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Jason isn't exactly sure when it all starts. Maybe it's when they move out from their small apartment to the four-bedroom one picked carefully out of five different places because it has the best rooftop for Replacement to drop by. Or maybe it's when they are talking about wall colours, and as much as he can ever be, Damian gets surprised that he can paint his and Danny's ceiling dark blue like the night sky if he wants to. Most probably, it's when Jason ends up in this weird split custody with his own father over his, well, brothers and drops them off at his place for the weekends with backpacks and about a billion reminders and safety precautions. Jazz finds it endearing. Jason thinks it's his thirteenth reason (Tim hyper-fixates on the series, solves it in one hour and immediately hates on it, but refuses to let them change to something else and makes them suffer through all the seasons).They paint the walls, buy their furniture second-hand and paint it too. They let Danny and Damian design their shared bedroom and make sure Tim knows the other empty one is his. At first, Jazz and he try sleeping separately, but she ends up at his door at three in the morning with an embarrassed look and he sighs in relief. After that, they convert one room into a study slash guest room. They only fight a little over little things and once or twice big over even smaller things. He breaks some mugs and Jazz loses her temper, but in the end, they almost never do it in front of the kids and they are proud of it. They go to a ceramics workshop that weekend and end up with a mismatched set of mugs to replace what he broke. Jazz brings it out every time someone jokes about their finest China.For the first six months, Dick and Steph rotate on their couch, both refusing to sleep in the guest room and always lying they won't be staying the night. Danny mostly stays in Amity while Damian is getting used to their lifestyle which doesn't require killing for survival. Tim stays with them too, even if he still patrols with Batman most of the nights. They need to stop about seven assassination attempts until Damian even starts considering the idea of unconditional safety. It's rocky and Tim hates the brat. He's trying to be mature about it and failing spectacularly.Jason downs his killing to the minimum then, mostly for Damian's sake, but it somehow ricochets and builds a tentative ceasefire between him and Bruce, who after these six months of trial, gets to get his two youngest sons to live with him under the condition that if he ever makes anyone do what Tim had to do, then he will never see any of them again, including Jason and Dick. Bruce agrees without much fuss and it takes Jason by surprise. Jazz says Bruce is trying. Jason says he's full of shit.They mostly move Damian and Tim back to the Manor because they both need a father and Jazz and Jason agree that it shouldn't be him. It's not fair to either of the parties involved. Jason can admit, however reluctantly, that it's not fair to Bruce either. He always needs a Robin, Jason knows it from experience, and the children yearn for the capes.The transition isn't smooth by any means, even if they do it gradually, because Damian is too smart for his own good and smells the ruse. Unfortunately, Tim is like this too. They somehow bond over their fear of becoming redundant and it involves two blown-up buildings, a drug ring bust and the scolding of the century when Jason gives up and unleashes Jazz on them. It ends with a heartfelt, though, so Jason deems it okay.Overall, it probably starts right after that, when in theory, Jazz and Jason have their place all to themselves.Jason is listening to Tim's exaggerated voice messages, chopping tomatoes and cooking pasta for Jazz, who has finally started pre-med at GothamU and will inevitably come home starving when there's a knock on his window. It's a common occurrence, with the kids and Dick coming and going as they please, so he just waves his free hand and shouts for whoever to get in. At least they knock now so as not to be shot at.
He has learnt his lessons and cooks for more than two people, so they might as well come in. If no one crushes their dinner, someone will steal the leftovers anyway. No food-waste household and all that.Tim is yapping about his case now, something about the drug of the week. Jason has refused to help him twice at this point, just so the case lasts longer. He honestly fears the day Tim actually gets bored. There's the sound of closing the window and tentative steps. Even with Tim as the background noise, Jason can tell it's not anyone from the family.He sends a knife flying before he thinks about it, turning. Baby Blue stands there, clutching a notebook close to his chest with wide eyes. The knife landed in it, right where the kid's heart should be. Parts of tomato drip from it like cheap stage blood. Shit. “Hey, that's just mean, man,” the kid goes, pretty much alive and well, although with a new trauma, probably, “You said I could come in.”Good to know Jason still has it. But at the same time, bad to know he still has it. Jason sends his thanks to the Kryptonian gods and his curses towards the League of Assassins. Fuck. He could have killed the kid.Jason takes a deep breath, thinks about Jazz and says, “Sorry. Old habits die screaming and all that,” he waves his hand dismissively and takes out the knife from the notebook, hand slightly trembling.“You are- You listen to Taylor Swift?”Jason blinks with the knife in his hand. “Spoiler does.” He turns to the counter to get back to the cooking and stop the voice messages. “Tim's not here.”“I am not here for Tim,” Conner admits slowly. “Is your girlfriend home?”“Jazz's at school.” People like talking out things with Jazz. Jason certainly does. It makes sense for the kid to look for her. “What do you want from her?”Conner gets onto a barstool slowly, as if not to startle Jason. Jason has to take two deep breaths to stop the bile of guilt from coming up his throat. “Not what I meant. She just… She gives me the creeps.”Jason's hand stops mid-cutting. He turns his head with a raised eyebrow to eye the kid. “What?”“She talks to the dead!” Conner reasons awkwardly.“Okay, kid, why are you here? Because if you're going to mouth about Jazz, get the fuck out.” Conner mumbles something, back to clutching on the notebook. “What?”“Can you help me with my lit homework?”“Your what now?”“Nevermind. This is stupid,” the kid gets up, but Jason puts his hand on his shoulder and pushes him down. Gently. Without a knife in his hand. “Tim says you're good with school and I'm too stupid for Shakespeare. But it doesn't matter. I'll get going before Batman-”“Tim said I was good with school, so you flew to Gotham for tutoring ?”It does make sense for Tim, who has homeschooled himself half his life before dropping out of high school, to think Jason is good enough at school to help. Jason doesn't think Tim can place all the states but is sure he can read ancient hieroglyphs. So he probably knows everything about Shakespeare, but none of it is useful in school. Before, he would study just to barely pass the finals and move on. It reminds Jason about the Great GED War that got delayed after Tim and Damian had teamed up to blow up buildings. Jazz should get back to pestering Tim about it. Tim could go to college, even if Dick says it will increase his chances of becoming a supervillain. Personally, Jason thinks Tim will change sides eventually anyway.Conner makes a tired noise and brushes his face. “I told you this was stupid. I took AP Lit because I had to choose something and I am terrible at literally everything with numbers. But, bye, I am going and-”Jason sighs, pushing him down again because from his previous experience with flustered teenagers letting them go will only fuck him over later. “Don't you have a journalist father?”At this, Conner freezes. Then, he straightens and says, void of any emotion, sealing the fate of Jason's afternoon, “I don't have a father.”Now, this Jason understands. He never expected Big Blue to be shitty about the whole cloning thing, though. “Yeah, okay, I'll help. I threw a knife at you, so okay.”Conner blinks and smiles in surprise. “For real, man?”“For real,” Jason nods. “When Jazz gets back, you can ask her if she'll help with the numbers. She's not only good with ghosts but with science and math too.”“Okay.”“But, dinner first,” Jason turns back to his pasta. “You allergic to anything?”Conner turns out not to be too stupid for Shakespeare, in the end, just surprisingly lacking confidence. He has all the facts, which makes sense, when Jason remembers what Tim spilled about his upbringing, but is terrible at connecting the dots, interpreting and actually using the information, which also makes sense. They stuffed his brain with info but never taught him any useful skills, so Jason steals an empty notebook from Jazz's desk and sits the two of them through the joys of the Elizabethan theatre.They are talking about Midsummer Night's Dream , Baby Blue understanding enough to laugh at the jokes, when Jazz walks in, shutting the door lightly. “I am home! Who's here?”Conner raises his brows at Jason, but with the number of people raiding their place, Jazz has a point in asking this question. “Just me and Conner!” he shouts back, standing up to reheat her dinner. “I made pasta!”“Oh, okay! Thank you!” She walks in after a moment, hands washed, places her backpack by the stools and embraces him from behind, cheek to his shoulder. “Hi, Conner. Hi, Red. No Tim?”“At Bruce's. Probably.”“It's Friday. Do we have him this weekend? Because it is Friday, right?” she moves, alarmed. “Do we have Damian this weekend?”“It is Friday. And no. Tim's going to SF and Dick takes D to Bludhaven. Steph's doing something with Babs. Baby Blue here came to talk Shakespeare. We've been studying,” Jason explains as Conner sits tentatively on a stool. “What about Danny?”“At home. It's Sam's birthday.”“So we have a free weekend.”“Oh my God,” Jazz mumbles. “We have a free weekend. I can't believe this. I survived all the quizzes, I have nothing to study for. What are we going to do with all this free time?”“We could have sex.”Jazz scrunches her nose. “I was thinking about those puzzles we started ages ago. But sex is cool too, I guess.”Jason takes a sharp breath, absolutely amazed by the idea, “No, I am so down. I forgot we started those.”“You guys are so weird,” Conner says, “and I was born in a tube.”“Mhm,” Jazz nods, releasing Jason. He can feel her smile move away from his back. “We are.”He finishes with her food and places it on the counter in a bowl, so she can finally eat and Jazz gets to it like a starving woman. He raises a brow at her, so she shrugs innocently. Jason sighs, shaking his head. If she doesn’t start eating at school, he’s going to show up as Red Hood and take her hostage for lunch. That would teach her.“Has Tim texted you yet that he got home from WE?”Jason plops beside her. “No, because he’s almost an adult. He’s okay.”Jazz looks up at him. Jason freezes. “Oh my God, you have a tracker on him.”“I don’t have a tracker on him,” Jason fights back. Like, you know, a liar. Or maybe not. He doesn’t have a tracker. He has, like, three or four. Depends on how many Tim has managed to find and destroy already. It’s not like it’s a problem when he can blame it on Bruce.“Because you have one on me, Danny and Damian too?”“As if it was possible to track you with the amount of NordVPN you and Danny are using,” Jason rolls his eyes, promptly ignoring the Damian bit. He has tried bugging the Fentons and nothing works. Not only are they prone to destroy every technology in their possession with all the ghost shit, but also still subscribe to this crap. Jason’s life is hell.“Wow, okay,” Jazz plays, thoroughly amused. “I’ll just text all three of them. You know, like a normal person. Want me to pass on something to Tim, Conner?”Embarrassingly, Jason has almost forgotten about the kid. Almost. Baby Blue looks at Jazz, then bites his lip and shakes his head. It’s sad to watch, really. Jason remembers Tim’s stories about his team and Superboy has never been this kind of wet-puppy sad in them. Maybe it’s Shakespeare’s effect on him.“Okay,” Jazz says, texting, “what’s your curfew? Do we have to drop you off anywhere for someone to pick you up?”The kid blinks, then laughs, “I don’t have a curfew.”“Yeah, okay,” she doesn’t look up from her phone. “When did you say you’d be back, then?”“I didn’t? Honestly, I am not seven. I get back when I want to.”“You literally aren’t even,” Jason bickers, taking the burden of leading the conversation from Jazz’s shoulder since she’s clearly in a heated discussion with someone over the phone. It's probably Danny.Baby Blue rolls his eyes. Jason watches his expression with deep interest. “Does anyone know where you are now?”“People don't put trackers on me, so no,” he shrugs.“Yeah, okay,” Jason says when it's clearly not okay. Not okay at all. Who the hell has custody of this kid? Jason tries to remember, but he doesn't think Tim has ever said it. Jazz nudges him with her foot in acknowledgement. They are thinking the same thing. “Jazz, are you up to some tutoring?”She finally finishes with her phone and makes a face, although her eyes shine. “The fact that you had to ask wounds me.”“Okay, Baby Blue, tell her what you need.” Jason stands up to pick up the now-empty bowl and wash it, leaving the other two to their devices. They start to chatter about calculus.Jason puts the tap on and thinks, Conner’s snark about not having a father stuck in his head. If Superman doesn’t care for this kid, then who does? His other… parent? It was some villain, he remembers. Some Metropolis fucked up white trash guy. He suppresses a groan.Once is a chance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern. But what when it happens the fifth time?More importantly, why does it always happen to him?They coax Conner into doing puzzles with them after studying. Or rather, Jazz does with her endless chatter and praise that Conner eats up. He smiles a little more. They order a pizza and soon enough it's past midnight and too late for a kid to get back home on their own, super or not. At this point, Conner doesn't even put up a real fight.Jazz sets the bed in the guest room with Conner, who's now dressed in random clothes they store. The sweats are most likely Dick's and the T-shirt might be one of Tim's, but Jason isn't sure anymore. Sometimes he feels like he doesn’t own any of the clothes in this house while owning all of them.He's standing in the bathroom dressed down and watching himself in the mirror. He looks better than he used to. His skin looks healthier, there are no broken blood vessels, and his eyes are not toxic green. Just greener than they should be. Jazz helps. The kids help too, he's mature enough to admit that. And it's easier to have Dick on speed dial than to duck before his escrima can hit any vital organs. Things are hard, but it's easier than it used to be.Jason eyes his phone once, then twice. He sighs and reaches for it, fidgets a little with the wording. He sends the text before he can chicken out and hits the pre-patrol shower.
Who has Superboy's custody?
When he gets back from patrol and sneaks into the bedroom after showering in the nearest safe house so as not to get blood on the carpets for the third time this week, Jazz is reading something on the floor, her back to the bed, with a blanket on her lap and headphones in her ears. He takes a moment, leaning on the doorframe, to just watch her in this semi-comfortable position, to which she only sticks because some psychology book said people should keep work out of bed for reasons.Jazz has made it a habit to wake up around four and wait for him to return while reading and working. She's not crazy enough to stay awake the whole night, but she likes seeing him come back in one piece before they both crash, or so she has said. Then, she sleeps until seven with Jason and starts her day, leaving him to rot in bed until noon. She cat-naps a lot, though. Sometimes Jason finds her and Tim tangled on the couch in positions that would put Dick's acrobatics abilities to shame.But now her fingers are tapping a rhythm as she's going through papers in the dim blaze of their nightlight, hair loose and falling in waves and Jason can't help but notice the way the golden light reflects in it.He likes watching her, it's what he's trying to say.She finally looks up and takes out a headphone, smiling when she sees him, “Hey, pretty.”“Hey, pretty,” he whispers back, because as always, there's a sleeping kid in another room, and moves to sit beside her. They adjust for a moment before Jason's back is pressed against the bed and Jazz's against his stomach, her whole body between his legs and a blanket over them. He steals her headphone, “What are you listening to? Mitski?”“Dick and I were jamming,” she explains, scribbling some numbers on her papers with a pencil. “He finished patrol early to pick up Damian at a reasonable hour tomorrow and couldn't fall asleep.”“And Mitski helps with his intrusive thoughts?” Jason muses, lip slightly curving.“We have a playlist and everything. She's kind of our thing,” Jazz shrugs sheepishly. He gives out an amused huff. “How was your night?”“Good,” he puts his head in the crook of her neck. “Little Ronnie needs dental, though. Some asshole punched his tooth out.”“Actually,” she taps her pencil on the papers. “We can do that. The new drug will take over meth in three months if we play it right and then, we can put everybody on insurance finally.”“No way.”“Yes way.”“Are we talking about family plans or just individuals?”“I counted minimum, maximum and the most probable cost based on what I remember about all your workers, so both, I guess.”“This is amazing.”“It's just math,” Jazz laughs softly when he breathes out on her neck and peppers it with kisses. “I got inspired after teaching Conner calc. But it does feel like a win.”Jason eyes the papers with amusement, “And you decided to count it by hand?”“I was bored without anything to study for,” she shrugs and Jason can feel the heat reach her face. It’s cute.They stay like this for a moment, until Jason manages to blurt out, “I talked with B.”“Okay,” she acknowledges slowly and squeezes his hand. Jason squeezes back to tell her that no one got shot. “About what?”“I asked him who has Superboy's custody,” Jason admits.
And because Jazz is a menace, she laughs softly at the undeniable parallel between him and B. “You will sleep on the couch.”“For sure I won't sleep in the guest room.”“Shut up,” he whines, but there's no real anger in it. It's hard to be angry with Jazz when it's just golden light and nighttime around them. “You know what I mean.”“Yeah,” she kisses his hand and Jason's breath comes out shallow, “I know.” And then, “What do we do about it?”Jason closes his eyes and lets his head fall onto the bed. He thinks about Batman, standing in the light of an alley lamp, waiting for him. How it was a compromise and a way to share control. It was B waiting for Jason, choosing the meet-up spot, sure, but it was B waiting on Jason's unspoken terms. Open shot. More than a visible target. It was hard to say who was in control, which meant that no one was. Which means they were the closest to equals they could be. Everything in Jason screams that it's bullshit and a trick. The other equally loud part of everything wants to feed on this little ray of hope.In the end, it doesn't really matter because “I don't know yet. In JL papers, Superboy is nobody's. He’s just registered at Young's and that's it. I don't think he has a human identity. At least, B doesn't know it. But he said he'll look into it.”“So he's concerned.”“He always is when it's not his kid. The problems start when the kid belongs to him.”“Jason,” her voice comes out disapproving.“You know I'm right. What do you want me to do? Lie about it?”“I just don't want you to antagonize him when he's trying.”“Can you be on my side for once? Every time we talk about it you're on his fucking side.”Jazz moves away to face him. Every abandoned part of his skin feels insanely cold. She frowns. “That's unfair. I am always on your side. I am sorry you don't like the way it feels.”He can't look at her when she's like this. It's too much. His hands are itching to crush something in them. There's control in destruction and destruction in control. “Are we really going to fucking fight about Bruce at four in the morning?”“No,” she whispers and swallows audibly. “I don't want to fight with you. I just don't want you to put him in a closed box because if you expect him to stay the same, nothing will ever change, either. He will always be your villain and you will always be his mistake. And neither of you deserve it.”“Neither do your parents,” he says with satisfaction. Jazz closes her hands into fists, then opens them. Bites her lip. Come on. Come on. Jason tenses. Waits. He can't be the only one to lose it. Come on.“Mine aren't even trying,” Jazz exhales through gritted teeth.“Do you even let them?” Jason bites again, tilting his head.Jazz sits straighter suddenly. Finally takes the bait. Everything green in Jason is singing, until she admits, “Bruce is paying my tuition. We can buy insurance because it cuts out the cost of my studies.”It's as if she has punched him. Bruce bought her. Like he had bought Jason. Like he had bought Dick. Like he had bought Tim. He always finds the right currency and buys whatever he wants. Or maybe it’s not like that. Maybe he sells you something disguising it as something else. Maybe- Maybe Jason paid with his life to have a meal that one time and doomed himself forevermore.“You said you got a scholarship,” it comes out weak and Jason hates himself for it.“I said I had it covered,” she doesn't look down. “I didn't apply for a scholarship because it would be his money either way.”Jason's limbs feel heavy and his head pounds, making things blurry. The betrayal tastes sour with a bile coming up his throat. He closes his eyes. “Can you for once just not have the final word? You said you don't want to fight, but you are not letting it go!”“Okay,” Jazz says. “We are not being mature about this. We can come back to this when we can be mature about this.” Then, in a blink, because she can switch between emotions like fucking TV channels, even if she's hurt, especially if she's hurt, “What do we do about Conner?”Jason grits his teeth hard, forces his nails into his palms, but it really doesn't change anything. When he opens his eyes, the light cast upon the world is eerie green as if shining through stained glass. He can feel his heart pounding, so he tries again, “Shut up. Just- don't talk. I need you to be quiet. I am trying right now. I am trying very fucking hard.” Because Jazz helps. Until she doesn't. Until she makes him feel like this . Whatever this means.Something changes in the way she looks at him, something flickers right into place and Jason exhales with relief. Jazz nods and moves her hand to hover just above his. Tilts her head. One. Two. Three. Jason takes a deep breath and nods.So Jazz opens his closed fists and starts to draw on his skin with her fingertips. She moves them to press herself into his back, pulling enough weight for Jason to feel grounded, but not enough to make him trapped. It’s a system they both know, so Jason can predict every move she makes, which is half the point of any of this. He feels… small. Inadequate. Immature. Being in control helps soothe his thoughts. He laughs hysterically reminded of the pink sticky notes they used to map out all the ways to stop him from going berserk. How they just sat down and talked about his fucked up brain like it was another puzzle. He feels detached. He feels everything all at once. He’s so fucked up he doesn’t think he will ever outgrow it.
“What if I don’t want to be mature about this?” he challenges.Jazz squizzes his hand and says with full confidence, “Then I will love you anyway.”They stay like this for some time, breathing in and out evenly until Jason can blink away his tears and talk without his throat squeezing. He swallows, laying his head on her shoulder. Jazz lets him. She probably would let him do anything now and it’s as much disturbing as soothing.She kisses his temple. “I’m not mad at you. I am never mad at you. Sometimes I am mad at the way you behave, though. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Because I do. Okay?”“Ah yes, the psychological mambo-jambo,” he tries but it comes out so pathetically, that the embarrassment eats him up right away. Jazz bites his neck, earning herself a surprised yelp from him. “Yeah, okay.”“Come on,” she prompts them both up, “we’re going to sleep. We will figure this all out in the morning.”“It is morning.”“Yeah, smartass? Do you not want to go to bed with me?” He makes an unidentifiable noise, but somehow she understands it for what it is. “Then be a good boy and move your ass.”Jason chokes. “Oh my God, I fucking hate you so much right now.”
Jazz falls onto their bed with a soft, tired laugh. “No, you don’t.”“Yes, I do.”“Do not.”“Do too.”She pulls him onto the bed and Jason lets her, falling right onto her body, so she can cover them with their soft sheets. “I can’t believe we’ve done all of this while whispering. I can’t believe we have a kid here again, too.”“Sleep, princess,” he reminds her, eyes already closed.Jazz presses herself against his back with a weak laugh that vibrates on his skin. “Okay.”Jason wakes up alone in a cold bed. The flat is unusually quiet, so he tenses and swallows. No Jazz on Saturday morning isn’t generally a sign to worry, but they fought and now he’s alone so- He reaches for his phone, but surely, there’s a text from her, saying she has taken Conner out for breakfast. He tries not to overthink it. It’s not like she doesn’t want to eat with him and- Fuck.Anger is easier than anxiety, so Jason condemns himself to the easiest way to rile up possible. Dick picks up immediately. He always does now.“Do you think we antagonize him?”“ Hello to you too, Little Wing ,” he teases, making Jason immediately regret that he has called, even if it was the point. But then, “ Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think so. Wait. ” He calls out to Damian, something about going further to watch capybaras but staying within eyesight. “ Okay, I am back. What was the question? ” Because of course, Dick wants him to repeat it, Jason stays pointedly silent. Dick can fuck right off. “ Are you and Jazz fighting? ”“It’s impossible to be fighting with her.”“ It’s definitely not, ” Dick snorts and Jason is half sure he’s just entertaining him. “B een there, done that. ” Jason stays silent yet again. This time Dick seems to use his Robin training and picks up on the clue. “O kay, I don’t think we antagonize B. He does that plenty by himself. ”“I- she wants me to be mature about this.” He swallows, his arm covering his eyes. “Did you know he’s paying her tuition?”“ He’s funding most of the scholarships, so yeah. ”“No, Dick, she’s not on the scholarship. He’s just paying.”“ Holy fuck, Jason. ” There’s a sound of shuffling and Dick yelps. Jason can hear Damian, but cannot distinguish the words. “ No, no, little D, I have not said that! Swear words are bad words. Okay, yes, okay, stop that. I will pay up. ”Jason chuckles against himself. It’s good to know that Damian is still Damian. And it’s good to know that Jason was not the only one kept in the dark by Jazz. Fuck, it’s embarrassing, but it is easier with them. “You have a swear jar?”“ Don’t get me started. It’s Tim’s fault. ”“Isn’t everything?”“ That’s what I’ve been saying! ”Jason breathes out slowly, the simple joy of having brothers spreading warmth in his chest. “Do you think we are stopping B from getting better?”Dick thinks about it for a moment. “ I think he has never been good in the first place. He doesn’t know who he will be if he gets better. And it scares him. ”“How do you know?” Jason whispers.“ Because that’s what I am scared of. And my guess is, it’s what you are, too, Little Wing, ” they rarely are this soft, but when they do, Jason wants to be a kid again. Every time it happens he can’t help but ask the universe for a rerun. Can’t help but wonder if they could try once more and maybe that time they could do it right.Thankfully, before Jason can fall deeper into this hole, the door opens and shuts loudly. Jason knows it’s Jazz. Frankly, mostly because she’s one of the only people who use the entrance like a normal person and not the window.“Guess what,” she shouts and Jason immediately knows she’s mad from her tone of voice. “I’ve learned where Conner is staying! And how he’s getting around. By which I mean, he doesn’t!”“Is it worse than Tim?” Jason shouts back, not even trying to keep it away from Dick.“Nothing is worse than Tim!” Dick and Jazz say in unison, but Jason is sure they mean it differently.“Okay, seriously, what did he do to piss you off, Dickface?” he gets out of the bed.“ Ate all my cereal. ”“You don’t live there anymore,” he huffs, leaning on the wall to watch Jazz aggressively make coffee. “And he probably saved you from developing diabetes at twenty-eight.”“ Not the point, Jay. So not the point. ”“I am hanging up,” he rolls his eyes. “Thanks,” he says way softer.“ What for ?” Dick sing-songs.“For being the ugliest out of all us.”Dick’s offended gasp is the last thing Jason hears before finally cutting the call. Jazz is done with two espressos at that point and brings out the liquor and vodka. He raises his brows, then checks the kitchen clock. It’s… afternoon, but still. “Espresso martini? Seriously?”“He has no parents, no income and lives at the YJ’s place. They only gave him an alias, so he could go to school and no one even checks if he does. I’d call it child labour, but labour is paid, Jason! So I am having my damn espresso or I am blowing up Justice League, you choose!”Jason blinks at the tantrum, then smiles widely. “I have C4s ready for you, princess, anytime you want.”Jazz plops on a stool with a groan, murmuring something about romanticism not being dead. “We can’t blow up the Justice League.”“Because…?” he trails off playfully, putting his arms around her shoulders.“Because I am not dealing with their ghosts,” she whines, sipping on the drink. “And because we have more important things to take care of. An actual ghost told me there’s a kryptonite supplier in Gotham. He’s shipping out worldwide. Or so they said.”Jason groans, plopping beside her, his amusement immediately gone. Jazz offers him her drink. He takes a sip. “So, we have to not only resolve the kid’s living situation but also blow up some fuckers because no one else will?”“Mhm.”“We were supposed to have a free weekend.”“Mhm.”“Fuck, I hate the Justice League.”“Cheers to that.” She jumps off the stool with her drink in one hand. “I am picking up highlighters. Go get the sticky notes.”It takes them more than a weekend, which they sort of expect, to have everything ready. The Bruce fight gets delayed, but Jazz puts a sticky note with a reminder to talk about it on her nightstand, so Jason would not feel ignored. He appreciates it.They plan and plan and plan between their regular activities and hide what they can from the prying eyes of even more children than they already acquired. Conner becomes a regular visitor and even Batman doesn't talk shit about it, probably sensing something odd happening. Jason is a little bit on edge, but if Bruce knows what they are doing, which he probably does, he doesn't do anything about it. Almost as if he trusted Jason to do the right thing.It's a rather simple affair, buy some kryptonite just in case and then blow up every storage the supplier has around here after stealing their computer records. Then, they’ll spill the beans to Nightwing, who’ll deliver the message to Superman that if he wants the info, he has to take a custody with it and some parenting classes. It's a good plan because even the stupidest supplier would change the storage placement after having some of it blown up. So if the Justice League wants the magical green out of business, they'll need to say yes quickly to get it done before the info turns useless.Jason is looking over the maps for tomorrow’s ambush, when everything goes to hell. At this point, he should anticipate it, but he's one big optimist.“Hey, boss! We got ourselves a lurker!” Little Ronnie shouts from the entrance of the warehouse. Jason can't see him yet but can hear the laughter as his boys lead someone to the main room. “He no Vicki Vale, but he may write us a pretty little story. Whatcha think, baby boy?”They drop the reporter and the guy falls with a yelp right behind Jason. When he turns, his jaw drops before he brushes his face tiredly. Fucking Superman is down in front of him dressed in his Clark Kent regalia, a bulletproof vest with press covering his chest, which was not in the plan. His face is white and he looks exceptionally sick, which- valid, considering the amount of kryptonite Jason has here. Except, almost everything is already packed into lead boxes. He looks at his boys.Almost everything.“What the fuck are you wearing?” Jason's voice comes out resigned.“Jewelry.”“I can fucking see that. Where did you get this?”“Ma'am is playing with the kids, making necklaces left and right,” Little Ronnie explains patiently, unlike the other guys, too used to Jason's temper tantrums to bother.Jason's arm covers his eyes. He hires men who bathe in blood daily just for them to wear beaded kryptonite necklaces a bunch of kindergarteners have made with unassuming Jazz. He peeks from under his arm, but no, Little Ronnie has a freshly-done fucking earing dangling with a bat charm, so it is real and Jason has not made it up. He somehow wishes he had. “Tell her it’s kryptonite, not second-hand stones and for fucks sake, take it off. Get out. All of you. Before I lose it.”Little Ronnie fears nothing and doesn’t move. “What about the newsboy?”Jason uncovers his face and looks at them again. “He’s not even ours. He’s from Metropolis.”The boys collectively take a big step back from Clark in clear disgust. Someone mumbles something about the pros of having insurance. Jason wonders if dying will stick the second time. “Get the fuck out. I’ll take care of it.”Little Ronnie crouches in all his six-feet-two glory and pats sick Clark with pity, “Bye, newsboy. It was nice meeting you. I hope you liked Gotham. It’s a good ground to die on. We did our best for you.” With that, they all are gone, leaving Jason alone with his uncle, which is kind of awkward because, when Jason is thinking about it now, no one has probably bothered to tell Clark about… well, everything that went down.Jason is not wearing his helmet but it’s still pretty clear that he is Red Hood, with his badass jacket and a domino, playing with kryptonite in a warehouse in the Crime Alley. Okay. He needs to play it right. He was meant to talk to him about the kid anyway, so he might as well. Jazz will be able to cross it out off her TaskBoard. “Hey, Uncle Supes, you good?” he starts tentatively because while he’s insanely mad at him for treating Superboy like shit, he’s not killing him. Jazz says it would set up a bad example and whatnot. Death doesn’t stick around here all that much, so he personally thinks she’s just fussing around. “Sorry about the welcome wagon. And the kryptonite. And that I haven’t called you and Diana since I came back.”Seven different emotions run through Superman’s pale face until he seems to focus and listen in. His eyes widen. “Jason?”Jason scratches his neck. “Yeah. Long time no see?”“B said that you came back and that it was complicated, but…” Clark trails off. Jason helps him sit up because he’s nice like that. “I didn’t think it was this complicated.”“Yeah, he's not the biggest fan of the rebrand,” Jason says bitterly.But before he can explain further, a loud explosion shakes the warehouse. There's a moment of silence, interrupted only by their gasps. And then there's shouting. And a lot of steps. And Jason’s overwhelming regret he has ever come back from the dead.“Hey, boss?” the door cracks open and a mop of sandy blonde hair peeks in.“Yes, Jackie?” Jason tries to level his voice, but he can’t. He’s giving up. This is the last time he puts college students in charge of an ambush. Even if Jackie is smart as hell, she’s also dumb as fuck.“Promise you won’t be mad first.”“Jackie, I assure you, if you don’t tell me right now what you have just blown up, I will be more than mad.”“I only blew up what I was supposed to blow up.”“You blew up kryptonite.”“Yes. I blew up kryptonite. For science.”“For science,” Jason repeats. Then he looks down at Clark still on the ground, searching for some empathy and finds none. “And?”“And we might need more lead for tomorrow if we want to destroy those storages and have no casualties,” she blurs out fast. “We checked and no one DoorDashes at this hour.”“You wanted to DoorDash lead here?” he asks in disbelief. “And how come haven’t you accounted for this?”“Duh. It’s not like telling you was my first choice. I am not stupid, boss,” Jackie has the audacity to look offended. “Well, in my defence, the only source for the calculations of explosion ranges were these YouTube compilations of Superman eating shit while fighting bots in Metropolis, so. And I wasn’t even that off.”Clark, on the contrary to Jackie, has the decency to look embarrassed if his reddened cheeks tell Jason anything.“How much lead are we talking about?”“Like, three hundred pounds.”“You wanted to DoorDash three hundred pounds of lead to a secret warehouse?”“It’s Gotham, boss,” she rolls her eyes. “We’ve done weirder.”He doesn’t know what to say to that. Jackie gloats.“Okay, I am making this clear. No takeout orders to the warehouse. No packages, either. Get it?”Jackie whines and hides her face in her hands. “Everybody’s gonna kill me.”“Get it, Jackie?” Jason presses, for his sanity promptly ignoring the fact that his people were ordering takeout to their secret warehouse.“Yes, boss. Got it.”“Then get out and place an actual order. Not on the fucking DoorDash.”“Yeah. Yeah. On it.”Jason leans onto the table, maps long forgotten. They’ll have to postpone the ambush anyway. He’s pretty sure he took brain damage. When Jackie finally leaves, Clark manages a weak laugh. Jason eyes him unimpressed.“Joys of leadership, am I right?”“Well, you wouldn’t know any other joys.”“Excuse me?”“I meant the joys of parenthood.”Clark sits up straighter, the absence of kryptonite helping the colour return to his cheeks. He brushes his hand through his hair. Jason watches with his arms crossed on his chest. He wasn’t going to make this easy. He didn’t for Bruce. He wasn’t going soft for Superman either.“Did he do anything? Is this why you have all this kryptonite here?”“Are you fucking serious now?” Jason looks down. “I can’t believe this is your first thought. Fuck, it makes so much sense that you and B are besties, huh? Same damn train of thought.”Clark looks guilty. It doesn’t do anything for Jason.“The kid came all the way to Gotham to ask me about Shakespeare. Imagine my surprise that he wasn't going all Lady Macbeth on JL and just wanted to understand his homework.”“I can't do for him what Bruce did for you,” Clark tries weakly. For what it's worth it seems to hurt him more than the kryptonite.Jason laughs, close to hysterics. “You can't or you won't? Because you are fucking him up anyway! And B at least tried not to!”“It's different. I didn't want him. He just happened and I wasn't ready-”“For fuck's sake, grow up! It doesn't matter if you wanted him or not. You can take responsibility for the whole world but can't do it for a single life that was made of you?” Jason cries out. “I am so damn tired of each and every one of you. I can't replace you and I've tried. They need you. He needs you. If you don't man up now, you will regret it. If not because of guilt, then because of me and Jazz. I didn't buy all this neon shit for the looks.”“He hates me, Jay.”“And I hate B!” Jason throws his hands up. “Doesn’t fucking mean he's not my dad anymore! Emotions can and should coexist!”The door cracks again, but this time it’s just Jazz in her plain domino mask. Well, technically plain. It’s shining now with these small plastic diamonds. And glitter. A lot of glitter. They must have switched from jewellery-making to playing vigilantes. “I’m proud you said that, Red, but why are we screaming at a random reporter from Metropolis?” she tries, walking to hop on the table beside him and hold his hand. Jason lets her because it’s Jazz. “I’ve sent everyone home when I felt you…” she makes a vague gesture with her free hand.“Thank you,” Jason breathes out. “We are finished here anyway.”Jazz tilts her head at Clark, who seems so miserable even she takes pity. “He doesn’t look like a snitch to me. And I am not in the mood to deal with any trespassers today.”Jason squeezes her hand and huffs. He wasn’t going to kill Clark, but how could she know? They have a shitton of kryptonite here and plans to destroy the dealers to ensure Conner’s safety. A leak is a leak. Especially a reporter-shaped one. “I am not- He’s free to go.”Jazz raises her brow at him, thoughtful, head still tilted, but stays silent. She takes out her phone and texts someone, but from this angle, he can’t see the contact name.“We’ll have some good intel for you in exchange,” Jason says, in the end, hopping on beside Jazz. “So think about what I said.”Clark nods and weakly gets up. No one bothers to lead him out. Jason rolls his eyes at Jazz when the oh-so-familiar engine sounds can be heard and Clark gets picked up.“Snitch,” Jason calls her out. Jazz pushes him off the table.Jazz doesn’t talk about the Clark incident, even if they both know she has figured it out. It takes them two weeks to reschedule the ambush and measure everything correctly. The kids don’t play with kryptonite anymore, to everybody but Jason’s disappointment, but he can take it. They blow the storages around Gotham and execute the rest of the adjusted plan as flawlessly as plans can ever be executed. There are no casualties and Jason doubts the kryptonite in the air makes a difference in Gotham’s pollution case. Overall, everything goes smoothly.Until Batman shows up instead of Nightwing or Superman. Jason is high enough on this victory to wave everyone off to celebrate and deal with this on his own. He let them order DoorDash to the warehouse in Jackie’s honour.He puts his hands in his pockets and waits. They watch each other for a long moment before Batman takes off on his grapple. Jason huffs, but follows suit. They run after each other until B lands on one of the high points and sits down by a gargoyle. Jason takes off his helmet and plops beside him. He checks his phone, reads a text from Jazz and lets her know he’s okay.“So, what do you want?” he asks Batman finally after putting the device back into his pocket.Batman bites his lip, considering and Jason lets him. He pulls his knees close to his chest and places his chin on them, arms around himself. He forgot how nice Gotham looks from the above, condemned to mostly running instead of flying. It’s nice and quiet up here. He remembers how he used to pretend that every light below was a little joy they were supposed to protect. He remembers it was one of not so many of his made-up stories Bruce never interrupted. After a while he turns to B, feeling watched. He tilts his head, something he probably has picked up from Jazz.“You used to do it a lot,” Batman says.Jason blinks. “Do what?”“Sit like this,” he explains densely. “You liked making yourself feel smaller in all the high places.”Jason’s throat squeezes. “Well, I am not small anymore. And I barely hide.”“No, you are not,” B nods. “You are a man now.”“You took me here to tell me I am not twelve anymore? Or is there a real reason?”“The Justice League wants to offer you a deal,” Batman says and something shameful pools in Jason’s stomach. It tastes like acid and disappointment. “I told them I am not the person to deliver the message, but they insisted.”“Well, I would agree instantly if it had been Diana.” He wouldn’t, but the joke is worth this lie.“And I told them accordingly,” a shadow of a smile plays around B’s lips, but Jason might be delirious. “But I am mostly here because of your talk with Superman.”Jason tenses, “What about it?”“He brought Superboy to his Fortress. You put some sense into him.” Relief floods Jason instantly, relaxing all his muscles. “They have meetings scheduled weekly, as far as I am aware.”“Good. He was being a shit father,” he looks away to watch the city because it’s easier.“He told me you said the same about me.”Jason shrugs. He really doesn’t know what’s the fucking point of this conversation. “I am not apologizing to you if that’s what you want.”Bruce takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Jason braces himself for impact. “Do you still think of me as your father?”Well, he wasn’t expecting that. He turns to Bruce with disbelief. “That’s why you brought me here?”Bruce swallows but doesn’t back down. “Yes.”“Oh my God, old man,” Jason’s throat squeezes when he laughs, feeling vulnerable in the good way he thought Jazz was making up. “Fuck, yes, I do. I hate you still, but I wouldn’t if I didn’t consider you that.”“You are my son, Red Hood.”Jason has to blink out the wetness and swallow everything else. Bruce moves closer, gently, shyly and focuses on Gotham, leaving Jason small and hidden, just like he used to love when he was more alive and much smaller. It’s weird to know Bruce actually remembers anything from his childhood. It’s even weirder that he cares enough to. Jason takes a deep breath and takes the invitation for what it is, leaning his head on Bruce’s shoulder. He thinks about little joys. How they don’t end on the lights below them.“What’s the deal?” Jason whispers, the kryptonite and celebrations long forgotten.“We want you and Jasmine to be responsible for the youth section of the League.”“Huh,” he says to that, storing it away for later, but he can’t stop the warmth from spreading inside of him. It’s green like spring. Instead of answering, he goes, “Did you know that every light down there is a little joy Batman’s magic protects?”“I’ve heard it’s not Batman’s magic,” Bruce follows suit, his voice careful, “but all the Robins’. Do you want to tell me about it?”