And here we are, part three! This is the last part of this particular story, and it's shorter than last chapter and pretty much nothing but plot/character development and a whole lot of adorable. As mentioned, I actually wrote this part before I wrote part two, so I ended up having to go through and make changes and add things because I didn't know how that whole Dick/Roy confrontation was going to go. (Sometimes, I swear, these characters just do things and there is absolutely no other way the scene could have gone. They write it themselves.)

There are no warnings for this chapter (weird for me, I know!); enjoy!

Being in a limo isn't new to me. But, being in a limo in Gotham is most definitely new, even though the driver is pretty much only taking the main roads. Well, until we got to the outskirts, and then it nearly felt like a winding country road which is really just strange. I didn't think Gotham had actual green anywhere but that one park in the middle, but here we are and there are trees, and grass, and it's pretty but just feels weird.

I lower my head to take another look out the window and up the hill we're climbing, and then wince and resist the urge to adjust the black turtleneck and touch my neck. The bruises around my throat are the only part of my 'talk' with Nightingale that hasn't healed yet, and they're faded and not the black and purple marks they were but they're still obvious, and they still hurt. So, turtleneck it is. Arsenal can go out with bruises and no one thinks anything of it; Roy Harper not so much.

Especially not company like this.

Alright, so I admit to being confused by it, but I'm answering the call of an invitation from Richard aka Dick Grayson, eldest son of the Wayne family. I didn't even know he had my number, honestly, but it's totally possible I gave it to him at some point. We Queens are more or less friends with the Waynes as a whole, and it definitely helps that they're all the way across the country and Queen Industries mostly doesn't compete with Wayne Enterprises. That really helps.

Still, the invitation is kinda out of left field, even though it's not like I was going to refuse. Yeah, maybe a trip to Gotham isn't the most healthy idea right now — I'm not sure how angry Nightingale might still be with me; the Owls have pretty much been publicly silent that last two weeks — but I'll take the theoretical ambush to maybe get some news about Jason. He was going to be alright, but I haven't heard anything and that kind of worries me. Probably just Nightingale keeping him out of contact.

Ooo, don't go there, Roy. Nightingale is so not the enemy and I can't think of him that way. He's part of Jason's family, and being anything but friendly isn't going to win me anything at all. Even if he is keeping Jason out of contact with me, there are probably reasons, and it's not like any of the Owls would actually let me back in the Roost. Pretty sure that was a one time, 'in case of sudden death' thing. I'm not going to blame Nightingale for anything, especially when I'm just considering things and don't actually know any facts.

Even Black Talon has pretty much been absent from the team, and Nightingale has been straight out gone except when something happens and a few of us are needed. Even then he's total business, and doesn't socialize before he takes off again.

The driver takes a right turn and starts up what looks like a private driveway — gotta be the Wayne Manor's driveway — and I lean back against the seat and close my eyes for a second.

At least some things have gone very obviously my way recently

I was absolutely dreading that conversation with Oliver and Dinah, about how I'm dating Kori, but sort of also dating Jason, and love them both but they don't love me, and hey also I'm bisexual and non-monogamous. Oh yeah, and Jason loves someone else and that's the guy who beat the crap out of me and threatened to tear me into little bits, and he happens to be the first sidekick of your scariest ally. Just by the way. That's a hell of a thing to have to tell your pretty-much-parents.

But, mostly to my surprise but also a serious amount of relief, it went really well.

Oliver can be pretty much allergic to words when it comes to any kind of important emotional event, but Dinah makes up for it, and she can translate out Oliver's stiff 'I don't know what to say' speech into actual words. She only asked two questions: if I wanted revenge on Nightingale, and if I was happy. Oliver might have gone a little pale and kinda horrified looking at the idea of going after the eldest ex-Talon of the Owl family, but I reassured them both that no, I didn't want revenge, and yes, I was happy.

Of course, after that first talk she started doing that in between a mother and a friend thing, where she wanted to know all about Kori and Jason. I'm kind of worried what might happen when Dinah eventually comes face to face with one of them, which is going to happen at some point. Especially Jason. I'm more worried about her coming face to face with Jason, though she might just latch on to that traumatized, dark half of him and settle herself in to try and fix him. The two of them could do some serious damage to each other if they end up not clicking.

Guess I won't know until it happens, but I really do hope that he gets along with Dinah. Not just for the sake of their physical health but also because I really don't want to get caught in the middle of that particular fight.

The limo pulls to a stop, and I call a thanks — be nice to the people that serve you, right? — and get out without waiting for the driver to come around and open the door. Never really liked that part of being rich, though I put up with it for the sake of the cameras in Star City. Gotta look like the rich playboy, right? Always gotta be a Queen playing the part of the irresponsible son; I'm just taking over for Oliver.

The limo pulls away a few seconds after I close the door again, as I take a step forward on the gravel driveway. The manor pretty much towers over me, and I can't help swallowing. It's definitely got an upper hand in the intimidation department; hard to get intimidated by a penthouse door.

Okay, it's a step above the penthouse. At least, if you like faintly gloomy, old mansions that look like they take more than your average apartment's cost per week just to keep in decent shape. But hey, this is Wayne Manor, it's not like money is any kind of an issue for them. At worst they what, lose a zero off their net worth? That still makes them the richest family… pretty much ever. At least in Gotham.

More than Oliver and me, anyway, and we're nowhere near hurting.

"Hey, Roy!" The call is bright, welcoming, and I look down from the stories of curtained windows and kinda gothic architecture — only in Gotham, man — to the man heading down the stairs leading up to the doors. The kinda impossibly handsome man. That seems to be a Wayne thing.

I head forward, meeting him at the bottom of them. "Hey, Dick!"

He's in a long-sleeved black sweatshirt and a pair of tight blue jeans, barefoot, with a wide grin that I recognize from news footage and the times we've hung out at social gatherings of the rich and powerful. Not many people our age at those things, you take company where you can get it. Dick's a pretty cool guy, we get along well enough.

"Welcome to the manor," he says, tilting his head up towards the doors. "Come on, I'll show you around."

He starts back up the stairs, I follow. "Yeah, not to look a gift horse in the mouth but why the invitation?" Dick is a cool guy, I like him, but he's a Gotham kid and I'm Star City. That's a decent ways to go to hang out with someone, even for us people with private jets. Gotham's richest heir can't be that desperate for some kind of company.

He flashes me another smile and gives a bright laugh, taking the next step backwards as he looks back at me. "Well you're decent enough company; figured it was time you saw the house. Plus, I'm kinda interested what you're like when you're not in a suit."

"Much more comfortable," I say with a laugh. "Seen your house before though, been to a party or two here."

He snorts and pauses in front of the door, making sure I'm there before he turns the handle and pushes one side open. "Yeah, but that's the official parts we show off. There's so much more, plus you'll get to meet the rest of my family when they're not posing for the cameras."

Dick slips in ahead of me, and I follow him in. It's pretty quiet, and my footsteps — just in basic sneakers — sound loud against the polished, white marble floor. I push the door closed — the clunk of the lock nearly echoes — and follow Dick through a door almost immediately to the left, left open about two feet by someone. Maybe even Dick on his way out to greet me. He pushes through and steps aside for me, and the floor under my shoes transfers from marble to wood pretty much seamlessly.

It's a large, really nicely decorated living room, with some of the most comfortable looking chairs and couches I've seen in a long time, bookshelves filled with books and various trinkets lining a fair amount of the walls, a large wall-mounted TV with gaming systems underneath, and a fireplace complete with an actual roaring fire. There are a couple of other doors leading in, but they're all closed for the moment. It's also got three people scattered throughout it.

The youngest one is hanging down backwards from the couch stationed in front of the TV, legs hooked over the back of it and controller in his hand, playing whatever game is up on the screen. Some kind of first-person shooter. That's Damian Wayne, the ten year old kid who pretty much just showed up out of the blue one day. Bruce Wayne's illegitimate son or something, unlike his two adopted ones.

The second one is sitting in the chair to the right of Damian's couch, facing towards the entrance I'm standing in front of. His feet are propped up on the coffee table, and he's got a laptop open, resting on his knees. That's Tim, either Drake or Wayne depending on who he's talking to, the one who's apprenticing under his adopted dad to take over as leader of Wayne Enterprises eventually. I've actually talked to him occasionally, unlike Damian, and he's nice. Also nearly as scary as his dad can be sometimes, when he wants something. I don't know how many times I've thanked a god I don't believe in that I haven't got any hand in Queen Industries. I don't want to face any of the Wayne family in a business meeting.

The last is the obvious one. Bruce Wayne. His two sons are in more casual clothes — Damian in sweatpants and a white tanktop, and Tim in a thick green sweater and black slacks — but he's halfway dressed up, in a white button up shirt tucked into black slacks, and a dark blue tie pulled snugly around his neck. He's seated at a table about ten feet in from the wall to my right, in front of some of the bookcases, with a tablet in one hand and a mug of something in front of him. The table looks a bit like it gets used as a less formal place to eat, which I get. Can't be fun trying to eat as a family at those massive, forty person dining tables like the one they have.

Three pairs of blue eyes in different shades flick up to me when I walk in, and I am not in the least bit ashamed to admit that they freeze me in place for a second. There's just something about Waynes; they've got this intensity.

Dick closes the door behind me as Mr. Wayne gives a smooth smile, setting the tablet down and turning in his chair to face me a little more directly. "Roy, isn't it?" he asks, in what's totally a rhetorical question but I nod anyway. "Welcome to my home. Please, take a seat." He motions to the chair to his left, on the opposite side of the table where I'll be able to talk to him, but still see everyone else in the room.

Probably wasn't the intention, but it makes me feel a little better than having to turn my back on the rest of them.

I cross the room, trying not to be as outwardly halting and hesitant as I feel. I don't hear Dick follow me — bare feet, so not much sound I suppose — but when I loop around the other end of the table from Mr. Wayne, and get to see the rest of the room, he's only a few steps behind me. I take the seat I was offered while Dick stands behind his father, arms looping down around his neck, head on his shoulder. That feels… familiar, but I can't place where from.

The look I get from Mr. Wayne is a pretty obvious studying, stripping, prying, thing. I do my best not to fidget under it, but I don't think I succeed all that well. How is it I can take these kind of looks without caring, with a smile, when I'm Arsenal, but turn me back into Roy and suddenly I've got no resistance? Are Waynes seriously just that scary? No one who doesn't wear a mask, fight crime, or cause crime should be this unnerving.

Mr. Wayne makes a considering noise, a quiet 'hmm' of thought, and I clasp my hands together in my lap and try not to think about how much I feel like a kid in front of their principal. Not fair. Not fair at all.

"Are you certain about this, Dick?" Mr. Wayne asks, without looking away from me. I glance sideways, at Dick, who offers me a bright smile as he straightens up just a little bit.

"Yeah, I am," he answers.

"For the record," Damian interrupts, from across the room, "I do not agree with this course of action, father." The game clicks off, and I watch the youngest Wayne lift himself up from his upside down hanging to sitting on the back of the couch. That's kinda impressive for a normal person; kid's got some muscle. He sneers at me, and Dick laughs.

"But you don't like anyone," Dick points out, "besides, Tim's vote cancels yours out. Learn to deal."

"I still don't understand why you're going along with this," Damian snaps at the middle Wayne sibling, who gives a small smile and looks over at me.

"I have my reasons," Tim says quietly, and something about the curl of his lips feels really familiar but for the life of me I can't place it, "and I did my research. Also, Alfred agrees that it's a good idea." Damian crosses his arms and shakes his head, but doesn't continue the argument.

"Uh, no offense," and speaking seemed like such a good idea until it got me back the attention of all four Waynes, "but this feels a bit like I wandered into a business meeting without getting any kind of info packet first. Is this some kind of debate? Did I miss something?"

Dick and Tim share an amused glance, and Mr. Wayne just smiles at me, smooth and kind of… patient? Yeah, like fatherly patience. That's a little weird, but I guess he could be condescending, impatient, or just mocking instead. I'll take patience over getting laughed at any day.

"Nothing you should know," Mr. Wayne reassures me. "You know my sons, of course?" He doesn't wait for an answer, raising one hand to make small gestures as he introduces them. "Damian, Tim, and Dick."

"We've met, yeah." I raise a hand, rubbing it over the back of my neck. "Parties and stuff, social gatherings. Sir?"

Mr. Wayne reaches for his mug, taking a sip of it before answering me. "Yes, Roy?"

"This is a really nice house," I start, "and don't think I don't appreciate the invitation here because I do — thanks — but uh… I'm kinda getting the impression there's some other reason I'm here." Dick and Tim share another glance, with a little bit more of a sharply amused edge, and I swallow. "Could you fill me in here, maybe? Please?"

Mr. Wayne gives a very quiet laugh, and then deliberately tilts his head to point back behind me. I hesitate a second, then turn to look the same direction. My breath catches in my throat, and I'm pretty sure my heart skips a beat or something just about as what the fuck? That can't be right. I'm hallucinating, right? Or this is all some really weird dream and I'll wake up and be actually headed for the Wayne manor to hang out with Dick Grayson.

"Jason?" I ask, somewhere in between shock and disbelief.

The man leaning against one side of the now-open doorway at that side of the room, about fifteen feet away and between a couple of bookcases — it almost feels hidden — offers me a crooked, tired, grin. "Hey, Roy."

He straightens up as I stare, but immediately winces and folds back against the side of the doorway. I'm moving before I can think about it, pushing away from the table and rushing across the space between us. He's not falling, just leaning, but I catch him anyway, looping a careful arm around his waist and the other under his left arm, high on his shoulders and equally carefully. He feels warm, solid, and a lot less hallucination-like than I was expecting. He's also faintly, barely, shaking.

"Christ, Jason you idiot. You shouldn't be standing!" Owl or not, the kind of damage Doomsday did to Jason is not the kind of stuff you just shake off. It's barely been two weeks, which is not nearly enough time for him to have healed anything but the minor stuff. Not, you know, the holes in his back, or the broken ribs, or the broken arm. "Come on," I demand, gently pulling him off the doorframe so he's leaning mostly on me. He actually gives a bitten back groan at the change, so he must be in a lot of pain.

I try and get him over to one of the chairs at the table as quickly, but smoothly and painlessly, as I can. I think it works at least mostly the way that I intend it to. At least Jason doesn't make any more obviously in pain noises. I ease him down into the chair — he's breathing a little shakily, and harder than normal, but it could be worse, right? He's alright — and run a gentle hand back along his forehead and scalp as his head tilts back, and his eyes flick shut for a second.

He gives a little snort of amusement, opening his eyes against to look up at me. "What?" I ask, and his mouth curls in a weak grin as he leans into my touch.

"Waiting for you to put things together," he answers, quietly, and pointedly flicks the hand on his not broken arm at the rest of the room.

I follow the movement, up to the mixture of amused and — in Damian's case — dismissive looks of the four Wayne family members. Dick straightens up behind Mr. Wayne, hands resting on his father's shoulders as he gives me a smile that I swear to god I've seen on someone else. Who is it? I am missing something so glaringly obvious and right in my face it's ridiculous.

"Wonderful," Damian drawls, dropping off the back of the couch to the floor, "you've invited a moron into the family, Todd. You have such wonderful taste."

Wait, how does the Wayne family know Jason? Why aren't they freaking out about having a dead guy in their house? What is—

"Oh," I breathe, and Jason gives another snort.

Mr. Wayne, or goddamn Owlman, offers a thin smirk over his mug. "Why don't you sit down, Arsenal?" He inclines the mug towards the chair across from him, at the opposite head of the table and directly to the left of the one Jason's sitting in. "Next to my son, naturally."

I obey mostly out of shock, way more than anything else. Holy fuck. The Waynes are the Owls. So that makes Mr. Wayne — Bruce — the Owlman; Dick must be Nightingale, which makes a bit too much sense; Tim is Black Talon, the laptop should have made that obvious I guess; and Damian must be the newer Talon. And Jason, Jason must be that son that everybody knows was part of the Wayne family, but was killed in an explosion while on a vacation. The one they don't talk about. Alright, so not only am I dealing with the nastiest, most deadly group of Crime Syndicate members ever, but they also happen to be pretty much the richest family in the world?

Oh I'm so screwed.

I clear my throat, studying the way Dick, Nightingale, is smirking at me. "So, what are the chances that you're about to kill me?" I ask, heart in my throat.

Okay, so I don't think Jason would actually allow that, normally. But Jason is pretty fucked up at the moment, and he definitely couldn't stand up to the rest of his family if they decided that they wanted me dead. That's not exactly a comforting bit of protection, even though I'm sure he'd be pissed and I don't think that Nightingale, at least, would risk that kind of anger. I've got no clue what Owlman thinks of me, but obviously Talon doesn't like me, and I know that Nightingale isn't all that fond of me either, not recently. Still got those bruises, thanks. I think the only member of the family I might have on my side is Black Talon — oh, 'T', I get the nickname now — but he's pretty much impossible to read. I think he's at least vaguely on my side, but I could be totally wrong.

Dick laughs, and Owlman's smirk gets just a little bigger. Gotta admit, it's pretty easy to imagine him in his helmet. "Minimal," he answers easily, "assuming you don't disappoint me. Boys."

Damian rolls his eyes, and makes that 'tt'-ing noise that I remember hearing from Talon so many times, but heads toward the table. Tim sets the laptop aside and does the same, and damn does he look skinny outside of his suit, but I guess appearance isn't everything. I know he's got way more strength than it looks like he does.

They both take seats, Tim to my left and Damian in the seat between him and Owlman, and Dick slides his way around the table — oh yeah, there's the Nightingale grace — to take the last empty seat between Jason and their father. Holy shit, Owlman is legitimately Jason's dad. Oh jesus, Black Talon was right to warn me, this is such a terrible idea. This does not compare to getting grilled by some normal parent about whether I'm worthy of their son or daughter, not even close.

"You care for my son, don't you Roy?"

I swallow, sitting very straight and very still because even with him outside of the helmet — maybe even more so, actually — I seriously feel like a mouse getting stared at by, well, an Owl. I'm so dead. "Yes, sir." I'm kind of absurdly proud that my voice doesn't shake the way that it feels like it's going to.

"Mmm," it's kind of a noncommittal noise that he makes, but it's not automatically condemning and it doesn't sound like a command to flay me alive, so that's something. I swallow again. "Jason has expressed his interests to me, and Dick and Tim have vouched for you," he says steadily, watching me. "That is the only reason you are being allowed to know who we are. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," is still the only answer I have, but I glance over at the casual sprawl of Dick. Seriously, he vouched for me? "But you don't like me," I say, before I can stop the words from leaving my tongue, and then I stiffen and flush. Jason snickers, Tim gives a small smile, and Damian's frown gets a little more pronounced. "Jason, you're not helping," I hiss at him, in a kinda accusatory way but I feel that's pretty within my rights. He's pretty much throwing me at the mercy of his family. They're not real well known for their mercy.

"What does that matter?" Dick says, with an arched eyebrow and a bright smile that's definitely one of those 'I can hurt you' ones. "You're not fucking me, Roy."

"Dick," Owlman says, warningly, and Dick shrugs and leans a little farther back in his chair. "Language, please. Now," he continues, aiming his words at me, "there are of course ground rules. Naturally, if you violate any of them, you'll be killed. I imagine you're not foolish enough to think that there is anywhere in the world that you can hide if you cross us, or if you hurt Jason."

I shake my head, and follow it up with a quick, "No, absolutely not." I swallow, glance at Jason — who's watching me, even if he does look pretty exhausted — and then meet Owlman's gaze squarely. "And I wouldn't, sir. Never."

I guess the time for secrets is kind of over. Obviously what I yelled at Nightingale, Dick, got passed along to the members of the family that weren't there. Talon and Owlman, anyway, I have no idea if they told Jason or not. God, I hope they didn't. I'd kind of like the privilege of being the one to tell him something that's this important. Dick's not that much of a bastard, ri—

Fuck.

Owlman — should I still be calling him Mr. Wayne, or maybe… Bruce? — gives a very thin smile, like he knows what I'm thinking about. "The most obvious rule, of course, is that you won't be breathing a word of any of our identities to anyone. That includes your father Oliver, and Koriand'r. Anyone you tell will die as messily as you will, understood?"

I nod, and then flinch sharply when Jason smacks me in the side of the thigh. "Ow; what?"

"Verbal answers," he retorts, raising an eyebrow in nearly the same way that Dick just did. That's gotta be a learned Owl thing. Or maybe a Wayne thing?

I reach over, catching Jason's hand. "Alright, sorry." He studies me for a second, then shifts a little closer and closes his eyes as he lets out a deep breath. That shakes. Jesus, Jason is not alright. He should be laid up, in a bed, unconscious or drugged all to hell, not sitting here. This is a bad time to be doing this. I raise my gaze back to Owlman, who's watching me completely steadily. "I understand, sir. May I ask a question?"

"Beyond the one you just did?" Embarrassment burns sharply into my cheeks, and Owlman gives another thin smile and sets his mug down. "Go ahead, Roy."

I swallow — Christ, I'd really like to be able to shut that tell down — and nod, gathering my words together for a second before I speak. "This is pretty sudden, what changed?"

Oh, is that where that single eyebrow raise came from? Owlman looks amused more than anything — that's good, right? — and his eyes narrow for just a second, before he flicks his gaze towards Jason. "I think you know what changed. You said a few interesting things to Dick, and to Tim. They were passed on to me."

Jason's eyes open, and he shifts, straightens up a bit in the chair. "They've been bastards," he grumbles, with a half-hearted glare. "Won't tell me what it was." He turns a bit, to look at me, and takes in a sharp breath. His hand clenches down on mine, more than enough to hurt, and he grimaces and eases back against the chair, head tilting back. I try really hard to just let him have my hand, and not complain about the painful press of his fingers around mine.

Thank god, none of them told Jason what I said. That's good at least.

"So, I know this is a really important conversation that definitely needs to happen," I aim at Owlman, and Jason's eyes snap open, "but could we postpone it, or maybe move it?"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jason hisses at me, and I give a tiny squeeze back to his painfully tight hand and flash a grin.

"Give me a second," I answer, without actually answering him. Owlman is studying me, fingers curled around his mug, and I'm getting some looks from the other Owl members that are somewhere between curious, irritated, and maybe murderous. Or maybe that last one is just in my head because Owls are scary as fuck; I'd have to look closer at them to be sure and Owlman kinda has my attention. "Jason isn't healed," I point out, holding the gaze of the blue eyes that are busy stripping me apart at the seams, "and he shouldn't be up. I'm not crazy enough to say let's talk without him," I glance at Jason, "so please don't take it that way, but could we maybe wait until he is a little healed? Or could we at least move somewhere where he doesn't have to be sitting, or there are drugs? Drugs would probably be good." They're just staring at me, and I swallow. "Uh, please?"

Dick smirks, trading glances around the table before looking over at Jason. "He's adorable, little wing. Really." He shakes his head and his smirk turns a little brighter, into a smile, as he looks past Jason at me. "Jason's an Owl, and it's just pain. He can handle it."

"Well, yeah," I answer, giving a small shrug. "I know that." I meet Jason's gaze, and I'm not totally sure what the look is that he's giving me but I'm kinda worried I might have offended him. "I'm so not contesting that you can handle yourself — you're so much scarier than I am — and I never would, promise. But," I look back down the table, at Owlman, "if there's an alternative way, shouldn't he not have to just handle it?"

Oh, how far did I just shove my foot in my mouth? Is this some kind of an Owl thing, where you just don't acknowledge pain? Did I just bring up the elephant in the room that everybody else had agreed to ignore? Or is it just an elephant to me, and the rest of them don't even consider it something worth mentioning?

Owlman tilts his head a bit to one side, blue eyes slipping to Tim. "I agree with you," he says smoothly, and then shares a nod with Dick. This is some psychic level communication going on here, seriously. I know how to talk silently — you can't always be trading jabs in a fight — but not with this kind of mastery. There's gotta be previous conversations coming into play here that I don't know about. "Roy," I snap to attention, "why don't you tell Jason what you've told Dick and Tim?"

I freeze, and he smirks. "I… now?" He nods, slowly, and raises his mug back to his mouth. "I wasn't really picturing an audience," I manage to say, quietly, and Damian snorts.

"Coward," he spits, and Owlman makes a reprimanding noise but doesn't speak, watching me.

Oh fuck, alright. Yeah, sure, just confess love in front of the guy's entire, murderous, family. Sure, why not? Easy, right? It's not like the rest of them don't already know, it's just a confirmation. Deep breaths, it's just words. I can manage saying three words to Jason, can't I? Even if it is in front of his family, that will kill me if I disappoint. Well, better say the damn words then so I don't disappoint.

I turn to Jason, who looks confused as all hell and maybe a bit pissed. I squeeze his hand, getting his attention, and force a grin to my face. I probably look pretty seriously terrified, and the pissed part of Jason's look is pretty rapidly swapping over to worried. Just words, come on. I yelled it at Dick, told it to Tim, and survived conversations with both of them about it. I can handle saying it to his face.

"You look like you're facing an executioner," he points out, softly. "I'm sure you can just say whatever it is."

"I love you," I blurt, taking his words to heart and just speaking without thinking about it. Jason blinks, staring at me, and past him Dick laughs.

"The king of subtlety you are, Roy. Practice that touching speech much?"

I swallow, that damn flush coming back to my cheeks, and then Jason tilts his head. His eyes narrow a little bit, and the staring goes from surprise to consideration. "Huh," he says, his grip loosening on my hand before he lets go.

Okay, so that might freak some part of me out because suddenly I'm just speaking. "I'm not asking you for anything, not at all. Nothing has to change, I'm not going to change, and I don't expect you to change either. They're just words, and you don't have to say them back, or feel what they mean, or anything at all. Not asking, promise. It's just what I feel and I might have shouted it at Dick and—"

"Roy," Jason snaps, and I click my mouth closed immediately. He reaches in, taking my hand again, and then turns his head to look at Tim. "You're a manipulative little bastard," he says, but I swear it sounds… amused? Or maybe, pleased? What's that about? Jason looks back over at me, and I swallow and resist the building urge to spew more words. I really have to work on wanting to just talk whenever I'm nervous. "Come here," Jason demands, tugging at my hand.

I follow the tug, sliding my chair over to the corner of the table till there's only about a half a foot between us. He lets go of my hand again, and reaches up to take a handful of the cloth at my shoulder, pulling me into him and I go because I'm not totally nuts. "Your dad's right there," I point out, under my breath, and Jason gives me this look.

"Really?" he asks dryly, and then yanks me down into him. I give a yelp that gets muffled by his mouth, and then I get involved in the awkward question of what the hell to do with my hands. He's hurt and I can't touch him, except maybe like a thigh but Owlman is right there and could totally see it if I did and I don't know how much like a dad he really is. Jason lets me go, or at least lets me pull back a few inches, and shakes his head. "Moron," he says between us, like it's a fond nickname and I guess between the two of us, it kinda is.

"It's reciprocated," Tim offers, and Jason won't let me pull any further away but I look over at him.

"What?"

He rolls his eyes, his mouth flickering in that tiny, satisfied smile that I'm used to seeing underneath the goggles and mask of Black Talon. "You love him, and it's reciprocated."

"Tim!" Jason snaps, and Tim gives a tiny shrug and looks totally unrepentant. "That's—" I kiss Jason, cutting him off and reaching up, sliding a hand back along his cheek and into his hair. It's not as strong as I want to be, and it's definitely not the 'whirl him around as the bells sound and laughter fills the air' that's happening in my chest, but it's so much more than enough. It's— This is—

I laugh against his mouth, feeling the press of his hand against my shoulder and the totally linked warmth in my chest. No way. I was so sure that Jason didn't love me, probably would never love me, but Black Talon might be a liar but he's not cruel. Lying about this would be cruel, and I think he nearly even likes me so he wouldn't do that. Jason loves me, how unbelievable is that? How amazing? He's incredible, powerful, handsome, talented beyond words, and he wants me. He loves me.

I don't think I'm ever going to get tired of thinking that.

"Emotional fools," comes Damian's voice, at the edge of my perception. I break away from Jason, but not far, not at all. I couldn't.

Jason blinks, looking at me, and I can feel his fingers flex in my shirt. I'm pretty sure I've got what anybody would call a dumb smile on my lips, but I just so don't care. "Hey," I whisper, smiling just a little wider. "I'd never ask for anything you weren't comfortable giving, promise."

There's the deliberate tap of ceramic against wood, and I look over to watch Owlman push back from the table and get to his feet. Jason's hand clenches in my shirt, but then he lets go as his dad — holy fuck I'm still marveling that Owlman is Jason's dad — starts around the table, behind Damian and then Tim, towards me. I let go of Jason's hair and sit back in my chair, staring up as Owlman comes to a stop next to me and casually rests one hip against the table, watching me and I cannot get even the slightest read on him.

He leans down towards me, reaching out, and I have to try really, really hard not to flinch back when his fingers slide across my neck, thumb pressing against the underside of my chin and pushing up. I do swallow. Hard. He's studying me, and I keep my hands very carefully on my thighs and try not to think about all the sharp or deadly things he has to have stashed in his clothes. Or about how fast he could pull one out. Or how unlikely it would be that I'd even notice before he'd slit my throat. I disappointed him didn't I?

He gives a very small smirk, and releases me, straightening up. "He'll do." He looks past me, at Jason, as he stands off the table and brushes down wrinkles in his shirt that definitely don't exist. "You can keep him, Jason. If you teach him."

"Teach me?" I echo, as Owlman motions to Dick, who reaches forward to grip the tablet on the table and send it spinning across the surface towards us. Owlman swipes it off the table without a pause, and moves off without another glance. "Teach me what?" I ask at his back, and then turn back to the table when he leaves through the door Jason first came in by, not answering me. "Teach me what?" I repeat.

"To fight," Dick answers easily, and gets to his feet.

"I know how to fight."

"No you don't," Tim corrects, as Dick slips closer to Jason and leans up against his side, one hand sliding over his shoulders. "You're one of us now, Roy, and if we're claiming you as an Owl you have to live up to the name. We'll make sure you do."

For the first time, Damian smiles. Or at least he bares his teeth like he's going to be ripping at my throat, which is way more accurate to the little demon and what I expect him to do. "Yes, that at least should be fun."

What did I just sign myself up for, and how likely is it I'm going to regret it? How badly is it going to hurt?

"Play nice, Damian," Dick says smoothly, and then bends down and presses his lips to Jason's forehead. Jason grumbles under his breath, and makes a face, but doesn't move away. "I'm headed back to Bludhaven. Feel better, little wing, and let Roy take care of you for now." Dick spares me a glance and a smile, and then tilts his head sideways and looks across the table to Tim and Damian. "Come on, come see me off."

"Why?" Damian asks, as Tim slides off his chair and gets to his feet. "You'll be back, why would I waste time watching you leave?"

"Someday," Tim says quietly, reaching out to take Damian's arm and pull him off his chair, "we'll teach you the subtleties of normal human communication, Damian."

"As if you are one to speak about such a matter, predecessor. We are all aware that you lack any true socialization skills; Todd is a better conversationalist than you." Tim pulls him away, and I watch Dick slide in on the other side, helping shepherd Damian out of the room. The door closes, and I look back to find a tiny grin on Jason's face.

"Welcome to the family," he says, reaching out and taking my hand again. "They're fucking nuts most of the time, but they're not so bad."

"Any tips?" I ask, and Jason snorts and shakes his head.

"Don't be a coward, don't be an idiot, and don't let any of them push you around." He squeezes my hand, and pulls me closer. "You'll be fine, Roy. I'll make sure they don't step over the line." He winces, and I scoot my chair a little closer and lean in to touch him. Carefully.

"You ready to head back to a bed?" I ask, and he gives a slow nod.

"Oh yeah, more than." He leans a little closer to me and I meet his lead, kissing him softly. "Roy," he says quietly, when he pulls back. "Words aren't really my thing, and saying any of this out loud sort of— It doesn't mean I don't think it."

I smile, and touch my forehead to his. "I'm not asking for anything, Jaybird. It doesn't matter what you say, or don't say. I love you. I trust you. I didn't think that was ever going to be a two-way street, and I'm thrilled beyond freaking words that it is." Jason is staring at me, and he's starting to get that overwhelmed look that he does when I press that I think he's important, that I'd sacrifice for him. I squeeze his hand, and kiss him again for just a moment. It's soft, and it's gentle, and it's perfect. "You're here," I whisper against his mouth, resting my forehead against his and not opening my eyes, "and that's more than enough for me."

Jason's hand clenches down on mine, and then he tugs it loose and slides it up my arm, to my shoulder. "I— How the fuck did I get as lucky as you?" he asks, breathlessly, and alright that is worth opening my eyes for. His are closed, but I can feel and see him trembling. I wish I knew how much of that was pain and exhaustion, and how much is me overloading him. Which I did not mean to do.

"Karma," I answer after a second, raising my other hand to touch his cheek. "I think the world owes you me and a whole lot more for the shit it's put you through."

He opens his eyes, almost looking startled, and then cracks a grin and gives a quiet laugh. "You're ridiculous," he murmurs.

I sneak another kiss. "I'm proud of that," I murmur back. "Now come on. I've never actually seen your room before, Jaybird, so you'll have to tell me where to carry you."

"You're not carrying me," he protests, with a snort, "but you can help me up."

"Alright, I think I can probably take that deal." I get Jason to his feet, leaning against me, with only some gritted teeth and a few sharp breaths, and wrap my arms around him. He's still shaking a little bit, and I lean down and press my mouth against the side of his neck, letting him catch his breath against my shoulder. "Take as long as you need, Jaybird, for everything. I love you."

"You're going to wear it out," he complains against my shoulder, hand clenching in the fabric of my shirt.

"Nonsense," I snort, "that'll never get any less true no matter how much I say it. I can repeat it as often as it takes to get that through your head, promise." I make a fake considering noise and tighten my grip on him for just a second, turning my head to press my mouth to his temple. "Maybe I could make a schedule. At least three times a day, four if there's a fight, at least once in front of other people so I can get you embarrassed and there can be amazing sex. The other people are optional for that part. When you wake up, when you're not expecting it, when—"

I cut off as Jason shakes and starts laughing against my shoulder, and then he leans back away from me, gasping. His head is tilted back, his eyes are watery, and his hand is tight in my shirt, steady even though I can feel him shaking in probably more than just laughter.

"Jason?" I ask, when he gives a particularly strong shudder and his gasps don't die down. Oh I didn't send him into some kind of attack or something right, please? I think the Owls would more than murder me.

"You moron," he gasps, all but collapsing against me, but at least I can feel his smile against my neck so he must not be actually mad. "Laughing hurts. Ribs. Ow."

"Sorry," I tease, "I will make the effort to be less entertaining until you're healed."

Jason pulls his head up, looking me in the eye with a half a snarl, even though he's still gasping a bit. "Don't you dare, Roy."

I blink, and then lean in with a smile and kiss him, running a gentle hand through his hair. "Love you too, Jaybird."

There you go! The conclusion is reached, Roy and Jason are firmly in love, and Dick is not-so-alright with it but Roy does not know that so it doesn't come up. I'll just say that Dick seeing this and immediately saying, 'And I'm going to Bludhaven, see you guys,' is not just him giving them space. We'll get to that, promise, though in a different, oneshot, story.

Actually, I admit I got distracted by a character study that spawned a life of its own and became a story idea. So, I was thinking about the Owl boys, and writing a bit of that 'Jason and Terry' story, and I had him start to compare something to being 'like fighting in the dark' except I realized in time that actually, that's not something that Jason minds. So I thought about it, and I changed it to 'like sensory deprivation,' and that's where the trouble started. I realized, in a horrible moment of clarity, that to this Earth-3, Owl-Jason, sensory deprivation would pretty much be the worst kind of torture in the world.

Then my mind started wondering what it would take to break the other Owls as efficiently as using sensory deprivation on Jason would. Well, I figured them all out. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) I spent so much time thinking about it that my mind also created an entire story around the idea. So, yeah, a while down the line you're going to get a story about someone hacking into the Owl files (think the Justice League: Doom storyline) and using the information in the Owl boys' files to break and/or mentally fuck them up big time. If you're curious, you're welcome to send me a message on either or Tumblr (same username) and I'll tell you all about it. But, since the methods used are definitely very trigger-y, I won't be putting it up anywhere public that people might accidentally stumble on it.