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The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the League’s Mountain fortress. Inside the training grounds, the rhythmic clang of steel filled the air as Jason and Damian sparred.
“You’re predictable, ahki,” Damian taunted, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk as he dodged Jason’s latest strike.
“I see someone’s getting confident,” Jason replied, stepping back to reassess his footing. He could not help but grin—ahki, brother. A word Damian had only recently started using. It was progress, a crack in the armour of the young assassin, the young child, and Jason cherished it.
Damian lunged again, but Jason sidestepped with ease, tapping the back of Damian’s head with the flat of his blade. “Gotta do better than that, Habibi.”
The boy scowled, his cheeks flushing with irritation. “Stop calling me that. It is demeaning.”
“Nope,” Jason said, throwing his arm around Damian’s shoulders once the bout was over. “You are stuck with me, kid. You might as well get used to it.”
Damian shrugged him off but didn’t protest further, a rare moment of acceptance. Jason knew better than to push too hard. With Damian, affection was like a skittish cat—you let him come to you.
They sat together on the fortress’s edge later, the stars beginning to pepper the indigo sky. Damian stared into the distance, his expression thoughtful.
“Why do you stay here?” Damian asked suddenly.
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Why do you?”
“Tt. I asked first.”
Jason leaned back on his elbows, watching the stars. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have a choice at first. But now?” He glanced at Damian, a rare softness in his gaze. “Maybe because of you.”
Damian blinked, his eyes widening briefly before he turned away, muttering, “Sentimental fool.”
Jason chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, but I’m your sentimental fool, Habibi.”
The morning came like a thief, stealing away the peace of the previous night. Jason stood before Talia al Ghul, his jaw tight as she explained his next assignment.
“You will infiltrate a high-level cartel in Eastern Europe,” Talia said. “It will require your complete focus, as the mission is expected to take several months.”
Jason glanced at Damian, who stood silently nearby, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. “And Damian?”
“He will remain here, of course,” Talia replied coolly.
Jason hesitated, then crouched down to Damian’s eye level. “I will be back, Habibi. I promise.”
“You can’t promise such things.” Damian said, his voice low but trembling.
Jason reached out, gripping Damian’s shoulder firmly. “Yes, I can. I am your brother, and brothers take care of each other.”
Damian said nothing, but Jason saw the unspoken plea in his eyes. He wished he could say more, but Talia’s sharp tone cut through the moment. “Jason. Go.”
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Damian waited. But one day, Talia summoned him to her chambers, her face as unreadable as ever.
“Jason is no more,” she said simply.
“What do you mean, ‘no more’?” Damian asked, his voice sharp.
Talia’s gaze didn’t waver. “His mission failed. He is dead.” Her voice was impossibly cold. Like Jason didn’t matter. Like his brother didn’t matter.
Damian stared at her, his world tilting. “No. You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie about such a thing, Damian? Accept this truth. Mourn him and move on.”
Damian couldn’t accept it, refused to accept it. He felt the loss like a blade to his chest, his heart screaming against the reality. Jason had promised. He had promised.
Days later, Talia approached him again. “It is time for you to meet your father. He will train you now.”
“I don’t need anyone else,” Damian spat. He could not love someone just to lose them again.
“You do not have a choice,” Talia replied, her voice final. And just like that, Damian was sent away, carrying only the weight of his grief and the fragments of Jason’s memory.
The only thing he could do was promise his brother on the heavens above that he would make him proud. That his tales of birds and magic would be brought to life.
Jason returned to the League battered but victorious. The mission had been gruelling, a near-death experience that left scars he couldn’t yet process. But none of that mattered now. He was home. He was back to the only thing that made this place tolerable: Damian.
He strode through the cold halls, his voice echoing. “Damian? Hey, habibi, where are you?”
Silence. A few League assassins cast him wary glances but said nothing. His unease grew with every step until he reached Talia’s chamber. She stood at the far end of the room, her back to him, hands clasped behind her.
“Talia,” Jason called out, his voice edged with frustration. “Where’s Damian?”
She turned slowly, her expression unreadable. “Jason.” Her tone was calm, almost soothing, and it set him on edge. “We need to talk.”
“Where’s Damian?” he repeated, this time more sharply.
Talia’s gaze softened, but it felt like a mask. “He’s gone.”
Jason frowned. “Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’? Where did you send him?”
She hesitated, a rare flicker of something like regret crossing her face before she said, “He’s dead.”
The words hit Jason like a physical blow. He staggered back a step, his breath catching in his throat. “What?” His voice cracked. “No. No, you’re lying.”
“It was… unavoidable,” Talia continued, her voice devoid of emotion now. “He tried to follow in your footsteps, to prove himself. He failed.”
Jason’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest heaving. “That’s not possible. You are lying to me! Damian would never—he wouldn’t—” He stopped himself, clenching and releasing his fists as his mind was racing. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.
“I understand your pain,” Talia said, stepping closer. “But it is the truth, Jason. He is gone.”
Jason’s vision blurred, his head spinning with grief and fury. He clung to the last shred of logic he had left. “If he’s gone, where’s his body?” he demanded, his voice trembling with rage. “Where’s the proof?”
Talia didn’t answer immediately. Her silence was louder than any words she could have spoken. It was all Jason needed to hear.
“You…” Jason’s voice was low, dangerous. “You’re lying. Why? What did you do to him?”
Talia’s face remained impassive. “Jason—”
“DON’T!” he roared, his voice shaking the walls. “Don’t say another word. Don’t try to justify this. You—” He pointed a trembling finger at her. “You took him from me. You took my brother.”
Talia remained calm, but there was a faint glint in her eyes, as though she were studying him, measuring his reaction.
Jason turned away, his breaths ragged. Damian was the only reason he had stayed in this cursed place. He had endured the League’s endless trials, its blood-soaked philosophy, and its suffocating expectations because of his kid brother. If Damian was truly gone—or if Talia had made him disappear—then there was no reason for Jason to remain.
Without another word, Jason stormed out of the chamber, ignoring Talia’s attempts to call him back. He moved through the fortress like a man possessed, gathering what little he needed. Every step away felt like a chain breaking, but it also left a gaping hole in his chest.
Damian was gone, and Jason couldn’t save him. But he could save others. He would make sure no one else had to endure what he and Damian had suffered. If the League of Assassins wanted to mold children into weapons, Jason would become a force to destroy their work.
He disappeared into the night, leaving the League behind.
Months passed. Gotham’s underworld whispered about a man who fought with the ferocity of a demon and the precision of an assassin. A man who wore a blood-red helmet and waged a one-man war against those who preyed on the innocent.
Jason Todd had reinvented himself as the Red Hood. Crime Alley became his domain, a sanctuary he fiercely protected. He targeted the traffickers, the drug lords, and the gangs that exploited children. Every time he saved a child, every time he tore down another piece of Gotham’s dark machinery, he thought of Damian.
The boy who should have been here with him. The boy he had failed to protect.
But he would honour Damian’s memory in the only way he knew how: by fighting for the ones who couldn’t fight for themselves.
Crime Alley was silent, its broken streets carrying an oppressive stillness. Damian Wayne, dressed in his Robin uniform, crouched on a rooftop, scanning the streets below. He had tracked the Red Hood to this place. He needed answers—answers no one else seemed interested in finding. There was something about this vigilante, something he couldn’t put into words. He felt it every time the Hood’s name came up in whispers or reports of his brutal justice.
Damian was not afraid. He had faced worse than Gotham’s underworld. He slipped into the shadows, moving like a ghost toward the figure he had been hunting.
The Red Hood leaned against a wall, watching the boy with a mix of amusement and confusion. This kid had guts, sneaking into his territory. Not many people dared to do that, and fewer still would survive. But this one... there was something familiar about the way he moved, the sharpness in his stance.
Jason stayed in the shadows, observing. He could see the kid was searching for him. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth beneath the helmet. He stepped into the open with a slow, deliberate stride, his crimson helmet catching the faint glow of a streetlamp.
“You lost, kid?” Jason’s voice rang out, low and distorted through his modulator.
Damian whirled around, drawing his katana. “I was looking for you.”
Jason tilted his head, crossing his arms. “Oh? And here I thought I was the one doing the watching.”
Damian tensed. “You have been operating in Gotham without sanction. Who are you, and why are you here?”
Jason snorted, the sound mechanical through his helmet. “Sanction? That’s rich, coming from someone your size. Tell me, does Batman know you’re out past your bedtime?”
“I’m not a child,” Damian snapped, his tone sharp.
Jason froze at that. The voice, the tone, the posture, everything that could be a sign—it all clicked at once. His heart stuttered. “Habibi?” he whispered, the word slipping out without thought.
Damian froze. His breath caught. That word—it struck him like a thunderbolt. He hadn’t heard it in years. Slowly, cautiously, he stepped closer, his katana lowering slightly. “What... did you call me?”
Jason didn’t move, his mind reeling. “It’s you,” he murmured, his voice cracking. His hands itched to remove the helmet, to see the boy’s face properly. But he held back, not wanting to scare him off. “Habibi... I thought you were gone.”
Damian’s katana clattered to the ground as his hands went limp. His voice trembled. “Ahki?”
Jason’s breath hitched. The name —no the title— sounded so small, so fragile coming from Damian’s lips. He wanted to close the space between them, to confirm what he already knew in his gut, but before he could move, a grappling hook hissed through the air.
“Robin, get back!” Batman’s voice boomed, his silhouette emerging from the shadows as he landed between them. Nightwing and Red Robin followed, their expressions wary as they faced the infamous Red Hood.
Jason straightened, every instinct telling him to react, but Damian stepped forward, his small form blocking the Bat’s and bird’s path. “Don’t!” he shouted, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t understand.”
“Robin,” Batman began, his tone firm. “Step away from him.”
“No!” Damian’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He turned to Jason, his green eyes searching, desperate. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”
Jason hesitated for only a second before nodding. “It’s me, Habibi.”
Damian closed the distance between them in a flash, throwing his arms around Jason. Jason stiffened at first, but then his arms came up, pulling Damian into a tight embrace. “I thought I lost you,” Damian said, his voice muffled against Jason’s chest. “They told me you were dead.”
Jason’s voice softened, losing its usual edge. “They told me the same about you. I looked for you, Dames. I swear I did. I thought I’d never—” His voice broke, and he squeezed his little brother tighter. Smoothing down the hair at the back of his brothers’ head to reassure himself that he was here, that he was alive. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”
The vigilantes stood frozen, watching the scene unfold with a mix of confusion and awe. None of them had ever seen Damian so emotional, let alone clinging to someone like his life depended on it. Damian Wayne was a fortress, an unflinching wall of determination. Yet here he was, clinging to a rogue vigilante like his life depended on it.
“Robin,” Bruce began cautiously, his voice quiet but firm, “step away.”
“No!” Damian snapped, shooting a glare over his shoulder. His arms tightened around the Red Hood. “He’s not a threat. Don’t you dare touch him.”
Jason’s hands rested on Damian’s shoulders protectively, but he didn’t move. Beneath the helmet, his mind raced. Anger bubbled just beneath the surface as his gaze swept over the others—Batman, Nightwing, and Red Robin. The kid was small, still growing, and Bruce had let him out here to play vigilante? What the hell was he thinking?
“You’re... important to him,” Nightwing -Dick- said, breaking the tense silence. He stepped closer cautiously, his voice soft. “But how? Who are you?”
Jason didn’t answer. His attention was solely on Damian, his voice distorted but undeniably gentle as he asked, “What are you doing out here, habibi?”
The boy pulled back just enough to meet Jason’s gaze—or at least where he thought his gaze would be through the helmet. “I’m Robin,” he said simply, like it explained everything. “I’m Batman’s partner.”
Jason stiffened, his grip tightening ever so slightly on Damian’s shoulders. “Robin.” His voice was low, dangerous. “You’re Robin?” He turned his head sharply toward Bruce. “You sent him out here?”
“He’s capable,” Bruce said, his voice calm but defensive. “He wanted this.”
“He’s a kid!” Jason’s voice rose, reverberating through the modulator. He pointed an accusing finger at Bruce, his other hand still protectively on Damian. “What the hell is wrong with you? How could you let him do this?”
“He’s standing right here,” Damian interrupted, irritation slipping into his voice. “And I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”
Jason’s helmet turned back toward Damian, his shoulders tense. “This isn’t about whether you can fight, Dames. This is about the fact that you shouldn’t have to. Not like this.”
Damian bristled. “I chose this. And I don’t need your—”
Jason knelt suddenly, gripping Damian’s shoulders tightly but not unkindly. “No, you didn’t,” he said, his voice low and fierce. Filled with rage, sadness and something Damian would describe as grief. “You were raised for this. They—she—put this in your head, made you think this was the only way. But it’s not. You should’ve had more than this.”
Damian blinked, his mouth opening as if to retort, but no words came out. His chest tightened at the raw emotion in Jason’s voice. Jason’s grip on his shoulders was firm but not crushing, and for a moment, Damian felt like the boy he had been before the League—before all of this.
Jason’s shoulders tensed as he stood up. His crimson helmet turned sharply to face Bruce again, his anger bubbling beneath the surface. He was still reeling, his thoughts crashing together in a whirlwind of emotions: Damian was alive. Alive. And Bruce had him out here playing Robin. The fury in Jason’s chest burned hotter with every passing second.
Before Jason could snap again, Dick stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate. “Hey,” he started, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Look, we don’t want to fight. Let’s just talk.”
Jason didn’t respond immediately. His attention flickered back to Damian for a moment, his protective instincts screaming to get the kid away from this mess. Then, reluctantly, he turned his focus to Dick, crossing his arms.
“What’s there to talk about, Nightwing?” Jason’s voice came out clipped, distorted through the modulator. “Because unless you’re going to tell me why you’re all okay with letting him run around out here, I’m not interested.”
Dick’s brows furrowed at the sharpness in Jason’s tone, but he didn’t back down. “You’re clearly protective of him. That’s... surprising, considering everything we’ve heard about you.”
Jason let out a bitter laugh. “What? That I’m a rogue? That I’m the bad guy? Sure, that’s the easy story to tell, isn’t it?”
“It’s not like that,” Dick said, trying to keep his tone even. “But you’ve got to admit, showing up out of nowhere, having this... connection with Robin, and then disappearing into the shadows—it’s a lot to process.”
Jason turned away from Dick, his gaze landing on Damian again. His voice softened as he spoke. “Yeah, well, maybe if someone had been there for him when he needed it, he wouldn’t be out here now.”
“Hey,” Damian interjected, his tone sharp. “I don’t need you fighting my battles.”
Jason huffed a laugh. “I’m not fighting your battles, habibi. I’m fighting mine.”
Dick caught the term, his curiosity piqued. He took a cautious step closer. “Why do you call him that?” he asked, his voice careful, as if testing the waters. “Habibi. What’s the story there?”
Jason froze for a moment. He hadn’t meant to let the word slip so freely, but he couldn’t help it when his little brother was alive and now it was out there, and Dick wasn’t going to let it go. He glanced over his shoulder, his posture guarded. “It’s none of your business.” He said while holding Damian just that little bit more secure.
“I beg to differ.” Dick said calmly, moving forward slowly, cautiously. Jason squared his shoulders, steadying his stance. His posture was clearly protective over Damian, shielding him.
Dick continued speaking, trying to placate him. “Hood, you clearly know Robin” Jason’s stance goes more rigid at the title “and want to protect him. We care about him too, why don’t we try to get along for his sake?”
Jason couldn’t believe the fucking audacity that was coming out of Dick his mouth. So now, when he has Jason’s little brother, he wanted to play nice but while Jason was his brother he barely spoke to him. How ironic. He rolled his eyes underneath his helmet, something Damian (somehow, one day Jason would find out how the little shit does that) noticed, tugging at his sleeve in a much too adorable way to get his attention.
“Nightwing has been… attempting to clear the waters between me and the rest of the Waynes.” Damian attempts to make reason. Without knowing that this only makes Jason angrier.
“And, why exactly, was clearing the waters necessary?” He said with a low voice. “How come that there was ‘water to clear’ as you put it?”
Batman’s jaw tightened, Red Robin froze and Dick winced. Jason took this in and let out a deep sigh. He leaned down again, to look at Damian properly. “Habibi, what happened?” Recognizing his brother’s gentle tone beneath the modulator Damian felt his chest begin to crack. He thought he would never hear that again. He bit his lip, looking down.
“I…” He didn’t know what words to use, how to truly convey his feelings, yet he still tried. “I’ve been distant. I simply… missed you.”
Jason’s heart broke.
His shoulders slumped, head tilting as he looked lovingly at his little brother from behind his helmet before he hugged him. One hand encircling him, the other once again cupping the back of his head. Damian held on just as tight, desperate to have this connection, this comfort, once again after having believed he had lost it forever.
The bat and his birds watched, unsure of what to think or do. Their youngest was currently hugging a rogue mass murderer and said mass murderer was holding him with the exact same desperation. They didn’t know the story, didn’t know what Damian has been through. The kid had been closed off the entire time he was at the manor, quickly getting into fights with the rest while simultaneously closing himself off from everyone.
Unbeknownst to them however, he was grieving his brother. His brother who had told him stories of what he used to do in that exact manor, with these people. His brother, who they knew yet didn’t. His brother, who he couldn’t mourn out loud, as none of them had any idea he knew the person. His brother, who was holding him in his arms so securely he wanted to cry, to cling onto him and never let go. Never, he didn’t want to lose him ever again.
Jason merely combed his hand through his hair, lifting his chin atop of his brother’s head and held him for a moment. Slowly, carefully, he looked up towards the vigilantes who were frozen in shock.
He sighs and puts his hands on Damians shoulders, leaning back to look at him.
“Ahki.” His brother said. Tone filled with sadness and longing. Jason couldn’t bear it.
With another sigh he lifted his hands towards his helmet before slowly lifting it up. His face wary but clearly filled with fondness as he looks at Damian.
“You got bigger Habibi, though not nearly tall enough to beat me.” The words are playful but his tone was unbelievably soft. Damian smiled slightly, shoving at his chest.
The vigilantes were now in shock because of multiple reasons. 1, Robin apparently had emotions this whole time. 2, Red hood apparently also had emotions this whole time. 3, they know each other and are clearly close. 4, is that Jason fucking Todd?
The first person who managed to get over his shock was Dick, who ran forward. His mind was crying out, needing the proof that this was real, that this wasn’t a dream, a creation of his cruel mind. A couple steps away however Jason positioned himself before Damian again, protective and ready to strike. Dick kept looking at his face, eyes wide in disbelief.
His baby fat was almost entirely gone was the first thing dick noticed. In its place were now sharp cheekbones. Then he saw the green eyes, no, that couldn’t be right. Jason had blue eyes. Looking further he saw the white streak, the disappearance of old scars and gain of new ones. The harsh set of his eyes that softened the moment he looked at the boy in his arms.
And yet, despite the changes, he was oh so clearly still Jason Peter Todd, still his little wing.
When Jason looked up at him again, Dick raised his hands, slowly crouching down. He knew deep down in his gut that, if this went wrong, he would never see either of them ever again. So, instead of crying and screaming and running towards them to hug them tightly, he crouches down, puts his hands up and puts on a soft -though slightly wobbly- smile.
“Hey there, little wing.” Dick swallowed down a sob that threatened to escape, needing to keep going. He only had this shot and neither Batman nor Red Robin would get out of their shock in time. “Where’ve you been, huh?” This was so much harder than he ever could’ve expected. He desperately tried to hide his voice crack of pure agony, tried to find the right words when there are so many he wants to say. So many words he has wanted to say from the moment he came back from space and found out that Jason was gone.
I should’ve been there for you.
I’m sorry I wasn’t the brother you deserved.
I’m so sorry I let you die.
Jason -his little brother, his first brother- keeps staring at him, still protective over Damian but also, shocked. Paying attention. Dick took that as permission to keep going.
“I missed you so much bud.” He continues, watching Jason swallow while keeping eye contact, something that Dick is so grateful for. “You have no idea how much. That’s okay though, I’m just so glad to see you.” Dick was slowly, carefully, gently sliding closer. Watching as Jason’s chest expanded with each breath, thanking the gods above for every single one.
Jason was trying to regulate his breathing, trying to stay calm. He was prepared for so many scenarios or outcomes to his reveal. None of them were this. None of them were of Dick speaking to him in such a soft tone that he forgot about. That he used to have whenever Jason got hurt on patrol or when he happened to have a nightmare while Dick was at the manor. How could he have forgotten about this side of his brother?
Dick slowly ended up just a small distance away from them, barely within arm’s reach before Jason tensed up again. That was okay, this was already more than Dick thought he would get.
“It’s okay,” He started, he could see a slight sheen of tears in Jason’s green -why were they green what the hell happened to him? - eyes. He made sure to make his voice gentle, soft and warm. “It’s okay.” He repeated, watching as Jason pulled in a teary breath. Fuck, what was he doing? “Whatever happened, we can fix it little wing.” He nodded along with his own words, giving him a teary smile of his own as he held out his hand. Not demanding, just out as an offer. For if he wants to.
“You can’t fix this.” And gods, that was his little brother. His voice was deeper, gruffer. It also sounded final, like there was no possibility that it could be different. “Why not? Why not at least try it? Together.” He responded, trying and failing to hide his desperation.
“I can’t be fixed Dickwing,” Jason sounds solemn, making Damian look up worriedly from where he was leaning against Jason. “I-” He looks away, trying to say it in a way that wont break Damian. Not when he just found him. “I came back wrong. You can’t right that.” He shook his head. “No one can.”
Then Dick looked at him, really looked at him. Beyond the new look and posture and everything different yet the same. He saw hatred, towards the boy himself. He saw pain. And yet, even further than that, he saw the way Jason was still holding onto Damian, how he remained gentle despite everything he has so obviously been through. How he started of as furious behind the mask to vulnerable with it off, staring at Dick as if he’s expecting him to turn around, take Damian and walk away.
He’d never.
He reached out slowly, wanting to cup Jason’s face but knowing it was too early for that. Instead, he rested his hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring smile.
“Let’s try anyways.”