Jason knows Bruce considers him a son, but Bruce is not Jason's father. Bruce had hesitated on adopting Tim because he knew the kid had a dad but Jason – Willis wasn't a good dad, but he had been Jason's, and he didn't need a sequel to that part of his life. When he'd been a kid, he'd always felt uncomfortable calling Bruce his dad, but he'd put up with it cause – well if Bruce wanted Jason to be a son that's what he'd be. A good soldier, a good son, it was all the same. That isn't what Jason is, not now, and he won't make a front of Bruce being his dad either.

Jason isn't a liar though.

As much as he wishes death could have severed his ties to his family, Bruce undoubtedly is a part of his. Christ, Jason's not exactly got a good reference, maybe how he feels bout Bruce is exactly how a kid feels bout his dad – but, it's not what a dad means to Jason. Can't Jason just have that? Can't Bruce just be Bruce, and have that be enough? He doesn't need a second dad, but he thinks maybe he has needed Bruce, just a bit.

He hadn't hugged Bruce for a long time after he'd been taken in. Maybe Alfred had slipped him a booklet on dealing with traumatised kids; maybe Bruce just remembered what it was like, but he'd let Jason lead all their contact. None, for the first couple a months, as it went. But when they'd got closer and Bruce had begun to ruffle Jason's hair or place a hand on Jason's shoulder when he did well, it was only ever after asking Jason. Not in so many words, he'll grant, but the brief eye contact to clarify it was okay had meant the world to him.

It took a full year before they ever actually hugged, and maybe that was on Jason too. It wasn't that he never wanted to hug but he'd see Bruce, right after a turning point in a mission, or after they made up after a fight, and he could see the man wanting to embrace the kid he saw as his son and Jason didn't want to – couldn't – let it happen. He needed to push him, see how restrained Bruce could be so – so at least when the glass shattered, Jason could be the one pushing it away from him.

Fuck this, Jason isn't going to be getting sentimental, not over this.

His siblings – getting misty-eyed over them is an embarrassment but that's not a them thing, it's just how siblings are. If he is gonna play like Dick and spend his time playing the loving brother, that's his jurisdiction, but nothing has changed, and it is still Jason's choice how much he gives Bruce and he is not gonna give him this. Bruce doesn't get to be the main character of Jason's story. It doesn't have to circle back to him – every. Single. Time.

Because fuck it, Jason means more than Bruce. Bruce hugs like he's angry at you – so fucking what? This is Jason's life, and he and the bat haven't exactly been making friendly in recent years. And it doesn't matter because Jason has a family and Bruce doesn't have to be in it.

He'd been a scared kid who had got hurt and Bruce had hugged him, and it was over and was years ago, and it didn't make any difference cause a hug doesn't actually make a relationship healthy. Jason's hugs with his siblings, with Alfred, with the Outlaws – they matter. So, screw this, chapter over, it's time for a new title.

Jason

Jason Todd knows he's good at distracting himself. It wasn't exactly the stellar quality that had got him the spot of Robin, but it was more him than the fucking short shorts. He isn't dumb enough to think that isn't what he's doing now, focusing on clearing up the glass he broke. He could let Alfie do it – could wear his fucking gloves – but he can't draw himself from picking up the pieces. He's cut himself already, and there's blood welling up from his hand, but there's still the shimmer of shards embedded in the carpet and it wouldn't do to let Damian – or, god forbid, Alfred the Cat – step on it, they'd never stop them whining about it.

He must look a right sight to whoever is opening the door, but they don't make a move to stop him and he doesn't stop, although he's practically just stroking the carpet at this point, allowing stray fragments to embed themselves into his thumb rather than trying to fiddle with them between his nails; too dull to pierce the skin fully. He doesn't have a bin nearby, so the glass dust is just left atop the largest shard, falling to the centre of the glass' curve. That's like a hug, in a way. An open embrace where the shards only hurt each other as they brush and the lack of a cover leaves the little ones thinking, hoping they can leave, forgetting they'll never be big enough to escape. Fuck, distraction.

He's stopped moving; just watches his blood spot the grey carpet.

The room's intruder does move, then. A hand touches his shoulder, and he barely has to glance to recognise Alfred's wrinkled fingers. He says nothing, and Alfred takes the opportunity to muss his hair slightly. Jason does nothing.

"I'll have to fetch somebody to tend to your hand, Master Jason. Will your brother suffice?" Jason doesn't rise to the bait and continues to stare absently at the extremity.

Alfred lets his hand linger for a moment, before leaving to go fetch one brother or another. What, is Jason a fucking child now? Needing a babysitter for when he has a fucking temper tantrum? Fuck off, fuck off, how dare he -

Damn, Jason has smashed the glass. Again. His fist has ground into the pieces, and what had been a pulse of blood turns into a stream, his hand pretty much mangled. He thoughtlessly brings it to his mouth, trying to stem the flow, and hisses as they make contact; drawing away again with his mouth now smeared in blood like a fucking psycho – god, he feels sick. He can almost imagine it. What if the blood is in a fucking smile? No, no, no –

He's panicking, that's why he doesn't notice when he gets company until there are hands resting heavily on his shoulders, a face trying to meet his eyes, and a voice asking him to breathe, just breathe. Despite himself, he finds himself matching his brother's pace, slowly but surely.

As air returns to his lungs, he feels a fuck ton more tired than he recalls and doesn't even try to stop himself from crashing into his brother's open arms. Cause this, this is how Jason hugs: desperate.

He's not crying, but he shakes with dry sobs and intelligible curses lost in his brother's jumper, and there's quickly more comforting hands on his back than he can account for from just Dick; he must have been joined by the rest of their siblings. Tim, he becomes aware, is talking in a low tone he can't make out and Dick is pulling away from him gently. The air against his face feels shockingly cool, and a shiver of fear works through him as he comes to realise he's the centre of a circle; all eyes on him.

"Jason, let me bandage your hand." Says Tim. Jason holds it up to him, numb, and looks for – something – in his eyes. Pity, fear, disgust – something to let him give in to the comfortable tide of anger, rather than rot in the vulnerability of the moment. Nothing gives, and Jason doesn't twitch as Tim cleans his hand with the wet flannel he'd been carrying. Tim looks distinctly practical as he examines the wound, face set, and in no time he's got it wrapped well. Doesn't let go though. Jason doesn't ask him to.

"I loathe to admit it, but Father was wrong, Todd." Everybody tenses, as though expecting Jason to fucking break down and – fuck, his lower lip is quivering, but he scoffs anyway. He's not quite sure what he means by it, but Cass' face slides from neutral to hurt real quick and he's swift to reach his free, unbloodied hand to his sister's friend, gently pulling the corners of her mouth into a faux smile. She obliges; her face warming, and presses her hand over his, warm.

Damian actually catches him off guard, looping his small arms around Jason's neck from his right and bobbing his head under Jason's arm so he's curled into his side, face in a resolute pout. "I mean it. I will be having words with him; this sort of behaviour is unacceptable coming from a man like my father." The brat sounds so cocksure as if talking the Batman down is something that just happens, it makes a little bit of Jason swell with warmth at the thought that he'd do that; that he'd care in the first place, it leaves a flush in his chest.

"Good luck getting through to that obstinate bastard, sport." He replied, voice weak even to his own ears. Damian took a slight scowl,

"If this is about the killing, Todd - "

"I didn't even kill anybody. Which means it's not his fucking moral high ground, it's just..." Just him, not being good enough. Never being good enough. He must be going catatonic again because Damian receives a sharp pinch to the side and the rest of his siblings are crowding round him again, all soothing coos and gentle hands, and his youngest brother is being shoved behind them, as if Jason couldn't handle being reminded just how much of a black sheep he really was.

"Bruce is wrong Jason," said Tim, "and I reckon Alfred will be chewing him out right now, even if he wouldn't listen to us."

"Won't make any difference, Bruce isn't gonna change now. He's never gonna want me back in the family, not the me I am now."

"Well it's a good thing Bruce doesn't actually choose who's in the family, isn't it?" That pulls a chuckle from Jason,

"He sure didn't choose you, Mr I'm-Robin-Now, huh?" Before he can think better of it, he's moved to hug the kid; arms tight around his shoulders. A moment passes in stillness before a whine arises from Dick,

"No fair, I wanted a Jay-hug!" He's met with a chorus of ascension, and Jason draws back with a light laugh,

"A Jay-hug? What the fuck you all wanna be hugging me for?"

"Don't be deliberately obtuse Todd, obviously your hugs are highly sought after – you are the best hugger," Damian says in the haughty tone that seems more like an insult than anything, shoving Tim to the side to re-enter Jason's line of sight.

"The demon brat's right, you always know when we really need a hug," says Tim, casually retaliating Damian's attack as he speaks.

"Of course I'm right, Drake, it must be a new experience for you though." Damian's now pulling Tim's hair and Tim has in a headlock and Jason thinks Dick really ought to be splitting them up by now, but he just pipes up in agreement,

"Oh yeah, whenever you hug me it feels like it really means something, y'know?"

"Don't go getting sentimental and crap on me, Dick, you know I'd hug you as a distraction."

"Sure," Dick laughs, "You're a master criminal who's never felt an emotion, my bad for forgetting."

"I thought I felt an emotion, once," says Tim, currently stepping on Damian's head as the kid seems to be trying to break his other leg, "Then I realised I hadn't had my caffeine fix that day and it was just the exhaustion hitting me."

"You joke but you should probably work on that, think Dickie might throw a fit if any of us die again." Cass nods, face resolute,

"No more deaths." Another murmur of ascension settles through the group and the elder members relax into each other, watching the younger ones roughhouse.

"You always have overthought hugs, Jay," said Dick, soft enough so as to not be heard by the bickering duo, "I remember when you were a kid, Alfred had his hands full so couldn't give you a hug and you spent twenty minutes pretending you didn't think it meant they were gonna give you up while you bitched about it to me. And you know what?" Jason doesn't remember that, and hums noncommittedly, "I felt really bad for a while afterwards, because I didn't feel bad for you, because you hugged me and all things considered it ranks in the best hugs I've ever had."

Cass has tucked her head under Jason's chin, and Dick's lies on his shoulder and their hands are both joined to his right whilst his left supports them. He has no words to come back to, but Dick doesn't seem desperate for a response. Another moment passes, and Tim and Damian seem to be closing their fight, having shifted back to the insults and teasing portion of their arguments, and Jason finds it within himself to ask,

"What... what do you guys reckon my hugs mean?" Tim and Damian look a bit confused, and Dick seems to be mulling over how to respond, but it's Cass who's reply comes first. She draws away from him and faces him, eyes intent as they make contact. Her palm reaches to his heart, where it lingers.

"Your hugs mean family."

Jason still has a long way to go. With Bruce, with himself, with the world as a whole, but if he has this family behind him? Well, it's a fucking good place to start.

A/N: Thank you for reading! This is my first fanfic, so I'd love any feedback you guys can offer :)