I HAVE RISEN FROM THE DEAD! Ok, not really. I've never written a story and published it in this specific fandom. I HAVE written for the BatFam, but those have been uploaded in YJ and yah. . . . First time publishing in this ACTUAL fandom.

I love this Fandom.

This Fandom is my life.

I mean it would be, if reality wasn't so F-ing demanding.

So by rising from the dead I mean rising from the real world to crank out this random burst of a sad attempt at BatBro fluff that came to me while in the middle of AP phycology. . . not important.

I know Jason and Damian fluff does not prevail in the actual comics. But they did have a few moments. One I remember in particular was when Jason was saying how Damian was a lot like him and if he kept all his fears and anger bottled up he'd explode just like Jason had and he'd tired to talk to Damian but that kid's a prick and we all know it. But we love him anyway . . .

Yah that sort of inspired this monster.

I don't usually get high feedback on one-shots, but I love writing them anyway. Maybe you guys will be different and surprise me!

Enjoy!

His boots hit the concert of the all too familiar roof top with a nice crunch. The night was young, and for the moment so was he.

Typical night. Dark, menacing red sky of the ever ominous Gotham city. Looming shadows and towering buildings attempting to block out the scares light of the yellow disk some people called the moon. Sirens in every direction barely thirty miles apart. Bank robberies. House robberies. Street robberies.

Yep, normal, dark, terrifying Gotham City.

Jason didn't think he would have It any other way though. This City's terrible disposition was, after all, what kept people like him in business . . . and for the most part, alive.

He loved to run through it. To let the greys, red, and blacks meld together in a blur as he whizzed by. Certain members that would not be named of his some-what-not-really-kind-of-family would rather fly through it, trusting their weight and life to a string of metal. But not him. His wings had been clipped a long time ago.

He liked to run.

To feel the heavy weight of his boots crunching on the surface. To experience the rush that zipped through him whenever he took a leap to the next building. The dizzying feeling of the mere momentary weightlessness he'd achieve in his split victory over gravity before being brought down again, rooted to reality. Jason didn't like losing his grip on reality.

Tonight was actually pretty silent as far as nights in Gotham go. Jason didn't feel the usual weight of one crime after another. Just him and the City for the moment.

He landed on the edge of his favorite sky scraper. His stake out spot AKA chill out spot. Because everyone knows that that's what stake out spots were really for. Not to look for trouble, but to get away from it. Or just rejuvenate from it.

He wasn't in a really foul mood tonight. Which is a rarity in itself. Nothing wrong with just hanging out an his own for a few anyway. Who was gonna stop him? Batman?

Jason snorted to himself and casually flipped over the ledge and landed on a lower one. Then, he froze to the spot.

Sitting there, in the smallest shadow of his spot, was a small black, almost imperceptible, bundle. Well, it looked like that from Jason's angle. The youngest and most annoying brat of the entire clan was sitting there, hunched over under his cape, probably learned that from his father, though Batman's hunched over cape effect looked more brooding, this kid just looked like he was . . . sulking?

The fact that he was sitting in Jason's spot didn't surprise the older masked male. That ticked him off some, sure, but what really surprised him was how the little monster didn't even move, or tense up, or anything. Demon brat had a way of feeling out which person was sneaking up on him before they even did. Without looking.

So he had to know it was Jason back there. And if he did, why didn't he move, or at least attempt to stab him with a well aimed bird-a-rang? . . . and if he didn't. . . something must be really out of whack right now.

Jason decided to see what it was. Not that he cared, no, he could benefit from this though. One: he could make fun of little freak and get a good fight out of him or Two: he could rub whatever was bugging the brat into his high and mighty face . . .

Yah, win-win right there.

So he purposely stomped towards the new robin. He pulled off his helmet for better results. A vicious smirk made its way across his face. Brat didn't flinch.

"Hey Mini-Bat, your in my spot." It came out a little more casual then he'd meant it to. Oh well, he hadn't slighted the Bat and his clan for a while now, just a little out of practice.

Damian didn't budge. Jason found this irritating. He walked closer until he had perfect view of Robins profile. Pointy little imp face. Check. Imperious chin pointed out. Check. Narrowed eyes behind stupid green mask. Double check. Kid was sulking.

Wuh-oh. Wasn't this Dick's territory? Jason decided he would leave the brat alone.

"Go away."

Jason stopped mid heel turn. He twisted back. Why did that 'go away' sound a lot less nasty than the brat usually made it sound? Jason peered closer out of stupid curiosity. Something abnormal was definitely up.

"Excuse me Demon-spawn, but this is my space and you're violating it with your Batman germs." Jay spat out, not in the least sorry about how juvenile that sounded. He crossed his arms and prepared for a harsh glare down with the 4'3" brat.

Damian finally moved and turned towards him, just a tilt actually.

"Just leave."

Seriously?

"Why should I?" Now Jason was itching to know. Not that he cared. Because he didn't. Just curious as to what got the kid all deflated. So he could do it too.

The small boy hunched further down and peeled off his mask. Not a good sign. Robin never peeled off his mask outside, even though they were way to away for anyone to see, still. Especially not this Robin.

Damian let out a constricted sigh and tilted his head towards Jason again. Jason was already tired of this. He had a nice insult ready to fling down on the brat about his invasion and probably Dad issues when Damian gave him that look.

That Look.

Jason froze. Every molecule in him froze. He would deny it to his second grave, but it happened. His mind reeled backwards.

It didn't belong in the little monster. Jason could take the insults. The knife stabs. The emotional stabs. The cold glares. All the things this brat could dish out. But that . . . that was killer. Jason felt like someone had sucker punched him without his armored Kevlar on. With a metal glove. . .

It was a subtle look. One any normal person could and would have missed. Even Batman could miss it. It was an underlining look. Something that crept under the harsh exterior of blood borne monsters like Damian. Like him.

He'd seen that look, so many times. Too many times. In the mirror.

It was a broken look. One that screamed and stayed silent at the same time. One that ached for someone or something to take it away. One that pushed everything away. It was a conflicted, hurting, begging, closing look.

Jason had seen it in himself when his mother died. He'd seen it in himself when he failed to save someone. He'd seen it in himself when he realized he couldn't be the golden child. He'd seen it in himself when he realized Batman replaced him. He'd seen it in himself every night he'd go into his hidden apartment after a grueling battle with the Bat or his brats. He still saw it in himself whenever he woke up after a night terror.

That look that said so much. If only someone understood it's language.

Help me. Leave me alone. Fix me. Broken . . . so many opposites that whirled around and clashed. Until they didn't know what to do anymore. Except hurt.

Jason always knew Damian had issues. Jason always knew Damian was almost worse than him. Almost. Jason also knew that Batman was making mistakes with this kid. Mistakes that dear old Dickie was trying to fix since he couldn't with Jason. But they were both failing. Badly. Neither Goldie or Bat-jerk knew what to do with this kid. What he really needed. What he really wanted.

What he was really afraid of.

Jason swallowed, hard.

Nobody understood.

His green-blue eyes slid and clicked with Damian's. He knew that look. He felt that look.

Jason let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding and sat right down next to the little bugger. He wasn't a big brother. Nope. Not by a long shot. He done some pretty stupid things in his life and some border line psychotic, or over the line, psychotic things to this kid and his family, but somehow . . . when you thought of yesterday, it was just that. Yesterday.

Batman had done one thing right.

He had manage to instill indifference in the concept of time and yesterdays. Batman was the only one who never let go of yesterdays'. Jason had taken that example unfortunately, for the longest time.

Until he finally decided, yesterday really didn't matter after all.

Maybe the kid had gotten that concept too.

Because the way he actually leaned towards Jason and almost, almost, cuddled to his side, could suggest that there was nothing wrong with or between either of them.

Jason understood this. He'd done it in his worst times to Batman. Just them. Forgetting they weren't just them. For a minute.

The older male could hear the kids breath hitch for a second. Just a second before it was covered by a deep breath. Jason let a smirk tug at his lips. Man, brat couldn't stand to be weak in any respect, even when he was already weak.

Silence. Unexpected silence. Neither spoke.

Damian wasn't going to tell Jason what was wrong in words. Jason didn't really want to hear it anyway. Besides he knew words didn't really make anything better. Right now he and Damian had a wordless understanding, something Jason had wished his hardest to have with someone. Maybe he was finally getting it by giving it to the little Demon spawn.

Gotham seemed to freeze for a minute. As if to say 'here you go. You need this' a sort of 'thank you' for saving it so many times. A sort of apology for the suffering they both have had because of it.

Their breathing melted into the darkness of the shadow they were sitting in. Jason's eyes scanned the jagged horizon, his usually aching angry heart slowing down. He could feel the kids ach melt too. Weird how the simplest contact made a huge difference.

Now that Jason thought about it everyone had different way to cope.

Dicks was to talk and/or touch.

Tim's was to withdraw into himself and not let anyone touch him

Babs was to drown in work or missions.

Batman's . . . Bruce's was to be Batman. Batman was to be a cold statue without much regard for real feelings. Usually.

Jason's was to hide behind a wall of hate and violence. What he really wanted would hide under it.

Damian's was almost the same. Except he was raise on those things, while Jason was fueled by depression and despair, Damian was fueled on fear and confusion.

Neither would ever tell anyone that.

Which might be why they had issues in the first place. But hey, if they could have this rare miniscule moment, maybe it would be ok.

Damian's com buzzed to life.

It snapped both of them out of it.

"Robin, Thirty First Kane street. Bank robbery in progress, five of them, armed, be prepared for guns. Batman out."

Just like that, Gotham blared alive.

The silence shattered, sirens started to ring. Jason saw some red and blue flashes. Somebody screamed. Trash cans were being overturned somewhere else. Gotham woke up.

Both stood up and stepped a respected distance away from each other. Both had their walls back up. That look had disappeared from Damian's face and Jason let the fact that he'd ever seen it slip away.

Back to basics.

"Keep your spot Todd. I have better things to do than wallow here." His imperial highness slapped his mask back on his face as if it never came off.

Jason's body went rigid, "Right. Don't get shot spawn. Old man won't like that. Now get lost before it's my bullets you're dodging." Snark. His favorite tone.

Damian tutted, "Please, your threats don't interest me," he shot out a line and pulled, then paused a moment to glance at his pre-predecessor, ",you should burn that jacket. Smells like cigarette poison." And off he flew with that last insult.

Jason stared after the stupid little shadow. He couldn't help it. A smile crept up on him and glued itself to his face before he could stop it. That was demon spawns way of saying thanks.

Jason would deny it to his second grave. But that brat was so like him up close.

He'd be back. Jason knew. Broken birds always came back.

Maybe Jason would be there, maybe he wouldn't.

Whatever.

He didn't care. He didn't need to. Not for Demon-brat.

It never even happened.

Jason slipped his helmet back on. Besides, he had more important things to do than to pick up broken pieces Dick had missed. Jason smirked. Dick had missed. That made him feel oddly content to know that not even Dick Grayson could fix this kid completely. Maybe Jason couldn't either. Not like he wanted to. But maybe he could show this kid that acting like Jason Todd 2.0 wasn't the best career choice in life. Or Jason could just go on and ignore the little booger. . .

Batman said that robbery was on 'Thirty First Kane' right?

Aaaaand there we go.

Not sure about the ending. I know there's not much dialogue but I wanted to go for a feeling drawing mood. I don't know if that makes sense and if it does I don't know if I managed it but there it is.

Hope it wasn't too bad for this Fandom!

All hail Bat-Clan!

TTFN!