READ ME!! Age and role reversal, it's weird. But rather than Damian + the League of Assains, it's Dick +the court of owls

Kinda follows Battle for the Cowl but I changed it. . . A lot.

tim is red hood, Jason is batman, Dick is robin, and Damian is strangely absent.

Mesh of old and new continuity

soundtrack: Eddie Redmayne's Emogy Chairs at Emoty Tables, I was in a les mis mood, and Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks

"So."

"So?" Jason responds, with a patience that he really doesn't have.

"Are like, just, not going to talk about how great a team we made back there?" Dick asks, practically bouncing up and down beside him. He wonders if this was what Bruce felt like, with the cowl weighing down on him, and an eleven year old acrobat by his side, looking over the streets of Gotham.

"No," he says, silently retracing the word pattern because he's not sure that was the answer he wanted to give.

"So we are going to talk about it?" Dick beams up at him innocently.

"No," he answers again. "Because I'm not your Batman."

He starts to walk away, because this? This was a one time thing, and he doesn't owe Bruce anything, much less to train his own replacement to be his replacement. Even if that was what Damian did with Jason.

A small hand grabs his wrist. "Please?" He's never quite heard Dick sound desperate. Their predecessor, that murdering jerk Drake? Totally. He's like a walking, talking, bomb of human emotion (which Jason thinks is overrated anyways) ready to go off on anyone who would listen. But Dick's always been. . . hopeful. He doesn't like this new turn of events, but he doesn't dare look down at the boy's face. "That's tough, kid, but I'm not looking for a sidekick," Jason says, making sure none of the uncertainty he's feeling is audible. "Go chase out Damian or something."

That would be a little harder than it sounds, because despite all the man's talk about 'being the one true heir to the Batman', he wasn't - still isn't - here, not while Gotham was crumbling and burning and dying. Nobody really knows where he is, but Jason would've thought he would have kept in contact with Dick, who's simultaneously his favorite person in the world, and now the only one alive that he tolerates.

"You know I can't," the brat whispers, sounding close to tears. "And Tim's. . . well. You know."

"Cass? That Stephanie girl?" he persists, even though he knows what's going to happen.

"Please, Jason, you're all I have."

Dammit, Jason thinks. He's not even old enough to drink, he shouldn't have to take care of a kid. He's done his time in this little 'family'. But everyone else had to choose the wrong time to be irresponsible and to get all soul-searchy. "Fine," he grinds his teeth. "But we're gonna have some ground rules."

Little arms wrap around his waist. "Whatever you say, partner."

"Don't push it," Jason snarks, pushing the boy's hug away, despite it being the first real human contact he's gotten in long, long time.

He doesn't look behind him, but he can sense Dick's silent smile.

"Well?" Jason asks irritably. "You coming or not? We've got an entire Bat-bunker to build."

.

"Batman and Robin can't just die, Jay."

.

"You," Tim breathes, imagining how dynamic a duo they could be, "you could be my Robin."

"No," Dick whimpers, pressing himself up against the wall like Tim's the problem here. He recognizes it in an instant. Dick sees him as the Joker to his Tim. The psychotic monster with a crowbar to his innocent little boy who doesn't deserve to be disappointed again and again.

"What's wrong, little brother?" he asks gently, because he's always wanted a little sibling, and he's known Dick since that day at the circus with Bruce.

The boy coughs. It's quite pitiful, actually. "Jason will come."

That makes him bitter. Because he thought his Batman would come too, that night in the warehouse. And he didn't, not in time, not when it would have counted. Tim's damn tired of these self-righteous Batmen allowing children to get caught in the crossfire while monsters like the Joker get to run around free.

Free as birds.

And Tim hates it.

"He really won't, little brother," he tells him earenstly, and honesty hurts, but if someone had only (truthfully) told him that it wasn't worth having faith in Bruce Wayne, in Jack Drake, then maybe he wouldn't have died. He places a gentle hand on the boy's bloody shoulder the way Tim has always wanted Bruce to. "It's alright, though. I'm here. I'll be your Batman."

Dick shakes his head, coughing again. "No," he says again, sounding very small.

Tim chuckles again. "You know how they always say, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em?'"

"What would Bruce say?"

His lips curl into a sneer. "You think I give a damn what Bruce would say? He's dead now, 'Robin', just like your old Batman's going to be."

He doesn't get a response, but he hears the tell-tale smash of plaster and rock as a makeshift Batmobile crashes in.

Figures. His replacement has always had a terrible sense of timing.

He plunges the pipe into the acrobat's shoulder, and flees.

.

"Dick, Dick, you're all right, you've gotta be, you brat, we're Batman and Robin remember? Okay? Dick!"

.

"It. . . just feels too soon," Jason murmurs, staring up at the tarp covered relics of the cave.

"Indeed," Alfred says sagely, placing an old, wrinkled hand on his shoulder. Comfort is just Alfred's thing, the way being an emotionally constipated jerk was Bruce's, and puns are Dick's, and having a holier-than-thou attitude is Damian's.

He chews on his lip, before voicing the doubts that have been threatening to swallow him whole, "I don't know if I can do this."

"It is most fortunate, then," offers Alfred, "that both I and the young master do know that you can."

Jason scoffs, fingering the old metal Bat-a-rang.

"At your very core," the older man tells him, "you are a fighter. If you can't, well, I don't know what hope anyone else has."

Jason smiles, scuffing his shoe on a stalagmite. "Thanks, Alf."

"Of course, sir," the butler replies kindly. "Now, I believe we have a Wayne penthouse to establish as 'Todd and Grayson territory'."

Jason looks around the cave one last time, trying to ingrain every last detail of the massive cavern and failing miserably. He sees Drake's costume, a last memorial to the lost Robin, next to Damian's, whose exists almost solely to remind them of the unachievable level that the pedestaled Golden Boy had set at ten years old. He sees the leviathan dinosaur, the huge pennies, the spot were Joker cards used to reside until the memories got too painful. The Bat-Computer rests uselessly in the center, with a so many layers of dust that it reminds him of tiramisu.

"Pennyworth, Todd and Grayson territory, Alfred," Jason corrects aflyer a long moment, wrapping an arm around the man who was really the only solid parental figure he ever had. "It's not a home without you."

.

"I would beg to differ."

.

"Bruce?" Jason asks slowly, taking a step closer to the dripping figure silhouetted by the glow of the Lazarus Pit.

"Yeah," Squire says slowly from behind him - who's a sidekick, which reminds him of Dick, and he has to wonder if he's okay, if his spine has healed, if the Court of Owls has healed him yet, when he'll come home - "I don't think that's. . . "

Batman lets out a guttural screech, throwing himself at Jason.

This was a bad idea.

Like, on a scale of Condiment King to the Joker, this is Lex Luthor bad.

When the Zombie-Not-Batman smashes Batwoman into a wall, he's sure it's escalated to Darkseid level.

.

"Brief bloom."

.

"You're leaving?" Dick asks, trying to mask his fear.

Jason shrugs. He knows what that means. It's a yes. Dick knows that Jason and him couldn't possibly have been Batman and Robin forever, he knows how much Jay hates the cowl, but - well. He doesn't want to be alone.

Dick chews on his lip, trying to imagine patrolling with Bruce. He'd only just started going out on the rooftops when the man had 'died', but if what the older boys had told him, he would probably have gotten more affection staying at Juvie. "Who. . . Who are you going to be?"

The man looks away. "Don't know yet."

". . . Where?" Dick questions carefully.

Another shrug. "Don't know that either. Just know Bruce is taking over again."

"Oh," murmurs Dick. "What - what about the story Clark told us about?"

Jason lifts an eyebrow. "Story?"

"Nightwing?" And Flamebird, he doesn't add. Nightwing had a sidekick, part of him insists, and - and - why can't he? "The name. It suits you. I'm sure Clark wouldn't mind or anything."

Jason purses his lips, nodding. He looks into the distance as if he's picturing it already. "Costume ideas?"

"Fingerstripes," Dick offers, willing himself to smile, bantering as if the moment the wound in the back of Jason's head (courtesy of Dr. Hurt) heals, that the man won't leave him in the hands of Bruce Wayne.

Bruce is a nice guy, he's sure, but he already had kids (even one of his own) why would he want a penniless circus orphan?

"It won't be that bad," Jason assures him.

Dick is sure that he's just lying.

.

"We were the best, Jason."

.

Jason stares at the grave.

He attended the funeral. He watched them all grieve and sob - he saw Bruce break down. He saw the body. He'd stared uselessly as his little brother slid down the sword. And despite it all, he can't fathom that this is it.

"I've - uh, never had to do this before," Jason feels like he should laugh there, but he can't. "Lots of firsts for me."

The marble memorial - predictably and thankfully, because he couldn't take a surprise at the moment - says nothing.

He looks around. Bruce is nowhere to be seen, which is honestly shocking, because all he's been doing is grieving. Jason drops down to the grass with a thump.

"I bet you didn't even know how many people loved - love you. I mean, I know I did."

The confession doesn't elicit any sort of reaction from the headstone, so he continues.

"Bruce is like - he misses you like hell, Dickie. I know he was never good at showing how he cared, but he did. Anyone gets in his way. . . " he trailed off ominously. "He thinks it's his fault. He's depressed - fuck, everyone is. Alfred. . . my god," Jason runs a hand through his hair, picturing the butler's shattered state. "He loved you so much. You were his favorite, we all knew it.

"Is this what you and Bruce did - do - for your parents? Just talk things out? 'Cause, I feel like a psychopath, but it kind of helps, just a little I think, I mean -" Jason rambles. "I mean, I guess this is what happens. You realize everything you didn't do, how great people are, after they're gone. I think Tim's even stopped by a couple times. But you probably know that already. I think - damn, I hope we're gonna bring you back."

Richard John Grayson-Wayne

Beloved Son, Brother, and Friend

Flowers and snow almost shrouded the words completely. He brushed them all away.

Determination solidified in his mind. "I promise, kiddo, we're gonna bring you back."

His fingers are turning blue. You're gonna get hypothermia, a voice in his head warns, if you stay out here much longer.

Jason shoves his hands into his pockets. He glances at the Manor's outline in the distance, and heads as far away from Gotham as he can. "Promise."