A/N: So...ahh...oops. This is what happens when you decide you want to do an epilogue as you're posting the first part, I guess. ,:D Christmas in May, right?

Sorry for the long wait, peeps! This thing got infinitely longer and more complicated than I thought it would when I first decided to do it (the last section is basically what I expected it to be) and it didn't help that I swapped main fandoms two or three times between 2016 and now before falling back into the Batfam, so characterizations are a bit foggy for me.

Welp. Only thing I have left to say is I have a tumblr now! Feel free to shoot me an ask at thingr1 about my stories (fandoms, thoughts behind things, deleted scenes/lines, etc.), headcanons, or anything else you want to talk about. :) And I'll be starting in on a Batfamily focused "Bad Things Happen Bingo Sheet" soon, so feel free to pop over and shoot me a prompt!

Enough of my rambling; enjoy the long awaited epilogue!

~o~

Steph came first, fast and frazzled, waking him with a peck on the cheek and a whispered, "Way to not be dead again, Jay," sprinting out the door before Jason could do much more than turn his head.

The drugs he was on must've been the good stuff, though, because Jason sank back into unconsciousness the moment his eyes flickered closed in an attempt to blink.

Hours later (or something, judging from the fact light was actually peeking out under the heavy blinds), Jason opened his eyes to the sight of a shadowy figure perched on the end of his bed. "Holy—"

"Sh," Cassandra hushed, pressing a gentle hand to Jason's chest as he scrambled drunkenly backwards. "Stitches."

As if on cue, the formerly dull throb in his torso flared to a sharp sting, climbing to an inferno. Instinctively, Jason clutched at his wound, feeling the parallel ridges of Alfred's perfect threading beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. "No kidding," he hissed.

Cassandra slid gracefully from the bed, gliding to the IV stand occupying the space where the bedside table had been. She pressed a button, and something cold wound its way into Jason's arm.

Within moments, the pain ebbed back to a dull throb, fuzzing at the edges until it was almost numb.

Jason puffed out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, sinking back against his pillow.

"Better?" Cassandra asked.

Jason nodded, eyelids drooping against his will. "Much."

Cass hummed.

The bed shifted slightly as Cass reclaimed her spot on the mattress. Thin, strong fingers pressed against his scalp and combed gently through his hair.

If it had been anyone else, at any other time, Jason would've shaken the gesture off. But as it was, warmer than he'd been in ages (the electric blanket was certainly an improvement), doped up on morphine, and completely, utterly exhausted…Jason decided he could tolerate it. Just this once. He had an image to keep up after all.

"Thanks, sis," Jason slurred, half against his will.

"You are welcome," Cass replied, smile evident in her voice.

Jason drifted off.

The next time he woke up, his body felt like he'd accidentally spent the night in a sauna. Which is to say, he was broiling. Which didn't make sense, since he had hypothermia which in theory meant he should be cold.

Or...was he recovered? Was that how that worked? How long had he been asleep?

Jason rolled over with a huff, attempting to shift the uncomfortable mountain of blankets off of his body. A painful pinch made itself known on the inside of his elbow.

"Whoa whoa whoa, Jay," he heard. "You'll pull out your IV line. Here…"

A shuffle of fabric, and some of the weight pressing down on him disappeared, the pinching sensation fading. Jason opened his eyes blearily, spotting a familiar figure crouched at the foot of the bed turning a dial attached to one of the blankets.

The heat receded some, but not enough.

With a grunt, Jason moved to sit up, desperate to escape the Dutch oven that was his life right now.

Okay. No. Bad idea. The room spun around him, head too light, limbs too heavy, joints achy and uncooperative. He teetered sideways, the world swooping out from under him in a rush. But before he hit the floor (mattress?), he collided with a hard chest, arms wrapping support(protect)ively around him.

"Jay," a voice rumbled through said chest, too close and loud in Jason's ear. "Are you okay?"

"Too hot," Jason managed, almost a croak. Throat dry and aching.

A cool hand pressed against his forehead and Jason instinctively leaned into the touch.

"You're burning up," the voice (Dick, his addled brain finally realized) murmured, accusing, worry lacing his tone.

"No dip, Sherlock," Jason grunted, squinting up at his predecessor. "S'hot. Like…when that warehouse blew up. Best tan I've ever had."

Dick smirked, though his eyes still shone concern. "If you're making terrible jokes about your death, then you must be more lucid than I thought."

"Lucid?" Jason challenged. "Who said anything about lucid? I always make death jokes. Just to see your stupid guilty faces."

"Guilty?" Dick said; equal parts amused and hurt.

"Well, that's more Bruce," Jason conceded. "You just look like a kicked puppy."

Dick hummed, reaching somewhere behind him and pulling a glass of water from thin air—that is to say, from somewhere outside of Jason's rather limited perspective. He pushed the straw up to Jason's lips and Jason sucked gratefully.

"Just glad we didn't repeat it," Dick said, soft.

Electing to ignore that emotional bombshell, Jason frowned, a thought that had been lurking in the hot salty soup that was his brain finally surfacing. "How'd you know where to find me, anyway?"

"Hmm?"

"Alleyway," Jason clarified. "Christmas Eve."

"Ah." Dick smiled sheepishly. "Well…when you didn't show up, I kind of made the executive decision to drag your butt back to the Manor myself. It just so happened that I caught a glimpse of your motorcycle in the alley and came to check it out."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Why do I get the feeling that's only half true?"

Dick flushed. "Well…I didn't exactly see your motorcycle…Bruce has trackers on everything…and everyone. So…"

"Say no more. I would like to keep what remains of my illusion of privacy, thanks."

Dick laughed, short and sharp. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jay."

"Silence, for one thing."

"Are you implying something?"

"I don't know. Am I?"

The older man sighed, half exasperated, half fond, like the sentimental fool he was. A hand brushed briefly through his hair. "Love you, too, Jay."

Jason...didn't know what to say to that, so embraced the opportunity his pounding headache provided to pass out cold.

The door slammed open, doorstop cracking against the siding so hard Jason jumped.

Dazed, he blinked in confusion as Tim Drake stalked through the doorway, lips set and eyes dark.

The teen plopped down on the edge of Jason's bed without preamble, notepad perched on his knee and pencil already hovering over the surface of the paper. "Describe the car."

Jason blinked. A strange combination of half asleep and fluttery adrenaline induced panic. "Excuse me?"

Tim raised an eyebrow like, 'uh, duh?' "Of the car the bank robbers were in. Make, model, license plate—"

"Serial number," Jason snorted.

Expression unchanging, Tim nodded. "That, too."

Jason stared. "Seriously?"

"Do you want the guys who shot you caught, or not?"

Eyes rolling, Jason huffed: "Course I do. Only I wanted to do the catching."

"Too bad." The third Robin poked the eraser end of his pencil non-too-gently into Jason's leg. "Now start talking, or I'll tell Alfred exactly what happened to that vase in the hallway last month."

"Okay, okay," Jason snapped. "Geez." Scrunched his eyebrows in thought, considering. Rattled off the answers to Tim's questions, adding embellishment when Tim requested as the teen scribbled frantically in his little notepad.

Eyebrows creased, a light frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, Tim tapped the pencil to his lips. "Did you see their faces?"

"They had ski masks on," Jason scoffed. "They're not that stupid."

"They were stupid enough to shoot you," Tim commented.

And… Jason nodded. "Point, that."

"Do you remember their approximate height? Build? Gender? Clothing? What about accent, did any of them talk?"

After what felt like hours, but according to the clock on the nightstand was only about twenty minutes, Tim closed the notepad, apparently satisfied. "We should have them pinned by tomorrow night, at the latest," Tim predicted.

"Perfect," Jason grumbled, finally acknowledging the steadily growing buzz at his temple that marked a headache. "Can I go back to bed now?"

Tim nodded. "That's all I needed. Thanks, Jay."

"Don't mention it."

The replacement slid off the bed, moving toward the door.

And then the thought that had been niggling away, unformed at the back of his mind, suddenly made itself known. "Hey," Jason called. "Couldn't you have gotten all this information from the traffic cameras?"

Tim paused, hand on the door knob; slowly turned back toward Jason. And then the kid honest-to-goodness smirked at him. "Some of it." Considered. "Well…most of it."

Jason stared. Innocent blue eyes stared back.

"This is payback for that time I ditched you to interrogate that crabby old witness with a knife last week, isn't it," Jason said. Deadpan.

The answering shark-like grin was so not Tim, Jason almost recoiled. "Maybe."

Jason shook his head; disbelieving. "If you ever went evil, Baby Bird, forget the Justice League. The whole world's screwed."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You really shouldn't."

The teen raised an eyebrow, another smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Watch me."

The next time the door banged open, Jason was a little more prepared. For the sound, that is, not necessarily for the entrance of the grumpy little demon that was responsible for it.

Before Jason could do more than raise his eyebrows at the kid, Damian held up one hand. Jason noticed the other was clutching a thin, neatly wrapped box about the size of a DVD case, only narrower.

"The only reason I'm here, Todd," the demon snapped, "is because I had the misfortune of selecting your name for that ridiculous gift exchange."

Ah, yes. The gift exchange. Jason had been so wrapped up (ha) in getting Dick's to the Manor in one piece, he'd completely forgotten that he was supposed to have received one, too. Typical.

He was dragged from his thoughts as the child shoved the striped package into Jason's arms before clambering onto the bed. "Grayson has instructed me to remain present until you've opened it," Damian announced. "So if you would haul up your lazy butt and get this over with..."

"Nice to know you care," Jason snarked, gingerly shifting his upper body up to lean against the headboard.

Damian snorted. "To the contrary."

"That was sarcasm, baby D."

"Tt. I knew that, Todd."

"Did you, though?"

The brat huffed, crossing his arms. "Just open your present already so I can leave."

Jason shrugged. "Hey, think of it this way: You could've gotten Tim." At Damian's harsh "tt," Jason tore through the paper.

A slim wooden box revealed itself. Damian gestured impatiently, and Jason pried open the lid to reveal…

"Wooo," Jason whistled. Seven inches of jagged metal glittered up at him, a narrow hilt separating the razor-thin blade from a black leather wrapped handle molded into a finger grip.

He hefted it experimentally, turning it in the lamplight. A beaten edge that didn't require sharpening. Excellent balance. It felt a lot like… "My knife?" Jason questioned.

Damian inclined his head. "A similar design," he admitted. "But different." The demon shifted, almost self-conscious. "Knives of that caliber are difficult to find, especially around here. I thought perhaps you would appreciate a backup."

Jason nodded. Impressed by the actually well-thought out gift. Maybe Dick did a better job with the kid than Jason gave him credit for.

"This is pretty sick," Jason conceded. "Thanks, demon."

Damian nodded. Distracted. Fingers fumbling with the hem of his hoodie in a gesture so actually childlike Jason almost got vertigo.

Opened his mouth. Closed it. Twisted the fabric between his palms.

Just when Jason was going to suggest the kid either spit it out or book it: "Father would never have forgiven himself if you died again," Damian said, quiet. "Neither would Grayson, or Drake, for that matter. So...I suppose I should thank you for not giving into your weak impulses that night." He fidgeted, eyes fixated on his hands. "This…family, I suppose Grayson calls it…would have shattered all over again."

And…Jason really really didn't know what to say to that. Maybe Dick's influence was a bit too strong if the kid was getting that sentimental.

…Or was that just Jason with the heat behind his eyes?

Darn Dick and his apparently contagious sense of familial attachment.

"No prob, kid," Jason settled on; uncomfortable. Nudged the boy with his good leg. "Same goes for you, you know. Let's keep the dead-but-actually-not-really Robin count at two, hmm?"

Damian's eyes widened. He hesitated, hands fisted at his side. Finally, looked up, steely blue eyes meeting Jason's own. He nodded; solemn. "I'll do my best."

Jason smiled. "And that's all we can ask." Blinked. Swore. "Hera, that sounded like something Golden Boy would say. Dagnabbit, Dick and his stupid sappy happy everything."

"Tt." Damian wrinkled his nose. "Perhaps you need to be reexamined for fever. The last thing we need in this house is another Grayson."

Jason barked a laugh. "Amen to that, little brother."

And okay, maybe the whole big brother thing was worth something after all if only to see that grim little demon smile like that more often.

The digital clock shoved in the corner flipped to 3:05AM when Jason next opened his eyes to a familiar shadowy presence lurking by his bedside.

"Hey, B."

The man froze. Obviously not anticipating being discovered; rather, not anticipating Jason being awake. Considering Alfred had attempted to dose his tea earlier, Jason could kind of understand how the World's Greatest Detective would draw that conclusion.

"Jason," Bruce said finally. Awkward. "You're…awake."

"What gave it away?" Jason snorted.

The Bat remained silent.

And Jason was so not going to help him start up whatever train of thought Bruce had going. Jason wasn't Dick. It wasn't his job to get the Bat to share his feelings. Anymore….

"How do you feel?" Bruce managed eventually.

"Peachy."

"That's…good."

They lapsed back into silence, Bruce's fingers fidgeting briefly at his side before he caught the tell and stopped.

'I am Darkness,' my butt, Jason thought.

The silence dragged on.

3:09AM.

3:10AM.

Then, "I'm…glad you're okay."

"You mean 'not dead,'" Jason corrected.

Bruce inclined his head. "That, too."

The next pause lasted longer. Both staring at the other. Cobalt eyes on green-tinged blue.

The (only slightly) larger man shifted his weight. "Jason, I...I know I don't say it enough, but…I…."

"Don't hurt yourself, old man," Jason interrupted. Gentle. "And me, too."

Bruce deflated, whole frame slumping against the bed. His hand jerked against the covers, finding Jason's hand and squeezing. Tight. (Desperate.)

"Merry Christmas, Jay."

Jason squeezed back—choosing to ignore the tremors rippling from their single point of contact plus the tell-tale pressure building behind his own eyes. "Merry Christmas, B."

~o~

Deleted lines that I liked enough I had to share: (if anyone's interested I might do a whole post on tumblr featuring deleted scenes/lines from this fic because there are a number of them)

And Jason was so not being dragged into some emotional, Hallmark moment unless he was taking the Bat with him.

—

Bruce deflated, whole frame slumping as if someone had finally pulled the stick out of his butt in one tug.