The Reds And The Robins

2) The Al-Ghuls In The Basement

Damian's presence became much more common after that night. Jason supposed it had something to do with the kid's own intentions and something to do with Talia, somehow. God knew the woman had her fingers in every pot of honey somehow. Damian was frequently in the same space as Jason, and the green seemed to die down around the little one. Of course, all good things must come to an end and as Jason's training became more intensive, he could see the kid less often. Talia began being more personal with him, less standoffish as she had been since rescuing him from the shattered glass his mind had become. He defeated a ninja, then another, then another and soon Jason was in equal parts feared and respected.

They put a gun in his hands and aimed. Jason fired. They put more guns in his hand, and Jason kept shooting. (Damian was usually in his room after these sessions, apparently as a blessing from the Daughter of the Demon's Head.) He looked for ways out of the League, finally having adjusted to his new size. Then, Talia came into his room one night with Damian and told him to run. The where was left unsaid, but they all knew where his destination would be.

The running was hard. It involved sneaking out in the dead of night through shadows and through passages unknown to any but the Heir to the Demon's Head, and perhaps Ra's himself. They adopted new disguises at every major city they entered, often with large maps peeking out of tote bags to look more like tourists. They finally escaped the country on a plane to LA, where they changed to a train five times (changing disguises in public bathrooms when they could) and finally, finally, Jason Todd was home.

A newspaper told him he'd been dead two years. Gotham hadn't changed a bit, still the damp, dreary place he knew it to be. The fog sat heavy on the city, and Jason Todd's arrival was heralded by Poison Ivy attacking a local for littering. Jason calmly walked past the park, little Damian pulled in close. Ivy ignored them, as was her tendency. She wasn't a fan of needless violence, even when she was fighting Batman and Robin. Either way, Jason got the two of them to Crime Alley, which closed its dark shadows around him. The Alley was more of a home than the Manor ever was, but its oppressive hold was equally strong.

He broke into the old apartment that sat abandoned. It was once Catharine Todd's and Bruce had bought it (silently, like every emotionally apt thing he did). Since, he was certain it had stayed unoccupied. The occupants of the Alley kept their heads down and tried not to look around them much for fear of being caught staring at the wrong thing but aimed to be as perceptive as possible, so the little boy with a tragic past? His apartment was safe. Especially after his death, where his property became a ghost story, knowing the little ones when he left. He ushered Damian inside after picking the lock, keeping a hold on the boy to not set off any security sensors. He finally disabled all of Bruce's sensors and allowed Damian and him space to breathe.

"Fuckin hell." He groaned, intaking air again. It felt he hadn't had time in so long, trying to go from A to B while going to A and an eighth and A and three sixteenths to escape the League of fucking Assassins. "You alright kiddo? You did good, yeah?" He said, partially to say something and partially because Damian sought praise like a dragon sought treasure. Damian nodded, resting a head on Jason's shoulder. "Look, there's a room there, my old one, if you want it, you're welcome to share the couch with me." Damian made a glance towards the Other Door, the one that led to Catharine and Willis Todd's old room. Jason shook his head, pulling apart the couch to rest on. He would not become his father and he would not sleep where that man had slept. Being in the flat on its own was impossibly difficult. There was no need to drag up too many memories better left dormant.

Damian began making a space for himself on the couch. Probably for the best, Jason wouldn't sleep without the kid safely near him, but likely less comfortable for Damian. But Damian climbed onto his chest, slipping his arms under Jason's to allow him a full range of movement, not pinning them to his side like the oak of a coffi- okay, better left dormant. Jason blinked, kissing Damian's forehead and attempting to sleep. (Even with Damian's ever present weight, he slept fitfully and barely, but completely still. He was good at that, now. The stillness.)

The morning sailed through the patchy curtains all too soon and all too late. They had Things to Do. Jason needed to get to an art and craft store, both to get Damian some art supplies and to fashion himself a mask. Damian fixed himself to Jason's hand as he tried to leave and didn't seem comfortable detaching himself, so he came along too. Jason's gladness with this was not important. The local store was a solid half hour walk away thanks to Crime Alley's sprawling nature and poor infrastructure, so then Jason was more conscious about what he bought. Then again, he had Talia Al Ghul's cash in his pocket which was practically limitless. A needle, thread, red fabric and fancy pencils later, Jason had thrown this into a bag and headed back to That Flat.

He sewed himself a domino mask first, the basics of a Bat costume, then a hood styled not dissimilarly to Little Red. There were a few peaceful months as he wrenched control of Crime Alley away from the scumbags selling kids heroin laced with godawful amounts of rat poison and often too much of the drug. And then, and then, he heard a rap at his window. Suddenly alert, he peered through a crack in the curtain to see an actual, honest to God, little kid in a Robin suit. A little child, with a green domino mask obscuring his eyes, and a fucking Robin costume.

Not being funny but... What the fuck?