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It took Bruce carrying his two eldest to a car, to realize that this whole situation was entirely his fault. The thought would cross his mind as he shoved two of the deadliest vigilantes into the back seat and watched them fumble into a horizontal position across the seat. How did he think this was a good idea in the first place, maybe he had been doused with something the other night, or that concussion was worse than they thought.
He could already see the morning headlines and the nonsense the morning talk shows would be spuing. Each gala ended in some mess, so why on earth did he think this one would end any other way, especially with these two? Groaning, Bruce shut the door and made his way to the driver's seat; what he won't give for a chauffeur right about now.
"You're being… ridicu-lush…."
"Ja'on shut..hic..up…and get 'f me!"
"' M not…on you."
"Bruuuuccccceeeeee."
Bruce couldn't help the small smile that broke out on his face as he glanced at his sons in the rearview mirror. Never in his wildest dream did he imagine his two eldest would talk to one another willing, let alone get utterly plastered at a gala. Shaking his head, Bruce brought his eyes back towards the road, tomorrow morning would be hell for the two of them, and maybe, just maybe, they'll divulge what they were thinking.
*
Eight months. Eight months was all the time he was given for his 'peaceful' return from the dead. It wasn't even his fault they had to concoct this harebrained plan in the first place. No, that lovely privilege goes to none other than Demon Brat; he should have listened to his gut when he saw the brat jumping across roofs in those god-awful colours. Instead, he had finally sat down with the old man and had the long overdue, emotionally taxing, much-needed conversation. Nothing changed in the grand scheme of their nightlife, but now, he wasn't as hesitant to spend the night after a rough patrol or reach out for help on tougher cases. It also helped that he was finally able to have a relationship with Dickiebird he so desperately wanted all those years ago. (Neither the Joker nor Talia's fucked up philosophy could destroy his subconscious desire for his older brother's comfort).
Of course, that doesn't take away the Demon Brat's inability to keep his mouth shut.
"You sulking in the corner isn't helping you know."
"I would rather be helping Replacement with his English homework than be here."
He didn't need to glance at the older man to know the shocked expression and raised eyebrows being sent his way. Even though he might have a decent relationship with Tim doesn't mean the bitterness or anger he held for so long suddenly went away. He could feel Dick staring at him for a beat longer before slumping against the pillar next to him.
Somehow the two of them had been conned into coming to the overly prestigious gala that the Gotham Art Society was hosting for their annual fundraiser. Out of all Bruce's children, he had somehow roped the eldest into socializing with the upper class of Gotham; Jason was about 67% sure he had interacted with the majority of the older gentleman present in some capacity in Crime Alley.
"I'm bored." Dick whined from next to him.
"These things are always boring, Dickiebird, even I remember that." He said back, rolling his eyes at the glare being sent his way.
A few minutes passed silently, both staring out into the massive ballroom full of the Gotham rich flittering around their fellow society members. Everything about these gala's set Jason on edge, from the lights to the overly preformatted people rubbing against one another; he still remembers his first gala and how long it took to rub the smell off his skin.
"Wanna play a game?"
Snapping his eyes away from the glitter of the gala, Jason turned to look at the man next to him. Before he answered, Jason took stock of the mischievous glint in the baby blue eyes across from him and the almost evil-like smirk present on his brother's face. (Let it be known…Dick was a sadist and masochist).
"What kind of game?" He responded slowly.
"We take a shot each time someone over the age of 40 hits on you." Dick said with an almost sinister smile across his face.
Jason froze for a moment and thought the proposition over in his head. There seemed to be too many variables and, honestly, insufficient rewards. Plus, he wasn't one to engage in heavy drinking or even shot-taking; his only act of 'rebellion' resulted in his death. Looking at his brother, Jason felt there wasn't any way he could say no, and this could add some form of excitement to the night.
"How are we sure that we will even get hit on?" He asked and quite hiding the disdain in his tone.
Dick merely rolled his eyes before grabbing Jason's arm and dragging him away from his dark corner to the brightly light dancefloor. The world seemed to stand still for a moment as Jason tried to fight the instinct to throw his brother across the room. Taking a deep breath, Jason closed his eyes and allowed himself to be pulled through the thongs of people. This wasn't his first gala; he knew this but damnit, being back in the spotlight after so long was nerve-wracking. That was why as soon as he arrived, he ducked into the darkest available corner until it was socially acceptable for him to sneak away.
"Your last attended gala, you were what 14? No offense but you were a little thing and Bruce is a bit more protective of younger family members." Dick stated. "You came back looking like a mix between a professional rower and a linebacker…. Jason you are going to learn tonight."
"Learn? Learn fucking what!?" Jason hissed as Dick positioned them at the deserted area of the bar.
"Little Wing, I am gonna say this one time and one time only…one, you are like a 15 out of 10, if not more. Two, you are a hot commodity right now with you coming back from the dead. Three, you are young but not too young. Four, you have an aura of danger which these rich fucks just love. And five, you are hot as fuck." Dick said, emphasizing each point with a jab into Jason's bicep.
Jason felt his whole face burst into flames as he listened to Dick go through his spiel. He wanted to hide away, his face felt too warm, and he could even feel how hot the tip of his ears had become. Leaning against the cool bar top was a good idea until a soft thud came from the left of him, and a hand was placed on his lower back. Lifting his head, he turned to look up at Dick, who was not trying to hide the smugness he felt.
"So, what is the game plan here, Goldie?"
Before Dick could even answer, a middle-aged woman with her face practically painted on and smelling intensely of citrus shoved her way between them. Jason couldn't stop the sneeze that escaped him; citrus was one of his least favorite smells. Neither the woman nor Dick noticed his sneeze as both were entrapped in a conversation; Jason never could understand his brother's ability to seem interested in these sorts of discussions. However, with the woman distracted, Jason glanced her over. Even looking at the back of her, one could tell some form of work had been done, and the too-small strapless gown indicated a desire for something.
Rolling his eyes, Jason took a step back from the pair and turned towards the bar to flag down the bored-looking bartender. If Dick was going to pull him away from his hideaway and force him to interact with people for some stupid bet, you better believe he was going to drink. He didn't need some bet to drink when at one of these pompous events; however, while he understood the bet, he couldn't quite grasp what Dick had said about him. The confidence at which Dick had described him didn't make sense. Jason was from Crime Alley; nothing could change that fact, not even Bruce adopting him. He still remembers the comments and utter disdain his presence was and still is given; for fucks sake, the Demon Brat is more well-liked than him.
Shaking his head, Jason had just about flagged down the bartender when he felt someone stepping into his space. He wanted nothing more than to ignore the person, but Bruce had made him promise to at least act civilly with the rich pigs of Gotham. Sighing, he turned his head to find an almost carbon copy of the woman Dick was talking to staring right at him. An almost predator-like smile graced her face when they locked eyes. They stared at one another for a few moments before it clicked in his head. Everything Dick had been spuing early suddenly made sense.
"Evening," he said.
"Your Bruce Wayne's son, right? The one that was missing all those years?" She asked sweetly, her hand already moving to rest against his arm.
"Why yes I am, Jason Todd-Wayne at your service," he replied with a small bow.
"Samantha Johnson."
"Would you like to join me for a drink Mrs. Johnson?" He asked coyly as he gave her his best charming smile.
"Please call me Samantha, and I think that would be very lovely, Jason," she breathed, pressing herself further into his space and squeezing his arm.
Glancing up, Jason spotted Dick staring right at him; he watched the older man's eyes dart downwards to the bar top. Jason glanced down to find a shot glass filled to the brim with a clear liquid; he could only hope it wasn't tequila. Grabbing the drink, he looked back towards Dick, who held up his own. Smiling, Jason cheered his brother before taking the shot; it burned on the way down, but it wasn't tequila.
Dick locked eyes with him again, and both couldn't help but smirk. Maybe coming wasn't a bad idea after all.
*
Everything hurt. The last time he had woken up with this much pain, it was because he had been stabbed and thrown off a roof. He knew for a fact he didn't patrol last night, remembered outlining his route to Steph the night before last, so what happened. Thinking wasn't working, his head was pounding too much, and a roller-coaster was zooming through his stomach.
"Figure out your surroundings first," he said aloud, his voice sounding far rougher than normal in the morning.
Forcing his eyes open, he was met with the high ceiling of the Manor. Taking a deep breath, he turned his head to the side to see a mop of black hair sticking out of the blanket. Forcing nausea down, Jason reached over to poke the mop of hair. The first poke was soft. No acknowledgment. The second poke was a bit more forceful; the hair moved slightly. Still no movement. The third poke was similar to a hard shove which caused the hair to move quite a bit and a sound to follow. Smiling, Jason shoved at the hair again.
"Hnnnggg…stop," the hair whined, burying deeper into the blanket.
"W-what happened?" Jason mumbled.
"Shots. Lots of shots," the hair grumbled.
Jason started at the hair for a moment. "What kind of shots?"
"Alcohol shots," a stern voice said from the far side of the room.
Looking up, Jason spotted Tim leaning against the doorway with a smirk. Jason saw a tablet held lazily in his hands, and his brain short-circuited even more than it already was. It was the smirk that gave everything away, the only time Tim smirked like that was when someone had done something either painfully stupid or ridiculously embarrassing.
"What did we do?" Jason begged; he could already feel his face flushing.
"The only thing you didn't do was actually sleep with any of MILF's or DILF's you both seemed to love," Tim teased as he walked towards the bed. "Everything else though…well, let's just say you both will be getting a nice lecture from Alfred about you inability to handle your booze and a rehashing of proper etiquette."
"Fuck," Jason whinnied, collapsing back onto the bed,
Tim laughed. He placed the tablet in his hands next to the hair lump before turning back towards the door. "Oh, by the way, Bruce says you both have to release a press statement before the end of the day."
Jason watched the younger man leave before sitting up to grab the tablet and forcing himself to look at the words on the screen.
WAYNE SONS CELEBRATE THEIR LOVE OF MILF'S
WAYNE SON CAUGHT STRIPPING AT ART SOCIETY FUNDRAISER
WAYNE ELDEST SWINGING FROM CHANDELIER
WAYNE SON'S FUTURE IN SINGING? Video of Wayne's eldest singing.
RECAP OF ART SOCIETY FUNDRAISER: Does Bruce Wayne have control of his eldest sons after distasteful drunken display?
It wasn't the headlines that were the worst part; it was the pictures and videos attached to each article. At one point during the night, it seemed that both he and Dick decided to serenade the gala with an off-pitch altered version of 'Stacy's Mom.' The media was having a field day with this. Old opinions about his and Dick's past were brought back up about how that was the reason for their disturbing behaviour during the night.
"Well Dickie, it looks like you and I are back to being the most hated of the Wayne kids," Jason said to the hair lump next to him.
The hair lump moaned.
"Yeah, who fucking cares."