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At first, Jason is fine. Well, fine is a bold statement, but he’s not dead anymore so whatever.
Except, that a result of not being dead, not being one of the Bat’s enemies anymore (Thanks Tim?) and generally being a name and face Gotham knew meant that the return of Jason Todd was plastered in tabloids and a hot topic amongst both the Rich Elites and the Scum of the Streets. Jason was known by both, and summarily expected to move back into the manor. As much as he hated it, he had no reason not to, as far as the public went, he was sure turning around and saying ‘Oh yeah my Dad is Batman and let me die and let my murderer live?’ Wouldn’t go down, and not going home would raise questions. Jason might not get along with Bruce but questions were bad and who knew what the attention on the Wayne’s would lead to, at worst perhaps exposing the Bat’s identity. So, whatever, Jason moved back into the manor, if only to keep up appearances.
“Jason, did you steal my boots again?” Tim snapped and Jason turned to the nearest window, pulling a face like he was straight from the set of The Office, full of suffering and regret as if the camera would then pan to the boots on his feet.
“No, fuck you.” Jason yelled back, from his room, Tim banging furiously on the door. Technically it wasn’t Jason’s room, because his original room was still set up the same as before he’d died and it felt like a mausoleum. Jason didn’t want it, it was fucking creepy and he’d claimed a guest room instead.
“You lying bitch!” Tim hissed through the wood, still slamming a fist on it. Jason raised a middle finger at the door, though Tim couldn’t see, and smirked, one hand absentmindedly tapping against the boots on his feet that clearly weren’t his.
“What's going on?” And that was Dick’s voice joining the fray. One positive of moving back in was Jason suddenly had four brothers, a sister, a kind of sister? Sister-in-law? And yet it was also the worst part.
“Jason stole my nicest boots and he’s going to stretch them out with his big feet!” Tim whined like a child even though he was literally fucking 19, a CEO for a Fortune 500 company, and had enough money to buy an entire boot company…
“Jaybird, open the door and give Timmy his boots back, you have your own boots.” Dick sternly spoke, because Dick had the voice of a disapproving mother now. Jason soon learnt it was because the man was essentially Damian’s father, because heaven forbid Bruce actually be a parent. Dick wasn’t afraid to turn this voice onto Jason and the rest of the siblings though…
Well, Cass and Duke got a free pass because neither could do wrong in the eyes of Goldie, even when Cass joined Steph's antics or Duke, the little shit, let Jason take the blame for his pranks because Duke was a devil dressed like an angel. Sneaky little shit.
“Fuck you Dickwing, you ain’t my Dad!”
“No but I am the eldest.”
“Woopdidoo.” Jason snarked.
“Todd you imbecile, open the door before I have to start impaling people for some peace and quiet.”
“Piss off Demon.” Jason yelled because Damian had joined in too?
“Just give me my boots back!” Tim grit out and hammered on the door again, the wood thudding on its hinges.
“Don’t break my fucking door down, bitch.” Jason snapped and Tim smacked it harder.
“I will count to five Little Wing and I want Timmy's boots here by the time I get to Zero!” Dick growled out, his voice was literally such a Mom voice, Jason wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or both. Either way, Jason was a little shit and Tim deserved everything coming to him for suggesting Jason should have a Gala to celebrate his revival (cough, house arrest.) So, the bigger man unzipped the boots, walked to his window and held them out of the open glass as Dick knocked down the door. Dick and Tim both barged in, Damian watching from the hallway, clicking his tongue, taking one look at the scene before rolling his eyes and turning to leave. The kid was Thirteen and a moody little shit nowadays, so Jason didn’t miss his youngest brother who left them to their squabble.
“Jason give me them!” Tim shouted as Jason smirked.
“You little shit, this is what you get.” Jason snarked and then dropped the boots, out into the muddy, wet yard, because it was raining and Jason’s new room overlooked the yard.
“Nooooo!” Tim yelled, arm reaching despite being across the room, in dramatic slow motion as the boots fell. Dick also shouted, Jason’s name, in a stern and disbelieving tone.
“Jason!” Dick glared, arms crossed against his chest as Tim ran to the window, looking down at the boots, muddy and already ruined from the downpour, letting out a pitiful noise.
“What’cha gon’ do ‘bout it, Daddy Wing?” Jason teased, crossing his own arms, grinning at the flinch Dick gave. Jason was good at winding people up. “Gon spank me?” He asked, shit eating grin growing wider at the uncomfortable stance his eldest brother was slipping into.
“You’re in timeout, get on top of the fridge.” Dick hissed out, through clenched teeth. Tim groaned and Jason let out a laugh before storming out of the room, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“This house is a fucking nightmare!”
Bruce didn’t hear a peep about the incident, nor did he question why Jason was clinging on top of the fridge, yelling profanities at Dick, Tim and Steph, the latter filming the incident on her phone. Instead he walked in, made his coffee and turned to leave without a sound. He did not have the energy for his kids' antics.
The antics didn’t stop, but after a month or so of being stuck in Wayne Manor with the other siblings, Jason’s relationship with them all grew, he spent time with Damian in the Library, the teenager wasn’t unpleasant to be around when he was somewhere silent and comfortable, even allowing Jason to read out loud to him as they sat near the fireplace.
He spent time with Duke, learning the tips and tricks to feign pure innocence that Duke could pull of every time something went wrong and that despite his trying, Jason couldn’t master.
He spent time with Cass and Steph, letting the two give him a makeover that actually didn’t look bad, even when Steph went full drag queen makeup on him. Dick took one look at him, at the dinner table and choked on a piece of rice. Jason thought it was worth it when Dick was still coughing ten minutes later. Serves him right.
Jason spent time with Tim too, their animosity having gone from murderous intent to expected sibling rivalry, squabbling and fighting over inconsequential things, Dick typically breaking up mock fights. It was nice.
Jason even spent time with Dick, letting his only eldest brother cuddle him and coddle him and utterly mother the heck out of him. It was weird and yet not unwanted. Jason felt like he had an actual mother for once in his life, even if that mother was also his brother? Was that weird? Had the age gap between them been smaller maybe it would be, but Dick was six, nearly seven years older than him, almost 28, and had already partly raised Damian for three years, so of course he’d pick up mother hen tendencies.
But all in all, he was almost grateful for the bonding he got to do with his siblings, and the afternoons he spent with Alfred over afternoon tea in the garden, the older man sharing tales of antics Dick or Tim got up to before Jason’s return or occasionally Bruce’s own chaotic childhood as a apparent gremlin child before his parents deaths. The only person Jason didn’t spend much time with was Bruce himself, who got a pained look every time he saw Jason, a look that pissed the younger vigilante off to the point they only spoke when absolutely necessary which wasn’t often at all.
But now, in the Gala Tim had so rudely brought up (and suffered the consequences for doing so,) was happening and Jason was stuck to Bruce’s side as Rich folk and Journalists (who’d snuck in) kept coming up and asking questions with no filter.
“Why did Brucie tell us you were all dead, boy?” One older man asked, a sneer on his face as though it was Jason’s fault Bruce told everyone he was dead when he genuinely was dead, Jesus.
“My son needed the space, clearly, and I misjudged the results of him leaving.” Brucie shrugged, a gormless expression plastered on his face as his hands shook, the champagne in his hands the ‘cause.’ Not truly, of course, Bruce would never allow himself to get drunk to the point Brucie was swaying slightly.
“You let poor Brucie mourn you for years, you ungrateful welt!”
“I can’t believe after everything the poor man has done for you, you’d leave and let everyone think you dead-”
Clearly Bruce hadn’t intended things to be read that way, trying to put the blame on himself and not Jason, his eyes clearly communicating this when he shot Jason the briefest, slyest apologetic look, pain in his eyes.
The crowd around them was swarming now and Jason was pressed up against Bruce as they all shoved and pushed to get closer, a colour of blacks and whites of suits merging until all Jason could see was the darkness, the dark of muddy compact soil, the silence of nothingness, mud clogging his ears, filling his lungs, burning his eyes- Fuck.
“Jaybird.” Dick was in front of him, hands in his own, as Jason crouched in a ball at Bruce’s feet, the man in question looking as stricken and shocked as the rest of the patrons and guests who’d fallen silent, to watch, curiously.
“Dickie-” Jason choked out, despite the earth in his mouth, the dirt up his nose, the feeling clawing in his chest, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see and despite the muck in his ears he could hear Dick, could feel his hands and the hum of a foreign lullaby in her ears, feel the vibrations of the sounds against his body as he was pressed against Dick’s chest, one hand still gripping his tight and the other carding through his hair, his hair that was dry, his hair that wasn’t weighed down by rain and the scattered remains of the ground, the earthworms he’d found tangled in his knotty roots.
“Jaybirdie, you’re safe.” Dick hummed and Jason felt the livewire of his nerves relax, the tension start to slowly seep out of him, replaced by anger as he melted against Dick’s hold, the man clearly breaking his Richie persona in front of so many people just for Jason, when Bruce was still watching, frozen and somehow unable to help. What could Bruce truly do though? Jason barely knew the man anymore, they were estranged, even living in the same house, was B even his Dad anymore? Dick seemed to be filling that role, as both his mother and father all at once.
“Dickie.” His voice was raw.
“Y’all gon' stand gawking like fucking starling's or are ya’ gon’ clear the fuckin’ way, huh?” That was Steph, her rough accent clearly on display, one she didn’t often bring out now, but would never lose, making noses turn up and frowns of disdain plaster onto the Elite's face, though still enjoying the show like sick fucks. They begrudgingly moved, stopping the crowd that had formed to disperse, eyes still on the pair like vultures from where they spread out across the room.
“You got him, Dick?” Bruce asked quietly, when everyone was out of earshot. Dick nodded faintly.
“Yeah B, don’t worry.” Dick whispered back and helped Jason onto uneven legs. Tim and Duke surging forward instantly to help support the bigger man, Cass intertwining her arm with Steph to glare at anyone who got too close as the brothers helped a silent Jason across the room. Of course this is when everything went to shit and who was the Joker if not a dramatic bitch, who was not going to miss crashing the resurrection party of one of Gotham’s richest assholes? So, with the combined theatrical powers of an entire musical troupe, Joker launched a couple of green smoke bombs through windows, flooding the place in the green before slowly walking through the substance, arms splayed wide and horrific laugh echoing off walls that quickly drowned out by screams and shrieks and sobs.
The green took over, flooded Jason’s vision, infected his thoughts and transformed the drowning dirt into the green tinged water, took control of his body and left Jason watching on in third person, one hand pointedly reaching for the inside pocket of his suit as he broke out of his brothers arms, turned, shielded all three of them behind him arm (where was Damian!?) And raised the handgun he’d kept on his, because his paranoia was never gone. He could blame the Pit for his actions but deep down Jason knew he’d have done the same thing lest he be in control. The Pit sung gleefully in his lungs, the enhancements they’d left him with allowing him to see slightly better through the smoke than anyone else in the room, except Duke likely.
The bullet met its mark before the Joker could do anything, vision impaired by the smoke. The second and third ripped through the body that was already dropping, legs crumpling. The fourth was poorly aimed but still slammed through a leg, the first two perfectly aimed for the neck and the third through the chest. The Joker choked on the blood pooling from the wounds on his throat, eyes wide in uncontained surprise. He hadn’t expected anything from the Rich, that was his mistake. The smoke slowly dispersed, the elite who’d been scrambling to escape at the first sign of the Joker had paused at the gunshots and as soon as enough vision was available to them, everyone’s gaze trailed from the Jokers bleeding body to Jason Todd, eyes narrowed in a starling green, teeth pulled into a snarl, arms trembling but Gun still levelled at the man.
The Joker was dead, he had to be, from the slump body to the sheer amount of blood already pooling around the villain and the two clear wounds to the neck-
Damian was safely in Bruce’s arms, the teen looking embarrassed and uncomfortable but Bruce had clearly picked him up in the scramble and gotten over to Steph and Cass, the four on the opposite side of the room by one of the exits. Bruce’s face gave away nothing, Damian concealed his pride but only just.
The claps startled Jason. Bruce flinched. One clap, two, and suddenly the room was filled with claps and cheers and Jason lowered the gun slowly, green sapping from his vision and blinking in a haze, eyes going from his gun to the Joker and back again before horrified eyes reached Bruce’s.
“It’s okay, Chum.” Bruce mouthed, even if his expression clearly didn’t read ‘I’m okay with this.’ The man looked furious. Through the claps and cheers, Dick tugged Jason back to his chest, the bigger man’s legs felt weak still and exhaustion was deep in his bones from the panic attack and the Pit takeover.
“You’re okay, Lil’ Wing, let's get you out of here.” And no one protested, because Jason Todd had just killed the Joker, everyone had witnessed it.
Within the hour, the man was a legend, all of Gotham knew his name (though most did already.)
Jason Todd had killed the Joker and Gotham collectively decided they owed him a debt.