The bright lights of New York illuminated the city, a sea of movement and energy even in the dead of night. Jason stepped off the bus, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder as he nodded a quick thanks to the driver. It had been five years since he last walked these streets, and while much was the same, he couldn't help but notice the new buildings rising where old ones once stood.
His steps were slow, unhurried, as he took it all in. He wasn't just home—he was stepping back into a life that had moved forward without him.
After a few blocks, he stopped in front of an old iron gate. A cemetery.
Jason pushed the gate open and walked in, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path. He weaved through rows of tombstones, the city's distant hum fading into silence. Finally, he reached his destination.
A gravestone, simple yet dignified, stood before him.
Jason let his bag drop to the ground and slowly knelt, running a hand across the stone. His fingers traced the name etched into it:
Here Lies Bruce Wayne
Loving Father and A Good Friend
Jason swallowed the lump forming in his throat.
"Hey, Dad," he said softly. "Sorry it took me so long to see you."
The weight of those words settled deep in his chest. He closed his eyes, trying—and failing—to stop the sting of tears.
"I'm so grateful for what you did. You took me off the streets, raised me, gave me a family and a purpose."
A small smile tugged at his lips as memories flooded back—training with his brothers, arguing over dumb things, laughing together, even the rare but cherished moments when Bruce let his walls down.
Jason placed a hand on the gravestone. His voice was steady, but his eyes burned.
"I promise, Dad, I'll keep our family safe. You can count on me."
The wind blew gently through the cemetery, rustling the leaves. Jason let a few tears fall before wiping them away and standing.
He grabbed his bag and turned to leave but paused, looking back one last time.
"Goodbye, Father."
Then, he walked away.
Jason stopped in front of an apartment building and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a small boy, no older than six, with bright blue eyes and an excited grin.
"UNCLE JASON!"
Before Jason could react, the kid launched himself forward. Jason caught him with ease, chuckling as he ruffled his messy brown hair.
"Hey, Jake! How's my favorite little troublemaker?"
Jake grinned. "I'm good!"
Jason stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Your parents home?"
"Yeah! They're in the kitchen!" Jake announced before dashing ahead, already shouting at the top of his lungs. "MOM! DAD! UNCLE JASON IS HERE!"
Jason followed, shaking his head with a smirk.
In the kitchen, a red-haired woman and a man with black hair and sharp blue eyes turned at the sound of Jake's voice.
"Jason!" they said in unison.
Jason dropped his bag by the door. "Dick, Barbara—how are you guys?"
Dick Grayson, his older brother in all the ways that mattered, was the first to reach him, pulling him into a tight hug. "It's good to see you, man."
"You too, brother."
Barbara Gordon, ever the grounding force between them, stepped up next and hugged him as well.
"You look good," she said, smiling.
Jason smirked. "You mean better than Dick, right?"
Barbara rolled her eyes, but Dick just laughed.
"Tim still at college?" Jason asked.
Dick shook his head. "Nah, he's here. Still knocked out, though."
Jason's smirk widened. "Oh yeah?"
Barbara immediately groaned. "Jason, no—let him sleep."
Jason and Dick exchanged a look. Then, at the same time, they grinned.
"Nahhh."
A minute later, Jason walked into Tim Drake's room with a large bowl of ice water in his hands.
Jake, who had enthusiastically joined in on the prank, opened the door for him.
Tim was sprawled across the bed, dead to the world.
Jason didn't hesitate. He tipped the bowl over.
The water hit Tim like a shockwave, and he bolted upright with a strangled yelp. He wiped his face, blinking rapidly before his eyes landed on Jason—who was now doubled over in laughter.
"JASON!" Tim roared.
Still grinning, Jason barely had time to react before Tim lunged forward, pulling him into a tight hug.
"Good to see you, little brother," Jason said, ruffling his damp hair.
Tim chuckled—then swiftly kneed Jason right in the crotch.
Jason immediately collapsed to the floor with a whimper.
"You're still a prankster," Tim muttered, stepping over him with a smirk.
Dick walked by at that moment, took one look at Jason writhing on the ground, and burst into laughter.
Jason groaned. "Worth it."
Later that night, when things had settled down, Jason and Dick stood outside the nursery. Inside, a small two-year-old slept soundly in his crib.
Jason peered in, his voice quieter now. "So this is him?"
Dick nodded. "Damian Wayne."
Jason stepped closer. The toddler had dark hair and, when his eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, Jason saw striking green irises staring back at him.
"He has Mom's eyes," Jason murmured.
Dick nodded. "Yeah. He does."
Jason watched as Damian yawned and drifted back into sleep. On the nightstand beside the crib, a framed photo caught his attention—Bruce holding Damian, smiling ever so slightly.
"When was this taken?" Jason asked.
"A week before he died," Dick said softly.
Jason swallowed hard and looked away, his chest tight.
He let out a quiet breath. "He'd be proud of you, you know."
Dick didn't say anything, but Jason saw the way his jaw clenched.
A moment later, they stepped out of the nursery.
"Picnic tomorrow morning," Dick said as Jason headed toward his room.
"With Damian too?"
Dick shook his head. "Yeah, he is originally I was going to leave him with my police partner daughter but he will come with us."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Partner?"
"George Stacy," Dick replied. "His daughter, Gwen, is the babysitter."
Jason nodded slowly. "Huh. Sounds interesting."
Dick smirked. "You'll see."
Jason didn't press further. He walked into his room, tossing his bag onto the bed. As he unpacked, something caught his eye—a small box tucked between his clothes.
He pulled it out and read the note attached.
"Going away present, Jay. —Roy & Slade."
Jason chuckled and opened the box, revealing a black military helmet—his old one. He ran his fingers over the surface before placing it in his closet.
"Thanks, guys," he muttered.
He lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes.
For the first time in years, Jason Todd felt at peace.
He was home.