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Dick considered himself a pretty patient guy – with so many younger siblings, he had to be. Steph dyed his uniform purple again? That was fine, he had no trouble rocking lavender and black. Tim was practically vibrating at the speed of sound after his 15th cup of coffee for the day? No worries, he and Alfred could easily team up and switch his coffee with decaf. Cass had disappeared in the middle of a gala only to be spotted in civilian form chilling on the roof? Good thing he liked heights and was good at talking people down!
But there was one sibling who was testing that patience far more than the rest – not because he was any more of a troublemaker than the others, but because the topic he’d landed on was fraught on the best of days.
Because (surprise, surprise) apparently the concept of respect for the dead wasn’t one that had been covered in baby assassin training camp.
And really – Dick knew that Damian had made a lot of adjustments since he’d come to Gotham. He’d stopped referring to Tim as “Pretender” (mostly), hadn’t tried to stab people who looked at him wrong (this month), and had even made his first friend at school the other day (and after all the terrible advice he’d gotten on making friends from the rest of the family, that had been a minor miracle).
So Dick knew that Damian was trying, and his newest little brother was really improving by leaps and bounds! Which was what Dick tried to remind himself when Damian made certain comments.
Comments like the one made after Nightwing and Robin returned from patrol that night, after Robin had wandered over to the gallery of old uniforms in the Cave.
“I do not understand Father’s memorial of Todd. No one would call Todd a good soldier,” the younger boy scoffed, arms crossed as he aimed a scowl at the glass case containing Jason’s last Robin uniform. He tilted his head consideringly for a moment before adding, “Unless it is meant in jest.”
Dick flinched, eyes widening in surprise at his Damian’s harsh words even as a fresh wave of grief swept through him at the reminder of his very first little brother. No matter how many years passed, Dick didn’t think the family would ever get over his loss, and for Damian to say something so callous…
“It’s not a joke, Dami,” he responded, forcing his tone calm and reminding himself that Damian had been raised by assassins, ones that – from what they’d all gathered – hadn’t been very big on forming emotional connections with others. He was bound to struggle a bit with the concept of family and love and grief, and all the complexities involved. “Jason was very special to Bruce – to all of us who knew him.”
“Tt,” came the unimpressed response. “I fail to understand why. He is a nuisance, and I am certain I could beat him in combat.”
Dick reminded himself to take deep breaths. Damian tended to measure a person’s worth by their fighting ability, and he supposed Jason being killed by an enemy was a strike against him in Damian’s head. “He was family, Dami,” Dick said, trying to keep his voice even – but some of his distress must’ve leaked through, because Damian’s eyes darted to him.
“You are upset,” Damian stated, though he sounded confused, as though he couldn’t imagine what he’d said that might be upsetting. Dick took another deep breath and reminded himself that he probably couldn’t.
“Just…don’t say anything like that in front of Bruce,” he settled on saying. “He won’t take it well.” Dick wasn’t taking it well either, but at least Dick wouldn’t disappear for days for a stoic-but-angsty pout because of it. Bruce was doing much better since Jason’s death, but Dick had no doubt that hearing something so disparaging about his dead son from one of his living ones would send the man on a brooding spiral, and Damian was too young and too newly-introduced to emotions not to take that to heart.
Damian gave him an odd look but shrugged his acquiescence, and Dick exhaled one long, heavy sigh.
Dick would give Damian this – he never said anything unkind about Jason in front of Bruce. However, he’d apparently taken Dick’s words as blanket permission to continue to disparage his dead brother in front of Dick.
Two weeks later, Dick caught him with his Nintendo switch out, apparently playing a word game with a friend and muttering to himself, “Todd believes that he has the monopoly on the English language, but I shall prove once and for all that I am superior to him in every way.” And really – Dick knew Damian was competitive, but comparing yourself to your dead brother’s reputation for being an English whiz seemed a bit extreme.
A couple of days after that, Damian was glaring at his phone and muttering about how, “blackmail is such an inelegant way of dealing with nuisances, of course it is something Todd would stoop to in his misguided brotherly protection.” Dick wasn’t sure what had led Damian to that conclusion, considering that he’d never even met Jason – but he had to admit, it did sound like something Jason would do. He’d never been afraid to get his hands dirty to protect the ones he loved.
The next week, Damian was scowling at Dick’s motorcycle for no reason that Dick could discern until he heard him hiss under his breath, “ – can’t believe Todd is such an imbecile that he would get himself injured because he is unable to stay upright on something so simple.” Dick can’t remember ever witnessing Jason crash a motorcycle, but he guessed Bruce must have told the little gremlin a story that Dick hadn’t heard before. Not exactly surprising, given that Dick had been away for a lot of Jason’s tenure as Robin – but he was surprised that Bruce was actually talking about Jason. He could only be thankful that Damian had kept that particular comment to himself until he was away from Bruce.
That luck couldn’t hold out forever, though, and it all came to a head one innocuous evening. Dick was in town from Bludhaven to discuss a case with Batman, and Tim, it seemed, had stopped by to discuss WE business with Bruce. It was a rare night that found Dick, Bruce, Tim, and Damian all under one roof, and Alfred had taken advantage of it to herd them all into the dining room for a family dinner.
There was a pleasant energy buzzing through the air as Alfred sat steaming plates of lasagna down in front of each of them, Dick glancing up to give the old butler a smile. “You should eat with us, Alfie,” he encouraged hopefully. Alfred didn’t eat with them often, but tonight felt like a special occasion, with so many of them in the Manor at once. Thankfully, Alfred seemed to agree, because he acquiesced with minimal fuss, declining Dick’s and Tim’s offers of help and setting another plate for himself.
The atmosphere was light, and even Tim and Damian’s inevitable hissed argument had taken the tone of a lighthearted verbal sparring.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve had your lasagna, Alfred,” Bruce commented with a small smile.
Tim disengaged from his squabble with Damian to interject, “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever had it before.”
Alfred’s answering smile was slightly sad. “It was one of Master Jason’s favorites to assist me with.”
And oooooh, there went the relaxed vibe of the meal. Bruce’s expression tightened, Tim’s became uncertain, and Damian – Dick was pretty sure Damian had rolled his eyes.
Dick hid a wince and said cheerfully, “I’m sure he’d be glad you were making it again, Alfred.” Bruce’s expression was growing increasingly forbidding as the man got closer and closer to experiencing an actual Emotion™, something that was expressly forbidden by the laws of the universe, or something. He added, forcing lightness into his voice, “Though he’d probably say that it would’ve turned out even better with his help.”
Alfred turned his nostalgic smile on Dick. “I’m certain he would,” he agreed, and his tone took on a tint of wry amusement. “And he very well might’ve been right – he was nearly making the entire dish without my help before – ” There was no happy way to end that sentence. Alfred cleared his throat and continued on delicately, “well, before. And I daresay he was better at it than I.”
There was a scoff from across the table. “I suppose Todd has to be good for something, considering all his other inadequacies,” Damian sniffed, and Dick felt his heart drop, not daring to glance at Bruce’s face. Tim and Alfred were frozen with identical expressions of shock.
Leaning forward, as though closing a bit of the distance would keep the rest of the family sitting right there from hearing him, Dick hissed admonishingly, “Damian, we talked about this. You shouldn’t talk about Jason like that.”
Damian was glancing around the table at the family’s expressions, eyebrows furrowing. “I do not understand,” he said, and Dick kind of wanted to tear his own hair out. “Why should I keep my remarks about Todd’s shortcomings to myself? I am only commenting on the facts.”
Deep breaths. “It’s just not a very nice way to talk about someone.”
Damian frowned. “But Drake and I exchange insults all the time without eliciting this reaction. I fail to see how insulting Todd is any different.”
Bruce was dangerously quiet, and Dick really needed to get this situation under control, like, now. Still, snapping at Damian wouldn’t do any good – it wasn’t like the kid knew any better. He summoned all of his patience and kept his voice calm. “Look, squirt, we get that you were raised by the League and that things were pretty different there. But here, there’s a – an unwritten rule that we don’t speak ill of the dead. Especially not to the people who knew them. People sometimes mourn for a long time. Jason may have died several years ago now, but we’re still grieving him. So just – just don’t, okay?”
There, surely that would be enough to get through to the kid – only Damian was giving him an incredibly strange look, like Dick had just said something entirely foreign and incomprehensible.
Damian said slowly, “Why are you continuing to grieve Todd?”
Dick tried not to sigh audibly, but some of his frustration must’ve leaked through because Alfred stepped in. “Because we cared about Master Jason, and he was taken from us. We still miss him very much,” the old butler responded gravely, and now Damian was giving Alfred an odd look.
“Have you attempted to call him? He prefers texting and does not like to answer phone calls, but he will pick up if you call him several times in a row. The ringing annoys him. I am certain he would speak with you, if he knew you missed him,” Damian informed him, confusion still present in the boy’s expression – a confusion that was reflected in every other face at the table.
“Damian, Jason’s dead. We can’t call him,” Tim said, forehead wrinkled in concern for their youngest. Damian looked around at them, expression growing more bewildered.
“Todd is not dead – he is in college in New York. Did Mother not inform you of this?”
To say reactions were mixed would be an understatement. Tim’s shrieked what?! probably shattered the eardrums of every neighbor within a 10-mile radius. Alfred remained composed, though the lift of his brows suggested surprise. Bruce – well, Dick still hadn’t dared to glance at Bruce, though the stony silence from his direction was not a positive sign. Dick shot first into the land of denial, then quickly into the land of panic.
“You’re speaking to someone claiming to be Jason Todd?” he demanded, halfway to hysteria at Damian’s nod. Thank god they’d found out now, so they could put a stop to it. “Dames, I don’t know who you’re talking to, but that’s not Jason - Jason died, we buried him.”
Damian only nodded again, eyes darting between them, hands folded carefully on the table in front of him. “Yes, he did mention that he woke up in a coffin, though he does not remember much after that. The League found him, and Mother healed him with the Lazarus Pit.”
“The Lazarus Pit?” cried several voices at once, and Damian nodded.
“Mother helped train him until the Pit madness wore off, at which point he requested to stop training and attend college instead. She is very indulgent of his whims.” The last sentence was uttered with a scowl.
“I don’t believe this,” Tim whispered, and Damian shot him an irritated look.
“If you do not believe me, I will call him and prove it to you. He should be done with all of his classes by now,” Damian sniffed, pulling out his phone. He dialed and placed the call on speaker, and it felt like the whole room held their breaths. There was no answer, but Damian simply dialed again – and then a third time. “I told you he does not like to answer his phone. I always have to call repeatedly until he gets annoyed enough to pick up,” he grumbled.
On the fourth call, Damian was proven correct.
A familiar drawl came from the speaker – only deeper and rougher, signs of age that Dick had never thought he’d hear in this particular voice. “What the fuck do you want, demon brat?” The voice said, irritation clear, before the tone softened. “That kid at school still bothering you? I already threatened him with all the blackmail material I had, but I can dig up more.”
“Hello, Todd,” Damian said stiffly, clearly aware of his audience. “It appears Father and the others were unaware of your return.”
The voice snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think Talia was too eager to tell them she dipped me in the Pit – or that she’d hid me from them for the year before that. She already knew she was in the doghouse with the old man for keeping you from him for 9 years.”
“And you did not seek to speak with them yourself?” Damian queried.
And now the voice was cold, a snarl of real rage present in his voice. “I don’t have anything to say to them as long as that clown is still alive.”
From the corner of his eye, Dick could see Bruce flinch, but he was too busy reeling – because that reaction sounded just like his brother. Quick to emotion, furious at any perceived injustice, and not the least bit shy about vocalizing it – it had easily been one of Jason’s best and most infuriating traits, and to hear it in this mysterious person that Damian was claiming was that very long-dead little brother? Well…Dick couldn’t help but hope.
“Jason?” he called tremulously. Damian appeared frozen, face cycling through a series of ‘uh-oh I might’ve messed up’ expressions, and there was a moment of silence followed by a long, crackling sigh over the phone’s speaker.
“You called me right in front of them?” came the voice, annoyed but resigned.
“I had thought it was a mistake of some kind, that they had not been informed you had returned,” Damian responded stiffly. “My apologies, Todd.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay, short stack. I’m hanging up now, though. Come visit me sometime. Just make sure you ditch your babysitters first – ”
“Wait,” Dick called out desperately, eyes wide at the thought that he might lose his brother again.
There was a pause, but no click of the line going dead. “Well?” Jason’s voice said, impatient. “What do you want, Dickface?”
Dick felt a beam spread across his face at the familiar moniker; Jason was the only one who’d ever called him that, and – and dammit, he’d missed hearing it, insult though it was.
“You’re really Jason?” he asked, wanting to hear the confirmation. Damian rolled his eyes at the question, and Dick would swear he could feel Jason doing the same on the other end of the call. Which – fair, it wasn’t exactly the most foolproof way of confirming someone’s identity.
“No, I’m Wonder Woman,” Jason’s voice bit back sarcastically.
“Can you prove that it’s you?” Tim asked, voice carefully neutral. “Tell us something only Jason Todd would know?”
“Is that the Replacement?” Tim’s expression spasmed, but Jason didn’t wait for confirmation before continuing easily, “When I first moved in, Dick was in a Powerpuff Girls phase and was convinced that he could be like Buttercup, even though he’s clearly some kind of unholy amalgamation of Blossom and Bubbles.”
Tim looked to Dick for confirmation, who nodded as heat creeped over the back of his neck. Really, Jason? Really, he had to pick that for proof?
But apparently his mean little brother wasn’t even done.
Jason continued, “He kept practicing his scowl, which was basically the least intimidating thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and then one day there was a 6-year-old on the subway who challenged him to a scowling comp – “
“Okay, thank you, Little Wing,” Dick said loudly as Damian started snickering.
A moment of peaceful, serene silence, and then Jason said gleefully, “Dick lost.”
Damian had a rare grin on his face, and even Tim’s shoulders were shaking with poorly hidden laughter, the traitor. Annoying little brothers. “Great,” Dick said brightly, eyes narrowed and tone promising retribution. He might not get his revenge today, but he would get it! “So glad we could establish you’re the real deal, Jaybird, thanks so much for that.”
“Any time, Dickface,” Jason chirped back, sickly sweet.
“Master Jason, you could be nicer to your brother,” Alfred chided – and, see, this was why Alfred was everyone’s favorite! Dick turned to beam gratefully at him and faltered at the sight of unshed tears in the older man’s eyes.
There was silence on the other end for a second, before Jason let out a suspiciously-choked-sounding, “Sorry, Alfie.”
It was only because Dick was watching the butler so carefully that he caught the brief flash of painful joy on the other man at the sound of his name. “My dear boy, it’s good to hear your voice,” came the rejoinder.
“Yeah, it’s, um. It’s good to hear yours, too.” The words were muttered and low, and Dick could practically feel Jason’s own allergy to emotions through the phone line.
He internally rolled his eyes – why was his family so emotionally constipated? – and, like the excellent big brother, chimed in with a rescue. “So when are you coming home?”
Okay, yeah, so maybe that was less rescue and more emotional blackmail while Alfred could back him up, but in his defense, he’d just found out his little brother was alive! He wasn’t above using a little manipulation to get Little Wing to come visit, if that was what it took.
“The manor isn’t home,” Jason snapped – and, alright, ouch, that hurt a little. Dick pouted but amended his statement.
“Okay, when are you coming back to see all of us, then?”
Jason wasn’t any more impressed with that version, apparently. “I’m not,” he said, voice irritated.
“But we miss you,” Dick protested, letting a little bit of whine creep into his voice.
“Do you?” Jason said, tone flat and the words more statement than question. “You replaced me easily enough.”
Tim blanched, hurt flitting across his face. “That’s not – I wasn’t – “
“No one could ever replace you, Little Wing,” Dick interjected, rescuing him.
“Indeed, Master Jason,” Alfred added in that gentle tone of his that no one could refute. “We have all missed you quite terribly. I have particularly missed having an extra set of hands in the kitchen. Won’t you come visit your poor grandfather?”
Ooooh, that was playing dirty. Dick gave Alfred a discreet thumbs up of support.
“Alfie,” Jason groaned, voice strained but with a hint of resignation, and Dick grinned. That was practically a surrender.
“Jason.” Dick’s eyes snapped to Bruce, whose normally guarded expression was awash with disbelief, hope, fear, and joy. “Please. Come home.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then a long, defeated sigh. Dick let out a whoop at the sound, grinning from ear to ear. His Little Wing was coming to visit.