Chapter Text
Jason was pissed. And bleeding.
Those things were not directly related.
He ducked under a goon’s wild left hook and swept the dude’s legs out from underneath him. He hit the ground hard. Jason kicked him in the ribs to make sure he didn’t get back up.
Pathetic. He’d barely put up a fight.
Then he turned around and demanded, “What the fuck is your problem? You know this is my territory. Stay out of it.”
Batman did not respond. Batman was too busy fighting three goons at once.
Jason could have helped, but he didn’t feel like it. So he locked his hands above his head and stretched to either side, relishing the taut burn in his arm sockets. No one ever warned him how fatigued crime-fighting would make his joints. But Dick had been nice enough to tell him that stretching helped, and if Jason ever took his advice, he’d never let Grayson know.
If Batman struggled even a little bit, Jason wouldn’t have been so angry. This was typical Bruce: show up where he’s not wanted, show off that he’s infinitely better than his second son could ever hope to be, and leave after the inevitable screaming match. But no, Batman dispatched all three villains without breaking a sweat, tied them together, and sent the commissioner a message about where they were. Then he fired his grapple gun and swung onto the closest building’s roof.
Jason half-missed his Pit madness days. At least then he’d had an excuse for the urge to beat the shit out of his former guardian.
Though it was obviously what Bruce wanted—judging by the way he poked his head over the side of the building, staring at him in an obvious silent summon—he, too, fired his grapple gun and joined the Bat on the roof.
They were due a good argument; Jason needed an excuse not to go to the Manor on Friday for family dinner and movie night. Dick wouldn’t stop pestering him to go. He’d even roped Jason’s replacement into the mix, though Tim didn’t do a whole lot other than tell him Alfred would be disappointed if Jason didn’t show up.
Which, okay, was a pretty effective guilt trip.
To hide his disdain, he examined the soles of his boots. Scuffed, smeared with Gotham’s usual soot, slightly bloody. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to meet Bruce’s eyes. Definitely not.
Maybe the Bat would get the hint and leave.
But he could never be that lucky.
“Are you okay?”
How dare Batman sound tentative. It was a cover for his wariness—Jason knew exactly what he was doing. “Why don’t you stop pretending to care about me?” he snapped. “There’s no one around to perform for.”
“Hood—”
“I said,” Jason snapped, “get out of my territory. Crime Alley’s mine. You know that.” The familiar defensive prickle ran up his spine, urging him to snap and claw and scare the Bat away before they started fighting—really fighting—again.
“I just—”
“Shut up and go.”
Batman’s posture changed imperceptibly. A layman wouldn’t have noticed the change. Probably not Demon Spawn, either; he remained obtuse about the inner workings of humans despite living in the Manor for the last year and a half. But Jason, who remembered the Knight of Gotham tucking him into bed after a story with a kiss to his forehead, and also Bruce telling Jason he was not his son anymore, knew when the man vacillated between personalities. And when he’d decided on one.
Bruce now. Definitely.
Though there was less distinction between the two than Jason remembered from before his resurrection.
“Hood, status report,” he snapped.
It was instinct to obey. “Goon got a lucky swing to my ribs. Just needs some ice. No injuries.”
“Good. Make sure you actually ice your ribs when you go home.”
What an asshole. “I don’t need your nagging. ” But he had enjoyed it when he was Robin. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
“Is that what you call it?” Bruce said.
“Don’t criticize me.”
“Then stop making so many mistakes. In the field—”
Jason got in his face and snarled, “I know more about the field than you do. At least I’m not a coward with a moral superiority complex.”
The Bat’s glower would have made a lesser man cower. Jason reflected the resentment tenfold.
The comm in his ear crackled to life. Babs said dryly, “Hey, Hood. Having fun bickering with B?”
Judging by Bruce’s wince, she had hacked into his comm, too.
“Shut up, Barbara,” Jason said.
“Stop being children,” she ordered.
He sighed. Unlike the rest of his siblings, there was no avoiding Babs. She was everywhere. Literally. Once she shut off all the electricity in Jason’s apartment because he took too long to reply to one of her texts. All the ice cream in his freezer melted and his frozen meals spoiled.
“What do you want,” he said through gritted teeth.
“What B didn’t tell you—”
“I was getting to it,” Batman said, oddly petulant for a forty-something-year-old explaining himself.
“Sure,” she said. “Hood, Zatanna contacted B three days ago, right before going off-world. Someone was stalking her and broke into her hotel room. Stole some of her tools.”
“Okay?” Respectfully, why the fuck did they think Jason cared about the magician? What went on with those freaks didn’t affect him. No metas in Gotham, remember?
Babs continued, “Two days ago, three people in the Tricorner spontaneously turned into trees. The Shadowpact is still trying to turn them back.”
“You let them into Gotham?” Technically, just an island connected to the city, but Gotham nonetheless.
Batman growled, “They have temporary permission considering the complications.”
“AKA,” Babs said, “we have no idea how to turn them back. Because it’s magic. That’s what they’re working on. Pay attention.”
“We are,” Bruce growled. For once, Jason agreed with him.
“Yesterday morning, the police found someone in Robinson Park. He’s lost all autonomy in his body and turned into a zombie.”
“Like, a real zombie?”
“Not one like you.”
He laughed. “Hey!”
Batman shuffled his feet and grunted.
Barbara cleared his throat. “No, like… a hypnotized puppet, essentially.”
“It’s the Hatter, then.”
“No, he’s still in Arkham.”
Bruce said with no small amount of pride, “Robin put him there last month.”
Jason glared. Of course, out of the two vigilantes trained by the League of Assassins, Bruce would forgive the biological Wayne for all of the blood on his hands.
“And then, just now in the Upper East Side, a twenty-six-year old woman’s body aged roughly fifty years. There’s a pattern,” Babs said. “Can’t you see it?”
Jason ran through the map of Gotham in his head. “Whoever this person is, they’re moving Northeast. Roughly. Right?”
“Right,” she said.
Batman growled, “Crime Alley will be his next target.”
“You don’t know that,” Jason snapped. God, it was like the man had never been wrong in his whole life, like he couldn’t even fathom the possibility. It wasn’t like Jason had an entire slideshow prepared at the drop of a hat about the mistakes Batman made in the last year alone. It was roughly one hundred and fifty slides long (today was March 14th, for reference) and way too many of them focused on Jason’s former siblings, especially the Demon Spawn.
Slide Seventy-one: Damian al Ghul-Wayne existing. Although technically he hadn’t been made in the last year.
Slide Eighty-two: Damian al Ghul-Wayne was still alive, despite the combined efforts of Jason, his replacement, and the collective scum of Gotham.
Slide One Hundred Nineteen: Damian al Ghul-Wayne received a cat for slicing open a man’s femoral artery.
Okay, technically Bruce hadn’t been the one to give Demon Spawn the cat. And the dude hadn’t died since the ambulance had arrived on time. Technically, Jason was the only one to kill a man that night. But that was by shooting him in the head, which was arguably a more humane method of euthanasia than exsanguination.
There were so many more about Demon Spawn, but those were the issues Jason was most furious about.
If his helmet wasn’t climate-controlled, Jason would worry that he was overheating, considering how hot his face felt. He didn’t rule out the possibility that it was malfunctioning.
Bruce told Babs, “We’ll be on the lookout for anyone suspicious.”
“You’re in Crime Alley.” She sounded amused. “Everyone is suspicious.”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” Jason demanded. “I’m still kicking you out, old man. When will you get the hint that you’re not wanted? I don’t need you anymore.”
Babs said, “Copy that, Batman. This is Oracle, signing off.”
Basically, ‘I’m leaving before I have to deal with any more Wayne family drama.’
Jason crossed his arms in a ‘I’m being mature but you’re not making it easy’ kind of way, not an ‘I’m a sulking teenager’ kind of way. He was twenty, goddammit. When would Bruce acknowledge he could make his own decisions?
“Well?” he demanded.
Batman didn’t respond, but Jason could easily picture the raised eyebrow beneath his cowl.
“Why aren’t you leaving?” he groaned.
Batman didn’t even shrug.
Great. He was getting the silent treatment.
Jason reached for his gun.
A new voice drawled, “The Batman and the Red Hood in one place? How lucky I am!”
Oh, great. Jason whipped around and snarled, “Fuck you for proving B right and fuck you for interrupting me—”
The person in question raised his hands even though Jason didn’t have either of his guns out, a smirk playing around his mouth. “Down, boy. You don’t even know who I am yet.”
“You’re the man that stole Zatanna Zutara’s magical equipment,” Batman growled.
How did he just know that? The convenient timing was a little too convenient.
“That’s right!” the man cackled. “Little do the two of you know, this is a trap! You fools fell right into it! The only way—”
Jason said, “Be honest. Did you set this up as an excuse to interfere with my patrol?”
Batman pretended to look surprised. “Hood, this isn’t—”
“Hey,” the unknown villain interrupted. “I’m in the middle of my evil speech.”
“Right,” Jason said. “Continue.”
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, this is a trap for you both. I’ve lured you here under false pretenses!”
“How are the pretenses false?” Jason asked.
“You bespelled five innocent people,” Batman growled. He pulled out two batarangs. “It’s time for you to go behind bars.”
“‘Bespelled?’” Jason and the villain asked at the same time, because honestly, who said things like that?
Bruce gave him another weary look. Jason saw it at least five times a week. Maybe the jerk wouldn’t be so tired if he’d just accept the fact that the kid Jason used to be was dead. What remained was what had crawled out of the grave.
“Contrary to what you two think, my victims were random! They had no connection. You’ve been running around for no reason!”
“I never actually considered if they had a connection,” Jason said. He knew Batman hadn’t considered that, either, because he didn’t jump down Jason’s throat at his oversight.
The villain looked exasperated. He said, “Can you let me finish speaking?”
Jason clicked the safety off his gun. Batman flinched with hatred at the sound. “Sure.”
“I am going to rid Crime Alley of its overlord and Gotham of its protector!” the villain proclaimed. “Red Hood and Batman, prepare to be wiped from existence!”
He reached inside his bag. Jason fired his gun three times.
That would have taken care of the issue, except Batman lunged, hit his gun-arm, and threw off his aim. The bullets whizzed harmlessly by, the villain threw a smoking ball at them, and Jason tried to pistol-whip Batman in the jaw.
He dodged.
The smoking ball rolled to a stop three feet from the vigilantes and stopped smoking. It laid on the ground, a completely normal ball.
The villain looked at his bag and said, “Oh, shoot, I grabbed the wrong thing.”
Jason pointed his finger at him and snarled, “Sit down. I’ll get to you in a second.”
Finally he looked scared.
Jason charged at Batman. He growled, “Get—the fuck—out of—my—territory!” Like a linebacker, he dropped his shoulder and nailed that into Batman’s gut.
Strong hands pushed at his shoulders. Trying to get a good angle to hit him, definitely, so Jason aimed his fist at the side of Bruce’s face. The blow connected this time. Fucking finally. He lifted his leg, kicked Bruce square in the chest, and laughed when he stumbled. He brought his gun down on the back of Batman's head and Batman hit the ground.
Right on top of the ball.
Jason turned around, but the villain was gone. He groaned. “You couldn’t have fucked things up more, could you? Idiot. He’s running around throwing magic balls at people willy-nilly but no, we have to preserve the sanctity of human life.”
The air smelled like fire, which wasn’t unusual for Gotham, but it hadn’t two seconds ago.
Because Bruce’s form was entirely engulfed with billowing purple smoke.
Thank God for the air filtration aspect of Jason’s helmet.
“Hey, asshole?” he said cautiously. Who knew what the villain had thrown at them. He’d probably turned Bruce into some kind of rabid animal. Or worse, a father that actually loved his children.
It didn’t take long for the smoke to dissipate, but Bruce wasn’t there by the time it did. Jason looked up just in time to see the flick of a cape disappearing around the roof’s chimney.
“Oh, you’re not getting away that easy,” he growled. Maybe he was lucky and Batman was grievously injured. He’d be able to finish the job.
Stomping to the chimney, making no effort to hide his approach, Jason pulled out his second gun. “Come on out, you piece of shit!” He passed the chimney and—
A kid was on the roof. Staring down the barrels of Jason’s dual guns.
“Did Batman just leave you here?” Jason demanded. But he knew that was a stupid thing to ask the moment he did because the kid was—
He was—
His Batman costume was perfect, down to the last detail. But he was a kid and his bottom lip trembled at the sight of the Red Hood, which wasn’t par for the course with the regular Crime Alley kids. Shit, Jason liked those kids. That was the whole point of his efforts. He was making the city safer for them.
“Hey.” It was a conscious effort to soften his voice. Then he realized he was still holding the guns, so he hastily stowed them. “What are you doing up here, kid?”
The kid didn’t respond. Eyes stared from behind the kid-sized cowl.
His costume was so perfect.
Suspiciously so.
And a bruise poked out from underneath the edge of it. If—and this was a very big if—Jason hit the kid the same way he’d punched Batman’s face, the bruise would be in the same place.
A terrible thought sprouted at the back of Jason’s mind.
Though the kid shied away, Jason grabbed his arm. With his other hand, he reached for his mini-cowl. The kid’s attempts to shove his hand away didn’t even register. He was about the same size as Damian, when the Demon Spawn first came to the Manor, but this kid was so much more delicate. Weaker.
Jason pulled off the cowl.
He knew the face it revealed.
Disheveled black hair. Watery blue eyes. Trembling bottom lip. Freckles dusted on his nose.
He was the spitting image of Dick, Jason, or Replacement at that age. Shit, he was identical. Not for the first time, Jason found himself uncomfortable with Bruce’s adoption pattern. But he knew who the kid was.
He shook away the thoughts of how the fuck did this happen, what the fuck, how do I fix this, what the fuck, is this even fixable, what the fuck, should I leave him here on the roof, what the fuck, and does he know who I am?
“Hey, kid,” he said quietly. “Um…”
He had no idea what to do.
But Alfred would.
“I’m gonna take you home, I guess.”
The kid smiled.
Kind of.
It was almost a smile—Jason saw a glint of kid-sized white teeth—and he started to smile, too, even though the kid couldn’t see it behind his helmet.
And then the child sank his teeth into Jason’s wrist.