Chapter Text
Jason woke up slowly, the scent of linen and sweat permeating the air. His body felt heavy, each of his limbs leadened from exertion. He’d danced for hours, the soles of his feet still tender. He was sore in other places too, a dull ache creeping up the insides of his thighs. Roy’s lips had left a constellation of bruises there after they’d finally managed to slip away.
He’d promised to give Roy anything he wanted. Roy had only wanted one thing—Jason. He’d pressed him down into the mattress and took his time, coaxing Jason over the edge with just his mouth and hands before fucking him so brutally slow Jason came so hard he nearly saw stars. Roy had barely waited for them to catch their breath, and then did it all over again.
Competitive bastard. Jason would hate him if he wasn’t still half brain-dead from orgasms. That safe, cottony sensation still curled at the edges of his mind, every bit of him feeling sated and content.
Roy was fast asleep underneath him, sprawled carelessly against the sheets with one arm thrown over Jason’s waist. They were still tangled together, Jason’s arms around his neck, his face pressed against Roy’s long, freckled throat. Every time Roy took a breath Jason breathed with him, their chests rising and falling together.
Jason peered tiredly across the room, wondering what had woke him. They were in the guest room again—Roy had tugged him inside without a word after Jason had blanched at the sight of his bedroom door. Everything was cast in shadow, the room lit only by the weakest moonlight.
Reluctantly, Jason pushed himself up on his elbows, twisting carefully out of Roy’s grip. Roy snored sadly at his departure, turning into the warm blankets where Jason had lain moments ago. Jason tucked the sheets around him as he stood up, running a hand through Roy’s hair to gentle him back to sleep.
He padded quietly to the bathroom, the shower calling to him as a variety of stains and sticky grime began to make themselves known. He made quick work of cleaning up, scrubbing off the remaining makeup on his torso, feeling the scars rise again beneath his fingertips. He washed his hair too, his curls having gone crunchy with gel and leftover sweat.
Roy was still out like a light when he emerged, dreaming deeply if the small twitches of his lips were anything to go by. Jason watched him as toweled his hair and slid back into his tailored slacks. Their bags were next door in his room, and Jason resigned himself to a quick trip down memory lane in the name of fresh underwear.
He slipped into his old bedroom on silent feet, a towel thrown over his bare shoulders to catch any errant drops from his still-wet hair. Alfred had placed both his and Roy’s bags at the base of the bed. Jason beelined for them, pulling out a fresh pair of briefs and sweats first thing. He shucked off his confining slacks and dressed quickly, taking comfort in the familiar feel of cotton.
The room hadn’t changed much in the years since Jason had been gone. The old Haly’s Circus poster still hung on the wall, next to it a fading concert flyer for one of the first (and perhaps only) Great Frog shows. Jason smiled at it now, imagining Roy behind a drum set. He’d never seen Roy play, only listened to him sing in the workshop, his deep voice occasionally drowned out by the sound of power tools. Roy was a good singer.
At some point Alfred had cleaned and stored most of Jason’s possessions in the years he’d been gone, everything carefully packed in a giant chest tucked away in the corner. When Jason had declared a truce Alfred had offered to let him take his old things, but he’d refused. Jason hadn’t been interested in old ghosts then. He still wasn’t, but for the first time the thought didn’t fill him with debilitating apprehension. It didn’t mean he was ready to open that Pandora’s box, so-to-speak, still expecting to see the spectre of Robin perched in the small desk chair, or perhaps peering from the dark mouth of the open closet doors.
Small things still littered the room, picture frames filled with his own smiling face and an old stereo with a stack of CDs next to it. The CDs had come with him to the manor, leftover from his mother. Most were too scratched to play anymore, but a few mixes still had her handwriting scribbled on their silver surfaces. She’d had a soft spot for Gloria Estefan.
There were books too, a short bookcase that had been all Jason’s. He’d filled it with as many titles as his heart desired, the first thing he’d let Bruce spend his money on. Once he’d realized he could ask for things, even things that weren’t necessities, he’d spent one blissful afternoon with Alfred and Bruce traveling to a few different bookstores and loading up their arms with anything that vaguely caught his interest. He’d started with the classics like he’d seen in the fancy manor library, everything leather-bound and beautiful.
It had been a test when he’d slipped the first children’s book into Bruce’s hands, waiting for a reprimand. It was a popular series he’d remembered other kids reading back when he’d still been in school. He’d been too old for it by the time he’d met Bruce, but he remembered his jealousy. There hadn’t been enough money for books, and the waiting list at the library was always so long.
Bruce hadn’t so much as glanced at the cover, instead noting the number on the spine. He’d asked Jason if he’d like the whole boxset instead.
“I don’t even know if I’m going to like it,” Jason had deflected, wary. “It’s not a...fancy book.”
Bruce had smiled and added the book to the pile, then the second in the series.
“All books are fancy books,” Bruce had said, surprisingly sage.
Jason still hadn’t gotten the boxset, but the sentiment had stayed with him all the same.
There was a book in the room that Jason didn’t recognize as his, old and thick, its pages trimmed in gold. It was lying on the top of the desk, lacking the fine layer of dust that covered most of the furniture. He still knew the title, already moving towards it, absently toweling the ends of his hair.
The Complete Works of Plato , read the embossed gold on the cover. A green, satin ribbon was slipped between the pages, the same emerald color of League robes.
Just as Jason’s fingers wrapped around the book a sudden lamp light bloomed orange in the room. He twisted defensively, surprised, raising the book in his hand as a makeshift weapon. His other hand flew to the towel around his neck as a potential back-up—he’d put people down with less.
Standing tall, backlit by the dim light of the hallway with one hand still hovering by the lightswitch, was Bruce Wayne. He was still dressed in tails, although his white bowtie was missing. Jason, half-naked in sweats, fought to keep from flinching.
“I heard a noise,” Bruce said, rigid with surprise, his ice blue eyes tracking over Jason’s silhouette before resting on the book in his hand. “I’m sorry—I didn’t think you were in here.”
“Who else would it be?” Jason asked, relaxing out of his fighting stance. He gathered the towel around his neck between his hands, self-conscious. He didn’t want to give it away by suddenly diving for his bag, but the feeling of existing, exposed, made his heart pound.
Bruce’s eyes were on his chest. Jason breathed deep, relieved when they finally looked up at his face.
“Damian,” Bruce explained.
Jason’s fingers tightened around the book’s leather spine.
“I didn’t…” Jason swallowed, trying to process the idea that Damian sometimes spent time in his room. Part of it made sense, the traces of Dick everywhere, but the book in his hands almost burned. “I didn’t realize.”
Bruce’s face twisted into something complicated. He stepped forward into the room, moving like he couldn’t help it, the stealth and grace of the Bat a long forgotten memory.
Jason struggled with his own long forgotten memories, every part of his body singing to move closer to Bruce, to soothe him like he’d done Catherine. He felt his hands start to shake, knuckles flexing to white as he kept still.
“Thank you for tonight, for Selina. Well, not for her, exactly,” Bruce said, coming to a sharp stop just out of arm’s reach. “It was—I was glad you came.”
Jason exhaled forcefully, nostrils flaring.
“You’re welcome,” he said awkwardly, trying it out. Without the heavy weight of Gotham society it felt wrong, weak. He twitched, an aborted attempt to shake himself to optimal performance. The comfort of Roy’s arms, his bed, was fading fast. Jason tried to keep it there, liking how solid it felt. Wasn’t that what this night had been about? Not just this night, but who he was, what Roy deserved?
...What he, Jason, wanted?
What do you want, Jason?
“How was patrol?” he asked, trying to parse the alarm thrumming through his body. He wished Bruce wasn’t dressed as he was now. He wished he had a shirt on, covering his scars. He wished, desperately, that Bruce would actually acknowledge them, instead of this perfunctory performance.
He’d always wanted Bruce to look at him, to see him as he was. Part of him knew Bruce could, that unparalleled brain unable to escape even the slightest judgment. Part of him knew he should recognize Bruce’s awkwardness as compassion, his reticence almost always borne of well-intentioned affection.
Dick had been able to do that, to see and feel the love between the shadowed lines. It had only ever made Jason angry.
“Successful. Robin took a graze to the shoulder. No other injuries,” Bruce reported, face blank.
Jason closed his eyes, heart thudding. “Jesus Christ, B. Damian almost took a bullet and that’s how you phrase it?”
“That’s not—” Bruce cut himself off, sighing. He raised a hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching it in a manner Jason was all too familiar with. His fingers twitched.
“Damian is sleeping soundly. He has a few stitches and is utterly convinced he’s failed the uniform,” Bruce said, sounding mildly exasperated. “Is that better?”
“No,” Jason said, meeting honesty with honesty. His voice wavered. “I just meant...he’s—well, he’s not okay, is he?”
“He’s fine, Jason,” Bruce said, with that warm reassurance Jason remembered. Batman had always sounded like a promise, so resolute with conviction not even cynicism or reality could hold a candle.
Jason swallowed. He wanted so badly to believe. He was so angry, though, irate with the knowledge that Damian was somewhere in this house, hurt. He wanted to scream at Bruce for allowing it to happen, then realized he’d been one of the weapons that had sharpened Damian’s blade.
When he had come back, he’d had a choice. He hadn’t stopped Damian either.
“Are you alright?” Bruce asked softly, that piercing gaze inescapable.
“Does he really come in here?” Jason asked instead, refusing to answer. His voice cracked towards the end, the book still heavy in his hand.
Bruce nodded. He took a step closer, posture softening. “Jason, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to hug you now. Is that alright? Would you like to put on a shirt first?”
What, can’t handle it, old man? Jason thought, the words on the tip of his tongue.
What do you want, Jason?
He didn’t want to be cruel. He really didn’t, it was just so easy. Looking into Bruce’s eyes, seeing the cautious warmth there, Jason fought against the impulse to reject him, to punish that weakness.
Roy looked at him like that sometimes, patient and loving, his heart on his sleeve. When Roy did it, Jason only saw it as strength.
He borrowed a little of that strength now.
“Yes,” he said, trying to decide if the word felt brave to him. Not quite. “But a shirt sounds good too.”
Almost.
Bruce gestured to Jason’s bag with an awkward hand. After a humiliating pause Jason finally was able to move, yanking out the first thing he could reach. He already had the shirt halfway over his chest before he realized it was Roy’s stolen Wonder Girl tank top.
At least Donna had broad shoulders.
Jason peeked up at Bruce through his lashes, unable to quite meet his eye. It didn’t stop him from noticing the start of a smile curling at the edge of Bruce’s lips.
“Don’t—” Jason warned, but it was too late. Bruce started to laugh, that helpless, hearty chuckle Jason remembered from all those years ago. It was such a rich sound, strong enough to pierce through the terror he’d felt that fateful evening, tire iron in hand and a lie on his tongue.
Roy laughed like that too, but freely and more obnoxiously. And his laughter, much like Bruce’s, was infectious beyond measure.
Jason was just starting to snicker as Bruce closed the distance between them, gathering him up in a tight embrace. It startled the laughter out of him, exhaling sharply as Bruce’s arms wrapped around him. Bruce’s hand cradled the back of his neck, tucking him against his shoulder like Jason was still the frail boy he’d lost.
It took everything he had not to give in. He didn’t want to, not yet. Or maybe he did want to, but he couldn’t.
“You remembered,” Bruce said, his rich baritone filling Jason’s ears, he was so close.
“Hmm?”
“Plato,” Bruce elaborated. “You remembered the story. You told it to Damian.”
Jason closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. “Did I?”
“When I first brought up the subject he told me philosophy was for rich white people,” Bruce said, sounding fond. “Who does that sound like to you?”
And suddenly the memory was there, seeping into his brain like hot wax. He could see Bruce leaning against the Batcomputer, cowl on his shoulders as they talked. He could feel the ache in his calves as he perched on the chair, trying to strengthen his muscles. He was twirling a batarang in his hand, anxious to go on patrol and irritated he had to wait on the opinion of old dead dudes.
“I remember,” Jason murmured, but it sounded like a gasp in his ears. Bruce’s grip tightened and this time Jason let himself sink into it, turning his face into Bruce’s chest. It was different than he recalled, but Bruce was still bigger than him, solid and resolute as a vow.
“Do you not always?” Bruce asked, forever sharp.
Jason swallowed. He’d always deleted his med scans since coming back, terrified of what they could reveal. He’d never been able to see anything out of the ordinary, but he wasn’t Bruce Wayne, he’d never been to med school.
If Bruce knew, if he decided Jason was unfit, he would bench him.
Let him try, he thought, and the voice sounded a lot like Roy’s—fearless.
“Not always,” Jason said, his tone challenging. He couldn’t help it, anxiety ricocheting inside his bones.
Bruce was quiet for a maddening moment.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, old man,” Jason mumbled, routine. Bruce still hadn’t let go. He wrestled with the yo-yoing in his gut, trying to decide if he wanted to pull away.
He didn’t.
“Would you like to hear some stories, Jason?” Bruce asked. “Perhaps we could share a few, see where we overlap.”
Something black and ugly reared up in the back of Jason’s mind, making him shudder.
“No,” he said, moving to pull away. Bruce held on, stubborn as always. Jason found he didn’t mind, breathing out slowly as Bruce kissed the top of his head.
“We could talk about Damian,” Jason offered, suddenly unwilling for whatever was happening to end. “I—well, I don’t remember all of that either, sometimes.”
Bruce was very quiet when he answered, the words little more than a rumble in his chest. “You looked out for him, back then.”
“I think he looked out for me,” Jason corrected him, eyes closed.
“Would you like to sit, Jason?” Bruce asked.
What do you want?
“Okay,” Jason breathed. He moved and this time Bruce let him go, the two of them settling on the edge of the bed.
He remembered a smaller, serious Damian sitting next to him on another bed, in another place, another life. The image didn’t overlap with reality this time, Damian safe in his memories and Bruce solid before him.
No ghosts, just Bruce’s steady blue eyes and the knowledge that Roy was close by, fast asleep in the next room.
Jason smoothed his hand over the buttery, leather cover of the book.
“What would you like to know?”
///
Roy woke up to the pale sunlight of daybreak, the room awash in cool blue light. He could hear someone in the room and pushed himself up on his elbows, looking around blearily until his eyes fell on Alfred’s patient, pale face.
“Apologies, Mr. Harper,” Alfred said, little more than a slip of man, standing just past the open door. “I was looking for Master Jason.”
Roy looked at the empty space next to him on the mattress, belatedly drawing up the sheets once he realized his naked butt was on full display. Fuck, what time was it?
“I’ll find him,” Roy promised, yawning as he looked back to Alfred. “Scout’s honor.”
“An excellent plan,” Alfred said drolly. “May I suggest pants? Perhaps they would aid you in your endeavor.”
“Good advice,” Roy agreed, flopping against the mattress. “Did you get any sleep, Alfred?”
“I’ve closed my eyes,” Alfred replied, a small smile on his face. “Some may refer to it as blinking.”
“Well, what do they know?” Roy quipped, watching Alfred’s face with his own answering grin.
“Indeed. I believe I’ll start the coffee,” Alfred said, bowing his head. Roy nodded in agreement, waiting for the door to close before he stumbled out of bed, grabbing for a pair of pants. Time to find his wayward boyfriend.
Luckily, he didn’t have to go far. Two steps outside of the room revealed the cracked door to Dick’s old bedroom. Roy almost walked past, recognizing it as a particular landmine where Jason was concerned.
There was no way Alfred could have missed it, the crafty bastard.
His surprise, once he peered past the door frame, was absolute. There, crumpled together, was Jason and Bruce. Jason was slumped against Bruce’s shoulder, curled towards him with a serene expression on his face. Bruce was still dressed in his tux, sitting tall with his chin tipped against his chest.
Roy didn’t know whether to cross or pinch himself. He had half a mind to shut the door and leave them to it, wondering how hard it could be to help Alfred with breakfast. He was good with pancakes, if nothing else.
He wasn’t stealthy enough to escape the Bat, it turned out. Roy’s moment of hesitation was enough to stir Bruce Wayne to wakefulness, his pale blue eyes opening at once, as if summoned. They sought Roy’s watchful gaze out in under a second.
“I didn’t want to wake him,” Bruce explained, his rich tenor soft and gravelly in the early morning light.
Roy, long acquainted with the treat that was a sleeping Jason Todd, couldn’t fault him.
He stepped into the room, looking at Jason’s lax expression. He was fighting against an eerie feeling of deja vu, remembering that colorful burst of Jason’s memories Saru had pinwheeled into all their heads. There had been a memory Jason had given up, he recalled, and it looked a lot like this.
“That’s understandable. He’s pretty cute when he’s quiet,” Roy said softly, eyes on Jason’s sleeping, contented face.
Bruce glanced down, his expression turning soft as he took in Jason’s slack expression, the slow, promising rise of his chest. Roy understood.
Unfortunately for them all, dawn was upon them, and Roy was hungry.
Roy approached the bed, sitting down with graceful effort. Jason breathed out heavily as the mattress shifted, eyebrows furrowing. Roy took his hand.
“He told me about his time...before,” Bruce confessed, watching Roy carefully. It didn’t bother him, not really, used to the careful deduction of the Bat’s inscrutable gaze. Bruce actually speaking, better yet explaining, was a welcome surprise.
Roy smiled, imagining the conversation. “He get a little spacey towards the end?”
Bruce nodded.
Roy wrapped his fingers around Jason’s hand, feeling his pulse beat deep against his palm.
“That happens sometimes,” he told Bruce, quiet with reassurance. He watched Jason’s face as he began to wake, those full lips pulling downward into Jason’s classic pout.
“Time to wake up, Jaybird,” he whispered, smiling as Jason furrowed his brow, curling closer into Bruce, forever stubborn. Roy shot Bruce a sympathetic look, noting the bags under his eyes. He wondered how long Bruce had stayed awake, silently vigilant and pleased by the trust of his sleeping son. “I can take it from here, Mr. Wayne.”
“Bruce,” Bruce insisted, an old refrain.
Roy met his eyes, his smile turning wistful. “You were always very kind to me. I mean it as a show of respect.”
He’d never explained himself before, and once he did a nest of nervous vipers started in his belly.
“Also, calling Batman by his first name still makes me anxious,” Roy admitted, grinning crookedly in Bruce’s direction before looking back to Jason. His eyelashes were starting to flutter, edging towards wakefulness.
Bruce seemed to consider his words, expression thoughtful. His eyes drifted towards Jason, too. “You were always very good to my sons, Mr. Harper. Thank you.”
Roy felt his face flush, cheeks and neck turning warm. “You’re welcome, Mr. Wayne,” he murmured. “I try.”
“ God , stop talking,” Jason lamented, trying to burrow into Bruce’s shoulder. He seemed to realize at the last second it wasn’t Roy’s body he was leaning against, squinting down at Roy’s hand in his, staring at him in confusion.
“Morning, Jaybird,” Roy said gently, sliding his thumb over the back of his hand. “It’s just me. And Bruce.”
Jason’s eyebrows knit together, the only warning either of them got before Jason straightened suddenly, looking first to Bruce and then the room at large, mouth furled in silent accusation. Roy smiled, forever in love with that slight, constant frown.
Bruce took his cue, no doubt full up on emotions for the day, if Roy had to guess, and gracefully rose to his feet.
“Good morning,” Bruce told him, his hand making an abortive movement towards Jason’s tousled curls, stopping just shy of actually touching him. Roy held his tongue, seeing apprehension and disappointment flicker across Jason’s face before his features dissolved into studied neutrality.
“Morning, old man,” Jason said softly, and Roy watched Bruce dissemble in turn, his expression blank.
Fucking Bats. Roy wanted to bash his head into a wall.
“Alfred needs your help,” Roy said gently, drawing Jason’s attention to him, choosing his battles wisely.
Bruce shared a similar mind, exiting the room on swift, silent feet, Jason’s eyes following his every step until he’d disappeared into the hallway.
“Hey,” Roy said, catching him by the chin, an easy smile on his face as Jason looked up at him. “Sleep okay?”
Jason seemed to consider the question, a pinched look on his face. Roy waited patiently, tracing his fingers along Jason’s jawline, pushing a few wayward curls out of his eyes.
“I woke up pretty well,” Jason said, squeezing his hand.
Roy’s whole, stupid heart seized.
“That’s a good line, Jaybird,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss. Jason’s head tilted back, opening for him so readily. He felt Jason’s free hand brush his chest, fingertips tracing his ribs.
Jason hummed, letting Roy kiss him sweet and deep, sinking further into the mattress. Roy hiked one long leg up around his waist, feeling the weight of Jason’s ankle against his lower back. Jason’s hands flexed against his chest, kneading the bare skin there with greedy fingers.
Roy paused reluctantly, nuzzling Jason’s cheek. “Probably shouldn’t, Jaybird. Like I said, Alfred’s trying to get breakfast going and I think Steph talked about beignets for at least an hour yesterday.”
He pronounced the word beige nuts, just to make Jason roll his eyes.
“Menace,” Jason said, squeezing Roy’s hips with those powerful thighs, keeping him close. “Your breath is terrible,” he complained, kissing Roy again all the same.
“Yours isn’t,” Roy said, dipping his head to nibble at Jason’s neck. “You taste amazing as always. Did you shower?”
Jason squirmed. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Waste of water. Screw breakfast, I’m gonna make you messy all over again,” Roy promised, one hand already working underneath Jason’s shirt.
“But...I like making beignets,” Jason complained, his hands now starting to push at Roy’s shoulders.
Leave it to Jason Todd to find baking more interesting than sex. Roy should have never opened his mouth.
“You’re lucky you’re hot,” Roy griped, chewing on him for another moment before kneeling up on the bed. Jason stared up at him, his tank top rumpled and curls everywhere, his beautiful face looking rested and happy.
“I love you too,” Jason said, smiling. “Now get off me.”
///
Breakfast for almost a dozen people, especially all of them vigilantes with excellent metabolisms, was no easy feat. The staff Alfred had hired for the gala was long gone, the Manor once again its usual private fortress, leaving the task up to Alfred and Jason alone.
Jason was used to working in tandem with Alfred, the two of them moving seamlessly around the space together. A few of the others had been recruited to help—Cass was grating potatoes for hash browns with intense focus, while Damian held a shaker of powdered sugar with one good arm, dutifully sprinkling it on top of the beignets Jason scooped out of the frying oil one by one.
Most of the Bats were slumped around the kitchen table, cups of coffee in their hands. Bruce sat at the head per usual, a newspaper before his eyes and a velvet robe around his shoulders. Every so often his gaze would meet Jason’s, the two of them sharing a small, private smile.
Damian was wearing one of Dick’s hoodies, large enough to cover the thick bandage on top of one skinny shoulder. Damian was subdued, bags under his eyes, his small face stony with reflection. Jason could almost hear the internal monologue behind that look, full of recriminations.
He thought about how Dick had kissed the top of Damian’s head that night in the hallway. It took everything in him not to do the same, just now. It would be...disrespectful.
Sometimes, Jason longed for Selina and her quiet understanding. Sometimes, he hated when Bruce did the same, desiring something warmer. He wondered what Damian needed now.
Roy would probably know. He looked for him, instinctually now, even though he wasn’t there.
Roy had left to shower and dress after helping Jason make a few batches of dough. Roy was surprisingly apt at the process, shyly admitting to having made a lot of frybread in his youth. Jason ferreted the information away for another time, fuzzy dreams of future dinner dates in the back of his mind.
Dick came into the kitchen close to chow time, eyeing the immense spread of food and his half-asleep family. Steph was slumped against Duke’s shoulder, clearly battling a hangover, a pair of aviator sunglasses on her face. Every so often he’d raise a glass of water with a straw to her lips, ignoring her mumbled protests.
“Hey Little D,” Dick said, kissing the top of Damian’s head on his way towards the French press. “Looks good.”
“Do not patronize me,” Damian said, expression pleased all the same. Jason flipped more beignets onto the baking sheet, sharing a knowing look with Dick. Damian powdered them with measured, exact shakes.
“Not going to tell me I’m doing a good job?” Jason teased.
“When you’re within range of hot oil? No thanks, Little Wing,” Dick said, winking at him, pouring himself a hefty cup of black coffee.
Jason glared at him before turning back to his work, letting the nickname slide.
Selina wandered in as well, kissing Alfred on the cheek when she entered. She flitted over to Bruce in a flowing, white silk robe, stealing his coffee and sitting down directly in his lap. Bruce didn’t even blink, absently kissing her brow as she curled up against him. He turned the newspaper back to the front page, the two of them reading together.
No one batted an eye at the show of domesticity, which Jason took to mean they were used to it. Maybe he should visit the manor more often.
Roy returned to the kitchen with wet hair and one of those tight henleys Jason liked, Tim in step with him. Tim had an oversized black and red Superboy shirt on over a pair of leggings, his arm once again back in its sling now that he was alone with family. They were both staring at Roy’s phone, heads bent as they talked.
“Do you think it’ll work?” Roy was asking.
Tim’s mouth was a thoughtful frown. “I think so, but you should ask Damian. I don’t know much about cats.”
“Excuse me?” Selina asked from across the room.
“Good idea,” Roy said, the two of them coming over to crowd around the stove. “Hey Babybat, come look at this.”
Damian’s eyes flicked over to Roy, then up to Jason, then over to Tim. Tim held out his good hand.
“Give the shaker to Timmers, Damian,” Jason said, eyeing him and then Roy. “Make sure Roy’s not about to make a gun that shoots cats or something for me, okay?”
“Tt,” Damian scoffed, but he did step off the small stool he was using, handing off the shaker before walking over to Roy, expression curious.
Tim took his place, stepping on the stool even though he didn’t need to. Maybe he just liked being shoulder to shoulder with Jason.
“Roy has an idea for a splint for Selina’s kitten, the one Damian likes,” Tim explained softly. Dick passed by, setting down a cup of coffee in front of Tim like clockwork. Tim smiled gratefully, closing his eyes when Dick patted him on the shoulder. “One that can grow with it, so she can maybe get use of that paw back.”
Jason glanced over, watching Damian and Roy sit down at the dinner table, talking softly to one another. Selina, clearly overhearing their plans, had a startled expression on her face. Bruce looked faintly proud.
Jason understood the feeling, smiling playfully in Roy’s direction when their eyes met.
“This is a lot of food,” Tim remarked, dumping out powdered sugar with a heavier hand than Damian.
“I heard we might have guests,” Jason said under his breath, eyeing Alfred working at the other counter. The old man nodded. “They’re coming?”
“Any minute now,” Tim told him, reaching for his coffee.
“Thanks, Red,” Jason whispered. “I owe you.”
Tim shook his head, looking up at Jason with those sharp, deep blue eyes. “I think maybe this family could do with fewer favors, honestly. It’s...nice to be nice.”
Jason didn’t know what to do with that, his beignets beginning to burn as he tried.
Tim looked down at the pot, then bumped his shoulder against Jason’s, tipping his head close for a moment, his soft hair glancing over Jason’s ear.
“I wouldn’t say no to taking more pictures though,” Tim said, straightening up and looking back down at the counter. “If Jason Todd and Roy Harper are publicly dating, we’ll need your Instagram to reflect that.”
“Seriously?” Jason asked, surprised. He’d figured he’d have to take on that responsibility from here on out.
“It's kind of a hobby, now. I find it... soothing,” Tim explained, urging him to flip the beignets. “It’s like Sims but better. Jason Todd has a pretty cool life.”
Jason looked past Tim and around the room, smelling coffee and sugar. Dick was telling a joke, answered by Roy’s happy laughter and Steph’s loud groans. Damian and Selina were bonding over cat pictures, a somewhat interested Duke looking in their direction. Cass was peering over Alfred’s shoulder, practicing the names of breakfast foods and cooking terms, hands fluttering like birds.
He does, Jason thought to himself, Bruce’s eyes finding his above the fray, the hint of a smile on his face. He really does.
+
Despite the hours it took to cook the meal, it only took the Bats about twenty minutes to scarf down their food. Jason sat beside Roy, their thighs pressed together with Roy’s arm casually draped around his shoulder. He had powdered sugar at the corner of his mouth and a happy light behind his eyes.
Jason, a belly full of bacon and eggs, sipped his tea and let the conversation flow around him. Alfred snuck out halfway through the meal, returning with a proud nod in his direction. Good, that meant their bags were packed.
Just as everyone began considering second helpings, mountains of food still piled high across the long table, Jason saw the slight flicker of shadow through the windows and heard the distant sound of a sonic boom finally reach his ears.
Only Roy seemed surprised, looking up at the noise.
“Kon,” Tim explained, rising from the table.
Jason turned to Roy, speaking quietly into his ear. “Come with me?”
“Sure, Jaybird,” Roy agreed, clearly confused but always so trusting. He pushed his chair back so they could both stand, moving to take his plate to the sink before Alfred snatched it from his hands with an affronted look.
Jason took Roy by the hand, ignoring the teasing looks from his family as he pulled him from the room. Tim was in the hallway already, heading to the back door.
“What’s going on?” Roy asked, trotting alongside Jason.
“I’ll explain in just a second,” Jason promised, seeing their bags sitting by the door. He picked them both up, gesturing for Roy to step outside. Roy did as asked, following Tim down the steps.
There in the early Gotham sunshine stood Clark Kent and Kon-El, both of them suited up in red, black, and blue, smiling as bright as the American Dream.
Tim was already across the lawn, standing on tiptoe to wrap Kon up in a hug, kissing him briefly.
“Has it been a second?” Roy asked under his breath, eyeing the scene before him.
Jason squeezed his hand, looking up at Superman. “Thanks for coming. Would you like to eat first? We have lots of food.”
“Maybe on the return trip,” Clark said, nodding in their direction. “How was the party?”
“Good,” Jason said, swallowing his nerves. “Just...I just need a minute.” He looked to Roy, taking in his bewildered expression. Clark turned away from them politely, making a show of putting his hands over his ears like he couldn’t hear something in another solar system.
“Jaybird?” Roy asked, eyes big.
“Thank you, for doing all this,” Jason began, adjusting the weight of the bags on his shoulder. “Thank you for coming here, to Gotham, for me. I didn’t say it before and I should have.”
Roy blinked, his expression softening rapidly.
“You spent a lot of time with them...my family, these last few weeks,” he continued, ignoring how Tim and Kon were clearly watching them both, not nearly as polite as good old Clark Kent. “I thought maybe you’d like to spend the weekend with yours. With me. In Star.”
He remembered Roy from a few nights ago, bolstered by his conversation with Oliver and the girls, a smile on his face. Jason wasn’t sure if this would be a welcome gesture, but his gut had said this was a good idea. He wanted Roy happy. He’d give anything to see him happy, even a weekend taking arrows to the chest as he apologized over and over for his past. Whatever it took.
“If that’s what you want,” he finished lamely, searching Roy’s face. Those green eyes of his were starting to water.
Roy teared up a little easier than most. Jason loved that about him, the honesty of it, his unflinching commitment to always being himself.
“You asked Superman to take us on a weekend getaway?” Roy asked, awestruck.
Jason shrugged. “It was either this or the Batplane, but Superman’s faster and more eco-friendly. Also Bruce was going to make me pay for gas. Beignets were easier.”
“I do love beignets,” Clark said, forgetting he wasn’t supposed to be listening.
Roy laughed, head thrown back, guileless. “They were pretty delicious.” He straightened up, his hand gripping Jason’s fingers fiercely. “Yeah, okay,” he said, once he realized Jason was still waiting for an answer. “Yes, please, I mean. Thank you.”
Jason smiled.
Tim pulled away from Kon, kissing him on the cheek. “See you in a little bit.” He nodded to both Roy and Jason, heading back towards the house with a pleased, knowing grin on his face. Tim did always like a secret.
Roy leaned in suddenly, throwing his arms around Jason’s shoulders and kissing him soundly. Between the weight of him and all their gear Jason staggered at the force of it, hurrying to catch Roy by the waist so they didn’t fall.
“I love you,” Roy whispered, pressing the words into his lips, eyelashes fluttering against Jason’s cheek.
“I love you too,” Jason said softly, squeezing him hard before letting go.
Roy laughed again, that bright, joyful sound, pulling away. He took his bag and turned towards the two Supers, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight.
“Who rides with who?” he asked, but already he was striding towards Kon, hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Roy. Have we met, officially? We should have, I danced with your boyfriend last night but only in the most platonic of senses, promise.”
Jason watched him go, expression fond.
“Uh, I think so?” Kon said, obviously caught off guard by Roy’s exuberance. “I think you might have had a concussion though.”
“That tracks,” Roy commented, securing his bag over his shoulder. “So, how do you want to do this? Bridal carry? Do you want tips and tricks on Bat-wrangling by the way? I’m kind of an expert.”
Jason left Kon to his own devices, turning towards Clark. His gear was strapped tight, his heart full.
“Ready, Jason?” Superman asked, still as tall and gleaming as Jason remembered.
“Race you!” Roy interrupted, arms wrapped around Kon’s neck, the two of them already rising off the ground.
“Thanks again, Uncle Clark,” Jason said, following suit. He hooked an arm around Clark’s neck, letting Clark pick him up as he saw fit. It was like trying to hold on to a building
“Of course,” Clark said, easy as pie. “Anything for family and baked goods.”
Jason glanced up at Roy, watching him smile, talking animatedly to Kon about something he couldn’t quite hear.
“Let’s go,” he said, and felt Clark push off the grass. He kept his eyes on Roy above, his red hair gleaming and smile bright, and followed him into the sun.