Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason’s first mistake was hacking the Bats’ secret comm channel.

Although could it really be called hacking when they’d never bothered to change their frequency since his Robin days? All he’d had to do was log on, and boom – instant access to the best ways to avoid meddlesome Bats while he got shit done. And since his end was carefully muted, they wouldn’t even know anyone was listening.

His second mistake was thinking he could listen without getting sucked back into their drama.

“Has anyone seen Nightwing?” Robin’s voice always made Jason grind his teeth, no matter how much he reminded himself that it wasn’t the kid’s fault that Bruce apparently needed an emotional support Robin in order to fucking function.

“He’s following a lead in the Bowery, Robin,” came the smooth, genderless voice of Oracle. Jason had yet to figure out who the Bats’ new guy-in-the-chair was, but Oracle had built up a fearsome reputation for themself, according to Jason’s League intel. Whoever they were, their skills and vast network were enough for the League to be leery of them; it had Jason paranoid and extra cautious about not getting caught with his helmet off around street cameras.

“He hasn’t checked in in the past three hours, though,” Robin argued, tone worried.

“He’s been nonresponsive on comms for far longer than that before, Robin,” Oracle reassured the Replacement. Batman made a grunt of agreement across the comms. The dynamic duo had split up earlier in the evening, with Batman apparently deciding it was safe for baby birds to fly out of the nest unsupervised, despite what had happened to the last Robin caught out by himself.

“Not since – um.” There was an awkward pause where some memory Jason wasn’t privy to hung in the air, and then the Replacement was hurrying to cover, “Not since I’ve been Robin. Nightwing always checks in. He knows Batm – we’d worry. If he was gone without checking in for too long.”

Jason wondered idly what could have possibly happened to get Dick to actually check in so that Bruce wouldn’t worry about him on patrol. Back when Jason had been Robin, it had been a miracle if Dick checked in at all during a mission – and that was on the rare occasions that Nightwing even teamed up with Batman and Robin. Batman had used to lecture Nightwing furiously after missions when Dick had refused to respond on comms; the old man had never been able to just fuckin’ tell Dick that he worried when he didn’t hear from his son in dangerous situations, had instead turned it into Lecture Time with the Insufferable Batdad Who Knows Best instead. Dick had responded by screaming at Bruce about his control issues and inability to accept that Nightwing was an independent hero before storming out of the Cave and refusing to talk to anyone in the family for a month.

So whatever had happened that had made Dick realize all of Bruce’s lectures were his irritating, helicopter-parent-y way of showing concern, and to get him to actually check in during missions, had to have been monumental.

“…I’m sure Nightwing’s fine.” Oracle did not sound sure that Nightwing was fine. “But I’ll see if I can find any recent sightings of him in the area.”

Jason, on the other hand, was sure that Nightwing was fine. Nightwing was always fine. The Golden Dick Grayson, the standard to which a younger Jason could never measure up, always managed to wiggle out of whatever situation he got himself into. If Nightwing had been the one captured by the Joker – well, Nightwing would’ve seen through Sheila’s lies and not been tricked in the first place. But even if he had, he would’ve made it out of that warehouse before the Joker beat him halfway to hell. He definitely would’ve gotten out before the bomb went off.

So there was no reason to be worried about Big Bird. No reason for him to abandon his patrol of Crime Alley to go check on his former not-brother. No reason to –

“Last sighting of Nightwing was four hours ago, and he’s not responding even on private comms,” Oracle reported, disguised voice sounding truly worried now.

Fuck, he was going to have to go see what the stupid bird had gotten himself into.

He fired his grappler in the opposite direction of where he’d been swinging, making his way toward the Bowery even as Batman tersely stated that he was 14 minutes out. That was fine, Jason was 2 minutes out.

He swung through the night sky, tuning out Batman ordering Robin to stay put on the comms, followed by the predictable response of yet another Robin refusing to listen and stay out of a fight.

The warehouse Nightwing had been surveilling earlier in the night was quiet, when Jason reached it – which was either a very good sign, or a very bad one. Jason landed on the roof silently, seeking out a skylight and bracing himself before glancing at the scene below.

The warehouse appeared almost empty, save for the lone figure of Nightwing, apparently unconscious and tied to a chair in the center of the ramshackle building. Even from this height, Jason could make out the blood caked into his not-brother’s hair where he was slumped forward in his bonds. What he couldn’t see was whether or not the vigilante was still breathing.

Fuck. Fuck. He was so getting caught by Batman for this.

Jason slipped inside through the skylight and grappled down, landing softly in front of Nightwing, body tensed for a fight. When no one rushed him from the corners, Jason stepped forward, closer to the captured bird. “Wing?” he prompted gruffly, glad that the voice modulator hid his trepidation. This was the first time he’d been this close to Nightwing outside of a fight.

Nightwing didn’t answer, so Jason inched closer and shook the other man’s shoulder. “Wing? C’mon man, you alive?” he pressed. Nightwing, predictably, didn’t deign to answer, but Jason was close enough now that he could see the vigilante’s chest moving up and down. He was breathing, which meant he was alive, which meant Jason could get the fuck out before the Bat arrived.

Exhaling in relief, Jason spun around, ready to aim his grappler and go – only to spot a timer attached to a suspiciously bomb-like device in the corner, the glowing numbers reading 00:03:31 but ticking steadily down.

00:03:26.

A different timer was flashing before Jason’s eyes, that godawful laughter echoing in his ears.

00:03:13.

“Which hurts more, A or B?”

00:03:02.

“Forehand or backhand?”

00:02:54.

“Tell the big man I said hello!”

00:02:41.

Jason wrenched himself out of it with a snap, jerking his gaze away from the timer and back to Nightwing. Nightwing, who was still unconscious even as the timer ticked steadily towards zero.

Nightwing, who Batman wasn’t going to be in time to save.

00:01:57.

Nightwing could get himself out of it. Hadn’t Jason just been thinking that, if it had been Nightwing in Ethiopia, he would’ve rescued himself instead of getting himself murdered? Here was Big Bird’s big opportunity to prove it.

Only Nightwing wasn’t waking up, and time was too-quickly running out.

00:01:06.

Jason forced his legs to unlock, yanking a knife and cutting the unconscious vigilante’s bonds before sliding one limp arm over his own shoulder, lifting and leaning to take Nightwing’s dead weight, and aiming the grappler. They had just touched down on the rooftop of the building next door, Jason setting Nightwing down on his back, when the warehouse blew, debris and ashes scattering through the air.

And that, finally, appeared to be enough to rouse Sleeping Beauty.

Nightwing groaned, rolling over to his side as he spat blood onto the roof before his head lifted. The white lenses of a domino met the white glowing eyes of the helmet, and Nightwing stared.

“Red Hood? What’re you doing here?” Nightwing’s speech was slightly slurred, but sharpening with each word. The vigilante sat up with a wince of pain but wasn’t stupid enough to try standing immediately, thank fuck.

Well, Jason couldn’t exactly tell the truth without raising a whole helluva lot of questions. “Crime,” Jason said, gesturing expansively at the blown-to-hell warehouse, then gestured to himself. “Criminal.”

Nightwing’s head tilted, and he gave Jason an extremely judgmental look, for a guy who’d recently been tied to a chair. “That was a money laundering scheme – not your usual M.O.”

Jason hated that Nightwing felt like he had a grasp on his M.O. “Maybe I’m expanding my repertoire. Ever think about that, asshole?” he said irritably. Nightwing just hummed in a way that Jason knew meant that he wasn’t buying it.

“Expanding it to what, rescuing vigilantes?” he asked, and Jason stomped closer so that he was looming over Nightwing, who was still seated on the roof.

“Who said this was a rescue?” he growled. Nightwing didn’t bother to look even slightly intimidated, lips twitching instead into a grin.

“Y’know, you’re a really bad criminal,” the vigilante said conversationally.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve been very naughty, and you and the dynamic duo are going to drag me to Arkham first chance you get,” he filled in, only for Nightwing to snort.

“No, I meant you’re bad at being a criminal,” he clarified with his obnoxious grin still in place. The words drew Jason up short.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, and Nightwing’s grin widened as he pushed himself to his feet.

“It means that word about your rules – about not hurting the working girls and not selling drugs to kids – has spread,” the blue-and-black vigilante said, swaying slightly but successfully remaining on two legs. “And Batman may be willing to dismiss it, but crime rates in Crime Alley have gone down ever since you claimed it as your territory.”

Jason swallowed, then squared his shoulders. “Yeah, ‘cause I put the bastards who break the rules down, unlike your pack of cowards,” he snarled. Nightwing just shrugged, unperturbed.

“Which is why Batman still wants to bring you in,” he agreed cheerfully. Jason gave him a look that he couldn’t see behind the helmet.

“But you don’t?”

Nightwing waved a hand airily. “Well, as long as you’re doing the whole killing thing, of course we’ll have to keep trying. But if you stopped…” he trailed off, eyeing Jason significantly while Jason fought off a wave of green.

“If I stop killing, then what – I get to be one of you?” he spat. Nightwing watched him calmly, which only made Jason angrier. “What makes you think I’d even want that? And why the hell would you even make an offer like that? Aren’t you Bats supposed to be paranoid? You don’t know shit about me!”

The other vigilante gave him a piercing look, his expression taking on that serious look that Jason remembered coming out on occasion. People often seemed to underestimate Nightwing because of his cheerful demeanor, but Jason knew just how dangerous the vigilante could be underneath his airheaded smile. “I’ve been watching you,” Nightwing said, and now Jason was a little worried, the green receding in the face of his trepidation. Just what had his not-brother seen? “I think you want to help people, but you’re going about it the wrong way.”

And just like that, the green was back. “The wrong way?” Jason scoffed furiously, taking a step forward and jabbing a finger in Nightwing’s direction. “You’re the one who’s going about it the wrong way! You let them kill again and again and do fuck all to actually stop it! You lock them up in Arkham or Blackgate – two places that practically have revolving doors, at this point. And they get out over and over again, just to go do the same shit – hurt and rape and kill and ruin peoples’ fucking lives! You think my way is the wrong way? My way is the only way that works to keep people safe!”

Nightwing had both hands in the air in a placating gesture, and only then did Jason realize he’d been effectively ranting his monologue at an injured Bat – a total C-list Rogue move. Fuck Nightwing and fuck this shitty day for reducing him to this. Jason was never coming to save one of the Bats’ asses again.

He’d backed up a step, making to leave, when Nightwing spoke again, tone careful and measured. “I know it can be frustrating and seem pointless, but killing is not the answer.”

Jason, who was halfway turned to fire his grappler over at the next roof, gritted his teeth and didn’t turn back. “Killing is the only answer, you Bats are just too goddamn blind to see it. And if that makes me a villain in your eyes, so be it. I’ll be the worst fucking villain this city’s ever seen.”

“And yet you saved me tonight.”

The words hung in the air between them. “That doesn’t mean anything,” Jason bit out, refusing to look at the other man.

He could feel Nightwing’s eyes on him anyway. “It means something to me.”

Before Jason had to figure out how to answer that, there was a near-silent thud from across the rooftop, the sound of a Bat touching down. Jason spun instantly, drawing his guns and aiming them at the cowled figure who’d just landed.

“Batman,” he greeted his former mentor coolly, heart thudding erratically in his chest. This wasn’t the first time he’d run into the Bat – he was a criminal in Gotham, of course it wasn’t the first time. But until now, it had always been quick, glancing interactions – a shouted threat across a rooftop, or the furious sound of pursuit as Jason slipped into the night. Never long enough for more than a word or two in exchange – Jason had known instinctively that he wasn’t ready for more than that.

He’d had plans, at one point – plans to try to get his former mentor, his adoptive father, to finally do the right thing and kill the Joker – but those plans had gone up in smoke when the Pit madness had cleared juuuuust enough for rational thought to peek in. Bruce hadn’t killed the Joker since Jason’s death – not because he couldn’t, since Batman was certainly skilled enough to take that fucker out once and for all.

Bruce hadn’t killed the Joker because he wouldn’t, because that sick fuck’s life was worth more to him than Jason’s death.

That realization had hurt worse than anything the Joker had done to him, but it had also given Jason the clarity he needed to abandon his previous plans and return to Gotham for the right reasons – to finish the job that he’d died for and clean the city up, but do it right this time around. No stupid ‘no killing’ code, and no Bats.

Which made his current situation all the more frustrating.

“Red Hood,” Batman returned his greeting in his usual growl, and Jason held himself rigid to prevent the flinch that wanted to escape at hearing his former-dad mentor address him so coldly. Logically, he knew there was no way for Bruce to know that it was him under here, but logic wasn’t doing much for him right then.

“Nightwing,” Nightwing chirped cheerfully from where he was now leaning heavily against the roof’s guardrail. It broke through a steadily rising panic in Jason’s mind, and he and Batman both turned to look at the other vigilante with varying degrees of judgment. Nightwing only shrugged. “I was feeling left out.”

“Go home, Nightwing,” Batman ordered, and Nightwing’s bright grin barely wavered.

“In a minute. I haven’t finished thanking my rescuer yet,” he countered, jerking his head in Jason’s direction.

“Rescuer?” Batman’s intense gaze landed on Jason, and he felt his skin crawl, just barely able to keep himself from brushing a hand against his helmet to make sure it was still in place and those eerie eyes couldn’t see beneath it.

“Yes,” Nightwing said cheerfully. “My rescuer. I was just telling him that he should really consider joining up with us, if he rethinks the whole killing thing.”

“Not happening,” Batman and Jason said in jarring synchronicity, then turned to glare at each other.

“The Red Hood is a killer and a threat, Nightwing,” Batman growled, looming in the way he always did when he wanted to intimidate criminals – or convince one of his sons to back down.

“Ouch, I’m hurt,” Jason deadpanned, irritated – though he wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed with Nightwing for making the offer or Batman for immediately nixing it. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, old man, I already told the Golden Boy where he could shove his offer.”

Nightwing frowned at him. “You should really think about it,” he encouraged, and Jason scowled at him, an expression that was totally lost behind the helmet.

“Unlike you, apparently, I still have enough brain cells to recognize a bad idea when I hear one without needing to ‘think about it,’” Jason said snidely. “Answer’s no. I’m out.”

He aimed his grappler at the next building and shot off – but not quickly enough to miss Nightwing calling after him, “We’ll take that as a ‘maybe,’ then!”

God, he was so fucking annoying. Jason was never leaving his side of the tracks again.

Swinging back into Crime Alley, Jason kept half an ear open for the sound of pursuit, but it seemed Batman had his hands full taking care of his injured bird. Still, the hypervigilance that had saved his ass so many times stuck with him until he’d gotten well into his territory.

The working girls waved at him as he swung by, and he gave them a quick salute in return. They worked out of a building he owned, now, and it seemed to be working out well; it was much safer than going home with any of the johns who paid for their time, and the girls had been grateful when he’d gifted the rooms to them. Suspicious, too, but he thought he’d won them over by now, when he hadn’t asked for anything in return.

They weren’t the only ones who waved when he passed, either. Jason had been surprised by how genuinely glad Crime Alley seemed to be to have its own protector, but a truly shocking number of people seemed pleased to see him during his patrols, now.

The early days had been harder, when the Alley was still expecting the worst from him. It made sense for them to be wary, of course, given their past experiences with crime lords who came in, took over, then ran roughshod over the Alley. Black Mask had nearly lost him the trust of the Alley completely, when he unleashed the Joker from Arkham in an attempt to reign Jason in.

The news that Black Mask had broken Joker out of Arkham had had Crime Alley tense with terror – because at that point, the war between Black Mask and Red Hood had been going strong, and the Alley’s denizens all knew that, if Mask and Joker had reached an accord about Hood, then Joker would be coming for them.

Strangely, though, Joker hadn’t.

Jason was still puzzled by it. He’d thought his heart had stopped in his chest when he’d heard that Mask had broken Joker out of Arkham, and he’d been expecting the worst all night, as he paced through the Alley like a caged tiger, on high alert for anything even slightly off. But the Joker never showed his face.

Jason had felt eyes on him all night, watching, observing – but nothing ever happened. The Joker never made a move, and Jason never caught anyone actually watching him, was never sure if the gaze he felt was anything more than his own paranoia. Weeks later, the Joker had been recaptured by Batman & Co, without ever doing anything more villainous than jaywalking, as far as anyone could tell. It had confused the hell out of the entire city, and the placid, knowing expression on Joker’s face on the TV when he’d been carted to Arkham had created a cold, unsettled feeling in Jason’s stomach. Whatever he’d discovered that had put that expression on his face was bad news for everyone.

But in the meantime, the Alley had been relieved by the reprieve, and Mask had backed off almost completely after his plan failed. It had created a sense of tentative hope in the Alley, and it was after that when Jason had really noticed the shift in the peoples’ attitude towards him.

And yet, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched sometimes, like cold eyes and pale skin were observing him and seeing far more than he’d wish.

It was probably just his own paranoia. That was what Jason had pretty well decided, at least, since it had been months since Joker’s return to Arkham without a single peep from the clown. Jason was justifiably concerned over what would happen when the Joker escaped again, as he always did, and sensing eyes on him when there were none was probably just a manifestation of that worry.

Still, it didn’t make it any easier on nights like tonight, when he was already highly strung given his run-in with Batman, to feel like someone was watching him.

Thankfully, Jason had pretty well finished his patrol earlier, and zipping all the way to the Bowery had pretty much finished up what he hadn’t already gotten to. He could afford to turn in a bit early tonight, when his nerves were so on edge. He aimed the grappler for his safehouse on the next swing; there was hot tea and a good book calling his name anyway, and he could do with some of Mr. Darcy’s particular brand of dry humor after a night like tonight.

Chapter Text

“You’re being hypocritical, B.” Nightwing sounded exasperated, but Jason would bet that Nightwing’s annoyed expression had nothing on how harangued Batman was probably looking right now.

It had been a solid couple of weeks since Jason had rescued his stupid not-brother from the warehouse, and the arguments over the comms had yet to subside.

“No, you’re being naïve,” came the returning growl.

It didn’t help that Jason had sorta helped Dick twice more over the course of that time by shooting a couple of fuckers who’d tried to take wide open shots at Nightwing’s back. At this point, someone needed to have a serious talk with Dick about his self-preservation instincts – or complete fucking lack thereof – because the fact that Jason had had to a) save his ass twice more and b) Nightwing had then responded to a goddamn crime lord shooting the thugs who’d tried to kill him in the kneecaps by giving the criminal a jaunty little wave of thanks really didn’t bode well for his long-term survival.

“It’s not naïve when he’s shown multiple times now that he can be relied on to help,” Nightwing argued.

Jason just wanted a peaceful night of patrol – was that too much to ask? The Bats had been going on long enough that he’d started getting a headache from all the goddamn arguing. He’d wound up sitting on the edge of a rooftop in Crime Alley, legs dangling over the side, while he listened to his former family fight about him.

“He’s a criminal, Nightwing,” Batman gritted out, sounding truly annoyed. Jason could just picture him, looming on some ledge overlooking the city somewhere, the visible half of his face showing only the disapproving line of his lips.

“Uh, guys,” Robin interjected, but was promptly ignored.

“He’s helping people, same as us. The only reason you still think of him as a criminal is because you don’t like his methods,” Nightwing shot back. That was nice, but also, Jason was definitely a criminal. He was all for sticking it to Batman, but call a spade a spade – Jason committed crimes, and he wasn’t sorry about it. He did what he had to do to keep people safe.

“He runs the criminal underworld, Nightwing. Explain to me how that’s helping people.” Well, Jason didn’t exactly do that, not anymore, but he was perfectly happy to let people keep thinking that – people were less likely to fuck with someone they thought was still a big-time crime boss.

“He doesn’t, though,” Nightwing argued, and Jason’s eyebrows went up. “I’ve been looking into it. Yeah, when the Red Hood first came to Gotham, he got a lot more heavily involved in the criminal parts of it – but now, he mostly just runs Crime Alley. He’s got his fingers in the drug trade, but it seems to be more so that he can regulate it than because he wants to profit from it. He’s instituted all these rules about who they’re allowed to sell to and how much they’re allowed to sell to one person at a time – and since he’s been in charge, drug overdoses and underage drug charges have gone down in Park Row.”

What. How the hell had Dick found out all of that? Or actually – given that Nightwing probably had access to Oracle’s vast network of information, the better question was really why had Nightwing had them dig up all that information on him? That was some serious research…and an impressively spot-on analysis, given that it wasn’t like the Red Hood had had a heart-to-heart with Nightwing about his motivations.

“So – what, you think he’s using his criminal empire to try to stop crimes?” Batman asked, tone dry as the Sahara.

Now that was the skepticism Jason had expected from the Bats. Because what they refused to see was that the justice system they relied so heavily on didn’t work. Their method of catching criminals to get them locked away wasn’t doing shit, given all the corruption on the police force and in the legal system, and if the corrupt justice system was going to fail at every turn, then the best way to reduce crime was from within the criminal organizations themselves. Control the crime, rather than trying to eradicate it.

It was a logic that Jason knew Bruce would never accept.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Nightwing responded airily, though there was a slightly forbidding edge to his voice. Jason knew that tone – it was the tone Dick got when he was trying not to start a fight but was getting sick of B questioning him incessantly. It had been a precursor to way too many fights at the Manor, back when Jason had lived there.

“Nightwing – “

“Guys,” Robin interrupted again, but Nightwing wouldn’t be deterred.

“B, c’mon, I know I’m right on this.” Nightwing’s tone had turned serious, and Jason’s emotions were churning in his stomach. “All of my instincts are telling me this guy is trying to help, in his own way – he’s just going about it more…aggressively than us.” There was moment, and then the intensity lifted, and Nightwing chirped, “He’s like a Byronic hero!”

“Excuse me?”

“A Byronic hero – you know, the broody, rebellious type with the dark, tragic past who everyone thinks is a bad guy but is really just misunderstood,” Nightwing elaborated, and Jason blinked, a conversation coming back to him from a million years ago, during one of Dick’s rare visits to the Manor when Jason first started living there.

“I can honestly say I did not know,” Batman deadpanned. “Why is it that you know?”

There was a sudden quiet over the comms, and then Nightwing said in a forcibly light tone, “I guess Jason told me, once. During one of his literature rants.”

The silence was deafening. Jason almost pulled out the comm to check and make sure it was working, but he felt frozen, throat dry at the sound of his own name being spoken by someone he’d thought had all-but-forgotten him.

“No names on comms,” came Batman’s eventual response in a hard, final voice. Jason – Jason didn’t know what to feel.

“Guys, really sorry to interrupt, but I could use a little help over here,” Robin cut in, tone strained – and just like that, the tense moment passed, and Batman and Nightwing were focused in on their newest little bird.

“Robin, report,” Batman commanded, and Jason could hear the concern in his voice. Nightwing chimed in worriedly a half-second later, with Oracle calling out the baby bird’s location, a mere few blocks from where Jason was currently still frozen on a rooftop.

They didn’t need him. They – they may not have forgotten him like he’d thought they had, but they didn’t need him. Batman and Nightwing could save this Robin without his help –

The sound of gunfire ricocheted through the rooftops from a few buildings over.

Jason cursed and headed that way.

There was something deeply wrong with Jason.

That was what Jason had decided, after the fourth time he’d saved one of the birds’ lives. Once is chance, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern, four times – four times means that Jason has a fucking problem.

But what the hell was he supposed to do, when his idiot not-brothers were so good at getting themselves into trouble?

When Jason had dropped in, guns blazing, on the baby bird being pinned down by a bunch of goons with guns, it had been with the mental promise that this was the last time he would rescue one of the Bats. And then he’d promptly broken that promise several nights later, when Dickwing got himself captured by one of the trafficking rings he’d been tracking.

Yeah, Jason hadn’t minded taking those assholes down under Nightwing’s watchful gaze.

But the arguments on the comms were now Nightwing and Robin vs. the ever-forbidding Batman, and it had been giving Jason a headache even before he made it worse by rescuing Robin a second time. At this point, he was about to start charging them for his goddamn services.

What was even worse was that other people had started to notice. The rumor that Red Hood was working with the Bats had turned the edges of Jason’s vision a distinctly ominous green the first time he’d heard it, and it was ruining his reputation in the underworld. If it had just been Robin that Jason was saving, he probably could’ve passed it off as part of his protecting kids shtick – but Nightwing had to go and fuck it up for him, as per usual.

It had also unfortunately resulted in the rumor that a good way to divert the Red Hood’s attention was by kidnapping one of the Bats – which was what had led to tonight: Jason breaking into another warehouse where another Robin was tied to a chair with a bomb rigged to go off way too soon. There was a deal going on down at the docks that the Lucky Hand triad had apparently been trying to distract him from; unfortunately for them, Oracle had already cottoned on to their little operation, and Nightwing had been in the middle of breaking it up the last time Jason had paid attention on comms.

Nightwing had been bantering with the triad goons, and Jason had been about to head that way to “help” (re: break some kneecaps) when one of the triad members had bragged to Nightwing about their brilliant idea of distracting Hood by kidnapping Robin – which had been news to Hood.

Jason would just like to point out that it was very hard to distract Hood by kidnapping Robin if Hood didn’t know about the goddamn kidnapping.

Whatever. The triad leaders were idiots, what else was new.

It did mean that Jason was bursting into the warehouse hair-raisingly close to when the timer on the bomb was set to go off, cutting Robin free, sweeping him up, and grappling them both out with just a few seconds to spare.

He landed on an open stretch of concrete between warehouses hard as the building exploded behind him, going to a knee and instinctively curling Robin against his chest and shielding him from the burst of heat. The roiling heat passed quickly, and Jason looked down at the feather-light kid in his arms, eyes closed but chest thankfully moving up and down rhythmically and putting Jason’s worst fears to rest.

“Kid?” Jason called gruffly. He shifted Robin’s weight to one arm so he could poke the too-tiny vigilante in the cheek. Robin scrunched up his nose and made a grumbling noise, and Jason poked him again. “C’mon, baby bird, wakey wakey. You gotta let me know you’re alright.”

“’M fine. Jus’ gave me a sed’tive,” Robin murmured, then swatted at Jason’s hand when he poked him in the cheek again, annoyed. “F’ve more minutes,” the kid whined, and Jason rolled his eyes even as relief filled him.

A prickle on the back of his neck had him scooping Robin back up and spinning to see Batman landing a few feet away – Batman, who was looking at them with an expression that had Jason freezing.

Because Batman was eyeing Jason and Robin with something akin to fear, and that – that was an expression he hadn’t known Batman was capable of making. Jason’s mind was spinning, wondering what would’ve put that expression on his former-mentor’s face, and he found all the smartass comments he’d usually make drying up on his tongue. Had there been a fear toxin release that Jason hadn’t heard about? What else would have B looking at them like that? It was just an explosion –

Oh.

It hit Jason, then, what Batman was seeing.

The explosion. The smoking ruins of a warehouse. The unmoving body of a Robin lying limply in his arms.

“Kid’s fine,” Jason finally blurted, thankful that the voice modulator of the helmet made the words come out curt. Batman didn’t say a word, just stared at them – at Robin, really. He was watching the rise and fall of his chest, if Jason had to guess, as if he was expecting that at any moment those breaths would stop, like the last Robin’s had.

Abruptly, Jason couldn’t fucking stand it. He strode forward, steps jerky, and thrust the baby bird at the Bat, who took him wordlessly. Batman looked down at the living, breathing Robin in his arms like he wasn’t sure the boy was really there, and Jason – Jason didn’t want to read the expression on his face. His own face felt hot and prickly, and some emotion he refused to name was crawling under his skin.

He backed away a step as Batman’s gaze snapped to him, gauntleted hands holding Robin’s body more tightly, tugging him towards safety. Jason’s eyes followed the movement, and he swallowed. “Just – would it kill you to show up on time?” he finally asked, snapping back to meet those unfathomable eyes, hidden behind the mask.

And then he fled.

The comms were subdued for a few days after that, with Robin benched from patrol and everyone else too busy fighting off memories to fight on the comms.

Jason had decided to deal with the unwanted emotions by throwing himself into actual fights, certain that if he stopped moving for too long, his past would catch up and bury him in flashbacks.

He’d stuck to his side of the city, though, not wanting to risk running into Batman or Nightwing during their patrols as he threw himself in the path of whatever danger he could find – muggers, gang fights, arms deals; Gotham had no shortage of crime, and Jason would take anything if it would stave off the memory of Bruce’s expression and silence the little voice in the back of his head that quietly wondered if that terrified devastation had been on Bruce’s face when he’d found Jason’s body.

It hadn’t been, right? Jason knew better than to imagine he’d mattered enough to Bruce for that – Bruce had replaced him so quickly, after all. Not that it mattered. Because Jason had chosen his path, separate from the Bats, and he wasn’t going back. It was better this way – he knew that. He’d known that since he came back from the dead and Talia shoved a newspaper bearing the headline ‘Batman and Robin Return the Joker to Arkham’ into his hands and showed him nothing had changed. Nothing had changed, and his spot had been so cleanly filled, as if he’d never existed in the first place. There was nothing for him to go back to; he’d long-since accepted that.

Just – why did the thought leave a hollow feeling, now?

Honestly, Jason was surprised he even could feel hollow; he was so accustomed to the Pit’s rage filling any void it could find that the sensation was intensely jarring. And for some reason, the adrenaline from the fights wasn’t helping as much as Jason had hoped – not that that stopped Jason from continuing to try, possibly long past the point after which he should’ve stopped.

Because after four days of throwing himself into any fight he could find, after the countless bruises and shallow wounds he’d gotten as a result, after the constant adrenaline paired with the lack of sleep and resultant exhaustion, Jason might not have been in his peak fighting condition. Which he might be paying for, after picking a fight with a group of armed gang members.

In his defense, they’d had a woman cornered and were making some godawful comments about their fucking plans for her – so what exactly had he been supposed to do?

Jumping into the middle of them and throwing punches may have been a too-hasty answer, upon reflection. The breath whooshed out of him when one of them landed a hit on his abdomen, and he absorbed the blow, ignoring the way it twinged the bullet wound in his calf as he struck out with a kick of his own, knocking the attacker back enough to get a few much-needed inches of breathing room. Unfortunately for him, the gang had numbers on their side and pressed their advantage.

Jason was rapidly reaching the conclusion that he was capital-f Fucked when, of all things, the goddamn Batman dropped in.

The fight went pretty quickly after that, with the gang members lying unconscious on the ground until it was just Jason and Batman left upright, with Jason staring at a motionless Batman and waiting for Mr. I-Am-Vengeance to attack the last murderer standing. The young woman he’d dropped in to save had scampered away after the gang members were down, and normally Jason would shadow her to make sure she got home okay, but tonight, he couldn’t quite muster the energy – and even if he could’ve, there was Batman to contend with. He knew he should be fighting for his freedom right now – but Christ, he was so fucking tired, and he had no illusions about his ability to beat the Bat, or even outrun him, in his current condition.

But Batman wasn’t attacking him.

“What’re you waiting for?” Jason asked eventually. Batman appeared to be eyeing him critically, and Jason resisted the urge to hunch in on himself defensively. He knew he looked like shit, and having those analytical eyes scanning him was making him only more aware of the still-bleeding injuries and the exhausted slump to his shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be out like this,” Batman responded in his characteristic growl, and Jason’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What – “

“Oracle has been keeping track of your behavior the past few nights. You’re in no condition to be out tonight, if even half of the reports are true. Go home.”

Jason blinked. “You’re…letting me go,” he said, the statement coming out almost as a question with the force of his bewilderment. The Bat remained silent, but he made no move to try to arrest Jason, which Jason supposed was as close to confirmation as he was going to get. “But I kill people.”

He wanted to take the words back as soon as they escaped – it wasn’t like he wanted to be dragged off to prison, and he knew better than to give Batman reasons to arrest him – but give him a break, his brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment.

Batman just stared at him evenly, then glanced down at the unconscious men at their feet, then back up to Jason. “Not tonight, you haven’t. Or at all, since Nightwing made his offer.”

Wait – that couldn’t be right. Could it? Jason wracked his brain, alarmed, but couldn’t think of a single person he’d killed since the first time he’d rescued his stupid not-brother. “That’s just – that’s a coincidence,” he protested weakly.

“I assumed as much,” Batman responded. “Still. After your actions with Robin…it would be poor form to arrest you now.”

Jason just stared at him dumbly. “…Right.”

Batman sighed. “Go home. You shouldn’t have been out tonight in the first place.”

Jason made a noise of protest. “There was a girl, they’d have hurt her – what, was I supposed to leave them to it?” he asked, aware that his words were jumbled and his tone was painfully close to a whine but unable to muster enough energy to be embarrassed.

“I’m not sure how getting yourself nearly killed was of any assistance to that girl,” Batman said drily, and Jason resisted the urge to shrink before that tone. It was the same one Bruce had used on him when he’d done something stupid as Robin. “You should know when to call for backup.”

Jason snorted before he could stop himself. “Backup? Right. Who am I supposed to call exactly? Black Mask? Not sure he’d be all that willing to lend a hand,” he said sardonically, and the Batman Frown of Disapproval deepened.

“You go out at night without backup?”

Jason must have a death (or, well, imprisonment) wish, because the question had him bristling. “Like you’ve never done that before,” he shot back.

Batman didn’t rise to his ire. “And I learned that it was unwise to do so.”

Jason deflated. “Well, I don’t have a whole lotta other choices,” he said, knowing the exhaustion was clear even in his modulated voice. Batman was quiet for a moment, contemplative in a way that made Jason’s skin itch. “How’s the kid?” Jason asked, partially to change the subject, and partially because there was a little part of him that he couldn’t squash that was worried.

“Robin will make a full recovery,” Batman answered, and Jason knew how carefully the paranoid man modulated his tone, but he didn’t think he was imagining the relief that he heard. There was a pause, and then Batman said, “Thank you. For saving him.”

If Jason had been feeling better, he’d have probably railed against the man for not saving Robin himself, for being too late again. As it was, he just shrugged and said, “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Hn,” came the oh-so-eloquent response. “Go home.”

“Yeah,” Jason sighed. “Okay.”

He went home.

It didn’t take long for the embarrassment to kick in. In fact, it took precisely one 18-hour sleep-fest, and then Jason’s much-more-well-rested brain promptly tormented him with every mortifying part of that night – from being rescued like some sort of damsel in distress (like some sort of Robin) to being chided for going out while tired and injured to being told that Oracle had been keeping an eye on his behavior.

Also, that Batman had let him go at all was baffling, but the way he’d scolded Jason and sent him home like Jason was a misbehaving child was just…Jason needed some time to process the absolute fuckery of it. What the hell was happening in Bruce’s head?

Luckily, his brooding gargoyle was the most peaceful place in the city. It was where he went when he wanted absolute peace and serenity, a moment to be alone with his thoughts and avoid the woes of the world. It was one of the few places left that Jason could count on to be a locus of solitude and isolation, and he treasured his oasis of tranquility.

“Hood.”

“FUCK,” Jason yelped, jumping a solid foot in the air before managing to somehow stick the handing on the rooftop ledge by the gargoyle. He spun around to face the one person he wanted to see the least, looming a few steps behind on the roof. “Batman? What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. “Christ, make a noise or something – warn a guy!”

Really, it was Jason’s own fault – he should’ve been paying better attention. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed someone sneaking up on him – though Bruce’s approach had always been tough to pick up even on a good day, back when he was Robin. Still, his League training should’ve been enough to register it; Jason just hadn’t been expecting anyone to come to his gargoyle.

He glared at Batman, an expression lost under the helmet, but the Gotham’s Dark Knight looked surprisingly awkward anyway. “I – visit here sometimes,” he growled out haltingly, and Jason blinked before registering that Batman was answering his question.

“Visit?” he asked, the strange word choice sticking out.

“It’s – this spot was a favorite of someone I once knew. I come here sometimes, when he’s on my mind.”

Oh. Oh.

Oh, god. Was Bruce – was Bruce talking about him?

He could still remember with aching clarity the last time he and Bruce had been up here, in this exact spot, when Bruce had snuck up on him and Jason had demanded to know how he’d found him. Even under the cowl, Jason had been able to tell that Bruce was amused when he said, “You’re the only kid I’ve ever met who has a favorite gargoyle.” Jason had scowled at him, annoyed that Bruce scrutinized his habits that closely, but also secretly touched that he cared enough to notice.

“Seems like an odd place for someone to like so much,” Jason heard himself comment as if from a distance.

Batman hummed, gazing out over the city lights spread below. “He said it was a good place to get away from everyone but still keep an eye on the city.” Jason. Jason had said that. “I think he just liked the dramatic edge that being up here gave him.”

Well, that was just unfair. “You’re criticizing someone for having a flair for the dramatic?” Jason asked incredulously, eyeing the big black fursuit of doom.

Batman inclined his head, as if to say touché. A semi-easy silence fell between them for a moment as they eyed each other.

“You remind me of him,” Batman said suddenly.

There was something stuck in Jason’s throat. “What?” he forced out, glad the helmet’s modulator disguised his choked voice.

“You just – remind me of him sometimes.” The Dark Knight looked away, inscrutable gaze searching out over the city. “He was reckless, too.”

Before Jason could even think to formulate a response to that, Batman had aimed his grappler – but he paused before swinging away. “Here,” he said, throwing something small and round at Jason, who caught it on reflex and glanced down at the comm unit now resting innocuously in his glove. “Nightwing and Robin have been advocating for this for weeks, and…well, I’m not unaware of the debt we owe you for the number of times you’ve assisted them. And after how I found you last time…if you need help, use that to call for us.”

And without giving Jason the chance to respond – to throw it back at him, to insist that he didn’t need the Bats’ help, to grind it to dust under his boot, to accept it and thank him – he swung off, leaving Jason staring over the city with the little device that could officially connect him to his old life resting in the palm of his hand.

Chapter Text

That innocuous little comm was going to be the end of him.

Jason had been sitting at the kitchen table of his safehouse, staring at it, for a frankly ridiculous amount of time, as though it would give him the answers he sought if he just glared long enough.

What the hell was Bruce’s angle here? Why the hell would the Bat give the Red Hood a comm? Was it so that they could pin down his crimes? Or come to “help” him when he was weakened enough to call for backup and cart him off to Arkham?

But no, that didn’t make sense – Batman had had every chance to do that when Jason was practically dead on his feet, and the world’s most unforgiving vigilante had sent him to bed.

It just. It just was so confusing. And no matter how fiercely Jason glared at the comm, it refused to give him any answers.

Jason was still torn over what to do by the time he was suiting up to head out for patrol, dawdling till the last minute. Take it, or don’t take it? Use it, or reject the offer of help?

Talk to his family, or leave them behind?

He took the stupid comm.

He was several rooftops over when he tuned in, Dick’s cheerful voice chiming through. “ – sure you gave him the comm, right, B?”

“Yes, Nightwing,” came Batman’s exasperated reply. “I gave him the comm. Perhaps if you would exhibit some degree of patience…”

“Aw, now you’re asking for miracles, Batman,” Robin teased.

There was the sound of a pointed throat-clearing, and then Oracle said, “Guys, Hood’s comm is active.”

“Hood!”

“Welcome!”

Nightwing and Robin chimed in immediately, and Jason resisted the urge to awkwardly wave at people who couldn’t fucking see him. “Um. Hey,” he said lamely, wincing at how stilted the words sounded.

Jason had never been more grateful for Dick’s unflappable nature. “I’m glad you decided to take us up on our offer,” Nightwing said brightly.

“Yeah, uh. Thanks,” Jason responded, still feeling unbearably clumsy. “It’s…not something I was expecting.”

Nightwing’s laugh chimed through the link. “After all the saves, I think it’s the least we can do.”

“Yeah, plus B was worried about you after last time,” Robin chimed in. “He couldn’t give you the whole no-going-out-by-yourself lecture, so he gave it to us instead.” Jason would swear he could hear the kid rolling his eyes over the comm. He remembered that lecture though, so he couldn’t exactly blame Robin for his resentment of being subjected to it; it was annoying.

Nightwing lowered his voice conspiratorially, as though that would keep Batman from hearing them across the shared comm link. “You don’t know this yet, but Batman’s actually a helicopter parent. He’ll smother you, if you let him.”

“I didn’t realize that you considered my concern for basic safety to be smothering, Nightwing,” Batman said drily. “Hood, I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to be out tonight. I trust you’ve gotten enough rest that you won’t be a detriment out here.” Jason didn’t think he was imagining the threatening reproach in Bruce’s voice, and it was enough to have him rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I slept, old man,” he responded, and Nightwing laughed.

“Don’t let his phrasing fool you – B’s bad at expressing emotions, so he shows his concern via criticism,” the vigilante said fondly, and Jason bit down on the ‘I know’ that wanted to slip out, the surrealness of the situation catching up to him.

“Right,” he said instead, short, succinct, and not at risk of showing how off-kilter he was feeling.

“We’re busting a drug ring in the Diamond District tonight, if you want to help,” Robin said brightly, undeterred.

“Seems like something that would be up your alley,” Nightwing added. Jason paused to let Batman chime in that it wasn’t a good idea, to list all the reasons why they shouldn’t be trusting the Red Hood for backup – but the man was silent.

Jason could list all the reasons it wasn’t a good idea. He had a reputation to uphold. The Bats had reputations to uphold, and working with a known murderer would tarnish that. They had different ideologies, different beliefs in what the role of vigilantism should be, different ways of fulfilling what they considered to be their duties. He can think of a hundred reasons why this wasn’t going to work off the top of his head.

Batman said nothing, his silence loudly granting permission.

“Sounds fun,” Jason said finally, mouth dry and a tight feeling in his chest.

“Great!” chirped Nightwing. “Race you there!”

The Red Hood was not working with the Bats.

Jason had had the comm for a few months, and he went out with it in his ear every night – but that did not mean he was working with them. So he sometimes bailed them out of tight spots, and occasionally helped on some of their missions, and sometimes let them back him up when they figured out what his missions were and yapped in his ear worriedly about it being too dangerous to go in without backup.

All that meant was that the Red Hood was working alongside the Bats, when their goals aligned.

So Robin had started following him around like a duckling on slow nights and chattering in his ear about how annoying Mrs. Heathridge, his math teacher, was (Jason silently agreed; he’d had Heathridge, too, and knew what a stickler she was for shit that didn’t matter). So Nightwing, cuddle vampire that he was, had started tentatively slinging an arm around Hood’s shoulders at the end of missions, like he was trying to feel out how receptive the other vigilante was to friendly touch. So Oracle had started tattling on Hood to Batman when he’d been out too many days in a row and was starting to run ragged. So Batman had then tracked him down and aimed the patented Batman Glare of Disapproval at Hood until he sullenly agreed to take a night off, while the Bats patrolled his territory in his stead.

All that meant was that the Red Hood could get along with the Bats to preserve the peace.

He was not working with them. He wasn’t.

“You turning in for the night?” Oracle asked in Jason’s ear, and Jason hummed an affirmation, swinging towards his safehouse.

It had been a quiet patrol, which was a welcome change from how it had been every other day over the past week. There was a new drug being pushed in Crime Alley, something twice as potent and four times as deadly as anything Jason had seen in recent memory, and several people had turned up dead from it.

Jason had been working the case, but he hadn’t been able to identify the supplier yet – when all his best leads were dead, it made it harder to track down the source. He was just grateful that tonight’s patrol hadn’t seen any new deaths, though it did leave him with nothing new to work with.

“I should probably warn you that – ” Oracle was cut off by shouting from a couple of alleys over.

“Hold that thought.” Jason was already vaulting towards the ruckus, landing with a thud behind three men who had a fourth cornered, one eye already blooming black. The three thugs whose little battering session he’d interrupted looked half-ready to piss themselves.

“Red Hood,” one of them whispered, and Jason stifled a smirk.

“Gentlemen,” he drawled, the words coming out menacing behind the helmet’s voice modulator. “Care to explain what’s going on here?” There was a long pause, where each of the three thugs seemed to be hoping that someone else would speak up, and Jason’s patience stretched thin. “Now,” he barked, and the thugs scrambled to answer simultaneously.

“It’s – uh – ”

“We were just – ”

“It’s not what – ”

“Hold up,” Jason interrupted, annoyed. He pointed to the one in the middle. “You. Explain.”

“It’s – J-J-Jonny owes us a lot of money, so we were gonna collect on it, but all he had on ‘im was this,” the scared-looking man said, holding up a vial of something green-tinged.

“What the hell is that?” Jason demanded, and the thug shook his head.

“I don’t know, thought it might be that new stuff that’s been gettin’ pushed ‘round here lately,” he answered, voice shaking minutely.

Jason tried not to tense, staring at the vial. “Give it here,” he demanded, holding out a hand. The thug handed it over immediately, and Jason’s gloved hand closed over the vial. “Scram,” he ordered, and the thugs blinked at him, uncomprehending of their own good fortune for a moment before bursting into motion, practically sprinting over each other in their haste to get away.

The man they’d been pummeling was leaning against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him up, eyeing Jason with a terrified expression. He looked a little worse for wear, but Jason didn’t spot any life-threatening injuries on him. He squashed down the part of him that hated it when victims were scared of him, holding up the vial. Answers first, Leslie’s clinic after. “That true, what they said about this?” he demanded. “Is this the new drug that’s been on the streets lately?”

The man stared for a moment, then swallowed and nodded.

Jason took a second to collect himself so that the next words would come out even instead of dark. “Where’d you get it?” he asked, tone level, though he’d guess by the man’s flinch that he hadn’t quite managed to hide the intensity.

“A friend,” the man answered shakily. Another deep breath on Jason’s part.

“I’m gonna need a name,” he said evenly.

The man gave it, and Jason helped him to Leslie’s clinic, pocketing the vial with a feeling of relief.

Finally, a fucking break in this case.

He’d just resumed the path to his safehouse to do research on the new lead when Oracle piped up in his ear. “You know, we can help with that, if you want,” they offered, and Jason frowned to himself. Having Bat resources would make the search go faster, but on the other hand…

On the other hand, relying on Bat help was what had gotten him in trouble the first time around – and he shouldn’t get too used to relying on their resources to solve his cases, anyway. This truce couldn’t last forever – at some point, some criminal was going to cross a line in front of him that he couldn’t overlook, or the Joker would get out of Arkham again, and Jason would do what had to be done. Batman had made it clear this truce only held up so long as Jason wasn’t killing, which meant there was an expiration date on it, and the less he needed them when it rolled around, the better.

“I’ve got it,” he answered gruffly.

Oracle didn’t argue with him. “You know where we are if you need us,” they said, and Jason grunted his agreement, still swinging through the city. The Alley was quiet again, the only people still roaming around being a few straggling working girls on the corners, the homeless huddled as tightly into the places they’d chosen to hunker down for the night, and a pale-faced figure half-hidden in the shadows below, garish red paint stretched across his lips –

Jason skidded to a halt on the roof, heart in his throat as he stared at a now-empty spot in the alley below where he could’ve sworn he’d seen someone in clown facepaint only a moment earlier.

There was no one there now.

“Is everything alright, Hood? It doesn’t sound like you’re moving anymore.”

“Oracle, is – “ Jason started, then hesitated. “Joker’s still in Arkham, right?” he asked finally.

“Yes,” Oracle answered promptly, though Jason thought there was a hint of confusion to their computerized tone.

“You’re sure,” he pressed, staring at the spot where the figure had been moments before.

There was a moment of silence, the sound of a keyboard clicking, and then Oracle’s smooth voice came back over the comm. “Positive. I’ve got footage of him in Arkham from as recently as five minutes ago.”

Jason nodded to himself, forgetting that they couldn’t see him. “Hood, what’s wrong?” they asked finally, and Jason didn’t think he was imagining the hint of worry in their tone.

“Nothing,” he said, deliberately turning away from the spot and resuming his path home. “I thought I saw…I guess my mind’s playing tricks on me.”

The prickling sensation on the back of his neck didn’t fade the whole way home.

Jason was just approaching his safehouse’s door, disarming the security, when Oracle piped back up in his ear. “Hood, I wanted to warn you, the boys thought it would be fun to – “

“Hey, Hood!” chirped a voice from the darkness of Jason’s secure, supposedly empty safehouse. Jason had a gun in his hand pointed in the direction of the voice in seconds, right as a lamp was flicked on by the intruder.

“What the fuck,” Jason said flatly.

Robin waved cheerily at him. “Sorry to startle you.” The little terror actually did sound sorry, though the continued smiling gave Jason the impression that he wasn’t that sorry. “We thought this would be more fun as a surprise.”

“We?”

“Heya, Hood.” As if summoned, Nightwing seemingly appeared right beside Jason, grinning. It was only because of Jason’s extensive League training that he carefully didn’t jump ten feet into the air like a startled cat.

Instead, he rubbed the bridge of his nose – or, where his nose would be if his face weren’t currently covered by a helmet. “You thought it would be a fun surprise for me that the security of my safehouse is compromised?” he asked wearily.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Nightwing pouted, slinging a companionable arm around Jason’s shoulder. Jason debated shoving it off but decided it wasn’t worth it; the other vigilante was a fucking leech when it came to physical affection. Resistance was futile, etc.

“It’s just us,” Robin piped up, and Jason stabbed a finger in his direction.

“That does not make me feel better, baby bird.”

Now Robin was pouting. “We just wanted to include you in movie night,” he whined. Jason rolled his eyes.

“So you had to break into my safehouse?” he asked wryly. “You couldn’t have, I dunno, just invited me over or something?”

“This way was more fun,” Nightwing said brightly, walking over to the worn couch and flopping down onto it, next to Robin. He ruffled Robin’s hair, ignoring the baby bird yelping and batting at his hand. “Besides, it gave this one an opportunity to hone his stalking skills.”

Yeah, because if there was one thing Tim Drake needed to work on, it was his stalking skills. Jason was glad the helmet hid his eye-roll.

Robin glared at Nightwing, who returned the look with a shit-eating grin. “You’re mean,” Robin decided, and Nightwing laughed.

“C’mon, Hood, we’ll even let you pick the movie,” he invited, patting the empty couch cushion beside him.

Well. They were already here, the safehouse was already compromised. What harm would it do, really?

“Have you seen Pride and Prejudice and Zombies yet?” Jason asked, flopping down on into one of the chairs, missing the pain that spasmed through Nightwing’s expression and Robin’s half-hidden wince.

Turned out that it could do a lot of damage – by way of the fact that the Bats apparently took that as permission to violate the sanctity of Jason’s safehouses whenever they pleased.

“Don’t you have your own boltholes for this,” Jason growled, voice harsh through the distorter but hands gentle as he stitched up Nightwing’s shoulder. The idiot had gotten himself grazed by a bullet while stopping an armed robbery and had apparently decided Jason’s safehouse was the best place to get himself patched up, despite the fact that the Bats had an entire Cave with much better first aid tools than anything Jason had access to. ‘Course, the Bats didn’t know that he knew that.

Jason hedged, “I’da thought the Bat, in all his paranoid glory, would have some kinda state-of-the-art facility with a shit ton of security for injured birdies to get patched up without having to come to a crime lord in the worst part of the city.”

Nightwing had been searching for the first aid kit when Jason had arrived at his safehouse, unfazed but entirely exasperated at another break in – though the exasperation had faded into concern pretty rapidly, once he’d noticed the bloodstain that marred Nightwing’s dark uniform.

“Yeah, but there’s a whole protocol for gun-related injuries,” Nightwing sighed, slumping back against the couch in what would’ve been an uncomfortable bend for anyone with a normal spine. Damn acrobats. “And this was just a graze. Not worth all the worry it would cause B and Agent A, if I showed up with a bullet wound.”

“So you assuage their worries by going to the guy who regularly wields guns,” Jason said drily, finishing the line of stitches and tying it off.

Nightwing just grinned, turning to face Jason better now that he didn’t have to hold position. “It’s been a couple of days since I broke into one of your safehouses, I figured you were probably missing me.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, I was definitely missing having to walk around my own safehouse with my helmet on,” he said sarcastically. Nightwing’s sudden frown told Jason he might’ve taken the teasing comment more seriously than Jason had intended.

“Y’know, you don’t have to keep your helmet on all the time,” he said after a slight hesitation. Jason’s eyebrows raised.

“Uh, pretty sure I do, what with the whole secret identity thing.”

Nightwing gave him a considering look. “There have been reports of people catching glimpses of you removing the helmet, and they say you wear a domino underneath,” he said, tone careful.

That was true – but Batman and Nightwing had seen Jason in only a domino a lot when he was still Robin. Granted, Jason had changed since he was fifteen – would Dick even still recognize him with a domino? But even if he didn’t, the white hair streak that stubbornly resisted any attempts to dye it would be an identifying feature, and Jason had no intention of giving them more info to track him down with once this truce inevitably ended. The fact that they were able to find some of his goddamn safehouses was concerning enough, though he’d admit he’d gotten lax at Bat-proofing them since the truce had started.

Jason swallowed. “Yeah, well, you Bats are supposed to be pretty smart. Seems wiser to avoid giving you more to work with, if you’re trying to find me,” he said, trying for levity.

Nightwing matched his tone. “You don’t trust us yet?”

Jason snorted. “Trust is for dead men walking,” he said, an old Crime Alley adage for the souls that lived in a place where backstabbing for a hot meal and brutal retribution for unpaid debts were the norm, an adage that he’d repeated a thousand times when he was younger. He’d stopped believing it briefly when he’d lived with Bruce, had placed his trust in Bruce, in Batman, in always being caught before he could fall – and in the end, the saying had come true like some inevitable bloody prophecy.

Nightwing was silent, staring at him intently, and Jason had a moment to feel slightly concerned before the blue-and-black vigilante lightly said, “Alright,” and then moved on to chatter about a million other inane things. The tension still hung in the air for the rest of his visit.

“ – so I traced the shipments back to a warehouse in Kentucky, but that turned out to be a dead end, and Superboy still wouldn’t tell us where his t-shirts – ”

“Robin, what have we said about stalking teammates?” Nightwing said exasperatedly. It had been a quiet night, and Jason was swinging through his territory, listening to the idle chatter on the comms with half an ear. Nightwing and Robin were in the Diamond District running their patrols, and Batman had gone quiet tracking down a lead an hour or so earlier, though Oracle had said he’d be wrapping up soon.

There was a mutinous silence, then Robin muttered, “It’s not stalking, it’s research. And B didn’t scold me when I told him about it last week.”

“Trust me, you don’t want Batman to be your standard for appropriate boundaries with teammates,” Nightwing said wryly.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Nightwing.” Batman’s voice crackled across the comms, tone dry.

“Don’t give me that, B – you wrote up contingency plans for all of your teammates within the first six months of the Justice League being formed,” Nightwing chimed back, and Jason could just tell he was rolling his eyes.

“I maintain that that was a necessary precaution,” Batman said adamantly. “One should hope for the best, but pl – ”

“ – plan for the worst, yes, B, I know. You’ve only said it a million times,” Nightwing finished. His tone turned more amused. “Do you remember how offended by the contingency plan for Wonder Woman Jay was?”

There was a collective silence over the comms, where Nightwing seemed to realize what he’d said – and who he’d said it in front of. Jason came to a stop on a rooftop, jaw clenching, eyes a bit wide. How did Dick even know about that? Jason had mostly ranted to Alfred about how stupid Bruce’s plan was, and how Wonder Woman would never ever hurt anyone, with all the blind faith of a child in his ultimate hero. The only way Dick would know about that was if he and Alfred had talked about Jason – but Dick had never shown that kind of interest in Jason when he was around. He’d been too busy fighting with the old man for that; Jason had been an unwanted little brother, only receiving attention when big brother deigned to visit and take him out for ice cream once every six months or so.

“Ah, sorry. Got caught up in old memories. Guess Jay’s been on my mind a lot lately,” Nightwing said over the comms, jolting Jason back to the present with his tone of forced lightness.

“Nightwing.” Jason twitched at Batman’s warning tone. Was it more or less suspicious if Jason didn’t chime in? He could always say he’d been caught up in the middle of something and missed the chatter – but no, Oracle, all-knowing supreme overlord that they were, would probably know from security footage that the Red Hood hadn’t been seen fighting anyone at the time this conversation was happening.

“’S’fine,” Jason finally said gruffly. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to ask about whoever J – that is. I got it, no big deal.”

“It’s not that – we’re not – it’s not some secret that we’re keeping from you, Hood,” Nightwing said earnestly. “It’s just that Jay’s a…difficult subject for us.”

Ouch. He was a difficult subject, was he. It wasn’t the first time Jason had been called difficult, and he doubted it would be the last. “Right,” he said hollowly, glad for the voice modulator adjusting his tone to something more neutral. “Difficult. What, was he not the sort to follow orders or something?”

Jason wasn’t – but it wasn’t like any of the other Robins were any better.

“No, that’s not – ” Jason could hear Nightwing take a deep breath, composing himself. Batman was silent, and Jason didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that the old man was just letting this conversation happen. “I didn’t mean that Jay was difficult. He was – someone special to us. And he died. And we miss him very much.”

The words hit Jason like a brick.

He died. And we miss him very much.

That – that couldn’t be true. They’d replaced him in a matter of months, they’d let his killer get off practically scot free – sure, he was in Arkham right now, but how many times had he broken out since Jason’s death? He’d bet it was in the dozens. How many people had he hurt after Jason? He’d bet it was in the hundreds.

He died. And we miss him very much.

There was a low noise on the other end of the comm, one that Jason knew heralded an argument. “He’s not someone we talk about on comms,” Batman said pointedly, a scold meant for Nightwing.

“If it were up to you, we’d never talk about him at all!” Nightwing exclaimed, and that – that hurt, even though it shouldn’t. That they talked about him at all was more than Jason should’ve expected, and there was no reason for his chest to feel like someone had shoved a dull knife through it just because his dad would rather forget him.

“This is not the time or place for this conversation,” Batman said forbiddingly, and Jason could feel Nightwing bristle on the other end of the comm.

“Oh, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be reminded of my dead brother at a more convenient time for you, B,” Nightwing spat, the words sending Jason reeling. Brother? Nightwing wouldn’t even think of deeming Jason worthy of that title when he was alive the first time around.

“Nightwing,” Batman snapped. “Not. Here.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t been feeling the same way, like you haven’t noticed how much like him Hood is,” Nightwing carried on relentlessly. “I know what you said to Hood at Jay’s gargoyle. I know Jay’s been on your mind, too.”

There was a panicky feeling fluttering in Jason’s chest. They didn’t seem to have made the connection between the Red Hood and their dead…former teammate, but it seemed that somehow Jason had managed to remind them of himself. “I can…go. If that’s easier,” he said haltingly, gruffly. “I wasn’t tryin’ to dredge up memories of someone you’d rather forget.”

“No, Hood, that’s not what we – ” Nightwing cut in quickly, then paused and took a breath. “Sorry. Batman’s right, this isn’t the place for this conversation. We don’t want you to go. You just remind us of Jay, that’s all.”

“It’s probably the whole Crime Alley thing,” Robin piped up, and Jason had almost forgotten the baby bird was still there.

“Crime Alley thing?” Jason asked warily.

“Robin,” Batman sighed, seeming resigned to Robin spilling more secrets.

Robin ignored him. “You have the same background of growing up in Crime Alley, so you probably have a lot of the same mannerisms and the accent and everything,” he said, and Jason silently released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. That – that would be a good cover, something Jason could definitely work with.

“Didn’t know you Bats’d gotten ahold of someone from my block,” Jason commented as neutrally as he could.

“It was a few years ago,” Robin said, tone careful, but not quite able to hide a hint of wistfulness that Jason didn’t know what to do with. “He was the best Robin – sorry, Nightwing.”

Nightwing just made a humming noise in response, and Jason – Jason couldn’t do this.

“Well, this has been a fun night of revelations,” he said tightly, shoving all the unwanted emotions, the echo of he was the best Robin deep, deep down, “but I think I’m going to pack it in for the night, unless there’s anything going on.”

“Actually,” came Oracle’s voice over the comm.

“You interfered in my case,” Jason said, voice deadly soft, anger thrumming under his skin. He was sitting on the roof of a warehouse, staring down at the adjacent warehouse that was currently being occupied by Black Mask and his men, the Bats hovering at his back.

“I caught a lead and I followed it,” Oracle said calmly in his ear.

“You interfered in my case when I specifically asked you not to,” Jason half-snarled.

“You were at a dead end.”

“I had a lead!”

“You had the name of someone who might be able to give you the name of whoever they got the drug from, who then might be able to give you the name of whoever they got the drug from, and on and on. It could’ve taken you ages to get anything meaningful from that one name, and people are dying, Hood,” Oracle said, tone starting to get more and more severe. “In your territory. Is that what you want?”

Jason grumbled angrily, but the initial fury had started to fade, leaving only guilt in its wake. Oracle was right; he couldn’t let people die because of his own wariness in trusting Bat resources. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it – nor the fact that they’d gone behind his back to do it.

“My intel points to Black Mask being the one behind funneling the drugs into Crime Alley, though the supplier of the drugs is still a mystery,” Oracle said, tone business-like once more. “This is his main storage warehouse, and the latest shipment was just dropped off about an hour ago, so it’s likely that Mask is still inside.”

“Great, I’d like to have a few words with him about respecting peoples’ established fuckin’ boundaries,” Jason said darkly. The Alley was his; he’d made that much exquisitely clear.

“Tell us what you need from us,” Batman commanded, and Jason turned to face the three vigilantes, snorting.

“I need the lot’a ya to scram.”

They looked unimpressed with his plan, but Jason didn’t really give a fuck what they thought; this was Red Hood business. Already, the green was starting to curl in at the edges of his vision, the knowledge that Mask had interfered in his territory pricking at the coil of anger that had lain dormant.

“Not going to happen,” Batman said implacably, and Jason folded his arms.

“Yes, it is,” he said, an itch building under his skin. He needed to get down there and act now. How much longer would Mask remain on the base?

“There’s too many of them, Hood. You need backup,” Robin said earnestly.

“And how’s it gonna look when I show up with a bunch of Bats as my backup?” Jason demanded. “Half of what I do works because people are scared of me in a way that they aren’t scared of you, because they know I’ll do what you’re too afraid to!”

“But they don’t,” Nightwing cut in, meeting Jason’s stubborn look with one of his own. He raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think they haven’t noticed you’ve been working with us? Or that you’ve gone non-lethal?”

“That’s not what’s happened!”

“Well, that’s what it looks like,” Nightwing said relentlessly, then gestured at the men below. “And that’s what they think has happened.”

“If you go in there now, without us, they’re not going to respond the way they usually do for you,” Batman growled. “They’ll fight back, and there’s too many of them. You’ll have to kill them to get to Mask.”

“Maybe I’m fine with that,” Jason snarled, hackles raised.

Batman just met his stare behind the helmet. “Are you?”

Jason faltered, his bluff called. He’d always tried to make any injuries to goons non-lethal; he knew better than most just what kind of desperation could lead someone into taking one of those jobs, after all. The need to put food on the table, to have heat for the winter, to survive – a lot of henchmen weren’t there because they believed in what their employer was doing; they were there because there was no other way to make it through the winter, and Jason knew that. Death at Jason’s hand was reserved for those who deserved it, those who’d proven they couldn’t be redeemed – not the foot soldiers who’d joined up because they’d run out of options.

And damn it all – the Bats were right that Jason’s reputation had taken a heavy hit in the past few months, as he’d been spotted more and more often with them, as the list of new kills to his name had dwindled to nothing. If the goons weren’t about to take one look at him and start running, there were enough of them Batman’s assessment that he’d have to kill to make it to Mask was probably spot on.

All of this, because he hadn’t been able to stay away from the lure of family, because he’d been too weak to sacrifice the connection with them so that he could better protect the people who’d come to rely on him. It was his own goddamn fault that he was in this situation, for not learning his lesson the first time around.

Jason gritted his teeth, furious – only to hide a flinch at the feel of a strong grip on his shoulder. He looked over to see Batman on the other end of the grip, looking at him with what Jason would almost call concern, if he didn’t know better. “Let us help you,” Batman said, the order somehow coming out more like a request.

Jason relented. “Fine,” he growled out. “Fine. But we do this my way, and Black Mask is mine.” He was expecting pushback, but Batman only nodded.

“Let’s talk about the plan.”

“I gotta say, Hood, your operations are a lot more fun than ours,” Nightwing called over the comms, the sound of fists meeting flesh on the other end. Robin made a noise of affirmation over the comms in between throwing quips at whatever goons were unlucky enough to go up against his bo staff. The two had been tasked with finding the shipment Mask had just received and destroying it with extreme prejudice (aside from some samples to run through the lab), as well as digging up any information they could find on the mysterious supplier.

“No chatter on the comms,” Batman growled from his position at Jason’s back as the two of them barreled down another hallway teeming with armed henchmen. Jason was heading straight for Mask, and Batman was his backup – no matter how loudly Jason had protested, the man had insisted with a kind of calm stubbornness that Jason hadn’t had the time or patience to outlast.

“Isn’t saying ‘no chatter on the comms’ also chatter on the comms?” Jason asked idly, kicking the shit out of the goon he’d disarmed until the man dropped, unconscious, only for another to take his place.

Robin’s laughter sounded, and he chimed in, “He’s got you there, B.”

“Hn.”

The last henchman went down, and Jason kicked open the door, ready for another hallway, but instead came face to face with what he’d guess was Black Mask’s ‘office’. The man himself was on the other side of the room, rising up from behind a desk covered in haphazardly strewn papers and half-opened boxes.

Jason was on him in a second, knocking him into the wall behind him and holding him there with an elbow across his throat just loose enough for the man to breathe, but not loose enough for him to scramble away. “Mask,” he snarled. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, pushing drugs in my territory?”

Mask wheezed out strained laughter. “I needed a population to test out my latest acquisition, Hood, and your people seemed like the perfect guinea pigs for it. What better than the lowest of the low, the ones no one will miss?” he taunted, and Jason drew back just long enough to punch him in the face, nose making a satisfying crunch.

“I noticed,” Jason growled, the green starting to take over his vision.

Mask laughed at him, red flecks of blood flying at the motion. “You were supposed to,” he sneered, the words somewhat garbled with the broken nose. “What good would it do to get revenge on you for ruining my operation if you didn’t notice it?”

Jason fucking knew it. He knew this had been Mask’s vengeance against him. People had fucking died for this and it was his fucking fault – but it was also Mask’s, and the green had a lot to say about that.

Mask laughs were interspersed with pained grunts as Jason’s fists showed him exactly what he thought about Mask’s revenge scheme. There was a roaring in his ears, the green calling for blood, pulsing with the need to make Mask hurt just as much as he’d hurt Jason’s people, and Jason couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own racing heartbeat and his fists making contact with Mask’s skin –

“Hood! Hood, stop!”

Distantly, the call of his own name penetrated the haze – but not enough to cut through the rage – not until strong arms pulled him away from Mask, keeping ahold of him even as he struggled, snarling.

“Let go!”

“Not until you calm down,” came the firm response. “He’s winding you up, Hood.”

“People died because of him!” Jason yelled, renewing his struggles, but the grip on him just tightened, restraining without being painful.

“I know.” The response was sad but steely. “But you’re better than this. You don’t have to sink to his level.”

Jason laughed, the sound biting. “That ship’s sailed, old man,” he sneered. Awareness was starting to peek in through the haze of green, and his struggles against Batman’s hold waned; he knew he wasn’t breaking out of B’s grip.

“Not today, it hasn’t,” Batman argued calmly. “Not in months. You can do this the right way.”

The green sharpened for a moment, and Jason bared his teeth, the effect lost beneath the helmet. “And look where that’s gotten us! Some of my people are dead because of him, and you want me to let him go?” he demanded, yanking in Batman’s grip; it remained firm.

“I want you to let us lock him up, like the law demands,” the insufferably righteous asshole said.

Jason felt a mixture of fury and despair race through him. “And how long will it be before he’s out again?” he asked rhetorically, tone acerbic. “What you do keeps people like him from hurting others for – what, a few weeks? A few months, if we’re lucky? What I was doing kept people like him from hurting people permanently.” Why couldn’t he make them understand that?

“And who’s going to help those people when you’re the one being locked up?” Batman asked.

Jason sneered. “I’d have to get caught, first.”

“And you would.” Jason wanted to bristle at the air of absolute certainty to that statement. “And then what? Who would move into the Alley in your stead? Probably someone just like Black Mask, or worse – and you wouldn’t be around to stop them this time,” Batman continued, and Jason couldn’t hold back the flinch at the thought. Batman gentled his voice. “If you truly want to help your people, you have to play by the rules, Hood. And that means leaving them alive, even when you don’t want to.” There was something aching to his last statement, as if Batman knew what it was like to want a Rogue dead – but that wasn’t possible. Not for Mr. Righteous Cause.

“Fine,” Jason said curtly, letting himself go limp in Batman’s hold. The man had made a good point. The Bats knew Jason too well now, as evidenced by how often they tracked down his safehouses; he wasn’t likely to be able to outrun them for long, and he couldn’t sacrifice looking out for the Alley long-term just so that he could kill Black Mask tonight.

Still, Batman didn’t release him, and Jason sighed loudly, angrily. “I said fine, I’m not gonna bash his brains in, let me go,” he demanded impatiently, and the arms loosened. Jason stepped away immediately, crossing his arms and glaring at Batman, who was staring at him with an inscrutable expression, still half-tensed like he expected Jason to go for Mask any second. “You don’t gotta look at me like that. I get it – no killing if I want to keep looking after the Alley,” Jason said tersely. “I don’t like it, but I’ll live with it.”

“Well, isn’t that cute.” Mask’s sneering tone was accompanied by the all-too-familiar of a gun being cocked, and Jason and Batman’s gazes darted over to the almost-forgotten third party in the room, who was currently pointing a gun directly at Jason’s head. Mask smirked nastily at him. “I see the Bats have you on a leash now, Hood,” he jeered. “And isn’t that interesting.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jason snarled, tensing, only for Batman’s hand to come rest on his shoulder. Jason shrugged it off; he wasn’t going to throw himself at Mask, he wasn’t fucking suicidal.

“Put the gun down, Mask,” Batman said calmly.

Mask ignored him, beady eyes trained steadily on Jason. “I don’t think the Joker accounted for this in his little plan,” he said with a mean smirk, and everything in Jason went still.

“What plan?” Batman demanded, far less calmly, and Mask’s eyes flicked over to him for a moment before returning to Jason.

“Well, I don’t know the details, of course,” he drawled, malicious grin widening. “But Joker is real interested in the guy who stole his name.”

The crime lord cocked his head, and everything about his posture said that he was enjoying the tension he was causing in the two vigilantes before him. Normally, this would have pissed off the green enough for it to wake up and do something - but there was no sign of the Pit’s rage in Jason’s frozen sea of fear.

Batman seemed to be angry enough for the both of them. “What does the Joker want with Hood?” he growled, and Mask gave Jason a considering look.

“You know, you should really be grateful to him,” the crime lord said airily, and something about that tone was raising the hairs on the back of Jason’s neck, his danger sense screaming. “If the Joker hadn’t already called dibs, this bullet would be going through your skull.”

The gun went off, and Jason went down.

Chapter Text

This was not how it was supposed to go.

“Hood, are you alright? You’re quiet,” Nightwing said worriedly, twisting around in the front seat of the Batmobile to turn that concerned gaze on him.

The older vigilante had been obnoxiously mother-henning Jason ever since Wing and Robin had crashed onto the scene after the gun had gone off, frantic after hearing the shot echo through the commlinks. Black Mask had already taken advantage of Batman’s distraction to slip away into the night like the slimy little eel that he was, so the two younger Bats were left fluttering uselessly around the big Bat as he carried Jason to the Batmobile like he was some swooning Victorian maiden. Jason’s very loud objections to this had been summarily ignored.

“’m fine,” Jason said shortly, minutes away from hyperventilating. He tried his earlier protests again, “It’s just a bullet to the thigh, I can take care of this from my safehouse easily. I’ve done it before.”

“Bullet wounds get treated in the Cave,” Batman growled from the front seat without turning away from the road. He'd had that pinched set to his mouth that Jason recalled from getting injured during his Robin days.

“B doesn’t really compromise on that rule,” Robin stage-whispered from the backseat beside him, giving a tentative smile, like he was trying to ease some of the tension in the car.

“How would you know? All of your wounds get treated in the Cave, baby bird – it’s the Robin Rule,” Nightwing retorted lightly, teasing, picking up Robin’s cue.

“Yeah, but I’ve seen him enforce his bullet wounds rule with you enough times to know that trying to escape it is an exercise in futility,” Robin baited back, and Nightwing huffed.

“You try to take care of one bullet wound on your own and wind up unconscious from blood loss before you can finish fixing it, and suddenly you can’t be trusted,” Nightwing said with exaggerated annoyance. The back and forth might have set Jason at ease any other time, but the looming destination put a bit of a damper on their efforts.

“If I promise not to be as much of an idiot as Nightwing, can I avoid a Cave visit?” Jason said flatly.

“No,” came the instant response, and Jason sighed, hunching down in his seat sullenly. The birds’ banter had calmed some of the frantic energy thrumming under his skin, but Jason could still feel his heart beating a little too fast in his chest. For obvious reasons, he hadn’t been back to the Cave since he’d died – since he was Robin – and it wasn’t high on the list of places that he’d wanted to return to. Too many memories, good and bad.

Not to mention that the Cave was directly below the Manor, and Jason had no intention of ever setting a foot back there – not in the place that he’d once been foolish enough to imagine was home, was a place where he was wanted, only to have that dream mercilessly crushed after Felipe Garzonas’s death, under the Joker’s tender mercies.

They were pulling into the Cave before Jason could find an argument that worked on Batman, Nightwing helping Jason out of the backseat. Jason sucked in a sharp breath as he stood, hoping they’d mistake it for pain from putting weight on his bad leg instead of him trying not to stagger under the weight of his memories.

The Cave looked practically the same, and he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than if it had changed. There were the mats where Bruce had oh-so-carefully taught Jason hand-to-hand, as gentle as he could be while sparring, even as Jason insisted that Batman do his worst and laughingly teased B that Jason was the one who needed to be careful, given Bruce’s fragile old man bones.

There was the gymnastics equipment, where Dick had taught Jason how to fly and how to fall on those rare occasions when he’d visited.

There was the dinosaur and the giant penny, gleaming and polished by Alfred’s careful hand. It was like Jason could see the specter of his younger self, bright and laughing and naïvely thinking himself invincible, running through the Cave, and Jason felt a little sick as he turned away, forcing himself to focus on the current situation.

Batman led the way to the medbay, Robin hot on his heels as Nightwing slipped an arm under Jason’s to help him hobble over. “I can walk, you know,” Jason muttered, though he made no move to shrug off Nightwing’s help.

Nightwing beamed at him. “Humor me,” he suggested brightly, and Jason dropped it. He’d fought enough losing battles today already.

And yet he still stopped dead at the sight of a third person waiting for them in the medbay, a neutral black domino perfectly matching his demure suit.

Nightwing, of course, noticed that Jason had stopped immediately. “This is just Agent A – I think I’ve mentioned him before?” He gave Jason a hopeful smile, reassurance practically oozing out of him. “You can trust him, he helps patch us up.”

Jason shook his head. “I can really take care of myself at my safehouse,” he tried again, unable to stop staring at the old butler, heart clenching painfully in his chest.

The old man tutted at him, a noise unchanged by time. “Now, there’s no sense in that when we have a perfectly good medbay right here,” Alfred chided, and Jason swallowed thickly, memories of a hundred times he’d heard that tone before crashing down on him. “Come have a seat, please.”

And Jason, who had never been able to refuse a command given to him by Alfred in his life (or after), wordlessly stepped forward, letting himself be shepherded onto the cot. The old butler muttered to himself as he gathered the tools he needed to clean and patch the wound, settling on a stool near Jason’s thigh when he was ready.

“This is a local anesthetic – ” Alfred started, syringe in hand and moving toward Jason’s thigh – and Jason’s hand shot out and caught the old man’s wrist before he could think about it. The three vigilantes hovering over them tensed.

“Don’t,” Jason said hoarsely, and even through the eerie whites of the domino, Jason could tell that Alfred’s eyes had flicked up from the wound to Jason’s face and were studying him carefully. He pressed on. “I – don’t want anything for pain. Please.”

That searching gaze stayed locked on him, Alfred’s expression a mixture of concern and careful curiosity, and Jason felt for a moment like all his secrets were laid bare. He reminded himself fervently that he had his helmet on, and, no matter how supernatural Alfred sometimes seemed, he couldn’t see through metal. “This will likely hurt quite a lot,” the old man cautioned him.

Jason chuckled humorlessly. “I’ve had worse.”

That piercing gaze remained for a moment longer, Jason’s heart beating a quick staccato, then the syringe was lowered and the moment was broken as Alfred looked away to set it down and retrieve whatever tool he needed instead. “Very well, then. I would ask that you brace yourself and try to remain as still as possible,” he said.

“Sure thing, boss,” Jason said easily, slumping with the relief from escaping Alfred’s all-seeing eyes. He could feel three other piercing stares on him, though he elected to pointedly ignore whatever expressions the vigilantes in the room were making.

Alfred was right, it did hurt – but Jason had been beaten to death by a crowbar, had survived in the League of Assassins, where injuries were considered a lesson that your skills were lacking and the idea of taking a painkiller and revealing weakness was laughable. He remained quiet and still through the procedure, hearing the light clink when Alfred retrieved the bullet from his thigh and placed it in a container, before moving to irrigating the wound and thoroughly stitching it up.

“You are quite lucky that the bullet did not hit anything vital,” the old butler murmured as he covered the stitches with gauze and a bandage.

Jason snorted. “I think that was less luck, and more because even Black Mask ain’t crazy enough to fuck with Joker’s plans,” he remarked drily, relief that this part was over coursing through him. Now all that was left was to escape the Cave before he was crushed under the weight of his memories – or before he fell into a panic attack about whatever the fuck the goddamn Joker apparently had in store for him. Now that the panic of facing the Cave again had started to dissipate, Mask’s words were echoing in his ears, remnants of the clown’s godawful laughter edging in behind it.

Jason pushed himself up to sitting and swung his legs over the side of the bed, putting his feet flat on the floor. Alfred gave him a sharp look that quelled Jason from standing before the old man left to go clean and put away his tools.

“Joker?” Robin asked, sounding alarmed, and Jason glanced over to see the boy looking concerned. “What does the Joker have to do with it?”

Ah, shit, Jason had just had to go and open his big, fat mouth. “Nothin’,” he said gruffly. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

That was a pipe dream, though. “Black Mask let slip that the Joker has a plan involving Hood,” Batman said, practically radiating unhappiness. Or maybe it was concern - but Jason tried to stamp out that hope; there was no reason Batman would be concerned about him. “He did not elaborate, but he did say that the only reason that he wasn’t going to kill Hood tonight was because the Joker has claimed him.”

“Claimed him?” Nightwing interjected, sounding alarmed. “What does that mean?”

“Unknown,” Batman answered. “But whatever plan the Joker has, it won’t be anything good.”

“He’s still in Arkham, though, right?” Robin asked, worry coloring his tone.

“Oracle confirmed it earlier, yes,” Batman answered, and both the other vigilantes wilted in relief – until Batman continued, “However, it is evident that Joker has found a way to communicate with those outside of Arkham, and we can’t count on his physical incarceration preventing him from carrying out his plans through intermediaries.”

“Then Hood’s in danger until we figure out what the plan is and put a stop to it,” Nightwing concluded. “Which means we have to keep him safe – and there’s no safer place than the Cave. He should stay here until we can stop whatever the Joker has in store for him.”

“Now hang on just a second,” Jason interrupted with a growing sense of alarm. He could not wind up trapped here in his memories with the threat of the Joker hanging over his head; he’d go fucking nuts.

“I agree,” Batman said. “It’s the best option.”

“The best for who, exactly?” Jason demanded, pushing himself to his feet – and ouch, no wonder Alfred hadn’t wanted him standing yet. Thigh bullet wounds were no joke. Still, he was on his damn feet, which meant, “I’m not staying in some dark, dank cave until you figure out what’s going through that crazy clown’s head – that could take fuckin’ millennia.”

Batman apparently decided to just completely ignore everything he’d just said, turning that intense cowled gaze on him. “Do you know what the Joker wants from you?” he asked. “Or why he would be after you?” All three of the vigilantes were staring at him, now, with varying degrees of intensity and concern scrawled across their faces.

Jason shrugged, aiming for nonchalance but mostly just feeling uncomfortable. There was a fluttering feeling in his chest that he refused to call panic. “I dunno, maybe he’s upset I stole his name,” he offered. “’S what Mask said, at least.”

Batman frowned. “Black Mask indicated that he was interested in you for that reason, but there must be more to it than that,” he said thoughtfully, and the pit in Jason’s stomach was steadily deepening. “Mask wanted revenge on you for taking Crime Alley, and he is not a man who is easily swayed from his path. For him to give up on killing you, the Joker must have been very insistent on the other Rogues not interfering with whatever plan he’s developed. And if that plan was enough to appease Black Mask’s need for revenge…” Batman trailed off, but he didn’t really need to finish that sentence for Jason to have to suppress a shudder; if Black Mask was satisfied with whatever shit the Joker had cooked up for Jason, then it was fucking bad.

The fluttering, panicked feeling in his chest was steadily growing stronger, and Jason ruthlessly attempted to shove it down. “Okay,” he tried, the croak in his voice smoothed out by the modulator, “so I need to watch my step. That ain’t exactly new for me.”

“Watching your step isn’t going to be enough with the Joker,” Nightwing chimed in, arms folded and expression worried. “He’s unpredictable – no matter how many times we’ve fought him, he’s still come up with new ways to get the drop on us. You can’t underestimate him.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Jason snapped, temper fraying as his heart hammered in his chest. “I know exactly how twisted that fucker is, and I’m pretty sure I know better than you what happens when he gets the best of you, Golden Boy.”

“What do you mean by that?” Batman asked, eyes sharpening, and Jason balked, turning over his words. “Is there some connection between you and the Joker?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed at the wording. “No more so than between him and any other person he’s fucked over in this city,” he spat.

“But you have encountered the Joker before?” Batman pressed. “And, from what you said, you felt he ‘got the best of you’ during that encounter?”

The phantom sound of bones crunching under a crowbar echoing in his ears had Jason nearly flinching, and he could almost smell the acidic burn of Sheila’s cigarette, could see the blink of a too-short countdown – but he kept himself ruthlessly still. “Yes,” he said shortly, tone clipped.

“Is it something Joker would remember and would cause him to single you out now?”

No.

No, because Joker didn’t know who was under the Hood.

He couldn’t know – couldn’t have guessed that the Robin that he’d killed had come back from the dead and stolen his name. If the Bats hadn’t figured out that Hood was Jason, there was no way the fucking demented clown had.

“No,” Jason answered, the words tasting like a lie. They must’ve sounded like one, too, based on the unconvinced looks the Bats were giving him.

“What happened?” Batman asked in his mission report voice, and Jason bristled.

“None of your fucking business,” he snarled, hands curling into fists. He killed me, he didn’t say. He was alive. He was walking, talking, breathing. The faint deranged laughter that he heard echoing in his ears wasn’t real. He was alive.

Nightwing decided to play at being the mediator. “We need to know if it’s important, that’s all, Hood,” he said placatingly, hands raised. “If it’s something that’s motivating the Joker to seek you out, it might shed some light on his plan for you.”

It couldn’t be, because there was no way the clown could know. “It’s not, so why don’t you just fucking drop it,” Jason said through gritted teeth. If they didn’t drop it soon, he was going to lose it.

“It’s clearly enough to make you irrationally upset, even now,” Batman pointed out, and Jason’s world went a little green. Irrational? How the fuck was it irrational for him to be upset about being murdered?

“You don’t know a goddamn thing, Batman,” he spat, fury coloring his voice, to the apparent surprise of Nightwing and Robin, identical expressions of alarm flitting across their faces. Batman’s neutral expression was unchanging.

“Maybe not, but only because you’re unwilling to share – which puts us all in danger, to be flying into one of Joker’s plots blind,” he said calmly, which only aggravated Jason further. Why couldn’t the man just drop it? But no, this was fucking Batman, who had to know everybody’s fucking business. He’d never let it go until the goddamn mystery was solved.

“For the love of – my mom tried to sell me to him, and the Joker killed her, okay?” Jason’s furious near-shout was met with stunned silence.

“What?” Robin looked devastated on his behalf, but Jason just sneered, arms folding across his chest defensively.

“My dear, sweet mother got into some shit with the Joker,” he said sardonically. “She wanted out, so she tried to give me to him instead. The Joker had his fun and made her think he was taking her up on it for a while, then he killed her. End of story.”

There. Close enough to the real story that it would sound like the truth without having all the details to make it too identifiable. Jason was pretty sure the Bat didn’t even know Sheila had betrayed him. Bruce had probably just assumed Jason had been too impulsive and reckless to wait for backup and had gotten himself killed. It wasn’t like Jason had ever gotten the chance to tell him what his mom had done.

Nightwing looked like he was about to start crying. “Oh god, Hood, I’m so sorry.”

The words had Jason bristling. “Save your fucking pity, I’m not interested in it,” he snarled.

“Why didn’t the Joker kill you, too?” Batman asked, tone carefully neutral. Jason's gaze darted to him, and, if he didn't know any better, he'd think the man looked regretful.

He did. Jason shrugged uncomfortably. “How the fuck should I know? Who knows how that crazy clown’s brain works?” he deflected instead.

Batman was studying him, and Jason did his best not to fidget under the gaze. “Do you think he’s coming back around to finish the job?”

Every night in Jason’s fucking nightmares. “No,” he said with a certainty he didn’t feel. “There’s no way he could know that I was that kid.” Right?

Robin looked dubious. “I dunno,” he said slowly, giving Jason an apologetic look. “The Joker always seems to know things he shouldn’t.”

Jason held firm, his words half-promise, half-prayer. “Trust me, there’s no way he’d think that kid is me.” Because that kid fucking died.

“You’re sure.” Batman’s query was more statement than question.

“Yes,” Jason said firmly. No, said the fearful, pessimistic voice in his head. Jason tried to squash it.

“So we’ve got nothing, then. No reason why he’d be going after Hood now,” Nightwing said with a touch of frustration.

“Other than the fact that he’s certifiable and should’ve been put down fucking years ago? No,” Jason snapped, his temper frayed at the edges.

“That’s not how we handle things,” Batman said implacably, the worry in his expression flattening out.

“No, that’s not how you handle things,” Jason returned immediately. “But I’m telling you right now, if that clown gets within 20 feet of me, he’s getting a bullet to the skull.”

Batman didn’t look surprised, but he did look disappointed – which somehow hurt all-the-worse. “You would toss away all the progress you’ve made for him?” he asked, and Jason just – just didn’t understand how Bruce still didn’t get it.

“To end him? In a fucking heartbeat,” he said with confident conviction. “That clown is beyond any hope of redemption, and keeping him alive so that he can break out of Arkham over and over again and kill and ruin peoples’ lives every time he does is goddamn negligence at this point.”

Batman was shaking his head as Robin and Nightwing exchanged worried looks. “We are not judge, jury, and executioner,” the Bat declared.

That bullshit excuse was so fucking old. “Except that you are - because every time you choose to put him back in Arkham instead of fucking ending him, you’re condemning more innocents to death. Because he will eventually break out again – we all know it.”

“It’s what the law demands.”

“Fuck the law! The law can’t do shit to him! He’s insane, so he gets Arkham instead of the death penalty like he deserves. The law can’t stop him, the police can’t stop him, the innocents he attacks can’t stop him – the only one who can is you, and you refuse to. You just return him to Arkham every time while knowing that he’ll eventually break loose and kill more people. So don’t tell me you’re not playing ‘judge’ here – you’re judging that his life is worth more than those of the innocents that he’ll kill once he breaks out again. You’re judging that keeping his blood off of your hands is worth people who you’ll never know losing their lives and futures.” Jason finished his rant with his chest heaving, a couple of steps closer to the Bats that he didn’t recall taking, green tinging his vision.

The unmoved expression on the Bat’s face didn’t help. “Batman can’t commit murder – law enforcement won’t work with us and people will lose faith in us if we start walking down that path. We won’t be able to come back from crossing that line.”

Jason threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. “I’m not talking about killing all of them – I’m talking about killing him, someone so far beyond redemption that even you have to admit there’s no coming back from what he’s done. Hell, I’d have thought the second Robin’s death would’ve driven that point home – but maybe I was overestimating how much of a shit you gave about that one,” he sneered, the echoes of that hurt thrumming through him, the pain of knowing his murderer yet lived while the Bats did nothing.

“Don’t bring the second Robin into this,” Nightwing said sharply, and Jason laughed meanly.

“Oh, struck a nerve, did I? Why, did I hit too close to home? The kid wasn’t worth avenging, but you don’t like hearing it said out loud?” he taunted.

Nightwing looked furious with him, for the first time that Jason could recall since he’d started his reform-Red-Hood campaign. Good – maybe Nightwing himself would kick Jason out of the Cave. Jason didn’t give a fuck, he just wanted out. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he spat, voice low and deadly, looking one second away from attacking Jason. But Jason was equally on edge, the underlying anger having risen to the surface, the fear of Joker’s plot cutting through him.

“I know there are rumors that Batman and the second Robin went overseas to hunt down Joker, and Batman came back with the Joker and a kid-sized body bag. Pretty sure I can fill in the blanks from there,” he said snidely, and Nightwing snarled at him.

“You’re winding us up on purpose,” Batman deduced, and Jason gritted his teeth, turning his attention back to the guy in charge. Nightwing still looked furious, but a calculating look returned to his eyes. “You don’t want to stay here, so you’re trying to make us angry enough with you to kick you out. That’s not going to happen. I understand that you don’t want to stay in the Cave, but it’s the safest place for you.”

Like fucking hell. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t agree,” he said sardonically.

“The Joker could come after you at any moment.”

“And you’ve already proven you can’t keep the birds under your protection safe from him.” Nightwing and Robin recoiled from that statement, though Batman remained impassive. “I’m not staying here. You might as well give that pipe dream up.”

“Why not?” Batman asked, and Jason would swear there was concern peeking through the stiff expression on his face.

“Because I’m not safe here.” His secret identity would be dead in the water, if he stayed here long term. He’d have to take his helmet off eventually – to eat and drink, if nothing else – and like hell was he letting that goddamn clown fuck him over again. Vague threats or not, he was getting out of this Cave.

“B, we can’t make him stay here if he really doesn’t want to stay,” Nightwing said eventually, voice tight. His earlier anger appeared to have dissipated, a neutral mask in place. Batman looked like he disagreed, and Jason’s hackles raised, a sneer forming behind the helmet, but eventually the other vigilante’s face went blank.

“Fine,” Batman said, tone flat. “But you will let us make sure you get home safe.”

Well, it wasn’t like they didn’t already know the locations of his safehouses. “Fine,” Jason agreed curtly.

“Great,” Nightwing said brightly, though the cheer was strained. “How about I drive you home, Hood?”

Any other day, Jason would’ve insisted on driving himself, but he could admit that fighting off flashbacks with a stomach-churning mixture of nausea and anxiety swirling in his gut might not be the best mixture for being behind the wheel. “Whatever,” he muttered.

Nightwing ushered him to the Wingcycle before any further arguments could break out, and they were roaring out of the Cave with Batman glaring a hole in Jason’s back while Robin looked on worriedly.

Jason felt a thousand pounds lighter as soon as they were outside of the Cave’s walls.

The drive through Gotham was silent, with Nightwing taking him through unspoken agreement to the safehouse he’d found Jason at most often, one at the edge of the city that he regularly kept fully stocked.

“Thanks,” Jason grunted, clambering off the motorcycle and practically scurrying towards his safehouse in his haste to get away.

“Hood,” Nightwing called, and Jason turned against his better judgment. Nightwing’s expression was guarded, tentative. “If you need us – please call for us. We’ll be there.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jason said shortly, and Nightwing’s face fell.

“Just – don’t take on the Joker alone,” he instructed – no, pleaded was probably the better term for it. Jason blinked, surprised at the emotion in his not-brother’s voice, but Nightwing seemed to take his silence for lack of agreement, and his face pinched further. “The second Robin – he took on the Joker by himself, and we lost him.” Nightwing paused, glancing away, seemingly needing a moment to gather himself before meeting Jason’s eyes again. “And I know you don’t trust us to have your back with him – but please. We care about you. Just. You run into him? Call us.”

“I’m not planning to run into the Joker,” Jason said gruffly. “I’m not suicidal, I’m not going to hunt him down.” Nightwing pinned him with a long stare that Jason tried not to fidget under.

“Okay,” he said finally. He revved the motorcycle and gave Jason one last look. “I’m holding you to that, Hood.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason grumbled, anxious for his not-brother to be on his way so that Jason could have his panic attack in peace. “Get lost, Wing.”

Jason resolutely didn’t watch as Nightwing rode off, turning back to his safehouse and taking a moment to just breathe. The night felt colder, and he suppressed a shiver as the sound of the motorcycle faded into the distance, the memories of insane laughter that he’d been trying to suppress taking its place.

The Hood felt suddenly stifling, and Jason tore it off, taking in deep breaths, the tenuous control he’d been holding onto ever since Joker’s involvement came to light finally slipping through his fingers. Still, he wasn’t inside yet, so he tried to shake off the flashback to the Joker’s cackle. “It’s just in your head, Jason,” he muttered to himself as he stepped up to the door to start disengaging the security.

There was a sudden explosion of pain at the back of his skull, and Jason staggered under the blow, falling sideways, vision steadily going black. He tried to catch himself on the doorframe dizzily, but it slipped through his fingers as spots filled his vision, and the next thing he knew, he was on his back on the ground, dazed.

The white-painted face that haunted his dreams filled his vision, garish red nightmare of a smile with too many teeth beaming down meanly at him. Jason would’ve recoiled if he’d been able to do anything more than groan. He felt a prick in his neck, and he could feel himself rapidly losing consciousness.

The Joker, grinning madly, leaned closer as the darkness claimed him. “Nighty night, boy blunder,” he whispered, and Jason’s vision went black.

Chapter Text

There’s a moment upon waking where everything is peaceful; where, while coming out of sweet oblivion, the memories of before haven’t hit yet, so the expectations of now don’t seem so bleak.

Jason didn’t get the chance to enjoy that last, lingering moment of tranquility, a hauntingly familiar cackle cutting through the pounding in his head as the haze of drugged sleep slowly trickled away.

“Wakey, wakey, little birdie,” came the Joker’s voice, and Jason hoped desperately that he was just stuck inside one of his nightmares, that this wasn’t real, that he’d open his eyes and find himself in his bed with his sheets in violent disarray from disturbed sleep, safe from everything except his dreams. But he could feel the bite of ropes chafing at his wrists, could feel that he was seated on a hard, unforgiving chair, not lying on a (semi)-soft mattress.

So when he opened his eyes to the interior of a crumbling warehouse, it was with a sense of resignation and dread rather than surprise.

Anticipation of what was to come or not, he was still unprepared for the Joker’s wide grin filling his vision, and he barely held back the reflexive recoil in favor of baring his teeth at the clown, anger and fear swirling through him. “Joker,” he growled, and the Joker laughed delightedly.

“There he is!” he cackled, reaching out and grabbing Jason’s chin, grip painfully tight as he tugged Jason’s face closer. Rancid breath washed over him, and Jason struggled uselessly to pull out of the clown’s grip. “You kept Uncle J waiting so long – I see your manners haven’t improved at all since I last tried to drill them into you, Robin.”

Jason stilled, heart stopping in his chest. Joker knew? He couldn’t – there was no fucking way. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said hoarsely, green eyes meeting crazy. Joker’s eyes glinted meanly, ever-present grin sharpening as he dropped Jason’s chin and straightened, towering over where Jason was tied to a chair – just like…just like –

“I didn’t think I’d ever have you in this position again, birdie – what with you being dead and all,” the clown said, grinning broadly. “But here you are. What a neat trick! I’d love to know how you did it.”

There was no way the clown had figured him out – not when B couldn’t. Joker had to be running some sort of bluff with him. “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else,” Jason tried, but Joker just snorted, twirling a – a fucking crowbar in his hand, and Jason couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn to it, the way he reflexively tensed, fear shooting through him.

“I don’t think I do, Robin Two,” the clown said with a sharp smile, leaning back in, and Jason held himself very still, feeling his breaths come in short, quick bursts. “Batsy may not be able to see it, but you and I got so close there in the end. You can’t hide from me, lambchop.”

The world felt like it was narrowing to Joker’s cruel smile and the crowbar held loosely at his side, panic rising quickly and fluttering in his chest as the clown’s face stopped a scant few inches in front of his own. Joker tilted his head, eyes raking over him like hot coals and appearing contemplative. “Those baby blues might’ve changed,” he mused before his tone sharpened, satisfied smirk flashing. “But that fear in your eyes is the same. I’d know it anywhere. Delicious.”

His breath started coming quicker as the clown finally stepped back, cackling at Jason’s obvious distress. “What the fuck,” Jason choked out, trying for angry but the words mostly sounding afraid to his ears.

Joker ignored him, going back to twirling that godawful crowbar again, and Jason’s terrified thoughts were rabbiting around, eyes flitting between the Joker and the crowbar as though unable to decide which posed the greater threat. “Y’know, when Mask told me someone had taken up my former mantle, I was ready to – hmmmm, let’s say, teach them a little lesson on taking things that don’t belong to them,” Joker said almost thoughtfully, then cocked his head at Jason, voice going sickly-sweet. “But when I realized it was you, well! You were doing such a good job with it, kiddo, I just couldn’t bear to take it away from you!”

Jason flinched back. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demanded. He wasn’t – Joker wasn’t supposed to be happy about – Jason had been protecting people under that name! He had made the mantle his own, made it stand for something better. What the fuck did the Joker mean that Jason had been doing a good job? Joker should be pissed.

“How do you think Batman would’ve taken the news that his dead bird, his precious second Robin, had miraculously come back from the dead – and had crossed that all-important line of his?” the Joker asked gleefully, eyes glinting.

The words hit Jason like a – like a crowbar to the gut.

Joker wasn’t done. “Oh, it was just too good. I couldn’t have set up the joke any better myself! The child whose death had nearly destroyed the Batman coming back as a criminal, taking over criminal organizations and killing people left and right.”

Jason gritted his teeth, anger replacing some of the fear at the Joker’s mockery. “You’re so full of shit – my death didn’t mean anything to him! He was already practically done with me even before I died.”

“Awww, poor little Robin,” Joker crooned, and Jason wished his hands were free so he could punch the shit out of the bastard, oscillating nauseatingly between fear and fury. “Did the Bat make you feel abandoned? He did leave you behind with someone who brought you right to me. Pretty bad managerial skills – even if she was your mother.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason growled, and Joker cackled at him.

“Ooh, still a little sensitive about that, are we?” he taunted, eyes glinting madly. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, pumpkin. Even if Mommy didn’t care about you, Daddy Bats certainly did. He nearly tore the city apart for you!”

That drew Jason up short, the anger abating in favor of confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Joker’s mean grin almost softened, eyes going distant like he was recalling something extraordinarily pleasant. “He was vicious after I killed you,” the clown said dreamily. “Every criminal unlucky enough to cross him wound up in the ICU, no matter how petty the crime. He got closer and closer to crossing that line of his every day. It was beautiful.” Then he scowled like a child whose toy had been taken away. “Until that next little Robin butted in.”

Jason shook his head, denial sitting hard and heavy in his gut. “You’re wrong,” he said, steely, the memory of the newspaper Talia had shown him bright and painful in his mind. “He didn’t care about me – he replaced me within months of my death! My body was barely cold in the ground, and he was already fitting someone else for my uniform!”

“Whatever you say, boy blunder,” Joker said dismissively, the sharp smirk still cutting across his face. “Gotham knows the truth – the Bat was so close to showing his true colors after your death, to becoming exactly what we all know he’s capable of becoming.” Bruce wouldn’t do that, Bruce didn’t care – “And if your death could cause that, imagine what your life could cause, when you come back as exactly the sort of person he stops.”

The words felt like ice water poured over him, and Jason barely contained the full-body flinch. The Joker noticed his dismay, ha-HA-ha’s echoing through the worn-down warehouse and ending on a gleeful smile. “Batman would’ve been destroyed when he figured it out,” he said, eyes glittering. “Causing that sort of despair in Batman? That was exactly what I wanted from my successor.” He patted Jason’s cheek, unbothered by Jason’s attempt to jerk away. “You earned the right to my name.”

“Fuck you,” Jason spat, furious. “That’s – that’s not what I was doing. I don’t have anything to do with Batman – he doesn’t even know who I am!”

“Oh, I know,” Joker said, and his bright, pleased expression darkened, sending a chill racing down Jason’s spine. He looked at Jason with something akin to disapproval for the first time. “Your determination to hide who you are from Batsy really threw a wrench into my plans. I figured it would take a couple of months tops before your little secret was blown out of the water – you were always such a dramatic little bird, after all.”

The Joker huffed, irritated and almost pouting. “I mean, I didn’t even resist when the Bat took me back to Arkham! I thought I’d be watching the aftermath comfortably from my cell within weeks – but instead, you just ran back to Daddy Bat’s waiting arms.”

Jason half-expected him to stamp his foot, with how childishly petulant he appeared. “You showed such promise when you first came to town! Sure, you still had some silly little moral code that you followed – only killing criminals, keeping the weak safe, yadda yadda yadda.” The Joker rolled his eyes, before his expression morphed into something startlingly earnest as he met Jason’s eyes. “But we could’ve worked on that! You were carrying on our legacy. I’d never expected one of the Bat’s brats to take after their Uncle J, but I couldn’t have been prouder of you!”

Jason felt – Jason felt fucking sick, nausea churning in his gut.

Then the clown’s expression darkened, and his earnest gaze turned to an irritated glare. “And then you had to go and ruin it. You stopped killing and started working with them again. Returned to the Bat’s side like a good little sidekick – and I couldn’t have that, now could I?”

Joker’s tone turned more congenial, and Jason was getting whiplash from the deranged man’s rapidly shifting mood. “Mask was only too happy to help me,” the clown said with a grin, then leaned in slightly to whisper conspiratorially, “Of course, he thought the endgame was to make you angry enough to lash out against his dealers so violently that Batman would have no choice but to arrest you and throw you in here with me. If he’d known that the plan was really for you get angry enough to kill him, he miiiiiight’ve been less eager to go along with it.”

The Joker straightened and laughed, the chilling noise grating at Jason’s ears. Then the levity dissipated and irritation returned. “But you didn’t follow the script – which is why I’ve had to resort to this.”

“And what is this?” Jason demanded.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Joker asked, tilting his head and looking down at Jason pityingly, like Jason was a particularly slow child. “As long as you’re playing at being some redeemed hero, you’re useless to me.” He paused. “Well – almost useless.” The clown smirked, eyes glittering from where he loomed over Jason, whipping the crowbar from behind his back to thwack against his other hand. “In fact, you do still have one use – the same one I found for you the first time around.

“Death numero uno sent Batsy on a spiral of violence the likes of which the city had never seen from him before. Let’s see what death number two does, when the Bat finds out that he’s gotten you back just in time to lose you again.” The Joker cackled, head thrown back, as Jason tried to regulate his breathing. Panicking wouldn’t help him – but Jason was having a harder and harder time fighting off the green-tinged fear at the edges of his vision.

The laughter faded and the clown straightened, looking down at Jason with a still-wide grin but a look in his eyes that was almost…considering. “Now,” he said thoughtfully, “I’m willing to give you another chance here. You were doing some great work when you first came to Gotham, and you and I both know the truth – you’re no hero.”

The Joker extended the crowbar, and Jason tensed – but the clown merely used the curved end of it to tilt Jason’s chin up, forcing eye contact. The touch of cold metal had Jason’s breath freezing in his lungs.

The clown’s voice turned cajoling. “You always were the violent Robin, weren’t you? Even before I got to you. And then I got my hands on you and molded you in my image, there at the end. You don’t really think you could be one of the Bats now, do you?” The words were said almost kindly, for all that they were a stab through the heart.

“Look what you’ve done since you came back. I’ve watched you, Red Hood.” And Jason couldn’t hold back a flinch, the moniker sounding like a curse for the first time since he’d determinedly taken it as his own. “You killed people and you liked it.” Jason wanted to scream that he was wrong, that Jason had only ever done what was necessary, but the words caught in his chest.

The Joker didn’t seem poised to be interrupted anyway, continuing mercilessly, his tone increasingly manic. “You don’t belong with the Bats anymore – you’re mine now. Come back to me, help me show Batman what happens when he makes mistakes – help me show him what happens when his moral code isn’t enough, when the Batman fails.”

The words burst forth from Joker like a bomb, echoing in the empty space between them, and Jason wasn’t sure if his chest or the Joker’s was heaving harder.

“Never,” Jason vowed, low and hoarse. “Never in a million fucking years would I help you. After what you did?” Jason laughed, the sound mirthless and painful. “You’re fucking delusional, you deranged piece of shit.”

Joker’s expression hardened, then went eerily blank before being replaced by something saccharine. He stepped back, the crowbar dropping Jason’s chin as he tutted. “Holding a grudge is bad for your health, Hoodsy,” he warned, tone pleasant but eyes glinting hatefully. “But if that’s what you want, then so be it. Your second death will probably be enough to send the Bat over the edge – and if it’s not, there are always two other little birdies I can play with.”

The taunt did probably exactly what it was meant to, burrowing under Jason’s skin and sending fury shooting through him. “You stay the fuck away from them,” he growled, struggling against the ropes anew.

Joker laughed at him meanly. “Touched a nerve, did I?” he mocked, all traces of the petulant-child-whose-toy-wasn’t behaving gone, all congeniality and earnestness vanished, replaced with the confidently cruel figure of Jason’s nightmares. “You can’t stop me, lambchop. I wonder if the littlest birdie screams as pretty as you did,” he said thoughtfully, before grinning down at Jason. Jason could feel his heart pounding, the green rage that had been absent in the face of his fear starting to return, to blur the edges of his vision, at the thought of Joker getting his hands on another Robin, on Tim.

“I think after I finish with you, he’ll be next on my list,” Joker said with relish. “He really did cause me so much inconvenience – Batman would’ve been over the edge years ago, if it weren’t for him.”

There was a ringing in Jason’s ears, the green haze expanding, distorting his vision in a way it hadn’t done in a long time, in a way Jason hadn’t let it do in a long time – but he hadn’t been this furious (this scared) since the early days of the Pit.

Joker was oblivious to the roiling rage, continuing animatedly. “I think I’ll wring every bit of that out of his neck for a few hours – maybe even days, if he lasts that long. Do you think he’d beg me to kill him? I think I could make him beg,” he said with a cackle.

“You’re not going to touch him,” Jason snarled, his voice almost unrecognizable to his own ears in its fury.

“Temper, temper!” laughed the Joker. “Who’s going to stop me? You? Not likely. The Bat? He failed to save his last Robin – I’m sure you remember. He won’t save this one, either. And when I’m done with him, maybe I’ll make him the same offer I made you. I hear this Robin’s the smart one – maybe he’ll be smart enough to take the deal, be my little Joker Junior. Say, Hoodsy, your eyes sure are bright – ”

There was a snap in Jason’s mind – and the world went green.

“ – od? Hood, c’mon, snap out of it!”

The prickling, roiling green receded slightly as, from a great distance, Jason heard his brother’s voice behind him.

Nightmarish cackling almost sent him hurtling back into the green’s depths, but Jason held onto the slight clarity by the tips of his fingers, drawing back enough to see the Joker lying at his feet, battered and bloodied but still chortling like he was having the time of his life. The metal curve of the crowbar peeked in Jason’s peripheral vision, clutched in his own right hand and covered in Joker’s blood. In his left hand was a gun, the weight familiar and grounding.

Jason could feel his chest heaving like he’d run a marathon, feel the burn in his arms that told him the person responsible for the Joker’s injuries was probably him – but he couldn’t feel anything but a vicious satisfaction at the realization, and a searing fury that the Joker was still fucking laughing.

“The rest of our playmates have arrived!” the clown said brightly as though he wasn’t laying semi-broken on the ground, already-gruesome grin made now bloodied as his eyes glinted meanly up at Jason. “Isn’t it so nice of the littlest bird to deliver himself right to me? Almost like he knew I was asking for him!”

The crowbar clattered to the ground, and Jason had the gun trained on the Joker in an instant.

“Hood, no!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it!”

The three cries from behind him had Jason gritting his teeth, but he paused, glaring down at the Joker. “Why shouldn’t I?” he snapped, not letting the barrel of the gun drop. It was almost vibrating, somehow unsteady – but no, Jason realized, the gun wasn’t quivering; his hands, which had never been anything but steady with a weapon ever since his League training, were shaking.

“Like we talked about before,” Batman said calmly, though there was some strain in his voice. Jason could feel the Batglare boring into his back, and, though he couldn’t see the three vigilantes behind him, he could practically feel Nightwing’s steady concern and Robin’s thrumming anxiousness. “We can’t do what we do if we’re as bad as them.”

“When we talked before, I told you this fucker would be getting a bullet in the head if I got the chance,” Jason snarled.

“Awww, Hoodsy, I’m touched – I didn’t know you felt that way about little ol’ me,” Joker simpered, and Jason cocked the gun.

He kept his eyes trained on the Joker, continuing, “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing on this fucking earth that I could even do that would be anywhere close to ‘as bad as’ what he’s done. So, if you wanna stop me from following through on that promise, you’re gonna have to give me a better reason than that.”

“Hood.” Batman’s calm tone was even more strained, and Jason could picture his constipated expression, even if he couldn’t see it. “You don’t want to do this. If you do, we’ll have to bring you in. Everything that you stand for – protecting the Alley, helping the weak and vulnerable, making your home a better place – will be lost.”

“Will it?” Jason wondered. “One of the biggest threats to the Alley, to Gotham, is the Joker. The people he kills, the lives he ruins – I could stop all of that right here, right now.”

“At the cost of you,” Batman argued, the calm façade beginning to slip.

“Sounds like a pretty reasonable price to me,” Jason said softly, the gun steadier and steadier in his hands. It wasn’t like Jason had much of a soul left, after everything he’d done in the League; what was one more kill on his already-bloody hands? His grip stabilized, and he squeezed –

“Is your revenge truly worth this?” Batman demanded, a change in tactic that Jason hadn’t been expecting, that made him hesitate.

“My revenge?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“That’s clearly what this is about – revenge for what happened with your mother.” Batman’s tone was cold, almost goadingly so, in a way it hadn’t been before. Jason was perplexed by the sudden switch – until it clicked.

The Bat was trying to piss Jason off.

Jason knew this strategy, used this strategy – needling someone until they pointed their weapon at you instead of at a helpless victim.

Joker was far from helpless, though.

“Ooooh, are we talking about Hoodsy’s mommy issues?” the clown prodded with malicious glee, and Jason’s teeth gritted. “Personally, I find his daddy issues much more compelling, but to each their own – ”

“You told me yourself, what happened to her,” Batman said loudly – loud enough to break through the green haze that had started to descend again at the Joker’s taunt, and Jason realized with a start that his grip on the gun had become almost painfully white-knuckled. His posture loosened.

There was a pause, like Batman had seen some of the tension leave his shoulders, before the man continued relentlessly, “You told me yourself that she gave you to him, and that he killed her. Though why you would hold a grudge against him for that, I don’t understand – it’s your mother whom you should hate. The Joker simply rid you of her.”

Another pause, this one lengthier, as though Batman was carefully measuring his words, before saying – “It seems to me as though he did you a favor.”

The words crash over Jason like ice-cold water, and even knowing that it’s what the bastard wants can’t stop Jason from lowering the barrel of the gun.

“A favor,” he repeated hoarsely, voice cracking. “A favor.”

Jason spun around, too distracted by the fury and hurt coursing through him to care that he was playing right into Batman’s hands, was turning away from his target, was leaving his back open to his enemy. “He killed me,” he shouted, tight and painful. “He – he fucking – killed me, and you wanna call that a favor?”

A distant, logical part of his brain pointed out that Batman & Co should be rushing him right now. He wasn’t pointing a weapon at anyone anymore; this was the moment where the Bats were supposed to kick the gun from his numb fingers, hit him over the helmet-less head, knock him out and take him to Arkham or Blackgate or whatever hole they were dumping criminals in this week.

Not stand stock-still and stare at him, white-faced and silent with shock.

“Little Wing?” Nightwing’s voice was small and full of disbelief.

Jason didn’t even hear him, too focused on the source of his anger, who was staring at him with a blank, stunned expression that he’d never seen on Batman’s face before. “I guess it probably did feel like a favor to you, since you didn’t have to deal with your failure Robin after that anymore,” he sneered.

That got a reaction from the Bat, who startled badly before his expression smoothed into something unreadable. His gaze was trained frighteningly-intently on Jason as he took a step forward.

Jason tamped down on the instinctive desire to step backwards, steeling himself and holding his ground; he was the one with the right to be angry, here, even if he had just threatened to kill the Joker and was definitely about to be thrown in Arkham. At least he’d get to say his piece first.

“You never even wanted me in the first place – I was just your charity case and someone to fill the pixie boots after Golden Boy moved on,” he spat. Batman took another step forward, remaining silent and unreadable, and Jason carefully didn’t let his eyes widen, trying to hide how unnerved he was by the wordless approach. Bruce had never raised a hand to him before – but Jason was a bad guy now, had practically been one of his Rogues until a mere few months ago.

His mouth apparently decided to fill the void that Batman’s silence left behind, words that had been building up for years tumbling out one after the other. “But I could never measure up to your perfect first Robin. I was just a disappointment to you, a shitty knockoff Robin who was never going to be as good as the real deal. And then you fired me from that.” Jason hoped the bitter anger in his voice masked the heartbreak as Batman stepped towards him again.

The bitterness festered, dark and ugly. “But you couldn’t fire me from being your kid. Sucked for you, right?” He laughed, a hollow sound, as Batman took another step forward. The words continued to burble up in a never-ending flood of the resentment, of hurt, that he’d bottled up ever since waking in that Pit. He flung them now at the Bat, cruelly, painfully, angrily. “I bet you were relieved when I left to find my mom – good riddance to bad trash and all that, yeah?”

The Bat took another step forward, inexorable and barely out of arm’s reach, now, and Jason’s heart was rabbiting in his chest, filled to the brim with a mixture of fury, hurt, pain, heartbreak as he glared at his former dad mentor. “You never wanted me,” he accused again, and Batman stepped forward once more, well within grabbing distance now.

“You – you were relieved when I ran away.” Another step forward, and the Bat was right in front of Jason, gaze still unwaveringly focused on his face, like he was drinking it in.

“You didn’t save me.”

The words slipped out, hanging in the air between them.

A gauntleted hand reached out, tentative – almost afraid, until it touched solid skin – then it cupped Jason’s face gently. “Oh, Jaylad,” Bruce whispered, an echo of Jason’s pain and heartbreak written on the older man’s face. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

Jason wasn’t sure who moved first – him or Bruce – but suddenly he was in his dad’s arms, face buried in his shoulder with one of Bruce’s hands tangled in his hair, holding on for dear life.

“I – I died, and you weren’t there.” Jason was crying. When had he started crying?

“I’m so sorry, son.”

The words were a rumble against him, and Jason was reminded of being held like this when he was much, much smaller and had a nightmare, tiny and trusting that nothing could harm him when he was encircled by those strong arms.

“Why didn’t you come for me?”

The response was stuttered, hesitant and – and afraid in a way that Bruce never was. “I was there – just – too late.”

The words were haunted, the arms around him tightening in response as though making sure he was real – and Jason thought maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d been living a nightmare.