Chapter Text
Jason blinked once, twice, three times; well…this wasn't what he was expecting.
A groan sounds beside him as Danny sits up, rubbing his head. Jason glances down at their entangled legs, deciding not to chance anything and lets Danny adjust before trying to get up.
They're in an alleyway…or some medieval version of it or whatever the fuck. The…the fucking buildings are made of stone. With straw roofs. And wooden supports.
There is, quite literally, a tavern just across the street from them.
Jason turns his head towards Danny, only to find the other staring back at him. They blink at each other once, twice, three times, who knows, really. The point is, both are just as lost in this…world as the other is.
They have no fucking idea what to do now.
Jason hadn't really meant it when he'd thought—book still open in his hands—that he wanted to see Danny in medieval, prince-like clothing.
…Okay, he did mean it, but he didn't know they'd be sucked into a fucking—whatever this was! They weren't in the book Jason was reading, he knows that. Danny'd visited Jazz and brought him back some Sci-Fi books, and this was certainly not Sci-Fi.
(They still hadn't told her about everything, waiting for the right time.)
So…Jason could not only use books—whichever books, genre and type don't matter—to create whatever the fuck he wants, but he could also quite literally send people into different worlds made from either his creation, or a vague fucking idea.
And he didn't know how to get out.
Fuck.
How did he keep forgetting this ability existed?
But, he thinks, if he could make any world he wanted, send anyone there and keep them trapped…could he send the Joker somewhere? Somewhere where he could pay for all the things he's done? (If Bruce hasn't—and Jason really wants to believe that he has—avenged him.)
He shakes the thought away because there's no point in dwelling on it. There's no point in thinking about things he knows he can't do. (Even if he did it to the Fentons, Jason is not leaving Danny's side.)
His clothes chafe against his skin and—that's not right. His clothes are smooth and comfortable, why would—?
Oh. Oh fuck.
So, not only can Jason send people to an alternate reality, but he can also change their fucking wardrobe.
Just fucking great.
Best he can see, he's wearing a ratty, maybe-used-to-be-white tunic with brown leather pants and beat up boots. Danny's wearing something similar, Jason sees as he glances to the side, just slightly more…high quality.
Mud cakes his face, dry and itchy and Jason knows it's gonna hurt when he tries to scratch it off. Danny, on the other hand, is in pristine fucking condition, a brown floppy hat on his head hiding most of his face.
And there's something wrong here, Jason can tell. Danny's too clean, nowhere near how dirty Jason is. That's not right. Jason knows how horribly peasants—because yes, if this is a medieval world, they're peasants—were treated.
So, Danny's not a peasant.
Jason's…just going to conveniently box that thought up and shove it in the back of his mind. He can deal with it later. First things first, however, he has to find out how this world works as opposed to the world they were just yanked from.
Okay, income. They need cash to get a roof over their head and food to eat, because Jason's had experience and those always come first. Essentials, people, essentials.
And, due to some unholy amount of luck or his consciousness manipulating the world around them—which Jason decidedly does not want to think about, considering the, uh, implications of having such an ability—a couple of drunk idiots stumble out of the tavern across from them, leaning on each other as they grip their mugs, probably full of beer as best Jason can tell. Makes sense.
Even from this far away, Jason can tell with barely a glance that the clothes they're wearing are expensive. Fine threads and exciting colours standing out in the blandness of everything else. And that's not even mentioning the frankly bursting little brown bag full of coins hanging from one of the men's pockets.
Great, another thing to do. Find out the value of currency in this world. Jason just hopes, to anything willing to listen, that it's at least a little similar to what he's used to.
He relaxes his shoulders, eyes sharp as he analyses their demeanour and his chances of success. Old instinct makes way—muscle memory, really—and all Jason has to do is let himself fall back on that old, desperate, whatever-it-takes-to-survive part of himself, even if just slightly.
And it works.
The idiots' are so drunk that when they try to walk—stumble, really—they barely move more than an inch at a time.
What in the ever loving fuck.
Jason's not going to question his luck, though. He is not risking anything going to shit.
He pretends, fairly well—he might not have been a performer like Dick, but he sure as hell was an actor—that he's just passing by. The fuckers don't even notice when his hands slip in their pockets, deft and experienced, stealing handfuls of those coins—and judging by the amount he's taken, it's going to last a while.
All he does is duck his head, mutter an apology to the loud, drunken men, and circle back to the alleyway, where Danny's peering around the wall.
"Boo!" Jason yells and Danny yelps, turning towards him, clutching at his chest like a victorian maiden as he breathes, heavily, chest rising and falling in exaggerated motions.
"Jay!" Danny whines, pouting, kicking at Jason's knees a little too lightly. "What the hell was that for?!"
"Shhh!" Because of course Jason has to remind Danny to be fucking quiet, but he grins nonetheless, answering him. "Ya made yerself such an easy target, I just couldn' resist."
Danny grumbles and Jason huffs out a breath that's a tad too close to a laugh. His eyes drag themselves upward, night in play, and he grabs Danny's arm with a whispered, "We need a place to stay." And drags them to that very same tavern across the street. They don't really need to whisper, but Jason feels like he's intruding when they go louder than that. Like they're somewhere they're not supposed to be. Which, admittedly, is exactly what's going on.
One thing Jason's learned, from all his books, is that the difference between a tavern and a bar is that a tavern lets you rent out rooms—and guess what Jason's gonna do.
They enter the door, pausing for a minute as Danny shifts and Jason's eyes scan the room, looking for threats, finding none. He strides forward confidently, Danny fumbling behind him but right now Jason's in the middle of something he has to put most of his attention to.
The barkeep looks up as Jason approaches the counter, refusing to let any sort of nervousness show because he knows they won't be able to get a room if he does.
"How much fer a room?" His voice is steady, calm, sure. He knows what he wants and he's going to get it.
There's a pause.
"Two silvers." The man huffs out with a laugh, streaks of grey run through his beard, bald head shining with the dim light above him. It's clear he thinks Jason can't afford it.
He grabs one singular gold coin from his pocket—gold was all they had, and Jason's still not wasting a single bit—placing it on the counter with a clack, his fingers lingering as he asks, "Is this enough?"
His entire focus is directed onto the man's expressions. First, of surprise, clear as day. He's not expecting gold, so it's probably not common. Jason figured as much because, well, gold. Next, more guarded, is the upwards twitch of his lips and the gleam in his eye. It just confirms it.
It's not like Jason was expecting any different, really. Medieval and gold and all that. So when the man answers with, "'Course, jus' follow this way." Directing them to a room, he's not at all surprised—though he is slightly dumbfounded that the man didn't question whether or not he stole it, what with his appearance and all.
They're brought up to the top floor, past creaking floorboards and stained doors to the cleaner side—most likely reserved for the more important guests, which Jason figures he and Danny qualify as, now.
He scurries away after handing them the keys and Jason shuts the door behind the two of them with a click.
It's nothing fancy—a balcony at the far end, curtains billowing in the wind, some shelves and a bed, with a room adjacent that he assumes is a bathroom—but Jason can tell it's loads better than anything anyone else could've afforded. Thank god he robbed rich idiots and not the regular kind.
Danny groans, stepping ahead of Jason and flopping on the bed. He huffs a silent laugh and goes after the other, standing at the foot of the bed and shoving Danny to the side, making room for himself.
They lay there, side by side, staring up at the ceiling. It's silent, neither of them saying a thing, no one disturbing them, no loud noises except the occasional laugh or scuffle they can hear from down below.
"What do we do now?" It's Danny who breaks the silence—or as much silence as you can get, sleeping over a tavern—and Jason…pauses. He doesn't know how they're going to get back, he doesn't know how to reverse whatever he did, but he'd thought he'd figure it out as he went. What happens if he doesn't? What happens if they can't go back and Jason's doomed them to spend the rest of their lives here, cut off from everyone they've ever interacted with?
"I dunno," He answers truthfully, because Danny deserves that at least, and turns to face the other boy, eyes tracing over Danny's features. "But we'll figure it out."
Jason's husband's features.
He still hasn't gotten over it, the fact that they're technically married. That Jason's a literal Queen. But, in all actuality, he's happy that, of all people, it's Danny he's with. Jason can't think of anyone better.
His hand moves of its own accord, really, reaching out and intertwining with Danny's, holding the other's palm with his own. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the side of Danny's head, burying his face in his husband's shoulder—because they're married now, and he can't stop thinking about.
Danny lifts their hands and Jason sees, out of the corner of his eye, as Danny kisses the inside of Jason's wrist almost reverently.
"Yeah," Danny's breath ghosts over their palms. "We'll figure it out."
———————
Warm water washes its way down his body in rivulets. He scrubs, enjoying the feel of it for as long as he can as he washes himself.
Jason knows that the water won't last long like this—that eventually, it'll turn cold—if the place they're in is anything to go by. Hell, he's surprised they even managed to get something even remotely similar to warm water in the first place.
His skin is so, so much cleaner now. After rubbing all the dirt off—which was, actually, a painful process—he started on his body and hair and he's so immensely clean now that he can't help the satisfied, contented sigh that leaves his lips.
He has to break himself out of that reverie, though, as he knows Danny's going to want to shower as well, and he'd rather leave some warm water left for the other.
(They could've showered together, but Jason doesn't think he's ready for that, yet. Danny has an effect on him that…well, no one ever will be able to do what Danny does to him. Ever.)
He grabs one of the two fluffy, though still scratchy, towels, wrapping it around his waist as water drips down from his curls, streaking down his face and body, dripping to the floor as he steps out, calling out to Danny that, "It's your turn to shower now!"
"Got it!" The reply is immediate and there's a series of strange, shuffling noises as Danny abandons whatever he was previously doing—most likely burying himself in the blankets—to come and wash himself off.
Jason huffs, lightly, before stepping forward and out of the bathroom as he walks towards the bed, his clothes laid out on top of it. Danny rushes past him, though not before doing a double take, cheeks heating adorably and shutting the door with a click.
Biting the inside of his cheek to stop a smile, Jason grabs the clothes he wore from yesterday—give him a break, there wasn't another pair. And it's not that dirty, Jason can survive—tugging the hem of the shirt over his head, then sliding the pants over his legs and using the towel to dry his hair, rubbing at the damp curls thoroughly.
Danny steps out a few minutes later, not too long but not too short either, a towel wrapped around his own waist and now it's Jason's turn to blush.
He'd never seen Danny's bare chest before. Muscles, not as well defined as his, but appealing all the same; spiderweb, lightning-like scars stretching down one shoulder and his back like roots of a tree, and other cuts and scars that resembled some of Jason's own.
His face was surely beet red already.
And Danny's smirking. Fucker.
Either way, they get dressed. Nothing really interesting happens for them to decide to go outside, but they do. Jason knows they need to understand more of this world if they're going to be here for the foreseeable future, and maybe check the age restrictions on whether or not they could find any work—these coins won't last forever.
Not that Jason plans on staying that long but, well, you never know. He'd rather not, but he's found that he has no control over these powers, this world, and their chances of returning to where they're meant to be.
———————
Everything's loud. So freaking loud.
People bustling around, mothers calling children, street vendors yelling about whatever they're selling, people hustling and others running. Children are laughing or crying, people are angry or laughing, loud and raucous.
No one pays them mind as they're being pulled and pushed in the ever moving crowd, their only tether to each other their interlocked hands.
Fresh products are on display everywhere and haggard shop owners have hollowed cheekbones, just trying to make a living.
He glances back at Danny—cerulean, green flecked eyes catching electric, icy blue ones; caught in the heated, intense gaze, the air around them like gravity, pulling them towards the other—and pushes forward, actively fighting the current, and manages to make it to a more secluded spot around the corner.
Leaning on a wall, eyes still looking over where they are, Jason's gaze roams over the market, analysing and intense, picking things apart—men, women, children, the atmosphere and the way they interact—taking into careful account the prices yelled and paid, Danny leaning into his side, content enough to stay there until Jason was done with what they came here to do.
An hour or two passes, and Jason finds that fifty silvers equates to one gold and, well, looks like those coins'll be lasting them way longer than Jason had originally thought. The Barkeep had thought two silvers was expensive (for them), after all.
It doesn't change his plans, really. Just elongates them. He has more time to figure things out and find a way to survive here before they find a way to get back home.
A loud, shrill whistle cuts through the bustling atmosphere—not silencing it, no, just quieting it slightly—whispers and murmurs erupt from everyone around and Jason squeezes Danny's hand in his own almost subconsciously, melting into the shadows and signalling for the other to be quiet.
The Police Officer—because really, there's no one else it could be. The hat and the clean, pressed, wrinkle free clothes are a dead (ha) giveaway—squints, eyes roaming over everyone, deeming everything in order as he steps back, whistling once more, and everything returns to normal.
Interesting.
Jason'd seen the way everyone's muscles coiled, practiced and instinctual, as if it had been beaten into them. Metaphorically or physically, Jason didn't know.
Punishment, a voice whispered in his head. You learned about this.
And he had.
Medieval punishment was brutal, cruel, and public. Designed for shame and instilling fear into the public for one reason, and one reason only; control.
He remembers hearing about them having this special whistle, of sorts. Jason doesn't really remember the name, just that, whenever peasants heard it, they had to chase and capture whoever they were directed to—friends, family, children; all their ties to each other be damned.
It was…disgusting, and cruel, to say the very, very least.
He absolutely hated it.
But he had no power here. Neither of them did. And they couldn't change a damn thing.
The air, Jason realised now, carried a certain…tenseness, to it. He hadn't really paid attention before but, well, he could feel it now. The way these people know, even if unconsciously, that all it took was one second, one sound, one action; that they were balancing on the edge of a continuously tilting blade.
"-The Prince," Jason hears as he tunes into a different conversation. "He's missing. Only good person in this damned empire, an' he's missing."
So. Royalty. Not like he expected anything different. This prince seemed to be quite well liked, even if he'd only just heard of him.
'Only good person in this damned empire'. That was all Jason really needed, a statement so strong. Maybe, just maybe, the guy's buddies nodding along to his words—genuine, if their body language was anything to go by—confirmed it.
Another thing to add to this shitshow of a world—a missing, probably beloved, prince.
Jason sighs, done for the day, as he grabs Danny's arm and circles back to the hotel, keeping a careful eye behind them as they walk.
The streets are quieter, the further they get from the market. Rougher, more familiar, in a way Jason wasn't sure that he missed. Well, missed isn't the right word—appreciated, really, the simplicity of survival.
Buildings were near empty, desolate. Pavement cracked and sun dipping below the ruins of what might have once thrived, painting the skyline in pinks, oranges, and purples. He feels Danny's steps stutter, halted by the motion himself, hands dangling in the space between them.
He glances back. His breath is taken away.
Danny's whole face is shining, one half shadowed and the other lit up with warm, slowly fading light. His eyes sparkle as he gazes at the sun and the skyline and the ever-present companion that is the moon.
Danny's hair blows in the wind, ruffling around him, framing his face and he looks so free, peaceful, feeding his obsession. Jason has the inadvisable urge to kiss him—but not now. Not yet.
Clouds hang in the distance, as if fearful of wandering too close to the bright, illuminating beauty that is Danny. They stay there like they've been pinned there, darker than normal, grey. Distantly, he thinks it's going to rain. Distantly, he wonders how Danny would look like, dripping wet, clothes sticking to his skin.
Would he be more beautiful than this? Jason finds it hard to believe, to be completely honest.
The moment's broken by the sound of objects crashing to the ground and the stomping of boots, heavy, too heavy in a place like this, where even the silence is fragile, feeling like it could shatter the faint illusion of safety the buildings have managed to weave into existence just by being too loud.
Their heads turn and there're more police officers—no surprise there, really. Gloved hands are shoving paper in front of a poor girls face, screaming, searching for someone or something. He can't make out the words, but he gets the distinct sense that it's important.
It doesn't make the entitlement of those idiots any better, though.
Jason wonders what it would be like, to have a book right now. If he could conspicuously weave into existence something to maybe, just maybe, mess with them slightly.
And then, out of nowhere, there's a weight in his hand and he looks down to see Pride and Prejudice there, glancing back at the officers who're—
Wait. Pride and Prejudice?
Jason does a double take, mouth hanging open in shock, blinking dumbly.
What, in the ever loving fuck, is going on?!
This-this, no. Just-no. Jason doesn't want to fucking deal with this. Why the fuck does he have the ability to not only weave whatever he desires into existence with only a book, transport people to other, fictional worlds of his creation, but also fucking summon books into his own fucking hands?!
This is a power that Jason, frankly, will most likely not be touching with a fucking ten foot pole until he's absolutely sure he's found a way to control it.
Still, though. He has the means.
Focusing, he pictures it in his mind.
The Police officer yelling at the poor wide-eyed girl, shrinking into herself, spit flying out of his mouth as he practically shoves a piece of paper in her face.
And then he's attacked.
Swarms of bugs—flies, beetles, ladybugs, dragonflies and more—rush at him, attacking. There's hundreds, thousands, screams sound in the air as people rush to escape because those are fucking bugs staging a fucking revolution and they don't even know why it's fucking happening.
Jason slaps a hand over his mouth, fighting a laugh because, well, the man's running with his tail between his fucking legs and everyone other than the police officers have been left unscathed.
ACAB is a motto Jason exists by.
Except maybe Gordon. And Bullock. They're pretty okay.
Snickering to himself, he can hear Danny wheezing beside him and decides it's time to head back. Glancing at the sky, he can tell it's the right choice. The clouds are darker, closing in on the sun, and Jason doesn't particularly want to end up soaked to the very marrow of his bones.
———————
It's storming, in the distance. Rain battering against windows, against the building, wind roaring with agony or pleasure Jason doesn't know. The smell of petrichor permeates from the very bones of the structure, infused deep within the foundations of the tavern.
It doesn't feel as threatening or fear inducing as many might describe it to be. No. Jason revels in it. In the way it screams, unmoored, untameable, free in all its chaotic entirety.
It feels like there's a truth, in the middle of the storm. Unmoving and ever present, like a constant companion. The only still, unshakeable piece of the furious, raging protest outside.
The epitome of what it really means to be free.
Darkness shadows the room, the barely visible glean of the moonlight just so illuminating it. Still, Jason can't see a single fucking thing. It's empty and safe and he finds that maybe he likes it this way.
Undisturbed, unhurt, protected.
He thinks he'd be happy with Danny, if they stayed here.
The scent of strong, earthy, powerful rain invades his nostrils. A pleasant smell, really. Crickets chirp outside and Jason doesn't even know how he hears them but he won't question it.
He's never really gotten the phrase, 'live in the moment'. Sure, he's interpreted it, understood it in his own way. But never has he really understood that feeling you have.
He thinks he's understanding now.
Never has he felt so present before. With fresh air in his lungs, dark, familiar surroundings, the roar of the wind and the rain and the sky as it screams to be heard and to be recognised.
The wood is hard beneath him as he sits, cross-legged, entranced in the bold, furious, confident display of every reason and every opinion and every voice the storm is forcing them to hear. To listen to.
He wants to be like that, he thinks. Maybe he's halfway there already.
He wants to be ruthless with his actions and brutal with his force and loud with his voice. He wants to make others see him in his entirety, sharp edges and all. He wants to make people confront the truth of him and decide whether he's worth keeping or not.
Danny's made his decision already. He chose to keep Jason.
Jason's never been more thankful in his life.
He feels more than hears the weight settle behind him, back to back, firm and steady and grounding. Exhaling, he leans back into the embrace…but it's not really an embrace, is it? Not by normal standards, no. For them, it's like their presences blanketing each other in warmth and safety and care.
Jason's found they're not normal by any standards. He finds that he likes that.
"You doing okay?" Is the murmur he hears from Danny. The wind is still screaming like a thousand voices protesting their right to be heard and he just barely makes out the words.
It takes a moment for him to answer, because he's not really sure. He's still scarred and he's still hurt and he doesn't think he's healed so much as ignored some of the things he's been…avoiding thinking of.
But Danny helps.
His understanding helps and his respect helps and his boundaries help. The way he doesn't push Jason, doesn't try to do anything, really, but stay there, unshakeable, a supporting presence at his back, there for him to lean in to.
He wonders, really, if he should let Danny go. If he should let the other boy find someone better because Jason sure as hell knows he's not worth it.
Still. Danny stayed, and he didn't leave, even though Jason knows he could have anyone he wanted. He chose him. Danny chose him.
That's something Jason hoards in his heart like a dragon would gold or a nymph would nature. It's an undeniable fact, and he wants that one thing to be his. Something that Danny's given him.
There's wet, clanking footsteps outside their room and a harsh banging on their door. Their heads whip around simultaneously as the two of them stare, for a moment, and the banging comes back harsher and more urgent.
"Open the door!" Is yelled. Arrogant and brash and Jason's just started wondering about he pros and cons of jumping out of the window in the middle of a storm when Danny gets up and does as asked. Knights are outside, literal fucking knights. Shiny silver armour and all. They visibly reel back, surprised, when they see Danny, before fucking kneeling like they're pledging their whole fucking lives to him.
"Your Highness!" The voice is gravelly and shocked and-
And, oh, Jason thinks. That's what he hadn't realised.
He'd thought of seeing Danny in medieval, prince-like clothing.
Danny was a fucking prince.
Just fucking great.
———————
They're escorted to a carriage.
Jason doesn't know how it got here, how they had it, but they did. He's coming to realise that a lot of things don't make sense here. He's coming to realise he hates that.
It's an ivory white, colour barely visible in the flickering lamplight of the tavern. The sky's dark and by now the clouds have moved to block out the moon. All that's really left is the lights of nearby homes—a rarity in and of itself—to guide them to whatever castle Danny's supposed to be in.
They barely make it inside the gold-engraved carriage before a knight—the leader, he presumes. Clearly familiar with Danny, if he isn't afraid of getting his head cut off—starts a lecture, ranting about 'responsibilities' and 'recklessness' and all that.
Jason's heard it a thousand times before, even when undeserved. He tunes it out, grasping Danny's hand in his own and staring out of the window, chin in his hand.
"-And you brought a peasant along with you-!" Is what jolts Jason out of his gloomy reverie, pondering on the wailing of the storm and the message it wants them to hear.
So…Jason's not supposed to be here.
Fuck.
Okay, that's fine. He can just get off the carriage.
His hand is grasping the door handle when Danny says, "Don't." A sharp edge to his tone. Jason, for a moment, thinks it's meant for him, only to find Danny glaring at the knight.
The man sitting across from them doesn't seem to be unfamiliar with that, just resigned as he sighs, eyes Jason for a bit, and lets it go.
Silence falls over them. Heavy, but not like those comforting, weighted blankets, no. It's like feeling something sitting on your stomach. Not too heavy, but not too light either. Balancing on a precariously thin line, but never tipping over to one side or the other.
To say it's uncomfortable would be an understatement.
Danny's confused and scared and shaky, Jason can feel his sweaty palm in his own hand. Jason's mind is whirling a thousand thoughts a second through his brain—contingencies, plans, escape routes—and finding each and every single one of them useless because they don't know what they're walking into and they don't know what they're going to do even if they do end up escaping.
They're walking in completely blind and deaf with no knowledge of what to do whatsoever and god help Jason if he has to give Danny a crash course on basic etiquette.
A large, large castle looms in the distance, only visible around the rain and the roaring wind because of the rows upon rows upon rows of windows glowing in the distance.
Well, Jason thinks. He is insanely fucked.
———————
"Chin high." The voice is proper and firm and leaving no room for argument. "I'd thought we'd taught you better than this, You Highness." The woman frowns, wrinkles more prominent as she does so. "But it seems you've forgotten everything we've ingrained into you in a mere two days. Spectacular." And there's a note of sarcasm in the last word.
Danny hates this. He hates this.
All he wants to do right now is curl up with Jay, blankets smothering them, laying in their shared heat and just existing without all these frankly unreasonable expectations.
He's standing with books balanced on his head, tilting precariously at random intervals, arms stretched into a T shape at his side as he desperately tries to keep his balance.
He fails. The books fall with a loud, resounding CRASH!
"Again!" The mistress or teacher or governess or whatever yells. Her arms are crossed and she's eyeing him with vicious disapproval. Danny groans. "Now, now, young Prince. You know far better than that. This is for your own good!" How are useless manners and practicing for something he's rarely even going to use good for him?
This is torture. Danny hates this.
He wants Jay.
Pouting, grumbling, slouching, he straightens again before her voice can whip through the air again, reprimanding and demanding and just plain annoying.
"Back straight!" She practically screams, and Danny knows he's in for the long haul.
———————
"C'mon!" The girl—Sarah—yells as she drags Jason towards the kitchen, hair up in a bun and loose brown curls bouncing in her haste. "We can't be late!"
Despite Danny's best efforts, he was only allowed to keep Jason here as a servant—not that Jason minds, really. He'd been surviving on scraps his entire life before—
Well, before.
Sarah tugs at his hand urgently, scared out of her mind, and Jason hurries up. He doesn't want her to be punished. She'd only been helping him.
The rush through the door, dodging others weaving in and out with plates stacked high and the aroma of delicious food wafting through the air. Momentarily, he's jealous of Danny. Momentarily, he wonders if he can make something Danny'll like.
Jason was taught by his mother (later, Alfred) since he was a kid.
Rolling up his sleeves, he stretches his back and gets to work.
On the dishes.
Small steps, he thinks. Small steps.
It's not like they were going to make a kid cook the food. They think he doesn't even know how to!
He'll have to rectify that. Later.
———————
Danny's sitting stiff in his seat as servants bring in food.
A man he's never met before—presumably his father, here—sits at the head of the table, Danny to his right.
He doesn't know who he is but he's praying, really, that everything goes well because all he wants to do is see Jay again.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Jay's grin catches Danny's eye as he places a plate in front of him, hand lingering just slightly too long to be considered appropriate.
Danny resists the urge to kiss him breathless right then and there.
———————
He's laying on his thin, thin cot, wondering how Danny's sleeping, when there's the creak of a door opening and footsteps padding into the room.
The other servants are still asleep when Danny walks up, looming over Jason with a soft, soft smile, holding out his hand in invitation.
Jason takes it.
———————
They wake up groggy and tired and Danny ushers Jason back to his room because he knows if he's caught here then it won't end well.
Knows that if Jason's found here he'll be hurt so bad and it'll all be Danny's fault.
So he pushes him out with a chaste kiss to his lips, getting ready for the day.
"Your Highness!" A loud, far too familiar voice calls out and Danny resists the urge to scream.
It's another long day, to say the least.
———————
"There's a festival coming up." His 'father' says from the head of the table. "Will you be going?"
And Danny pauses because, a festival. It sounds…fun. He wonders if he can bring Jay there, wonders if the other will even like it.
Swallowing his bite of food, Danny raises his head to look the King right in the eye and reply, "No"
———————
Throwing on a cloak, Danny hides behind the wall, waiting for the guards to make their rounds and head on before slipping out of his room, carefully closing his door and sneaking to the servants quarters.
Down, down, down he goes on the stone stairs, steps echoing through the small space as he make his way to Jay.
People are bustling around and Danny dodges them all, stopping behind Jay, whispering in his ear, chest to back, "Wanna go to the festival?"
And Jason's voice is breathless when he replies, "God, yes."
———————
Lanterns are floating in the air as the people gathered in the crowd let them fly away, hands outstretched in the air for a moment, two moments, as if they're still holding them, before letting their arms fall to their sides.
Silence, for a beat or two.
Then there's screaming and cheering and laughing, and he and Danny just can't resist joining in.
"LET THE FESTIVAL BEGIN!" A voice booms out and the crowd roars, drowning out any sounds Jason may have heard otherwise.
He turns to Danny, catching his gaze. They're so close to one another, but they can't. They don't know how this world works.
'I love you', is the shape that Danny's lips make.
'Me too', Jason replies, holding his gaze, air heated around them.
———————
They're laughing as Danny drags Jason to stall after stall.
He glances back every so often and feels so, so rewarded when he sees the soft, oh so soft, smile on Jay's face.
The food is amazing—exotic and tasteful, spices imported from neighbouring countries and sold at cheap prices—the vendors selling are making shitloads of money, and Danny's having the time of his life.
Warm, dim lighting illuminates everything. Well, not really dim—it's bright enough to illuminate the space around them, but not enough to blind. Laughter and cheers and sounds of happiness and raucous, loud voices fill the air; people lining up at stalls, some cheering others on and others participating themselves.
It's…happy, and Danny knows that this is probably the one time of the year where the 'lower people', as his governess puts it, can be happy. Danny doesn't like this system, the sheer unfairness of it all, but he understands that it was born out of desperation and necessity. And he knows why no one bothered to change it.
Still, he smiles, soft and quiet and it seems like all the sounds around them rush out, muffle, as he's captured in Jason's attentive gaze. They're so close.
And Danny leans forward, slightly, pressing his nose to Jason's, glancing around before pecking him on the lips. It's quick, quick enough no one will notice, and Danny wants more.
He wants to kiss Jay breathless right in front of everyone, he wants to drag him to the castle and demand that Jay be treated like Danny himself is—governess aside, of course.
He wants, more than anything, to keep Jay by his side.
But he knows it won't work. Because he knows what things were, back then. Even if he failed most of his grades.
(Jay'd been teaching him, before…everything.)
Children rush around, laughing as they chase each other, weaving through Danny and Jason's legs. They're still so close.
The cloak hides who Danny is, hood over his head, and Jason…his eyes, glowing in the warm light, haloed in yellow…all Danny can think of is perfect.
He has someone so perfect that he can't imagine life without him. Scars and insecurities and traumas and all.
Then, a loud, exploding noise echoes around them.
And he sees Jay flinch.
Grabbing his hand, Danny squeezes Jason's shaking palm, glancing up at the sky, Jay following his gaze and—
The shaking stops. Replaced, instead, by an awed, amazed gasp.
Explosions of colour burst in the sky, loud popping noises filling the air and more laughter and more awed gasps but the light reflected on Jay's face enraptures him and the dark, dark sky painted vividly with such bright colours is beautiful.
He breaths and he squeezes Jay's hand again because it's amazing that they're here and that they're okay and Danny doesn't know if he really stopped to think about it before.
He barely hears Jason hum, before a head leans on his shoulder, soft, raven curls brushing against his cheek, a body pressing to his side.
Danny leans back into the half-embrace, watching the sky and the mural being painted on it.
———————
"Your Highness!" His governess scolds. Danny can't help it, okay! He' s been too distracted thinking of last night and Jay and, well—
"Chin high, back straight, confident gait, you know this!" She practically screeches. "We've practiced this nearly a hundred times before!"
And Danny glares, because why lady?! Just leave him alone!
A knock on the door and a vaguely familiar face interrupts them. "Prince Daniel's presence has been requested."
The governess huffs and Danny moves smugly forward, opening the door only to be dragged out by Jay.
"I've figured it out!" Is Jason's excited whisper as they walk through the halls.
"Figured what out?" Danny asks. So many things've been going on and Danny's barely had time to breathe.
"How ta get back!" And he very nearly crumples in relief at that. Nodding enthusiastically to show his complete agreement.
Jay drags him away, shoving open a wooden door and pushing Danny inside, closing it behind them. It's dark and dank and Danny can't really see anything at the moment, but the enclosed space is enough to clue him in.
"A broom closet?" His voice is more than a little judgemental.
"Shut it," Jason huffs, probably rolling his eyes. "You wanna get home or not?"
And Danny, stubbornly, does not do as asked. "Still, though. A broom closet?"
Grumbling, Jason grabs his hands, holding them in his own, and there's silence. He's probably concentrating, Danny thinks.
Then—
A bright, golden, ethereal light surrounds them, threads weaving around them as mist—golden, who would've guessed—curls in the air.
And then they're falling—
And then they're crashing to the ground—
And then they're home—
And then they groan out of relief, because fucking finally.
———————
"How'd you do it?" Danny asks later.
"Do what?"
"Bring us back?"
Jay blushes, and Danny's curiosity grows with every silent second.
"I…y'know, at first I thought, 'I wanna go home'." Jason starts, and Danny waits for him to elaborate. "Then, afterwards, I thought 'I wanna go home with Danny'. "
"I…don't understand." Danny frowns in thought.
"'S cause," Jason inhales, softening as he grabs Danny's hand, holding it in his own. "you're my home, Danny. An' I jus'—I jus' had ta be specific, where I wanted ta go, an' it took me there. With you."
"So…" He trails off.
"So," Jay continues. "I jus' had ta be specific."
Danny can't help himself, he blushes. Hard.
Jay's his home, too.