Chapter Text
The footage, which people were viewing on TV, livestream, and later, posted videos, began with the dull roar of conversation caused by dozens of eager reporters standing in a conference room without someone important to interrogate. An empty podium stood to the left of several long tables set end-to-end on the stage, with seven chairs spread out behind, and microphones at each place.
After a short eternity which really lasted about twenty or twenty-five seconds, the familiar tall, broad form of Bruce Wayne strode out from a side door. A hush fell over the room as he took his place behind the podium, glanced down at his notes, and then scanned the crowd. His eyes seemed to fix for a second on something in a back corner, and then he took a breath and began.
"Good afternoon. I'd like to begin by thanking you all for coming, and thanking you in advance for your respect towards the topics we are here today to discuss."
He let that hang for a few seconds, but spoke up again before the silence had time to become pointed.
"As you all know... six years ago this April, my second son, Jason Todd, was killed when a warehouse exploded in Ethiopia." Wayne swallowed tightly. "At that time we offered an official statement of events that were not in accordance with the reality. In part, we are here today to correct whatever information is erroneous: both what our family had previously stated, and what rumors have suggested alternatively.
"But we are also here in celebration. Because, by some miracle, six months after his death, Jason was returned to us, and is now alive and well, and will be joining us in a few moments."
A rise of murmurs and whispers accompanied those words. A few people glanced eagerly at the door Wayne had come from.
"In deference to the trauma he endured, and its effect on his mental health when he was restored to life, I saw fit to let the records of Jason's death remain unchanged, to allow him the time and privacy to recover on his own terms. His decision to legally return to life was not easy, but was entirely his own.
"Some of you may have seen the video that Jason and my third son, Tim, posted, which contains Jason's full and... uncensored explanation of both the events surrounding his death and return, and the reasons he decided to come forward about it now. Allow me to summarize for those of you who may not have seen it."
Wayne took a deep breath before going on.
"Six years ago, Jason discovered that his biological mother was not Catherine Todd, but a woman named Sheila Haywood, who worked at a refugee camp in Ethiopia. We went to the camp together to meet her, in the hope that she and Jason would be able to rekindle a relationship. We... We had no idea that she was being blackmailed by the Joker --" A soft gasp rose up "-- into helping him steal medical supplies and replace them with crates of Joker Venom."
Miraculously, the reporters held back their questions, though it was clear a tsunami would break the second it might be tolerated.
"As Jason stated, the Batman had already been following the Joker, and told us not to get involved. But Jason was worried about his mother, and stole our vehicle after Batman left. I couldn't stop him and... Batman was too late to save him."
Wayne's voice had come dangerously close to breaking, but held steady.
"Six months later, he... woke up, alive, but with his memory greatly impaired, and with other lasting physical, mental, and emotional scars. Within two years, however, his memory returned, and after another year, we were able to fully reintegrate him to the family as it had evolved to be. And now we are thrilled to see him return to the fullness of life in this world."
Wayne had a slightly misty-eyed smile then, and blinked suspiciously down at his notes before finishing, "And now he and my other children will be joining me to answer what questions you may still have."
He stepped back from the podium and the door he'd entered from opened again. The sea of reporters leaned forward, cameras raised, but the first Wayne child to emerge was Duke Thomas. He gave Wayne a surreptitious fist-bump as he passed, taking the seat farthest to the right. Duke was followed by Damian Wayne, Cassandra Wayne hot on their heels. Damian and his father merely nodded at one another, but Cass paused for a hug, which made Wayne's smile grow wider.
Tim Drake came next, clutching the travel mug that he seemed to carry everywhere, and walking straight on past Wayne as if he didn't exist. Tim kept walking, going past Cass and Damian, until Duke reached out and snagged his suit jacket. Tim started, glanced back, turned red, and backtracked to take his seat.
Camera flashes blinded all in attendance as Jason Todd stepped into view, followed so closely by Dick Grayson that they almost seemed conjoined. Dick smiled and waved as wonted, ruffling Tim's hair as he sat beside him. Jason held himself stiffly as he walked, doing his best to ignore the flashes, and flicking his eyes in all directions. Bruce followed him to the tables and sat down, leaning over to murmur something in Jason's ear that made the boy huff a laugh.
Bruce leaned forward slightly to say into his microphone, "You may ask your questions now."
The great wave broke in a torrent of sound, with two dozen hands flying into the air at once, all clamoring to be heard. Jason seemed to almost physically rock back for a second, but he recovered so quickly it might have been an illusion.
"In the back, with the red hair," he called, and the rest of the horde settled reluctantly.
"Yes, Mr. Todd, or... would, would it be... H-haywood--?"
"Still Wayne, actually."
Jason's voice wasn't exactly cold, but it was flat and sharp, like a knife.
"Funny, but dying doesn't annul adoption certificates."
Dick and Bruce looked unsure whether they should applaud or scold him. Cass hid a smile by looking down at her lap.
"R-right," the journalist said, sounding chastised. "Uh, Mr. Wayne, then. What prompted your decision to return to life, as it were?"
Now Bruce and Dick were definitely eyeing Jason warily. All the younger children were watching him too, with expressions that varied between excitement and dread.
"I'm going to assume you mean legally, not physically," Jason began, in the same edged tone, "because the latter wasn't exactly a decision. The..." He sighed, biting his lip and looking up, seeming to hem-and-haw before continuing, "polite version... is that it wasn't until very recently that I became aware of certain... misinformed theories concerning how I died. And since, you know, 'dead men tell no tales' and all, I kinda had to come back in order to correct that... misinformation."
Bruce, Dick, and Tim all seemed to breathe sighs of relief. Damian looked mildly disappointed, but perked up when the very next question was,
"Mr. Wayne, could you elaborate on what misinformation specifically--"
Bruce and Dick immediately leaned forward, but Jason just said, perfectly calmly, "For the sake of the censors, I will simply refer you to the video that Tim and I posted, and/or the Buzzfeed Unsolved episode about my death. Specifically the comments section thereof."
Tim got the next words: "Aaaand that subject is officially closed unless y'all want a twenty-two hour linguistics lesson on how to curse in fourteen languages."
"Sixteen languages, Tim," Jason corrected primly. "Anyhow, next question."
"Do you really know sixteen languages?" blurted out someone in the front.
Jason laughed. "Yeah, and I can say 'Can I pet your dog?' in nine more."
"Let's... get back on topic," Bruce said hesitantly.
Jason shot him a brief look that could have been considered petulant but called on the next reporter anyhow.
"How did you discover the plot between your mother and the Joker?"
"So, first of all..." Jason became serious once more, shifting to lean forward, but his tone was less harsh than before. "I just want it to be clear that whatever her faults as a mother, Sheila was not working with the Joker. As far as I'm concerned, she was as much a victim in all that as I was. And to answer your actual question, I literally just stood there outside the tent and eavesdropped, it wasn't, like, dramatic or anything."
"So... Mr. Wayne, previously you'd stated that your mother, uh..."
"Sold me out to a mass-murderer?" Jason finished for the man, raising an eyebrow. Beside him, Dick winced.
"Um... yes. But now you're saying...?"
"Her selling me out and her being a victim are not mutually exclusive," Jason pointed out. "Me, my mom, and the Joker all made choices that caused things to happen as they did, and, speaking for myself and my mother, I don't think we could have guessed how things would turn out. Was it shitty that she sold me out to save her own skin, absolutely, but did she have any way of knowing he was going to shatter twenty-six of my bones before blowing us both up? I don't think so. And it's not like anyone can contradict me when I say that I think, if she had known, she wouldn't have done it."
He spoke in a bit of a rush, reaching across Dick when he finished to snag Tim's coffee and down a gulp of it. Tim scowled, and Dick leaned back to get out of the probable warzone. Jason passed the thermos back and Tim clutched it to his chest, muttering something that could have either been, You're lucky I love you, or I'll fucking kill you.
"Mr. Wayne? Could you elaborate on what your father meant that you, to use his words, 'woke up alive'? Is there any context you can provide?"
"Yeah," Jason said, grabbing Tim's coffee once more. Tim squawked indignantly and Dick's gaze turned suspicious. He leaned over and whispered something to Tim, who shrugged with false innocence.
Jason looked the reported apparently in the eyes and said, almost emotionless, "I woke up in my casket under six feet of mud in Gotham Memorial Cemetery and had to dig my way out."
Stunned silence.
"Zero out of ten, very traumatic, would not recommend."
"H-how...?"
"Currently, I'm putting it down to hysterical strength and the same stubborn determination that gave him all his grey hair," Jason said, tilting his head towards Bruce.
"With all do respect for your stubbornness, Jay," Bruce said quietly, leaning in to his mic, "Tim's impulsiveness is the actual culprit."
Tim beamed. Jason looked offended for a moment before considering and deciding, "Yeah. Y'know what? Same."
"Uh, Mr. Wayne, are you implying that the new streak of white in your hair is due to Mr. Drake-Wayne's, er... shenanigans?"
The whole family burst out laughing. For Damian, that meant a silent smirk, and for Cass bell-like giggles. Bruce quickly turned his laughter into a cough.
"I wish!" Tim cackled.
Dick's face was going pink, and Duke had to stuff his fist in his mouth. Jason had a hand over his eyes, shoulders shaking. He brushed away a tear as he got his laughter under control.
"No," he choked. "Shockingly, no. Not yet, anyway. I actually have no clue what's up with this--" he tugged the white strip of his bangs "-- but it won't hold dye, so we're all stuck with it."
"It's his lucky streak," Dick said happily.
I will punch you, Jason mouthed.
"I have a question for Tim Drake!"
"Shoot."
"When did you learn about Jason's, uh, return? And when did you formally meet?"
"Oh, I knew about it before I was even adopted," Tim said breezily, waving a hand. "'Bout the same time Bruce found out, actually. And he just walked into the kitchen while I was making coffee one day, and yeah."
"Alright, now wait a minute," Jason interjected. "It was not all normal and innocent. I go into the kitchen at three in the chocolate-chip morning and see this little mutant mixing double espresso coffee with two Monster energy drinks and five shots of tequila. It was the first rational thought I'd had since literally before I died, and it was, 'Dear God, he's going to flipping kill himself.'"
A few of the family laughed; others shook their heads. Tim pouted and muttered something unintelligible.
"Don't give me that," Jason huffed.
"And, um, how were you introduced to your other siblings?" someone ventured.
"Cass pulled me out of a panic attack, haloed in light like the angel she is, Damian showed up on the doorstep and challenged the whole family to single combat, and I still don't remember when I realized that Duke hadn't just always been there."
Duke snickered. "That's true. I was in the house for a month before he did the double-take thing and finally asked me where I came from."
"Hey, at least I knew your name," Jason defended.
"Fair."
"Mr. Wayne, do you miss being the youngest of two?"
"Youngest, no, two, yes."
Immediately, Duke, Cass, and Tim assumed kicked-puppy expressions, leaning past each other to look forlornly at their brother. Damian just tutted.
"I thought you loved us," Tim whimpered with theatrical pitifulness. His lower lip trembled and his eyes were glossy.
Dick was shaking with laughter. Bruce face-palmed fondly.
Jason rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. "I do love you lunatics, but that doesn't mean I like you."
Tim squinted, trying to puzzle out whether the statement was complimentary or not. Damian pursed his lips consideringly, glancing up and down the table as if recategorizing his affections. Cass giggled, and Duke shook his head, grinning.
"I have a question for the elder Mr. Wayne," a journalist piped up. "Why offer a false series of events in the first place? I assume you were aware of the reality at the time... uh..."
"I died, you can say it," Jason said. His voice was harder than it had been while speaking of his siblings, but it didn't have the bite that it did when he'd been called Haywood. He glanced sideways at Bruce.
"It was an emotional decision," Bruce said, level and quiet, "For Jason's memory and for our peace to mourn him."
"If your kid was tortured to death and blown up," Jason added testily, "Wouldn't you say it was an accident to get people off your back? Just because we're a household name, shouldn't mean we have to let everyone hold microscopes to our lives."
This was followed by an awkward, rather guilty silence. Bruce gave Jason a look of reprimand, but Jason just raised both eyebrows in challenge. The other Wayne kids were glancing down at the tables, lost, for a moment, in thought.
Finally, one brave journalist in the back asked, "Mr. Todd-Wayne? In your video, you mentioned there were twenty-seven theories surrounding your death. Were there any outlandish ones you found... amusing, even slightly?"
"Well, there was the one that said I was starting a cult."
All heads whipped to face him, including his siblings'.
"Yeah, apparently I had some vision from God and needed to 'die in fire' or something so I could 'rise again' to 'lead my people.'" He held up air quotes on everything, a wry grin twisting his mouth. "And I genuinely can't tell if the theory's a joke or if there's some crackhead out there that thinks I'm some kind of demigod prophet or something."
More silence.
"What, you think I could make this stuff up? Somebody else said I meant to start a cult by faking my death but screwed up the explosives by accident."
Tim shook his head, taking a long sip from his thermos. Duke's jaw was hanging open and Dick had dropped his head onto the table. His shoulders shook, but it was impossible to tell whether he was laughing or crying.
Damian broke the spell.
"Tt," he scoffed. "Goes to show that the internet is insane. Todd can't even get a date, much less lead a cult."
"Wow."
"Damian..."
"Rip, Jason."
"Oof, burn."
"Moving on," Dick said, finally picking up his head. His face was very pink and his eyes were shiny, but they may well have been tears of mirth.
"Mr. Wayne, are you Youtube user JTthezombie?"
"Yep." Jason was still glaring at Damian, who smirked straight back.
"Why come out and say, as you did, that you were Jason Todd, and interact so personally with your family's accounts?"
"Because Tim is a chaos-monger and it's rubbing off on me," Jason said, finally breaking eye contact with Damian.
"God, please, no," Bruce mumbled.
"Mr. Drake-Wayne? Your public comments about Jason, where you said you knew him from being neighbors? Were those 'chaos-mongering,' or--"
"No." Tim was pink-faced, trying to hide behind his coffee mug. "I literally... just... forgot. That he was supposed to be dead."
"Typical Drake."
"Hey!"
"We all forgot on occasion," Dick chuckled.
"Yeah," Jason said, "but I kept a running tally. Tim was statistically six times more likely to out me than anyone else."
"Nerd."
It was unclear just which sibling, perhaps even siblings plural, muttered the title under their breath. Jason shot a suspicious glance down the table at all of them. Bruce coughed, but when Jason whipped his head around, betrayed no sign of amusement at all.
"Uh, Mr. Wayne? It seems as though your timeline of events is... extremely similar to one put forward in the Buzzfeed Unsolved video that you referenced earlier..."
"A family friend," Bruce said, glancing at Jason for permission to take the question, "who shared similar concerns over the widespread misinformation, published the truth as a theory without actually informing the family. I think their goal was to dissuade theorists from subscribing to the... uglier possibilities that had already been suggested."
"She meant well," Jason shrugged. "She probably never considered that I'd just come out and say it myself. In fact, if she'd presented all the facts as such and not just a theory, I may not have done this at all."
"But now that you have, what parts of the, uh, 'living world' are you most excited to participate in again?"
"College," Jason smiled. "They're right, I really am a nerd. Always wanted a degree in English. And I guess I'll have to get about seven or eight other master's if I want to beat his record."
He jerked his head at Bruce, who was looking at his son with a sappy but genuine smile. Dick and Tim both looked as though they thought Jason was a bit touched for being excited about that much schooling, but grinned nonetheless. Cass and Duke snickered a little, and Damian looked mildly impressed at his brother's ambition.
"What else would you want degrees in?"
"Please, no!" Tim groaned. "We'll be here all day!"
Jason laughed. "He's right. I'd study absolutely everything if I could. But I'd prioritize English, like I said... History, Theatre, Chemistry, because this is Gotham, and I'm convinced there is something in the water, and maybe Psychology because we all need therapy and yet will probably never go get it."
"As I've stated," Tim said quietly, "I have a dog."
"You also have PTSD," Jason said critically.
Tim shrugged. Dick was wincing.
"Um..." The journalist cleared her throat. "Mr. Wayne? Bruce Wayne, that is. When and how did you discover that Jason had returned to life?"
"Not right away, I'm afraid," Bruce said, as the whole table sobered. "It took several months for Jason to actually find his way home, and in the meantime we were never informed that the grave had been disturbed. All looked normal when... when I was there between his return and reappearance. It was a friend who actually found him wandering Crime Alley and brought him home."
Friend, Duke mouthed to himself. A few of the others' expressions twisted as well. Jason didn't seem to notice, looking up at his father, apparently just as interested in this part of the story as the reporters were.
"And, Mr. Drake, this was also when you...?"
"Yeah, that's when I found out," Tim agreed. "But we didn't exactly 'meet' until the coffee thing."
"To Cass, Damian, and Duke, how were you informed that your brother had been and was pretending to still be dead? Did that concern you at all?"
"I'd been hanging out around them for a while before I actually got adopted," Duke said, "and Jason was always kind of there, so for a while I didn't even know he was supposed to be dead. But he kept making jokes about it, and I was really confused, and yeah, that was an interesting conversation."
Jason snickered. His siblings all shot him very unimpressed looks, except for Cass, who frowned before signing rapidly. Dick translated aloud.
"'Came home from out of town to find Jason in the library. He was...' Uh, slow down, Cassie, I missed something."
"Having a panic attack," Jason filled in, running a hand through his hair.
"Oh. Um, yeah, that, and... 'he told me' -- Cass, that is -- 'about what happened. And I thought I would stay "dead" too if it were me.'"
"My mother informed me of Todd before she brought me to Gotham," Damian said carelessly. "But I was not entirely prepared for the joking manner he has in reference to such events."
"Listen, brat, when you've been murdered by a psychopath, then you can judge my coping strategies."
"Mr. Wayne, you... regularly... joke about...?"
"Oh, yeah. The other day we were playing Clue, and I said it was Joker with a crowbar in the desert."
All the Waynes except Jason cringed.
"This... this cannot be healthy, Little Wing," Dick muttered.
"Eh, well, that's why I'm getting a psychology degree someday."
"Mr. Wayne?" a woman in the far left spoke up. "I have... I know this is probably an incredibly intrusive question, and you do not have to answer, but... You were given... frankly, a miracle, to be here right now. Are... for other people... those with terminal illnesses or fatal injuries, or those that may find themselves in a situation that they will not leave alive, and who won't get a miracle... Is there any comfort or wisdom you can offer to them?"
Though the whole family had tensed at the admission of an intrusive question, Jason had relaxed into something more thoughtful as the speaker went on. He was frowning off into nowhere, and set a hand on Dick's arm when he leaned forward to change the subject.
He began after a long, breathless silence, speaking slowly.
"I can't say... what comes after. I don't remember. And I think that if I did, I couldn't be sane." He blinked, almost pulling himself out of some... Other, and turned his gaze on the journalist who'd asked the question.
"And I don't really have comfort. I wish I did. But..."
He chewed on his lip, thinking. Everyone was watching him, silent. His family's eyes were pained.
"I guess... It sucks. And it's not fair. But... it's ok to... to feel that way, y'know? It's... we're not... characters on a stage or something, nobody... It doesn't matter if you're scared, or angry, or... even relieved. It's like we've all got it in our heads that we have to be brave about it, or we have to make peace with the idea of dying, and... we don't. Whether you die calm or terrified, it makes no difference to... anything. And that sounds nihilistic, but what I'm trying to say that death isn't some romantic tragedy, and you don't have to approach it like that.
"But... advice, I guess? If you have any way of... making it happen... Don't go alone. I know that nobody wants to do this to the people they love, but... I was..." Jason swallowed hard. "Terrified out of my goddamn mind. But... I could hear B yelling my name. Just barely. And it made it easier."
Jason's were the only dry eyes in the room. Bruce was staring at his son, tears streaming down his cheeks. Dick had hid his face, and no one could wonder this time if his shoulders were shaking from sobs. Tim's eyes were closed, breath hitching.
Barely audible, the journalist whispered, "Thank you."
Jason nodded slightly before turning to Dick and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Dick lurched closer, now crying against Jason's shoulder.
"Come on, Dickie," he muttered, awkwardly patting his back. "Please don't cry, I'm alive, remember? If you keep crying, I'm gonna cry, and..."
If he muttered a curse, the censors forgave him.
He cleared his throat and looked out over the sea of journalists before calling, "Um... in the back, black hair... love the glasses."
Half his mouth turned up in a mischievous grin.
"Thanks," the journalist said drily. "Have you found that because of your death, you are more greatly overprotected than your siblings?"
Jason snickered, and that seemed to permit the room to come out of its trance. Dick slowly stopped crying, but was still clinging to Jason like a limpet.
"First off, thank you for saying 'more overprotected,' because that very correctly implies that Bruce is overprotective as it is."
Bruce said something under his breath that made Jason grin wider.
"And also, no, not really. People panic more if there's blood anywhere near me, but most overprotected award goes to Damian, 'cause he's the baby."
Damian jumped up on his chair, shrieking something in a foreign language. Bruce rubbed his forehead tiredly. Jason, laughing, responded to his brother in the same language.
"Well, that escalated quickly," Tim sighed.
Cass sprang up, smiling, and tugged 'the baby' into a grapple hold/hug on her lap. He thrashed for a minute, still arguing with Jason in what was probably Arabic, and no one wanted to know if the glinting silver on his person was a watch or a weapon. Finally he subsided, scowling, and Duke and Tim, who'd leaned warily away from the chaos, relaxed.
"Sleep with your eyes open, Todd," Damian grumbled.
Dick pulled back from Jason, swiping unsubtly at his eyes. He also spoke in Arabic, and whatever he said made Damian huff and mutter, "Fine. I will forgive this offense, Todd, but only for Richard's sake."
"Yeah, yeah, Dick's the favorite brother, we get it," Jason dismissed.
"Mr. Wayne? When you... returned, why did you not go directly home?"
"You're gonna hate this answer, but I don't know."
"You mean, it was some kind of... gut feeling, or--"
"I mean I don't know." Jason shifted uncomfortably. "I don't remember anything -- at least not with any degree of reliability -- from seeing my own headstone to watching Tim mix caffeine and alcohol. I was... literally catatonic for, like, two years."
"Is... is it possible, then," someone hedged, "that the digging out of your grave, I mean the actually dying, was a hallu--"
"Well, if I wasn't dead when they started the autopsy, I damn well was when they finished," Jason snapped. "You want the pictures?"
"I'm going to have to ask you to drop this subject--" Bruce began, but Jason was still going.
"Or you could dig up my coffin and see it broken through from the inside. There's proof if you want it, since I obviously can't be trusted to know what I'm talking about. Not like I still wake up screaming in the middle of the night or anything--"
"If there's no more questions--" Tim said hurriedly, "then--"
"I have one more!" some idiot in the back piped up.
Jason's eyes were very green, and a little shiny. He was glaring not at, but through the reporter who'd suggested he'd imagined his death, as if he wasn't seeing her at all, but something... else.
Bruce and Dick had both turned to him, and Duke and Tim were leaning forward like they were about to stand. Cass's lips were pursed as she held onto a deathly still, impossibly red-faced Damian.
"Yes, last question then," Tim rushed.
"I'm sorry, it just seems... I can't see how there was no way to stop Jason from running away."
"Right, well, as we said, Batman was off stopping the Joker Venom from reaching the camp, and..."
Tim glanced at Bruce, who was focused wholly on Jason and seemed to be trying to get him to breathe.
"And Bruce..."
Heads were turning from Tim towards Jason.
"Bruce Wayne is actually Batman!"
Dead silence. All heads whipped back to Tim, who was half standing, cringing at himself, and hesitantly spread his hands like, ta-da! Even Jason slowly turned to stare at his brother, looking unsure whether he was actually in touch with reality.
"That's all the time we have," Duke choked. "Thank you for coming -- have a good afternoon!"
And in two blinks, the whole family had rushed out of the room, Duke jerking the door shut against a roar of sound that rivaled the takeoff of a jet engine.