Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It had been three months since the incident at Titan’s Tower, and Jason was a mess. 

He figured out only the week after it happened that his entire plan had to be shelved. Without the green haze he’d been living in for years, he couldn't stomach some of the more heinous things it had involved. Especially having Black Mask break the Joker out of Arkham. There was no guarantee he could keep control of that situation, and if anyone innocent died because of it, their blood would be directly on Jason’s hands. 

The clown escaped on a regular enough basis as it was. He didn't need to engineer a scenario that would happen without his interference. He also completely scrapped the idea of making an example of his replacement. The new Robin was just another fucked up kid in tights, and Jason was done breaking his own rules for the Pit.

But without those two key parts of his plan, he was left just… waiting. Waiting for time to pass. Waiting for things to happen that were out of his control. He kept himself busy, kept his men in line, protected the street kids and the working girls and slowly rotted away inside his helmet, waiting, waiting, waiting.

And with every day that passed, he felt more uncertain. He’d had two Pit episodes since he'd come out of the fog he'd spent the last few years in. Once, when he'd been too late to stop an organ trafficking operation and found too many small bodies in pieces, and once when Batman had tried to corner him in the Alley.

The first time, it had been welcome. They hadn't even given their victims the dignity of a body bag, just piled them up by the incinerator like they were trash. Jason would never forget the sight of tiny limp hands so coated in red that they dripped. He’d come back to himself in the middle of a bloodbath of his own making, and there had been no guilt, only grim satisfaction. 

But the second time.

Paula had alerted him to the presence of a Bat in his territory, as per his new protocol; no one was to engage but him. Jason had found the intruder quick enough. Batman wasn't hiding. He stood on the roof of the opera house, the very picture of the dread Dark Knight he was supposed to be. It was enough to make Jason’s vision swim before he even made it up there.

“I thought I told you to stay out of the Alley,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Jason,” started Bruce, and cut himself off at the warning shot Jason planted between his feet. 

“Hood,” he amended. “We need to talk.”

“Like hell we do,” Jason snarled. “The next one will be somewhere far more painful. Leave.”

The damned cowl didn't even twitch. Jason knew Bruce could emote with it, he had to in order to keep from scaring children and victims, but Batman’s face remained a stoic frown. It made Jason want to introduce it to his fist.

“Come to the Cave. Neither of us wants to have this conversation standing on a rooftop.”

“I don't want to have this conversation, full stop. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Hood,” Batman insisted. “Come home.”

“Come home?” Jason laughed, incredulous. “Come home? Why would I do that? No really, B, tell me. Why would I follow you back to your little clubhouse? Have you changed your mind about throwing me in Arkham?”

What little of Bruce’s skin he could see paled.

“Never. I would never do that to you. I just want you home. With your pack, where you belong,” he pleaded. Rage boiled in Jason's veins and he held on to his composure by the barest thread.

“I’m not going to play fucked up happy families with you, not when my murderer is still out there. Unless you're here to tell me you’ve put a bullet in his skull, I don't want to hear it.”

Bruce's face spasmed.

“I can't do that, Jay. You know I can't.”

He took a step forward, and Jason’s knuckles creaked with the force of not pulling the trigger again. He flicked the safety back on and shoved the gun into its holster.

“Stay away from me, Bruce,” he warned, unhooking his grapple as he turned to leave. “I mean it.”

A black gauntlet landed on his shoulder, halting his momentum, and the green Jason had been fighting off surged up faster than he could combat it. When he surfaced again, he had his father’s blood on his hands and a scrap of black cape clenched in his fist. Batman was gone, vanished somewhere into the night and Jason was alone again. 

He hadn't been able to watch all of the footage his helmet recorded without the emotions he was trying fiercely to bury rearing up, but he saw enough to know he hadn't killed the man. He told himself it wasn't a relief, and hoped that one day the lie would stick.

Batman couldn't kill the Joker if he was dead, at least. That was one of the only things that hadn't changed. He still wanted his murderer dead, and he still wanted his dad to be the one to do it. He needed Bruce to prove that Jason was worth more to him than the life of that worthless piece of crap. 

The only positive to have come out of the whole mess that was the last three months was his not-so-secret penpal. Paula was awful at keeping gossip to herself, so by the time Jason had dealt with the actual tip Tim had conveyed, most of his gang knew he had a brother. Thankfully, no one had connected any dots between that and his about-face when dealing with the Bats, but the side-eyes and whispering had gotten so bad he’d had to send out a mass text addressing it.

Yes, he had a family. He didn't spring fully formed from the Earth to take over the Alley. No, he didn't need their recommendations for pack counsellors. Yes, the next person to bring it up would go home with fewer extremities than they arrived with. 

Just the average, run-of-the-mill crimelord communications. It fit right in with the memes Tim was sending him at least.

When Jason wasn't trying to orchestrate his gruesome and agonising murder, Tim was actually quite a funny kid, and smart as hell. Scarily smart, as a matter of fact. The whole tip off ordeal had been an eye opener on both how intelligent Tim was, and how much of a little shit he could be.

He didn't quit when the job was done either. Despite Jason’s icy responses, he doggedly pestered him with random texts every other day. It got to the point where he started to worry when he hadn't heard from the brat for over 48 hours, and he fell prey to his instincts demanding he check up on the pup more than once – not that Tim knew. Jason’s ultra-long-distance scope got quite the workout from his spying into the lit windows of Wayne Manor at night.

He knew it was only a matter of time before the precarious normality he had assembled imploded once and for all. No one in his godforsaken family could stand to leave things unfinished, least of all Bruce. Sooner or later, someone would run out of patience. Jason just never expected it to be him.

~

It all came crashing down on a benign Tuesday evening. Jason wasn't patrolling, laying low after a particularly loud disagreement with a mob of False Facers the previous night. Technically, he had been in their territory, so he'd give them a day to cool off before he showed his helmet on the streets again. He was lying on the couch, trying and failing to concentrate on his book when his phone buzzed on his chest. He flipped it over, peering down at the screen awkwardly to avoid raising his head too far.

Brat: alpha come home

Jason's instincts hit high alert instantly. 

Tim didn't call him – or anyone, for that matter – alpha, not when he wasn't in a life-threatening drop at least. He just didn't. They maintained the polite front of plausible deniability over their texts; Jason was just a random number in Tim’s phone that sometimes badgered him to take care of himself. Tim’s sporadic tips and memes were brief and snarky and not personal. This was way beyond the scope of their interactions. 

Alpha come home.

Something was very wrong.

Jason sat up and snagged his laptop, pulling up the back door he had built into Oracle’s network. He has no illusions she didn't know about it; he’d never been half the hacker Barbara was, and if she didn't want him there he wouldn't be there. But the back door remained. He had access to the basic files on the Batcomputer, permission to tap into the comm lines and importantly for now, live monitoring of the trackers every member of the pack wore, in and out of costume. Well, he would once he got through the paper thin firewall the trackers were behind. It was more of an indicator that they would know if he accessed them than an actual deterrent, and he bypassed it in under thirty seconds.

Babs herself was in her father’s apartment in downtown Gotham. Her status on the comm line was set to “Do Not Disturb Unless It’s The Actual Apocalypse”, something Jason could remember her taking extremely seriously. Crossed off the list.

Dick was in San Francisco, or at least his tracker was. It hadn't moved from Titan’s Tower for nearly 48 hours, a clear sign that he was off-world or so deep undercover he’d had to leave the tracker behind. Uncontactable. Crossed off the list.

Bruce was in Metropolis, Alfred too. They'd been gone only a few hours, according to the logs. A quick search brought up various articles about some charity gala. If previous experience held, they’d be back before morning, but Bruce wouldn’t blow off a gala unless it was a last resort. Crossed off the list.

The little red dot labelled with a simple R was sitting in Wayne Manor, all alone.

Alpha come home.

None of the numerous alarms on the Wayne property had been triggered, either the ones set up by the residents or the ones Jason himself had added that they pretended not to know about. There were no Arkham alerts, no Justice League messages, nothing to indicate any brewing trouble. Tim was secure in the most fortified building in the continental United States, and Bruce would be back by morning. 

But that meant Tim was in the manor alone right now. And he had called Jason Alpha.

Jason cursed and flung himself off the couch. 

He continued swearing as he suited up, forgoing his red helmet in favour of a nondescript black motorcycle one. He didn't know if this was Bat business or pack business, but he was leaning on the latter, and he didn't want to introduce a crime lord element to a civilian situation. That didn't mean he was going unarmed though; he never went anywhere without at least one gun these days. 

The ride out to Bristol went by quickly, thanks to Bruce’s Harley. Jason had gutted it for trackers, and put it back together with extra flame throwers, but it was still a beast of a bike. He broke several speed limits without a thought; it was still registered under Bruce's name, and he could afford the fines. In no time at all, he was in front of the gates of the Manor.

Jason paused at the keypad. He hadn't thought this part through. His codes were probably gone from the system after he used them to get into Titan’s Tower. He could hack in, but that would take time he didn't really have to spare. Hesitantly, he punched in his code anyway, and to his surprise, the lock beeped cheerfully and the gate began to open. Bruce really hadn't learned anything, had he?

Jason dumped the bike just inside the property line. He wasn't going to give away his position with the noise of the engine if it could be avoided. Nor did he take the front door after he trekked up the long driveway; he ducked around the back and hopped the low fence into Alfred's vegetable garden. It had a door that led directly into the kitchen, which was dark and empty.

The Manor was eerily silent, and it put Jason on edge. Muscle memory led him through the building like a ghost, up the stairs and into the family wing. The room Tim had stayed in during his drop had its door slightly ajar, and Jason peered into it cautiously. 

Without the lights on, it was difficult to make out details, but his Pit-enhanced vision was enough to determine that the snarled sheets were empty.  He sniffed, and caught a familiar heat-sick scent; pine and loneliness. The picture began to make sense, and it wasn't a pretty one. His pack had abandoned an omega-pup in heat, and lacking any other options, Tim had reached out to Jason, an alpha who nearly killed him the last time he was like this. 

He stalked down the halls, trying to rein in his rage. He wasn't going to abandon the pup, but he was furious that it had come to this. This wasn't his problem. If Bruce was going to step in and whisk kids away into his mansion, he had damn well better take care of them, but so far it had been up to Jason to pick up the pieces. Right now though, he had to focus on finding the kid and making sure he was safe.

If he were in rut, alone and in pain, where would he go? He thought of the huge Alaskan King in Bruce’s bedroom, where Jason had camped out whenever he was sick or scared, but he couldn't picture Tim doing the same. Tim wasn't afraid of Bruce, not to Jason's knowledge, but he was… distant. So distant that he hadn't been an official part of Bruce's pack until after the attack. But the way Dick had looked at him when Jason shoved the kid into his arms wasn't nothing. If not the pack alpha, then maybe Tim would seek the comfort of the pack in its entirety.

Jason slipped down the stairs and made his way through the darkened halls to the heart of the Manor. There was a lamp on in the library, which neatly confirmed his hypothesis. He paused to shuck off the body armour he’d thrown on, and drop the helmet on a nearby coffee table. Then he padded over to the den on socked feet, and slid open the door.

A wall of sad-pain-lonely pup scent smacked him in the face, and Jason grit his teeth and clamped down on his twitchy alpha instincts. It was fifty-fifty if they would be helpful in this specific scenario, with this specific pup; they were just as likely to urge him to rip his throat out as they were to turn him into a protector. Until he was sure which way the scales would tip, he would be doing this without his alpha. He flipped on the fairy lights that draped from the ceiling, looking for Tim.

It took a second to spot him. He had burrowed into the layers of the nest, burying himself in blankets and pillows until there wasn't an inch of skin showing. The only give away was the rise and fall of the pile in time with the shaky breathing Jason’s better than average ears picked up. He nudged the lump with his toe.

“Tim.”

There was no answer.

“You alive under there, Replacement?”

Tim whimpered quietly, the sound so full of pain that Jason had to double check he hadn't stood on the kid’s fingers with his already removed steel-toed boots. 

“Can I come into the nest, omega?”

Again, there was no response. Jason was loath to enter the nest without explicit permission, but he was beginning to worry about the lack of acknowledgement from Tim.

“I’m coming in,” he warned. 

Jason crawled into the pile of bedding, fighting off ghosts with every breath he took. This room felt sacred. In this room, Jason had never been anything but a beloved member of the pack. He had never been the black sheep, the unwanted spare, the street rat who didn't know when his welcome had worn out. He had just been a boy whose family loved him.

Tim deserved that, and it made him seethe that he wasn't getting it.

Jason had to move a metric tonne of nesting material to uncover Tim, and when he did, he had to fight the urge to put it all back. Tim was curled into a sweaty ball, tangled up with bits of clothes and bedding. His skin was wan and his scent was rotting with pain and loneliness.

“Are you sick?” he asked, hoping for an answer that would make him feel less murderous.

Tim made a sound that could loosely be translated as a curse word and flapped an arm around, searching for the missing blankets. Jason let him have one and used the distraction to press his hand against the boy’s forehead. He was feverishly warm, but thankfully not dangerously so.

The touch roused the pup the slightest bit, and blue eyes blinked open, narrowing in confusion as they landed on Jason’s face.

“Jason?” Tim said groggily. “You actually came?”

Of course he came. 

“Are you sick?” he repeated.

Tim shook his head, a beat too slow. His eyes had gone wide and round, pupils dilated, and he didn't offer a further explanation. Jason fought the urge to shake the kid until he started talking.

“Tim, you're like a million degrees and you smell like someone told you Christmas is cancelled.”

Guilt crept onto Tim’s face and he visibly clawed back some coherence, shaking his head roughly and taking a deep breath in through his mouth. Jason watched with trepidation as the mask slid into place, well worn and heavy.

“S’just my heat,” he mumbled. “Y’don’t have to stay, I was being stupid. Sorry.” 

If it weren’t for his hands gripping the blanket hard enough to turn his knuckles white and the still lingering heat-sick scent, Jason might have believed him.

“I'm not leaving you alone like this,” he said instead, vaguely offended. Tim shot him a weird look, so he added, “You look like you've been hit by a truck.”

The pup’s cheeks coloured further.

“Shouldn't’ve bothered you, y’really don’t have to stay,” he protested, but he was already fading again. His eyelids drooped and he squirmed in place, wriggling into the layers of the nest. Jason relented, and began to cocoon Tim in blankets once again. The pup barely noticed, brows furrowed and emitting a quiet whine under his breath.

This didn't feel like a normal heat. Jason had fought the kid during his last one and he’d been far sharper and more alert. Was the drop still affecting him? He sat back on his heels and something rattled by his knee. Jason felt around the pillows until his fingers brushed hard plastic. He dug out an orange pill bottle, neatly printed with Tim’s prescription on the side. 

Jason recognised it pretty quickly; it was a basic, one-size-fits-all hormonal heat moderator. Brilliant when it worked, but could cause some nasty side effects. His mom had tried it once, and spent her whole heat throwing up, and it didn't look like it was working any better for Tim. He hummed in sympathy. That would definitely explain the grogginess and confusion.

Jason peered around the nest, looking for the rest of Tim’s supplies. All he found was a half empty bottle of water near where the pills had been, and a heat pack that had long since gone cold. His alpha stirred again, this wasn't right. His pack deserved the best and this was far from it. Tim needed food and painkillers and someone to guard his nest and keep him company. 

Jason scooped up the heat pack.

“I’ll be back,” he advised Tim, who only groaned in response.

Alfred's kitchen was exactly how he remembered it; militantly neat, and extremely well stocked. Jason threw the heat pack in the microwave, and started collecting snacks while it cooked. He started with trail mix and protein bars and rice crackers, then doubled back and snagged some chocolate and a bag of pretzels as an afterthought. It had been difficult to convince his mum to eat when she was heat-sick, and nutritious food was worthless if Tim wouldn't try it. Calories were calories, and junk food was better than nothing.

He also dug an ice pack out of the freezer, and wrapped it in a tea towel so it wouldn’t burn the pup’s skin. He raided the neatly organised medicine drawer for painkillers, and when the microwave beeped, Jason collected the heat pack and added it to his growing pile of goodies. Finally, he snagged a handful of flavours of electrolyte drinks, unsure which Tim would like best. He held the hem of his shirt out to create a makeshift basket and swept his supplies into it, then hurried back to the den.

Tim had fully disappeared back under the layers of the nest by the time Jason got back, and he didn't bother digging him out again just yet. He dumped the supplies by the door and spent a moment sorting them into piles. The toasty heat pack was the first order of business, and he wiggled it into the mound of blankets. A moment later, it vanished into the depths and Tim sighed in relief.

He set the painkillers next to the prescription drugs, making a mental note to double check if they interacted in any way, and stacked the food up where it wouldn't be squashed by accident. Then he grabbed one of the drink bottles and began the arduous task of coaxing Tim out of his hidey hole.

It took a decent chunk of time, and a combination of making soft, comforting sounds and begrudgingly loosening his grip on his scent, but eventually, Tim’s head poked out of his blankets.

“Hydration time, birdie,” Jason said, helping Tim get slightly more upright so he wouldn't accidentally waterboard himself. 

Tim fumbled for the bottle blindly, eyes squinted shut in either pain or refusal to commit to being awake and took a small sip. Satisfied, Jason took the opportunity to place the tea-towel-wrapped ice pack on the back of the pup’s neck, hoping to help bring his temperature down a little. Tim yelped at the unexpected cold and nearly doused them both in bright pink strawberry flavoured sports drink.

“Jesus!” Tim cried, shooting upright.

“Jason, actually,” he snarked. Tim blinked rapidly, the subtlest version of a double take Jason had ever seen.

“You're still here?” he said, heartbreakingly confused.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Tim shrugged, shrinking back against the walls of the nest. He fiddled with the cap of his bottle, twisting and untwisting it.

“Figured y’had better things to do than babysit an omega you don't even like.”

Jesus Christ, they had really fucked this kid up, and yes, Jason was including himself in that.

“Yeah well, somebody has to do it, and since the others saw fit to just leave you here, that officially makes it my problem.”

“That's not fair Jason,” Tim protested, finally sitting up fully, scent spiking with something like frustration. Of course he chose this issue to actually wake up for.

“You literally just came out of a drop that nearly killed you, and Bruce decided to piss off to play himbo at a gala instead of guarding you,” Jason retorted.

“It’s not his fault–”

“Bullshit, it's not his fault, he's your pack alpha and your legal guardian! It's literally his job to–”

“Oh my god, Jason, my heat is early!”

Oh. 

Jason shut his mouth with a click. Tim huffed.

“It’s not due for another week and a half,” he explained. “The only reason Bruce was going to the Metropolis gala tonight was so that he could skip the Gotham one that's happening when my heat was supposed to come.”

That… made an annoying amount of sense, but Jason wasn't ready to let go of his anger yet.

“He still didn't come back when you called though.”

Tim was suddenly very interested in his drink, nimble fingers picking at the label intently. 

“You did call him, right Tim?”

The pup shifted guiltily and refused to meet his eyes.

“Tim!”

“He’s busy, I thought I could handle it on my own!” Tim whined. “I've been doing it for years, how was I supposed to know one measly heat with a pack would ruin my ability to be self sufficient?”

“That’s not the–” Jason spluttered. “Wait, years? You were spending your heats alone for years? What in– why?”

It took Tim the better part of fifteen minutes to stumble through an explanation of the exemplary parenting he had been subjected to over the years, and by the end of it, Jason was very ready to add a couple of Drakes to his shit list.

But reluctantly, he had to admit Tim’s explanations made the idea that he hadn't called Bruce more believable. He decided to still be angry about it though, because even three months under the Wayne’s roof should have been enough to prove to Tim that he could trust them. They had to be screwing it up somehow.

At some point during the fucked up show-and-tell, Tim had migrated into Jason's lap. He honestly couldn't have said how it happened, but Tim’s scent had lost most of the bitter edge after Jason let him swipe their wrists together. He swore there had to be a chemical component in the pine pheromones that was making him lower his guard. Tim had waltzed straight past his protective walls like they weren't even there. He was going to lose his hard earned reputation if he kept this up.

At least the Pit was behaving itself; even spitting mad at Bruce for abandoning Tim, his head was clear and he was seeing in full colour. 

Tim’s explanations eventually petered out as his surge of energy was used up. Jason bullied him into taking some painkillers with a few crackers when his scent soured with pain again, but he didn't have the heart to turf the kid out of his lap. Not when he could smell the edge of wonder on Tim’s skin that it was even being allowed in the first place. He learnt back against the wall of the den, settling in to wait.

“You're wrong, by the way,” he added as an afterthought.

Tim hummed sleepily, a note of question in his voice.

“I like you just fine.”

~

Jason could tell the moment Bruce touched down, because deep in the manor, the quiet chime of the aerial perimeter alert went off. Figures, he grumbled to himself. Bruce in Metropolis plus drama in Gotham equals the Superman Express. He just hoped Clark wasn't privy to the nature of the emergency just yet. The man was both inhumanly powerful and inhumanly kind, and Jason wasn't ready to face that or the tears that would inevitably accompany a reunion.

But when the near silent footsteps paused outside the door of the den, they were alone. 

The door slid open an inch, and Jason stuck his foot out and closed it again. This was officially his nest and his pup, and Bruce was not allowed in.

Not until he grovelled at least.

There was a sigh behind the door, then the sound of someone sitting down heavily.

“Is Tim okay?” Bruce asked quietly.

“No thanks to you,” Jason bit out.

Bruce was silent for a moment.

“Thank you for being there for him,” he said stiffly.

Jason rolled his eyes. It was a miracle he didn't choke on the words. 

In his arms, Tim shifted. Not quite awake, but not fully asleep either; just enough to turn his head and inhale at the faint trace of Bruce’s scent seeping through the door. Jason eyed the walls of the den they were nestled in.

It hadn't changed much, from his memories. It was a small, low roofed room, just big enough for a handful of cupboards and the oversized nest; private and cosy in a way the vast majority of the rooms in the Manor weren't. The nest itself was built from squishy blocks of memory foam encased in a neat nest liner for ease of cleaning, and then the layers of blankets, pillows and clothes that made it feel like home. Jason recognised textures and patterns that had been present when he was a pup, but also a dozen tiny changes that had been made since.

He also knew that it had not been properly refreshed for Tim’s heat. The scents were slightly stale in the way they got when the nest had been sitting unused for a few weeks, and it looked like Tim had simply flopped into the pile of material without making any kind of attempt at restructuring it. 

Not right, whispered his alpha. 

A second occupant like himself was a start. A third would mean he wouldn't have to let Tim go while someone else fixed the tangled mess. The specific pack member outside the door felt like a trap though; the alpha might take Tim and push Jason away, and his banked instincts flared with discomfort. The thought of losing the pup right now was unconscionable. 

But Tim needed his pack. He needed his brother or his grandfather or his pack alpha, not a man who’d tried to murder him only a few months ago, and Jason wasn't so cowardly or selfish as to deny him that. He slid the door open a crack, and a worried blue eye appeared on the other side. He trapped the instinctual snarl behind his teeth.

“How long ‘til Dick gets here?” Jason asked.

Bruce’s eye disappeared for a moment as he checked his watch. 

“About five hours, give or take. He’s on his way but even the fastest space travel takes time.”

So he was off planet. Old resentment bubbled under his skin and Jason shoved it away before it could awaken the sleeping Pit. 

“Alfred?”

“Smoothing things over in Metropolis. Clark already left to fetch him, so maybe forty five minutes away.”

Jason frowned.

“What, you let your backup leave already? I could kill you.”

“You won't,” Bruce said steadily. “And if you did, it would mean I deserved it.”

Jason didn't know what to say to that.

The door inched open a hair wider, and Tim made a pleased noise into Jason’s shoulder as Bruce’s scent grew stronger.

“Hi chum,” Bruce murmured. “How are you holding up?”

Tim groaned, head lolling around to find the source of the alpha's voice. He still smelled of pain and discomfort, but the loneliness had all but disappeared. 

“The pills suck,” he grumbled, the most coherent sentence Jason had heard him say in the last half hour.

“I can see that,” said Bruce sympathetically. “Can I come into your nest?”

“Yes,” said Tim.

“No,” said Jason at the same time.

“Hold on,” said Tim, and reached out to close the door himself.

Jason stared at him. 

“Can he come in?” Tim asked.

“I– It's your nest, kid. Why are you asking me?”

“Because you said no,” Tim said simply.

“I shouldn't have,” Jason grumbled. “Just give me a minute, I’ll leave.”

He shifted his weight, gently tipping Tim to the side to try and remove him, but the pup clung to him like a limpet.

“No, stay,” he said. “Bruce is a big boy, he can wait.”

“You need your pack,” Jason reasoned. 

“Good thing I have you, then.”

This fucking kid.

“I tried to kill you, Tim. I’m not your pack.”

“I already forgave you for that.”

“Why?” 

“Because you're you. You're Robin,” Tim shrugged. “You're pack.”

This fucking kid.

Jason could already tell he wasn't going to get anywhere with this argument. Dick’s point about Tim out-stubborning Bruce was starting to make more sense. But like it or not, Jason wasn't really pack, not in anything more than name. He didn't hang around the Manor, he didn't patrol with the Bats, he didn't even talk to most of them. Tim’s omega probably only latched onto him because of his chronic pack neglect and scent starvation. He wasn't a healthy connection. And Bruce was.

Jason nudged the door open and stuck out his hand.

“Jacket,” he prompted.

Bruce slipped off his suit jacket and hand it over wordlessly. Tim snagged it as soon as it was within reach and wrapped it around himself. Jason held back a cringe as the no doubt wildly expensive fabric crinkled between them. He had to breathe shallowly through his mouth as well, to avoid getting a face full of coffee. He didn't know if it would send him into a rage or make him scent drunk, but neither was a good option.

He eyed the open door, debating shutting it again, but the growing tension in his chest said cutting off his escape route was out of the question. Even with Bruce in the way, it was a bit easier to breathe when he could see a way out.

Bruce himself looked a little like a kicked puppy, sitting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up to his chest. It was a ridiculous sight on a man so large. He didn't ask to come into the den again, but his eyes still held the question.

“Just stay over there,” Jason muttered, drawing Tim a little closer.

The pup went easily, eyes tracking between the two alphas. He seemed caught between soaking up the attention and hiding from it, but the fatigue ended up taking the decision away from him anyway. He drifted off with his nose pressed into the suit jacket's collar, and his hands clinging to Jason’s sleeve.

It was a long, tense wait, barely relieved by Alfred as he flitted in and out of the library, fetching food and keeping Tim’s heat pack warm. Bruce didn't attempt to talk, reading the room correctly for once. He just stayed, a solid pillar just outside the door. It wasn't a comfort, but Jason reluctantly conceded that it was easier to focus on Tim knowing that an intruder would have to go through Batman to get to them.

Dick arrived when the early morning sun had just begun to creep through the library windows. His face was haggard and he was wound tight enough to snap. He nearly tripped over himself in his haste to make it to the den.

“Baby bird?” 

His voice was anxious and he crawled over Bruce without a second thought, tumbling into the nest with a burst of ginger. Tim gasped awake as Dick began patting him down, slightly frantic hands tap-tap-tapping as they searched for non-existent injuries. He sat up, nearly elbowing Jason in the crotch in the process.

“Dick,” he complained. “Dick, I’m fine. Calm down.”

“You're not hurt? What happened?”

Jason thumped his head back against the wall.

“You didn't tell him?” he asked Bruce, incredulous.

“Tell me what?!”

Tim gave up on the conversation, flopping his full body weight sideways into Dick. Jason felt oddly bereft without his warmth.

“His heat came, and he was home alone. And to quote, ‘The pills suck’. What did numbskull over there say?”

Dick growled and kicked his foot out. He nailed a chagrined Bruce in the kneecap, and he mutely showed them his phone screen.

Come home, Tim needs you.

Jason retracted every time he'd ever even slightly complimented the man’s intellect. He was a dipshit. Dick kicked the door shut, locking him out yet again. Jason inched towards it, and was pulled up short by a rumbling growl and Dick’s arm tugging him back.

“Stay put,” he menaced.

“But–” Jason started.

“Nope. Stay put. I have been awake for over 36 hours and we are all going to cuddle up in this cozy nest and sleep. Bruce can guard the door.”

“I–”

“Sleep, Jaybird. I’ll scruff you, don't test me.”

Jason bristled. Like that would work on him, he was nineteen, for Christ's sake. But he’d also been awake for going on a day and a half, and the Christmassy combination of Tim and Dick’s scents might as well have been a tranquilizer. His eyelids dragged halfway shut, even as Dick manhandled the pair of them into a more comfortable pile amongst the blankets.

“You get one hour,” he grumbled. 

~

He woke four hours later.

Dick was starfished across the nest, half on top of him, and Tim was curled up under his arm and pressed into Jason’s side. Extracting himself without waking either of them required far more of his League training than he would have liked to admit, but the heavy scent of sleep and safety did most of the heavy lifting.

He slipped out of the den into the library. Alfred had drawn the blackout curtains at some point, and Jason could just make out the outline of the pack’s alpha, banished to the nearest armchair.

The main door was out of the question, in clear view of Bruce as it was. But the Wayne Manor was ancient, and was built in a time where servants were both ubiquitous and invisible. The walls concealed dozens of narrow passages and hidden, crooked staircases. Luck was on his side this once, because Jason knew there was a servant's door next to the den. He eased it open and stepped into the dark tunnel, shivering at the unheated air. It wended through the innards of the house and spat him out by what used to be the root cellar. 

Jason blinked in the daylight, trying to urge himself to wake up. The nap in the nest had been unfairly comfortable and his alpha was throwing a fit about leaving it behind. Tough titties, he thought to himself. It was well past the time to go. He jogged the few hundred metres down to the gate where he had dumped his bike last night, and bit back a nasty curse.

The bike was gone. He should have expected that. It would have been one of the first things Bruce took care of while Jason was asleep in the nest with Tim and Dick. It wouldn't surprise him if the paranoid bastard had spotted it when he was flying in with Clark even, and had dealt with it then and there. Paparazzi liked to lurk beyond the fence, and an unknown motorcycle dumped on the property would likely throw the press into a frenzy.

Jason knew it was unlikely, but he checked the civilian garage anyway, in case the old man had gotten lazy about where he put it away. No dice. That left the Cave, which was unfortunate but not disastrous. He’d just have to sneak back through the Manor full of paranoid detectives, slip past all the defenses that absolutely knew he was coming this time and get out before anyone could sound the alarm. Simple. 

It was only due to years of practice at sneaking around this specific house and hiding from these specific people, that he actually made it all the way to the grandfather clock in the study before he was apprehended. He was reaching for the hands on the clock face when a voice broke through the quiet.

“Jason.”

He didn't startle, but it was a near thing. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping it was Alfred, but his luck had run out. Bruce was hovering in the doorway, uncertainty an unnatural cloak on his normally confident shoulders. 

“Why aren't you with Tim?” Jason snapped irritably. He’d been relying on the pup to distract the rest of the pack while he made his escape.

“He’s asleep,” said Bruce, approaching slowly, like Jason would spook and bolt if he wasn't careful. Jason hated that he wasn't too far off the mark with that. He felt uneasy, wrong footed and exposed, and he fell back on the comfort of aggression to shield himself.

“You just left him? Some alpha you are.” 

“Dick and Alfred are both with him. And I didn't want you to leave before I got a chance to talk to you.”

Fuck. There was no way he was getting out of this then, but he had to at least try.

“Congratulations, you’ve talked to me,” he snarked. Jason turned back to the clock, but the alpha laid a gentle hand over his, stopping him from fiddling with the mechanism.

“I just want to know how you've been,” he pleaded. “If you won't come home, then please at least tell me you're safe.”

So they were doing this now, then.

“Safe?” Jason laughed, incredulous. “Safe? You take your little child soldiers out into the worst city in the world every other night and you wanna talk about safety?”

He took a big step back, putting the desk between the pair of them. Agony flitted across Bruce’s face, there and gone again in an instant. 

“That’s not fair.”

“Newsflash Bruce, life’s not fair.”

“I know that. Jason, I know. If life was fair, none of us would be doing this. But we are, and I can't force you to stop, so please just let me sleep a little easier knowing my son isn’t throwing himself into danger with no one to watch his back.”

Green danced in the corners of Jason’s vision. Dick was Bruce's son. Tim was Bruce's son. Jason was just his problem.

“Fine,” he gritted out. “Fine! You want to know how I've been? I’ve been shit. I died, Bruce. I died and I came back broken and the fucking clown who killed me is sitting pretty and eating three square meals a day in Arkham! I’d be a hell of a lot safer if he was six feet under, where he belongs, but you're too much of a coward to put him there!”

Bruce stumbled like he’d taken a physical blow, one hand clutching at his chest. To Jason’s horror, his eyes started to glisten and his voice, when he spoke, was thick and gravelly.

“I will never forgive myself for letting the Joker get to you, Jason,” he said. “I grieved you every day you were gone, and even though you’re back and it's a goddamn miracle, I will still carry that failure with me until the day I die. If you let me, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Bruce bowed his head, something like shame on his face, and braced one hand on the desk like he needed the support.

“But I cannot take a life. Not even his.”

“Oh spare me the fucking self loathing routine, old man, it's not worth shit,” Jason snarled, the words ripping out of his throat almost violently. “Can’t you see that your way of doing things doesn't fucking work? Blackgate is basically a hotel for criminals and Arkham is a revolving door!”

Bruce turned his back and Jason seethed. The bastard couldn't even look him in the eye while making his bullshit excuses. 

“The security upgrades Wayne Enterprises funded–”

“Are worthless! You can throw all the money you like at Arkham but the Joker will still get out and he will still murder people! Why won't you just end it?!”

The words rang out in the room, and abruptly, Jason felt like crying. He wanted it to be over. He wanted it more than anything. He wanted his dad to kill the bogeyman under his bed and chase away the shadows and he wanted to feel safe again. He wanted Bruce to love him more than he loved his rule.

“I’m not talking about killing Penguin, or Scarecrow, or Dent,” he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I’m talking about him. Just him. And doing it because,” –his voice wobbled dangerously– “because he took me away from you.”

The silence that followed his words, his plea, was stifling. Jason could hear his pulse throbbing in his ears. He waited, silently begging his alpha to look at him, to see him, to love him. But no words came. All he could see was the taught line of Bruce's shoulders, back still turned. All he could hear was the quiet sound of him rifling through the papers on the top of the filing cabinet and the gossamer thin threads holding his heart together snapping.

That was it, then. He wasn't enough. 

Jason collapsed into the chair in front of Bruce’s desk. He wished he'd never broken free of the Lazarus Pit’s influence. He wished the world was black and white and green again. This pain was worse than anything he’d ever felt and he didn't know how he was going to keep living with it, with the fact that the hope that he had clung to like a life raft was gone forever. The child he had sheltered inside his heart was crying, unloved, unloved, unloved.

A sheet of paper slid across the desk.

It was so unexpected that Jason couldn't do anything but stare at it for a moment, blinking the film of tears from his eyes. Was it his arrest warrant? The retraction of his adoption certificate? It seemed like overkill for a guy who was legally dead, but Bruce could be cruel when he was given cause. He numbly pulled it closer, trying to make sense of the official looking twelve point Times New Roman text. The title was underlined, like it needed emphasis.

MOTION FOR A NEW TRIAL - THE PEOPLE V. NAPIER

“What is this?” Jason asked thickly.

“Read,” was all Bruce said.

So he did. It was dense, full of legal jargon that Jason only half understood, but the premise was clear. New evidence in the form of video footage had been turned in by an anonymous source that called the Joker's insanity defense into question. Alongside it, a damning dossier of emails, transcripts and phone records, all outlining the deep corruption in Gotham’s court system at the time of the previous trials. Wayne Enterprises’ legal team was calling for a complete retrial on every charge that had ever been brought against Jack Napier.

“What is this?” Jason repeated. “What footage did you give them?”

Bruce stepped over to his computer, tapping at his keyboard for a moment, before swinging the monitor around to face Jason.

The view was of a dark Gotham alleyway, visible only through the sickly green filter of a night vision lens. Halfway down it, between a dumpster and a decrepit fire escape was a pair of men. They tussled for a moment, before one of them came out on top, straddling the one on the ground. A kitchen knife glinted in his hand, already dripping with a dark liquid. The footage shivered as the filmer crept closer, staying in the shadows.

“You're insane!” shouted the man on the ground.

“Maybe I am,” the attacker sneered. “Wouldn't that be quite the thing? Poor little Jack, he has a few screws loose. He’s simply not capable of murder!”

The attacker punctuated his words by digging his fingernails into the man’s already bleeding shoulder. 

“Hey!” barked a gruff voice, far closer to the camera, and a projectile of some kind clattered off the wall behind the men. 

The attacker looked up, and for a split second his face was clear enough to make out; dark sunken eyes and a scar-free, twisted smile. Then he laughed and bolted into the night.

“It’s old,” Bruce said, as the footage looped and Jason watched the attacker look up, laugh and vanish again. “Very old, from before I even met Dick. Back then, the biggest dangers on the street were the gangs. The closest thing we had to a Rogue was Maroni.”

The footage looped again.

“And Joker… well, he wasn't the Joker yet. He wasn't even Red Hood. He was just a sadistic man obsessed with violence, who was willing to do whatever it took to get his fix. He ran as soon as I got close, and I prioritised the victim over chasing him down. I thought he was just another thug. I wish I’d known.”

It was one thing to think that with the benefit of hindsight, but this footage was nearly two decades old. Jason only recognised the Joker’s smile in Napier's face because he had been so gruesomely acquainted with the man in the end.

“How did you even find this?”

“Dick told me what you said, the last time you were here. About how Joker isn’t actually insane, that he’s just using it as an excuse to escape justice. It’s a mask that’s so well worn that no one can see it for what it is. But I had a hunch. Men like that don't start at murder and terrorism. They start small. They escalate. So I had the Batcomputer run facial recognition on my old cowl footage.”

“All of it?” Jason asked, shocked.

“All of it,” Bruce confirmed.

That had to be terabytes upon terabytes of data. It would have taken weeks, even for a supercomputer like the one downstairs. Bruce must have started almost as soon as he knew Jason’s identity. It would have already been running when the Red Hood nearly killed Batman a few weeks ago.

“If Jack Napier was committing crimes in Gotham before the Joker’s debut, odds were that I’d encountered him at some point. And I had,” Bruce gestured at the screen. They both watched the scene play out one more time, before Bruce shuddered and closed the window.

“You know the rest of the story. Red Hood, the acid, the Joker. I don't know how much of it was planned, and how much was actually genuine. I don't think I wanted to know. It was easier to see him as a monster, than it was to confront that a regular human could ever commit such atrocities.”

Bruce paused, gaze heavy. 

“But you knew.”

“He stopped smiling,” Jason said, eyes still fixed on the dark screen. “Did I ever tell you? When we were alone, and he knew I was going to die. He gave up the act. He still had this look in his eye, he was definitely enjoying it, but the smile was gone.”

Jason shivered. The laughter haunted him, but the blank, almost bored expression that had flitted across the Joker’s face while he caved in his chest was almost worse.

“I’ve been complacent,” Bruce confessed. “I got so used to the idea that criminals go to Blackgate and Rogues go to Arkham that I stopped thinking about why an asylum was the solution in the first place. It's the right place for some of the inmates, but the Joker? You're right. He’s not insane, not in the way the courts care about. He can comprehend right and wrong. He knows full well the consequences of his actions. He just doesn't care.”

Jason pushed himself out of the chair. He couldn’t make sense of this. Why would Bruce go to all this trouble, just to have the Joker thrown in a slightly different cell that he would escape from just as easily?

“What does this have to do with anything?” he asked. “I told you, Blackgate’s still leakier than a sieve. At least in Arkham they're trained to deal with the Joker’s bullshit.”

Bruce took a cautious step forward, and then another when Jason didn't react. 

“Because,” he said. “This is the only way I can give you what you need.”

He held out another piece of paper. It was a news article, clipped from the pages of the Gotham Gazette. The bold black headline was easily legible, and Jason froze when he comprehended the words. 

DEATH PENALTY REINSTATED IN GOTHAM

“I cannot kill the Joker,” Bruce said with an air of finality. “I am not strong enough to stop myself once I start down that path and I won’t let Batman become that kind of monster. I cannot be judge, jury and executioner.”

Bruce was in front of him now, and he placed a gentle hand on Jason’s forearm.

“I am not above the law, but neither is he. Jack Napier is owed a fair and just trial, with an unbiased jury and an uncorrupt court. And if that jury and that court find him guilty, and they sentence him to death… then that will be justice served.”

Jason’s knees buckled, and Bruce caught him, easing them both to the ground where he pulled him into a hug.

“I love you, Jason,” Bruce murmured into his ear. “If this is what you need to feel safe in this world, to come home to me, then I will do everything in my power to help you get it. But it has to be done right. Not out of fear, or anger, but for justice.”

The tears Jason had been holding back spilled over, cascading down his face and trickling into his collar. He clutched at Bruce, clinging to his alpha’s steady presence as a wave of emotions washed over him; shock, relief, exhaustion, satisfaction, and the last remnant of green tinged rage that he stomped out with a vengeance. It left him hollow, tender and wrung dry from the intensity of the feelings. 

He was still scared. He was terrified that the Joker would wriggle his way out of justice once again. He was afraid that this compromise wouldn't be enough to mend the rift in his pack. But for the first time since he had died, his alpha was holding him in his arms. Everything else was just noise.

Bruce petted his hair gently, crooning under his breath as he rocked slightly. His coffee scent was subdued by the remnants of last night's blockers, but enough of it seeped through to reach Jason’s alpha. For once, it didn't enrage him. For once, it smelled like home.

“Dad,” he choked out.

“I’ve got you, son,” whispered Bruce. “I’m here.”