Chapter Text
Bruce was leaving him behind.
Again.
Jason barely noticed the burning heat, the scream of the crumbling bricks, or how the whole world seemed to be breaking apart. His explosions had gone off? His explosions had gone off. He tried to push himself up, tried to shake the ringing noise from his head, but the movement made the side of his neck scream in agony. All he could focus on was Bruce carrying the Joker out of the fiery rubble.
He was going to die.
Again.
He tried to pull one of his gloves off, so he could feel the wound, see how much damage Bruce had done, but his hands were shaking too hard; he had to use his teeth instead. The material tasted like copper and gunpowder. It almost overwhelmed the ashy smoke flooding his senses.
With trembling fingers, he found the long, straight slit that Bruce’s batarang had carved into his throat. The skin there felt wet and it hurt too much for him to even process. He tried to talk. Nothing but a gasp came out.
Jason knew pain, had been trained in it, had been tortured through it, but this felt worse. Maybe because Bruce had been the one to inflict it.
After being homeless in the Alley, Bruce disowning him and Sheila lying to him, the Joker and the bomb, crawling out of his grave and then the League, the Pit and the training, Talia and everything she had done to him, and then being back in Gotham, after all of it, he was going to die.
Again.
What if he woke up in another coffin? Would he have to claw himself out again, panicked and damaged and alone?
A bright flash of light had him screwing his eyes shut, convinced that a gas line had been hit and this was the end. When the burning scream of pain never happened, he forced them open.
A woman stood in front of him.
Everything about her was white; her dress, so long it dragged through the dirt and debris but somehow stayed clean, her long hair, and her pale skin that looked like marble. She was tall, taller than Bruce. Power radiated off her — the air shimmered with each step she took towards him. Her expression was placid but there was a tension around her mouth.
When she looked at him, her eyes were all white. No pupil or iris.
“Oh no,” she said. The words vibrated in his bones. “This is not what I had in mind for you, Jason Peter Todd. I wanted you to escape this violence. I wanted for you to finally find the peace you deserve." She examined her for a long moment. "Let me try again.”
She stared into the air in front of her as if there was something there, flicking through it like someone might browse tabs on a computer. He watched her, each breath a ragged gasp that hitched in his chest. Blood warmed his fingers. It slid down his palm and onto his wrist as he tried to keep pressure on his neck.
Bruce had cut his throat. He had saved the Joker and cut Jason's throat.
He couldn’t stop thinking it.
Bruce had cut his throat. He had saved the Joker and cut Jason's throat.
“Oh. Yes. This looks promising.” She hummed. “Not perfect but he could always treat him as a little brother. Yes. Yes. That will work.” She knelt down beside him and shook her head. “I should have given you more guidance. I should have known better than to interfere in human affairs. Alas, hubris.” She stroked cold fingers through his hair. “Stop fighting, Jason Peter Todd. Let yourself rest. It is time.”
Smoke was thick on his tongue when he opened his mouth but he found he could talk. “I don't want to die again.”
“Oh no, my boy. I am not her. This is not that.” She stroked over his cheek. “Let yourself have this,” she whispered before she put her hands on his chest and pushed.
Jason was flung from the wreckage with explosive force.
He fell through blackness, blackness, blackness.
Just when he felt he would disintegrate from the pressure crushing him on all sides, he crashed down hard onto soft carpet. It took him a long moment to catch his breath, to put pressure back onto the wound on his neck. It took him too long to remember to check out the place he had landed.
He lifted his head with a pained gasp that he failed to trap behind his teeth.
Moonlight lit up a darkened apartment. He blinked stinging tears out of his eyes. He couldn't recognise anything in the dim lights coming from the streets far, far below. Before he could do anything else, before he could even really take in where he was, a lamp flicked on and a gun was aimed at him.
A man with a metal arm stood wielding it with an ice cold expression on his face. “Who the hell are you?” he rasped, voice cold.
Jason shifted, blinking when he moved out of the shadows and into the light.
“Jason?” The man's gun dropped to his side. “Is that blood?”
“Buck, what's going on?” A boy emerged from the hallway, wearing red pajamas covered in multicolored books, and wiping his eyes like he'd just woken up. “What was that noise?”
Jason gasped when the boy pulled his hands from his face.
It was him. Little him. Tiny him.
He blinked but the kid was still there. It couldn’t be real — it had to be some type of dying dream. A hallucination, or coma.
“Buck?” Little him asked again, voice wobbling as his eyes darted between the two of them. “Is that me?”
Jason decided that this was a good time to pass out.
***
He wasn't restrained. That was his first thought.
His second was that his boots were gone along with the comforting protection of his suit. And if his armor was gone, he didn’t even have to wonder about his weapons. Not that he could feel the comforting weight of them. Even the hidden ones were missing.
He had been searched, stripped and then left unrestrained.
He didn’t understand how a mistake like that had been made but he knew he would make whoever had him regret it. He didn’t need his weapons to do some real damage. He had definitely shown that to Bruce in their last fight.
And with that last thought, it all came rushing back.
The Batarang. The explosion. Bruce saving the Joker and leaving Jason to die.
Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t change his breathing. Didn’t react in any way. Just assessed his surroundings like Talia had taught him.
The bed beneath him was soft; not a prison cell or something similar. He couldn’t get the scent of burning candles, spices or the burning heat of the desert that had permeated the air in Nanda Parbat. At least Talia hadn’t gotten him again. He didn't think he could handle being back under her thumb; it had taken long enough to escape the first time.
He remembered the white woman and the burning pressure of wherever she had thrown him.
He didn't want to think about that yet.
Disinfectant. Wherever he was smelt like the medbay in the Batcave, but it was missing the dampness, the musky growth of the underground. This place smelled clean; modern and well ventilated. There were blankets pulled up to his chest. They weren’t the scratchy, overwashed type that hospitals usually had. These were soft, almost comforting.
The quiet breaths of two people sitting nearby dragged him back to alertness with a spike of fear and adrenaline. His League training kicked in before anyone would have even realized he was awake; it kept his heartbeat steady. He focused on everything else around him — the soft susurration of an A/C unit, the cannula in his nose, and the steady beat of a heart monitor. It all confirmed that he was in some sort of hospital.
“I know you're awake, pal.” The man spoke gently as if he didn’t want to startle him. “You’re safe here.”
Where was here?
No. His brain was starting to make connections, form conclusions, and he did not want to figure it out. He absolutely wasn’t thinking about that right now.
Jason opened his eyes, shifting his head to the side with a wince. It took him a moment to remember the apartment, tiny him, and the man with the metal arm. He found Little Jay, curled up on the same man's lap, fast asleep with the metal arm holding him steady.
Jason couldn't remember ever trusting someone that much. Not Bruce. Not even Alfred.
He hissed when he tried to sit up. He was pissed off, sore, and annoyed that wherever he was, this smaller version of him had been adopted by some rich fuck as well.
If the kid was being trained to be a vigilante, Jason was stealing him away.
Tonight.
“Maybe stay down for now.” The man frowned in what Jason thought was maybe sympathy. “Jaybug wouldn't let us give you painkillers.”
Jason rolled his eyes and smirked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Rule number one of enemy territory was to never let them know when you were out of your depth. Rule number two was never let them know you were afraid.
Luckily, he wasn’t scared. He was pretty sure the League had beaten that out of him.
Jason ignored him and pushed himself up. No one had kept him down yet — death hadn’t even managed it — and this stranger wasn’t going to fool him with his fake sympathy and soft voice.
Talia had used the same tactics; Jason had fallen for it at first, desperate for safety and fucking love. He’d learned that lesson hard and he would never forget it.
He thought maybe the man’s name was Buck, but he wasn’t sure if he was remembering that right. His metal arm was mostly covered by a gray hoodie. But the silver hand rested gently on Little Jay’s hip, holding him safely in place.
Or keeping him there.
Jason didn’t know yet.
“He said you'd freak out if you woke up high,” Buck said, dragging Jason’s attention away from those metal fingers. “I can get Bruce to give you some if you want.”
“Bruce?” he asked, voice rough and gravelly.
He hated that he could hear his heart speeding up in the monitor he was strapped up to. Sure, he could wake up in a strange location with no idea where he was and keep calm, but mention Bruce fucking Wayne, and Jason lost all of his hard won abilities to control his body.
He didn’t want to see Bruce. He really, really didn’t. Not now. Not after everything.
“Bruce?” he asked again. “Here?”
“Our doctor,” Buck said easily but his eyes were on the screen currently betraying Jason. “Bruce Banner.”
Jason let out a shaking breath that he knew the man picked up on by the way his eyebrows furrowed. He couldn’t find it in himself to care that he was revealing weaknesses because Bruce wasn't here. He couldn’t do anything to Jason. Not right now.
He took a couple of breaths, let his heartbeat calm, and put his walls back up.
He had long practice doing it.
He sounded like he had gargled glass when he whispered, “No painkillers.”
The man watched him, eyes taking in too much. They settled on Jason’s face once he had managed to get the stupid beeping steady again. “I have one question.”
He nodded, keeping his face neutral. He knew it would probably be something he couldn't answer, or something that hurt.
It always hurt.
Buck, although Jason was still skeptical that that was his name, took a breath and asked, “Are you from the future?”
Relief flooded him. That he could answer. He didn't want to, but it was too late, his brain had already figured it out.
Alternate dimension felt like something out of one of his sci-fi novels but he had come back from the dead. Nothing was off limits at this point. No matter how insane. And it was the only thing that made sense; his brain might have currently felt like scrambled eggs but he was still raised by Batman. He knew how to collect clues, analyze results, and form conclusions.
The strange woman had flipped through something he couldn't see, universes probably, and decided this one with Little Jay, not perfect but he could always treat him as a little brother, was the one worth sending him to.
Maybe he could kill the Joker in this universe before he ever got near the child sleeping so trustingly in front of him.
He could still hear that laugh, bouncing around his skull like a fucking ping bong ball.
“Alternate…” He paused, throat aching. That was a benefit in a way; no way to interrogate him when he could barely talk. “Dimension.”
Tension fell from Buck’s shoulders, and he dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Thank fuck.”
The reaction pissed Jason off and he didn’t know why. “Disappointed?”
“Hell no,” he said vehemently. “It’s just if you were from the future than I seriously fucked up with my kid and I wouldn't have been able to cope with that.” His arms tightened around the kid and in response Little Jay shuffled sleepily into his chest. Buck ran a hand through his curls until he settled.
Jason had to look away as jealousy burned through him. No one had ever looked at him with that much love. Not Bruce. Not Alfred. Not even his mom. Not that he could remember anyway.
He forced himself to think critically; Little Jay had no bruises on the bit of skin Jason could see, he was sleeping in the arms of this man, and he clearly trusted him if just Buck’s hand in his hair was enough for him to relax. So far Jason wasn’t picking up any bad vibes but he was going to stick around until he was sure this tiny version of him was safe.
He couldn't manage to shape the whole question so he asked with as much snark as he could manage, “Do with me?”
“Stark put you through his fancy healing machine so your throat is mostly better. You still need to rest your voice though. The other injuries need time to heal as well. We were mostly focused on saving your life.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It shuddered slightly on the exhale. The hand on Little Jay’s hip tightened just enough to be visible.
“Jaybug said you'd probably hate the infirmary, that you'd want to get out as soon as possible, but I'd rather ask you these things then assume you've had the same life experiences.”
Jason wasn’t used to that kind of consideration. It took him a second to get his rioting emotions under control again. He kept his face expressionless as he did but couldn't help how he clenched his fists in the sheets.
“Didn’t answer.” He finally noticed the plastic cup of water on the table by his bed. He took a sip but it did little to ease the painful ache stretching across his throat. “What are you going to do with me?”
His throat burned afterwards but he didn’t care. He wasn’t sitting here letting another rich prick decide his life.
The man sighed, sounding suddenly exhausted. “You're what? Seventeen?”
Jason pressed himself further up in the bed, ignoring the sharp ache, so he could take advantage of all the height that the Lazarus Pit had given him. He took another sip of water.
“Nineteen.”
The man raised an eyebrow.
There was something intimidating about the expression; a coldness and confidence that shook through Jason, destroying the foundations drilled into him by months of harsh punishments by the worst of the worst.
“Practically,” he conceded, finding it hard to keep eye contact. Who the hell was this guy?
Buck smiled; it softened his whole face. “Are you even eighteen?”
Jason looked away.
He nodded. “Not until August, right?”
“Maybe I have a different birthday,” Jason shot back, and took another sip of water when it made pain shoot through up his throat and into his jaw.
“Wanna try that again?” he asked in a tone that allowed no arguing.
“Eighteen in August,” Jason admitted, annoyed that he felt chastised.
“So six months until you’re legal.” He ran his hands up Little Jay’s back. “You can stay with us.”
Before Jason could argue that he didn't want or need to stay with them, Little Jay sat up suddenly and cheered.
Jason hid his flinch by pretending to fix his blankets.
“I knew you'd let him stay. I knew it.” He grinned at Jason, like he hadn't just been faking sleep. “We have a guest room that you can have. Usually Steve sleeps there before he sneaks into Bucky's room because he has old fashioned sensi… sensibilities.” He stumbled over the word in his speed. “But he'll just have to catch up to this century.”
Jason thought maybe he would be amused if his heart wasn’t pounding in his ears. Little Jay’s comfort and amusement was another point to him being safe but there was no way Jason was staying.
“I’m not staying.”
“But you have to,” Little Jay said as his face fell. “Bucky said you could.”
Jason had never been good at disappointing kids — a huge part of being Red Hood was looking after the street kids — and it was even harder when the little kid was a younger version of himself. Because he might not know this version of himself, but he knew enough.
And he knew this was another rich asshole in charge of the kid’s future. He didn’t know this man. He didn’t know these people. He didn't know if Little Jay was safe. He swallowed down the guilt; he had to make sure that no one was hurting him. He couldn’t leave until he was sure.
Bucky watched Jason carefully, eyes noticing everything, before he grabbed Little Jay’s piercing attention away with a sigh. “I knew you were awake, Jaybug.”
Little Jay twirled around, face aghast. “You did not!”
“Pal, I can hear your heartbeat,” he said, in a voice that was so soft and so full of love that Jason felt like he should look away. “I know what it sounds like when you’re asleep.”
“Creepy,” Jason said at the same time as Little Jay.
Little Jay smiled like he had been given the best gift ever. “This is going to be awesome,” he whispered mostly to himself. “You’ve got to come with us. Please.”
Jason stared up at the ceiling to get away from the desperate look on Little Jay’s face. “Fine,” he said. “Why not?”
He cheered. “Let's get out of here. This place sucks.”
***
Even though technically Jason was only going with them because he didn’t have the heart to say no to Little Jay’s puppy eyes, he was a talented enough liar to convince himself it was because he had to check out the situation and make sure the kid was actually safe.
He refused to let Bucky help him out of the bed, swiping away his hands with a growl as he slowly pushed himself up. Bucky stepped back with his hands up and a furrow between his eyebrows.
Jason wanted to keep refusing help, because showing weakness was dangerous, but Little Jay didn’t wait for permission before he tucked himself into Jason’s side and wrapped his arm around his waist. He grinned up at him, chirping about how Jason shouldn’t hurt himself again.
He let himself be guided to an elevator, every part of him groaning. Whatever they had put him through had cleaned up the worst of the injuries but had left him with a stinging shadow of pain over his whole body. The bruises Bruce had delivered still ached all the way down to his bones, but his throat only mostly hurt now. He felt it surreptitiously and tried not to react at the sensitive new skin marred by a thick scar.
He had hoped with the quick healing and the magic machine of whatever that he wouldn't be left with another mark from another father. Even if the Pit had managed to heal most of Willis’ damage.
Most of it.
He leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator, crossing his arms to hide his shaking hands.
Little Jay stepped back, hands in the air like he was checking that Jason was actually stable, and then he slumped into Bucky, without a hint of fear. He rested his head on Bucky’s stomach, chin digging into the man’s muscle and melted a little when Bucky ran a hand through his messy curls.
Another point to him actually feeling safe.
“Bucky, I’m so tired,” he complained. “I’ll probably be so stupid in school tomorrow that they’ll make me drop down a grade.”
Bucky laughed quietly. “Jaybug, you’re not studying tomorrow morning, okay? You’re gonna sleep in and then I’ll make you and our new friend here some pancakes.”
“We have to get him new clothes too, Buck. He can’t just wear Steve’s clothes.”
Jason glanced down at the sweats and vest he was wearing. At least he knew whose clothes he was wearing now: Bucky’s apparent boyfriend.
“Course, pal,” Bucky agreed easily. “But we'll see how he's feeling first, okay?”
Jason wanted to laugh; he’d be long gone by morning. Little Jay might be as well.
“I guess,” Little Jay whined, sounding half asleep. “Bucky, I don’t want to miss school.”
“I know,” he said gently, carefully untangling curls, “but it’s been a long night and you need your sleep.”
“Whatever,” Little Jay huffed.
Bucky smiled. “I’m taking your laptop, Jaybug. You can’t sneak any school work in.”
“Booooring,” Little Jay said before closing his eyes and leaning more heavily on Bucky, oblivious to the fact that Jason was standing only a couple of feet away. “I deserve an education, Buck.”
Jason could be anyone. He could be dangerous, he was a stranger, in as much as they were the same person — but Little Jay felt safe anyway, which told him that either this Bucky was more dangerous than Jason had first anticipated, and Jason had thought he was very goddamn dangerous, or he truly did feel safe.
Or both.
It could definitely be both.
Little Jay put his arms up and Bucky picked him up easily. “Go to sleep, pal. I’ll put you to bed.”
“But I have to make me feel welcome,” he whined.
“Not you, kid,” Bucky said softly. “Whole different person, okay? And I’ll get Jason settled.” He guided Little Jay’s head onto his shoulder with his metal hand. “I’ve got you, pal. I’ve got both of you. Go to sleep.”
Little Jay nodded and let his eyes close. “Jason?”
He ignored how his eyes were prickling and his throat was tight. “Yeah?”
“You’ll be here in the morning, right?” he asked, voice already slurred with sleep. “You’re not going to leave?”
“Even if I don’t stay, I’ll find a way to come back and visit,” he said, ignoring Bucky’s eyes on him, and how the sentence made his throat feel rubbed raw. Being injured had never stopped him before, and it sure as hell wouldn't stop him now. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m like a ghost,” he said sardonically. “I’ll haunt you.”
Little Jay giggled. “Okay, I guess, but I think you should stay. It’s great here. You’ll like it.” He grinned, buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder, and seemed to drift off almost at once.
Jason had never, not once, felt safe enough to fall asleep like that. Maybe, maybe, during the six months between moving into the Manor and realizing Bruce wasn’t going to hurt him, and the months after when he realized that Bruce regretted ever taking him in.
Bucky glanced over at him. “You don’t have to leave. Not ever.”
Jason was almost certain that he didn’t mean it as a threat; he kept his face blank just in case it was meant to intimidate him.
“Look, at least stay until we figure out if we can send you back to your universe.”
“Nothing to go back to. Burned those bridges pretty goddamn spectacularly.” Jason shook his head and stopped the wince from showing at the sudden pain. “I can’t go back. Pretty sure this trip was a one way ticket.”
He thought of the woman: how power seemed to radiate off her, how it felt like something fundamental had changed when he had been thrown through that dark void. He wasn’t part of his universe anymore. It didn’t feel right, didn't feel like home.
“Just throw me a fifty. I'll head to Gotham. Become a crime lord,” he finished with a flare of humor. His voice was a car crash of noise. The spike of pain made him gasp in a shuddering breath which he covered by kicking his foot off the wall of the elevator. “How hard can it be?”
Bucky examined him, one arm holding Little Jay up and the other wrapped around his back. The kid was passed out on his shoulder, snoring slightly.
Before he could say anything, Jason said, “Seriously, how long does this elevator take?”
Bucky smiled. “Pretty sure Jarvis slowed it down so we could talk.”
“Jarvis?”
“Hello, sir.” A voice said from the ceiling. “I am pleased to meet you.”
Jason shot off the wall. “Oh, fuck no,” he growled. “Not another fucking British butler.”
“Pal,” Bucky said with some urgency. “You really need to rest your voice.”
Jason rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “Fuck this bullshit.”
“I am not a butler, sir.” The British accent reminded him of Alfred. “I am an artificial intelligence system, tasked with running much of Sir’s business as well as security for the Tower and other Stark properties. I am part of the building rather than an actual person.”
Jason shook his head, frustrated and angry. He suddenly, desperately, wished he had seen Alfred just one more time. That he hadn’t put it off for some nebulous time in the future. He wanted to find out if his granddad still loved him. He probably didn't. How could he? Jason had threatened his son, and the golden boy, the real grandson.
Jason was just a hateful memory that should have stayed dead.
The elevator doors finally opened onto a corridor; it was as nice as the manor albeit much more modern. Luxury carpet enveloped his bare feet.
“Where's my gear?”
He had on baggy sweats and a loose vest. No armor. No weapons. None of the clothes he had arrived in. When he remembered that someone had changed him when he was unconscious, he ignored the uncomfortable flip in his stomach. He should be used to shit like that from the League.
“It was custom,” he said when Bucky didn't reply fast enough.
“I think Stark took it to study. He couldn’t identify some of the materials.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah because it’s custom.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” he said, leading Jason down a hallway. “You can’t have weapons where Jaybug might find them but we’ll get you a gun safe.”
Jason snorted; he would be long gone by the next day.
The hallway decor was very neutral, very inoffensive, and he followed Bucky while checking for cameras and listening devices. He couldn’t see any which just made him more sure they were there. No way the building with a fully functioning AI didn’t have top-notch security including hidden cameras and mics. There was a fire door at the end of the hallway; Jason could see an alarm but he was pretty sure he could disable it if he needed to.
“Can just give me that fifty now,” he said as Bucky opened the door to an apartment. “I’m not staying somewhere with constant surveillance.”
“He’s not in the apartment,” Little Jay said sleepily. “I don’t like him either.”
“No one comes into the apartment unless we allow them,” Bucky said, leading him into the apartment and opening the door of what was probably a bedroom. “I do a bug sweep every week and Nat does one when she’s home as well. The apartment is free from surveillance.” He kissed Little Jay's head when he nodded. “I’ll just put Jaybug down. You can have a look around if you want.”
They disappeared into the dark room. There was the creak of a bed and some mumbled words. The whisper of a sweet goodnight to Little Jay, and an even sweeter reply.
Jason had to walk away before his heart tore itself apart.
The apartment was big. There were four doors in the hallway off the front door, and then an open plan sitting room with a kitchen to the left and a huge balcony to the right. He opened a laptop that was resting on the kitchen counter. The screen lit up on an online school. The other tabs were half finished essays and class notes.
Little Jay was in school. Another point for Bucky.
There was food in the fridge and cupboards. No locks either. Some snacks Jason used to love too. Hoodies and books and markers and legos were scattered around the apartment with none of the fear of someone who was scared of being punished for making a mess.
One wall was covered in photos; no frames though, just glossy photos stuck onto the plaster. Little Jay was in most of the photos. A lot were of him and Bucky, always smiling or laughing, comfortable with each other even in the candids.
There were other adults too: a blonde man with a dog, another blonde man with his arm around Bucky, two women with different shades of red hair, and two men in a lab. Everyone seemed happy, comfortable. A picture of the whole group under a Happy 10th Birthday sign. Jason was on Bucky’s shoulders with a bright smile stretching across his lips.
Jason had never had a tenth birthday party. He had already been on the streets for over a year when he turned ten. He hadn’t even remembered on the day; he only realized a few weeks later that he'd missed his birthday.
Jason had to admit that this place didn’t reek of fear. Not like his old apartment had, like it had seeped into the walls and had stuck around even after his dad had left. And Little Jay seemed happy. Comfortable around Bucky. Safe even.
Overwhelmed, Jason spun around and stepped out onto the balcony, ignoring how the cold made his cheeks sting and his toes curl up on the tiles beneath him.
New York spread itself out below him, the famous skyline stretching out and up into the stars.
Somewhere out there was Gotham: Bruce, Alfred and Dick.
He thought maybe that this universe was chronologically behind his own. Tim Drake was probably still away at boarding school. Dick was probably still Robin. None of them even knew Jason existed, or that he was here. None of them cared about him. What would happen if he knocked on Bruce’s door and asked him to be his dad again? Asked him to kill the Joker? Asked for everything he had ever wanted from him?
I'm not your father, Jason. I don't need your teenage rebellion.
Bruce had proven who he was, over and over again, and it wasn’t someone who cared about Jason. He had shown it so many times.
He had cut Jason’s throat.
The sob caught him off guard, scraping up his throat like he had scrapped desperately at the lid of his coffin. He leaned his arms on the glass parapet and rested his forehead on them, letting the tears come. If only to ease the vice around his chest. Each shuddery breath made even more tears fall. He felt like he was unraveling.
Footsteps sounded behind him and he couldn't help how he tensed.
A warm, heavy hoodie was gently placed on his shoulders. He realized he was shivering, violently. The hood was pulled up, covering his head and sliding down over his face. Bucky stepped up beside him, close enough that the warmth of him was a balm on the empty spaces in his heart, but not so close to have his hackles rising.
He wiped his face dry viciously. Last thing he needed was to give Bucky anything to hold over him.
“Jaybug never wanted me to see him cry at first,” Bucky said softly. “Said Willis didn’t allow it.”
Jason shrugged, making sure to stand taller than Bucky. “Said men didn’t cry,” he managed through thick gasps. God, his throat hurt so bad. “He was such a fucking cliche.”
Bucky snorted. “Absolute bullshit, and I grew up in the twenties.”
Jason shoved his arms into the hoodie, pulled the sleeves over his hands and ignored whatever that meant. “Everything he said was bullshit.”
“Yeah, I’m learning that.”
“So, is he still wasting oxygen,” Jason said as callously as he could manage, “or has he finally accepted the sweet release of death?”
Bucky chuckled for some reason. “He’s in prison, but he’s alive.”
Jason hated that his heart ached for Willis as well. He had been the worst of Jason’s young life, and yet, he was suddenly desperate for any bit of familiarity.
“He got stabbed when I was thirteen,” he admitted. “Prison riot. Dunno how much Little Jay cares about him, but maybe try not to let that happen.”
After a moment of silence, Bucky said, “Your voice, buddy. You've got to rest it.”
Jason didn't understand the worry soaking the words. He didn't trust it either.
Bucky sighed, dragging Jason's attention back to him. “Willis pulled some shit last year. Burned a lot of bridges. But I’ll get Tony to have him moved anyway. Get him into a better prison. Just in case. What happened to your throat, Jason?”
“How long have you had him?” He asked, ignoring the question.
He was only here to make sure Little Jay was okay, and then he was leaving. He wasn’t here for heart to hearts, or fucking therapy.
“He can’t be much older than ten so you have to have gotten him soon after mom died.”
His throat was a raw nerve, burning. He didn't care. He refused to let it stop him from having this conversation.
“Catherine was my stepmom,” he said before Bucky could answer. “I dunno if that's what's true here but if a woman called Sheila Haywood ever turns up? Shoot her between the eyes before she even opens her fucking mouth.”
Bucky examined him. “Jay, kid, what happened to you?”
“Oh, well, pull up a chair, total stranger who I just met tonight, and let me tell you my life story.” He rolled his eyes. “Fuck off. I’m not ever talking about it. It’s done.” His hands shook and he shoved them into the hoodie’s pockets. “How long have you had him?”
“Just over a year,” Bucky answered without pushing for more information. “He found me when I had just escaped a… Nazi death cult.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “I killed a Nazi robot dude a few weeks ago. Well, he might not have been a robot. Might have been a guy in a robot suit.” He laughed but it came out cracked and bitter. “Either way he’s dead.”
“Jesus,” Bucky said tiredly. “I wish…” he trailed off and shook his head. “They had me for a long, long time. When I finally escaped them, I ended up in Gotham. Jason was homeless and found me. Kept me. We saved each other, I guess.”
“I thought I had something like that once.” He turned, suddenly furious, and made himself as big as he could. He didn’t care how much training Bucky had. Jason knew how to fight as well. “If you fuck him over, I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
Bucky didn’t react; not angry, not scared, not threatened. Just the furrow in his eyebrows, and that calm expression. “I’m not easy to kill.”
“I’d figure it out,” Jason hissed, more annoyed by the lack of reaction. “Don’t you fucking worry.”
Bucky examined him for a long moment. “Yeah, you probably would, wouldn’t you?” He sighed, sounding exhausted. “What happened to you, Jason?”
“More than we have time to talk about now. The most recent,” he gestured at his throat and said sardonically, “my dad slit my throat.”
“Willis?”
He shook his head. “Adoptive dad.”
Bucky’s eyes widened as he stared at Jason. “That fucking…” he trailed off and shook his head. “I fucking knew he was fucking useless.”
Jason's heart pounded against his sternum. “Someone else sniffing around trying to adopt Little Jay?”
Bucky just shook his head. “No one I would ever let near my kid.” He reached out but stopped when he saw how it made Jason flinch back.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snapped, furious that he had shown any reaction.
Talia had long trained that out of him. Still though, it had been so long since he’d been touched with anything but the intent to hurt, and he already hurt so much that he didn’t think he could handle another hit. He didn’t know if he really remembered gentle touch anymore.
Bucky took a step back and tucked his hands into his own hoodie. Jason hated that it made him feel better, and he hated Bucky for doing it. He didn’t need anyone to treat him gently. It pissed him off that Bucky thought he did; it meant Jason was failing at showing how unaffected he was by the hurt seeping through his muscles. He was better than this.
He straightened up again, loosening his muscles and posture. “You finished asking your questions now? Or do you need to interrogate me some more? When does the pain start? That's the next step, right?”
“Jason—”
“You tried to be nice, gain my trust, and that’s clearly failed.” He grinned, mean and vicious. “I know what comes next.”
“Nobody in this building will ever hurt you. Not when I’m there to stop them.”
Jason laughed; he couldn’t help it. He choked when it made his throat seize. “Sure, I believe you.”
Bucky examined him with those cold blue eyes. “Bruce Wayne did this to you, didn't he?”
Jason fought to keep his expression blank. “If he tries to touch Little Jay, I’ll kill him.”
“No one is taking my kid, Jason. No one.”
Something dark sat in the words but Jason found it more comforting than anything else.
He suddenly wished he had Bucky's protection as well. That feeling was so repulsive, he pushed it away with instinctive disgust. He hadn’t spent a year and a half training to need someone else to protect him.
“I had a nine year old that helped me get over my touch aversion,” Bucky said out of nowhere. “Couldn’t really say no when he needed to be comforted, you know? He might want to hug you, lean against you, touch you. If he ever makes you uncomfortable, let me know and I'll have a chat with him.”
Jason nodded, guilt a heavy weight in his stomach. He didn’t want to disappear on Little Jay without a goodbye but he wasn’t staying here. Once he was set up, he could check in on him. Make sure he was okay.
“I’ll be fine.” His fingers found the scar on his throat again. “I am fine.”
Bucky raised his eyebrow again, and repeated, “Bruce Wayne slit your throat, didn’t he?”
Jason leaned against the glass surrounding the balcony. “My throat hurts,” he muttered, staring out at the lights of the buildings below him. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“Okay,” Bucky agreed easily. “I don’t have any time for that man,” he said with a hint of a Russian accent in his voice that made him sound that much colder. “If he was your adoptive father, and he cut your throat, Jay, he’s lucky it was a different version of him or I’d be over there right now with a sniper rifle.”
A small smile dragged up the corners of Jason’s lips. He could sort of understand why Little Jay trusted Bucky so much. He didn't believe it — Bruce had already proven that Jason wasn't important enough to kill for — but it was a nice sentiment.
Still.
“I can look after myself, you know,” he insisted.
“Yeah but you don’t have to.”
“I always have to.” He couldn’t stop his lip from wobbling and he was glad his face was hidden in his hood. “I have no one else.”
“You might not believe me, pal, but you have me now, and you have Jaybug.”
Jason saw Bucky raise his hand in his peripherals and watched as he very carefully placed it on Jason’s shoulder. It was his human hand; warm and comforting. Tension leaked out of his muscles, and his lip trembled violently. He bit down on it, hard.
“You don’t have to trust me,” Bucky continued, voice as soft as the hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Hell, you don’t even have to believe me. I can just keep showing up until you do.”
Jason blinked his eyes repeatedly. “Like you did with Little Jay?”
He wanted to believe he was asking because he was still making sure that Little Jay was safe, but really he was just suddenly desperate for something from Bucky. He didn’t know what that was, and he definitely didn’t want to examine the feeling any closer, but he wanted something.
And he wanted to leave.
This whole place was suddenly suffocating.
“Like I did with Little Jay.” Bucky laughed suddenly; it made him sound younger. “He’s going to hate that nickname.”
“Yeah,” he replied with a distracted huff of amusement. His brain was running away from him; planning exits and trying to figure out how he could find weapons and money. He didn’t know New York particularly well but a city was a city. “I’m tired.”
Bucky nodded, finally taking his hand off Jason’s shoulder. “C’mon, kid. I’ll show you where to sleep.”
“I’m not a kid,” Jason said, following him and pretending that he didn’t miss the warmth of Bucky’s hand on his shoulder.
“I’m over a hundred years old. You’re all kids to me.”
He led Jason through the apartment and down the hallway, opening the last door on the left and gesturing in, like he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell.
He didn’t look any older than thirty.
“This is your room. I changed the sheets after I put Jaybug down. I put some towels and toiletries on the bathroom counter. Some sweats and hoodies in the dresser. If you need anything, I’m in the bedroom just past Jay’s, right by the front door. Anyone comes in, I’ll deal with it. Not that they will.”
“I can fight. I can protect myself.”
“But you don’t have to anymore.”
Jason’s heart thumped thumped thumped. “There’s always a fight.”
“Not anymore. Not for us.” Bucky stepped out of the room, hand on the door. “Go to sleep, kid. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Jason nodded and went into his room, already planning his escape. He ignored the twinge of guilt he felt at the idea that Little Jay would find an empty bed in the morning.
He pushed it away.
There was no way he was staying here.