Trapped In The Wayne Manor

The B(r)ats !

Gotham: Wayne Manor Steps: Monday, 14, 2008: 1:29am

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"Not all those who wonder are lost"

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Cold air seeped through the thin fabric of Jason's jacket, its meager defense against Gotham's unforgiving nights proving useless.

He'd only bought the jacket two weeks ago, but already it seemed to be falling apart, much like the rest of his life. The chill bit into his skin as he stood on the porch, staring at the heavy door in front of him. He cursed softly under his breath and raised a fist to knock, but hesitation stopped him mid-motion.

What if they hate me more when they find out? When they see the things, I've buried?

They will.

Jason grimaced at the intrusive thought. "You're not being very helpful, you know."

Just spitting the painful truth.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "If thoughts could kill thoughts," he muttered bitterly, his breath forming faint clouds in the cold air. Resolving not to think too much about it, Jason flexed his fingers, knuckles whitening as he gave the door a firm knock.

Seconds stretched into minutes. The wind picked up, threading icy fingers through his damp hair. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot to keep warm. After waiting five full minutes, Jason finally gave up. No one's home. Figures. He turned toward the gate, shoulders hunched against the cold, but the sound of the door creaking stopped him mid-step.

"J-Jason?" A groggy voice called out, laced with confusion.

Jason bit his lip. He knew that voice. Tim Drake. The prodigy. His adopted brother—well, one of them. Pretty much everyone in the manor had been adopted at this point, except Damian, Bruce's biological son with Talia.

Jason turned back to the door and gave a halfhearted shrug. "Yeah, it's me," he said, pointing a thumb at his chest and flashing a shy grin.

Tim blinked, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Before he could say anything else, another voice chimed in.

"How long you been standing out here?" This one was deeper, tinged with irritation but layered with concern.

Jason debated between honesty and downplaying the situation. Thirty minutes or five? He went with the latter. "Five minutes, why?"

"Uh-huh," the voice grumbled. It didn't take a detective to recognize Dick Grayson's annoyed tone. Jason fought to keep the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth in check. That trademark Grayson grumble was like clockwork.

The door opened wider, revealing the trio: Tim with his messy bedhead, Dick already pulling a jacket over his shoulders, and Damian looking less than thrilled to be dragged downstairs. The rain started to fall in soft, rhythmic drops, dotting Jason's hair. He groaned, tilting his head back to glare at the overcast sky. His gaze lingered there for a moment, catching faint glimpses of stars through the city's pollution.

"Jason, Jason—Jason!" Dick's shout snapped him out of his thoughts, making him flinch.

"Yeah, what?" Jason's voice came out sharper than he intended.

"You coming in or what?" Dick asked, his tone softer now. "And if you do, dry off in your room. Don't drip all over the place." He nudged the younger two toward the stairs.

Jason watched them leave, a strange tightness in his chest. The rain was heavier now, soaking his hair completely. He ran a hand through it, feeling the damp strands stick to his fingers. A grin unexpectedly tugged at his lips as he stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him.

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

Just wait.

Jason's grin faltered. "Oh my god, shut up," he muttered under his breath, relieved when nothing shot back in response.

Still, a strange feeling stirred inside him, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Warmth. Familiarity. Was this... excitement? Jason frowned. No way. Was he actually... happy to be here?

Jason shook the thought from his head, muttering as he headed upstairs, "I'm definitely losing it."

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