A/U. Jason wasn't killed, he was fired. Resentful and bitter he's unwillingly tasked to guard the child Damian for unknown reasons. Clueless, he must deal with betrayals and truths, both past and present, he never expected nor wanted. And his feelings for a certain bird.

warnings: Slash, language, violence...

Chapter 1

Bludhaven sucks ass.

Jason hates this city. Has since the first day.

Dumpy. That's the first word that comes to mind. A real shit hole. Not many places can feel worse than Gotham, the sanctum of eternal gloom, but Bludhaven is definitely one of the few, all in a class its own.

The flat Jason's squatting is one of the worst he's held in a while. It may have been nice at one time, showing the signs of a rather expensive making, but not anymore. Built in a typical New York fashion, stories up from the ground, with an elevator that has since stopped working and stamped with a name too fancy to use anymore. The buildings barely standing. Nearly primitive now. Yet the best he could find under the circumstances. There aren't any gaping holes in the walls and the structure seems reasonably sound, so that's a plus. The height's nice too. And most importantly of all, there's the window.

Large and mostly clear, Jason spends more time at the chipped glass than anywhere else. He would call it an obsession, watching the goings on below like a bird on a perch, but that would make him sound weird and a bit creepy (The bird part would simply be ironic). His goal isn't spying on what he can see, the normal, boring everyday life of the everyman, it's the unseen, what creeps in the night like the darkness of a shadow, the underbelly.

An unattractive, muddy color fills the sky like a liquid of some kind. It's the same awful shade as the day before, the same swarm of clouds promising trouble. Jason tires of seeing it, watching the last remains of light, an orange rust color that seems too bright, slowly make its way into the horizon. The same scene he's seen for days. The coming of night.

Jason tries to get most of the smoke from the cigarette in his hand out through the window. The place smells bad enough as it is and chances are he'll be staying awhile. The last thing he needs is another stench to battle a headache over.

It's like being in prison, all thanks to that crazed woman and her jacked to all hell orders. Resentment is a feeling Jason knows all too well (it seems the motto of his life) and right now it's the only way he can describe how he feels towards her and the treasure she's entrusted him with. The baggage that's slowly becoming an anvil around his neck.

Everyday is a perpetual loop of the same boring shit. The monotony is making him stir crazy. He feels claustrophobic, like he's slowly suffocating.

And yet, for whatever reason he stays.

Months ago, before all this, he would have laughed at the idea of being stuck were he is. Chained by someone against his own fucking will.

It's totally pathetic and not at all Jason's style.

The lights click on from above.

"I require sustenance."

The voice is flat, dull and authoritative in a way no ten-year old should sound. It's grating on his ears and Jason would be all be happy to never hear the sound ever again.

Months. The twerp's been in his space for months. Feels longer than that, but Jason hasn't counted the days to be sure.

Jason peers at him through a wave of smoke. The boy doesn't look pleased, though honestly, when does he? He stands pretty tall for a kid his age. Blue eyes under ebony hair, close-cropped and razor-sharp, deeply tanned even without the sun. Toned and well spoken, way too observant for his own good and good with a weapon. Yet for all this, Damian al Ghul is still a prick.

Then again, so is Jason.

"You have two hands don't you?"

Damian doesn't like this answer and chooses to glare some more. He speaks with the dryness of the desert he hails from. "A brilliant observation, but hardly helpful."

Jason flicks the bud outside then stretches the kinks from standing in one place for too long. "What do I look like, your mother?" he asks.

Damian look turns even more venomous. "Don't you dare speak of my mother."

Jason feels entitled to say whatever he wants about Damian's mother, but right he's too tired to play another round of incite the Damian. He scratches a cheek with more stubble than he normally cares for and waves away the cold blue stare directed at him. "Whatever. There's stuff in the freezer.." some shitty frozen dinners, same as every other night, ",you do know how to use a microwave, don't you? Or do you need me to hold your hand through it"

The implication that he wouldn't have knowledge of something as inconsequential as a microwave nearly sends Damian over the edge. "Of course I do," he enunciates with grit teeth.

"Then what's the problem?"

Damian crosses his arms. "The problem is that rubbish you simpletons refer to as food. As I stated before, I require sustenance, not the results of some science experiment packaged in cellophane and heated with a light bulb in a box."

It isn't the first time they've had this conversation. Jason's learned there isn't much that Damian does approve of, the least of which being his choice of nourishment. The revival of the topic isn't one Jason wishes to explore. "It's all we got kid, take it or leave it."

Damian looks like he wants to take Jason's head off with his family sword, one of the few possession he seems to like more than any human should. He must realize any argument on the subject is useless and Damian finally sighs, "Mother would not approve."

Jason can't even count how many times he's heard that phrase in the last however many months. If Damian thinks it scares him or something, he couldn't be more wrong. "Well mommy isn't here, is she?" Jason pulls another cigarette to qualm the urge to toss the little bastard out the window. He exhales another cloud of smoke, savoring the taste. "It's not like I enjoy this.." he motions to the space around them. "..anymore than you do."

"I sincerely doubt that." As if it were a contest. Damian has made it quite obvious from the beginning, he hates Jason.

"Don't be so sure." The feeling is pretty mutual.

They stare at each other. Having a who hates who more contest seems pretty childish and since Jason is no longer a child, he looks away first. "Shouldn't you be in bed, or something?"

Children are a mystery to him. Jason's memories of childhood involve more violence and hatred than most people will ever know. Growing up on the streets of Gotham there wasn't much love to go around and children were basically targets for aggression, both physical and emotional. Jason learned most of his own hatred there and the rest..the rest lies on the shoulders of the big B. Damian is better in the fact that he's basically an adult stuck in a child's body, but he's also confusing. Not to mention, beyond aggravating. Why Taila would entrust Jason of all people with her only son, essentially her world, is not only puzzling, but as he see it, borderline insane.

Damian gives him a level stare right before his brow inexplicably twitches. His posture becomes still and his eyes flash to the window. The reaction causes Jason to stop as well. He's not stupid, he knows that look, knows it's not good. It's different from the typical glare of malcontent. Something's wrong.

"What is it?"

His answer is the sound of shattering glass. At first Jason thinks it's the window but a quick glance proves him wrong. That and the shower of sparks from above. The light's been shot.

"Shit." His hands fly to the gun in his jacket.

Damian grunts a sound of agreement.

The sun's completely gone now and the room is now dark minus the lights from outside. All Jason can see is shadows and from the looks of it, there's way too many of them. Things go to hell all too quickly.

The first shot rings loud in his ear, the aim is way off but is closely followed by another that is not. Several sets of feet move across the floor. There's a whole damn group, at least five. Jason heaves the table, hoping the thing will work as a shield and searches for Damian. Best to get him out-of-the-way.

Only, he's not there.

"Goddammit." he mutters. He leans out to observe the scene. Stray bullets fly in his direction, but the table catches them.

There's a grunt of pain, followed by another. Flesh hitting something solid, he can only see a blur of movement and has no idea who to shoot first. He aims for the fastest moving target only to notice that it's Damian.

"Shit kid, what are you doing?"

Damian actually has time to stop and give him a look, like Jason's an utter and complete moron. He even manages to toss the nearest body over his shoulder. "What does it look like, Todd?"

Jason holds his hands. "Right, killing machine, totally forgot. My bad."

"Just shoot something, will you?"

He plans to do just that, but his gun is suddenly jostled from his grip. He feels the breath behind him and curses again before acting. Left with no other option, he headbutts the goon, hears a solid crack and feels the body crumple. He has no time to recover as there's another right on the side of him. He belts this one with his fist and they fall silently backward. Whoever they are, they're down for the count.

Two more follow, Damian is still holding his own, so Jason doesn't worry too much about him. The kid's been trained for this stuff. Talia had raised him, after all. Jason is still unsure of the full details, but right now he's just glad the kid has more than a nasty attitude to his name.

The bigger one looks at Jason and cracks his neck. His eyes shine a bloodthirsty color and his teeth gleam a crooked yellow even in the dim light, "Knew I find you here, Todd." My boys said they seen your ass waltz into town. Took awhile though, you're a hard man to track."

Jason tries to put a name to the guys misshapen face, but for the life of him he just can't seem to remember, "Sorry pal, I think you've got me confused with someone else." Though he's sure the man isn't making false claims, all goons just looked alike anymore.

The man shakes his colossal sized head, "Fucking screw me over will you? I'll fucking kill you."

Another one of Jason's fans, if only he could recall what he'd done to this particular chap.

There's another gun in Jason's pant leg and he reaches for it.

Only, his hands never make it.

A hand, there's a hand on his gun. A hand that's not his own. He blinks and jerks back, but whoever it was, they're gone.

At least Jason thinks there gone, but he swears someone whispers in his ear.

Don't.

Jason stills at the sight in front of him. Goons, crashing and falling like a mountain of cards are tossed together in what seems like one giant sweep. He would swear he was seeing things, but Damian's watching it too. The room clears into a nice pile of big, smelly men, all neatly teetered together with ties on their wrists. The window appears open, but Jason has no clue when it became so.

Jason can see tight-fitting black on the crouching form busy at his work. Jesus, even here? What deluded Batman want-to-be was this freak. His mouth sours. The idea makes his pulse quicken. In fact, he's ready to pull his gun again. He would, but Damian beats him too it.

Wait, what?

"One more move and you're dead." Damian aims the gun like a pro.

Jason would laugh, he wants to, but he can't seem to manage it. Something's off about this.

"You don't want to do that." The voice is obviously not real, forced deep and slightly distorted. Still it's familiar, too familiar.

Damian's grip on the gun tightens. "Test my patience and you'll see if I want to or not."

Either this man is a complete moron or suicidal, he doesn't stop and even quickens his pace. When he's done he wipes his forehead and finally looks up.

Jason can't see his face, but knows he's smiling. "Taking to kidnapping now?" The question is directed at him, but the tone is light, more natural and so damn familiar he feels sick.

You have got to be kidding.

"Damian shoot the damn gun."

Jason expects to hear it, the loud bang from the gun's barrel. See and smell the smoke from the bullet as it discharges from the chamber. Watch the blood paint the wall in a brilliant shade of crimson. Damian will listen, will pull the trigger and do as he asks. He's not afraid of killing, he has no reason to be.

It's a bit of a shock when a full minuet passes and nothing happens.

Jason's aware Damian is staring at him, probably has been for awhile.

Jason motions at the intended target, miming the action of a gun. "Did you hear me? I said shoot him."

Damian's finger moves further from the trigger. "Why?"

"What? What do you mean why?" Jason snaps, pointing again. "Because I said so, that's why."

Damian gives an I thought so look. Dammit, the kid is clearly in one of his moods. "I don't take orders from you." He says.

"Christ Damian, now is not the time."

Damian's eyes sear into Jason's own. "Give me a reason."

"Since when do you need one?" Jason can feel his patience slipping. "Seems you were all too happy to do it a second ago."

Damian doesn't respond. His gaze turns to the man under his gun, but his stance is unchanging. He's not moving without an answer.

The newcomer shifts, keeping his attention on Damian and the gun.

"Give him a reason Jason." His head inclines in Jason's direction. "You do have one, don't you?" There's a laugh and what sounds like humor in his voice.

Like this is all one big joke.

"You shut the hell up."

Jason's convinced Damian would have done it, killed this idiot in cold blood. Then the moron goes and opens his big mouth. Now the brats curious and wants to know more than he needs to about the man in the black and blue tights.

Robin, Dick, Nightwing, The amazing flying cock sucker, whatever the fuck he was calling himself these days.

So many emotions flutter inside Jason. Anger, hatred, admiration, jealousy, but most of all, a feeling he refuses to name.

Pushing aside memories he has no time for, Jason can see that Damian still hasn't shot the damn gun.

"Goddamn brat."

There's another laugh and it doesn't come from Damian.

Jason slams his foot on the ground with a growl. He leans closer, right in the culprits face. "Something funny, Dickhead?"

Dick sobers, but he still looks too damned amused for the situation. "Not really." He shrugs.

Damian, for once, actually looks unsure, like he's caught on what to do. He decides, to Jason's horror, to lower the gun and cross his arms. Obstinate little shit. He turns his eyes from Dick back to Jason. "Explain." he demands.

"Not now, Damian." Jason watches the eyes he knows are looking at him from behind the lenses and shakes his head. "Never, in fact. We're leaving."

"I don't think so." The humor is gone from Dick's voice. He puts a hand casually on his hip. It's been a few years, but Dick looks the same, still svelte in a way that Jason is glad to say he himself could never be. Still self-righteous in his own safe naivety. Playing second fiddle, the little puppet that could never cut his strings. "Not until you tell me what that was all about."

Jason's not feeling up to telling anybody anything right now. All he wants to do is get the hell out of here and never come back. His feelings of flight crumble when Damian looks to him as well, like he's expecting a story too. Jason ignores him and turns to Dick."Look it's none of your damn business..."

"Creeps running around my city with weapons, yeah that kind of makes it my business."

Jason can't help the bitter laugh."You damn bats, you're all the same. You think every place you prance around with your tights on in, is yours. Well not everyone likes a vigilante with no balls, Dickiebird."

He's not sure why the nickname slips out, but it seems somehow to crush Dick, who looks a bit like a kicked puppy.

"They've been following you."

Jason sneers at Dick, "And apparently, so have you."

Dick shakes his head, hair flying haphazardly. "Only since tonight." He motions to the still unconscious pile of bodies. "They've made quite a mess all over town and I just managed to follow them here. I had no idea it was you they were after."

Jason isn't sure he believes that. Then again, Dick really isn't one to lie. His conscious is too damn strong. Jason sighs. "It's nothing you need to concern your pretty little head over. You just go back to your happy world of sharing and caring and we'll be just fine." He throws Dick a false smile. "I'll even promise not to kill you if I see you again."

"This isn't a joke, Jason."

"Says the man who laughed at a gun in his face."

"I'm serious."

"And I'm not?"

"Just.." Dick's torn from looking at too many things at once. Damian, the cuffed criminals he'll have to deal with and lastly Jason. "Don't be like this." He pauses, licks his lips. "Tell me what's going on. I want to help."

"I think you've done more than enough."

"I want to help you, Jason. If you're in trouble.."

"And you have, now pat yourself on the back and fly back out the window like the good little birdie that you are."

"Again, not funny."

He shrugs. "You know I've always been the comedian."

"Jason.."

"I don't want your help Dick, alright?" Jason didn't need it, "He was just some idiot with some stupid vendetta against me or some shit. Frankly, I don't know what I did to him in the first place and I don't really care."

Dick accepts this with a nod, "Okay fine. Then at least tell me what you're doing here."

"Too many questions, Dickie." Jason tries a smirk, the kind he knows really pushes people. Dick takes it surprisingly stone faced which causes him to scowl. "It's really none of your damn business now is it."

"He's here because of me."

They both stare at Damian. The shorter boy looks back passively. Jason knows he looks shocked, mostly cause he is. "Damian what the hell are you doing?"

Has he lost his damn mind?

Damian quirks his eyebrow, he either ignores or misreads Jason to mean, go on Damian, share everything you know with the strange man who flew through the window, that you don't fucking know. Damian's not an idiot, a pain in the ass sure, but he clearly doesn't care what Jason has to say. He continues even as Jason throws him the nastiest glare he can manage.

"Apparently, Todd here has acquired himself a few enemies along the way, but he's supposed to be following me."

"Protecting," Jason fixes. He was protecting Damian, "not following."

Dick likes kids, always has. He connects with them in a way that Jason never has. What he doesn't realize is that Damian is not a typical kid and his sickening look of compassion is wasted on the child sized assassin.

Dick states the obvious. "This city is pretty dangerous, especially if you're running around with him," He nods towards Jason.

"Gee thanks, Dickhead."

Damian gives a half shrug. "I can take care of myself."

"He's got a sword."

Jason isn't shocked by the reaction he receives, the dig is pretty low. Damian looks ready to maim.

"Perhaps I could demonstrate some of my skills." In Damian speech, that is very much a threat.

Jason smirks to a nervous looking Dick. "Cute, isn't he?"

Dick smiles, but it's unnaturally tight. He turns to Damian with a hand raised. "That's okay. I believe you." Ever the peacemaker.

Damian takes his words with a severe amount thought. He finally nods in understanding. Yep, the kid's serious about every damn thing he says. It's bizarre, the amount of gravity he views the world with. Mommy sure did a number on her baby boy.

What gets Jason, more than the fact that Damian has once again played rogue on him and not done what he'd asked, shoot the bird, is the amount of civility Damian is giving Dick. It's scary, not to mention dangerous to them both. If this is going to be a partnership of any small kind, Damian is going to have to start listening to him, he's going to get them killed otherwise. They can not afford to hesitate when it matters.

Especially for a pretty face with a damn perfect smile.

Christ, he needs to stop thoughts like that right fucking now.

Several sirens go off, all at once. The screeching of tires against pavement move with the flashing of multiple lights. All Blue and red. Shots go off in the distance. Someone's obviously having a loaded joyride. Jason could take care of it in a second but he knows his methods would dampen Dick's morality code. And he certainly wouldn't want that.

"I take it that's your cue."

Dick looks flustered and, dare he say it, annoyed at the interruption, but he nods. "Yeah." He turns to say something to Damian, but shakes his head instead. He speaks to Jason. "I'm going to call this in." He refers to the pileup. "You two might want to disappear for a while."

"Not a problem."

And by that Jason means he has every intention of packing their stuff and moving.

"Jason, I...be careful." One last look and he's off, right out the window and into the air.

Damian watches him go. His look is hard to place.

Jason sighs after one of the goons gives a soft grunt of consciousness. "Pack your shit kiddo, we're leaving."

"But mother..."

"Talia will understand, trust me."