Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damian Wayne stands by the car in the November cold, not stiff but holding his body taut and ready to spring. He has no reason to need to, but old habits die hard. Even when you’re twelve.

It has been a week since Jason Todd died for a second time. Stephanie and Grayson are reluctant to refer to it as dying, but the technicality is important to Damian and also, he suspects, Father.

He watches Jason Todd walk down the front steps of the Manor and Todd is stiff. He’s moving slowly, waving Father away from him and grumbling loudly.

“Deck the halls, B,” he mutters when they’re closer. “I’m fine. I’m fricking fine to drive. Even Dev said so.”

The swear jar has been in effect for a whole week and Jason has only contributed two dollars. It would have been five, but Pennyworth broke the rules on the older boy’s behalf and claimed that words uttered while Dr. Devabhaktuni was cleaning a mild infection near some sutures did not count.

Damian thought they absolutely should, but he hadn’t argued. He would have counted them for himself, though.

“If I’m sore, we’ll stop,” Jason is saying now to Father, standing by the driver’s side. The trunk of the car is packed with actual bags this time, clothes and toothbrushes and shower gel and cell phone chargers, instead of the jackets and wallets that had been their only company on the trip almost a year ago.

“If I’m too tired, I’ll let Damian drive.”

“The hell you won’t,” Father snaps, looking at Damian with a warning glare. “And don’t you dare ask him, either.”

“I will not, Father,” Damian says with a small sigh. He’s too excited about this trip to push buttons or resist in any way. He’s worried that if he causes trouble, Father will change his mind about skipping school until after Thanksgiving for a ‘family emergency.’ And Damian supposes it is like an emergency, of sorts-- Jason died again and ever since the older boy was allowed to get out of bed, he’s been unpredictable and nervous.

“I wish you’d just agree to fly,” Father says to Jason, leaning on the hood while Jason sits in the driver’s seat and turns the key. “If you’d change your mind, I’d drive you to the airport right now and we’d get you the next flight out.”

“No,” Jason says, sounding irritated. Damian climbs in the passenger seat and buckles. If Jason does change his mind and Father drives them, Jason can move to the back seat.

Father’s frown is wearing deep grooves on his face.

“No planes,” Jason says, glaring at the dash. “I’m fucking claustrophobic.”

Father’s face changes then, the frown fading. He leans into the car and clasps Jason’s head toward him, presses his forehead against Jason’s.

“Okay,” he says, letting go. “Keep me updated. Damian, be good.”

“I am always good,” Damian says. “But good is relative.”

Father is still leaning down next to the car when he points a finger at Damian and replies, “No, it isn’t. You know what I mean. Don’t cause any trouble.”

“I’ll beat him bloody if he does,” Jason answers, buckling, his hand stuttering a little as it crosses his body.

“Tt,” Damian says, crossing his arms. “I will not cause trouble.”

“Have a good trip,” Father says, standing. “I’ll see you there for Thanksgiving. I love you both.”

Father has gotten strange this past week.

“Love you, too, B,” Jason says. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Demonbird.”

“I can take care of myself!” Damian protests.

“I’m worried about you,” Father says to Jason at the same time, and Damian is mollified.

“I also love you, Father,” Damian says, his arms still crossed.

Jason swings around to look at him with an expression of exaggerated shock.

“Did you hear that?” he asks Father. “He said the L word.”

“Knock it off, Jay,” Father grumbles, but he’s got a small smile tugging at his mouth.

Damian smiles but it’s smug and satisfied.

They pull away from the Manor while Father watches with his hands in his pockets.

Jason sighs when they’re halfway down the drive and mutters, “I just need to get out of this freaking city.”

He leans back a little in the seat and adjusts the angle so his arms are propped on his knees.

“I can drive,” Damian says. He knows he’s gotten bigger the past year; he looks older. He’s only got an inch to go before he catches up with Tim and he’s already got wider shoulders, heavier muscle mass. He doesn’t look just twelve.

Jason glances at him.

“In Pennsylvania,” Jason says. “On that long stretch of Amish country. We’ll alternate after that, but I have to drive when we’re near cities.”

“Agreed,” Damian nods, biting back a grin.

Then he changes his mind and grins openly.

After all, it’s worth a grin: they’re going to the Kent Farm.