Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim is in the middle of working on something complicated – an algorithm which should help optimise the arrival of smuggling shipments to avoid detection by Batman, GCPD, or any rival gangs – and for a moment, the sound of his phone ringing is nothing more than an irritating break in his concentration.

Then he remembers that no-one except Jason is supposed to have this number and Jason is only one room away.

Number withheld, reads the screen.

“Jay!” Tim calls. “I think it's showtime!”

“Fucking finally…”

Jason appears at the door of Tim's room. Tim rolls his eyes at the impatience and shushes him before picking up.

“Hello?”

“Tim,” says the familiar voice of Barbara Gordon in a tone of audible relief. “How are you doing?”

“Five by five,” he answers. “How are you?”

There's a heavy sigh.

“To tell you the truth, I have been having a long couple of days. Can you imagine why that might be?”

Tim fights the urge to grin. “I have a few ideas…”

“You see yesterday started with a rather frantic phone call from Dick, begging me to do him a favour. He told me that you and Bruce were on the outs and that whatever happened, I shouldn't tell Bruce where you were.

“Which was followed by a frantic phone call from Bruce, telling me that you'd been kidnapped by a drug lord and were in imminent danger.”

Tim grimaces.

“Of course, the first thing I did was check his files, which made it clear enough what had happened even before I found some rather acerbic comments Dick had appended. Thank you, by the way, for what you did last week.”

“I…”

Tim finds himself faintly speechless at Barbara's matter-of-fact acknowledgement. He supposes he isn't surprised, but it hadn't really occurred to him that she might approve.

“At that point, it seemed clear enough that you'd left the Manor voluntarily –”

“So you decided to respect my privacy and stop pursuing the case?” Tim quips.

“It's like you don't even know me,” Barbara jokes back. “I wanted to make sure you were okay, and that Red Hood wasn't actually coming after you for any reason. Only strangely enough, when I tried to log onto his systems yesterday evening, there was a rather nasty virus that had a good go at chewing up my system. A virus which seemed strangely familiar.

“How long have you been working with a wanted murderer?”

“You tell me, I'm sure you have the exact date.”

“Two months!” Barbara says. “What the hell were you thinking, Tim? He's racking up criminal charges faster than anyone I've ever seen, and you're trusting him to watch your back in Crime Alley?”

“I trust him absolutely.” Tim can't keep the words from taking on a sharp end. “And I have very good reason to. As for what that is… I think you'd better talk to him yourself.”

He glances up and makes eye contact with Jason. At his nod, Tim puts the phone on speaker.

“Hey there, Barbie,” Jason says. “Long time no see.”

There's a sharp gasp, and then the line goes completely quiet. Jason frowns, but Tim signs for him to wait a minute. Babs doesn't like people to hear her getting emotional. She'll come off mute after she's taken a minute to pull herself together.

After about thirty seconds, the line crackles back into life with the sound of heavy breaths.

“No,” Babs says after a moment. “I'm sorry, but I can't do this unless I have proof of identity.”

“Dick and I trust him,” Tim protests, but Jason holds up a hand to stop him.

“That's fair,” Jason replies. “I'll come to you, let you run whatever tests you want, on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“Bruce doesn't hear about this.”

Babs sucks in a hiss of breath.

“He doesn't know? Of course he doesn't.” She sighs. “Fine. Come to the Clock Tower first thing tomorrow. If you really are… who you're claiming to be… and you can explain what's going on to my satisfaction, I won't tell Bruce who you are or where Tim is staying. But I have a condition of my own: I'm sending an agent to keep an eye on you both until your identity is confirmed.”

“You mean, to make sure I don't murder Timmy.”

“That's what I said, wasn't it?” Babs shoots back.

“That's fine,” Tim says. “When will they be here?”

“She arrived five minutes before I called,” Babs answers. “Take care of yourself, Tim.” She pauses, then adds, a little stiffly: “Hood… I'll see you tomorrow.”

She ends the call, and Tim and Jason share a look.

“That could have gone worse,” Tim observes.

“Let's go find this 'agent' of hers before we decide that,” Jason says, darkly.

Tim follows him through to the main room, and breaks into a grin.

Batgirl is sitting on their couch.

“Cass!”

#

When Tim was briefing Jason on the current Bats, his advice on fighting Batgirl had been “don't.” Jason had made some quip, but Tim had just fixed him with a flat stare and told him that Batgirl regularly took out Batman in hand-to-hand. That had given Jason a healthy dose of respect-slash-fear for the vigilante, and he had hoped to never cross paths with her.

Now she is in his apartment, eating his enchiladas.

Fortunately, Little Red is being a trooper, pretending effortlessly that he hasn't noticed the tension around the dinner table as he keeps up a stream of conversation. She interjects with only the occasional word, or more usually a short burst of signing. Jason's ASL is a little rusty, but he can understand most of what they're saying – although one time Cassandra suddenly snorts with laughter while he has his back turned, and he gets the distinct impression that he's being made fun of.

“Alright, kiddo!” He ruffles Tim's hair in retaliation as he serves the food, and dodges Tim's annoyed swipe. “Eat up, or you'll never grow up big and strong!”

“Fuck you, we can't all be giants.” Tim takes a large bite, and frowns. “Are there vegetables in these?”

“Despite what Dick might claim, you can't actually live off of cereal and pot noodle. You need vitamins to live,” Jason tells him flatly.

“We had vegetables yesterday! And at lunch!”

“That's pretty much how it works, yeah…”

Jason is grinning as they bicker back and forth, and he forgets all about Cassandra for a second until he catches her eye. She's watching the two of them intently, like they're a mystery she's trying to solve. It's probably a lot like the look Jason has been giving her since she arrived.

This is the trouble with hanging out with too many detectives.

Tim glances between them, and for a second there's a flash of calculation in his eyes, like he's trying to decide if he needs to intervene.

Then:

“Cass, tell Jason that microwaving stuff counts as cooking.”

“It definitely does not –”

Tim waves at him. “Let Cass decide!”

Cass thinks about it for a moment, then nods.

“Cheating cooking,” she decrees with an impish grin.

“That counts!” Tim insists.

“Since when does cheating count for anything?” Jason argues back.

“Cass is on my side! I can absolutely cook.”

“Better than B,” Cass signs, and Jason snorts.

“Now that's damning with faint praise.”

#

Jason knew he wasn't going to sleep well tonight. It's bad enough that he's had to take two nights off patrol while uninjured – lockdown is the worst – but tomorrow…

It's not that he doesn't want to trust Babs. They were never that close, but she was decent enough to him, back before.

But that's the problem. Before was years ago. A lot has changed in that time. The young woman he remembers struggling to put together the pieces of her life has by all accounts succeeded in that mission, surpassed it, and grown into someone new.

Someone Jason has never met.

It's not that Jason resents her for changing when he wasn't looking – isn't that exactly what he did, too? – but it's still hard to put his future in her hands. Oracle is a name spoken with reverence, awe, even a little bit of fear. Dick and Tim both seem certain that without her help, their little plot is finished.

Of course, Dick and Tim also both assured him that they trust Babs completely, and she will do the right thing. And Jason does trust their judgement. It's just…

He isn't nearly so certain that Babs will agree that helping him is the right choice.

So his brain keeps running scenarios: what if he arrives and Batman is waiting? What if it's a trap from the GCPD? What if she decides he doesn't pass the test?

What if she decides he can't be trusted with Little Red?

He has to keep reminding himself that he isn't going there looking for a fight. Honestly, it would be easier if he was. With gear and planning, he's pretty sure he could take her – and then he'd only have to trust his own skills.

But instead, he's going to walk into the Clock Tower unarmed and unarmoured, with no idea what might be waiting for him on the inside. And he will do it without hesitation, because it's for Tim. Because Tim told him it will be okay.

But that doesn't mean sleep is going to come easy tonight.

Sometime around 1am, after exchanging a couple of texts with Dickie who's on a stakeout in Bludhaven, Jason gets up for a drink. Maybe a cup of chamomile tea will help him wind down enough to catch a leisurely four hours of sleep tonight.

He has just put the water on to boil when there's a soft humming sound from somewhere behind him. He manages to hide most of his flinch, and turns to see Cassandra walking towards him, her motion absolutely silent.

“You want a drink?” he asks.

She shakes her head, and instead perches on the kitchen counter.

“Couldn't sleep?” She had offered to sleep on the couch, although clearly “sleeping” was a loose descriptor.

“Bats don't sleep at night,” she signs.

He manages a half-smile at the pun, although it's also close enough to true in the literal sense. If he weren't on lockdown, he would probably be on the streets for another two or three hours before he even thought about turning in.

When he doesn't say anything further, they lapse into a silence which doesn't quite manage “comfortable,” but is at least not openly hostile. She watches him with interest as he gets out a mug and a teabag, waits for the stovetop kettle to boil, and then pours out the scalding-hot water.

“Little brother,” Cassandra says, the moment after he puts the kettle back onto the stove to cool.

A part of Jason hesitates momentarily at that. Dick had done that too, with Tim – assumed that Tim and Jason were brothers, just because they had both been taken in by Bruce. It was true that both of them see Dick as an older brother, and Jason supposes that normally that's how it works – but there's nothing particularly normal about their situation. They didn't meet until they were both teenagers, never even lived under the same roof before yesterday, and neither is currently on speaking terms with their “father.”

That isn't to say that he doesn't have some brotherly feelings towards the kid. He feels protective of Little Red, wants to ruffle his hair and force feed him vegetables. But claiming that all that is because they're “brothers” seems disingenuous. Nothing about their relationship is because of their shared proximity to Bruce, or Dick or Alfred or anyone else. Tim is someone Jason chose. Someone he is going to keep choosing, for as long as he has the power to decide. “Brothers” just… doesn't seem to cut it.

But on the other hand, if the unbeatable ninja girl in his kitchen wants to think of him as her brother, he isn't exactly going to quibble over language.

“Little? I could bench you without breaking a sweat,” he says instead.

She smiles.

“Older. Six months,” she signs, smugly. “Little brother.”

Jason pulls a face, and shrugs.

“Okay. What of it?”

Cassandra's smile fades away, and a little crease of worry appears between her eyebrows.

“You kill,” she says.

Okay. He's been expecting this, on some level, ever since he first saw Dickie again.

“Yeah yeah, I got the same lecture as everyone else,” he spits, the words bitter in his mouth. “I don't need judgement from Bruce or from his disciples, so you can take whatever you're about to say and –”

Cassandra makes a pissed-off sound, and starts signing viciously, her fingers stabbing at the air.

“I make my own decisions. Think my own thoughts. Chose the Bat because I do not kill, not do not kill because I am Bat.”

Jason takes a breath.

“Okay fine,” he snaps, “but you don't get to judge me for deciding differently. And you can keep that shit well away from Timmy, the last thing he needs is –”

“Already talked to Tim,” she cuts him off. Jason moves his hands to the edge of the counter, away from the far-too-breakable ceramic mug. “He killed once. A very bad person. Thought it was necessary. I do not agree, but I understand.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Jason snarks.

Cassandra ignores him.

“Tim does not want to kill again. Not unless there is no other option. What is done once… there can be forgiveness. Tim is still good.”

Jason is about to comment again, but something about the look on Cassandra's face stills him.

“Tim thinks you are good,” she signs intently. “But you have killed, many times. Not trying to judge. Trying to understand.”

Jason looks her up and down. She seems genuine with this, but he isn't sure he'd be able to tell.

“It's no big mystery,” he says with a snort. “I kill the bad people. That makes me good. Think of it as just like what Batman does, only my way actually fixes things.”

“Batman helps people,” she shoots back, immediately defensive. “He stops criminals.”

Jason scoffs openly.

“In Gotham? Most of the criminals we arrest get let go with a warning, or they strike a plea deal that has them back on the streets in a matter of months. On the rare occasion a charge sticks long enough to make it to trial, suddenly key witnesses get intimidated into silence, or the police 'lose' vital evidence, and suddenly they get off scott-free. Unless of course they're fucked up enough to wind up in Arkham, in which case they might last a whole year before the next mass break-out.

“And then, at the end of it all, they're back on the streets. Hurting more people.”

“So instead… death?”

“For the ones that deserve it. The ones who hurt kids, or sex workers – anyone who chooses to hurt people who can't fight back. You've seen Gotham. There are plenty of people out there who deserve a bullet.”

“No one deserves to die.”

Jason waves his hand.

“Okay, yeah, I get that's what you think. And you're not the first cape to think that way, obviously. But I'm not the first to disagree, either. Plenty of heroes kill if they need to. Gotham just has more trash to take out than most places.”

“What about you?”

Jason frowns, not understanding. Cassandra waves her hands for a moment before collecting her thoughts.

“You are trained. You have practised,” she signs. “You hunt them, but they cannot fight back. Do you deserve –”

“Fuck you.” Jason scowls, and the kitchen is lit with a dull green glow. “No, it's different, you fucking – I am protecting people. Avenging victims. I'm making Gotham safer.”

“No murderers, except you?” Cass shakes her head. “A death is a death.”

“Exactly!” Jason slams his hand on the counter, and the mug rattles alarmingly. “Every death counts. Every street walker in a dark alley, every runaway kid slipping through the cracks, every junkie overdosing in a filthy apartment. That's who I'm trying to save. The guys I kill destroy people, every day.

“I can't look away from that. I'm not like him, I don't forget about them unless they're right in front of me. I'm not going to abandon Crime Alley, let it eat itself to survive. Every bastard I put in the ground is innocent lives saved, good people who get to live their lives without being defined by suffering. That's easy math, in my book.”

Jason breaks off, breathing a little hard from the outburst. Cassandra is still for a few seconds, and the only sound is Jason's heart pounding his head.

“What if you're wrong?” she finally asks. “If you make a mistake…”

Her signs trail off, and Jason clenches his jaw so hard his teeth ache.

“I don't get it wrong,” he says, firmly. “I won't.”

I can't.

Cassandra watches him with with ghostly stillness, her skin lit with sickly phosphorous green.

“I think I understand,” she says out loud. “You care very much about life. I do not think your way is right, but I see the path that led you there.”

“I wasn't asking your permission,” Jason snaps.

She holds up her hands, then signs: “One question. Barbara showed me your files. Some of the people you have killed are guards, drivers, guns for hire…”

“They know who they're working for.” Jason says, with perhaps a shade less viciousness than his voice held before. “They see evil happening, they have their chance to walk away. All sorts of terrible things can be done by people showing up for work and doing what they're told.”

“And that makes them unforgivable?” she pushes.

Jason glances down at his forgotten tea. He spilled some on the counter – where did he leave the dishcloth?

“… Yes,” he answers.

“You do not believe that,” Cassandra says. “They work for criminals because they are desperate. Most could change, could be better, in better circumstances.”

“What do you want me to do – end poverty in Gotham?”

Cassandra smiles at him encouragingly. “A worthy goal for my brother.”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a miracle worker.”

“You are brilliant.”

He scoffs. “Who told you that?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Everyone.”

Jason frowns at that. They're getting off topic.

“Look,” he says. “I've been trying. Especially…” He glances down the corridor towards Tim's room. “… recently. Only going lethal with people who really deserve it. Mostly the mooks don't make the grade.” He hesitates for a moment. “I'm not making any promises, though.”

Cassandra gives him a satisfied little nod.

“That is enough, for now. We can talk more later.”

Jason sighs. “You are intensely annoying. You know that?”

Cassandra beams at him, and hops off the countertop.

Jason takes a sip of his overstewed tea – it's unsalvagably bitter, and the rest gets poured down the sink.

He doesn't bother to make more. Somehow, even without it, the gears grinding in his mind seem to have quieted, and he slips into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The Clock Tower is more or less exactly what Jason was expecting from Oracle's top-secret base. The building looks no different than he remembers from the outside, but down a deserted side-alley, a voice from a hidden speaker directs him though scanning his palmprint and retina before unlocking the door. Inside is all exposed brickwork and chrome fittings, and the lift starts moving before he presses any buttons.

The lift spits him out on a deserted central level, into a long corridor where all the doors but one are sealed. Jason can take a hint, so he heads to the open door, then hesitates.

“You gonna shut me in here?” he asks. It's stupid, given that he's already thoroughly trapped inside the building, but being locked in a small windowless room really doesn't appeal.

The wall opposite flickers into life, revealing a large screen with a life-size image of Barbara Gordon.

“If you prefer, we can keep the door open,” Babs replies. “On the understanding that I will lock it remotely if I feel the need to.”

“Works for me,” he says. “Nice place you got here.”

“You will find a swab kit on the table; please take a cheek sample for DNA testing.”

Right. No pleasantries. Jason can understand why Babs doesn't want to acknowledge him until she's sure, but the rejection still stings a little.

For Tim, he reminds himself, as he scrapes the cotton swab across the inside of his mouth, screws it into a tube and deposits it into the slot that opens up in the wall. He reminds himself again when Babs directs him towards the blood typing kit, which he completes with only moderate cursing as the lancet bites into his finger.

“A-positive,” he declares, waving the card at the screen before he puts that into the slot as well.

“So's a third of the population, doesn't mean much,” Babs snaps back at him. “Okay. Let's start the questions.”

She runs him through his old Robin codephrases, a bunch of questions they'd agreed for stuff like this. Then more specific things he remembers: his old cases as Robin, personal stuff about himself and Dick, the rare times he and Babs had hung out together. A few of the questions are stuff he has no memory of – he's hoping some of those were trick questions, but if not… well, it's not like he ever claimed to have perfect recall.

“What then?”

Jason skips forward through his Robin memories in his mind, and like a cartoon character running off a cliff edge, realises that the solid ground has ended.

“Then I went to Ethiopia, and I died.”

He waits a few seconds, expecting further questioning. Babs is pursing her lips, and Jason is sure that her curiosity is eating at her.

But instead, she takes a slow breath.

“… I don't think we should talk about that like this,” she says slowly, “but I do need to know what the story is about your supposed resurrection. You maintain that you died?”

“Pretty sure I remember getting blown up. The next clear memory I have is Talia al Ghul hauling me out of a Lazarus Pit eighteen months later.”

Babs frowns, and Jason notices that she still gets the same wrinkle in her forehead when something isn't adding up.

“Lazarus Pits can't resurrect someone who's been dead that long.”

“I don't think I was dead the whole time. I have flashbacks sometimes, dreams… I'm pretty sure I was catatonic for a while, and Talia kept me at the League of Assassins. Trained me too, cause my fighting style had shifted a bit when I came back. But then she got into some kind of power struggle with Ra's and they decided I'd overstayed my welcome, so I came back to Gotham.”

The forehead wrinkle is still there.

“But you don't know how the League got to you? Do you think they faked your death, or…?”

Jason tugs down the neck of his T-shirt, and Babs sucks in a hiss of breath as she catches sight of the autopsy scar.

“I died,” he repeats, and this time there is no argument. “And then I woke up. For the rest… your guess is as good as mine, Barbie.”

“I'll have to write a program to search the archival security footage. I don't keep much past a year, but Gotham Cemetery is a priority-two feed…” She shakes her head, clearly trying to regain focus. “Okay. You came back to Gotham. Why not come straight to the Manor?”

Jason grits his teeth, forcing his breathing to stay steady. Judging by the moment of shock which flickers on Babs' face, his eyes flash green for a second.

“Talia left me some files on what I'd missed. A new kid in the costume I'd died in. Joker freshly back in Arkham. Still breathing, after what he did to me.”

“You were angry.”

“Yes, I was fucking angry!” Jason curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palm. The sharp sting of pain helps him focus on the present. “B didn't protect me. He didn't avenge me. And he didn't do anything to stop it from happening again.”

Babs drums her fingers on the arm of her chair for a second, until Jason is painfully aware of how loud the sound of his breath is.

“Okay,” she says. “So instead you decided to establish yourself as a gang leader, taking out rival criminals. Under the same persona you become a violent vigilante, although your actions are largely limited to your gang's territory and the activities of any rival gangs you are targeting.”

Her voice is flat, and Jason has no idea what she's thinking.

“I wanted to do what Batman couldn't. Protect Crime Alley, and put a permanent end to the worst people on Gotham's streets.”

She nods distractedly, as if this were obvious.

“And can you explain to me how Tim got involved?”

Jason pauses for a moment, shocked by the strength of the memory as he thinks back to that first night Tim had shown up at his apartment. He swallows hard, remembering how Tim had seemed so eager, so certain about working with the Red Hood. He really shouldn't have been, but damn it if Jason isn't thankful.

“Baby genius recognised my fighting style off about 3 seconds of CCTV, and tracked me down to my safehouse to offer to work with me. By all rights I should have kicked his ass, but I could see the kid was messed up about something, and he needed a soft place to land.”

Jason really hopes he can give Tim that.

“What was Tim –?” Babs pauses, and shakes her head. “No, I suppose I should talk to him about that. What happened then?”

“He worked with me the last few months, and then I decided it was high time the Joker got crossed off my to-do list.” The rage flares again, but Jason is expecting it and only pauses for a second to keep his cool. “Hey, do you know where they've buried the fucker? We could take a field trip to piss on his grave together.”

Babs startles into a laugh.

“Boys,” she huffs, in a disgusted tone. Then: “He's destined for cremation, so I'm afraid you'll have to find an alternate sacrilegious bonding activity.”

“Oh, I'm sure I can come up with some ideas…”

Babs smiles, but after a moment it fades.

“We're almost finished,” she says. “So, what happened that night?”

Jason tenses.

“I miscalculated,” he admits. “I figured the Pit might take over when I saw him… thought I'd just shoot the fucker. But instead I got distracted torturing him, for so long I missed check-in. Little Red came looking for me, and… you know the rest, I'm sure.”

Babs shuffles some of the papers in front of her, looking set to move on, but Jason interrupts.

“Batman took him back to the Cave and threw him in a cell. He's been on house arrest for the last week – he's a senior in high school, for fuck's sake, he's about to sit his finals! B has been treating him like a criminal –”

“I know,” Babs interrupts. “Nightwing already gave me this speech – and don't worry, I'm plenty pissed off at B for what he did.”

“Then why am I hearing a 'but'?” Jason demands.

Babs sighs. “How much proof of identity did Nightwing ask, before he believed you?”

Jason hesitates. Thinking back… “Not much. I think he's a bit rusty on the protocol.”

“He's not rusty,” Babs says, in a foreboding voice.

“What does that even mean? Is he okay?”

She sighs.

“It means,” she says through gritted teeth, “that Dick wants to live in a world where his brother is still alive. Even if he has to lie to himself to achieve it.”

“… oh.”

What else is there to say to that?

“The blood results should be almost finished,” Babs promises. “I just have to keep myself open to all possibilities until –”

There's a chiming noise. Babs leans left to read something on a different screen.

After a moment the video feed goes dark.

Jason tips his head back until it hits the back of his chair. Is it too much to ask that one person in this team learn to end a conversation normally?

Hopefully it was the results coming through that distracted her. Jason is pretty sure he passed all of her tests. What would it mean if he hadn't – that he isn't even him any more? Tim and Dick seem fairly convinced to the contrary.

But then, as Babs just pointed out, they aren't the most neutral arbiters.

Jason starts to spin in his chair, trying not to spin out in his head, when he hears a noise from the lift. He makes his way to the door to investigate –

Just in time to be barrelled into by a wheelchair moving at high speed.

“You're alive,” Babs says, hugging him around the waist while Jason manages – barely – to not topple into her lap.

“I'm alive!” he agrees. “I take it I passed?”

She releases him for long enough to look up at him. She isn't crying, but her eyes are definitely shiny, and Jason shifts uncomfortably at the blatant display of emotion.

Then she hits him in the stomach.

“Ow!”

“Why the fuck didn't you come to me? Okay, you wanted to avoid Bruce, but there were other options – you don't think Dick deserved to know, as soon as you were back?”

Jason winces.

“I didn't think you guys'd keep it from B.”

“You should have known better,” she snaps.

“Okay, fine! Next time I come back from the dead, I'll make sure you and Dickie are the first people I tell!”

“Don't even joke about it,” Babs says flatly. She nods at the chair behind him, her gaze unblinking. “Sit.”

In a flash, she's all Batgirl, about to tear into Robin for ignoring orders on patrol. Reluctantly, Jason sits down.

Babs takes a deep breath.

“A gang lord? Really, Jason?”

“I already explained this to you –”

“You're eighteen! You can't even drink yet, and your people control twenty-three percent of Gotham's drug trade!”

Jason runs that number through his head. Last he checked, they were more like nineteen percent.

“The raid against the Falcones last week went well, huh?”

“This is not a time for jokes!” Babs snaps. “You're wanted for more than two dozen felony charges. It's my duty as a citizen to report you.”

Jason tenses.

“All vigilantes are breaking the law. Batman racks up a couple of aggravated assaults and a dangerous driving charge on a quiet night; I've just branched out a little.”

Babs' jaw is clenched.

“Murder,” she says quietly.

“Only the worst of the worst.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I know. That's why we're even having this conversation. Although you could be more discerning –”

“Batgirl 2.0 already gave me the talk. I'll try and leave the goons breathing, unless they're real sadists or some shit. And before you even start, I don't kill in front of Tim unless I absolutely have to.”

“That sentence is not as reassuring as you think it is,” Babs tells him. “You need to be careful.”

“I am! Fuck, Barbie, it's not like I forgot research and surveillance, I only go after guys that I know are guilty.”

“No exceptions. No mistakes.” She gazes at him coolly. “I'll be watching.”

Somehow, this promise doesn't feel as reassuring as Tim's.

“It's not like I'm asking you for help,” Jason grumbles. “Just don't report me to GCPD or the Bat. I can handle the rest fine by myself.”

She makes a 'hmm' noise which Jason has no idea how to interpret.

“I don't want you associating with any of my people in costume. As far as the public are concerned, you're a rogue agent, not associated with any of the Bats or the Birds of Prey.”

“I'm not associated with you guys.”

Babs gives a small smile.

“I may be able to consult on some of your less deadly projects. Tim has some very interesting plans for how your gang could open an illegal safe injection site without the city council interfering…”

Jason huffs.

“I keep telling him to stay out of the drug side of things.”

“Welcome to looking after a teenager.” Babs grins at him. “Are you sure you're up for it?”

Jason scoffs.

“Pretty sure I can do better than the alternatives.” He pauses, and gets serious. “Little Red asked to come with me. He trusts me. I'm not going to fuck that up.”

“Again: don't. I'll be watching.”

Jason nods, and Babs sighs.

“I know you're planning to keep working together… You know Batman will track you down before too long?”

“I know,” Jason says. “I'm going to tell him soon, just – let me do it my own way.”

“I hope you know what you're doing,” Babs says.

Jason shrugs. “So far it's only killed me once!”

She winces, but after a moment her expression turns strangely soft.

“I am glad you're back Jay, I swear.”

He swallows. “I know I made it difficult –”

She rolls forward a little, and cups a hand around his face. He looks away, even as he leans into the touch.

“You always did what you thought was best,” she says, fondly. “I won't interfere with your plans. But if you need help, you always know where to find me.”

For a moment, Jason feels like a child again. These words soothe a pain in him so deep he had forgotten it was there.

“Thanks,” he chokes out.

Then he gets to his feet, and hurries home.