They weren’t the sort of books Jason had usually read; they were books Dick had liked. Science fiction and fantasy. The Golden Compass. Ender’s Game. So You Want to Be a Wizard. The Hobbit. The Giver. Inkheart. The Graveyard Book. Ready Player One.
Jesus Christ, Jason still remembered all eight titles. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“But I was thinking about you the whole time. The whole time, Jaybird.”
Jason clenched his fists at his side. If that wasn’t the reminder he needed, he didn’t know what was. Jaybird. Dick wasn’t talking to him. Or about him. He was talking to, and about, a dead boy. Fifteen years old. Still in the ground, where he couldn’t cause trouble. Jason wasn’t that kid anymore. He kept listening, but he finally managed to detach himself from the words, and that felt better. It felt easier. These were just people he didn’t know anymore, talking about a person Jason used to be. He wasn’t here searching for absolution.
He didn’t know why he was here. The excuse he’d given himself, that he’d come here to gather intel, had felt like a flimsy one even when he’d first come up with it.
“I’m going back to college. I signed up to take classes. I did it because of you. I wanna be someone you would look up to.”
Jason had looked up to Dick once. There had been a time when he would have given anything to be more like him, and to have Bruce look at him and talk to him and treat him the way he treated Dick. Jason had let go of that desire, but kept the resentment it had sometimes fueled in him. The desire to be more like Dick Grayson wasn’t useful to him. The resentment that Bruce had always been so transparent in his favoritism was.
“I was a shit brother to you in the beginning, Jay.” Yes you were, Jason thought. And then, almost turning around to look over his shoulder before he caught himself, Is he crying? Dick sounded like he was crying.
“I’m trying to be a good brother to Tim to make up for it.” Oh good, how magnanimous of you.
“I hope you can forgive me.” I can’t.
“If I could go back, I’d do it differently. You know I would.” Too little, too late, big brother.
Jason felt sick inside. He didn’t take the time to identify what emotion it was; he took it and transformed it into anger. Dick had been a shit brother for a long time. It didn’t matter how many gifts he’d given Jason later, how many joyrides he’d taken him on around town in his shitty old car that Bruce was always telling him would break down on the side of the road one day, how many times he’d tried and failed to help Jason with his homework because he’d apparently instantly forgotten all the math he’d learned in high school the second he’d graduated.
“Can I say something too?” Oh, good, that was the new kid. The new Robin. This was going to be much easier for Jason to get through. He already hated this kid.
“Um. Hi.” Tim sounded so young. Had Jason ever sounded that young? Had Jason ever been young, really, or was he just carrying around the memories from someone who’d once been young? Now he was someone different, born at fifteen years old the day he’d dug himself out of his grave, spitting out dirt instead of amniotic fluid.
“I don’t know if you remember me,” Tim continued. “I’ve been here before. My parents are over there.” Jason had seen the graves. Jack and Janet Drake. He recalled bitterly thinking, How cute, Bruce found himself another orphan. Maybe he’ll actually keep this one alive.
Not likely. Not if Jason had anything to do with it.
Tim continued: “Everyone really misses you.”
Jason wanted to roll his eyes. “Fuck off!” he wanted to yell. Seriously, why were they even letting the kid talk right now? He’d never even met Jason. Everyone really misses you. Jason was gonna rip this kid’s throat out. He’d be doing the world a favor, too. No one would ever have to hear his whiny little voice again.
Jason spent the rest of the time Tim was talking envisioning all the ways he wanted to hurt him.
“The last few weeks, I got an idea of what life might be like if we knew each other.” Throw him against a wall and watch blood come out of his mouth. “I guess we would fight a lot.” Step on his hand until he heard the fingers snap. “I can’t imagine fighting with you.” Oh, I can. “I just want to be like you, although I guess that’ll never happen, because you and I are too different.” Break his nose with his fist, another satisfying spray of blood. “So I guess I’ll try to be someone you would be proud of.” Would shooting him be too detached? Too efficient? “I know if you were here, things would be different, since you’d still probably want to be— want to work with Bruce.” He could shoot him in the kneecaps, nothing fatal, then listen to him scream. “Maybe I could be somebody else.” Shove him down and kick his head in. “Dick came up with his own thing, so maybe I could too.” Boot on his chest, pressing him into the ground when he was too weak to fight back, too weak to do anything but beg for his life. “And maybe we could work together.” The way Jason had begged for his life. “I’d like that a lot.” Maybe he’d beg for Bruce to come save him, like Jason had. But Bruce wouldn’t get there in time.
It took Jason a few dazed moments to realize the kid had stopped talking. He’d hardly absorbed any of the words Tim had said. Didn’t matter. Nothing he had to say mattered. All that mattered was that Jason felt right again. No more thoughts of Hanukkah presents.
Alfred was next. This was gonna be harder. Even fresh from the Pit, Jason hadn’t been able to come up with a good reason to hate Alfred. What had Alfred ever done but cook for him and do his laundry and try to make him feel at home? He’d hounded Jason about homework and chores, but how old was Jason, to be angry at someone for telling him to clean his room?
“The house is not the same without you, Master Jason. I daresay it won’t ever be again.”
Maybe, Jason thought, he should leave.
“No one else appreciates my cooking quite the way you did. And I haven’t made your favorite meal since you left.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jason tried to go back to the part where he was performing imaginary acts of torture on his replacement, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate. Thoughts of violence were suddenly too far away. He was in the Manor. It was dinnertime. Alfred had made his favorite.
“No one else cleans up after themselves as well as you, either.”
Jason had always made his bed, folded his clothes, put his laundry in the hamper. Force of habit. Leave no trace behind. Make it easier for the people around you to forget you exist, because if they don’t know you’re there, they can’t hurt you. He’d learned that one from his father, and then he’d learned it again on the street.
“If Master Clark does start coming around more frequently, I don’t know who will tell him how awful his taste in literature is. I would have relied on you for that.”
God, yeah, from what Jason remembered, Clark read garbage popular nonfiction all the time. Bill Bryson, Malcolm Gladwell-type shit.
“But by far the worst thing to think about is, as well as we got to know one another, we only knew each other for three short years.”
Was Alfred crying now? Jason needed to get out of here. He couldn’t move, though. He was frozen in place, staring unseeing at a grave that belonged to someone he’d never known and listening to the closest thing he had to a grandfather talk about how much he missed him.
“That hardly seems fair, does it? It’s not a very long time, in the grand scheme of things. I think we all deserved to know each other quite a bit longer. I would have wanted to see you grow more at home with all of us at the Manor. I would have wanted to see you and Master Tim interact.” Ugh, why was everyone making everything about Tim? Jason seriously needed to take that kid down a peg. “I especially would have wanted to see what you decided to do with your life.” How disappointed Alfred would be if he knew. “I know it would have been wonderful. You were always such a bright child. I don’t think even you knew how bright you were. And our lives have been that much dimmer without you.”
Jason blinked several times. His eyes felt hot and itchy. At least Alfred was done speaking, and now there was only one person left. This, Jason knew, would give him what he needed. Once heard what Bruce had to say for himself, he’d get his rage back. He felt empty inside without it.
It took a long time, though, for Bruce to speak. Jason started to get impatient. What was he waiting for? Was he not going to say anything? Jason hated the overwhelming wave of disappointment that brought. Why should he care whether or not Bruce said anything? It was better that he didn’t; even more reason for Jason to be mad at him. It was the third anniversary of his second son’s death and what did he have to say about it? Fucking nothing. There it was. Proof he didn’t care. As if Jason hadn’t collected enough evidence of that already.
And then Bruce finally spoke, and Jason realized with a jolt of lightning to his chest why it had taken this long. Bruce was crying too. Jason had never heard Bruce cry, not on the anniversary of his parents’ deaths, never.
“Jason, I—” Bruce cut off with a sob. Jason felt something tugging at him to turn around. He did it casually, although it seemed like that was an unnecessary precaution, because none of them – not Dick or Tim or Alfred or Bruce – were looking at him.
Well, they were looking at him, in a way. They were looking at his grave. Dick had a hand over his mouth and tears streaming down his cheeks. Alfred was dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. Tim had reached out to take Dick’s hand and was squeezing it so hard his knuckles had gone white.
Bruce was on his knees, on the ground. “I miss you, son. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say anything else. That was all.
Jason stood there for a long time, staring at them, not feeling present in his own body. Feeling like maybe he was still in the ground, and they were talking to him after all.
Jason bit his lower lip until it bled; dug his fingernails into his palms until they left red crescent-shaped marks. These people weren’t his family, he reminded himself. Dick had rejected him, Tim had never known him, Bruce had let him die. Alfred… Alfred would choose Bruce’s side, once Jason made himself known and took his vengeance.
Two figures approached. Their faces were nearly identical, but that was where the similarities ended. Jason recognized the taller one easily: Clark, looking somber in all-black like the Waynes, only unlike the Waynes, it didn’t suit him at all.
And Jason knew who the smaller one was, too: Conner, also in black but looking like an off-duty model or some shit. Jason’s intel told him Conner and Tim were thick as thieves, which Jason took as a convenient reason to dislike him.
But Clark was tricky. Like Alfred, he’d never done anything to Jason. The one thing Jason had on Clark was the only thing he had on Alfred: He would take Bruce’s side too. He took Bruce’s side in everything.
The Waynes and the Kents exchanged a few meaningless words, words Jason didn’t pay attention to. He turned back around. He wasn’t worried about Clark and Conner’s super senses. He wasn’t trying to hide, because no one was looking for him. They all thought he was dead. He was just a man in a graveyard.
Clark said a few words to Jason’s grave after that. He was polite that way.
“Everyone who knew you misses you, Jason,” Clark began. “Including me.” He paused, and sighed. “I have a complicated relationship with mortality.” Jason knew about Clark dying and coming back. He’d done his research. “Those experiences gave me unrealistic expectations, because now I do sometimes wonder—” Another pause. Another sigh. Jason tried to piece together what Clark was going to say using context clues, and then he realized: Clark thought there was a chance he might come back too.
Jason had always thought Clark was smarter than most people gave him credit for.
“I know it’s not going to happen,” Clark continued. “It only happened to me because I am… what I am. But God, if it happened to you…” Clark’s voice broke too. Was everyone crying today? “Tell me you think Bruce and I are gross. Fight with your brothers. Fight with your dad. Anything, it wouldn’t matter. The only thing that would matter is that you’re here.”
Clark was going to regret saying that, Jason thought.
Everyone was silent for a very long time. Jason took that as his cue to leave. But before he could go, Conner spoke up. “Can I ask a stupid question?”
Tim’s reply: “I thought that was my job.”
“Go ahead, Conner,” said Bruce.
“Is he buried at the Manor?”
“He’s buried here.” Bruce sounded confused. Jason was confused too. Was the headstone with his name on it not enough of a clue? Maybe Conner hadn’t gotten Clark’s brains.
“Oh,” Conner said.
“Conner, what does that mean?” Clark asked.
Conner hesitated. “He’s not… he’s not there.”
Oh. Shit.
“He’s not,” Clark confirmed after a moment, sounding horrified. Shit. Fucking x-ray vision. They knew. They knew. “Conner, why did you look?”
“I was curious. I’m sorry. I know that’s fucked up.”
Jason needed to get out of here.
“It’s a good thing you did,” Tim was saying, his tone elevating toward panic, “If he’s…” He trailed off. When he spoke again, he sounded incredulous, and outraged. “He’s really not there? Who would do that?”
“We have to find him.” The determination in Dick’s voice was so very like him.
“How are we gonna find him?” Tim said. “For all we know, the body’s been gone for years.”
“I don’t care,” Dick replied. Jason could easily picture the fire in his eyes. “We have to find him.”
Yeah, Jason really needed to leave. He walked casually out of the graveyard, giving the Waynes and Kents a wide berth. No one paid attention to him. He glanced up to see Clark lay a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Bruce, are you okay?”
Jason looked away. He walked to the parking lot. He got on his bike. He took the long way home.
His thoughts were clouded by emotion. Which emotions, he couldn’t be sure. They were all tangled together, and he didn’t have enough mental dexterity to pick them apart, so he pulled out the only thread he needed. No matter what anyone said about him – Dick and his regrets, Tim and his simpering platitudes, Alfred and his happy memories of times gone by, Clark and all those words he’d soon realize he didn’t actually mean, and Bruce, who’d hardly said anything at all – Jason was still angry. He still wanted to make these people hurt the way he’d been hurt.
He’d been planning on drawing this out longer, revenge in slow motion. Establish the Red Hood as a formidable presence in Gotham, lure out Batman and Nightwing and Robin 3.0, commit heinous acts of violence beyond their wildest dreams, and reveal himself only after they’d learned to fear and despise him, so the betrayal would hit that much harder. But he didn’t have time for that anymore, thanks to Conner and his morbid curiosity and his x-ray vision. Jason needed to accelerate his timeline.
It was time for a change of plan.
Other-Jason
It was summer break, finally. Jason had a little under three months to do whatever he wanted. Well, whatever he wanted, and all the college stuff Bruce wanted him to do. Which was fine. He’d already taken the SAT and the ACT three times each until he scored high enough, he’d finished his college essays after that argument with Bruce a couple months ago and Clark had edited them, he’d padded his résumé with some help from Dick (“You forgot to put all your volunteer work with the Wayne Foundation” “Oh yeah, right, good call”). He didn’t have to fill out any student aid forms, what with his dad being a billionaire, so all that remained were college visits.
He and Conner were both going into their senior year – Conner was a year younger than him, but Jason had fallen behind in school on account of his parents not actually caring whether he attended and then living on the street for a little bit – so Bruce and Clark had gotten it into their heads that the four of them, along with Jason’s brothers, should all visit various campuses together.
“Was that Clark’s idea?” Jason had asked his dad when Bruce first told him about this plan.
“It was,” Bruce admitted. “But I think it’s a good one. Clark and I had very different college experiences, and so did Dick, so we can all bring our own perspectives. And Tim is going to college in a few years too.”
Jason had shrugged and agreed to go along with it – he was used to forced family togetherness by this point, and Clark always found a way to make it fun – and he and Conner had put their heads together to come up with a list of schools they both wanted to visit. Gotham University was at the top of the list, and it was the closest to home, so that was where they were visiting first.
“Don’t forget our tour of Gotham University is tomorrow,” Bruce told him one night when he passed Jason in the kitchen, standing in front of the open freezer eating an entire pint of ice cream.
Jason took the spoon out of his mouth. “I won’t,” he said.
“You need to be downstairs and dressed by nine.”
“Got it.”
“Okay. We can’t be late.” Bruce looked him up and down. “Close the freezer; you’re wasting electricity. And you’d better brush your teeth extra well tonight.”
Jason stuck his tongue out at Bruce’s back as he walked away, but he closed the freezer and sat down at the kitchen counter to finish his ice cream, and he brushed his teeth for a good five minutes before bed. He’d had enough expensive dental work already. Not that Bruce couldn’t afford to pay for more, but four crowns and a root canal by eighteen was probably enough.
In the morning, Bruce, Dick, and Jason piled into one car and Clark, Conner, and Tim took another. Dick let Jason ride shotgun, “Because it’s your special day,” he said obnoxiously, pinching Jason’s cheeks. Jason slapped his hands away.
“Act your age, both of you,” Bruce warned, fastening his seatbelt. Dick blew Jason a raspberry. Jason leaned his chair back until it smacked Dick in the forehead. Dick swore, Bruce scolded him, and Dick slid over to sit behind the driver’s seat.
“Can we stop at McDonald’s?” Dick asked ten minutes into the drive.
“No,” Bruce said.
“Please, Dad?” Dick begged, blinking his big blue eyes in Bruce’s rear view mirror.
Jason threw his hat in the ring. “I could go for some hash browns,” he said, grinning when Bruce glared at him.
“Clark is following us,” Bruce reminded them both. It was a good point. Clark didn’t know how to get around Gotham very well. He almost always had Bruce to drive him.
“He’s got Tim with him,” Dick countered. “He knows how to get to Gotham U.”
“And Alfred made breakfast for everyone this morning,” Bruce added. “It’s not my fault neither of you woke up early enough to have any.”
“I had to drive all the way from Blüdhaven,” Dick whined.
Bruce still wasn’t budging. They were about to pass a McDonald’s. Jason brought out the big guns. “Dad,” he said in a pleading voice, “I’m so hungry.”
Jason waited for his words to take effect. He saw Bruce clench his jaw and sigh. Jackpot.
Bruce pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru. Dick pumped his fist in the air. Jason leaned back in his seat, triumphant.
After he and Dick gave Bruce their orders, Jason felt his phone buzz.
DICK GRAYSON: Devious, little brother. Playing the “starving street kid” card? I can’t believe that still works.
JASON WAYNE: it always works 😈
DICK GRAYSON: You are EVIL. I love it. Thank you 🙏
Another buzz, in a different conversation.
TIM DRAKE: you guys got dad to go to mcd’s???
CONNER KENT: i want hash browns!
TIM DRAKE emphasized a message.
“And two extra orders of hash browns,” Dick added quickly, looking up from his phone. Bruce rolled his eyes and relayed this to the attendant.
DICK GRAYSON: I got you 😉
CONNER KENT: 🙏
TIM DRAKE: 🙏
Through a mouthful of food, Dick turned to Jason and asked, “What do you think you’re gonna study?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Bruce grumbled, sipping his shitty black coffee.
“Easy,” Jason answered, ignoring his dad. “English.”
Dick grinned. “You’re seriously gonna be an English major? Don’t you want a job?”
“Shut up, Sociology major,” Jason retorted. “And I don’t need a job that pays well. I’m already rich. I can do something I actually like.” He looked at Bruce, expecting a lecture about how he couldn’t simply rely on his inheritance and he needed to make practical life choices, but Bruce was smiling. Weird.
“Guess it’ll be up to Tim to run the family business,” Dick said.
“Or he could major in Philosophy and force Bruce to adopt a new kid,” Jason suggested.
“Don’t talk like that,” Bruce warned, deadly serious. “Three kids is my limit.”
“What about Conner?” Jason pointed out.
“Four,” Bruce amended.
They arrived at Gotham University, found Clark, gave Conner and Tim their hash browns (“You didn’t get me a coffee?” Tim exclaimed, heartbroken), and walked as a group over to where their tour guide was supposed to meet them. (Bruce had gotten them a private tour, because of course he had.)
The tour guide was a senior at Gotham U, and he definitely recognized them (except probably Conner, who had just barely moved in with them and wasn’t famous yet). When Clark asked, he told them he was majoring in Journalism, and said, starry-eyed, “You’re Clark Kent, right? You won a Pulitzer last year.” (Ah, so he hadn’t recognized them as Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne’s fiancé, and Bruce Wayne’s kids; he’d recognized them as Clark Kent, Clark Kent’s fiancé, and Clark Kent’s fiancé’s kids. That was refreshing.)
The student showed them around the school itself first: the science building (Conner had to physically drag Tim away from a startled group of Computer Science students who he’d started asking rapid-fire questions to), the humanities building (which Jason and Conner were more interested in), the arts building (that was a quick visit), the social sciences building (“Good times,” Dick said wistfully, like he’d spent more than a single semester there), the business school (where Tim would likely end up, unless he went with Jason’s “force Bruce to adopt a new kid” plan), the medical school (named after Bruce’s dad), and the library (this time Jason had to be dragged away).
They stopped by the dorms, and Bruce turned to Jason with the saddest, most pathetic look on his face and asked if he was planning on living there instead of staying at Wayne Manor and Jason said, “Nah, I’ve gotten used to my current shitty roommates; I don’t wanna risk it with a new one.” Bruce’s smile (and the fact that he didn’t scold Jason for his language) told Jason all he needed to know about what Bruce thought about that.
Once they’d seen everything, Bruce and Clark had asked their tour guide all about the school and his experience there and a ton of other questions the kid finally had to tell them he didn’t have the answers to, but he could put them in touch with someone in the admissions office (“No need,” Bruce said, “I already am”). Bruce turned to Jason and Conner. “Any questions from you two?”
Jason and Conner looked at each other. Jason was relieved to see his own bewilderment reflected back at him (behind the flimsy veneer of Conner’s ego, which, like Jason’s, would never let him actually admit when he was feeling overwhelmed). “I think you just about covered it, Dad,” Jason said.
Clark gave their tour guide his business card – “There might still be summer internships available,” he said – and they split back up into their respective cars.
“What did you think?” Dick asked Jason, grinning ear to ear. “Are you excited?”
“Sure,” Jason said, “I guess.”
“Come on,” Dick reached forward and poked Jason sharply in the back of the shoulder, “I thought college was your big dream.”
“It is.”
“So then why aren’t you excited?”
“Dick,” Bruce warned.
“I am,” Jason insisted.
“I’ve known you for six years, Jay,” Dick said, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a skeptical eyebrow. “I know when you’re lying.”
“Leave your brother alone,” Bruce told Dick. “Going to college is a big transition. It’s normal to have complicated feelings about it. I remember you did.”
Jason was surprised to hear that. He turned around to look at his brother, the perfect, accomplished, self-assured Dick Grayson. “You did?”
Dick shrugged. “Sure I did. My parents didn’t go to college, and Dad was like a baby Einstein going at twelve.”
“Sixteen,” Bruce corrected.
“You’re not helping your case,” Dick said. “Anyway, I didn’t know what to expect. I thought I might not be good enough.”
That was exactly how Jason felt. His parents – Willis and Catherine – hadn’t gone to college. Sheila had, but it wasn’t like Jason had ever talked to her about it. “Yeah,” Jason said quietly.
“You don’t have to worry, though, Jay,” Dick continued. “You’ll get in. Your test scores are good, your grades are good, your essays are good, you have an impressive résumé. And the medical school is named after your grandfather. You’ll get in.”
“I know I’ll get in,” Jason said. “But what if I don’t finish?”
“You will.” Dick sounded so certain. Jason wished he could borrow some of that confidence. “If I can finish college, you definitely can. Just don’t get into a fight with Dad after your first semester. Paying tuition sucks.”
“You know I’ll pay off your student loans if you let me,” Bruce said. Dick waved him off.
“I know. Listen, Jay, college isn’t that hard compared to the school Dad sent us to. Maybe it is if you pick a real major, but Sociology and English? That’s easy street. It’s just a lot of writing. You’re good at writing.”
“Everyone keeps saying that,” Jason mumbled.
“Because it’s true. You could be an author.” Dick smiled genuinely. “Seriously, I’d read your book.”
“So would I,” Bruce chimed in.
“What if it was an exposé of my crazy family?” Jason said.
Dick grinned. “Even better.” Bruce rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too.
They stopped for lunch with Clark, Tim, and Conner before returning to the Manor in the late afternoon. They all walked into the house together, where Alfred greeted them in the kitchen.
Jason reached into his back pocket, then frowned. “Hold on,” he called out to no one in particular, “I left my phone in the car. Be right back.”
He went back out to the garage and searched the front seat, then the area around the front seat, and finally found his phone in the crack between the passenger seat and the center console. “There you are, you little shit,” he muttered. He wiped the screen off on his t-shirt and went back inside.
The kitchen was empty. Alfred had just had tea set out for everyone, but it was gone. Martha’s tea set was in the cabinet. The lights were off and the entire house was silent. “Where the fuck did everybody go?” Jason said aloud. He raised his voice and called out, “Dad?”
He waited. No answer.
“Dick?” Same result. “Tim? Clark? Conner? Alfred?”
Nothing. No one. Jason frowned and went out to the garage a second time. The car Bruce had driven to Gotham University was gone. It had just been there. Jason had just found his phone under the seat. He would have heard if someone had driven it away. Right?
He went back inside, anxiety already starting to prickle up his spine. Whatever sick prank this was, he wasn’t going to fall for it. And whoever had come up with it was gonna get a knee to the groin. “Alright, guys, very funny!” he shouted, wandering through the kitchen (still empty and dark), the media room (empty and dark), the library (empty and dark), the study (empty and dark), and back out again, over to the stairwell. “You all suck! I’m going to my room; don’t bother trying to talk to me, assholes!”
He stomped upstairs, loudly, to prove a point, and then flung open the door to his room. He stopped dead. “What the fuck?” he said to himself.
The entire room had been redecorated. It looked exactly like it had when Jason was in middle school, about to enter high school. The old desk chair he’d broken his sophomore year when he’d leaned back in it too far, fallen over, and knocked his head on the ground. His smaller bed, a twin; he’d had a growth spurt at age sixteen, when he’d finally stopped being child-sized. His old bedsheets, green ones, instead of the red he had now. His old, smaller bookshelf, with none of the books Bruce or Dick or Clark had given him over the past three years (if anyone had done anything to those books, Jason was going to hurt them). Framed pictures on the dresser of him ages twelve through fifteen with Bruce, Alfred, or Dick. Again, nothing from the past three years. Nothing with Tim.
“Who did this?” Jason yelled into the darkness, torn between anger and the growing panic in his chest. “Did you guys seriously rope Alfred into this? This isn’t funny!”
The only response he received was the echo of his own voice.
“Forget it,” he decided, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him. “Fuck this family.” He marched back downstairs and into the kitchen. He was gonna pour Bruce’s expensive whiskey down the drain. He was gonna dump Tim’s fancy coffee and Dick’s favorite cereal into the trash. He might even smash the bottle of wine Lois had given Clark as an engagement present. Show them to mess with his stuff.
He was still plotting his revenge when the garage door opened, and he heard voices. He spun around and glared as Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Tim filed into the room. No Clark or Conner. Maybe they weren’t involved. (Good thing Jason hadn’t smashed that bottle of wine yet.)
“There you guys are. What the fuck?” Jason crossed his arms and waited for an apology.
In his initial anger (mixed with relief), Jason hadn’t noticed the small changes, but he noticed them now. Everyone was wearing different clothes, for starters; they were all dressed in black, like a bunch of stagehands. Really upscale stagehands. Bruce, Dick, and Tim looked… larger? Tim especially. Everyone had dark circles under their eyes, darker than Jason was used to even from Tim, and looked like they’d been crying.
And they were staring at him. Like they’d seen a ghost. Tim’s face was white as a sheet. Bruce’s expression was the perfectly neutral one he got when he was feeling too much. Alfred looked like he might have a heart attack.
And Dick, eyes wide, reached out a tentative hand toward Jason. “Jason?” he said in a small, hollow, hopeful voice.
Jason scrunched up his nose and leaned back, away from Dick’s grasp. Now he was really weirded out. “Was this your idea, asshole?” he asked, summoning his anger to distract from the anxiety that had surged within him again. “Fuck you. You freaked me the fuck out. ‘Let’s play a prank on the kid with abandonment issues; it’ll be so fucking hilarious.’”
Dick flinched away from Jason’s words, but he looked more confused than hurt. And still hopeful. He was looking at Jason like he was an oasis in a desert and he still wasn’t sure if it was a mirage.
No one else had moved. “Well?” Jason prompted, sweeping his gaze over all of them. “What do you all have to say for yourselves?” He landed on Dick again, whose eyes were suddenly brimming with tears, and he recoiled. “Are you gonna cry?”
“Ev…” Dick’s voice cracked on the first syllable, and he cleared his throat. “Everyone else is seeing this too, right?”
“We all see him, Dick,” Bruce said, in a much quieter voice than usual.
Dick nodded slowly. “Okay. Good.”
“Why are you here, Jason?” Bruce asked, slowly, gently, like he was speaking to an animal instead of a person. A skittish animal, a deer that might bolt if he made any sudden moves.
“I live here,” Jason said. “This is my home.” Bruce let out a small, pained noise. Jason was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Was this all part of the prank?
“I believe what Master Bruce was meaning to communicate,” Alfred said, speaking up for the first time, and even he sounded different, and not quite right, “Was… Master Jason, how are you alive?”
Jason didn’t know what to say to that. If this was a prank, it was an incredibly elaborate one with no apparent punchline. “What do you mean?”
“We thought you were dead, Jay,” Dick said, voice cracking again on Jason’s name.
Jason shook his head and took a few stumbling steps away from everyone. “You were only gone for like, five minutes,” he said. “Did I black out in the garage or something? Why is my room like that?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of his room.
“I didn’t want to change anything,” Bruce said. “I wanted to remember you.”
“You changed the whole thing.” Jason had raised his voice again. His anxiety was through the roof. Was this what gaslighting felt like? Was his family gaslighting him? “Where’s all my new furniture? Where’s my bed and my bookshelf? Where are all my new books? Why aren’t there any photos of Tim in there? How’d you fix my old desk chair? And how’d you do all that in an afternoon? Everything was the same as it always is this morning.”
A thought occurred to Jason. It didn’t make a ton of sense, but it made more sense than anything else. “Is this about me going to college? I told you I wouldn’t go live in the dorms. Isn’t that what you wanted? Why are you doing this to me?”
Now Bruce looked just as confused as Jason felt. “When did we talk about college, Jay?”
“All day!” Jason exclaimed. “We just spent all day talking about college! You were there! All of you were there except Alfred, and Clark and Conner were there; where the hell are they? Why did you all change your clothes? Why do you all look different?”
Jason saw the moment understanding dawned in Bruce’s eyes. “Different how?” he asked.
“You all look like you hit the gym,” Jason said. He gestured to Tim. “Tiny here looks like he could actually throw a punch.”
Something Jason had said must have hit everyone at once. Tim finally broke out of his trance-like state, putting a hand over his mouth in shock. Dick’s jaw dropped. Alfred closed his eyes momentarily.
“Jason,” Bruce said, his tone even more serious than before, “How long have Clark and I been together?”
Did they think Jason had a concussion? If that was the case, they should probably ask him some questions he actually knew the answers to. “I don’t know. Longer than I’ve known you.”
“How long has Clark lived here?”
“Longer than me.”
“When are we getting married?”
“In March.”
Dick looked ill. “He’s the other Jason.”
Jason looked at Dick. He looked at Bruce, and Tim, and Alfred. What Dick had just said seemed to mean something to all of them. They all knew something he didn’t. “What ‘other Jason’?”