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albatmobile · 2 years

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The Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds Chapter 1

𓅪 Navigating the present is hard when your past refuses to die.

𓅪 After not hearing from Roy or Jason for five years, you suddenly find yourself taking in extra income as a babysitter for Roy and Jason's child.

𓅪 Rated: M | 4k fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist]

Chapter One: Yellow Flowers | ao3 - wattpad

It’s 3 am when you get the text.

Not the normal 3 am sloppy bootycall text- not that you even do that type of thing. No, this shit smacks you straight in the face.

Thanks to your earlier activities downtown, you’re currently still two shits to the wind, meaning you have no right to respond immediately like you do, nor in the way you do.

Who even tries to call back a spam number at 3 am?

Apparently, you do.

You blame it on your evening spent with Damian and Jon downing shots at Damian’s penthouse warming party (yes, that’s really what Damian had actually called it).

The kid turned 20 practically three weeks ago and decided that he was an adult and needed to move out of the manor to start his “new life as heir," whatever the fuck that meant.

Damian, being your friend of five years and your first friend at Gotham Academy, understands his standing in your life. He doesn’t hide the fact he knows he's the only friend you'd ever made aside from Roy and the rest of the Wayne family, so Damian also knows he can always count on you to show up to his crazy, most of the times expensive, schemes.

Even though you still hang around the Wayne family, it's never been quite the same ever since Roy and, subsequently, Jason's disappearance during the summer going into Damian's and your sophomore year.

It's a topic no one ever broaches on account of... Well, you don't quite know.

With the Wayne family, everything has always been hush-hush. For the majority of the time you knew them, you saw how they’d kept to themselves, but somehow you managed to stick your foot in the manor door and have stuck around ever since, albeit barred from the secrets they all still seem to carry with them to this day.

A penthouse warming party hadn’t necessarily seemed too crazy when he called to invite you two days ago, but being here and seeing him in his stupid tux, you realize you’ve completely underestimated Damian’s ability to make an event out of nothing.

You're in for a fucking ride.

The night starts off fairly normal with wine because Damian claims he’s classy (something you now know after all these years to be a total lie) until you and Jon break out the tequila. The two of you mischeviously coerce Damian into taking body shots off of both of you.

From here, it basically goes to shit.

It was your idea, in hindsight, to turn on Bob Ross and take shots any time someone fucked up but, in your defense, you know that you and Damian were some of the best artists at Gotham Academy. Jon, on the other hand? Holy fuck did you overestimate his artistic ability.

“Jon,” Damian huffs. “How the ever-loving fuck is that supposed to be a happy little bush?”

Damian smacks at the canvas, regretting it instantly as its wet paint spatters and adheres to his tanned skin. He scowls, fussing with his tux sleeves in an attempt to save them from the green paint that now stains his hand.

Jon sighs, putting down his paintbrush for the third time in the past two minutes of the video to go collect more shots for the group.

You’re not going to say no to another shot.

“Shit looks like a Rorschach test,” You tease Jon as you finish off the shot he hands you. The alcohol burns your throat going down, leaving your eyes to tear up almost immediately following.

Your assessment is spot on, though Jon will never admit it. All you know is, from up close, his work is completely unidentifiable from the finished art piece on the screen.

Damian downs his shot with practiced ease. “You would know all about that, now, wouldn’t you?” He hisses your last name around a bright smirk as he grabs for your empty glass.

Yes, Bob Ross is what caused all of this.

Two videos later and too many shots to count, you decide it's time someone takes you on a tour of the penthouse. It’s a penthouse warming party, afterall and you've only seen the kitchen, living room and a bathroom so far.

This is how you find your way to Damian’s pole.

Yes, he has a pole.

Yes, he’d attempted to hide it from you.

Yes, you’d found it anyway.

No, you don't know how to pole dance, though, you'll find that out later.

“No, no, no,” Damian’s voice booms from close behind as you run towards the metallic object in question. He curses your name as he pushes against your unsteady body.

The red wrap top you’re wearing is barely holding back your tits. Damian curses aloud when he remembers why he can see your nipples- you’d fucking thrown your bra at one of his paintings. Evidently, because his had been better, he claims.

“Damian Thomas Wayne!” You exclaim as you push past him finally and stumble into the room, complete with a giant, stripper pole in the middle. “You did not.”

Even Jon seems taken aback. “Uhhh.”

It's later.

Without warning, your drunk ass shoves past Jon, dodging Damian’s grasp as you leap forward and onto the pole.

You only manage to spin around once before you become too dizzy and fall face-first into…

“Damian, what the actual fuck, dude?” You scramble to stand as fast as you can manage in your tipsy condition. A dainty black thong dangles from your fingernails with you upon rising.

“What the fuck to you,” He spits out your name, a bright blush staining his cheeks. “Who picks up random underwear?” He schools his face quickly, tsking at you as he yanks them out of your grip.

He makes his way back into the hallway, urging you both to follow after his retreating form, but you’re not having it.

You snort and hit Jon with your elbow. You aren’t going anywhere.

“Guess the penthouse warming party started early?” At this, Jon blushes harder than Damian ever could, leaving you to raise a curious brow.

Damian and Jon? A thing? No way...

With a speed that rivals the Flash, Damian crosses from the hallway and back into the room to smack you on the back of your head. “Enough,” He pushes both you and Jon out of the room with a bright red stain across his cheeks.

After that, Damian makes it a game out of how much Moscato it takes for you to forget about the whole thing.

Damian always wins.

You tap after your third glass, unable to keep your head up anymore. You know you're in for a rough night- well, maybe not night, but tomorrow is hangover city for sure.

Damian calls a car to collect you.

You’re ben laughing at something nerdy Jon had said when Damian suddenly looks down at his phone and whisks you away to the waiting car below.

The walk down is silent, which is just fine with you, seeing as you wouldn't be able to say anything coherent anyway, nor have you been able to for the past ten minutes.

You stop at the door of the car while Damian talks with the driver briefly. When he finally returns, it's to open your door and shove you inside with a threat.

Not even thinly veiled, mind you.

“You didn’t see shit,” He holds your eyes with his own and lets his hand rest on your shoulder in a warm yet menacing way- classic Damian. “Got it?”

“Mhm,” You nod a bit too animatedly for him to take your response seriously.

He rolls his eyes in response. "I'm not fucking around," He warns again.

“Single Wayne has a pole in his penthouse, oh the headlines,” You mock easily, knowing just how to push his buttons even in your drunk state.

He's too preoccupied with securing your top that you realize you've caught him off guard, though he seems more relieved than anything to hear your coherent response. That is, it’s relieving as a friend, but as someone with a secret that you're on the verge of discovering, you repeating exactly what he hoped you'd forget is completely irritating.

“Wayne heir,” He corrects you again, though you still don't fully understand what the difference is.

He finishes securing your tits back into place as respectfully as he can (nothing he hasn’t seen before, anyway) while you're busy snickering at your own joke.

“Enjoy the panty raid,” You tease with wiggly fingers. You slam the car door and plead with the driver to speed off before Damian can think about retaliating.

•••

So, here you are, calling a random number that had texted you ‘u up’ at 3 am.

It's so unlike you that you know it has to be the work of the Moscato Damian had practically thrown down your throat. Thinking back on it though, the shots Jon kept handing to you hadn't been much help either.

A deep voice springs suddenly from your phone, causing you to inadvertently gasp at its raspy nature. “You’re fast.”

You're already warm from the alcohol, face already flushed, but now you're feeling entirely too hot.

“That’s what she said.” You hate that you hear a slur in your speech. You sigh and prop yourself up on your velvet couch, “Who’s this?”

The sinful voice continues, “Guess.”

You're too drunk to be playing games like this, so you make go put a stop to the whole thing.

“M’kay bye,” You snort.

Their voice may have been the smoothest shit you’ve ever heard, but you aren’t one to entertain whatever the fuck this is.

Your finger hovers over the ‘end call’ button when the man on the other end suddenly says your name frantically. You refrain from hanging up just barely but don’t offer anything further.

““Shit.” In the background of the call, you hear another deep voice. “Did she hang up?”

That one.

That voice sounds more familiar.

“Jason?”

You hear a heavy thump followed by silent bickering and an “of course!” from the original, deep voice before Jason comes through again with your name.

His voice sounds closer as if he’s now the one holding the phone, “It’s been a while, eh?”

You’re frozen for a moment as all the memories from Gotham Academy come flooding back into your hazy mind without permission.

“So long I think you’ve turned Canadian,” You respond after a beat. You can’t help the sass oozing from your lips when your heart is beating like a sledgehammer hard at work. “What is it? Three years?”

Five. It's been five years.

“Something like that.” You can practically see him shrugging now.

You jolt before you can even register the intense pain that blooms suddenly across your practically bare chest at the words alone.

So, this is what they mean by opening old wounds.

You want to hang up.

You want to run.

You can’t do this.

It’s too casual for the things each of you has left unsaid after all these years. After all the build-up your freshman year, only to have them just disappear in the blink of an eye?

“Are you drunk?” He asks. It's at this exact moment that you can’t believe you haven’t hung up already.

You drunkenly shrug only to realize he can’t see you. Instead, you mumble out a pathetic ‘no’ that you both know is a lie.

“Okay.” It’s quiet again.

Now you're actually going to hang up.

You move the phone from the ear to do so when the original voice booms through your speakers. “Wait!”

“What?” You hiss out in a manner that would put Damian to shame.

Good.

It’s what Jason deserves for acting so casual about this whole… situation? Is it really a situation if you haven’t talked to him in years?

The tears you hadn’t realized you've been holding back answer everything.

“Are you taking classes?” The voice cut through your emotional spiraling, leaving you to huff at his random question. “I need a sitter.”

You smack your hand on your forehead, still not understanding why you’ve let this go on as long as you have, “Who is this?”

You've figured out Jason, but the other voice still alludes you.

You clear your throat, shifting your legs underneath yourself on the couch while you wait for a response.

You’ve quickly lost patience with this call. No matter how much you want to catch up with Jason again, it's not worth this weird bullshit that’s tearing you apart at the seams.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” The voice becomes gravely at the same time you hear Jason huff out an annoyed, “Roy.” in the background.

Strawberry lashes, freckle kissed skin, that stupid boyish smirk that always seemed present on his chapped lips. It floods into your mind like a tidal wave.

“Roy?” You’re immediately smacked in the face by the memory of the last time you’d laid eyes on his greasy, ginger hair.

It’s dumb. Even through your drunken haze, you can see it now as clearly as it'd been all those years ago.

It had been a few weeks after Roy graduated, something Jason had been pissed about as he still needed another year of credits to make up for what he’d missed. You remember how you and Roy had forced Jason to go to a drag show at a gay nightclub of all things.

Freshly sprung from your freshman year at Gotham Acadamy and never having been to a club before, Roy emphasized the only place he would take you was someplace where there wouldn’t be a shit ton of alpha-like college males.

One encounter with a frat had been enough to have him steering you in the opposite direction of any Chad-looking-motherfuckers.

Jason, well, let’s just say Jason wasn’t too keen on the idea of the paparazzi seeing him and speculating why he was there. After your own run-ins with the paparazzi over the years accompanying various members of the Wayne family, you completely understood why the raven felt safer going there in disguise.

You never truly understood how deep the influence the Wayne family has on Gotham even to this day, but back then, especially not.

You remembered wanting to respect Jason’s wishes nonetheless, so you and Roy pimped him out. Fresh curled red wig, one of your tightest long-sleeved dresses and custom heels he had commissioned for his wide feet.

You'd pointed out you could easily disguise him in a hoodie and Justin Bieber wig, but he kept insisting that it wouldn’t be convincing enough. You hadn’t thought much of it, never one to follow gender norms yourself, just thinking about what kind of makeup best suited his face and boom you guys were off.

You danced for four straight hours before your drunk asses landed at a 24/7 Steak and Shake, which may or may not have ended in the three of you running away from cops- well, cop.

Jason’s six-inch clubbing heels definitely hadn’t made it through that shit. In fact, you clearly remember him using them as weapons against the overweight cop (okay, let’s be honest- he was a security guard) that tried to chase you guys down.

You'd grown so used to their company that nothing else about that last moment stuck with you. You can’t remember what you or Roy wore, what kind of milkshakes you’d ordered, or anything about what they'd said.

You didn’t realize just how meaningful that one night would be until days, months, years had passed.

Now you’d forgotten the little things about them and, in Roy’s case, his whole fucking voice.

“You’re alive?” It comes out before you can stop it.

“Yeah,” It comes out as a slight sigh in a way you might interpret as an apology, but you can’t be sure.

After all these years, you can’t rely on the tells you'd become accustomed to back in high school. Hell, you're practically meeting them for the first time again with how little you know about them.

That night at Steak and Shake would be the last you'd hear from Roy as he'd completely stopped answering your calls and texts. A few weeks later, Jason would do the same.

You never understood what you did wrong to ruin what you guys had. If you ever had anything anyway, you remind yourself bitterly. And hell, maybe you are just playing back into whatever shit they'd been doing to you all those years ago, but your curiosity end up winning out.

“Okay,” You say. You rub helplessly at your temples for a moment. You try to gain some composure but, ultimately, can’t muster enough energy or focus to do so in your drunken state. Your words tumble out again before you can stop them, “I can’t do this.”

You pause, waiting for any response. When there isn’t one, you feel like you can finally breathe again.

The line disconnects.

You can’t help but sniffle, knowing you've blown your one chance to reconnect with the two people you really care- cared about, you correct yourself.

You fall asleep pathetically drunk on the couch with your call log still open on your phone. You pass out just in time to miss the second text from the unknown, no, Roy’s number.

It's tomorrow's date with an address and time.

It's all starting again and you realize you might not be able to stop it. Maybe, more realistically, you don't want to stop it.

•••

You wake up four hours later feeling like the cursed light streaming through your sheer curtains is beating the shit out of your skull.

“Ugh,” You pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to quell your pounding headache.

You try to collect yourself, making a mental note to add blackout curtains to your shopping list.

Unlocking your discarded phone, you see Damian had texted you to make sure you got home safe which you’d for some reason replied “panty raid,” but then there was a random number.

It slams into you at full force what had gone down last night when you got back home.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” You quickly scramble to your call list to see the random number at the top.

So it hadn’t all been a dream???

You go back to the message and see the address and time, noting you have a few hours before said meet up. After much mental debate, you decide to get your shit together and face up to these motherfuckers.

You shower and eat first before picking out a deep-cut sports bra and somewhat matching leggings and head to Damian’s.

You try to call him on the way, but he isn’t picking up. Weird. He almost always picks up on the second or third ring for you.

If anyone has answers about Jason, it's Damian.

In the past, you’ve tried to ask Damian about where they’d gone, but, ever the emotionally-open person, he remained vague and detached when you brought it up.

It was his brother, for fucks sake and you figured he'd be a bit more concerned if Jason were in trouble, which only put you slightly at ease. Obviously, Jason wasn’t hurt or anything, so you dropped it. Roy on the other hand? You had no idea who to talk to about his disappearance, so, eventually, it settled into the way back of your mind.

Until last night, that is.

You think about Roy’s voice as you pull into Damian’s private car lot.

You find yourself flushing with warmth at the memory. His voice had been so much deeper and sexier than you remember it being and you can't help but wonder how Roy’s physically changed.

You bite your lip, imagining his shoulders being broader than before; maybe he's even shaved his long locks into a buzzcut or something crazy. Five o'clock shadow, anyone? You feel yourself getting wet at the thought of his rippling pectorals that are probably way bigger than what they'd been when you'd last seen them back in high school.

What the fuck is wrong with you???

You guys are just friends. Hell, not even that, you remind yourself coldly. You stave off your obvious arousal as you buzz up to Damian’s unit.

When he lets you in, you aren’t surprised that Jon’s still here, but you are surprised to see two huge hickeys that adorn his pale neck.

“Jeez, I sure hope I wasn’t a part of that.” You know you shouldn’t piss Damian off when you need his help, but shit, they could at least try to hide it better.

Damian rolls his eyes and says your last name, “What do you want?”

“Busy?” You snark back easily.

“Tch,” Damian motions you over to sit on the couch so you sit on the cushion between them.

Knowing Damian will never humor your guessing games, you get right to the point. “Jason and Roy called.”

He doesn’t seem shocked in the slightest, which kind of upsets you, “Is that all?”

You furrow your brows at him, “What do you mean, 'is that all?'” You face him now, turning your back on Jon, who senses the rising tension. “They went AWOL on me for five years, Damian.” Damian refuses to meet your eyes, so you take the liberty of moving his head to face you. He knows something. “What do you know?” You ask with your hand still on his face.

He knows how determined you can get, you just hope he'll give you the information you need without putting up too much of a fight. With Damian, though, you can never be too sure of any of his reactions.

“You talked to them, didn’t you?” He asks like you should already have your answers. As if everything, after all these years, is completely obvious.

“Talk to them?" You sigh absentmindedly, "I’m meeting them in two hours.”

You hope the information will shake something out of him.

It doesn’t.

“He was studying,” He shrugs casually.

“Jason?” He looks at you like you’re stupid, which you take as a yes. You’ve heard the excuse before, but it didn’t explain what happened to your redheaded friend. “But what about Roy? He left first.” You point out.

He looks away from you disinterestedly, “I don’t think it’s really my business to tell."

“And when has that stopped you before, Mother Theresa?” You counter easily.

He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees as if coming to terms with your words. “Severe addiction,” He offers finally. He looks at you with sympathy this time, something you'd only seen on his face once, all those years ago.

“Oh.”

You think back to all those times Roy had showed up to school drunk, high, or both and realize you should've said something. Even back then, you knew you should've.

You stew silently, remembering all those nights at the manor with him and Jason- how you'd wanted to say something but never felt like it was your place to.

“It's not exactly something you go around telling people.”

“Yeah, definitely not a conversation starter,” You agree with him as you take in the information, shifting to sit back in your seat.

Jon watches the two of you silently.

“You’ll see what I mean,” Damian adds cryptically out of nowhere.

“Okay,” You say dumbly.

He seems concerned, but you’re unsure as to why. It doesn't seem like he’s going to elaborate further, leaving you with a sense of dreaded anticipation.

“Do you think you should go?”

So he is concerned.

You feel your face heat up unwittingly and hope Jon won’t notice.

“Do you think I shouldn't?” You counter with a bit of malice. You aren’t some damsel in distress. Damian made sure of that when he’d trained you in self-defense in the manor gym throughout the years, especially after the accident.

“They hurt you,” He says your name softly.

Even Jon seems surprised at his change in disposition around the topic. It's drastically different from how the two of you interacted yesterday.

Jon's never experienced what your relationship with Damian had been like back when you'd first met. Jon had only started hanging out with you guys senior year, long after the dust had settled with Jason and Roy.

Damian's wrong.

“I can handle my own,” You insist firmly.

Damian knows this too, he really does, but he can’t help but feel like, even though he’s told you all of this, you're ultimately still going in blind. He’s never been one to push, though. At least not with you.

The demeanor in the room shifts so quickly, you get whiplash.

“Good luck then.”

His response is cold and distant, as if he’s grown bored with the topic completely.

“That’s it?” You stand up abruptly, not understanding why he's acting so standoffish all of a sudden. “Whatever, fucking twerp.”

You feel his eyes sear into your retreating form after using his most hated insult.

“It’s so childish,” He claimed one day freshman year when you asked why it pissed him off so much. “Just makes you sound dumb in the end.” He’d stuck his nose up, declaring an end to the conversation.

You get back in the elevator, flipping Damian off for good measure, all while preparing yourself for the shitstorm that lies ahead.

A/N: here's a link to the spotify playlist! it's also linked in the masterlist (see below for link!)

[next] || masterlist || pinned || my ko-fi / tip jar

#reader x jason todd #reader x roy harper #reader x Jason todd x roy harper #jayroy #royjay #dc batman #past and present au #slow burn #damian x reader #high school au #canon divergence #my fic:ars #lmao the ars it shortens to is beautiful #based off the comic ‘snowbirds don’t fly’ and snowbird by Anne Murray #my fic: the art of rehabilitating snowbirds #ages: you/Damian 19; Tim/Steph 20/21; Jason/Roy 22; Dick/Barb 28

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