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Jason was studiously reading his book, bothering absolutely no one. The past two weeks had been spent busting a carjacking ring. He'd earned this downtime and holy shit did his body need it. But all of that meant that, despite being intentionally buried deep in a rarely used back corner of the library, his well-deserved break was about to be interrupted.
Honestly, he should know better by now.
On cue, Damian came padding around a bookshelf, unsurprised to see Jason there. "May I join you, Todd?"
Jason shrugged his reply. So much for peace and quiet. But at least Damian had the decency to ask. And he wasn’t especially chatty.
The boy dropped onto the couch beside him with a small huff and Jason finally glanced up from the page. Damian's face was twisted in a frown, arms crossed loosely, lost in thought. A bandage wound around his upper arm, half covered by his shirt sleeve, and a reddish bruise graced his jaw.
“All that from last night?”
Damian nodded, touching the bandage. “I suppose you heard what happened over comms?”
How could he not have? All had been normal until shortly after midnight. He’d been in the Bowery, enjoying the first quiet night in weeks when panicked shouts exploded in his ear. It was chilling to hear Bruce yell for Robin like that, raw fear tearing at his throat as Jason leapt to his feet, sore muscles protesting in vain. Dick’s desperate cry a moment later had Jason bolting across the city in a dead sprint, not stopping until Batman signalled the all clear.
By the time he’d worked off all that extra adrenaline and returned to the cave, everyone had scattered except for Bruce who was sitting stoic at the computer and not giving up a shred of information.
“My ears are still ringing from all the noise.” Jason said, “What the hell did you do kid?”
Damian’s frown deepened into a stormy, Bruce-like glare. “My job. But the instant a blade moved my way, Father and Grayson were beside themselves!”
“I mean…” Jason stared pointedly at the bandage, “it did cut you.”
“A minor injury.” Damian sighed and uncrossed his arms, laying his hands palm up in his lap. Pale scars criss-crossed them, as they did on all of their hands. “I know why they reacted like that. It’s not that they doubt me. They’re simply…” He trailed off, staring at his limp hands.
Carefully, so as not to break the strange stillness that settled over them, Jason slid a bookmark between the pages. There was more to this. He could feel it in his gut.
Damian curled his hands into loose fists. “How long did it take them to look at you normally afterwards?”
“Afterwards?”
“After you came back to life.”
The book almost fell from Jason’s hands. The tips of his fingers felt numb. A sick feeling crept through him, crawled up his throat and made his heart speed up.
“I can see it in their faces.” Damian continued. He seemed weary now, voice resigned. “They look at me differently. Father thinks he hides it but his eyes are...mournful. Grayson’s entire face wears his guilt. Sometimes even Drake has pity for me. I’m alive but they–”
“They see a grave.” Jason finished softly. “A shroud.” God, this was more than he expected. Maybe more than he was equipped to handle. Wasn’t the kid seeing a therapist he could talk to? Honestly, Jason would be surprised if he wasn’t. It was a Wayne rite of passage at this point and thank fuck for it.
And even though he knew the looks Damian was referring to and noticed when they shifted from him to the child beside him (and pissed him off because seriously? This again?)...it was different.
Jason came back with violence and bloody hands and was met with a fight.
Damian came back to a family and loving embraces.
“I’ll be honest,” Jason set the book aside and prayed he wasn’t about to say something stupid. “It took years. Sometimes they still do it. And I get it. Dick and Bruce had five whole years to drive themselves mad and then boom! The source of every sleepless night and guilty thought was back. I was a walking, talking reminder of their failure.”
“Did it bother you?”
Jason barked a laugh that sounded harsh in the still room. “Kid, it drove me up the fucking wall. For a while I could only be around Dick if he had his domino on. And don’t get me started on B!”
At last Damian looked at him. “So how did you change it?” He asked eagerly. Of course he would, the little al Ghul and Wayne amalgamation he was. Ready to take on the world with sheer determination and spite. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Jason said with a sinking heart. Something seemed to deflate in Damian. “There was nothing I could do. Over time they realized I wasn’t going to drop dead if I so much as pricked my finger which helped. Mostly they had to overcome their own feelings of guilt.
“But here’s where we’re different.” Damian raised an eyebrow. “My death defined me. It was the only thing I cared about when I returned so it was the only lens they could see me through. Yours doesn’t have to. One moment doesn’t have to control you.”
Jason stopped talking then, surprised he said so much. And that the teenager hadn’t walked out in the middle of it. The soft ticking of a clock filled the silence as Damian stared at the bookshelves across the room, green eyes tracing them as he processed. Muffled voices leaked through the walls and Jason glared in the direction of the doors as if he could psychically scare off any intruders.
Several long minutes passed before Damian spoke in a small voice. “So...I do nothing except...live? And they’ll look at me normally again? Or close to it?”
“Yeah,” Jason copied his quiet voice, already making a mental note to go chew his family out, “Just live.”
Damian nodded slowly, still gazing across the room. And Jason fought to keep the sadness in his chest from reaching his own eyes. Coming back from the dead wasn’t easy for anyone involved. Dying wasn’t pleasant, obviously. And neither of them had gone peacefully. But when you wake up clueless wearing funeral clothes in a different year...
"You know...if you ever need to talk about it or have a nightmare or just need a break from their moping...call me. Okay? I know it was a hell of an adjustment for me." He was determined that Damian wouldn't end up like him, overwhelmed with grief and confusion, primed for manipulation.
"Are you sure?” Damian looked at him hesitantly, as if Jason would suddenly laugh and say he was lying. “I... don't want to dredge up unpleasant memories."
"Nah it's fine. Promise. Doesn’t matter what time it is, I’ll answer."
Normally, Jason would end the conversation here by opening his book again. Or leaving. Because it was done. He said all that could be said without resorting to empty platitudes or promises he couldn’t guarantee. For some reason though...he couldn’t.
In the early years, Jason spent a lot of time wondering why he came back. Multiple reasons have popped up but maybe this was the most important one yet.
He was here so Damian wouldn't go through this alone.
Before he could overthink it, Jason reached out and pulled Damian against his chest. He went surprisingly easily, curling in Jason’s arms with a shaky breath. Looking small like the child he should be. His little brother who was murdered, mourned, then dragged back to life by a family not even death could keep apart.
"Jason…" Damian whispered at last, making no move to leave. In fact he pressed closer, gripping Jason’s hoodie, "Thank you."
Jason couldn't stop the wave of affection that crashed over him even if he wanted to. Tears began stinging his eyes. Blinking quickly, he rested his chin on Damian's head and held him a bit tighter. Neither of them would likely acknowledge this happened later. And that was fine. For now Jason said the only comforting truth he could.
"I’ve got you, Dames. I’ve got you."