Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jason Todd’s rebirth through the Lazarus Pit was a second chance—not that he wanted it. The Pit had left him angry, fractured, and enslaved to the League of Assassins. His days were a haze of violence and control, and his nights, when they weren’t filled with torturous visions, were consumed by a single burning thought: escape.

The training hall was colder than usual, the air thick with the scent of incense and sweat. Jason stood at the centre of the room, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as Ra’s al Ghul’s voice echoed off the stone walls.

“Your next trial,” Ra’s announced, gesturing toward a kneeling figure in the middle of the room, “is to prove your loyalty and precision. Take the blade and eliminate the target.”

Jason’s stomach churned as he looked at the figure—a man bound and gagged, his head bowed in submission. The man’s eyes darted upward, catching Jason’s gaze. They were filled with fear, pleading silently for mercy.

Jason’s throat went dry. “He’s unarmed,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Ra’s arched an eyebrow. “A weakness, perhaps. One that you must learn to overcome. Compassion has no place in the League.”

Jason’s gaze flickered to the ornate dagger placed neatly on a pedestal beside him. The weight of the League’s expectations bore down on him like a physical force. “I can prove my skills in other ways,” he said, the edge of defiance in his tone. One that always made the corner of Bruce’s lip go up he thinks, watching Ra’s turn into a frown.

“You will obey,” Ra’s said coldly, stepping closer. “Or you will face the consequences of insubordination.”

From the shadows, Talia watched in silence, her expression unreadable. The other League members stood at attention, their gazes fixed on Jason like vultures waiting for a kill.

Jason’s mind raced. If he refused, he knew the punishment would be brutal—and possibly fatal. But if he complied…

He looked back at the man on his knees. His lips were trembling beneath the gag, his breaths shallow and panicked. Jason thought of himself in that position—not as Robin or as the League’s assassin-in-training, but as the scared, abandoned boy he’d once been on Gotham’s streets.

“I…” Jason faltered, his voice cracking. “I can’t.”

Ra’s’ lips pressed into a thin line. “Then you will have no purpose here. Take him.”

Two guards stepped forward, their hands reaching for Jason. His survival instincts kicked in, and he broke away from them with a sharp jab of his elbow, but it was futile. A third grabbed him from behind, forcing him to his knees.

“Enough!” Ra’s barked. The guards froze, holding Jason in place. Ra’s’ eyes bore into him. “You must learn, boy, that hesitation is weakness. And weakness will destroy you.”

Jason struggled against the iron grip of the guards, his voice rough with desperation. “He’s not a threat! This isn’t justice—it’s murder!”

Ra’s gestured to Talia, who stepped forward and placed the dagger in Jason’s hand. The cold metal felt heavier than it should.

“Do it,” Ra’s commanded.

Jason’s hands shook as he gripped the hilt. The man on the floor sobbed quietly, his eyes squeezed shut. Jason felt his breath quicken, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I don’t want to do this,” he whispered.

Ra’s leant against the back of his chair and tilts his face up, looking down at Jason as his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “If you don’t, you will never leave this place alive.”

The man’s muffled cries grew louder. Jason’s vision blurred as he lifted the blade. His arm felt like it belonged to someone else, his muscles moving on autopilot.

He couldn’t die again.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words barely audible.

The dagger plunged downward.

When it was over, Jason couldn’t move. His hands were slick with blood, the dagger slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground. He stared at the lifeless body before him, bile rising in his throat.

Ra’s straightened, his expression impassive. “You have taken your first step toward becoming what you were meant to be. Learn to embrace it, and you will thrive.”

Jason didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His chest felt hollow, his limbs like lead. As the guards released him and the room emptied, Jason remained frozen, his knees pressed to the cold stone floor.

“Jason,” Talia’s voice broke through the fog. She knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Get away from me,” he spat, his voice shaking with rage and shame.

Talia withdrew her hand but didn’t leave. “It was necessary,” she said quietly.

Jason’s eyes burned as he turned to face her. “Necessary?” he hissed. “He was a person, not some ‘trial.’ He didn’t deserve to die.”

Talia’s gaze softened, but she said nothing. After a long moment, she rose and left him alone.

When Jason finally found the strength to move, he stumbled back to his quarters, barely holding himself together. As soon as the door closed behind him, the mask cracked. He sank to the floor, trembling, his breaths ragged.

The guilt was suffocating, wrapping around him like a vise. He saw the man’s face every time he closed his eyes, heard the dull thud of the blade piercing flesh.

That night, Jason didn’t sleep. Instead, he sat in the darkness, staring at his bloodstained hands.

And for the first time, his escape plan became more than just an idea. It became an unshakable vow.

Then he met Damian.

The boy, Ra’s al Ghul’s heir, was every bit the little terror Jason expected. Arrogant, sharp-tongued, and trained to kill before he could tie his shoes, Damian was a miniature embodiment of everything Jason hated about the League. But he was also a child. A lonely, over-disciplined child who saw Jason not as a tool, but as something more.

The first time Jason was assigned to watch over Damian, it was in the sparring hall. The boy’s blows were fast and precise, but there was something mechanical about them, like a machine following pre-programmed patterns. Jason watched from the corner, arms crossed, until Damian finally faltered, missing a block against an older trainee. The other boy’s staff cracked hard against Damian’s ribs, sending him sprawling.

Damian jumped up immediately, but Jason’s voice rang out before he could retaliate. “Hey! Enough.”

The trainees paused. Jason stepped forward, his gaze sharp. “The kid gets the point. You don’t have to beat it into him.”

Damian bristled. “I do not need your interference.”

Jason smirked. “Yeah? Looks to me like you could use some tips on blocking.”

Damian glared, his cheeks flushing faintly. “I will be fine.”

“Sure you will, tough guy,” Jason said, but his tone was almost amused. For the rest of the session, he stayed close, silently stepping in whenever Damian’s opponents got too aggressive. By the end, Damian’s scowl had softened, if only slightly.

Later that week, Jason found Damian in the library. The boy was seated at a massive wooden desk, a book nearly as large as he was spread out before him. Jason leaned against a bookcase, watching as Damian scribbled notes in precise, measured strokes.

“You’re what, eight?” Jason asked.

Damian didn’t look up. “And?”

“And you’re reading books I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole,” Jason said. He stepped closer, peering at the text. “‘Advanced Strategy and War Philosophy’? Sounds riveting.”

Damian closed the book with a sharp thud, finally looking at Jason. “It is essential reading for someone in my position.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, okay, mini-Napoleon. Don’t you ever take a break?”

Damian’s expression faltered for a moment. “Breaks are for the undisciplined.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Or for people who don’t want to burn out by the time they’re twelve. C’mon, kid. You’re allowed to be a human being every now and then.”

Damian hesitated, then frowned. “What would you suggest?”

Jason grinned. “Ever heard of cards?”

By the time the evening ended, Damian had begrudgingly admitted that blackjack was “Not entirely without merit.” Jason’s laugh echoed through the halls, a new sound in the League’s fortress.

A week later, Damian approached Jason in the training yard. “Why do you protect me?” he asked bluntly.

Jason looked up from where he was cleaning his knives. “What kind of question is that?”

“You interfere in my training. You take hits meant for me. I want to know why.”

Jason shrugged. “You’re a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with half the crap they throw at you here.”

Damian crossed his arms. “I am not ‘a kid.’ I am the heir to Ra’s al Ghul.”

“Yeah, and I’m the heir to Gotham’s dumpster fire,” Jason shot back. “Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve someone in your corner.”

Damian studied him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Thank you, Ahki.”

Jason frowned. “Ahki?”

Damian smirked faintly. “It means brother. You have earned it.”

A small smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “Alright, Habibi. I’ll take it.”

The nickname stuck. Damian’s “Ahki” became his most loyal protector, his shield against the League’s harsh punishments and impossible expectations. In turn, Jason’s “Habibi” brought him a semblance of purpose he hadn’t felt in years.

But the League’s cruelty didn’t stop.

Ra’s al Ghul was furious. Damian had failed to complete an assassination—a “trivial” test of loyalty, Ra’s called it. The punishment would be severe. Damian stood rigid in the training hall, defiance warring with fear in his green eyes as Ra’s raised his voice.

Jason, watching from the shadows, stepped forward.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Jason said flatly, drawing Ra’s’ attention. “If you’ve got a problem, take it up with me.”

Ra’s didn’t hesitate. The punishment was brutal: a relentless lashing followed by hours chained in the Pit’s toxic fumes. Jason endured it all without a sound. By the end, his body was barely functional, his mind teetering on the edge of rage-induced madness. But he didn’t regret it. Damian was safe.

Damian’s guilt was palpable as he helped Jason back to their shared quarters that night. “You didn’t have to do that, Ahki.”

Jason grunted, wincing as he sat down. “Yeah, I did. Someone’s gotta look out for you, Habibi.”

“Why?” Damian’s voice cracked, the child behind the assassin peeking through.

Jason looked at him, his expression soft despite the pain. “Because someone should’ve done it for me.”

Jason was seated on the floor of their shared quarters, sharpening one of his daggers. The rhythmic scrape of steel against the whetstone filled the dimly lit room. Across the space, Damian sat cross-legged on his bed, his sharp green eyes following Jason’s movements with a pensive intensity.

“Jason,” Damian said suddenly, his tone clipped and serious.

Jason glanced up, smirking faintly. “What’s on your mind, Habibi?”

Damian leaned forward slightly. “I need your assistance.”

Jason arched an eyebrow, setting the whetstone aside. “Help? From me? What’s the world coming to?”

Damian huffed, crossing his arms. “If you are quite finished, I wish to learn a technique I saw you use in combat.”

Jason straightened, intrigued. “Oh yeah? Which one?”

Damian slid off the bed, his movements sharp and deliberate. “During a sparring session with the senior assassins, you used a manoeuvre to disarm your opponent. It was highly effective, but I have not been able to replicate it.”

Jason tilted his head, replaying his recent fights in his mind. “Disarming, huh? Show me what you’ve got so far.”

Damian moved to the centre of the room, his expression fierce with focus. He mimed the sequence he’d seen, gripping an imaginary wrist and twisting sharply. His form was close, but Jason could already spot the cracks.

Jason stood, stretching lazily before walking over. “Alright, not bad. But you’re missing a couple of key things. Let me show you.”

He stepped behind Damian, gently adjusting the boy’s arms and shoulders. “First off, you’re trying to muscle it too much. This isn’t about strength—it’s about leverage and timing. Relax a little.”

Damian frowned but allowed the corrections.

Jason crouched slightly, demonstrating the move with deliberate slowness. “You grab their wrist like this—not too tight, not too loose—and then pivot your body while twisting. The idea is to use their own momentum against them.”

Damian nodded, his sharp mind already dissecting the mechanics. “Understood. May I attempt it now?”

Jason grinned. “That’s the spirit. Alright, come at me.”

Damian hesitated. “You won’t retaliate?”

Jason snorted. “Not this time, Habibi. Just focus on getting the move right.”

With a small nod, Damian stepped forward. His hands gripped Jason’s wrist as he twisted and pivoted. Jason allowed himself to be spun into a half-turn, landing off-balance but still upright.

“Better,” Jason said with an approving nod. “But you’re rushing the twist. Go slower, and let the momentum do the work.”

They repeated the move several times, Jason offering corrections here and there while Damian adjusted with remarkable precision. After half an hour, Damian executed the manoeuvre so perfectly that Jason found himself flipped onto his back, blinking at the ceiling.

“Nice!” Jason said, laughing as he got to his feet. “You nailed it.”

Damian stood a little taller, the faintest trace of pride visible in his smirk. “Of course. I learn quickly.”

Jason ruffled the boy’s hair, grinning. “No kidding. You’ve got a knack for this stuff. Remind me to never let my guard down around you.”

Damian batted Jason’s hand away but didn’t seem particularly annoyed, which Jason counted as a win. Instead, he tilted his head, studying Jason with a faintly curious expression.

“Where did you learn this technique?” Damian asked.

Jason froze for a split second before shrugging casually. “Picked it up from someone who knew their stuff. Figured it’d come in handy someday.”

Damian raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “It is highly effective. Thank you for sharing it, Ahki.”

Jason chuckled, ruffling his own hair as he leaned back against the wall. “Anytime, Habibi. You’re gonna be unstoppable one day, you know that?”

Damian didn’t respond immediately, but Jason caught the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the boy’s lips as he returned to his bed.

Jason watched him for a moment longer, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest. Teaching Damian something he could use for himself—it felt right. Even if the League had taken so much from them, they could still carve out moments like this, moments where something real and good could grow.

Jason leaned against the edge of the training yard, his arms crossed as he watched Damian spar with an older trainee. The boy was quick -damn quick- but he was smaller and still learning to compensate for his lack of reach.

Jason’s sharp eyes caught it before it happened: the older trainee, irritated by Damian’s stubbornness, shifted his stance and swung wide, aiming not to disarm but to hurt.

Before Jason could think, his body moved.

“Enough!” he barked, stepping between them just as the wooden staff came down. The force of the blow cracked against Jason’s forearm, but he barely flinched, his glare boring into the older trainee.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jason growled.

The trainee froze, wide-eyed, before muttering a hurried apology and retreating.

Jason turned to Damian, who was breathing heavily but stood firm, his small hands clenched into fists. “You okay, kid?”

“I was handling it,” Damian snapped, his pride stinging more than any blow would.

“Yeah, I could see that,” Jason said, flexing his injured arm. “But if you think I’m gonna stand here and let someone take cheap shots at you, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Damian frowned, his defiance flickering. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Jason crouched to his level, meeting the boy’s green eyes with an intensity that made Damian pause. “Yeah, I did. That’s what you do for family. You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours. Always.”

“Family,” Damian echoed, his tone uncertain.

Jason ruffled the boy’s dark hair with a smirk. “You heard me, Habibi.”

Later that night, Jason lay on his cot in their shared quarters, staring at the cracked ceiling. The events of the day replayed in his mind -the instinctive way he’d thrown himself in harm’s way, the quiet gratitude in Damian’s eyes afterward.

He thought back to his own childhood, to the nights he spent alone on Gotham’s streets, bruised and bleeding with no one to protect him. He’d sworn, after coming back from the dead, that he wouldn’t care about anyone again. Caring hurt. Caring made you vulnerable.

But Damian…

The kid had wormed his way into Jason’s life like an annoying little brother, all sharp edges and stubborn pride. And yet, underneath the bratty exterior, Jason saw the same thing he’d once been: a child desperate for someone to care, someone to protect him from a world that didn’t care if he lived or died.

Jason clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He didn’t just want to protect Damian—he needed to.

The League didn’t care about them. Ra’s saw Damian as a tool, a means to an end, and Jason as nothing more than a disposable weapon. But Jason wasn’t disposable anymore, and neither was Damian.

He turned his head, glancing at the smaller cot across the room where Damian slept soundly for once.

“They’re not gonna break you, kid,” Jason murmured under his breath. “Not while I’m still breathing.”

In that moment, Jason knew he would go to any lengths to keep Damian safe. He’d fight, bleed, and die if it came to that. The League had taken everything from him once, but they wouldn’t take Damian.

Not now. Not ever.

The nights in the League’s fortress were often silent, broken only by the occasional echo of footsteps in the halls or the faint whistle of wind against the stone walls. Jason had grown used to the oppressive quiet, using the stillness to rest or map out his escape plans in his head. But this time, the silence was broken by a muffled cry.

Jason bolted upright in his cot, instincts on high alert. It took him a moment to realize the sound was coming from Damian’s corner of the room. The boy was tangled in his blankets, his small fists gripping the fabric as he thrashed, his face twisted in distress.

“No… no!” Damian’s voice was raw, choked with something Jason couldn’t quite place—fear, perhaps. It was rare to see the boy, so composed during the day, this vulnerable.

Jason crossed the room quickly but quietly. He crouched by Damian’s bed, placing a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Habibi,” he said softly, his voice low and calm. “It’s just a dream. Wake up.”

Damian flinched at the touch, his breathing ragged as his eyes snapped open. For a second, he looked around wildly, his body tense and ready to fight. When his gaze landed on Jason, recognition slowly replaced the panic.

“You’re okay,” Jason reassured him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It was just a nightmare.”

Damian swallowed hard, sitting up and dragging his knees to his chest. He rested his chin on them, looking small in a way that made Jason’s heart ache. “I… I wasn’t afraid,” Damian muttered defensively, but his trembling voice betrayed him.

Jason leaned back on his heels, giving the kid some space. “Yeah, sure. You were just practicing your night karate in your sleep.” His tone was light, teasing, but his expression stayed soft. “You wanna tell me about it?”

Damian was silent for a long moment, his green eyes staring at the far wall. Finally, he whispered, “It was about Grandfather. About failing him.”

Jason tensed at the mention of Ra’s. “What happened?”

“He said I was weak,” Damian admitted, his voice barely audible. “He… he ordered them to take me away, to dispose of me like I was nothing.” His fists clenched. “Listen to me, Habibi,” Jason said firmly, shifting to sit beside Damian on the edge of the bed. “You are not nothing. And you’re not disposable. You hear me? That old man doesn’t get to decide your worth.”

Damian hesitated, looking up at Jason with wide, uncertain eyes. “But what if he’s right? What if I’m not strong enough?”

Jason shook his head. “Then it’s my job to make sure you never have to face him alone. That’s what brothers do, right?” He ruffled Damian’s hair gently, earning a small huff of annoyance, though Damian didn’t pull away.

For the first time that night, Damian’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Ahki,” he murmured as he tilted towards Jason’s chest, the word and action carrying a weight of trust Jason hadn’t realized he’d earned.

Jason smiled faintly, but inside, his resolve hardened. Damian didn’t belong here—no child did. The League had already stolen too much from Jason, but he wouldn’t let them take Damian’s humanity too.

As Damian’s breathing evened out and he drifted back to sleep, Jason sat beside him, keeping watch. His mind was racing now, the faint outlines of his escape plan sharpening into something tangible.

They had to leave.

No matter the cost, Jason was going to get Damian out of this hellhole.

And this time, he wouldn’t fail.

The chamber reeked of sweat and blood—Jason’s blood, mostly. The cold stone walls echoed with the metallic scrape of Ra’s al Ghul’s blade as it sliced through the air. Jason staggered but refused to fall. His breathing was shallow, his ribs screaming with each inhale, but he didn’t dare stop. Not when Damian was watching from the shadows, hidden behind a curtain of silken drapery.

This wasn’t training - it was punishment. Ra’s called it a lesson in endurance. Jason called it cruelty.

"Again," Ra’s commanded, his voice calm, yet laced with a chilling authority.

Jason tightened his fists, his cracked knuckles throbbing as he reached for the sword in front of him. His movements were sluggish, the weight of exhaustion dragging him down. He barely blocked the next strike. The force of it sent him skidding back, his boots scraping against the cold stone floor.

“Your form is deteriorating,” Ra’s observed coolly, his lips curling into a disdainful smirk. “Pathetic, boy. Is this the champion my heir has to depend upon?”

Jason shot him a bloodied grin, a mask of defiance masking his pain. “Guess you’ll just have to kill me then,” he spat, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Ra’s didn’t reply. Instead, he lunged forward, faster than Jason could react. The flat of his blade smashed against Jason’s ribs, and Jason fell to his knees, gasping as a sharp, agonizing crack confirmed his worst fear - a rib had broken. He choked back a cry, refusing to give Ra’s the satisfaction. His hands planted against the stone floor, shaking as he forced himself upright once more.

From the shadows, Damian shifted. His small hands clenched into fists, his sharp green eyes wide with panic and guilt. He was supposed to be out there, enduring this punishment. But Jason had stepped forward, an unspoken promise in his steely gaze as he knelt before Ra’s earlier.

Ahki. The whispered word rang in Damian’s mind like a mantra. His brother.

He watched helplessly as Jason took another blow, this one across his back. A whip, this time, carving a new streak of raw red into the expanse of his already scarred skin. Jason barely flinched, his jaw locked tight, his focus unwavering. He wasn’t doing this for himself. He was doing it for Damian—for Habibi.

When Ra’s finally called an end to the session, Jason collapsed. Blood pooled beneath him, and his breathing was shallow but steady. Ra’s stepped over him with a satisfied expression.

“Perhaps you have some use after all,” he said as he left the chamber, his black robes trailing behind him.

The second Ra’s disappeared, Damian darted from his hiding spot and knelt beside Jason. His small hands hovered over Jason’s broken form, unsure of where to touch without causing more pain. Tears gathered in his eyes, threatening to spill, but Damian refused to let them fall. He was an Al-Ghul. The heir of the Demon. But at that moment, all he wanted was to fix his brother.

“You should not have done that,” Damian whispered, his voice shaking.

Jason cracked an eye open, his grin weak but defiant. “And let him hurt you? Not a chance, Habibi.”

“You’re an idiot, Ahki.”

“Maybe,” Jason admitted, his voice barely audible. “But I’m your idiot.”

Damian’s lips quirked into a rare, small smile, though his eyes were still glistening with unshed tears. Jason lifted a bloodied hand and ruffled Damian’s hair, earning a scowl in response.

“You need to rest,” Damian said firmly, his small frame already bracing against Jason’s side to help him stand as they started their path to their chambers.

Jason started small.

Weeks of quiet observation turned into a detailed map in his mind. He tracked the guards’ patrols, noting their rotations and weak spots. He memorized the placement of cameras and hidden traps. When he had spare moments, he practiced suppressing his breathing and movement, training himself to blend into shadows like smoke.

Jason avoided involving Damian directly. The boy’s sharp mind would pick up on anything out of place, but Jason couldn’t risk him knowing too much. If the plan failed, Damian would need plausible deniability.

Instead, Jason framed their training as preparation.

One night, he introduced Damian to the idea of moving silently through the fortress.

“Habibi,” Jason said casually, leaning against the wall. “You ever tried to sneak past one of these guards just for fun?”

Damian shot him an incredulous look. “Why would I waste my time on such childish games?”

Jason grinned. “It’s not a game—it’s practice. You’re good in a fight, sure, but you know what’s even better? Not having to fight at all.”

Damian frowned, but the logic intrigued him. “Fine. Show me.”

Jason taught Damian how to step lightly, how to time his movements with the guards’ shifts, and how to blend into the darkness. It became a nightly exercise, with Damian improving rapidly, much to Jason’s pride.

All the while, Jason gathered supplies. He carefully smuggled small tools—a lockpick hidden in his boot, a vial of sedative pilfered from the infirmary, and a compact grappling hook he’d fashioned from scrap metal. He stashed everything in a concealed compartment under his cot, ensuring it was ready for the night they’d make their move.

The night of the escape, the fortress was eerily quiet. The moonlight barely filtered through the narrow windows, casting faint silver streaks across the stone floors. Jason glanced at the small watch he’d stolen weeks ago, waiting until the patrol rotations hit their weakest point.

He crossed the room to Damian’s bed, crouching down and shaking his shoulder gently. “Hey, kid. Wake up.”

Damian’s eyes snapped open instantly, his training evident in the way he remained silent. He stared at Jason for a moment before whispering, “What is it?”

“It’s time,” Jason murmured, his voice steady but low.

Damian sat up, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. Jason handed him a dark tunic. “Put this on. We’re leaving.”

Damian blinked but obeyed, his movements quick and efficient. As he finished dressing, he looked at Jason sharply. “Where are we going?”

“Away from here,” Jason said firmly. “I’ll explain later. Right now, just follow my lead.”

Damian hesitated but nodded.

They slipped out of their quarters like shadows. Jason led the way, his senses on high alert as they navigated the maze-like corridors. Every step was timed, every movement calculated. When they encountered their first obstacle—a pair of guards chatting near an intersection—Jason pulled Damian into a dark alcove, holding a finger to his lips.

Jason’s grip on the hilt of his dagger tightened. If it came to a fight, they’d lose the element of surprise, but there was no hesitation in his mind: he’d kill to protect Damian.

Fortunately, the guards moved on after a few tense moments, their laughter fading into the distance. Jason exhaled silently, motioning for Damian to follow.

The next challenge was the outer gate, a massive steel barrier reinforced with electronic locks. Jason retrieved the small lockpick from his boot, crouching by the control panel.

“You know how to do that?” Damian whispered, clearly impressed.

Jason smirked without looking up. “Learned it back in Gotham. Comes in handy.”

It took longer than Jason liked, each second stretching into an eternity, but the lock finally clicked open. He pushed the gate ajar just enough for them to slip through, then closed it quietly behind them.

The hardest part was the mountainside descent.

The fortress was perched high in the mountains, its cliffs sheer and treacherous. Jason pulled out the grappling hook he’d fashioned, securing it to a sturdy outcropping.

“Okay, Habibi,” Jason said, holding out a length of rope. “You’re going first.”

Damian frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“I know you are,” Jason said, his voice firm but kind. “But if something happens, I need to be up here to catch you. Got it?”

Damian scowled but nodded, gripping the rope tightly as he began his descent.

Jason watched every move carefully, his heart pounding in his chest until Damian’s feet touched the rocky ground below. Only then did he descend himself, his muscles straining as he lowered himself with practiced ease.

When they reached the tree line, Jason finally allowed himself to breathe. The League’s fortress loomed in the distance, its imposing silhouette framed by the faint glow of the moon.

“We’re clear,” Jason said, his voice low but relieved.

Damian turned to him, his expression unreadable. “You planned this… for how long?”

Jason shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. “Long enough.”

“Why?” Damian’s voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

Jason crouched in front of him, meeting his eyes. “Because you deserve better, kid. Both of us do. No one’s gonna take our freedom away—not Ra’s, not the League, no one. We’re free now.”

Damian’s gaze softened, the weight of Jason’s words settling on him. For a moment, the boy looked vulnerable—just a child thrust into a life far too harsh.

“Thank you, Ahki,” Damian said quietly.

Jason smiled, ruffling Damian’s hair. “Anytime, Habibi. Now c’mon—we’ve got a long way to go.”

With that, they vanished into the forest, leaving the League’s shadow behind.

The old lock clicked softly, and Jason winced. It wasn’t hard to break into Dick’s apartment—his older brother was annoyingly predictable when it came to security setups—but every sound felt too loud in the dead of night. Damian trailed behind him, silent and watchful as always, but his sharp eyes darted around the small Blüdhaven apartment.

The place screamed Grayson. Cozy but cluttered, with framed photos of friends and family, a few including him with a toothy grin and bright eyes, he had to force himself to look away, together with an air of quiet warmth despite the peeling wallpaper. Jason barely stepped inside before collapsing onto the worn-out couch with a groan, the tension he’d been holding onto for weeks finally starting to unravel.

"We’re safe," he muttered, his voice hoarse. The words felt foreign on his tongue. When was the last time he'd felt anything close to safe?

Damian, standing near the door, gave a small nod but didn’t relax. “This place is inadequate. The windows are not fortified, and the perimeter is laughably—”

“It’s perfect,” Jason cut him off, dropping his head back against the cushions and closing his eyes. “Trust me, Habibi. If anyone can keep us safe, it’s Dick.”

Damian frowned, but Jason could see the worry in his green eyes. The kid didn’t argue, though. Instead, he sat down cross-legged on the floor, watching Jason like a hawk.

The silence stretched, and for a moment, Jason let himself breathe. The dull ache in his ribs, the burning in his back—they were background noise now. He was here. They were here. Blüdhaven wasn’t home, but it was close enough, especially in this apartment.

Jason didn’t realize he’d dozed off until the sound of the front door unlocking jolted him awake. His instincts kicked in, and he was on his feet before the door even creaked open, his hand twitching towards a gun he’d left behind during the escape. Damian rose as well, drawing a blade in one smooth motion.

The door opened to reveal a figure dressed in street clothes, holding a duffel bag and wearing an expression of utter exhaustion. Dick Grayson stepped inside, shoulders slumping as he shut the door behind him.

“Seriously?” Dick muttered to himself, not even noticing them yet. “Forgot the eggs again...”

Jason froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t seen Dick in years—not since… everything. His older brother looked almost the same, though. Same messy black hair, same easy stride, same air of effortless confidence. But there was a weariness in Dick’s posture now, a faint shadow under his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Dick,” Jason whispered before he could stop himself.

Dick’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room. When his gaze landed on Jason, he stilled completely, his hand reflexively reaching for his phone.

“Who are you?” Dick demanded, his voice sharp and guarded. His blue eyes darted to Damian, then back to Jason. “What’s going on?”

“It’s me,” Jason said, stepping forward hesitantly. “It’s… it’s Jason.”

Dick’s laugh was bitter, disbelieving. “Right. Sure. Because Jason Todd’s definitely standing in my apartment looking like hell warmed over. You expect me to believe that? Jason’s-” He cut himself off, his voice cracking slightly. “Who sent you? Ra’s? Luthor?”

Jason didn’t answer. Instead, he did something he hadn’t done in years. Something that felt as natural as breathing, despite all the time that had passed. He moved forward in a few quick strides and threw his arms around Dick in a bone-crushing hug.

“Jay—” Dick’s voice caught, his hands instinctively gripping onto his younger brother. The second he felt the familiar weight of Jason’s body, the warmth of the embrace, something inside him broke.

Jason clung to him tightly, burying his face in Dick’s shoulder. “It’s me, Dick. I swear it’s me. I-I didn’t… I never thought I’d get back to you.”

Dick’s breath hitched. “Jason?” His voice cracked, the disbelief giving way to something raw and vulnerable. He pulled back just enough to see Jason’s face, his blue eyes scanning every feature. The scars were new, the lines harsher, but the expression was unmistakable. “Oh my God. Jay.”

And then it was Dick’s turn to pull Jason into a fierce hug, holding onto him as if he might disappear again. Jason let himself relax into the embrace, his body trembling from exhaustion and emotion.

“I thought I lost you,” Dick whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought you were—”

“I know,” Jason cut him off, his voice muffled. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Dick pulled back slightly, his hands gripping Jason’s shoulders. Tears brimmed in his eyes, though he didn’t let them fall. “How? How are you even—?”

Jason’s shoulders sagged as he backed away, rubbing a hand over his face. The relief of being here, of seeing Dick, was already giving way to the gnawing anxiety that had become second nature. The League would never stop hunting them. The thought made his chest tighten, his breathing shallow.

“It’s not over,” Jason muttered, his voice barely audible. “They’ll come for us. They always come for you. Ra’s, Talia—they don’t let you leave. They’ll find us, and I—” His voice cracked, and he forced himself to look up at Dick, his hands trembling. “I can’t let them take me back. Or Damian. I won’t. I can’t.”

Dick’s expression softened, though he was clearly still overwhelmed. He reached out tentatively while making note of the kids name, Damian, his hand gripping Jason’s shoulder firmly. “Hey. Hey. Breathe, Jay.”

Jason shook his head, his teeth clenched. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like. They’ll break us, Dick. They’ll kill me for what I did, and they’ll take him—” He gestured toward Damian, who stiffened but said nothing, his mask of composure cracking slightly. “He’s a Wayne, Dick. Do you have any idea what that means to them? They’ll never stop.”

Dick swallowed hard, clearly rattled by the desperation in Jason’s voice. “Okay,” he said, forcing calm into his tone, even as his mind raced. “Okay. We’ll figure this out. You’re not alone in this anymore, Jay. You hear me? You’re not alone.”

Jason blinked, his breathing still uneven. “I’ve been alone since I—since I came back. It’s always been me against the world, Dick. I don’t know how to—”

“You don’t have to,” Dick interrupted, his voice firm but warm. “You don’t have to do this by yourself. Not anymore. I’ve got you. We’ll keep Damian safe, and I’ll keep you safe, too.” He gave Jason’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not losing you again. No matter what.”

Jason let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “They’ll come,” he whispered. “They’ll come, and we won’t see it until it’s too late.”

Dick stepped closer, his voice softening but losing none of its conviction. “Let them try. Let them come for you—because they’ll have to go through me first. And I’m not as easy to take down as I look.” He offered a small, lopsided grin, the kind that Jason remembered from their days in the Manor, back when the world didn’t feel so heavy.

Jason tried to return the smile, but his lips wavered. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Dick said before wincing slightly. His own voice trembled slightly, the enormity of the situation catching up to him. He released Jason’s shoulder to place both hands on either side of his brother’s face. “But I need you to hear me, Jay. You’re alive. You’re standing in my apartment, and I don’t care how it happened or how long it’s been—I’m not letting you go. Not again. You’re safe here. We’re safe here.”

Jason’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked like he didn’t believe it. But then his head dropped, and he let out a shuddering sigh, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Dick’s shoulder.

He may be a big brother now, understanding the weight of caring for someone so much, but he was a little brother first. And by god did he miss his big brother.

“I’ve missed you,” Jason voiced his thought, his breath slightly shaking. “So damn much.”

Dick wrapped his arms around Jason again, his own tears finally spilling over. “Me too, Jay. Me too.”

For a long moment, the two of them just stood there, holding onto each other. Both were in disbelief, in doubt while simultaneously feeling better than they have in years. Big wing and little wing, together again.

Damian, who had been watching silently, finally stepped forward. “If the League comes,” he said with quiet determination, “we’ll fight them. Together.”

Dick glanced at Damian, his blue eyes softening as he extended an arm to include him in the embrace. The boy stiffened but didn’t pull away.

“We’ll fight them,” Dick agreed, his voice steady now. “Together. And they won’t win. Not this time.”

Jason nodded against Dick’s shoulder, his breathing finally evening out. For the first time in weeks, the crushing weight of fear lifted just slightly. He wasn’t sure if Dick was right. He wasn’t sure if they could win. But for now, in this moment, he let himself believe it.

The adrenaline that had kept him going for so long was slipping away, leaving his limbs leaden and his mind foggy. For a fleeting moment, he thought about moving, about forcing himself to stay alert, but his body refused to cooperate. He was warm, shielded by Dick’s presence, and the tension coiled deep in his chest began to loosen.

“You okay?” Dick asked softly, his voice careful, like he was afraid of breaking the moment. Jason didn’t answer right away. He could feel the way Dick’s arm braced around his shoulders, steady and sure, and it struck him just how long it had been since he’d felt this... safe.

It was foreign, almost unnerving. But as the seconds stretched on, that safety took root. This wasn’t a trap. This wasn’t a dream. He was really here, with Dick, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there were no immediate threats, no looming orders to obey.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his body sagging further against Dick’s.

“Jason?” Dick’s voice sharpened with concern, his arm tightening instinctively. Jason blinked sluggishly, his vision blurring as the weight of exhaustion pressed down on him like a tide he couldn’t fight anymore.

“I’m... good,” Jason mumbled, though his voice was distant, almost slurred. His knees buckled before he could finish the thought.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dick caught him, easing him to the floor as Jason’s body went limp in his arms. “Jay? Hey, stay with me!”

Jason’s head lolled forward, his breathing shallow but steady. He didn’t stir, didn’t fight. It was as though the last thread of tension holding him together had finally snapped.

“Jay!” Dick cried out, his heart leaping into his throat. He gently eased his brother onto the couch, his hands moving instinctively to check for injuries. His fingers skimmed over Jason’s ribs, shoulders, and arms, and he winced at the sheer number of scars he felt under his hoodie. Jason flinched slightly but didn’t stir. His face was pale, his breathing shallow, but steady.

“Come on, Jay,” Dick muttered, his voice shaking as he pulled the hoodie up slightly to reveal a map of bruises and faded scars. “What did they do to you?”

“He’s fine,” Damian said, stepping closer. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was an edge of worry in his voice. “The injuries you see are old. He’ll recover.”

Dick’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “Old? These bruises don’t look ‘old’ to me. And what about you, huh? Did they hurt you, too?”

Damian crossed his arms, lifting his chin defensively. “I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not an answer,” Dick shot back, his voice sharp. He glanced down at Jason again, his heart clenching. “What happened to you guys? What did they do to him?”

Damian hesitated, his posture stiff. “They punished him,” he admitted quietly. The kid was hard to read but Dick could see the guilt in his expression, the weight of someone else’s actions weighing on his shoulders in their stead. “Often. For protecting me.”

Dick stared at him, the words sinking in like a blow to the chest. “Punished him? For—” He exhaled sharply, looking back at Jason’s face, which had softened in sleep. “Of course he did,” he muttered, brushing a hand over Jason’s matted hair. “Of course he’d put himself between you and them. That’s what he does.”

Dick could see the guilt worsening and quickly decided to put a stop to that. “Hey, it’s alright.” He turned to he could look into the child’s -this was a kid what was he doing with the league- green eyes. “Once Jay sets his mind onto something no one can stop him from doing it.” The eldest smiled gently. “He specifically has that when it comes to protecting a person, so I am the furthest thing from surprised that he would do that. I’m just sorry either of you were in that situation to begin with.”

Damian made a series of complicated faces, making it hard to follow exactly what he was thinking. Eventually though, he pointed to Jason. “What’s happening now?”

“He’s out,” Dick said with his most reassuring voice possible even though he was freaking out himself, his hands skimming over Jason’s battered body, searching for anything obvious. His fingers found the ridges of scars and the mottled bruises, but nothing fresh. “He’s just... exhausted. Completely burned out.”

Damian hovered anxiously, his hands hovering near Jason like he wanted to help but didn’t know how. “He never stops,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Dick. “He never rests. Not unless he knows I’m—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening.

Dick’s chest tightened as he adjusted Jason, cradling him like he was something precious. “He’s not alone anymore, and neither are you.” he said softly. “We’ve got him.”

Jason’s head rested against Dick’s shoulder, his face slack with a peace that Dick hadn’t seen in years—not since he was a kid.

For the first time, Jason had let himself fall. And Dick was there to catch him.

Slowly, gently, Dick moved forward. Putting one arm underneath Jason’s knees and the other behind his back. Jason’s head lolled against Dick’s shoulder, and his heart clenched at how light his brother felt. He wasn’t supposed to be this fragile. This wasn’t the Jason he remembered—the brash, sarcastic kid with a fire in his eyes. But then, that Jason hadn’t gone through hell and back.

“Come on, Dami,” Dick said, nodding toward the hallway. “Let’s get him comfortable.”

Damian hovered protectively as Dick carried Jason to the bedroom and laid him down carefully. The boy climbed onto the edge of the bed as soon as Jason was settled, his small hands tugging at the blanket until it was tucked securely around his brother.

Dick crouched beside the bed, watching Damian with a mixture of concern and understanding. “He’s going to be okay,” he said softly.

Damian didn’t look up. “You don’t know that,” he muttered. “The League always finds what they’ve lost. What if they come? What if they—” His voice broke, and he gripped the blanket tightly, his knuckles white.

Dick hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the bed beside Damian. “If they come,” he said firmly, “we’ll handle it. Together.”

Damian glanced at him, his expression torn between defiance and fear. “You don’t understand. They’ll take him back. They’ll break him.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t lose him.”

Dick’s heart ached at the raw emotion in Damian’s voice. He reached out, resting a hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder. “You won’t. He’s not alone anymore, Damian. And neither are you.”

For a long moment, Damian said nothing. Then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, though he didn’t let go of Jason’s blanket.

Dick looked back at Jason, his chest tightening. “He’s safe here,” he said, as much to himself as to Damian. “We’ll keep him safe.”

“He won’t stay in bed,” Damian muttered, almost sulking. “As soon as he wakes up, he’ll be up again.”

Dick let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like him.” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Jason’s forehead. “But I’ll keep him here as long as I can. He needs this. And so do you.”

Damian frowned, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted closer to Jason, sitting cross-legged on the bed and crossing his arms as though daring anyone to try and move him.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Dick asked, his tone light.

“No,” Damian said firmly.

Dick smiled faintly. “Good. He’s lucky to have you, you know.”

Damian blinked, his expression softening slightly. He didn’t respond, but he leaned down, resting his hand lightly on Jason’s arm.

Dick sighed, leaning back in the chair he’d pulled up beside the bed. “Get some rest if you can, Damian. I’ll keep watch.”

“You said he’s safe here,” Damian said quietly, his gaze never leaving Jason.

Dick’s throat tightened, but he nodded. “He is,” he said. “We all are.”

And for the first time, Damian let himself believe it, even if only for tonight.