Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gotham was the last place anyone wanted to be. Those who left tended not to come back, and those who stayed... well, they tried their best to leave. Gotham was dark, cold, foggy and miserable.

The only flowers that grew between the cracks in the pavement were daisies. And yet they thrived. Because they were lecherous things that robbed other plants of life, stealing sunlight and nutrients. Softer plants didn't survive in Gotham. Much like the residents. Gotham was for the rough, gravelly voices and calloused hands who weren't afraid of the blood that never seemed to completely wash out with the rain, or the silhouettes that lurked around every corner, or the way nightfall seemed to hang heavy over the city. There was no room for dreamers here. Gotham was where things came to die.

You stepped out into the street, the Gotham chill kissing your nose with a gentle nip as you let the fog wrap you in its ghostly embrace. You pull your jacket around you tighter, as if the movement will ward off the darkness that lingers in the city's every crack and crevice. The architecture, the weather, the people- it was all so different from Metropolis' warm buzz. You missed the flowers and friendly smiles as you crossed the street, the polite exchanges of "have good day" that came with ordering a coffee.

Your friends thought you were crazy for moving- you had a great job at the Daily Planet with a promotion coming up, a comfortably sized studio apartment in the heart of the city, there was a significantly lower crime rate, and Metropolis' population wasn't made up halfway of crazies. There was just no good reason for you to leave, but when the offer from the Gotham Gazette came up, you didn't have a good reason to stay either- particularly the scarred reminder that you no longer had a soulmate.

The initials JPT had engraved themselves into your wrist when you were fifteen, a scorching burn like a jagged piece of glass ripping into you. You screamed so loud you woke the whole orphanage. Eventually, the matron was able to calm you down enough to explain, between your violent sobs, that the mark showing up and scarring meant your soulmate was dead. It hit you then: your parents abandoning you, your soulmate dying... you were cursed. Had it not been for the full ride offered to you by Metropolis University and the convenient internship at the Daily Planet that came with a Journalism degree, you would have left Metropolis much sooner. But you became content.

There was a sound from the rooftops and you gripped your bag tighter, forcing yourself to walk faster. You had been in Gotham for three days when your co-worker at the Gotham Gazette, Vicki Vale, had warned you about being out after nine.

"Hey kid," she had said, swivelling your chair around and sliding into one across from you. "Its almost eight."
You checked your phone and sighed, "I'll only be another hour."
She snorted. "It's always you Metropolians. Do I need to spell it out for you?" Vicki continued before you could answer, "the streets aren't safe and you need to get your cute butt home before nine."
Apparently you had been staring for a beat too long because she started snapping her fingers, frustrated, and snapped at you to "get moving short stuff. Now."

You hadn't stayed longer than needed since then, but today's piece was a tough one, and you lost track of time. You ducked a corner early, deviating from your usual route to get home quicker. A bad decision? Probably.

~~

Jason was having a terrible day.

First, that morning, he had looked away from his eggs for barely a moment, having caught something about the Red Hood on his TV, and when he turned back the pan was a black mess of overcooked smoke. Had Alfred been there, the older man would have been appalled.

Then, on his way to his warehouse, his bike had stuttered to a halt. He was stranded on the side of the road with only one number he could call. Tim had showed up, scoffed out a laugh, and snapped a picture that was sent immediately to the Wayne family group chat. Jason's siblings spent most of the day laughing at his scowl and making memes out of him. And then it got worse. Tim blasted heavy metal at full volume until a migraine started thumping along to the beat behind Jason's eyes.

He got to the warehouse and his day got worse. Roman Sionis was trying to renege on their deal, whispering in various crime lords ears to turn them against the Hood. The crime lord even teamed up with the Joker to make a point. Jason dealt with that by sending them a package of their most trusted minion's hands. Joker's men had jester caps tattooed into their index finger's knuckles. It took him half a day to track down said minions, and their screaming and squirming grated his already thin nerves to shreds. The four bodies were dumped in the harbour for the GCPD to find.

When night finally descended on Gotham, the Bats went out on patrol and Jason's phone fell into a blissful silence. He hoped the rest of his night would be as uneventful as his day was tiring, but he seemed to forget that luck never did tip its hat in his favour.

He yanked off his helmet, wiping at the sweat dripping down his forehead and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. If Roy was here he would've made a joke about coming back to life just to kill himself again, but he just needed an outlet.

"That is a terrible habit, Todd."
Jason groaned and turned to face Damian, a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth. "Beat it, Demon Brat."
The boy tsked and said, "are you aware of the severe detriment you are inflicting upon your health?"
"Yeah," Jason said, "which is exactly why I do it."
"Then you are foolish."
"I was here first, leave me alone."
"I do not see your name on this rooftop."

Before Jason could come up with a snarky response, a shrill scream snapped him into action. He tossed the cigarette and ran for the edge, jumping from one ledge to the next. He glanced back once to make sure the brat was keeping up, pleased with the kids speed. When he reached the general area he heard the scream, he scaled down the side of the building, landing behind two beefy thugs. Putting a hand on either of their shoulders, he yanked them back and pivoted to punch the one on his right. Damian took care of the other.

~~

The Bats came out of nowhere. They made quick work of the two men, who you were sure appeared out of nowhere. There was nothing remarkable about them, except the prominent fools cap with bells tattooed proudly across their biceps.

You were frozen with your back against the wall, holding onto your bag tightly while the one in the red helmet inspected the bodies. He nudged one with his boot and said, "not dead."
The younger one- Robin- made a noise of assent and shouldered past him to help you up.

You let yourself be helped up by what looked like... a suspiciously child shaped vigilante? You knew Robin was young, but you assumed the articles were exaggerating his age. This kid looked less like the fifteen you expected and more like twelve. Thirteen would be a relief.

You glanced up at the taller vigilante. You could swear his eyes met yours for just a moment too long through the helmet and you felt... something pass between the two of you, like the pinprick of a static shock before he turned away. It was gone longer than it was there, and you wondered if you imagined it. Maybe the rough bricks had snagged you? Tentatively, you stepped away from the wall, inching away from the two of them.

When the Red Helmet one spoke, his modulated voice was a deep mechanical thing that reverberated in the silence, "get her home, Robin. Streets aren't safe this time of night." He was facing away from you, but you knew his next order was directed at you: "Go. Now."

Chapter Text

Vicki watched you carefully when you eased into your seat the next morning, and her expression reminded you of a hawk's sharp contemplation right before it struck. She was supposed to be editing her Batman, Botox and BBLs piece, which compared various existing photos of Batman since his first sighting up until now. Vicki was sure the vigilante had gotten some sorts of enhancements, commenting on how his butt appeared rounder, more bubble like, and his jawline and lips were far too full and defined to be natural. The piece was due in three hours, but you appeared to be far more interesting.

"So... how'd it happen kid?" Vale asked, crossing one leg over the other in one smooth motion. "And which vigilante saved you?"
Your surprise must have shown on your face, because the reporter barked out a laugh and explained that your 'shiny Metropolian naivete' seemed to have evaporated overnight.

"And it can only mean one thing," she smiled wolfishly. "That you finally got your warn Gotham welcome."
"Well, it was Robin- by the way, I thought him being a kid was an exaggeration- and some guy in a red helmet."
Vicki's eyes widened. "The Red Hood? Was he jacked? Everything I've heard about him suggests his biceps are about ye big-" she made two brackets about forty centimetres apart with her hands- "and that his guns are just as impressive as his... well, guns."
"Um." You scratched your nose, unsure how to respond. "I guess?"

Your coworker's eyes widened in delight, a smile creeping up. She began to roll her chair closer to you, starting to talk about how she had never been saved by this Red Hood.
"Vale! Get back to work. Rookie! With me," your boss snapped, coming to stand in front of you with a cup of steaming coffee. "I just heard reports of bodies found in Gotham Harbour and I want you on it. Make sure you're there before those gosh darned cops, you hear me?"
"Yes sir," you half saluted him and grabbed your things.

You would have to take the train which gave you at least fifteen minutes of uninterrupted peace. You said a rushed goodbye to Vicki, who flicked her wrist dismissively in a poor imitation of a wave without looking up from her screen.

Gotham train stations were not at all like Metropolis, grimy and eerie. You shared a train car with a man smoking a joint, a pregnant woman whose belly kept shifting around at intriguing degrees, and a rat.

The underground passed by in a blur of chipped grey bricks while the woman counted a few bills and eyed you up suspiciously. She was sitting diagonally across from you and shoved her money down her shirt front. You smiled back brightly, even going so far as to ask, "how far along are you?"
She rolled her eyes and lifted her pink top slightly, showing you the large bag she was keeping hidden. "The cops ain't about to check under a knocked up chick's top."
"Ah, of course." You nodded slowly and glanced at the rat, who seemed to be silently judging the woman. You weren't about to make quick judgements based on a rat's facial expressions though, and you politely excused yourself when your stop was announced, ducking around the pot-smoker who pivoted to let you pass.

The bodies floating in the harbour were blue from the cold with veins running stark under skin. As morbid as it was, you snapped a few pictures with the camera your boss shoved in your arms on the way out and crouched at the edge of the pier to inspect the bodies. They each had a hand missing, and each knuckle was tattooed with a jester's cap.

"Excuse me," you said to a dock worker, "I don't mean to sound clueless, but what do those tattoos mean?"
She squinted at the bodies and tilted her head. For a moment, she didn't respond, just looked on at the bodies. "Those are Joker's men. His symbol tatted into his thugs, you know. Loyalty and all that."
"Right. Thanks."
She jerked her chin at you in a polite gesture and sauntered away, whistling a sombre tune as she did. Watching her go, you wondered how long it would take for you to get used to the normalised crime in the city.

So unlike... no. No, you shook yourself out of it. You had promised yourself that the comparisons would stop. The constant urge to take a stroll at midnight had subsided and you found yourself content within your four walls, watching reruns of various TV shows until the screenplay faded into a sleepy haze. If you kept track, you were halfway through the sixth season of Grey's Anatomy and fast approaching the third season of Glee. Your routine was almost comforting.

Flashes of red and blue snapped you out of your musings and you shoved the camera into your bag, just in case the police decided to confiscate it as evidence. You straightened up from where you were crouched and turned to face the incoming police officer, who looked displeased at having to tell you to leave.

"Maam," he started, "as you can see, there are three dead bodies in thee water, and-"
"Four," you corrected. "A few of the men pulled one guy out and left him behind those crates. They would have done the rest, but they floated out too far."
"I... I see. Well, this is now an active crime scene," he explained slowly, "so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Are you going to investigate these murders further? Who called in the tip?"
The cop eyed you up. "Are you with any media outlets?"
"The Gotham Gazette." You introduced yourself, holding out a hand which he shook once before dropping it like a hot stone in summer.
"Pleasure." His face said it was anything but, and you took your leave, pulling up a quick search on your phone for the Joker's frequent haunts as you skipped two steps down into the train station.

Your search yielded four results in the same area, though you found out that one owner, Roman Sionis, was similarly affiliated with sketchy underground business. No one could every seem to nail him down though, no matter how solid the case or how fool proof the police busts: the man was a cockroach in a rigged whack-a-mole game. He always seemed to survive and pop back up. \

His clubs were incredible but the company he kept was questionable. And that was exactly what your headline needed.

~~

"Sionis' lounge on 45th is on lockdown," Babs said urgently, "something about a camera going off and Sionis losing it on a civillian."
Jason swore under his breath. "I'm closest."
"Yup. But you'll need backup."
"I'm on my way," Tim said. "I can be there in twenty."
Jason parked his bike haphazardly in an alleyway and sprinted the rest of the way, knocking twice on his helmet for luck. "Twenty is too long. I'm going in alone."

He took out the three guns outside the server's entrance, adhering to Bruce's no kill rule. It took effort, but he managed to hold off on snapping necks by pistol whipping two and slamming the third's head into the ground with a sickening crunch. That one would have a broken nose before morning.

Jason barged into the club with his guns drawn only to come face to face with a scene straight out of a movie. He noticed the tied up civilian from last night- the one who had stupidly decided to walk home after dark- whose face was contorted into a scowl while Sionis paced up and down in front of her, monologuing.

"-nd journalist of all things!" Sionis exclaimed, throwing his hands out in front of him. "You nosy little things need to learn to keep your heads down, and scurry off to whatever corner you came from."
"You're just mad because you couldn't bribe us," she said dryly. "Face it, the media hates you and nothing less than starting, funding and owning your own news outlet will sway it."

Jason moved around a large wood table slowly. Then, just as Sionis lunged at her, Jason tackled him to the ground. The hired guns around them shouted in surprise, but held their fire to avoid hitting their boss. Roman swung back without thinking and punched Jason- or rather, Jason's helmet. He recoiled immediately, clutching his wrist, and the two men moved to stand off on either side of the table, Jason with his back to the hostage. Sionis waved his minions off and Jason watched them slink into the shadows.

"Hood," he spat.
"Nice to see you too, Sionis," Jason drawled, dragging a finger over the table and listing it for inspection. Dusty. Did they even clean this place? "Still committing felonies in broad daylight, I see."
The criminal huffed haughtily, straightening his suit jacket. "Yes, well, that is the appropriate response to a journalist, of all things, sneaking in and taking photos. We have a strict no cameras polity."

He pointed to the large sign beside the door that read 'NO CAMERAS ALLOWED' with a red no symbol. Jason glanced at her and rolled his eyes. Journalists were a pain to deal with, always chasing down a headline or looking for a story where there wasn't one.

"Doesn't change the fact that you don't harm innocents," Jason gritted out. "We had a deal."
"Looks like I'm breaking it then."

Jason heaved the table over just as gunfire erupted, cursing under his breath. He tapped his helmet to turn on his comms.
"Robin where are you?"
"Twelve minutes out."
"Fuck. Okay."

Jason stood and fired off a few shots, noting that Sionis was nowhere to be seen. A bullet grazed the edge of the table and he ducked back down, turning to look at the civilian. He began cutting the ropes tying each arm to the chair, rising to fire off three, four, five shots in quick succession. The amount of people shooting at him had dropped by seven but the remaining thugs were just as eager to kill him as he was to finish them off.

~~

"Wait," you said when you were free, rubbing your wrists. "Give me a gun, I can help."
Red Hood stared at you for a beat too long before a bullet embedded itself into the chair between you. He grabbed your forearm and pulled you closer to the oak table. You wondered how heavy the thing was, and how he tipped it over with such ease.

"You're crazy if you think I'm giving a civvy a gun," he said, standing and firing off a few more shots. Just then, there was a shout from the thugs and Hood said, "besides, my backup just arrived. Now get out of here."

He left you behind the table, and you craned your neck to follow his movements, watching as him and Red Robin worked in tandem. They must have been talking through some comms you couldn't hear, because red Hood was mid neck-snap when Red Robin burst out laughing. The kid high kicked one of Sionis' men in the throat and punched him clean across the face.

Noticeably, Red Robin didn't have any guns, and fought to either disarm or render unconscious, while the Red Hood fired bullets through skulls, splattering brain matter all over the club.

You made mental notes of their fighting styles, an article already working its way through your head. You were so preoccupied that you didn't notice the henchman creeping up behind you. He grabbed you with a hand over your mouth, and started dragging you to the exit. In a panic, you bit his hand hard and started squirming.

"Stop moving bitch," he growled.
You elbowed him in the side but the man was too strong for you to escape.
Never let them take you to a second location. You started struggling harder with no luck and he managed to drag you out onto the street. You saw the van he was heading towards- an unmarked white thing, like the vans they always tell you to avoid in school.

And then-

A shot rang out, his grip on you loosened, and when you turned around to look, there was a hole straight through his forehead. Blood started pooling around the body, slowly but surely seeping into the cracks of the pavement and turning it into a little red maze. And there- tattooed into the henchman's index knuckle, was a jester cap. Before you could lean down to take a closer look, examine the tattoo or maybe even take a picture, you felt arms around your waist, and your whole body was jerked up.

You were dropped on a rooftop, and you whirled around to see Red Hood and Red Robin watching you carefully.

"What the fuck was that?" You asked.
Red Robin's eyebrows went up. "We saved you?"
You shook your head. "Sionis was giving me everything. And then you-" you jabbed a finger at Hood- "didn't give me a gun and I almost got kidnapped!"
"Look, lady, we had it under control, okay." Hood glanced at the club you were in. "Everything is fine."

The club blew up.

The kickback sent you stumbling into the Hood, and you gripped one of his arms, feeling heat on your face. Jacked as he was, he didn't even flinch. Or maybe it was his weighty ego that kept him grounded. You and Red Robin coughed and the smoke burned your eyes.
Hood tilted his head. "Okay, maybe everything is not fine."

Chapter Text

The Red Hood had walked you home after Roman Sionis' club blew up. He was mostly quiet, but when he turned to you a block away from home and said far too casually for your liking, “you know, you should be glad we stepped in when we did,” you lost it.

“I’m not thankful for anything, much less you blowing my story to shreds, and then the damn club.” He stopped walking at that and turned to look at you with an unreadable red helmet between you. When you arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to retaliate, he just shook his head and carried on down the street and to the right. You weren’t sure how he knew where you lived and you didn’t ask, but he left you with a warning to stay out of trouble.

The thing is, your career was synonymous with getting into difficult situations- look at Lois Lane. She was a Pulitzer winning journalist with a knack for getting herself almost killed. She was ruthless. When you worked at the Daily Planet, she had started out as a mentor to you and soon became an older sister figure in your life. She would do anything for a headline, and since you learnt from the best, so would you.

Which is how you found yourself back at the remains of what used to be Roman Sionis' favourite club the next morning.

You ducked under the police tape and stepped into what could only be described as a mess from hell. The bodies had already been removed for autopsies, and there were a startling number of yellow markers placed around the scene. You eyed the numbers, ranging from 27 to 29, and skirted around to avoid moving them. The last thing you wanted to do was get charged with tampering or obstruction of justice. This was very, very illegal and you were very, very screwed if a cop so much as looked at you too long.

A foldable steel table had been set up with an assortment of different equipment- including a police radio. You stuffed that one into your bag, and marched further into the destroyed building. You hoped no one radioed until you could figure out how to work the damn thing- whether it was on or off or needed batteries.

A sharp piece of rubble caught you on the leg, drawing a thin line of blood and you hissed, bending at the waist to inspect it through your pants. It wasn't too bad, and it wasn't as if the wound was dripping all over the place- though it was sure to leave a nasty stain. Instead of whining about something so small and trivial, you continued into the burned down club until you found what used to be an office. Sionis' office, if Lady Luck was on your side.

The back wall had been blown out and now looked out over the street behind the building, yellow police tape crisscrossing the empty space. That could have been an easier way in, for you and other civilians who were too nosy to adhere to the strict tape blocking off the room. It did make for a convenient exit though. Two navy blue filing cabinets had been thrown to the sides and one had its doors hanging off their hinges. Where you assumed there used to be a desk, was now a marker labelled 38 in bold font.

The strange thing, though, was the clean pressed white envelope placed carefully atop one filing cabinet. It would have had to have been put there recently, after the police marked and inspected the room or that paper would have been taken into evidence. Which meant you technically weren't tampering with evidence...

Before your conscience or the law could stop you, you picked it up and slid a careful finger under the tab. With the same gentleness of tracing a new-born's little finger, you pulled out a note written in fancy script. Each letter was a different shade of purple or green.

Joker.

The name sent uneasy shivers down your spine even before you read the note, even if you didn't say it out loud. He was the one Gothamite you hoped never to encounter, but if he was somehow mixed up in this, you doubted you would stay unacquainted for long. If a run in with the psychopathic clown was what it took to solve this weird mystery, you would happily stick your hand out for him to shake. Then again, he would probably just put a bullet or a knife through it.

You turned your attention away from any morbid possibilities and toward the note.

Dearest dead birdie,
I know you're back, Jason Todd. I know you killed my men, and I eagerly await our next playdate together.
xoxo Joker :)

What the hell was a Jason Todd, and why was he killing Joker's lackeys? You made a mental note to look up the name when you were either back at the office or back home and peered into the envelope, ensuring it was empty. You had just finished tucking the note back into the envelope when a modulated voice sounded behind you.

"What are you doing here?"
You jumped and stuffed the envelope into your jacket before you turned around. "Hood."
"Trouble." He tilted his head, and you started at seeing him for the first time in broad daylight. With that helmet on. You weren't sure if he walked down here without it or walked the streets looking like a pot of melted tomato soup dried over him. You could ask. It seemed you had a habit of talking yourself into corners. Usually, you were instructed to stay quiet while your mentor took the lead in dangerous situations.

He asked again, "what are you doing here?"
"Same thing as you. Looking."
"Civvies aren't allowed in crime scenes. Especially nosy journalists." He tapped you on the nose and sauntered past you, yanking the topped filing cabinet open. Empty. He slammed it closed and turned back to face you. Even through the helmet, you could tell his expression was as irritated as his tone was accusatory.

"I thought I told you to stay out of trouble."
"Someone blew this place up and it wasn't Sionis," you told him, "my money is on the Joker."

The switch was instantaneous, his figure tensing visibly as he straightened up to his full height. This was the Red Hood that had Gotham in a chokehold. You had done extensive research on him after last night, yielding over thirteen articles that included graphic images of severed heads in a duffel bag. He seemed to look straight through you in a way that made you freeze like a deer in headlights.

He lifted a hand to his head, as if forgetting his helmet was there, and shook his head. As if to regain his composure, he snarked back with a half hearted retort. "It's a good thing no one asked you then, isn't it?"
You frowned and crossed your arms. "Those thugs had jester caps tattooed into their knuckles. The bodies in the harbour had the same tattoos. These aren't Sionis' men- besides, why would he blow up his highest grossing club?"
The Hood tapped his helmet. "Maybe because he's a crazy person?"

You knew your theory held merit, but you were hesitant to give up the note to him. Whoever this Jason Todd was, the note was obviously meant for him, and there was no doubt in your mind that Hood would tell you to stay out of whatever this was. You needed some kind of picture, some type of evidence to come back to before you surrendered this to him. For the sake of journalism, damn it. And although he wasn't completely throwing off your game, he was a nuisance.

"Look," you said and planted your hands on your hips. "I know I'm on the right track, and you don't have to believe me, but I'm not leaving this alone until I get a headline out of it."
"Fine." There was a mechanical noise that sounded vaguely like if a robot got caught between a cough and a sneeze. Maybe a laugh? "Get yourself killed then, what do I care."

He stepped over the tape and onto the street. You followed, ready to head home and avoid the influx of cops that would probably show up soon. You shouted a deadpan "bye, bitch" after him, and he mock saluted you before he was pulled up onto the rooftop.

When you got home, you ordered a pizza, took a photo of the note, and put Jason Todd into your search engine. An alarming number of headlines sprung onto your screen, some long and some short. There were a couple that you spied written by Vicki Vale, and those were the more insane ones, ranging from Is Jason Todd A Shapeshifter? to Jason Todd: The Alien Son of Bruce Wayne.

The rest were less paranormally inclined.
Jason Todd: A Rags to Riches Story... Meet The Waynes, Bruce, Richard and Jason.

The headlines grew heavier and the articles darker the further you scrolled. images of death and gore and tragic childhoods.

Grew up in Park Row, also known as Crime Alley among Gotham's citizens... Kidnapped, no trace of him... Bruce Wayne offered an unbelievable amount of money for Jason's safe return... Ethiopia... beaten to death with a crowbar...

By the time you had reached the fourth page of articles, you realised that you were crying, one hand pressed to your mouth. The autopsy, the funeral, it was all there for you to read and you felt for the Waynes, who likely weren't afforded any semblance of privacy while they mourned.

You clicked on one last article titled Bruce Wayne's Second Son: Who IS Jason Peter Todd?
Much like the other articles, it detailed his early life and adoption. You skimmed through it before his date of death caught your attention: April 27. That date. You would know that date anywhere.

April 27 was the day you awoke to the letters branding themselves into your wrist and scarring over immediately.

You yanked up your left sleeve and stared at the scarred initials on your wrist. JPT. Jason Peter Todd. Your heart sped up as you looked between your dead soulmark and the laptop screen. The question hung heavy in the air and the clock ticked away the minutes steadily. You weren't sure how long you sat there, but when you finally got up, the pizza had hardened and your laptop screen was blank.

You got into bed with questions pounding at your head.

What if...?

Chapter Text

"I need a favour," Jason said, sweeping through the clocktower window and pulling off his leather jacket.
"Hello Jason," Barbara said sarcastically, "I'm good, thanks, it's so nice to see you too. Why yes, I would be pleased to help you."

The tower was neat as always, with a wall dedicated to filing that Barbara never seemed to use. There was a desk adjacent to the main one where stacks of paperwork and files were piled up. Jason waited for his helmet to disengage, hissing as it did, and then plonked it on the messy desk.

Babs was watching him expectantly and he sighed. She was a menace like that but a stickler for manners. He dropped into a chair across from her and rubbed a hand over his face, biting back a yawn.

"Hi Babs," he said belatedly.
She turned and arched a brow. "Hello Jason."
"How are you?"
"Good thanks, what about you?"
"Fine," he grunted out. "I need a favour."
She cupped a hand behind her ear and squinted.
"Please."
"Sure! What do you need me to do, track down that cute journalist or make her tinder profile match up with yours, or-"
"What, no!" Jason pinched the bridge of his nose.

Of course, he thought. Of course she already knew about the journalist. She kept tabs on all the Bats, both for herself and Batman. The one time Bruce had gotten sloppy, had thought he didn't need to keep tabs... well, Jason had a white streak in his hair and a J carved into the side of his face (healed now, but still) to attest to what happened.

His death had etched a shadow into the fabric of their family. It nipped at Tim and Damian's heels whenever they were out on the streets, sat calmly on Cassandra's left shoulder where a little devil should be, and whispered cruelly in Duke's ears. It tainted Dick's memories of his early adulthood and made him paranoid if his last interaction with any of his siblings was a fight; he made it a point to hug them and tell them he loved them no matter the terms they were on.

It loomed over Bruce the worst, tall and imposing, and the billionaire did everything short of embedding a microchip in his kids. He even went so far as to put trackers in their shoes and sewed a chip into their clothing.

"I need you to check up on the journalist's search history." He shrugged helplessly. "She thinks Joker is on the rise again, and I'm sure she has some sort of evidence."
Babs began typing in the civilian's name. "I knew it had to do with her."
"Wait." Jason leaned closer. "How did you know her name?"
Barbara smiled indulgently and leaned in to whisper, "I know everything."

Jason watched as she pulled up a couple of pages, an Instagram, Facebook, Twitter page. He must have been there for ten minutes before she announced that she was in.
He rolled the chair closer and squinted at the screen.

Jason Todd: A Rags to Riches Story, Meet The Waynes, Bruce, Richard and Jason, The Dead Wayne, Jason Todd: Second Son, Death in the Wayne Family, Second Wayne Son Dead At 15, Bruce Wayne's Second Son: Who IS Jason Peter Todd?

And then, more recent searches- Jason Todd birth records, Jason Todd death records, Jason Todd public case file, Jason Todd investigation, Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd, Jason Todd death date, Jason Todd found, Jason Todd death date vs found date.

"Holy shit."
"Jason."
"Yeah?"
"You need to call Dick."

~~

You weren't sure what exactly you expected when you woke up, but you felt lighter. Like the events of last night were just a dream. You showered and got ready for work without hassle, but when you came face to face with your fridge, you stopped dead in your tracks.

Where the Joker's note should have been pinned with a Darth Vader magnet, was now another handwritten pink post-it note that read-

You shouldn't lie to me, Trouble.
RH

Red Hood was there. He was in your apartment while you slept, and you hadn't even noticed. You glanced at the small window above your sink. There was no way that six foot something hulk of a man managed to fit in through that window. You glanced around the half wall that partitioned the living room off from the kitchen and eyed the small balcony. It was just as you left it. Unless that was how he came in.

You moved quickly, yanking at the balcony door, but that was locked firmly shut. There was no logical way he could have broken in and still locked it from the outside. Frowning, you grabbed your work bag and checked the time to make sure you weren't running late.

And there it was again. Another post-it stuck to your front door, just under the peephole. Lock your door. This isn't Metropolis.

Oh. Oh shit. You tried the door without turning the key and cursed when it swung open easily. You were so tired the night before that you had just left your safety up to fate, and fate was not always kind.

You managed to spend three hours working on the piece about the bodies in the harbour when you got to work before your boss gave you leave to "go track down whatever new leads you've come up on, and don't disappoint me, Kid."

Which is how you found yourself at the GCPD police station with a nervous tick in your foot.

"Hi!" You greeted the man at the desk brightly.
"Are you here to file a complaint?" He droned, already reaching for a form.
You stopped him with a quick no and said, "I'm wondering if I can have a look at the investigation records for April 27th. Anything that's public, of course, I wouldn't want to implicate anyone legally."
He snorted a laugh shook his head. "Yeah, sure lady, I have to check with my superiors."

You waited while he disappeared into the back, running a hand over the glass counter, thinking back to your life in Metropolis.

In Metropolis, you grew up with a small amount of press that concerned themselves with how you fared growing up in an orphanage after being abandoned in a shoebox on the steps. You were dubbed the 'Shoe-Box Baby,' and the nickname followed you all the way through middle and high school. University was supposed to be a fresh start. You made a few friends, kept your grades up and your head down.

Then, one night at a bonfire when your cheeks were flush from the sun and you were huddled in the sand with a boyfriend at the time, someone you knew from school pointed out that you were her: the Shoe-Box Baby. Of course, your friends stuck by you, and most people were mature not to make any noise about it, but you didn't miss the pitying looks when you explained why you didn't have any holiday plans or the uncomfortable silence after you said that no, your parents wouldn't be visiting because you didn't know who they were.

You never had a family. No one to go home to at the end of the day, no one's shoulder to cry on when you were sad.

That changed when Lois Lane took a liking to you. You had been at the Daily Planet for a month, and when she asked about your holiday plans, you explained your history. You found it was easier to be upfront than embarrassed. Instead of giving you a pity filled apology, she nodded and said, "that means you're free to come over and spend it with Clark and I then."

Clark and Lois were the poster couple for soulmates, with his initials sitting comfortably on the inside of her wrist, and hers proudly displayed... somewhere you had never seen.

'Clark and I' had turned out to be Clark and Lois, their parents Clark's cousin, Kara. You spent every holiday after that with them, and somehow every holiday morphed into every other week at Clark and Lois' house and then once a week at the minimum.

They stocked your favourite cereals in case you dropped by for breakfast, a room was made up and furnished for nights when you and Lois were hunting down a story and decided to crash at their place, and there were pictures of your achievements hung around the house.

Fate may not have been kind to you in the beginning, but it certainly had turned in your favour.

You pulled out your phone and fired a text off to Lois, asking how she was and updating her on your short run in with the Hood.

Stay out of trouble, she replied immediately. Or at least, don't get caught with your hand in the cookie jar.
I can promise the latter, you texted back, biting back a smile. She would understand. She was the same.

~~

Dick Grayson floated into the Gotham Police Department at exactly 7:15am with four boxes of donuts piled high. He stopped at the front desk to talk to Shawn, one of the newer rookies whose eyes lit up at the sight of the Dick Grayson and then swept into his old office by to see his old team.

They were ecstatic to see him, dropping their work to pull him into a group hug. He was introduced to newer members and pulled into a discussion about the Gotham Harbour murders. Of course, he knew that Jason was behind them, but he contributed useless and, quite frankly, outlandish theories that sparked more discourse. The donuts were devoured within twenty minutes, left open for anyone who passed through to help themselves. The detectives department was a black hole: anyone who walked in was pulled into the magnetic Grayson's orbit and didn't walk back out.

By 7:45, Jim Gordon had decided to find out why his police force seemed to be disappearing into the detective's department. His scowl deepened when he saw Richard "Dick" Grayson in the centre of the room, re-enacting some story with grand hand gestures and sweeping movements.

"Grayson," Jim snapped, and the younger detective stopped dead before he realised who was talking. Then, a cheeky grin spread over his face and he hopped down from the desk he was balancing on.
"Commissioner!" He went in for a hug and the older man stopped him with a handshake. "How've you been? How's Babs? Is she still-"
"Grayson," Jim said again, this time more disapprovingly. "What are you doing here and why are you distracting my force?"

Immediately, the room jumped into action, papers went flying as cops rushed to leave the room, chairs spun as detectives stood up from where they sat on the floor and plopped themselves down. Computers were woken and the sound of keyboards and mouses resumed.

Gordon clamped one imposing hand on Dick's shoulder and yanked him out of the room, into his office. Dick made himself comfortable in one of the chairs opposite his old boss.
"Sooo..."
"Spit it out," Gordon grumbled. "What do you want, kid."
Dick made an indignant sound in the back of his throat. "Who says I want anything?"
"You only come down here and bother me when you need something."
"That," he said, "is simply not true."

Jim didn't cease his staring, steepling his fingers together while he waited for Dick to follow up. Dick lasted three minutes, but how could he possibly keep his resolve when Jim stared at him like an annoying mosquito he couldn't wait to crush with his bare fists.

"Ineedyoutolockdownjasonsinvestigationfiles." Dick tapped a single finger on the table. "Please."
"Son, I'm going to need you to say that again." Jim squinted at him. "Slower."
"I need you to lock down Jason's investigation files. Please."
"Why?"
"There's a journalist poking around and... well, we don't want those photos getting to the media."
Jim nodded thoughtfully. "You know the investigation was a private case."
"Yeah, but she might have it appealed." Dick spread his palms up as if he was praying. "Look, there's nothing you can do about the public records but the investigation was... brutal. And the photos from when he was found were worse."
"Okay."
"Really? That simple?"
"That simple," Jim said. "Now get the hell out of my precinct."
"Yes sir!"

Dick was on his way out, and he really didn't mean to overstay his welcome, but when he overheard someone ask for investigation records for April 27th, he backtracked and eyed the woman up and down. So this was the journalist who had Jason all twisted up. He suppressed a smile and waited for Shawn to leave before he approached her.

~~

"Hey!" A chipper voice dragged you back into reality and you looked up into big blue eyes. The man was in uniform, but is vest hung loosely off his shoulders and his tie was half undone. "I haven't seen you around, are you new here?"
"Uh I've been in Gotham two weeks now," you said. This had to be the most friendly exchange you'd had with a stranger in the two weeks you were here. You elaborated, "I'm from Metropolis."
"Ohh, that checks." He nodded and laughed. "You have this... thing."
"What, a general lack of cynicism?" You deadpanned.
He snorted out a laugh and pointed at you. "That. Exactly. Most people in Gotham are miserable cynics who wouldn't have said hi back." He seemed to realise what he said and backtracked. "Not me though, I'm obviously a ray of sunshine."
"Riiight."

He stuck out a hand and you shook it. "Dick."
"Excuse me?"
"My name," he said quickly, "Dick is my name. Short for Richard Grayson."
You nodded, recognising the name from the articles you read the night before. He was Bruce Wayne's first son. God, rich people were so strange.

You and introduced yourself and smiled. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Richard."
"Dick."
"I'm... not calling you that."
"But-"

Before Richard could argue his case, the cop you had been speaking to returned with a letter. "No can do, Ma'am. Those records are sealed from the public and unless you get a warrant approved and stamped, we can't give them to you."
"Oh, that's okay," you said, trying to stay optimistic. "thank you though."
"Maybe try the public records at the library?"
"Yeah, thanks." You smiled at Richard. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too."

You felt Richard's eyes on you as you left, as if he was making sure you actually left the precinct. Weird. Rich people were so, so weird.

Chapter Text

"You spoke to her?" Jason asked incredulously, pausing on the rooftop to glare at Dick, who shrugged carelessly. Jason dragged him back by the collar, forcing his brother to face him.
"Gentle reminder: I can't see your face." Dick used his index and middle finger to shove Jason in the forehead. Or where his forehead would be if he weren't wearing a helmet. "So if you're making that stupid face at me, I can't see it."
"Gentle reminder: I can and will kick your ass, Dickiebird."
Dick waved off his threats of violence. "Not sure why you decided you need this bucket to fight crime anyway."

"Yeah," Tim chimed in over comms. "It looks like an off brand Halloween costume."
"Did your alias not previously belong to three others?" Damian asked. "The Red Hood has been passed around more than-"
"Why the fuck are we on open comms?"
"Because, Hood," Barbara explained slowly, "we like making fun of you."

Jason groaned and shook his head, turning back to Dick, who backflipped because he could. Jason chased after him, marching across the rooftop and forcing Dick to ground himself.

"Stop changing the subject, Dickwing. Why did you talk to her?"
A plethora of responses came all at once.
"Was I not supposed to?"
"Is that jealousy I detect, Todd?"
"Ha! Jason has a crush!"
"Steph are you hearing this, I told you he liked her." On a rooftop two blocks away, Tim was jumping up and down excitedly.

Cass waited for the commotion to die down before she spoke up, crouched behind a chimney while she surveyed the streets below. "When is the wedding?"
"Et tu Cass?"
"Can I be a flower girl?" Steph asked excitedly. "Or do you think she'll let me be her bridesmaid?"
"No one is getting married," Jason gritted out. "Especially not me. She's just a pain in my ass journalist who keeps sticking her nose into my death."
The line went silent as his family digested that. Then Duke chipped in from where he was probably eating nachos on the sofa, "well, at least we won't have to explain too much if she joins the family."
"Bruuuce," Jason complained, "I'm getting ganged up on."
"Children, stop bullying your brother about his sensitive love life."
"There is no love life."
"Apologies, Ja- Hood," Bruce said, "stop bullying your brother about his lack of a love life."

There was silence for a moment when they all turned their attention back to protecting Gotham's streets. Then- "wait, did you just call us children?"

The comms erupted into chaos, all of their voices overlapping while Bruce sighed deeply and rubbed at his temple through the cowl. If he thought there was even a slim chance she would comply, he would have asked Barbara to disconnect him or mute his children. Secretly though, somewhere deep, deep down, he knew he enjoyed what Twitter referred to as 'hashtag the dad-life.'

~~

You woke up with a determination to get your hands on those files. Lois always told you that nothing was impossible, and if you thought it was, then you just weren't trying hard enough. This was one of those things. You were sure that if you explained yourself, the commissioner or someone would let you take just one look at the files.

You went back to the police station, earlier this time, and the same guy- Shawn, you learned- turned you away with an apologetic smile and suggestion to look at the public records. Maybe Richard was right. Maybe you were too optimistic for Gotham.

Regardless, you thanked Shawn and headed back to work. You managed to finish a piece on the bodies in the harbour and made yourself a cup of coffee from the jug in the kitchen before you got to working on a new piece.

"So," you said to Vicki, "what are you working on?"
"Ugh," she groaned, slamming her head down on her desk. "This ongoing saga called Do the Bat Butts Match?"
"And who are we matching the butts to?"
"People submit photos of butts they see in the wild, or of celebrities and we match them to the vigilantes."

You leaned into her computer which had a number of butt shots surrounding one of Nightwing in the middle. The centre photo was blown up close, slightly pixelated, with red markings and arrows surrounding it.

"Which of these do you think is a better fit?" Vicki asked.
"Uhhh... is that Richard Grayson?" You asked, looking at one of the smaller pictures. "The oldest Wayne?"
"Yep," your co-worker said, popping the p. "I've actually had so many submissions of him, but there are rumours that he had his butt copyrighted, so I can't use those. I'm not risking a lawsuit. A butt-suit. His is nice to look at though."
"Sure," you said.

Gotham was weird, and you were sure Vicki was the weirdest one in this whole city. She had her nose less than an inch from her screen while she inspected each of the photos carefully, dragging them next to Nightwing and making notes before she moved on to the next.

The day dragged on, and you started a new piece entitled 'Rich People For Dummies,' using one Richard Grayson as inspiration. After work, you stopped by the library and began searching for... anything, actually. There were a few snippets and newspaper copies of Jason Todd being adopted, going missing, and then one with a grainy photo of the funeral from afar. Beyond a vague press release that Wayne gave stating that the family was deeply saddened at the abduction, and then a later one asking for privacy to grieve, there were no official records anywhere.

You were edging on desperate, wondering whether you would only be able to get answers if you marched up to Wayne manor and demanded them. But that would be crazy. Maybe you could break in? You pulled out your laptop and searched up Wayne security and your hopes were dashed immediately. Wayne Enterprises had their fingers in a number of pies, including aerospace, technology, biotechnology, shipping... the list went on. They did everything and you weren't nearly suicidal enough to break into a billionaire's house when his company- or rather, his teenage son's, as you learned- specialised in security tech.

When your phone lit up with a message from Lois, your eye caught on the time and you cursed silently. Responding to Lois, you packed up and headed out.

~~

"Can you believe this?" Dick whined. "They think my butt looks like Brad Pitt!"
"That's not a compliment?" Cass asked. "The internet thinks he's attractive."
"Yeah, but he's old."

There was a laugh through the comms and Jason heard Stephanie start reading an extract from the article, which sent them all into a spiral of giggled.

"They're calling him Bradwing," Steph said, "and they photoshopped Nightwing's costume onto him."
"Not a costume," Bruce interjected.
“Oh my god,” Steph said. “Check the group, I just sent a photo of the Discowing costume photoshopped onto Pitt.”
“Not a costume,” Bruce said again.
"I think this theory has some merit," Damian said, dropping in beside Jason. "When you assess-"
"Was that a pun?" Duke said, garnering a chorus of laughs.
"-the shape and build, coupled with the fact that Vale is an idiot, there is certainly some valid comparisons being made."
Dick groaned dramatically and Jason elbowed him teasingly. "You're so lucky Kori is your soulmate," Jason said, "because no one else would have put up with you being compared to Bradwing."

Before Dick could respond, Babs overrode their comms and directed them to go north, where Scarecrow and Black Mask had been spotted. Jason was instructed to take a different route past the library to keep civilians out of the way.

"By the way, Jason?"
"Yeah?"
"I am lucky to have Kori as my soulmate."

As he raced across the rooftops, Jason found his thoughts lingering on Kori and Dick and how Dick's attention seemed to settle on her whenever she walked into a room. How Kori always had a hand on Dick's shoulder or arm when she was close to him. How they called every morning and every night while Dick was in Gotham and teased each other until they laughed so hard they cried.

It made Jason wonder if he even had a soulmate after the whole dying thing. The universe had obviously decided it hated him, and no one he touched skin to skin had ever evoked that spark. Not to mention, there were no initials anywhere on his body. He checked. More than need be, and in places he didn't even think existed.

He was curious- would it be like that? Would he feel the urge to be near her? Seek her out in any room? Would she accept him as he is, scars, trauma, sometimes-glowing eyes and all?

Eventually he decided that if it was meant to be, it would be, and his soulmate would appear when she was ready. Or not at all, if the universe wanted to be a bitch like that. Then again, Jason supposed, maybe no soulmate would be better than a soulmate in danger. In his line of work, weakness was leverage, and leverage was currency. He couldn't imagine the danger his soulmate would be in if a crime boss like Black Mask, or a psycho like Joker got their hands on her. And he wouldn't be able to focus if he knew she was out there, unprotected. The thought soured something in him, turning to a darker place where a little boy was in the same position: vulnerable, unprotected, and banking on his father to save him.

Jason shook himself out of it. He tried not to think of that as much as he could and turned his attention back to the streets. The sight of a couple on the balcony snapped him into action and Jason yelled at them to get inside.

Gothamites had become so desensitised to crime that the couple waved him off with a 'yeah sure' and made no move to follow orders. Jason shook his head disapprovingly and jumped down from the roof just as the library doors swung open and the same. Damn. Journalist. Stepped out.

The one that had haunted his every waking thought was right there, in the flesh. She froze when she saw him and he grabbed her arm, leading her down the street in the direction of her apartment.

"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I had some leads to follow up on- hey! Get the hell off me, I don't need you to save me." She shoved at him and he flinched back to avoid her hitting his chest. There was a taser in the bat symbol strong enough to render her unconscious. "What, are you stalking me?"
"No," he snapped, "I'm keeping you safe because Scarecrow is on the loose tonight."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh." He rolled his eyes under the helmet.
She shoved at his shoulder. "Don't roll your eyes at me, Hood."
"You don't even know that I did."
"Whatever, I need to get home and I don't need you holding onto me like a baby."
"Fine."
"Fine," she clapped back, scowling.

He let her go and grappled up to a roof, smirking when she turned back with a start to find he was no longer there. He followed her home and made sure her door was locked tight before he joined his family.

Whether or not Jason got a soulmate, he knew one thing for certain: he hoped his soulmate was never as reckless and dumb as that journalist.

Chapter Text

It was day three of trying to get ahold of those damned files, and no amount of flirting, shouting or looking sad was making Shawn budge. If you flirted, he flirted back and politely explained, once again, that he didn't have the clearance to grant you access.

"If I did, I would have let you see them," he explained, "but I don't, and I can't risk having my badge revoked."
"Of course," you said understandingly. "I get it."
"So how's Saturday looking for dinner?"
"No can do."

If you shouted, he looked bored while your voice pitched up a few octaves.
"My job depends on this, Shawn! I need the files now"
"I really can't let you have them, ma'am."

And if you pulled out the waterworks, he panicked and handed you tissues, chocolates, and even his taser at some point, offering to let you tase him if it made you feel better, a half-eaten burrito and a limited edition Funko-pop he had on his desk. He handed you everything except those fucking files.

"Look," he said in the middle of your crying fit, his cheeks scarlet with horror and his hand gripped in yours for emotional support, "I'm going to head out to lunch if there's anything you want?"
"I just- just- need those files," you sobbed. "My boss is gonna be- gonna be- so-o-o- mad. Can't you email them to me?"
"No," he shook his head, "those files are all physical and they haven't been digitised yet."
"So they're in some room? Collecting dust? I could be putting them to good use!" You burst into a fit of tears again and Shawn stuttered out another apology, extracting his hand from yours.
"They're in the records room. Look, I really have to get going or I won't have much of a lunch break. You can stay here- or don't, if you don't want to- but please try and keep your voice down."

You nodded sorrowfully and watched him go, wiping your tears and reaching over the desk and grabbing a visitor pass. You made sure that no one paid you any mind and stepped down the hallway, reading the plaques on the doors until you found the one labelled 'Records Room.' You ducked into the room, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.

The room was dark, light filtering in through slitted windows in the back and lighting up the dust floating through the air. It was almost peaceful compared to the bustle of the precinct and you kept your steps light and soft. There were three rows of shelving with boxes labelled by date.

You started searching, January 23: The Riddler, February 12: Luke Karge, May 15: John Doe... Some had more than one box allocated to them, and you moved through the stacks quickly, pulling out your phone to shine a light on the boxes in the darker areas of the room.

You had been there for five minutes when you finally found a box at the top of the shelf titled April 27: Jason Peter Todd. And of course, it was too high up. Looking around, inspiration struck and you grabbed another box, heaving it off the shelf and stepping onto it.

The box was small and heavy, and you teetered precariously for a moment before you gathered your bearings and stepped down. There was a sound outside the room, a sort of commotion that sounded like colleagues laughing about something or the other.

You pulled the files out and started taking photos without reading the pages. There would be time for that later. You spent fifteen minutes taking picture after picture, a cramp beginning to form in your arm. Finally, you made it to the last page, and you stuffed the files back in the box, lifting it back onto the shelf.

The precinct was in full swing once you left the hallway, and your phone felt heavier than usual in your pocket. Removing the visitor's badge from around your neck, you approached the front desk. And someone called your name. You knew that voice- it was a little too happy for someone in Gotham. A certain ray of sunshine. You closed your eyes and clenched the pass in your fist at your side, spinning around and plastering on a smile.

So close. So close to getting away with it.

"Richard, hi," you said, leaning casually on the front desk. Maybe you could drop the visitor's pass over the side?
His cheeks dimpled when he smiled. He was in a short-sleeved shirt today, out of uniform, and you noticed the bold 'K' soulmark under his bicep when he lifted his arm. That was odd considering most people had more than one name. Except maybe Zendaya or Beyoncé.

"You're back."
"I am." You gestured to his arm. "I don't mean to be rude, but..."
"Nah, it's cool. She just doesn't have a surname, it's a little complicated but when she introduced herself, and it appeared, it made sense."
"Right, yeah." You nod slowly.
"What about you? Have you... you know?"
"He's dead," you said bluntly, waiting for the discomfort, the pitying looks and explanations that many people lived without their soulmate.
Not Richard. Richard just nodded sympathetically and said, "that sucks. So what are you doing back then? Still looking after those files?"
"Yeah, I think it's time to let that go." You shifted your arm slightly but didn't drop the pass. He was watching you too closely.

Suddenly, you became incredibly aware of the phone in your pocket and cleared your throat. He raised his eyebrows, still smiling. Shit. Was that suspicious? Why was he smiling so much? Was he a generally happy person, or was it a cover? Maybe he was constipated and smiling got him through it. Could smiling cure constipation? Did he know? Could he see the red-hot guilt burning away at your pocket?

"Smiling cures constipation," you blurted, your cheeks flushing with heat immediately.
Richard stared at you, his mouth hanging open. You made a move to say something before he cut you off with a chuckle, "oh my goodness. Ohhh my God, you're hilarious. Is that your way of telling me I smile too much? Does it really make me look like I'm hiding constipation?"
"I didn't mean to-"
Clutching his stomach, Richard threw his right arm around you and said, "were you just leaving?"

You nodded the affirmative, switching the pass from your left to right hand and dropped it over the side of the reception desk. He was too busy laughing over your slip up to notice, and you sighed your relief.

"Come on," he said, "I'll walk you out."
It sounded sort of threatening when he said it like that. "Sure, thanks."
"You know, my wife would love you. She has a habit of saying random things like that too." He rambled on about his wife and you could see the love light up his eyes. When you exited the precinct, he let go of you, still talking about Kori, his wife and absentmindedly, lifted a hand to rub at his soulmark.

"Anyway, you get going then. Nice seeing you!"
You waved and headed down the road, pulling your phone out of your pocket and swiping through the photos. Mission success.

~~

Dick watched her take off down the road towards the train station. He waited until she was a good distance away before he turned back and sprinted through the police department, down the hall and into the Records Room.

"Come on, come on, come on," he muttered, speed walking down the aisle to the place he was sure Jason's case file was. He stopped dead. The box was in the wrong place. "Shit."

He yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialled his brother's number. "Jay? Yeah, we have a problem, man."

~~

You spent three hours at the library, printing out all the photos you took in the records room, and now they were piled on your coffee table. You cleared a wall adjacent to the windows and had stuck a few of the printed pages to it with red string connecting the relevant evidence.

The timeline was as follows: Jason Todd is adopted by Bruce Wayne at age 12. He is then kidnapped three years later at age 15 and held and tortured for six months. His body was found on April 27, though it was unclear whether he died that day too. For the sake of your theory, you assumed yes.

The case went into horrific details about his torture and kidnapping. The Joker had fed him just enough to keep him alive, carved a jagged J into his cheek, and beat him bloody. Your heart ached for the boy you didn't know. Still, you pieced the evidence together as best you could and used pink sticky notes as fillers for instances you weren't sure about. If Joker had killed him, that begged the question: why did he think Jason Todd was back?

You wrote that down and stuck it in the middle.

For a few minutes, you stood there in your Hello Kitty pyjamas, surveying your work. When no new ideas or connections sprung to mind, you made your way to the kitchen. There was a loose floorboard in your living room where you kept your money and rent was due soon. You trusted your landlord as far as you could throw her, and the man was constantly upping rent on weeks when he needed a good fix.

You grabbed a crowbar from the kitchen and went back to the living room. Crouched next to your couch, you started prying the floorboard up. Keeping an eye on the door, you lifted the panel with the hand holding the crowbar and pulled out a roll of cash with the other.

"Hey, Trouble."
"Oh my fucking-" You jumped, raising the crowbar defensively.
The Hood jerked back, hands in the air. "Woah- just me! Holy shit, put that thing down."
"What do you want?" You gripped the metal tighter. Hood flinched. It was the slightest movement but you saw the way his shoulders bunched up and his hands were less raised to indicate peace and more raised in case you struck out.

"I want you to leave this-" he gestured at your wall- "alone."
"No can do, pretty boy."
For a split second, you thought he relaxed. "You think I'm pretty?"
"I don't know what you look like."
"Put the weapon down and we can talk."
You looked between him and the crowbar. "This isn't a weapon."
"It's a weapon." He cocked his head to the side, motioning for you to put it down. "Now put it down so we can talk."
"Fine."
"Fine." You put it down slowly, kicking it under the couch and then doing the same to the loose panel. Just for good measure, you stomped one foot on it to make sure it was secured in place.
"Pretty boy, huh?"
You crossed your arms, a stubborn lift to your chin. "I just told you- I don't know that you're pretty because I haven't seen you."
He nodded sagely. "No but you think I am. Come on, I know you wonder about me when you aren't meddling about with crime scenes."
"You wish."
"No," he said. "I don't wish, I know."

There was an awkward silence and he moved around your living room, picking up pages and scanning them. You eyed him warily. It was no big deal if he took anything; you had copies and copies of the copies, but it would definitely be a hassle and a half to go all the way down to the library again.

He moved around easily, like he was already familiar with everything. Then again, he'd probably scoped the place out when he broke in the first time.

"You look like a crazy person," he commented offhandedly, holding an autopsy result up to the light. "Plus, you know this is illegal, right?"
"Only if I publish it."

Which you wouldn't. There was too much of your personal life at stake if you did, not to mention the legal ramifications. One of the first classes you took in university was Political and Publishing Law 101.

"Then why?" He asked. "Why look into this... dead end case that was solved seven years ago?"
"I don't know," you groaned, "it caught my eye and something just wasn't right. Why is Joker leaving notes for a dead guy? Why did he die on-"
You clamped your mouth shut. You said too much.
Hood dropped the picture onto the table. "Why did he die on what?"
"Ethiopian soil," you squeaked out. "That's all. I mean, how did he even get there, you know?"

Hood stared at you. Or you think he did. You struggled to read him with the helmet in the way, but when you did it seemed to throw him. He lifted a hand, pausing midway, as if remembering the helmet, and dropped it immediately. Or maybe he was listening to some sort of radio inside the helmet?

"Fuck. I have to go. Look, just drop this, okay? It's not safe. Joker's not safe." His modulated voice sounded darker, rougher as he headed for the balcony. You followed him and watched him climb up onto the edge. "And for fucks sake, lock your doors."

He was only gone three minutes when the radio you stole from the crime scene buzzed to life.

"This is Officer Fort. We have a code red down at Avenue 4 on Park Row. Three dead, Joker suspected. Backup requested immediately."

"Holy shit," you breathed, pulling on a hoodie and some shoes. "Holy shit, this is massive."

~~

The crime scene was a mess of yellow tape and red and blue flashing lights. There were a few police cars parked and cops urging civilians to stay out of the area. You made your way around one of the cars, making sure there were no cops to catch you, and ducked the tape. This was your second time rushing head first into a restricted area, but the adrenaline was just as incredible as the first time, making your heart pound solidly against your chest.

You were early to the scene, and there was a noticeable lack of news outlets parked around the tape. You shot off a text to the Gazette Group, letting your department know that something had happened with the address linked. Vicki shot you a thumbs up and your boss let you know that they would send a team to cover it. Channel 9 News hadn't even arrived yet.

With that out of the way, you picked your way deeper into Crime Alley, ducking past a few cops and following the number markers. It was a massive scene, spanning at least two streets, and you turned a corner- face to face with a dead body hanging from a fire escape.

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle a scream, jumping back. The corpse's eyes stared straight ahead, mouth hanging open in a silent scream, a disturbing mimic of your expression. You crouched down and looked at the victim's knuckles, which were tattooed with the same jester cap.

You looked behind the hanging corpse and spied two headless bodies. The heads were propped up to face the hanging corpse.

Looking back to the hanged man, you noticed a slip of white in between his fingers. Clenched in his fist was a purple and green striped envelope. You looked around and grabbed a pair of conveniently placed gloves, prying the envelope from the dead man's grip and slicing it open.

Dearest Dead Jason,
You got my note. Did you like my little present? Takes me back to the good old days when I did the exact same to you.
xoxo Joker :P

You snapped a picture and put the evidence back as best as you could, between the fingers like you found it, and stepped away. To your utter horror, the body turned with the rope and your jaw dropped, a lump of fear and dread building in your throat.

There, carved into the cheek, was a bloody J.

Chapter Text

If you thought the GCPD was busy before, it was nothing compared to the day after a triple homicide. Media outlets were running wild and you had received a hefty bonus for pointing the Gotham Gazette in the right direction. In fact, the Gotham Gazette was the first outlet to have reported on the murder for at least three hours before the rest caught on.

When you got home, you took a shower to clean yourself, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel afterwards. You had lasted about four minutes standing listlessly in your bedroom, before you got back into the shower and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until your skin was raw. You stayed under the spray for almost three hours, rocking yourself on the floor while you came to terms with everything you saw. It was jarring and disgusting, and exactly what the Joker had done to Jason Todd. Now, for some inane reason, he was seeking vengeance on a dead kid.

You reached the front desk and Shawn recoiled when he saw you. Good to know you had some sort of impact on him at least. "Hiya, Shawn."
"Please, this cannot be happening today," he whispered to himself and then louder to you, "ma'am, the records are-"
"Sealed, I know. I want to know about the murders. Was it the Joker?"
"I really can't tell you anything about that," he said apologetically. "Especially since you're with the Gazette. The press office is over there, if you want any information. We'll be holding a press release in fifteen minutes."

You were guided to the press room where you and a group of journalists and reporters sized each other up, each just as eager as the next for information. It was a ruthless industry, and while you were willing to do anything for a headline, there were lines you wouldn't cross. Not many, but they did exist. You would never kill, for example, or steal- wait, no, you had technically stolen police files, so you supposed that yes, you would steal- but you would never intentionally put people in harms way. Unless it was yourself. For yourself, you had a complete disregard for safety.

The press officer was a short man who looked like a sickly Victorian child with his round glasses, thinning blond hair and sallow cheeks. You made a mental note: do NOT drink the Gotham tap water. Things were already off to a bad start when the man shuffled into the room with a nervous limp, pushing his glasses up and clearing his throat before he even began. He gave them a general run down of how the Joker had killed three people via one hanging and two decapitations. You waited carefully for him to mention the note, but he moved past that, explaining that there was no clear motive behind the attack. You frowned. He asked if there were any questions and your hand shot up.

"There were no indicators as to the Joker's motives?"
"Yes," he said patiently, "as I explained, the Joker is mentally unstable and we are looking into apprehending and containing him for the good of the public."
"I have a follow up," you said and waited for a nod to continue, "so there were no signs whatsoever, no notes or messages at all?"
"No," the press officer repeated, eyeing you strangely, "aside from his signature J carved into the victim's faces, there was nothing. Next?"

You waited for the Q&A session to finish, making notes and asking a few more questions that your superiors had requested you ask before you and the rest of the room filed out slowly, a few people murmuring quietly into their recorders.

You texted on the Gazette group chat and let them know you would be on your way back soon. The rest of the reporters left immediately, buzzing with morbid curiosity.

Before you left the precinct, there was a shout of surprise and you heard a radio fire to life.
"This is Officer Dillon reporting from Gotham Harbour. There's been another murder in the Joker case."

~~

Jason inspected the notes with trepidation. The first was a plain envelope while the second had been placed into a striped purple and green envelope. Both had the same fancy Victorian-esque script with purple and green lettering. The Joker never much cared about identities- it would only ruin his fun to expose them- but how he knew it was Jason back from the dead under the hood, no one could figure out. Steph thought he recognised Jason's voice, but that made no sense considering the helmet modulated the voice and his voice was considerably deeper than when he was fifteen. Or at least, he really hoped it was.

He sighed and rubbed at his chin, looking around his spacious apartment. It was a red brick brownstone renovated and cleared out into an open floor plan. Tim and Dick dubbed it his bat-chelor pad and joked that it looked like an IKEA showroom. There were a couple books piled on the floor because he was always running out of shelf space. Would his soulmate mind when he found her? If he found her? Or would she be messier than him?

He looked around the apartment again. His life wasn't exactly wife-friendly. There were explosives hidden in the Cheerios box and a Glock in the Frosties. His bed had a hidden panel where he kept three guns of different calibres and a couple of knives. One of his couches was placed strategically facing the window so that he could flip it to shield himself if attackers burst in through there, though that was unlikely considering he spent two million on reinforced bulletproof glass. The back leg of that same couch sat next to a loose floorboard decked out with yet another gun, extra ammunition, the ingredients for a Molotov cocktail, and a first aid kit. And that was just the obvious hiding spots. There was a rifle under his bed and a baseball bat hanging on his wall.

How could he even begin to explain it all to his soulmate? Especially the dying and coming back. Sometimes, if his emotions ran high enough, his eyes still took on an eerie green hue. The aftereffects of the pit never fully left him.

Jason picked up the second note and brought it close to his face, as if distance was the issue and not the content. Before he could yell out his frustration, his phone blasted out Cupcakke's CPR. Dick must have changed his ringtone again. His brother had extended his stay in Gotham after Joker's first round of victims, and the GCPD was more than happy to let him work the case- he was Dick Grayson, after all.

"What do you want Dickie?"
"Joker killed three guys again, you need to get to the scene before the cops tag the note as evidence." He heard Dick yell something on the other end before he spoke up again, "look, I managed to move it so they didn't see it, but you need to get here now."
"Fuck me."

~~

There was another note. You inched your way around the crime scene until you found an opening, slipping under the tape quietly. The scene was at the edge of the docks where the first few bodies were found, but these had been hauled onto stretchers to be transported to the morgue.

You stepped closer to the bodies, all lined up with the same J carved into their left cheeks. At the sound of voices approaching, you ducked behind the furthest stretcher, coming eye to eye with the dead body's hand hanging off the cot. Just as you suspected, the knuckles were tattooed with the same jester's cap. Joker was killing his own men in threes, but why? And why was there no note? Had the cops gotten to it first?

You were about to duck under the police tape behind you when a sliver of purple and green caught your eye. The envelope was tucked under the mattress of the stretcher, and you used a handkerchief to pull it out, opening it and taking a picture of the note as quickly as you could. Oddly enough, this time the envelope was already opened, but you chalked it up to the water washing the seal.

You replaced the evidence and crept around the ambulance, behind a foldable table, satisfied with your findings. You were ready to take your leave when the voices grew louder and you saw two pairs of shoes come into view under the stretchers.

Wait... you knew that voice. Slightly too cheerful and ray of sunshine-y, flowers probably grew where he walked and rain made a circle around to avoid wetting him. You pulled out your phone and started a recording for future reference.

"You're sure no one else has seen it?"
"The note is right- here you go." You peeked around the table and- yep, you were right, that was Richard. The other man was slightly taller but his head was bent behind Richard, hiding his face from view. His voice was deeper too, a slight gravelly arrogance to his tone.

"Thanks, Dickie," the mystery man said. "If the cops had to get this, it would have fucked the case."
Richard groaned painlessly and you heard them scuffle. "Oh shut up, Richard."

You didn't catch much else, because those words were ringing in your
"Hey! Wait, you know that journalist I've been keeping an eye on for you?" Your jaw stayed firmly shut. Why? Because you knew your gut was right. Richard was definitely suspicious of you.

"She calls me Richard," he said, and the other man grunted.
"Whatever. Stop engaging with her. I have to go."
"Yeah, yeah," Richard said dismissively, "I'll see you soon?"
"Tonight." The other man cleared his throat and you curled in on yourself. "Thanks again for this."
"'Course. You know, I think," Richard dragged out his vowels teasingly, "that the Hood will find this useful."

PAUSE. Pause for just a moment. Richard Grayson, detective extraordinaire, was working with the Hood? You rubbed your temple. He had just handed one of the Hood's lackeys evidence with barely a twitch.

The two men walked off and you slipped under the tape, straightening just in time for a police officer to spot you and ask you to step back. You followed instructions and backed away, complying like any good, law-abiding journalist would do.

The gears started shifting and you rubbed at your temples, starting to put distance between you and the crime scene. Were you still in Metropolis, you would never have pulled half the stunts you did here for fear of working street cameras. Silver linings in dark clouds. You spared your phone a glance to see that you had a few missed calls from Vicki and your boss but you were sure they could wait until you got to the office.

When you were safely on the train, you exhaled sharply- an exhale so relieving that it could only ever be compared to the Charles Leclerc Sigh of Relief™ circa Monaco Grand Prix 2024.

Was Richard a dirty cop? Why else would he be working with a crime lord, unless- maybe Richard didn't want his dead brother to be dragged into an official investigation, and he was using the Hood to get his own form of justice. An illegal form of justice.

Chapter Text

When you got back to the Gazette, you were met with a hysterical Vicki Vale. She spun her chair around to reveal tear filled eyes, clutching her arm. You felt a spike in your chest.

"Oh my God," Vicki cried, grabbing both your forearms. "Where have you been?"
"Vicki, are you okay?"
"No," she said. "No, I'm not."

You guided her back into her seat and rolled yours closer to her, rubbing her back soothingly. You looked around to one of your other colleagues, who shrugged and put her index finger to her temple, mouthing 'crazy.'

"Vicki, come on, tell me what happened."
"My soulmark appeared and..."
"And? Who is it?"
Vicki looked around before she leaned in to whisper, "the initials are BM."
"Okayyy..." You furrowed your eyebrows questioningly, still lost.
"BM," Vicki said again, frustrated at your lack of comprehension. She huffed out a sigh as if to say 'how are you this dense?' and then proceeded to utter words so incredulous you had to ask her to repeat them. And she did, with a mix of sorrow and pride.

"One more time, Vicki," you said, your voice stretched thin and strained. "I don't think I'm comprehending much of anything at the moment. Just one more time, I promise."

The redhead gripped both of your hands in hers, like you were a support group, and you decided right there that if you were any sort of support group, it would be The Support Group For Mental Ineptitude. And believe me, this was sheer ineptitude on one Vicki Vale's part. Never in her life had she come up with a theory so ridiculous. Not even when she pitched the concept of Do The Bat Butts Match?

She looked at you with shining eyes and said, in the same hushed tone, "BM as in Bat-Man. My soulmate is Bat-Man."

"My soulmate is Bat-Man!"

Vicki was inconsolable, crying about not knowing how to feel about her soulmate being a vigilante of all things, and how could she ever live with that? With the danger that came with it.

"Vicki," you interrupted her blubbering and yanked your hands out of hers and cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look into your eyes. "I need you to listen to me carefully, okay? Listen to me when I tell you this."
You waited for her to nod her understanding before you spoke, making sure to enunciate each word clearly. "Batman could not possibly be your soulmate because Bat-Man is not his real name. And even if it were, Batman is one word."
Vicki wiped at her tears. "Right. You're right, but I'm sure the mark said BM."
"Where is it?"

Your co-worker stook abruptly, turned around and raised her arm to show off the stark lettering on the back. You squinted at the mark and tilted your head, straightening out her arm. Ah. You saw it now.

"Did you maybe look at this in the mirror? With your arm raised?" She bobbed her head almost dangerously and you sighed tiredly. You weren't getting paid enough for this. "Vicki, it says BW. You were looking it at backwards and upside down."
"Oh. So... BW then, huh?"
"Yep."
Vicki nodded solemnly and then burst into tears again. "Bruce Wayne is my soulmate!"
"Oh, that's not-"
"My soulmate is a billionaire and one of the most insufferable socialites in this godforsaken city," she wailed, "why is my life like this?"

There were worse things than having your potential soulmate be a billionaire, but you clamped your mouth shut and soothed her until your boss came in and told her to go home. He looked at you before he left and shot you a thumbs up, "by the way, great piece on that 'Rich People' piece, kid."
You edited Vicki's piece on the Red Hood entitled Does The Carpet Match The Hood? and damn near committed yourself to a psych ward. Where this woman came up with her headlines or concepts was the one mystery you weren't eager to explore.

You got home before the clock struck nine and made yourself dinner before you grabbed the stolen police radio. You listened to the calls come in for half an hour, noting down the ones that would make for interesting articles. The lights in the building opposite you turned off and you sighed, ready to go to bed when your phone rang.

You squinted at the screen in the dark and accepted the call. "Lois?"
"Hi! I know it's late but I wanted to check on you." You heard Clark in the background. "We haven't had a chance to talk properly since you moved."
"I know," you rubbed your temples, "and I'm sorry, it's just been an insane couple of days. I didn't expect Gotham to be so..."
"Broody," you heard Clark say.
"Am I on speaker?" You stood, collecting dishes from around your living room with your phone tucked between your shoulder and ear.
"Uh... yep. Clark's here too- say hi, Clark."
"Hey, kid."
"Hi Clark."
"You staying out of trouble?" You must have been silent too long because Clark responded to himself, "yeah, thought so, but as long as you're safe- well, as safe as you can be in Gotham."
"I'm safe," you assured him. "I promise."

Lois muttered something that you didn't catch, but Clark must have because there was a soft scrape, like one of them pulled a chair out, and you got the distinct impression that this was a three-way call now. "Are you enjoying Gotham? It's nothing like Metropolis and I know the news outlets there can be a little weird compared to here-" You smiled, thinking back to Vicki's articles. "-but I've read the stuff you wrote for the Gazette and I think you're doing great."
"I didn't know you read them," you said, touching one hand to your collarbone.
"Oh yeah, we've read all of them," Clark said happily, "Lois set an alert for every time you get published."
There was a rustle and a playful "ouch!" and you heard Lois hiss, "you weren't supposed to tell her that! Now she's going to think we're helicoptering her, Clark."

You listened to them argue in hushed tones, sinking back onto your bed. Their bickering was a blanket of white noise tucked around you. It reminded you of home in this new place you were making your own.

"Anyway," Lois muttered, realising she was still on call with you, "I did have some questions about that one article you wrote- 'Rich People For Dummies.' Was it based on anyone in particular or-?"
"I met Richard Grayson," you muttered, eyes drifting shut. "He was weird. He asked me to call him Dick, I'm not calling a grown man Dick, that's just odd."
"Really?" Lois' tone turned teasing. "You know, Bruce Wayne and I had a brief-"
"Oh God, no," Clark groaned and your jaw dropped. "We agreed never to speak about that. Ever again."
"You and Bruce Wayne?" you asked, sitting upright. "No way."
"I agree: no way," Clark said and Lois laughed. "It's not funny, Lois."
"Jealousy looks good on you."
"And that's my cue," you said. "Good night, we'll talk soon, okay?"
"Okay, you sleep well, kid."
"Night," Clark said, "don't let the criminals bi- I'm joking, Lois! But seriously, if you want to come back to Metropolis, we'll drive down and pack your place up personally. Your room is still set up and everything."
"Thanks but I'm enjoying it here."
"Don't do anything reckless," Lois said. "Batman isn't Superman; he's only human."
"I promise."

After five more minutes of goodbyes, you finally hung up and closed your eyes, pulling your sheets up around you and letting yourself drift off and the memories of the day fade into a blissful white haze.

There were no dead bodies in your bed, no severed heads or purple and green notes. Just soft pillows and blankets and- you shot up. The note. With all the chaos of the day, hearing Richard and Hood's lackey, and then convincing Vicki that her soulmate was not, in fact, Bat-Man and nor could it ever be, and then dealing with the fact that she thought Bruce Wayne was her soulmate... it had given you no time at all and the note and recording were forgotten. Sleep would have to wait.

You yanked a hoodie over your tank top, grabbed your phone and police radio, and padded out to the living room. You made yourself comfortable, wrapping yourself around one of your throw pillows, pressed play on the recording and opened your gallery to read the note.

Dearest, dead, Jason.
Not so dead after all I see. How would you feel about a little rendezvous for old times sake?
xoxo Joker :3

There was a location printed at the bottom with a time- 4:27. The time matched the date Jason died: April 27th or 4/27. You checked your watch. It was two o'clock, which gave you barely almost no time at all if the Hood planned to go. And knowing him, he definitely planned to go. You were sure you could make it there before him, take a look around and maybe get a few pictures for your article.

You pulled on a pair of sweatpants and made sure your door was locked when you left, tucking the key under the mat. You would hate for Joker to have a key to your house if you got nabbed.

~~

Jason read the note three, four, five times before he actually pulled on his Red Hood suit. He wore a domino under the helmet because he wanted Joker to be able to look him in the eye when he killed the clown.

He strapped a couple of knives to the hidden pockets of his suit and packed a bomb for a last minute escape. The note was stuck to the fridge with a cookie monster magnet, in plain sight for the Bats to find if the mission went sideways.

Jason sent out a silent apology to his soulmate, wherever she was and if he even had one, for the possibility that he might die and she would end up with his initials scarred into her. Again. He figured after the first time he was resurrected they would have faded, and if he ever met her, they would appear again.

It was nearing three o'clock when he finally left.

~~

So. What Lois said about getting caught in the cookie jar? And you promising you wouldn't? And what Clark said about staying safe? And you promising you would? That was a lie. A big lie. The biggest. You got caught in under five minutes and were now tied to a chair with a gag in your mouth, staring at a massive digital clock that read 4:08, watching Joker concoct some sort of green gas while he giggled uncontrollably. He seemed to be having the time of his life dropping chemical after chemical into his beaker and swirling it around before he put it all together. When he decided the gas was ready, he turned back to you and rolled up his sleeves.

"So," he said, crowding closer to you. "You found me, little journalist. Was it a fun ride, getting here? Does it feel-" he spun around with his arms spread- "glorious, to have tracked me down?"

You cringed back when the clown bent at the waist, putting his nose close to yours. When his hand lifted to your face, you were sure he was going to hurt you but he just pulled the gag down, waiting for an answer.

You refused to lose your cool now, not after you gone toe to toe with one of the most dangerous vigilantes in Gotham- twice- and completely disregarded anything he told you. So instead of cowering, you lifted your chin and said, "guess I did. But you weren't looking for me, were you? You wanted Jason Todd."
The Joker's eyebrows shot up. "Clever little girlie, aren't you? Then again, aren't we all clever. Not as little as you. But clever. Oh, you're going to love the surprise. It'll be the best party!"

He shoved the cloth back in your mouth, straightened, and turned with his hands clasped behind his back. You braced yourself. It was nearing the time written on the note, and you were sure the Hood would show up soon, which meant another earful for you after he inevitably freed you. You sighed and got comfortable, because Joker's massive clock said it was 4:15 already.

When the first gunshots sounded it was 4:20.
When the hired guns ran outside to bring in the Hood, the clock read 4:23.
When it fell silent, 4:25.
And finally, when he dropped into the warehouse from above, landing squarely in front of you, 4:27.

Joker clapped his hands excitedly. "Oh! Oh, what an entrance! Did you see that?"

You rolled your eyes and nodded indulgently.

Hood advanced on him, grabbing the mad man by the throat and flinging him across the room. The Joker groaned and the vigilante lifted his hands to his helmet, yanking it off with a hiss. He dropped the rest thing on the floor a foot from you. He had short black hair and when he turned to the side to fire off two bullets into the Joker's chest, you noticed a streak of white at the front. Odd. Was that dyed? And for what purpose?

You were sure that the Hood didn't notice you until he turned and looked you dead in the eye. Or, you assumed he did since he had a domino mask covering his eyes.

"You okay?" He asked and pulled off the gag, letting the cloth hang around your neck. His voice was rough and gravelly, and you swore you heard it before. "Hey, Trouble, are you okay?"
"Yeah," you croaked. "Yeah, I'm fine."
He crouched in front of you, seemingly studying your face for a few minutes before he raked a hand through his hair. "How'd you even get here?"

While he waited for you to respond, he started working at the ropes on your legs. Joker had made sure you were bound so tightly you lost feeling in at least one leg, and when the Hood got the ropes loosened, you swore you felt stars start vibrating in your foot.

"I saw the note. With the address," you explained. "So I came early."
Hood paused his movements. "What the fuck? I told you to stay out of this, and what do you do, you rush headfirst into danger. You know, that's the issue with you headline hungry vipers-"
"First of all, I'm a journalist and there is absolutely nothing wrong with-"
"-you think you're impenetrable, like a bullet is just going to-"
"-doing my job and going to extreme lengths because-"
"-bounce off of you-"
"-I'm willing to do what it takes to find a story and stick it out to the end-"
"Newsflash: you aren't Wonder Woman!" He said sarcastically, throwing out mocking jazz hands and leaning back on his haunches. "You don't have a magic lasso, or magic abs or impenetrable skin"
"-because that is just what. I. Do. And if you have a problem, you can... you can..."
He leaned in with his teeth bared. "I can what?"
"We aren't having this conversation while I'm tied up," you said stubbornly. "Get me out of here right now."
"Not until you tell me what I can do with my opinions, sweetheart."
"I don't know why you even care, asshole."
"Still waiting."
"Fine! You can stick your- oh my God look out-"
"Wha-?"

Joker brought the pipe down on Hood's head and the vigilante lifted a hand to cup his head. Joker whacked him one more time, hard, and he crumpled in an unconscious heap.

"Oh fuck."
"Fuck indeed," Joker cackled.

He whistled and the warehouse door was thrown open, five henchmen marching in and taking ahold of the Hood. They tied his arms and legs together and Joker pulled out a syringe, flicking it playfully a couple times. You watched in horror as he injected the Hood, and then started struggling against the ropes when he smiled widely and stepped closer to you.

"Time for your sho-o-t," he sang. "Be a dear and hold still."
You were sure that you could resist the drug if you only tried hard eno-

Chapter Text

It would seem you were not drug resistant. You had quite literally passed out mid-thought despite the adrenaline pumping through you.

When you woke up it was in a small room with no windows, a crick in your neck from having been asleep on the same creaky chair with your hands bound behind your back. This time though, the Red Hood was tied up right there with you, and your hands seemed to be looped together into some intricate knot, his gloves rubbing against your skin. Maybe there should be a mandatory 'Getting out of Ropes 101' class for all journalists.

There was a bed in the corner of the room, with a box of some kind sitting near the pillows, and a large wardrobe across from it to your right. It was an old-fashioned sort of thing, tall and imposing with an intricate depiction of cherubs carved into each door complete with knob handles and a keyhole. The wall paper was a nauseating shade of butter yellow and the floor felt like beige carpeting under your shoes.

It was quaint and nothing in particular stood out to you. Except the bright green and purple bomb in the space between your and Hood's chairs. The constant ticking made you shudder.

You tried struggling your way out of the ropes with no luck, groaning in frustration. "Wake up, Hood. Wake the fuck up!"
Wiggling side to side childishly, you yanked until the ropes started to burn your wrist, willing him to wake up and get you both out of there.

~~

Jason woke with a pounding in his head and bleary vision. He could feel something rubbing against his wrists and subsequently yanked them back, earning a groan from behind him. Was that... he said your name and craned his neck as much as he could. The pulling stopped.

"It's me," the journalist said, sounding oddly relieved to hear him. That couldn't be right. She hated him. In what world would she be glad to hear him?
"What the hell happened?"
"Joker knocked you out." He felt her shift. "He knocked me out too, and I'm not sure what he did with your helmet. And there's a bomb under us."
"Fucksake," he hissed.

Jason assessed his side of the room, which consisted of a dresser pressed against the wall the door was connected to with a vase of lilies sitting on top, a mirror above that, and a painting on the adjacent wall.

"No worries, we can get out of this," he sighed. "There's a hidden pocket in my sleeve, you should be able to feel it if you... yep, that one there. Try to get it open, there's a blade inside." He felt her fingers scrambling around, trying to get a grip on the blade. "Careful not to cut yourself and don't drop it, or we have to switch to Plan B."
"What's Plan B?"
"Aside from birth control? My family."

~~

"JASON IS MISSING!" Dick sprinted through the Batcave, waving around a striped envelope. "Our brother is missing, and we all need to band together, hatch a plan and go save him."

Bruce was on his feet in an instant, snatching the envelope and pulling two notes out. Tim leaned over his father's arm and scanned the contents of one letter while Steph did the same over another arm.

"Are you sure?" Damian said, squinting from where he was perched on Bruce's shoulders. "There is nothing in either note which hints at an abduction."
"Yeah," Steph agreed, "these just look like sick, perverted sort of love notes. I mean, 'xoxo Joker'? He totally ripped off Gossip Girl."

Duke snatched the papers from Bruce, ignoring the chorus of affronted hey!'s that followed. Cass put her head against his and they read the notes together.
"Totally," Cass nodded, agreeing with Steph. "He wrote the emoticons, that is very strange."

Duke handed the papers off to Alfred, who adjusted his glasses and brought them close to his face. His mouth moved while he read the letters, and he licked a finger to flip to the next one. Dick sidled up to Alfred hopefully, rising onto his tippy-toes before he rocked back on his heels repeatedly. When Alfred was done, he dropped them back into Dick's waiting hands.

"You see it, right Alfred?"
Alfred hummed and tapped his nose. "Of the two notes, the second is far more intense, but-"
"There were three notes," Dick cut him off. "Did you guys not read the latest one?"
"No," Steph said slowly, "there are two notes there."
"You're literally holding one in each hand," said Tim.
Dick looked down, and counted. One, two. One. Two. "But... but there were three notes."
"Is he hallucinating?" Duke whispered to Alfred. "We should check him."
Dick groaned. "Guys, please, I'm being serious- Jason is in trouble!"
"I believe you," Bruce said, and that seemed to be that.

There were a series of groans and Tim and Steph sat themselves down at the conference table. Damian slid off Bruce's shoulders, betrayal burning in his eyes when he glared at Bruce over his shoulder. He joined Tim and Steph at the table, pulling himself up to sit on the edge. Cass plopped herself next to him and ruffled his hair playfully. He elbowed her in the side.

Dick paced between Bruce and his siblings. "I'm sure there were three notes, okay, I was there when I gave him the third. This is serious. We have to find him."
His siblings looked at him dubiously.
"Can we at least search his apartment?"
At that, they lit up, agreeing immediately. They had only been to Jason's place a handful of times and only ever for short periods before he kicked them out. While they were there he hovered, leaving little room to snoop.

~~

"No, you have to saw through it like- ow!"
"Sorry."
"It's fine, just see if you can cut through the ropes."
"Shit."
"What? What happened."
"So, don't freak out on me but-"
"What the fuck just happened?" Hood growled, twisting as much as he could to look at you. You had been trying to cut through the ropes for the better part of an hour with no luck, and you sensed his growing frustration with you. More so now that you had doomed the two of you to more time in the damned ropes.

"I may have dropped the blade."
"You dropped the- we're going to die here," he decided. "We're going to die here and my family of idiots will never find us, and your family is probably worried."
"Jeez," you said dryly, "maybe try some optimism for once? I'm sure your family of Bats will find us with some type of echolocation."
"You severely overestimate my family."
"I mean, did you at least tell them where you went?"

There was a deafening silence from behind you and Hood shifted uncomfortably. You felt his head move in shake before he realised you couldn't see him and admitted that no, he hadn't.

"Well then," you said with faux cheer, "wanna play twenty questions?"
"Now?"
"Why not? We are dying soon, aren't we?"
"Ah, fuck it, why not."

You both relaxed into your seats and you started off the game.

"What's your favourite colour?"
"Red."
"Oh. That should've been obvious."
"Yeah. Where did you grow up?"
"Metropolis," you bit your lip and wondered if you should go into detail. "And I moved here a week ago."
"A week and you're already tied up and ready to die."
"Been ready since I was fifteen," you exhaled. "Okay, what's your biggest fear?"
"Dying." The answer came too easily and you turned to look at him.

Hood kept his head deliberately straight, although he could feel your stare burning into what little of his face you could see. His deft fingers started working at the ropes absentmindedly to distract himself from the game.

"You gonna elaborate? That felt like a loaded answer."
"I will if you do," he countered.
"What could I possibly elaborate on?"
"Where did you grow up?" He asked again.
You hesitated. Fair was fair, after all, and if you were going to die, you may as well tell one other person, and it may as well be him.

~~

The Bats tore through Jason's apartment with a vengeance. Dick pulled bedsheets and pillows to the ground in one fell sweep, squeaking when a hidden panel jumped open at him to reveal three guns and knives of differing lengths. Neat freak that he was, Jason arranged the knives in order of length, starting with the shortest one.
"Weirdo," Dick muttered, yanking Tim by the collar to look at it. They stared at the arrangement before turning back to each other and sniggering.

"What the hell?" Stephanie said from the kitchen. She had moved a jar of spices, which had knocked into the Frosties, which had tipped over and scattered cereal and a Glock over the counter. "Glock in the Frosties!" she yelled. "Glock in the Frosties!"

She tipped out the rest of his cereal and oats and she and Steph jumped excitedly when a bundle of explosives fell out of the Cheerios box. They high fived and started rummaging through the rest of his cupboards, his fridge, and even his oven, which was home to a couple of knives. Cass made a comment about those belonging in draws and dumped them into the growing pile of newly discovered weapons.

While Damian crawled under the bed, there was the sound of an enormous amount of water that came from the bathroom. The Bats froze, waiting, and the girls leaned their heads out of the kitchen.

There was a shout and a thud and then a few minutes of silence before Duke emerged from the bathroom, soaking wet with a taser cord hanging from his arm, still sparking.
"Bro," his chest heaved, "he booby-trapped the bathroom."
There was a similar thump and they all startled before Damian crawled out from the other side of the bed, waving a rifle in the air proudly. "It appears Todd has hidden the large gun beneath his- goodness me, what in the nine hells has attacked Thomas?"
"An electric crocodile," Duke deadpanned, then held up his arm. "A taser, what did you think this is?"
Damian sniffed and said, "unclear."

They scoured the apartment and it was Cass who found the loose panel on the floor having walked over it twice before she decided to lean down, flip the couch over and yank the floorboard up.
"Well done, Cassie," Dick cheered and pulled her into a side hug. She smiled up at him and shrugged. "This calls for a celebration."

He floated his way into the kitchen and looked around, grabbing a box of pop tarts and wiggling his finger as he took in the chaos, searching for more snacks. He found Jason's organised basket of chocolate biscuits Alfred brough over from England and zeroed in on the fridge.
"Cute cookie monster magnet," he commented to himself and pulled it open. Louder, he said, "Guys, I found a couple of beers and apple juice for Dami-baby!"

~~

Dear reader, it is important to note that if one of the world's greatest detectives failed to notice the clue laid out so obviously for him, your favourite couple is, indeed, well and truly fucked.

~~

"I grew up in an orphanage. My parents dumped me outside the gates and called it a day. You know, in the movies, they always leave a note or a necklace, or some kind of clue. I got nothing. Except the shoebox I was found in. That stays under my bed." You lifted a shoulder to wipe at your cheek, which was unusually itchy. You and the Hood had decided to swap sob stories, and after a gentle nudge from him, you went ahead, trying desperately to keep your voice level.

"I majored in journalism because it opened doors that would've been closed otherwise. I had access to press releases and I could request evidence for articles with the appropriate reasoning."
"Is that what you did with the, uh, Jason Todd case?"
"No, that one I stole," you snorted. "Anyway. I tried looking into my parents, and you would think a DNA test would work but... nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nope. Not one possible match. They called me the Shoe-Box Baby for years before I managed to have the records sealed, and then the Gotham Gazette offer came up."
"Woah," he breathed, knocking his head into yours. "That was a lot."
"Sure, yeah. Your turn!"

You got comfortable and dropped your head back, letting it rest on his shoulder with the chairback under your neck. He uttered a quiet oh and cleared his throat. "Okay, well, dying isn't fun. Trust me," he said when you laughed, "I did it and came back, and it changed me for the worst. I did terrible things- that duffel bag incident? That was tame compared to the things that never made headlines."
"So, what, you had some kind of death rabies that made you go crazy?"

He laughed, loud and clear, and it send shivers down your spine when his fingers stopped moving against the ropes and stroked against yours gently. You felt a trace of goosebumps trail up your arm, shuddering. Why was he so... intriguing?

"Something like that. What did you do for fun, back in Metropolis?"
"I did a lot of escape rooms. Ironic how I did those for fun and can't get out now." You flexed your wrists and Hood did the same, running his index finger up yours. "Did dying have any side effects?"
"Aside from the death rabies?"
"Yeah."
"My eyes glow green."
"No shit?"
"No shit."
"That's... oddly cool, actually."
"Not so much when you're playing hide and seek with your siblings. My turn?" You hummed a yes, letting your eyes fall shut while his fingers worked soothing circles into yours. "Okay." He thought about it for a second.

You could practically hear the gears shifting with every thought as he churned through his options. Everything about this man seemed calculated, from the hidden pockets sewn into his clothes to the domino mask under his helmet.

"Okay." He thought about it for a second. "Do you have a favourite book?"
"Uhh... Harry Potter?"
"You're kidding." His movements ceased.
"Wait, no! I've got it."
"Something better than Harry Potter, please."
You grinned playfully. "Twilight."
He gasped, outraged and you huffed, offended. Hood turned as best he could and said, "When we get out of here, we're forming a two-person book club and reading real literature. Suzanne Collins, Jane Austen, George Elliot- Erin Morgenstern if you want fantasy."
"Twilight is real literature," you said, mostly arguing for the sake of it. You liked riling him up, and while he would never admit it, he liked getting riled up by you.
qa
"Werewolves with abs, a depressed girl basically harassing a sparkly vampire, what's not to love?"
Hood groaned and dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling with you. "You want abs, I can show you mine any day- one for each book you read with me."

You cracked an eye open. Was he... flirting? Is that what was happening here? His fingers had started moving over yours again and you moved slightly, feeling the ropes shift.
"Deal," you agreed, lifting your head and rubbing your wrist together again. "But only if you watch the twilight movies with me."

He was silent for a moment and you knew what he was thinking. You had been trapped together for less than a day and were making plans to, what, hang out? He was a vigilante and you were a journalist. Not to mention that in your ongoing saga of How To Argue With A Crime Lord 101, you had only ever argued back and forth on a rooftop; on the street; while you were tied up and awaiting torture from a psychopath; and most recently, with a bomb planted beneath your asses. Literally.

"So, uh, you read then?"
"Is that your question?"
"Yeah. Is that yours?"
"No, that's not my question, and yeah I read. If I didn't do the whole vigilante thing I probably would have gone to school for literature."
"That's- Hood, can you do that again?"
"Is that your question, because I'm pretty sure it was my turn-"
"No," you snapped, moving your wrists again. "That thing with your hands, it loosened my ropes."

Hood sat up straight immediately and rubbed circled on the back of your hands again, and again, and then your wrists, which you rubbed as if you were spreading your favourite perfume. Twenty minutes later, you yanked your hands free and leapt out of the chair. You ran around to face Hood and paused when he turned his face- still hidden with the domino mask- to meet your eyes.

"Hi," you breathed.
"Hi. How much time left on the bomb?"
You ducked to look at the red box and then straightened to face him. "Don't panic."
"Your voice is the one getting pitchier."
"That can't be a word." You started breathing heavily. It felt like you were in a bubble underwater, and that bubble had water in it and you were drowning because there was no air and you didn't know how to make your lungs function properly-

"Hey! Focus," said Hood. "It's just an escape room, okay? Now how much time do we have left?"
"Uh... it's um... Just about four minutes-ish."
"Get the blade and cut me out."

You did as he said, a line of sweat beading on your forehead as you did so. You managed to get one of his hands free with three minutes to spare, and he took the blade from you, twisting out of the chair and cutting the ropes down quickly.

When he stood, he towered over you and you stood, face to chest, as if seeing each other for the first time.

"We need a way out," he said, voice hoarse. "Help me move this wardrobe, there might be a vent we can crawl out of."

The two of you pushed the wardrobe together, toppling it onto its side. You both eyed the vent, which looked just big enough for him to squeeze into. Hood got to work using the razor to unscrew the vent covering while you turned and surveyed the room, your eyes flicking over the bed and the box of condoms-

The. Box. Of. Condoms.

"Hood," you said, "Joker left us a box of condoms."
"Joker left us what?" He whirled around and marched over to the bed, picking up the box and inspecting it. "Huh." He shrugged and tossed them back on the bed, shouldering past you to work at the vent again. "Those look too small anyway."

Oh. Your eyebrows shot up. Not something you were sure you needed to hear, but... interesting. You glanced at the box, at the size on the front, and your jaw dropped. That would mean- nope. Nope, you distracted yourself with inspecting the cracked wallpaper. It never looked as interesting as it did right then.

"Fucking gloves," he muttered and tore them off, chucking them to the side while you walked around the room, making your way to the door. You tried the handle, ready for disappointment.
"Hood," you said.
"What?"
"Hood, come here."
"Not now, Trouble, I almost got this done."
"Hood, the door is open."

Once again, he spun around dramatically and stared at you, crossing to the door in three quick strides, only pausing to glance at the bomb.

"Barely two minutes left," he said, and you both shut the door behind you, taking off down the hallway. You tackled the stairs two at a time and bursting out of the door at the end.

You had made it a good way to the middle of the road when he grabbed you by the waist, his hand spanning the area of exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up. He yanked you down, rolling over the grassy slope. Down, down, down. You landed on top of him with a thump.

You weren't worried about the heat at your back or the pain in your neck though, because the place where his hand touched your skin? Electric.

~~

Jason's whole being erupted. He felt everything. It was like being dead all over again, except this time was far more intense, more pleasurable, more more. Your soul was a shock of electricity, of falling and seeing the light.

Finding his soulmate was like being dead, but this time he didn't want to come back to life.

Chapter Text

Hood sat up with you on top of him, and you quickly scrambled off his lap with a hasty apology, dusting yourself off and looking around. When you rolled down the slope, you landed in Gotham River's riverbank. Surveying your surroundings, it appeared that you were on the outskirts of Gotham and at least an hours walk back into the city.

Hood was breathing hard and it appeared that the sun had just started to set; you'd been missing a whole day. You wondered if your boss or Vicki Vale worried about your absence, if Lois did, if she noticed the significant lack of texts and responses. Scrunching your nose up, you turned to the river and leaned down, scooping water into your palms and splashing it on your face to get the grime and heat off you.

There was also the tiny fact that you saw stars when Hood touched you, skin to skin, and you wondered if he felt it too. The memory of Hood's palms gripping your waist burned imprints into your sides. No, you thought, squaring your shoulders firmly, your soulmate was dead, and he wasn't coming back.

It was just chemistry- or, no, better yet: it was just a static shock. After all, there was an explosion which meant electricity of some kind must have frazzled you both, and when he touched you, it was just an intense static shock to accompany the smell of burning and the ringing in your ear. One touch meant nothing, and he probably didn't even feel it.

You splashed more of the cold water on yourself, dragging it up your arms until you were freezing. You needed the heat of the moment washed off, because any lingering thoughts would become a permanent fixture in the gearing of your brain and you couldn't afford to deal with feelings when you used cynicism for currency.

"So," you said, trying to keep your voice neutral, but it came out sounding like you were underwater with a little wobble to it. Weird. "Do you want to get a cheeseburger?"
He looked up, eyebrows creasing. You saw his mouth move but his voice was fuzzy, like the clump of voices that made up background noise in a mall. You could hear it, you just couldn't focus on each word no matter how hard you tried.
"Hood, I can't hear you." He said something again, more persistently and you groaned. Eventually, you pointed at him, then yourself and mimed eating a burger. His lips turned to an 'o' shape and he nodded slowly.

~~

Jason stared. And stared. And if it wasn't obvious enough, he stared some more. That was an insane firework show, and he almost wanted to touch her again to see if he felt it as strongly a second time around. His head was reeling and she was eating without a care in the world. Did she not want a vigilante for a soulmate?

The two of them had found a beat down diner close to Gotham Lights and Power, and while their hearing was mostly back, he couldn't shake the wave of dizziness that hit him square in the chest every time he looked at her.

"You gonna eat it or just stare at it?" She quipped, taking a sip of her chocolate-peanut butter shake.
"How are you drinking that thing," he asked and pulled a face.
"It's like a Reese's cup but better."

Okay, play it cool, Jason. Maybe she didn't feel anything. Maybe, just maybe, it was static shock from the explosion or from being tied up. Like a really intense static shock that only he felt. Or that she felt, and came to the same conclusion. There would be no way to tell until he checked for her initials, and he could only do that when they eventually trekked their way back into the city.

"How are we getting back?"
Jason shrugged mutely. "I kind of expected the others to find us. I mean, I left them a really obvious clue in my apartment."
"What kind of clue?"
Jason exhaled at having to say it out loud. "Promise not to make fun of me?"
She stopped and he swung around to look at her. "Depends how dumb it is."
The sheer ridicule he felt overcame him, cheeks and ears pinking. "A cookie monster shaped clue."

~~

Dick sat up. "Guys. Guys, I've got it."

His siblings also sat up from where they were scattered around the room, surrounded by the contents of their brother's apartment. Tim's hair was mussed and his eyes bleary from sleep, Damian was curled up on the floor with one of Jason's guns, Steph had her head on Duke's stomach and Duke was eating Frosties straight from the box- the same one the Glock was found in.

"I've got it," he repeated, smoothing down his hair, "Jason is at home. he's at Wayne Manor, and this is all some elaborate hide and seek thing."
Cass groaned and pushed to her feet. "We said that. You insisted."

There was a collective groan and the siblings agreed with Cass, who made her way to the kitchen. The siblings in the lounge started cleaning up as much as they could, chucking pillows back onto the couch and shoving cereal under the carpet.

Cass came back with wide eyes and a purple and green lettered note in her hand.
"A cookie monster shaped clue," she said and held it up, tapping on finger on the address at the bottom. "Look."
Tim tripped over Damian on his way to his sister and grabbed the note. "I can't believe Dick was right."
"Hey!"
"Me neither." Steph leaned in to read the note. "Guess we better suit up. We slept half the day away and Jay might be hurt."

The drive on the way home consisted of Dick yelling about how he was right, and imagine if they hadn't listen to him, and poor Jason probably thought they abandoned him.

"Wait," said Tim suddenly. "Didn't you literally open the fridge to get the beers?"
Dick shut up.
"And did Stephanie and Cain not inspect the kitchen?" Damian followed, tutting his disdain. "Imbeciles, all of you."
"I mean, Cass found the hidden floorboard and the note," Duke pointed out, "she and Steph were mostly looking through the cabinets in the kitchen."
"Thank you," Cass sighed and shook her head.

They were interrupted by Dick's ringtone, which played an altered version of Sir Mix-a-Lot's I Like Big Butts, but whenever he said butts, it cut to a recording of Dick's voice saying Bats.

"Really?" Tim stared at him. "I like big bats?"
"And I cannot lie. It's funny." Dick picked up. "What up, Bats?"
"A motel near Gotham Lights and Power just blew up. Security footage shows two people running for cover and jumping into the river right before the explosion. One of them looks like Jason." Bruce paused. "Come back, suit up, and we'll go get them." Bruce hung up.

Silence. Then-

"But we just found the clue!"
"This is all Dick's fault."
"Wooww, blame it on Dick, why don't you?"
"That's what she said-"
"I'm going to drive us off a bridge."
"What the hell is happening?"
"I am confused as to Todd's location."
"Who do you guys think he's with?"
"Is it not obvious," Damian scoffed, "that he is accompanied by his girlfriend the journalist."
"His what?"

~~

Jason was panicking. She kept moving her hand dangerously close to his, and he was worried she would try something, like hand holding. Earlier, she handed him a napkin and he picked it out of her grip with the tips of his pointer finger and thumb. He was sure she was getting suspicious now.

~~

Hood was being weird. Every time you moved your hand, Hood jerked away as if scared you would touch him. Not that you wanted to. Not that you didn't want to either.

When the two of you stood up to leave the diner, you both reached for the door and he yanked his arm back, recoiling into himself like a snake once bitten. You eyed him suspiciously and pulled the door open, letting the door close on him on your way out.

Your leg twinged with every step you took, and you tried putting less pressure on it. You'd just passed Gotham Lights and Power when Hood sighed and asked, "is your leg okay? You keep limping."
"I think I twisted it when we fell." When you threw us over the edge of the road. "But I'll be okay."
"You want me to carry you?"
"I'm okay."

Three steps later, Hood hoisted you up into a fireman's carry, his muscles flexing beneath his armour. You locked your fingers carefully behind his neck. You realised he had some sort of turtleneck under the armour and let your hands relax against the back of his neck. When he jerked his head to the side to move the white strand of hair off his forehead, you gingerly set it back into place. He muttered a short 'thank you' and kept walking, only shifting you slightly when you slipped a little.

~~

When Bruce Wayne accidentally acquired his numerous children, he was made increasingly aware that they liked having car rides together, despite the fact that every trip, long or short, always ended in some form of violence, be it verbal or physical.

His kids hated taking separate cars, and he never expected it would extend to their undercover life too. But it did. And Batman, in all his dark, broody, fatherly glory, was forced to invest in a larger car to fit them all. Though calling it a car was being polite. Put simply, it was a family van. A dad van. He refurbished it, of course, painted it all black, added a bat sigil and bat ears, and equipped it with enough weapons to turn an arms dealer green.

His children loved it. They loved the idea of getting to and from missions together and had practically baited him into buying it. The front was the driver, Bruce, and passenger princess, usually Dick when he was in town; the second row seated Duke, Cass and Jason when he decided to ride with them; and the last row seated Damian, Tim and Steph.

But was a nightmare for Bruce, who had to douse fires- literally- and arguments, and eventually enforce a strict No Physical Fights policy in the car. One time, they engaged in a spiritual fight, and Bruce had to ban Ouija boards and spell chanting of any kind.

"Seatbelts," Bruce snapped when he saw Tim turn around on his knees in the rear-view, "and sit properly, all of you."
"Can we play some music?" Dick reached for the radio. Bruce slapped his hand away. "Touchy much?"
"Bruuuuce," Duke called, "Tim isn't sharing his snaaaackks."
"I shan't share," Tim declared, mocking Damian, who made a grab for the bag.
"Is it because I'm black?" Duke asked seriously. "Is it because Cass is Asian? And Damian is Arab? And Steph is... blonde?"
Tim chucked the packet at them.
"Well," Bruce murmured, "that's one way to solve it."

The rest of the car ride was silent with only a few squabbles in the back until-
"Wait, is that Jason?"

~~

The headlights were blinding and you lifted your arm in front of your face to protect your eyes. Hood lowered you slowly to the ground and stretched his arms up and out. When your eyes adjusted, you let out a snort. The car was a total Dadmobile.
"What is that?"
"The Batfam-mobile."
"The what?"
Hood sighed tiredly. "Looks like they got my cookie monster shaped clue."

Chapter Text

"Wow! The Batcave is amazing!"

Is what you would have said, if you hadn't been blindfolded the minute Hood lifted you into the Dadmobile. The drive was quick and bumpy, and you were sat on Hood's lap for all of it because the other vigilantes insisted there was no space with the other six of them.

When you made it to the Batcave, Hood's hands found a home on either shoulder and guided you around. There was a flurry of slamming doors and voices that grew fainter with every step. You counted seven steps before Hood stopped you and turned you around, his fingers staying carefully over your clothes. With a hand on either side of your waist, he lifted you with barely any effort onto a table that was cool to the touch. Metal. You smoothed your hands over it and felt him back away slowly.

You waited for a few minutes- one hundred and fifteen seconds, to be exact- before he came back, and when he lifted your leg it was with a barrier of soft leather gloves between you.

"This might hurt," he murmured, gently cradling your ankle before he snapped it into place. You jerked back with a gasp, kicking out at him, but he kept your foot firmly in his grip, steadying you. He muttered some type of incantation under his breath. A warm sort of glow enveloped the place he held, sinking into you, heating you inside and out.

And then it was gone. The pain left you like water over an oil slicked surface, and you gasped. "What the hell?"
"Little trick I learned after I came back to life. Does it feel better?"
"Yeah."
"You want water before we get going?"
"Yes please," you said.

There were footsteps again as he left to get you water and you let the tension of being held captive by a madman slip from your shoulders with a sigh and a yawn. The exhaustion was beginning to set in with a flutter of your eyelids behind the blindfold and a sleepy warmth creeping up your arms.

"So, you're the journalist."
You jumped at the voice. There was a slight modulation, but he sounded slightly younger than you. Eighteen? Nineteen, maybe, but then the Bats didn't have a problem sending kids out there considering Robin looked and sounded ten.

"Hi?"
"Hi. I'm Red Robin." There was a shuffle and you felt him hop up onto the table next to you. "Did Red do the magic glowy thing when he set your ankle?"
"I think so. I can't really see anything, but it felt warm and then the pain was gone."
Red Robin said, "that's the one. It's a little trippy but it works great."
"So weird," you agreed.
"You bothering our guest?" Hood's deep voice sounded from a few feet away and you felt Red Robin's presence shrink away, mumbling a quick "don't think so" and "sorry if I was" before Hood approached with heavy steps.

He pressed a bottle to your lips and ordered you to drink. You clasped your hands around the bottle and tipped it up. When your hands shook, Hood kept a gentle hold on the end of the bottle to keep it steady. It was empty within minutes, and Hood took it from you.

Then, he asked you if you had any other symptoms, to which you shook your head. Despite that, he listed off a couple things and you muttered 'no' after each one. It was quick and clinical, and you figured it was some sort of vigilante procedure he had to follow.

He left again and you waited patiently, making a list to keep yourself occupied. Get a new phone, set up said phone, text Lois, mop your kitchen, buy a gun, hide it somewhere obscure like in a box of Frosties, install a deadbolt into your door. You were dragged out of your thoughts when faint voices drew closer to you.

"Can't have her here-"
"Look, she isn't-" the whispers grew quieter and then picked up- "and I can't do anything now."
The other person cleared his throat. His voice was older, more tired and somewhat growly. "Hood, the cave has always been off limits to civilians-"
"Yeah, but Bats-" Hood's voice dropped to a timbre you couldn't hear and Batman inhaled sharply at whatever he said.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."

They argued for a few moments longer and Batman told him in no uncertain terms that you were to be taken home in the next half hour. "She needs supervision," Hood argued, "who knows what weird science experiments Joker did while we were out."
"No." Batman grunted. "Her bloodwork came back clean. Take her home. I'm working the Joker case with the Detective now."
"Fine." "Fine." His tone was begrudging, like he wasn't fully on board with the man, but he couldn't exactly argue, and especially not in hearing range of you. Louder, he said your name and you turned your head in the direction of his voice. "Let's go."
Louder, he said your name and you turned your head in the direction of his voice. "Let's go."

You were led through the Batcave once again and only stubbed your toe once. Hood apologised and dragged you further in, then he helped you onto the back of- "Oh hell no. Absolutely not."
"Come on, Trouble, it'll be fun."
"These things are death traps."
"So was that address and you went there anyway." You felt him slip a helmet onto you and climb on in front of you. You wound your arms around him tightly. Totally out of fear and not at all because you wanted to feel those abs he promised you. He was rock solid, a Greek god carved from marble and immortalised in a museum.

He had a point there. Being Lois' mentee had come with side effects that included being a danger-seeking, thrill-driven, reckless adrenaline junkie who barely thought twice before jumping into whatever situation was right around the corner. It also meant you never quit. Ever. On your first joint stint, Lois had turned to you in the car and asked, "you aren't afraid of guns, are you?"

You told her no, and she said that was good, because you were about to be surrounded by a whole lot of them. She was right. The moment the two of you stepped into a hotel that was being held hostage, at least fifteen guns had lifted in your direction. It was the first time you had a gun pressed to your temple, but you kept your eyes on Lois, who was acting incredibly nonchalant about the whole situation. They tried interrogating the two of you, but she flipped it on them and ended up getting an articles worth of quotes out of them. Almost as if waiting for Lois to get what she needed, Superman swooped in when she was done and saved you.

What's a hostage situation compared to one motorcycle ride?

Hood started the engine and you whispered, "if I die, it's on you."
"I won't let anything happen to you." He adjusted your hands and started the engine. "I promise nothing will happen to you." With me, went unspoken, but you heard it loud and clear.

The ride back to your apartment was smooth, and you got the feeling Hood wasn't driving as fast as he could have been. The sharp turns he took had your stomach tightening, a cocoon growing and growing until a flutter of butterflies burst forth. And you found yourself enjoying the ride, even letting your grip on the vigilante loosen slightly.

"Are we almost there?" You said loudly, gripping onto him tightly.
You felt him move before he realised you couldn't see him and his modulated voice sounded, "yeah, almost. Just a block over."

It was over before you realised, and Hood was pulling off your helmet and blindfold. You blinked, lifting a hand to filter out the streetlight's bright glare while your eyes adjusted. Hood lifted you off the bike and you stood quickly, coming face to helmet with him. He must have had an extra in the Batcave, because there was no way he got his back from the Joker.

"So," Hood said, shoving his hands into his pockets.
You scratched your suddenly itchy cheek. You didn't want to say goodbye, but you didn't want to ask him to stay. Instead, you settled for, "we still have a standing agreement to watch Twilight."
He laughed and shook his head. "I'll drop by with a couple books. One movie for one book."
"I thought it was a book for an ab."
He tilted his head at you. "That can be arranged. Go on, Trouble, I'll drop in tomorrow- and don't bother going in to work, your leave is covered under the Abduction Act."

The short walk into your building felt like a marathon, and you willed yourself not to look back at him. You knew what you'd see if you did: Hood leaning against his bike with his hands in his pockets.

You made it halfway into the door when you caved, stealing a quick glance at him over your shoulder. You expected him to have gotten on the bike, at least, but he was still there. Watching. Waiting. He looked entirely too perfect under the halo of light crowning him, like a breath of sunlight splintering through a foggy Gotham morning.

He cocked his head as if to say "what are you waiting for then?" and you rushed inside, reminding yourself that it was a matter of Six Feet vs. Six Feet Under, in which case all six feet of him had a soulmate out there and all of your soulmate was six feet under.

~~

Hood dropped in the next night when you were least expecting it, sorting through the articles to put up on your Todd-Wall and cutting pieces of string to tie them together. He slipped in so quietly you didn't even notice him until he spoke.

"Hey, Trouble."

You flung your scissor at him, but the bastard just caught it and cocked his head at you with an arched brow- or, you assumed it was an arched brow. It was more like his forehead moved upwards the way someone with botox’s would. Looking behind him, you spied the red helmet sitting on the table beside your balcony door.
"You scared me, asshole."
He shrugged unapologetically and moved closer to you, leaning down and wrinkling his nose at your food. "Your pasta is overcooked."
"My pasta is perfect, thank you very much."
He stabbed the fork into one bow-tie shaped piece and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and then nodded to himself. "Overcooked."
You grabbed the fork from him. "No one is asking you to eat it."

He smiled lazily and moved to your kitchen. As if to prove a point, he came back with a bowl of the same and shovelled a forkful into his mouth. And then another. And another.
"You know, it's not bad if we ignore the mushy pasta."
You whacked his shoulder, affronted, and immediately pulled back because his armour was plated like solid gold or something. "Ow."
"Whatever, Trouble." He stretched out lazily and yawned. "Turn on that damn Twilight movie."
You flicked the TV on and smiled. "You're about to get so cultured."
"I bet."

For the next week, you were home on Abduction-leave, apparently funded for the whole city by one billionaire-socialite-Brucie-Wayne. You weren't even shocked- the man was filthy rich and had more money than he likely knew what to do with, but that didn't make you any less thankful. Leaving your apartment seemed unfathomable with the recent danger nipping at your heels.

You managed to get a new phone and sent a message to Lois the moment you could. When you were done explaining the whole thing- minus the fact that it was Joker who kidnapped you- she was already starting her car and ready to drive down to Gotham. It took a phone call to Clark to dissuade her, though you left out the kidnapping bit when you spoke to him, and she made you download an app to track your every move.

You fell into an easy rhythm with Hood. He restocked your groceries sometimes when the cupboards ran empty. He kept his tea on the topmost shelf, out of your reach but almost eye level with him. He left books you would never think to read lying around- Wuthering Heights on your coffee table and Hamlet on your nightstand.

There were two hoodies hanging in your closet- a men's extra large- from when he started showing up in casual clothes. The first time he's taken off his hoodie was to jokingly flash you his abs after you'd made it midway through Hamlet with him, acting out the scenes and everything, and you'd started laughing until his cheeks pinked around the domino mask.

He always wore it- the mask- and he always kept himself at a distance- no matter how hard you laughed or how much you wanted to hug him, there was an unspoken rule that you didn't touch.

One time, through sleep fogged eyes, you caught sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror. You were practically swimming in his clothes and something warm and fuzzy began to burn in that hollow space between your ribs. Probably heartburn, you reasoned, though you knew better.

Chapter Text

Dick dropped his duffel bag on the table where Jason had his feet propped up. "I'm off to Blüdhaven. Thanks for letting me crash on the sofa."
Jason grunted and flipped his gun over to clean it. "I thought you were still helping with the investigation."
"I was, but I miss Kori, and Kori misses me."
"Doubt that," Jason muttered under his breath. Dick narrowed his eyes at him but said nothing, staring expectantly.

Neither brother was willing to give the other what he wanted. Dick wanted affection. Jason wanted Dick to go away. He wasn't sure how he managed a whole week with Dick crashing in his living room. His brother had a whole mansion complete with Alfred and chose to crash on his shitty couch. Okay, it was a really nice, really expensive couch, but he knew Dick only did it to piss him off, and Bruce tried to stay out of the petty sibling fights as much as he could.

"What do you want, Dickiebird?"
"Drugs- oh come on, don't look at me like that, it's a joke Jason- or we could hug it out."
Jason waved a hand around and offered a compromise, "how about you give me some advice instead."
Dick's face lit up and he slid into the chair, shoving Jason's feet off the table and leaning in closely. "Okay, shoot- put the gun down, idiot, you know what I meant- what advice do you need?"
"There's this girl-"
"Holy shit, that journalist is your soulmate, isn't she?"
"I fucking hate you, you know that?" Dick raised one knowing eyebrow and Jason sighed. "Yes, she is, but I don't think I'm hers."
"That's... not how Soulmates work."

Jason explained how you hadn't reacted at all to his touch, how you never once broached the topic as his concern began to build, and then when he had been so close to asking you about it, you'd suggested getting food. And then he assumed that maybe it could be a date- but no, you'd eaten your burger and looked at him all of twice.

At Dick's request, he rolled up his right sleeve and flexed his bicep where your initials sat. His older brother whistled and leaned in closer, grabbing his arm to inspect the mark. "Damn." Dick ran a hand through his hair. "On the biceps is... It's like a brand, you know? You can't wear tank tops now, not if you want the world to know. How do you feel about swimming?"
"Dick," Jason said flatly.
"Don't call me a dick,"
"It's your name, dumbass."
"Oh, right. My advice is... ask her out. Have you spent any time together since the incident?"

Jason gave him a brief rundown, leaving out bits and pieces about how you lit up when you laughed, and how you curled up with your knees to your chest in the corner seat of the sofa whenever he suggested you read something. You always put on voices for the characters too- Polonius ended up sounding something like Alfred, and while he knew he couldn't tell you that, he found himself wishing he could.

There must have been something on his face that gave him away- something soft and lovesick- because a grin spread wider over Dick's face the longer he spoke.

"That's date stuff. You realise that right?" Dick leaned in looking excited and worried with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes all at the same time. "Jay, you literally have a girlf-"
"Can you just-" Jason groaned and slammed his head down on the kitchen table. "I don't know, give me something useful without the snark."

This was the first time Jason had asked for Dick's advice- let alone girl advice- and his older brother seemed to be all too happy to drag it out as long as possible. He just wanted a straight answer on what he should and shouldn't do. It wasn't like he had time for girls and soulmates between scrounging for scraps in Crime Alley, being adopted by Bruce Wayne, and getting killed at the age he should have been having first kisses and touches.

On top of his growing agitation with himself, Jason, being a very private person, hated having his family involved in his business. Getting home to a ransacked apartment was possibly his worst nightmare, clothes strewn about and an empty fridge. He did have a laugh over the fact that while they'd managed to trigger most of his security precautions, they hadn't gotten all.

"Tell her."
"What?" Jason's eyes shot up from where he was staring woefully at his feet.
"Tell her you have her initials branded into your biceps and see how she takes it." Dick took a seat, reaching across and shoving Jason's feet off the table. "Worst she could do is reject you, and I highly doubt she will."
"Yeah but-"
"No buts. You guys have insane chemistry. I was actually worried the Batfam-mobile would blow up with how hot you guys seemed- the windows were fogging up, you know."
"That's because it was humid."
Dick continued like he hadn't spoken, "and she was on your lap, like damn."
"That's because Cass insisted there was no space."
"Anyway, maybe Timbers can help. He seems to get around just fine-"
"No."

In a flash, Jason had Dick's phone in his hand, holding it away from his brother as he loomed over him with a scowl. The last thing he needed was for his whole family to know about his dilemma and stick their many fingers into his problems.

"You can't tell anyone."
"Damian?"
"No."
"Cass?"
"No."
"Bruce?"
"Absolutely not."
"What about Kori? Come on Jaybird," Dick whined, "she's my soulmate, you can't possibly expect me to hide this from her. It's like asking me to hide something from myself without myself knowing that I know."
"Fine," Jason ground out. "You can tell Kori."
"And Babs?"

Jason stared.

"If you don't tell her, and I don't tell her, she'll find out and tell Steph- I hate when you look at me like that, it's really scary, dude- and then everyone really will know. Plus, women's insight could be good."
"Fine," he said again and handed his brother's phone back. "But that's as far as it gets, and I don't want them weighing in on this with their 'women's insight' or whatever."

Dick mimed zipping his lips and nodded solemnly. The moment Jason left the kitchen, he turned his phone on.

~~

Dick
jason found his soulmate🌚🥹

Kori
Oh my goodness 🫣
That is so wonderful
I wish him the best with her 💖

Dick
👀
yeah but here's the thing
she doesnt know shes his soulmate and his initials arent on her
At least not as far as jason knows

Kori
😥

~~

Kori
Jason has found his Soulmate!!

Roy
NO WAY 💂

Roy
cant believe he didnt tell me 💂
ofjakwlsbewiebugrklgjgopgrlgrojwkw'w
that was lian

Roy
she said shes rlly happy for uncle jay 💂

Kori
Dick told me that his soulmate is unaware that she is his soulmate, and Jason is incredibly nervous to talk to her 😥

Roy
u thinking what im thinking

Kori
Yes! We require a 'game plan' 🤣

Roy
💂

~~

Dick
jason found his soulmate🕺🕺🕺

Babs
no way

Dick
but heres the thing

~~

Babs
steph
STEPH

Steph
bruh my phone was muted 😞

Babs
I unmuted it
jason found his soulmate

Steph
OMG WAHT 😱
TELL ME EVERYTHING WHO IS SHE
IS IT THE JOURNALIST

Babs
yeah BUT he didnt tell her theyre soulmates and she didnt say anything so he thinks shes his soulmate but he isnt hers

Steph
🤨🤨
is that even possible

Babs
idk but we should try and set them up

Steph
totally
one sec i need to tell tim 🤭

~~

Steph
tim guess what

Tim
👀
therre redoing the star wars sequels
??
hopegully????
hopefully*

Steph
no idiot
jason found his soulmate
but she doesnt know hes her soulmate and jason is tweaking out about it

...

Steph
hello?
tim com eback
👹👹👹COME BACKKK👹👹👹

Tim
hey srry i dozed off

Steph
bruh

Tim
HE FOUND HIS SOULMATE
im s o happt
happy*

Steph
did u read the message about her not knowing

Tim
oh💀
ts sad af 💔🥀

Steph
fr

Tim
so whatt do we do

Steph
Babs and i r plotting rn 🤭🤭
Dick is the one who told her ab this bc he and jason were talking this morning
ill add you to the gc

Tim
wait lemme get damiab in on it and we can all plot
damiav8
damiam**
damiam*
damian****

~~

Tim
dami

Damian
What do you require now, Drake?

Tim
jason found his soulmte
but she doesnt know 💀
soulmate*

Damian
And how did you come by this knowledge?
I doubt Todd would confide in you before he did in me

Tim
bruh 😤
steph told me that babs told her that dick told her that jason told him

Damian
Hm

Tim
do u wanna help set them iup
👀

Damian
Is it the journalist he has been oddly obsessed with?

Tim
idk ill ask steph

~~

Tim
is jasomds soulmate the jourmalist
journalist*

Steph
yh

Tim
ok cool

~~

Tim
ye its the hournalist
journalist*

Damian
Excellent. In that case, I should wish to be involved.

~~

Damian
Have you been made aware that Todd has found his Soulmate?

Duke
no????

Damian
Well, he has.
But I have been informed by Drake, who has been made aware by Brown, who has been made aware by Gordon, who has been made aware by Grayson, who has been made aware by Todd that she is unaware of the connection and does not seem to be prepared to converse with him on the matter

Duke
okayyy
??

Damian
Would you like to partake in our matchmaking?

Duke
hell yeah 🌚🌚

~~

Duke
jason found his soulmate but shes got no clue

Cass
???

Duke
no cause damian said that tim said that steph said that babs said that dick said that jason told him he has a soulmark but she doesnt and she didnt feel the spark

Cass
💀💀

Duke
u wanna matchmake with us

Cass
of course i do

~~

Cass
bruce, have you heard?

Bruce
No ... What happened?

Cass
Jason found his soulmate

Bruce
Wow ... That is wonderful 👍

Cass
look at this cat meme

Bruce
LOL ... Selina will love this.

~~

Bruce
I just heard that Jason found his soulmate.

Selina
😸😻
omg thats great who is she

Bruce
I believe it's the journalist I told you about.

Selina
the one he let in the batcave

Bruce
Yes.

Selina
🙀🙀🙀
will i see her at the gala

Bruce
I am unsure.
Jason has not yet informed us of her.

Selina
soo how do u guys know

Bruce
Jason told Dick, who told Barbara, who told Steph, who told Tim, who told Damian, who told Duke, who told Cass, who told me...

Selina
someone needs to tell poor alfred haha 😹

Bruce
I did ... He informed me that he already knows 🤣🤣

~~

"Thanks so much for this," You said. "The plumbing guy tried charging me a fortune, it was unreal."
"You want me to have a word with them?" His voice was muffled from under your sink.
"No," you laughed nervously. His idea of talking to someone included showing up in his helmet and armour and shoving a gun into the side of their head. He did it to your landlord earlier in the week when the man refused to cover the expenses of a gas leak. He managed, not only to get the absolute cockroach to cover the leak, but also drop your rent by two hundred bucks.

Now, he was in a brown leather jacket and casual pants. He still wore the domino mask around the house and only ever showed up when night was descending or sometimes before you even got home and did your dishes or laundry because “the sock was staring at me, Trouble, it wanted to get washed.” He always left later in the night when his comms flared to life.

But even with the domino, you had to admit that he was unfairly good looking. The white streak in his hair, you learned, was from when he had died. He never went into specifics, but you assumed his heart must have stopped, or something along those lines, and his hair had been a result. You weren't brave enough to pry and besides, stranger things had happened- take Superman, for example. He was some kind of alien who flew around with laser-beam eyes and super-strength. Why couldn't a vigilante have a naturally white streak of hair as a result of CPR?

This thing the two of you had was delicate, and you both seemed to exist around each other carefully, as if you worried one would scare the other off. You still argued, but he was used to your quirks and you were used to his violent tendencies that never seemed to touch you.

"You working on anything interesting?" He asked and there was another clang.
You rubbed at your lip. "Dunno, I was thinking of doing a piece on getting kidnapped. Maybe the Joker?"
"Maybe don't." He poked his head out and stared at you, one eyebrow raised.
"Fine," you huffed and he popped back under the sink. "I'll do a more tame one. 'Gotham's Criminals: 101.' Definitely would've been useful to have that when I moved here."

He made a sound that sounded like a grumbled "better" and continued working while you pulled your laptop over and worked at the kitchen table. You lasted all of fifteen minutes before the need to be a bother overtook the need to make him comfortable around you. You couldn't help it. Your therapist- who you'd only made it two sessions with before you quit- told you it was because pushing people away was your way of weeding out those who would stay through your ups and downs. You thought that was a load of horseshit.

"Are you done yet?"
"No," he muttered. You counted to ten and asked again. "No. In what world- ow, fuck!" There was a thunk and he appeared over the open cabinets with a glare- you knew it was a glare even behind the domino because his lips were tipped down and his mask moved in that way that told you his eyebrows were furrowed- rubbing the back of his head. "In what world does it take five fucking minutes to fix a busted pipe?"
"The movies."
He snorted and went back under the sink. "I'll be done when I'm done, Trouble."
"Okay." You fit down on one finger. "I'm going to watch something. Do you want me to wait?"
"No, you go."

~~

The whole Bat-family- including Roy and Lian- were gathered around the living room, eyeing each other pensively.
"So," Dick drawled, getting comfortable. "what's the plan?"

Everyone started throwing ideas out all at once and Bruce put his head in his hands. Probably to muffle out the sounds of his children but if asked he would say he was 'overwhelmed with pride.' His children hated his PR trainers.

Lian clambered up onto the coffee table with a little help from Roy and yelled, "Hey! Everyone. Be. Quiet." They all fell silent and the four year old held up a stuffed toy that looked like a cross between a rat and a teddy bear. "You'll wake up my Peanut."
"Yeah," Roy said, holding back a laugh and keeping his tone as serious as he could, "you'll wake her Peanut."
"Now everyone take turns," Lian said, "and say your idea, and my Daddy can write them down."
Roy smiled smugly and high fived her.

He and Kori had rushed into town under the guise of being invited to the Wayne's Annual Gala, and Dick had happily announced on the family groupchat that he was in charge of the guestlist, to which Jason had responded with a prompt "fml."

Roy was given a whiteboard and marker and the group started brainstorming. Kori hummed thoughtfully with Dick's head in her lap and Tim and Steph snickered at them, joking about how much of a simp Dick was. Without looking or even opening his eyes, Dick threw a pillow in their direction that had them diving in opposite directions.

~~

When Jason finished fixing the pipes, the two of them had settled in and turned on New Moon. He made it five minutes before he was yelling at the TV. For someone who seemed to hate Twilight, he had a concerning amount of anger towards Edward. His girl-who-wasn't-his-girl muffled a laugh and paused the movie, letting him vent out his anger.

Was the movie objectively bad? Absolutely.
Was the whole franchise now his guilty pleasure? Absolutely.

"He can't just leave her," he grumbled, settling back and shovelling mac and cheese angrily into his mouth. "Such a dick. Mr. Darcy would never."
I would never. The words hung unspoken between them and you shifted closer. Jason paused with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth when he felt her head come to rest on his shoulder.

~~

"We could lock them in a room together," Steph suggested, pulling herself up onto the couch with caution. Roy wrote it down.
Bruce shook his head and said, "no, Jason can pick locks."

Roy drew a line through it.

Tim's hand shot up from behind the couch he was hiding behind and Roy pointed at him. His hand disappeared. "I think we could make their Tinder profiles match. Jason will definitely hit her up."
"Great idea." Roy scribbled that down.
"Except that Jay doesn't have a dating profile."

Roy drew a neat line through it.

Damian opened his mouth. "What if-"
"No," Duke said, "we can not do an arranged marriage."
Damian closed his mouth. Roy didn't bother writing it down.

~~

You were asleep with your arms curled around his bicep- a layer of clothing in between you, of course- looking like an angel, and Jason could barely bear the thought of disrupting you. He turned off the TV when the credits rolled and pulled out his phone, getting comfortable. He would leave closer to morning.

~~

"Maybe we should send them on a blind date."
Roy wrote down 'blind date.'
"Jason will never agree."
Roy crossed off the 'blind date.'

"Put her in a hostage situation so he rescues her!"
They all chorused their agreement.
"We are not putting a civilian in harms way," Bruce explained tiredly.
Roy erased it sadly. The whiteboard was running out of space. They had placed bets on who would be the one to ultimately bring them together and with the exception of Kori and Bruce, everyone placed money on themselves. Kori put her money on Dick, and Bruce put his on Cass, to which Tim had coughed into his fist- "ahemfavouritechildahem" and Damian rolled his eyes and claimed, "no one is shocked by this, of course."

"We could make them meet," Cass said. "Dick can invite her out, Tim shows up with Jason."
"Excellent idea, Cass," Bruce said supportively, clapping his hands together.
"BAM," Duke clapped his hands and nodded. "Problem solved and they have to say hi."
"Terrible idea," Damian said at the same time Tim said, "I love that!"
"What if we just have him bump into her," Barbara's eyes glittered. She continued, "they can 'accidentally' meet in a casual setting and he's bound to go up to her if he's out of uniform."
Roy wrote that down.

"I doubt that," Bruce said, rubbing his temples.
"If I may," Alfred chipped in, leaning over the back of Steph's sofa. "Perhaps a helpless child in need of assistance may get her attention?"

Chapter Text

Vicki had been telling anyone who would listen at the office that her soulmate was Bruce Wayne. She was met with rolled eyes and suppressed laughs, but Vicki Vale was not to be deterred. She was on a mission to prove that she and Bruce Wayne were meant to be by getting an invite to the Annual Wayne Gala. You weren't sure how she planned to do that, but she seemed sure she would get one.

Vicki fell into her chair with an exhausted sigh. "You have no idea how hard it is for your soulmate to be a celebrity."
"I bet," you muttered.
"I'm so close to scoring an invite," she said and shook her head. "So close. Bruce and I are going to be married in three months, just you wait. I'll just have to be careful with footage and avoid Dick Grayson's butt. I don't need a butt-suit. Where have you been, by the way?"
"Oh, just off," you said, caught off guard by Vicki's perceptiveness.

She usually didn't even ask about your weekends, or even how your day had been, so the expectant stare fixed firmly on your cheek prickled uncomfortably. Should you tell her? Could you? You decided vague details would do. You didn't need her trying to inspect your body up and down for a soulmark for Red Hood.

When you got home after the Joker incident, you checked your wrist to find it still scarred with the initials JPT, and then inspected everywhere you could think to look: your legs, arms, even your back and backs of your thighs. It was everything short of shaving your head because when his skin met yours for that speck of a second, something in you seemed to light up. A sliver of hope had snuck in through the tiny crevices of your heart and curled up there.

You knew, deep down, that hope is just misplaced delusion and that if you let yourself dwell on it, you would only come out worse for it. But no matter the blind eye you turned, every thought of the Hood snowballed into another, then another and another and then you were sending him a text to fix pipes that hadn't seen a weary day since you moved in. You panicked when his 'be right there' text came through and went at the pipes with a rolling pin. When that didn't work, you poured candle wax down the drain.

And even now, three days later with a still-dead-soulmate and a psychopath who was obsessed with him, you struggled to force your thoughts away from the vigilante who captured your interest.

"Just a little... vacation, Gotham style. You know, kidnapping, hostage situations that involved guns. I'm doing a piece on it." The working title was Kidnapping For Dummies: A Gotham Welcome.
"Cool." Vicki drummed her nails on the desk. "You should definitely include something about the hottest criminals to be kidnapped by. I was held hostage by Scarecrow once and it was the best kidnapping of my life, ten out of ten, would have smashed if I could. Worst had to have been the Riddler I think, he just kept giving me riddles and crying when I solved them. It was really pathetic."

Vicki tapped one manicured nail on her bottom lip, pouting while she thought it through and you could almost see her swiping through the Gothamite villains like a dating app in her head.

"Poison Ivy was great too," she went on, still lost in thought, "especially that pollen; better than the best quality coke, honestly, and she fed me hand grown strawberries and let me interview her. Penguin sucked, there weren't any refreshments and I ended up with a swollen ankle because he forgot his glasses, didn't see my leg- which he tied behind my back, by the way- and tripped over my foot. An article like that would do wonders."
"I'll... keep that in mind." You would not. "Maybe you should do a piece on it instead, you have way more experience."
Vicki nodded thoughtfully and agreed, "yeah, yeah I should. Gotham's Hottest Kidnappers, Ranked."

And that was that. You each turned back to your work, Vicki with a renewed vigour and you with thoughts of a certain red hemlet-ed vigilante's strong arms lifting you off the ground. You forced images of biceps and thoughts of abs away and typed out a draft of your article, then turned your attention to another matter: Jason Peter Todd.

You still had leads to hunt down, starting with Crime Alley. There was sure to be some kind of hints as to who Jason Peter Todd was- information that the internet couldn't offer you.

~~

"Not even- a child," Tim grumbled to himself in between yanking out a couple of important car pieces. "I- am seventeen- years- old."

He stuffed the pieces into his bag and pulled out his phone, shooting off a text to let everyone know the plan was set and he was in place. It was nearing eight-thirty and he was parked strategically close to her apartment with a scowl that wasn't entirely fake and an earpiece for Babs and his family to feedback him.

His traitorous family, he corrected to himself. \

The second Alfred had said the words 'helpless child,' every head in the room managed to peek over the couch he was sitting behind. Including Damian and Lian. Both of whom were younger than him, both of whom he was sure could make a better plant.

"Demon brat doesn't look innocent enough," said Dick, and the rest of the traitors had agreed. "And Lian is too young to be out alone at night. It just doesn't make sense."

It made sense in Gotham, he wanted to argue, but everyone's mind had been made up. When he tried to wrangle his way out of the plan and pin it on Lian, Bruce threatened to confiscate his RedBull privileges. There was a fridge decked out in the Batcave just for him with every flavour imaginable- even the international limited editions. He couldn't lose those international limited editions.

"Freaking hate you guys," he muttered to himself.
"Stop with the theatrics," Babs said in his ear, "she isn't even a block away from you yet."
"Yeah, save it for when she sees you," Duke said. "And remember, don't mention anything about being a CEO or about-"
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "Got it."
"Great, look lost, be charming, use her phone to call Jason and then matchmake."
There was a scuffle and the sound of Babs whacking someone on the head with a file, and then Damian's voice sounded. "Good luck, Drake. She's on the way."

~~

You waved goodbye to a colleague as the two of you took off in opposite directions, shooting an involuntary glance up to the rooftops. There was a moment where you almost thought he was up there, watching, but a cat skittered across the shingles and down the drainpipe, and you turned your attention to the phone in your hand.

You had slipped up when you mentioned that Hood was with you during the kidnapping, and Lois knew there was more to it. So far, you'd managed to dodge her questions under the guise of being busy at work, but she knew you were headed home and she wanted answers.

~~

Lois
If you don't tell me, I'll tell Clark you got kidnapped

You
you suck
fine i touched a guy skin to skin and i felt something but im sure it wasnt that much of something
im probably imagining it

Lois
There's no way you imagine soulmate sparks

You
Lois youve seen my wrist

Lois
I know but what if it is something
I've heard of people finding a second soulmate but if you're sure then i trust you
Do i need to drive down there?

You
No omg
im okay and its not like im hurt
you cant just offer to drive down after every small inconvenience

Lois
this is hardly an inconvenience
Ill help you track down your soulmate AND kick the jokers ass while im here
Take that Batman

You
my soulmate is dead
but you could def give batman a run for his money

~~

You looked up as you neared your apartment block, shoving it and the churning feeling in your gut deep down in your bag.

As you neared the end of the street, your eye caught on a young man pacing up and down on the other side, his phone pressed to his ear. He caught your eye and smiled tightly, half bouncing up and down with nerves. At some point, he kicked his car and hopped back with a yelp.

"Hey," you called, crossing the street, "are you okay?"
He groaned and chucked his phone into the car, turning to you with wide blue eyes. "Yeah I'm-" he paused, looking up and down the street. "Okay, that was a lie. I'm definitely not okay. My car broke down and I really have to get home or my dad will totally freak out."
"Do you need any help?"
"Do you know anything about cars?"

You glanced in the open bonnet and scratched the side of your neck. There seemed to be missing parts, but you couldn't be too sure since you weren't a mechanic and preferred to walk everywhere or take the train, but there weren't exactly any trains breaking down and asking for your help.

"Looks like someone ripped out a couple of parts."
"Yeah," the kid muttered, "that's what I get for leaving this thing alone in Crime Alley, I guess."
"Yeah," you agreed and pulled out your phone, ignoring the messages and three missed calls from Lois. "Look, I know a guy who might be able to help, I'll just send him a text and he can fix this up or give you a ride."
"Wait no-"

His protests were cut short when you got Hood on the line and asked him to drop by and help. He agreed and you sent your location to him.

"I should probably call my brother," the kid said. "I'm Tim by the way."
You introduced yourself and watched as he leaned his upper body into the car where he tossed his phone. You watched him tap something before the screen went blank.
"Shit."
"Do you want to use mine?" You held it out to him and he eyed you cautiously, taking the phone and putting in a number.
"Yeah. Please. Thanks."

You waited while he called and argued and yelled and apologised and then hung up while the other person was mid sentence. He looked around seventeen, with black hair and blue eyes, and his hands fidgeted at his sides while he spoke.

"Thanks," he said when he gave you the phone back, covering his mouth to stifle a yawn.
You frowned. The call didn't seem to go well. "Is... your brother on his way or...?"
"Nah, he said he's busy and has to go help out this maybe-maybe-not-girlfriend of his." He shrugged sheepishly. "You don't happen to have a RedBull do you? My dad confiscated my stash."
"Aren't you a little young for RedBull?"
"I'm seventeen," he said immediately.

You looked him up and down. He was tall but scrawny for a seventeen year old, and you briefly wondered if he was being fed. Then you figured he had probably been surviving on RedBull until his father confiscated them.

"Pretty sure they're eighteen-plus."
"So that's a no then." It wasn't a question, and he rubbed a tired hand over his face. Another yawn. Then- "Are you single?"
"A little too old for you, kid."
"No, I mean, this might be random but I have a brother you could maybe, like, go out with. He's taller than you and jacked, if that helps. You'd look great together."

Plenty of people lived without their soulmate. Plenty of people dated normally and had relationships until they found their soulmate, or didn't. You could say yes. But then, this is a total stranger who randomly offered to set you up with his brother. Out of the blue. While his car sits broken down on the side of the road.

"You're right," you said to him, "that was really random."
Tim sighed dramatically and shrugged. "I just really want another sister in law. It's fun, you know?"
"No, I don't."

He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of a motorcycle had both of your gazes sliding down to where Hood was parking haphazardly on the pavement. His helmet disengaged with a hiss and he lurched off the bike, heading for you. Tim shifted to look at him, alarm flashing in his blue eyes and Hood faltered, looking between the two of you.

"Hey," Hood said, glancing at both of you. "This your brother or something?"
Tim scoffed and said, with all the familiarity of a Gothamite who ran into vigilantes all the time, "no, asshat, she's just helping me out."

Hood ignored him, attention locked solidly on you. You felt it from head to toe, the way he seemed keenly aware of you. Even when it was around your house, he always knew where you were despite you being out of his line of sight.

When he reached you, he gave you a once over and had you hold out your arms and hands, palms up then palms down, before he bent his knees a little and tilted his head to be eye-level with you. "You good?"
You nodded and then he stuck his head into the hood of the car for a few minutes before he pulled back. "Some idiot yanked a couple parts out. I'll give you a ride home, come on."

Hood grabbed Tim by the scruff of his neck, dragging him to the motorcycle and shoving him on with a quick barked out order to stay. He strode back to you and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, muttering something about meddlesome bats and oracles. You tilted a head, cocking a confused brow at him. Hood looked back at Tim, then you, and let out a little laugh.

"Get home safe," he said to you, shaking his head. "I'd drive you but-"
"Yeah. It's okay, get the kid home." Your place was only a street away.
"Thanks," he said, backing away slowly. "And thanks for calling me."
You nodded past the lump in your throat and watched him shove a helmet onto the kid, taking off past you and to the left.

~~

"What the fuck was that?" Jason snarled. In one swift motion, he unlatched it, yanked it off and and threw it at Tim's feet. His brother squeaked and ducked out of hitting-range, rolling a chair in between them. The Batcave was empty so Tim had no one to protect him and Jason's rage was simmering and borderline green around the rims of his eyes.

"Nothing! I don't know! I was on my way back from Crime Alley and then my car broke down and then that girl from Sionis' club was walking by and asked if I needed help, so I said ye-"
Jason whacked him in the side with one of Dick's batons. "You're such a little shit, you know that?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't believe you left me stranded to go get your giiirrlfrien-oww, what the heck, Jason!"
"She's not my anything, alright?"
"Whatever," Tim muttered and plopped himself down in front of the supercomputer.

If anyone were to ask his opinion, he would have told them that Jason was only upset because he was right: his soulmate wasn’t his anything. But of course, no one asked so he settled for, "Not my fault you don't know how to get girls."

The baton cracked over his skull.

"Jason, fucking OW dude!"

Chapter Text

Park Row was just as intimidating in the day as it was at night. There was a certain atmosphere about it that seemed darker, nastier than the rest of Gotham. It looked the same, all bricks and cloudy skies, but the streets reeked of danger and gunpowder, and the silence that roamed the streets was only broken by the occasional lone wolf skittering down the cobblestones.

The sun was just dipping below the horizon and with it, the last deceptive shield of safety that cozened you. There were very few vehicles on the side of the road, and the ones that you saw were parked haphazardly or had shattered windshields. Some were missing tires and others had all their doors open. The bicycles were padlocked- even the green tricycle with little daisies on them.

Every step you took further into Park Row was a step closer to answers, so why did it feel like you were crossing a line? And heading straight into Danger's wide open jaws? And- was that a puddle of fresh blood?
You sidestepped the puddle and swallowed around the nerves tangled together in your throat. You'd managed to find the address Jason Todd lived at, but no further details on the current residents.

"Excuse me." You turned slowly to see a child of around twelve staring at you. He was so small and clad in such dark clothes, you weren't entirely shocked you missed him and walked straight past him. His arms were crossed, and he was tapping his foot impatiently as he peered up into a tree. "My cat appears to have wandered into a tree, and I require... assistance." He spat the last word out like a curse, and you stood next to him and craned your neck up.

"Does he have a name?"
"Alfred."
"Cool. Here Alfred, come on buddy, come down here," you called. The cat stared down its nose at you and turned its face away.
The kid huffed and crossed his arms. "This is what my siblings refer to as a 'losing game.'"

Jeez, you thought. This kid was straight out of the Victorian era with an accent you couldn't quite place and a stony demeanour that said he was almost embarrassed to ask for help. You wondered momentarily if his parents were the same, or if they had raised him on the sort of emotional neglect that festered into superiority.

And he screamed superiority in his sharp three-piece suit and slicked back hair. The only sign that he wasn't as put together as he appeared, aside from the stubborn cat climbing higher up the tree, was the few strands of hair that fell from his head to frame his forehead.

The kid was a fish out of water in Crime Alley, where nothing was as pin straight as his blazer or smelled like freshly washed detergent. Even the way he carried himself; he would probably expect for a stray bullet to freeze mid-air and ask permission to shoot him.

"What are you doing out at this time anyway," you muttered. "Don't you have a bedtime? Or dinner time?"
Affronted, he tutted and shouldered past you to look at his cat. "I am twelve years of age, not two. I do not have a... bedtime." The last word was said in the same tone someone might say chlamydia, and he looked you up and down in a way that made you feel like you had chlamydia.

"Besides," he said with a huff, "I am not the only one out after hours."
"I'm twenty-three, I can do whatever I want." You patted his perfectly gelled hair carefully, making sure not to displace the strands. "And you're three apples tall."
He scoffed, "I am most certainly not three apples tall, but yes, I suppose I am expected home for supper soon."
"Then we'd better get Alfred down soon."

You rubbed at your bottom lip and circled the tree, looking for low-hanging branches to pull yourself up. You slung your brown messenger bag over your body and rolled up your sleeves. Then, with all the grace of someone who wasn't a gymnast and had a flexibility rating of about negative three, you reached for the lowest branch and hoisted yourself up. The boy, alarmed, rushed under you with a yelp and spread his arms.

As if he could catch me, you thought to yourself.

"What on earth are you doing?"
"Getting Alfred down." You steadied yourself with a hand on the bark and reached up for the cat, who seemed disinterested in his owner's desperation to have him back. "Come on, kitty. Almost... there..."
"We could... call someone?" He suggested almost desperately. "Perhaps a vigilante will swing by this neighbourhood and help?"
You laughed at the thought of the Red Hood or Batman rescuing cats from trees and reached out to steady yourself. "I seriously doubt that. Hood is probably off being a menace and chewing with his mouth open on the train, and who knows what the other Bats do in their off time."
The kid shifted uncomfortably. "I could have called someone. You could get hurt."
"Don't worry, I've got him."

You stretched your fingertips out and the cat jumped into your arms. You hugged him close and breathed in the wintry air for a moment before you let yourself slide carefully out of the tree, branch to branch until you were on solid ground again. Then, with one last stroke over Alfred's fur, you released it into the kid's waiting arms.

He hugged it close and whispered something in Arabic before he turned to you and inclined his head stiffly. "Thank you," he said, sticking a cat-free hand out for you to shake. "I appreciate your efforts."
You took his hand and nodded solemnly. "Well, I couldn't let poor Alfred stay up there. He's probably expected home for dinner."
The kid's eyes lit up, but he hid his excitement by clearing his throat and jutting his chin. "Yes. Tonight is tuna, as was yesterday."
"And Alfred is going to eat it with no complaints," you scratched behind his ears, "aren't you?" The cat purred and you took it as a yes, smiling at the twelve-year-old. "How are you planning to get home then?"
"I suppose I shall have to call my brother," he said, handing his cat back to you.

The whole thing felt surreal as a wave of déjà vu hit you. You insisted on waiting with him until his brother arrived, your back against the tree with Alfred in your arms while he dialled. You ran your fingers through Alfred's fur and the cat purred and nuzzled closer to you. Maybe if you saved up enough or settled a little more, you could get a cat. You'd name it something like Bandit.

He spoke in Arabic and your curiosity tugged at its leash. You almost wished you had taken Lois' advice to learn another language in your last few semesters at Metropolis University, but you never could keep up with linguistics, not to mention the extra shifts you were picking up to make ends meet.

You waited with him for some fifteen minutes until a motorcycle pulled up to the curb and a man parked a few steps away from you, his hands halfway to his black helmet before he jerked back.

"Get over here, Dami," he said, sounding annoyed. "I have shit to do."
The kid- Dami, apparently- glanced at you and leaned closer, "would you like to meet him?"
"Pardon?"
"He is currently unattached. You are, presumably, currently unattached." Ouch? You chose to overlook that because he was talking too fast to respond. "Besides, he is tall and I am told women appreciate men of greater heights. You would make an excellent pairing and rear attractive offspring. I can arrange everything, should you wish."
You stared for a beat too long because the brother called Dami's name again and the kid lifted his eyebrows impatiently. "Uhmm... no, I'm, ah, I think I'm good."

With an imperious shrug, the kid bounded over to his brother and hopped on the back of the bike, squirming when a familiar looking helmet was shoved on his head. It looked a lot like Hood's extra one, but you were sure those were the generic one sold everywhere. You really needed to get the vigilante out of your head. You needed to imagine him kicking puppies or something.

The guy on the bike lifted an arm in an awkward wave and you copied his gesture, waiting until he spun the bike around and left. Then, you turned and headed in the opposite direction. It was almost dark and you squinted at the numbered apartment complexes until you reached the seventh, shoving open the rusty gate to get inside.

The front lawn was overgrown and a few shattered gnomes laid lifelessly in the grass. You stepped over the shards of glass glinting in the street light and hopped onto the porch, ringing a bunch of different buzzers. Eventually, the apartment door clicked open and you let yourself up to the second floor.

You found the apartment and rang the bell. No answer. Again. And no answer. You stood there, defeated and ready to turn back and go home, when the neighbouring door swung open.

An older woman of about fifty stood in the doorway with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth and an arched eyebrow. You stumbled around your words for a moment before you took a deep breath and said, "I'm with the Gotham Gazette, and I'm doing a little piece on Jason Todd. I heard he used to live here?"
She opened her door wider and motioned you in. "Now, I haven't heard that name in a long, long time."

~~

Damian
She is very kind and I should like her as a sister in law as soon as Todd comes to his senses, however, the plan was unsuccessful.
Todd is now yelling at me.
I hate you all.

Dick
😤🫠
cant believe you AND timbit failed

Tim
mmaybe we should try something else
cant we get her to the gsla or smth
gala*

Steph
yea and they can run into each others arms 😍😍
so romantic fr

Tim
jason might kill us first tho

Bruce
I think an invite will be a wonderful idea ...
She's a journalist ... wont say no to media pass... Alfred will arrange the invite

Tim
im too young to die

Duke
can i like meet her first
also bruce what have we said about the millennial ellipses plss

Bruce
Sorry duke...

Selina
I agree 😻

Tim
how do u plan to meet her

Duke
idk bro

Dick
okay guys ill invite her to the gala when she comes back to the station to annoy shawn
🤭🤭🤭
so excited 🤩

~~

The countdown begins.
5 days to the Wayne Gala.

~~

You exchanged names with the woman, who was called Gloria. She led you to a modest kitchen where she pulled out a chair for you and rapped her knuckles on the back. You slid into it and rested your chin in your palm while she bustled around looking for something. Eventually, she pulled out a packet of tea and set the kettle to boil. You waited while the woman prepared two mugs, only turning back once to ask how many sugars and whether you took milk.

When the tea was poured and placed in front of you, Gloria took her seat opposite and smiled. "What would you like to know?"
"Just... anything you can tell me? I'm not too sure what I'm looking for. There wasn't much I could find about his family pre-adoption."
"Well, his mother, Sheila Haywood, was an interesting case. She's a disgraced doctor, you know. She left Gotham for some time and moved back, but then..." she shook her head.

"She got involved with drugs when she came back, and there was an assumed overdose. Don't think the kid knew she was alive. Better for him that she didn't. Bruce Wayne could take better care of the kid than any of us here in the Alley ever could."
Your heart sped up, fast and faster until you could hear the blood coursing through you. "She's alive?"
"Oh yes," Gloria smiled sadly. "Apparently she got clean and moved down to The Narrows."
"The Narrows," you repeated. "Okay. Okay, thank you."
"You gonna track her down, girl?"
"Maybe. Probably," you admitted. "I need to know more. There's just something that isn't right. How long have you lived here?"
Gloria barked out a laugh. "I've lived here since before that boy was born. I've seen people come, I've seen people go. Live, die, move. I've seen all of it."

You let your left hand come to rest over your right wrist and Gloria tracked the movement. She smiled knowingly and got up, crossing over to grab a pen and rip a paper from the pad next to her stove.

"You can find her here," she said and scribbled down an address, rising with you. "Good luck."
"Thank you." You tucked the paper into a pocket in your messenger bag and clasped Gloria's hand. The woman pulled you into a quick hug before she walked you to the door and watched you make your way down the hallway. Gloria smiled to herself when you were gone, sate with the feeling that she had just helped move something big along.

You found Hood waiting outside and groaned. "Of course you managed to find me. How did you find me?"
He shrugged. "Little birdie told me."
"So that's how we're playing it?"
"Always. Come on, I'll give you a ride home."
You shook your head and paused a foot away from him. "I have to go to The Narrows. I have another lead and-"

He cut you off with a sharp bark of your name and leaned in, his helmet gleaming under the moonlight. There was no lamplight here to dull the shine of the helmet's eyes. "You can go to The Narrows tomorrow. During the day. When its safe."
"I want to go now."
"Absolutely not."
"You can take me," you threatened, "or I can walk."
"Fucking fine."
"Fine."
"Fine."

You got on the back of his bike and let him weave through the streets, your cheek pressed against his back while the city blurred by. Your eyes slipped closed but your arms tightened around him, trusting the crime lord to get you where you needed to go.

~~

Jason felt bad for lying, but he saw the way you rubbed at your cheek, a tick surfaced more intensely whenever you became more tired or emotional. He parked outside your building and carried you up, bridal style, fumbling with one hand to unlock the door using the spare key you kept under your mat. He clicked his tongue and made a mental note to talk to you about alternate hiding options that were less obvious.

He tucked you into bed carefully and pulled the thick blanket up to your chin to protect you from Gotham's nightly chill.

Before he left, he checked the cupboards as he often did and noticed the distinct lack of coffee. He would have to bring back a couple jars of the instant kind in the morning- the nice kind, not the shitty kind you bought because it was cheap and you drank coffee like it was running out of style.

Maybe he could make you pancakes as an apology. He knew from the week you were on Abduction Leave that you preferred them to waffles, but that was only because you didn't have a waffle machine. He'd offered to buy you one and you shut him down with a look that promised an argument if he did, so he stuck to pancakes even though he didn't particularly like the texture and loaded it up with anything and everything you had on hand.

He took a short walk down the road to a grocery store and bought ingredients. Tomorrow, he planned on having a civil conversation with you over an amazing breakfast spread, and then if you still wanted him to, he would take you to The Narrows. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Text

4 days to the Wayne Gala

~~

Evidently, you should not have trusted the Hood.

You woke up warm and comfortable and cocooned in your bed and blankets and- and not in the fucking Narrows. You shot up and groaned, letting your eyes rove around your room for any sign of how you got home. It was still an hour until sunrise, but the sound of movement from your kitchen drew you out of bed. You held onto your anger like a weapon, ready to let loose on the asshole who told you to trust him.

Hood was there in the whole vigilante getup- sans helmet- with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. One look at those biceps had your anger receding like the ocean before a tsunami. Goddamn. It was downright sinful, the way his muscles flexed under his tight uniform. He turned slightly, noticed you staring and yanked his sleeves down quickly. Then, as if that wasn't entirely weird, he uttered out a good morning and moved a pan off the stove.

"I made you an apology breakfast. I know you wanted to go to The Narrows last night, but-"
And all of a sudden your anger came flooding back. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He paused. This obviously wasn't what he had in mind when he was making breakfast, and he probably expected a calm and mature conversation between two adults, but you were on a time crunch and every day without answers meant that the Joker was out there defaming your soulmates name and using him as a scapegoat for murder.

"That I didn't want you to get killed?"
"It wasn't your call to make, Hood. What I do on my time for my job is my business-"
"You fell asleep on the back of my motorcycle-"
"-and the fact that you think you can just do-"
"-what the hell was I supposed to do? I'm not your uber driver, for fuck's sake. Do you even know how dangerous that is?" Hood waved a spatula around, bits of batter flying around and sticking to the walls. His inner clean freak would make him clean that up later and you noticed the way his face jerked a little to the side, probably eyeing the wall under the domino to see where the batter landed.

During your Abduction Leave week, he'd rearranged your closet by colour and your bookshelf by author. He also washed any dishes you left out before he went on patrol, and anything after that was cleaned up when he was in your apartment again. He even found the other half of a pair of socks that you were sure some Sock-man-type villain had stolen.

That's not to say you were messy, per se. You cleaned, just not obsessively and you usually let it build a little before you did it all in one go.

You threw your hands up and spun in a frustrated circle. As loath as you were to admit it, he was right. He couldn't have just taken you to the Narrows in the middle of the night when you were asleep. Hood curled his strong fingers around your wrist and steadied you. You poked him in the chest. "Stop acting like you care."
"I do care."
"Why? Why do you give a shit what I do with my time?" You jerked your wrists but he didn't let you go, his fingers warming your skin through the fabric.

That was another thing you deluded yourself into thinking you definitely didn't notice about him- he was always so warm, even when your air conditioning was turned on and it was raining outside. He was everything you imagined Gotham wasn't before you moved- caring, tender, soulful. Sometimes painfully so in the way that he floated around the haunting city, like a vengeful protector.

Say it, Hood. Just give me a reason and we can stop dancing around this. You stared up, imploring and a little hopeful.

"It's none of your business and it doesn't affect you so why do you-"
"I don't know!"

You were almost breathing each other's air. Despite being virtually unreadable with the domino concealing his eyes, the tick in his jaw gave him away. Your free hand came up to rub your cheek and his hold on you slackened.

Just tell me you feel it too.

He didn't. Instead, Hood released you, one finger at a time, and took a step back. You scratched your cheek again, suddenly feeling itchy all over. You asked again, "why do you even care?"
"I just do," he clipped back curtly, pivoting to shove a plate into your hands. "We can talk when you aren't acting like a thrill-seeking-danger-chasing-adrenaline-junkie. Eat."

Begrudgingly, you sat yourself down and ate. He slipped into the chair across from you and placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of you, made exactly to your taste. Hood folded the pancake like a taco, piling it high with strawberries whipped cream, chocolate chips and other ingredients you didn't know you had in your cupboards, and ate it like a hot-dog.

"I'm still upset with you."
"That's fine."
"Fine."
"Fine."

You ate in silence and then he washed up the dishes without a word, not moving from his place in front of the sink when you tried to clean your own plate. While you usually would have picked a fight, you were too upset to get upset all over again, so he cleaned your kitchen while you showered.

When you finally made your way back to the kitchen, the sun had just started rising and Hood was gone, along with the batter that previously clung to your walls. In his place was a note that send an involuntary shiver down your spine. The paper looked so much like the notes Joker left at each bloodied crime scene.

Had to run, but I'll come when you go to the Narrows. Wait for me after work or text- you have my number.
— Hood

You scoffed. It wasn't as if you owed him an explanation, and since the stubborn vigilante derailed your plans the day before, you were left with only one option: to take your little field trip right after work. In broad daylight. As far as you could tell, Hood only came out at night. He was like a vampire that only existed in the liminal hours after sundown.

When you walked into the office, you muttered something about vampires and vigilantes to Vicki, whose eyes lit up and she clapped excitedly. Your few hours at the office were spent editing a couple of your articles and brainstorming catchy headlines for the Annual Wayne Gala with Melanie, who sat opposite you. She did her hair in two buns on the top of her head and wore glasses with pink and green frames.

On your way out, your boss stopped you and said something about expecting an amazing piece with how much you were gone. You assured him it would be exclusive and eye catching and on the way to the train station you hoped like hell you solved this case soon.

~~

Cass
shes going to the narrows today

Dick
shes crazy
i told u guys she drives jay up a wall

Tim
tf
tbf its day tine
time*

Duke
perfect
ill meet her there

Dick
how did u even find out @cass

Cass
i broke in

Babs
to her apartment??

Cass
yes

Steph
🫡🫢
ykw i respect the hustle

Cass
jason left a note saying he would go with her
but i dont think she will tell him
🌚🌚🌚

Duke
omw there rn
shes gonna need backup if jay isnt with her

Tim
realest
narrows arent safe at any time of day
be asfe dude
safe*

~~

Maybe you should have called Hood. He would have accompanied you to the second most dangerous area in Gotham, but what the two of you had didn't exist in the sparse daylight. It melted away under the weakened rays of Gotham sun, fixed firmly in time like stars in the night sky. In the end, you figured pepper spray would be good enough.

The Narrows were exactly as the name suggested: narrow streets that twined around industrial style buildings. It was, visibly at least, less intimidating than Crime Alley but you knew danger lurked just beneath the surface.

You kept one eye on the street signs and one on the address Gloria had written out for you: 7 Hollow's Lane Apt 34. This part of the city was quieter, though you caught a couple of teenagers hiding around street corners with lit cigarettes and bottles of amber liquid. They lingered outside a gated building, probably skipping school at this time of day, and you glanced up at the signpost above them that read Hollow's Lane.

They eyed you warily and whispered among themselves but none deemed you important enough to approach. One of the boys, with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a white tee under a yellow hoodie, stared carefully at you. He looked away briefly to shrug off his friend's whispers and shake his head when the cigarette came around to him, and then he was staring back at you, curious.

The building they were in front of was numbered 3, and you turned to glance at the house across the street, which was numbered 8. Weird. Maybe it was numbered differently to the other areas of Gotham. You walked past the group and checked the next house, and then the one across the street. Neither were numbered 7, so you kept walking.

"Hey, excuse me, Miss?" You turned to see the boy in the yellow hoodie trailing after you. His friends looked past him to you and then turned away, shaking their heads. "Do you need some help?"
"Hi," you said. "I could use some; I'm looking for 7 Hollow's Lane."
He nodded understandingly. "Yeah, the buildings are numbered differently here. It's on the end of the street behind the last building- come on, I'll show you."

He motioned for you to cross the street and walked with you, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets. His eyes darted around, up to the rooftops and then around you into the slim opening between two buildings.

"I'm Duke by the way," he said politely and you gave him your name easily. Almost too easily, because he stopped walking and narrowed his eyes. "This place isn't safe, you know."
"I can handle myself. Besides, you seem to be perfectly fine."
"It's different," he insisted, "I'm from here, so no one will try anything. You can't just walk around The Narrows."
You laughed, a little amused that this fifteen year old kid was telling you where you could and couldn't walk. He sounded a little like Hood with his careful warnings. "Kind of can."
"Kind of shouldn't." He snipped back. "Here. 7 Hollow's Lane."

You turned to face the building and took a deep breath. He was right. You wouldn't have found this place if he hadn't pointed it out. It was right on the edge and blended with the building beside it, which was numbered 12. You shoved at the gate and then stepped aside to let Duke try it when it wouldn't budge. He shook it and then sighed and reached over the top to meddle with the lock mechanism. A minute went by and it finally swung open.

"So, who are you here to see?"
"Just a friend." You scanned the apartment numbers until you found 34. It was under the name Hayward Shields. You frowned. "That's not right."
Duke squinted at you. "You're here to see a friend and you don't even know where they live?"
"Uhhh... something like that. The names don't match up."
"You're a terrible liar." And then, before you could press all the buzzers in the hopes that one would let you in, Duke did it for you. "So who are you really visiting?"
"I told you-"
"No you didn't," he argued, "you told me a lie."
"Fine," you muttered when the door buzzed open. Duke followed you up the stairs to the third floor.

"I'm visiting a woman called Sheila Haywood-" Duke slipped, grabbing the handrail and your outstretched arm at the last minute. "-she's a lead in a case I'm working, and I could really use her help."
"You're a cop?" He asked, a peculiar lilt to his tone. "My brother is a cop."
"Please don't offer me your brother too," you muttered. "And no, I'm a journalist."
"Too?" he echoed and almost slipped again. "What do you mean 'too'?"
"It's been a weird week, kid. Two kids offered me their brother because 'he's tall and you'd look great together.'"
"Jeez," Duke muttered under his breath. "Sounds crazy when you put it like that. Did you say yes?"
"Of course not," you scoffed and he looked miffed.
"Well," Duke said, hopping up another step, "my cop brother is married, but I do have another one. He's tall and you'd look great together."

Little shit. You would have said something snarky if you hadn't made it to the third floor and your legs were cramping to the point where they burned. You slid down to sit on the top step, waving off Duke's concern. "I feel like a liquid."
"You look like a liquid."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Come on, I see the apartment."
"I didn't tell you which apartment she lives in."
"Yeah, well I see a bunch of them. Figure it must be one of the five."

Duke shrugged and made a gesture that said 'come on.' Then he pulled open the rusty door and held out a hand to help you up, patting you on the shoulder. "Let's go get your story then."
"Who said you're coming with me?"
"I can wait outside," he offered. You both knew you wouldn't let him wait outside alone. You may have known the kid for about two minutes, but you were a responsible adult. Ish.

You rang the bell for Apartment 34 and waited. And waited. And waited. When there was no sign of life, you knocked a few times until you heard something fall to the ground and a groan. You and Duke exchanged concerned looks. A woman's voice called out, "just a moment!"

She kept you waiting no longer than ten minutes and the door flew open. Sheila Haywood was a tall, slim blonde who looked to be in her mid to late forties. Her hair was pinned up in a lopsided bun hanging to one side, a few strands falling loose and around her face.

She looked between you and Duke, a frown creasing her brows. "Can I help you?"
"Miss Haywood?" You said and she nodded slowly. Offering her a hand, you gave her your name and explained, "I'm following a couple of leads on the recent Joker murders and I was wondering if I could speak to you for a few minutes?"
Wordlessly, she opened the door wider and let you in, ushering you and Duke to her living room where you and your human shadow, who you couldn't seem to shake, sat across from her.

"What do I have to do with this?" Sheila asked. Her eyes were slightly sunken and she looked like she hadn't seen sleep for a few days. "I haven't been anywhere except for work and out for lunch with a few friends."
"Joker has been leaving notes addressed to one Jason Todd. He thinks Jason killed and dumped his lackey's bodies in the harbour."

Duke turned to look at you sharply. His movements were so harsh you were scared his head would snap with the motion. Sheila, on the other hand, went completely pale and her hands shook where they were rubbing over the tops of her thighs. "Jason Todd? Are you sure?"
"Very sure." You waited, barely breathing while she collected her thoughts.
"Jason is dead."
"I know."
"No," she said urgently, her chest rising and falling rapidly with inhaled emotion filling the space, "Jason has been dead. He died when he was fifteen. The Joker lured and kidnapped him to Ethiopia after he was adopted. He kept him alive for three months before he finally beat him to death with a crowbar."
Your cheek started itching and you rubbed a palm roughly over it. "I know. I've seen the articles, but what I really want to know is why Joker would be addressing letters to a dead kid."

Sheila thought about it for a moment, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. She looked between you and Duke, scratching at her forearm through the thin jumper she was sporting.

"Look, the articles don't talk about the fact that his mother was there. His biological one." Sheila looked away and pursed her lips. You frowned- you were under the impression that she was his biological mother, but if she wanted to spin the situation, you were content to let her talk.

"Joker asked her to help getting him to Ethiopia, and she did. He gave her a choice between her life and Jason's, so she did what she had to do to survive."
"That's awful."
Sheila smiled without humour. "Yeah, well, she did what she needed to do and it doesn't matter what you or anyone else thinks of m- of her."

There. That was the slip up you needed. Sheila was Jason's biological mother who sold him to the Joker.

Sheila continued, oblivious to your inner revelation, "I'm not sure why Joker would be addressing his letters to Jason though. No one could ever figure out why he kidnapped him; it wasn't for money because he never sent out ransom letters, and he didn't have any personal vendettas against the kid."
"Ethiopia is pretty far," Duke noted, his eyes clouded over as if he was anywhere but Gotham. "Why would he lure a kid all the way there just to torture and kill him?"

The three of you fell into a contemplative silence that wasn't exactly comfortable, and you thought of a fifteen-year-old boy, alone and helpless. It was tragic, what had happened to him and how. Turning your attention back to Sheila, you studied the woman. You had managed to piece together the articles close enough to deduce there was an alleged overdose, leaving Jason Todd orphaned.

"How did Jason get adopted if you're still alive?" Her green eyes snapped up to yours, and you shivered under her steely gaze. She knew the jig was up- you knew who she was and you weren't going to dance around the fact.

"I'm sure you read about my OD." You nodded unapologetically and she pressed her lips together before she continued, "I was never really in his life the way I should have been. There was an incident with an illegal surgery where a girl died and-"
"I saw the reports."
Sheila cleared her throat. "I've made my peace with everything I've done, and I'm just trying to start fresh. I have a decent job at a clinic and I'm moving on; Jason was just one of Joker's many victims and there's no use dwelling on something we can't change now."

She sounded so detached, as if her son was just another statistic she couldn't care less about. It sickened you and you could barely contain the horror from showing on your face as the pieces slotted neatly together. She returned to Gotham after her son's death with nothing and no one to tie her to her former identity. She got a job as a nurse of some kind and was barely making ends meet. The only one who knew she was alive was Gloria, and Sheila likely didn't even remember the woman.

Duke stood abruptly. "I'm gonna-" he motioned to the door and backed away, clearing his throat and slamming out of the apartment.

You stared at the closed door, partially shocked, partially confused. He had been mostly silent but he seemed affected by Sheila's statement. You wondered if maybe he was involved in a similar situation, or if he was simply allergic to emotions, as most people seemed to be in Gotham. There was no room for mushy feelings when the city was riddled with disaster day after day.

"Is he okay?" Sheila asked when the silence swelled between you. That was more emotion than she'd shown in the entire time she spoke about Jason. "That seemed to hit him hard."
"I haven't known him long enough to know." You stood. "Thank you so much for your time. I'm not entirely sure where this case is going, but everything could be important."
Sheila walked with you to the door. "Of course."

You found Duke sitting on the top step of the stairwell, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard the heavy door shut behind you and shifted over to let you sit beside him.
You waited for him to speak first, offering silent companionship while he gathered his bearings, letting out breaths that wracked shudders through his whole body.

"My parents were victims of the Joker."
"I'm sorry, that sucks."
"Yeah," he took a deep breath before letting it out in a long whoosh, "yeah it does. They're still alive, just permanently Jokerized, so I live with my adopted family now."
You nodded silently.
"Don't give me any of the pity bullshit," he muttered.
"Wasn't going to." You said and touched your sleeve over the place your soulmate's initials were engraved in your skin.
“So what’s your story?” Duke asked, bumping his knee into yours. “You’ve gotta have some kind of core trauma.”

You gave Duke the short version- your soulmate died when you were fifteen and it messed you up a little. You didn't mention that you couldn't wear short sleeved shirts anymore, or the way the pain was deeper than just physical. There was a time when the world lost its colour and you had lived day to day like a blank calendar. You couldn't tell Tuesday from Wednesday or red from yellow.

Duke got to his feet when you were done talking. "Come on, it's gotten dark out so I'll walk you to the train station."
"How are you getting home?"
"I'll call my brother. The trains don't go all the way to my house."

True to his word, Duke walked you to the train station, though he got insistent that you leave before his brother showed up. You didn't plan to ditch a kid in one of the most dangerous neighbourhoods, so you planted yourself on a bench outside the station and waited with him. Duke was shifty the entire time, hands once again shoved into his pockets, bouncing his leg.

You watched him while you typed out a couple of notes on your phone. Obviously the cops hadn't been getting the letters because Richard Grayson was smuggling them to the Hood for some unfathomable reason.

Headlights flashed in your peripheral and a navy car pulled up to the curb. Duke stood, a wry grin splitting his face. The driver's door opened and- oh fuck. You flew to your feet, because Richard Grayson had gotten of the car, which meant... you glanced at Duke, whose eyes were set on his brother. Brother.

His brother who was also a brother to dead kid you were looking into. You really needed to look up the Waynes and memorise their faces and names. Fuck.

Chapter Text

You forced a smile as Richard approached, his eyes glimmering in the streetlight. "Hi again," he said.
"Richard," you exchanged cordially. This was the last thing you needed after the day you had, but you forced a civil smile to your face.

"How have you been?"
"I'm doing great. You?"
"Peachy." His grin was too wide, too happy and too innocent. Did he know something? "Thanks for waiting with Duke. He's scared of the dark, you know."
"Hey! I'm definitely not, he's just a dick." The last part was directed at you.
"Pun intended?"
Duke's cheeks dimpled. "Totally. And um, don't worry about your... investigation."
You smiled briefly at him, and then turned your attention back to Richard. "It was no problem though, really. I just didn't want to leave him alone."
"Yeah, he wouldn't have left you either," Richard said. "It's not safe here."
"It's not safe anywhere in Gotham."

Duke ran around to the passenger side and waved before he got in. You nodded politely to Richard, said goodbye, and backed away. You made it four steps into the station before you heard him calling your name and you turned back. He jogged up to you clutching an envelope. The envelope, perhaps? But no, this one was black with gold trim, certainly not the one he had given Hood.

"Here," he ran a hand through his hair. "The gala is in a four days and there's a media pass in there and everything."
"Media pass?"
"Yeah, we have a system for trusted media," he explained, "we don't let paps in, for example. It's so no one accuses you of sneaking in, and you're free to ask questions during the press segment."
"Oh."

Was he trying to buy you? You didn't care, this was the perfect in with the Wayne family. You could sneak around and get more information about your potential soulmate. There were no autopsy reports as the Waynes had paid massively to keep it out of the press, and the only confirmation that he was your soulmate rested on the assumption that he died the day he was found. April 27th. If he died even a day earlier, your whole theory would collapse in on itself. You weren't sure what you would do if that was the case.

While your thoughts raced fast enough to put Ferrari out of business, Dick apparently decided you were silent for too long and took your hand, making sure you were holding onto the envelope. "It has your name and everything on there."
"Why?" You blurted.
Dick shrugged and while his usual smile was still present, it seemed hide a secret second meaning that you couldn't decipher. "I feel like you're a reliable journalist, or you would never have hounded poor Shawn for four days-"
"It was three days."
"-straight. Right. Three days. Anyway, I hope I'll see you there- and Duke too, probably- and my wife will be there, so I can finally introduce you."
"Ah yes," you grinned, "the elusive K."
Dick laughed. "Well, I won't keep you. Get home safe."

You waved again and went into the train station. When you got home, it was late and you fell onto your bed without going over your notes.

When you woke, you got the feeling someone had been in your apartment so you got up to check. Aside from the freshly washed dishes and a new jar of coffee, there was no sign of disturbance. The coffee wasn't the cheap kind you usually got because anything else was expensive, it was the kind you saved for weeks and splurged on every once in a while when you needed a treat.

The jar was sitting on a post it that read 'Something for all those late nights. Don't drink it all in one cup.' You smiled to yourself. It wasn't exactly an apology, but he was probably giving you much needed space to cool off. And besides, you weren't sure if you were ready to apologise.

~~

3 days to the Annual Wayne Gala

~~

"You got an invite." Vicki was staring at the black and gold card with something akin to envy. "How did you get an invite? I applied for a media pass three times and got nothing back. My soulmate is literally Bruce Wayne."
"Did you say that when you applied?"
"Obviously," she said like you were stupid.

You stifled a laugh and nodded. That was why she didn't get it. The organisers probably didn't want her taking away from the cause by trying to frisk Bruce Wayne in search of her initials on his skin.

"Anyway," Vicki sniffed, inspecting her nails, "I expect you to grill him on whether he plans to acknowledge his soulmate soon."
"Will do."
"Promise me." She stared you in the eye, unrelenting until you repeated the promise, and then she grinned all cat-like and slunk back to her desk.

It was a slow day with the gala coming up, and most of the news going out was directed at petty things like elite fashion, a beloved waffle house shutting down and Vicki's latest piece on "Penguin: Flightless Bird, or Birdless Flight?" You weren't entirely sure what the article was about, but she refused to let anyone aside from her editor take a look at it.

You turned the card over to your boss, letting him make the necessary arrangements to approve your attendance. It was done within minutes and you were ushered out of his office with a "yeah, yeah, get some good interviews" muttered after you.

Back at your desk, your phone was ringing loudly in the otherwise silent office. Vicky kept throwing suspicious glances over her shoulder, her nails drumming impatiently on her desk. "Aren't you going to get that?"

You held up one finger and picked up the phone, stating your name and title followed by, "what can I do for you?"
It was a man's voice who spoke up, "hi, this is Brice Whyne. I work with Channel 6 News and... ah... well, I'm looking for Vicki Vale."
A short burst of laughter escaped you before you could help it. Did you mishear? That couldn't possibly be his name. You cleared your throat and said, "I'm sorry, did you say Bruce Wayne?"

Vicki immediately scooted her chair across to you, eyes wide and pleading. She motioned for you to hand her the phone, and you had to lean away to keep ahold of it. "Give. Me. The. Phone." She mouthed obviously, stretching her arms out. Her eyes were alight and she let out a high pitched noise, whisper yelling, "he wants to talk to me?"

On the line, the man uttered, entirely serious, "no, Brice Whyne- that's W-H-Y-N-E, Whyne, not Wayne as in Bruce Wayne, not 'whine' as in 'don't whine Patrick,' nor is it wine as in 'bottle of wine.' As I said, I'm from Channel 6 News. She hasn't been taking my calls, but if you can put her on, I would highly appreciate it."
"Brice Whyne," you clarified, speaking loudly enough for Vicki to hear and slowly enough for Brice to think you were noting down his words, "from Channel 6 News, with matters of a personal nature to discuss with Vicki Vale."

With every word, you saw the excitement melt off Vicki's face, morphing into something akin to horror. She stopped lunging for the phone and melted back into her chair, shaking her head and holding out her hands in front of her, as if to protect her from Brice Whyne from Channel 6 News.

"I'm afraid Vicki Vale has just left, but I'll leave her a note, if that works for you?"
"Yes. That's B-R-I-C-E W-H-Y-N-E," he spelt out slowly, giving you ample time to note it down. You didn't, because Vicki was right there and you weren't about to waste a whole post-it note on what seemed like some weird rendition of Reporter Romeo And Juliet.

"Great! When Vicki is back, I'll have her give you a call." You put down the phone and turned to Vicki. "Vicki." She shook her head rapidly. "Vicki, call him back."
"Nooo," she wailed, her face scrunching up as much as her Botox would allow. "No, I can't!"
"Why not?"
"He..." she looked around and leaned into you and lowered her voice, "he thinks he's my soulmate."
"And that's a problem because...?"
"Bruce Wayne is my soulmate," she said far too loudly. "And besides, even if he wasn't, Whyne is from Channel 6 News." She grabbed your hands and you jumped at the sudden contact. "Channel. Six. News. They're the enemy, I can't be with one of them- much less him."

This was exactly what you thought it was- Romeo and Juliet: The Reporter's Edition.

"What's wrong with him?"
"He's so serious." Vicki pulled a face. "And once again, he's from Channel 6 News."
"So you've said," you sighed, gathering your things. You were 100%- no, 10000% sure- that Brice Whyne was Vicki's soulmate and they had accidentally touched sometime during a battle for media coverage, and Vicki just didn't want to accept it. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vicki."

The gala was in three days and you needed a dress. When you left Metropolis, you sold half your wardrobe to cover the first few months of rent. The remaining half of your clothes, things you didn't always wear, were slotted neatly into your room at Lois and Clark's place.

You made your way into town, trying every shop you came across. You were at a loss, trying on dresses of all lengths and colours and styles. It felt like just when you needed it most, anything you might have liked evaporated into thin air and anything you did like came with a hefty price tag attached.

With a groan, you dragged yourself into another store and tried on what felt like all their available stock. Just when you were ready to give up and leave, someone tapped your shoulder.

A short blonde girl smiled back at you. "Are you looking for a dress?"
"Yes," you explained that you needed it for the Wayne gala and she nodded understandingly.
"This would look great on you." She handed you a hanger and dragged you to the dressing room.

The dress was a deep shade of red, flowing down and pooling around you When you turned, you gasped. The back of the dress was cut low, falling in a tasteful cowl that made you feel incredible. Apparently, the girl who helped you had been waiting outside, because she rapped her knuckles on the door and told you to open so she could take a look. When you opened the door, her jaw dropped and she started bouncing up and down.

"It's perfect," she squealed. "It's so amazingly perfect, you have to take it!"
"I plan to," you told her, "thank you so much."
She waited for you to get dressed again and walked with you to the counter where she rung up the dress and handed it over to you. "You have shoes? A bag? Jewellery?"
"Yes," you laughed. "I have everything I need, but if I think of anything I'm missing, you'll be the first one I look for."
"I'm banking on it."

You took the dress home and sent Lois a picture. She responded with three emojis: 😱😍🥵
You replied, bid her goodnight, and then curled up in your bed and let sleep pull you away.

When you woke, it was with bleary eyes and a shadow hovering over you, so you shuffled over to give Hood space. He took up most of your bed, and the only way you fit comfortably was tucked into him. When he didn't climb up immediately, you blinked the sleep away and- and screamed.

Because that sure as shit wasn't Hood.

You jerked away from the hooded figure looming beside your bed and screamed, scrambling to the other side of the bed. In your sleep induced panic, you found yourself twisted in the covers and tipped over the edge. You hit the ground with a thump, terrified out of your mind.

"You okay?" The figure's voice was distinctly feminine compared to Hood, though it had the same robotic modulation. She offered a hand which, against your better judgements, you took.
"Am I- no I am not okay." You sat back on your bed, rubbing your temples. "You know, you can't just break into people's homes."
"I know." She skipped out of your bedroom. You doubted that meant she was leaving, so you untangled yourself from the sheets and made your way into the living room.

The vigilante had taken off her hood, sitting cross-legged in a domino mask with your favourite blanket pulled up around her waist while she flicked through the channels. It was bizarre, seeing a vigilante whose name you didn't know look so comfortable curled up on your couch. Instead of joining her, you headed for the kitchen, aware of the eyes following your movements.

"What's your name?" You called. "I don't think we've met before."
"I'm Orphan."
"Sorry to hear that, so am I, but what's your name?"
Her laughter came out deeper than her voice. "No, my name is Orphan."

Of course. You wanted to bang your head against the cabinet. Whoever was naming these heroes needed a lesson in linguistics and sensitivity. You could only hope she had a loving family or something of the sort- and if she was one of Hood's strange vigilante-family, you were sure she did- to lessen the blow of being called Orphan.

"Can I get you tea or coffee? Water?"
"Tea is good."
You opened the cabinets. "Do you prefer Earl Grey or English Breakfast?"
"English Breakfast, please. Can we watch a romcom?"

You paused, finger pressed down to boil the kettle. The whole thing was bizarre. A vigilante broke in, watched you while you slept, accepted your offer for tea, and suggested you have some kind of girls night? You considered your options. If you called Hood, he would majorly freak out and come in guns and blazing. You could call the cops, but Orphan would just disappear into the night. You could ask her to leave, but that seemed impolite. Then again, she did break in.

Oh, what the hell. It could make a great headline- Girls Night In: Vigilante Edition.

"Sure," you muttered and Orphan started searching for a movie.
"We did meet," she said suddenly. "After you escaped. We met in the Batfam-Mobile."
Interesting. You liked Dadmobile better but then, it wasn't your car. You made your way back to the couch with two steaming mugs and gingerly placed yourself next to her. "You were there?"
"Yes. You were blindfolded. We couldn't let you see the cave or the car."
"I get it," you said, "secret identities are secret for a reason."
"You know, I have a brother who you might like." Oh this could not be happening. "My friend says you can always tell when someone hasn't gotten laid in some time, maybe you need-"
"Oh-kay," you said loudly. "This is officially weird, and the fourth time this week, so I'm just gonna put it out there that I'm married to my work and not interested."

Well you were, but only if her brother happened to be a certain someone with a white streak in his hair and a deep love for Jane Austen. Really, you didn't think there was a person on the planet more in love with Austen than Hood was.

Orphan took it in for a moment and her mouth shaped into an 'o' before she shrugged and settled back into the couch. Without another word, she pressed play on the movie and you let yourself relax. Despite the weird matchmaking in the air, you found that you didn't mind the company.

You only realised that you'd slipped off to sleep when you woke to the sound of hushed voices to your right, two of your heaviest blankets tucked around you. You shifted and sat up as much as you could with the weight, squinting against the dim light breaking through your window. You made out two silhouettes in front of the glass sliding doors to your balcony- one huge and hulking, and one smaller with a stubborn set to her chin. Hood and Orphan. Weird as the whole break in and girls night was, you rather enjoyed the company.

"-can't just break into people's homes."
"I know but I wanted to meet her."
"Ca-"
"She's awake."
They both turned to stare at you abruptly, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. You hadn't even made a sound. "Morning."
Hood ran a hand through his short black hair and sighed, muttering to Orphan that they would finish their conversation later. "Morning, Trouble."
Orphan slid open the balcony door and waved to you, her mask already back on. "Bye. I'll see you soon."
"No," Hood ground out, "we just spoke about this."
There was a short pause while Orphan considered the words you hadn't heard exchanged between them. "Fine. I'll see you if you consent."

You weren't sure how to respond so you nodded and waved, watching her perch on the railing and jump down. Hood slammed the balcony door shut and sighed, leaning back against it like the weight of the world had just lifted from his shoulders.

You pulled your knees up and rested your chin on them. "You okay?"
"Fine," he said into his hands. "I just sort of panicked when I came in and saw her there. I didn't realise it was her at first."
You snorted. "Tell me about it. I woke up and she was just standing over me."
Hood's head shot up and his eyebrows furrowed. Angry? Concerned? You weren't sure. "Fuck. Sorry. Are you okay?"

In two long strides, he crossed the room to you and dropped down beside you. He reached over and pulled you into a hug, his cheek pressing against the top of your head while one large palm ran up and down your back comfortingly. You weren't sure when it happened, when you became comfortable enough around each other for him to just pull you into a hug, but you didn't say anything in protest. He was warm and huge and smelled good.

"I'm okay. We watched a movie."
You couldn't see it but his lips quirked at your words. "I know, but that was probably terrifying." He pulled back to look at you. "It won't happen again, she just didn't see what was so wrong- you weren't hurt, it was all innocent. Orphan is a little complicated."
"She's sweet." You hugged him back because Gotham mornings were so chilly, and he was so warm. "Did you stock up tea in my cupboards?"
"Yeah, I got sick of your shitty coffee."
You poked his side. "My coffee tastes great. Thank you for the jar you left, by the way."
"Your coffee tastes like shit, baby, at least this kind doesn't look like it's going to give you death rabies or something."

You ignored that pet name, which was clearly a slip up, and shoved the butterflies that materialised deep deep down where the sun couldn't encourage them to keep flitting about. Hood was naturally flirtatious, you assured yourself, and despite enjoying it, you had to stop yourself from being charmed by it.
"Do you want breakfast?"

Over breakfast, you updated him on your case, which was still pinned up in your living room, though many of the red strings hung limply. There were too many dead ends. Too much information that you didn't have access to, and what you did know was built on assumptions.

Hood flicked through a folder on your kitchen table. "Sheila Haywood?" His voice was strained even with the modulator, though you couldn't place why. "She died years ago."
You shook your head. "She's alive. That's why I went to The Narrows- to meet her."
His chair scraped against your tiles and Hood was on his feet in a heartbeat. "You what?"
"I met with Sheila Haywood," you said again, refusing to let him intimidate you. You had dealt with the Joker, for Gotham's sake, you could handle an annoying vigilante who enjoyed his tea with two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk.

"She had information I needed to build this case."
"You-" He ran a hand through his hair, gripping it at his neck and, turning away from you, he bit out, "do you know how reckless that was? She has a history of substance abuse and murder."
"Why do you know so much about a woman you thought was dead?" You said, "Besides, she's clean now."
"Is she?" He downed his tea in one gulp and grabbed your empty dishes, moving around you to wash them. "Because last I checked, she was moving drugs and selling to kids. I had to put three bullets in her wall and one close to her head to make her stop."
"She's a nurse at a clinic."
Hood laughed humourlessly, scrubbing a plate harder than necessary. "Where do you think she gets most of the drugs?"

You stood up at the same time that Hood turned around, putting you nose and chest with him because he was so damn tall. You pressed your lips together and glared up at him, neck craned almost painfully. Another argument was just what you needed- you'd already pissed each other off a day ago, but this was just perfect. Arguing over some woman neither of you even knew.

"You just lied to me," you said. "You said 'she's dead' and then all of a sudden you know about her moving drugs?"
Hood groaned. "It's my job to know those thing, stop changing the subject-"
"Is it also your job to lie?"
"-and I can't tell you everything- no, it's not my job to-"
"Right, just the things you think will put me off." You shoved at his chest with one finger. It was a repeat of your argument all over again, minus the batter on the walls. "You're such an asshole, you know that?"
"Kind of my job, sweetheart." He grabbed your wrist and leaned down. "Stop getting involved with dangerous people."

You were nose to nose again because he had a tendency to lean down and put you on the same level when you argued. This was becoming increasingly common. One badly timed shuddered breath, one angry flinch or ill-thought out turn and you would touch. Skin to skin. "I will when you do."
"That's not fair."
"It's totally fair. This is my job."
"Your job is to report and investigate," he ground out, "not to throw yourself at criminals."
You gasped loudly and dramatically. "I do not throw myself at criminals!"

The brush of his chest against yours when he scoffed out a laugh and suddenly you were hyperaware of him. Everything him. His scent, the tick in his jaw, the way his hair got messier the more agitated he got and his... his lips. His lips were an inch from yours and parted just the slightest bit.

It would be so easy to just... lean up on your tiptoes and slot your lips against his. His grip on your wrist tightened, drawing you closer to him, and you flattened your palm against his chest.

"Go on," he murmured, tilting his head down. "Throw yourself at a criminal. Prove me right."

Never fucking mind.

You shoved away from him, yanking on your arm when he didn't immediately relinquish his grip. "Fuck you. Seriously, who the hell do you think you are?"
He didn't answer.

You watched him retreat, moving to slide his gloves on and grab his helmet. He turned back to you, opening his mouth to say something, but the ugly red monster clawing at your insides must have shown on your face, because the words died on his tongue. He nodded once, curtly, and then he left without saying a word.

Chapter Text

~~

2 days to the Annual Wayne Gala

~~

Jason sawed through another of Joker's lackey's, gritting his teeth as the blade cut through bone and sinew. Finally, he tore the head off in a spray of blood. "That's the last one."
His right hand man, Alexander, shot him a thumbs up and grabbed the severed head, shoving it into the duffel bag with the other seven.

When he left that morning, it was straight to one of Joker's favourite safehouses. He was hoping to catch the clown there, but luck wasn't on his side. Joker had gone underground since the kidnapping and either his affiliates didn't know where he was, or weren't willing to give him up. That needed to change.

Between scouring the city with no sign of Joker and learning Sheila Haywood was alive, Jason needed to blow off steam and send a message. Hitting one of Joker's safehouse was a way to kill eight birds with three bullets, two hands, and a knife. His eyes were glowing significantly less than they were five hours ago, and he was drenched in blood.

Looking around, he watched his men drag headless bodies out of the house and zipped up the duffel bag. Eight was less than the initial thirteen, but if any of the crime bosses had an issue with quantity, they could join the lackeys.

"You good, Boss?" Alexander lit up a cigarette.
"Fine."
Alexander eyed him up and down. "Now, I know I can't see your face, but you don't seem fine. All tense and shit."
"You're married right?"
"Yessir," a grin lit up Alexander's face and he held up his right hand to show off the initials inscribed in his thenar. "Going on three years this weekend."

Jason figured he should have come to Alexander before he went to Dick. Alexander had always given him good advice and didn't try exposing him to his entire family. He also didn't insist on eating Jason's Frosties when he knew the box was only there to house his hidden gun. No, Alexander was the decent sort who had eggs for breakfast, or Cheerios if he really had to have cereal.

He could have gone to Roy too, but Roy would have told Kori and Kori would have told Dick and Dick would have told the rest of his family. And on top of that, Roy probably would have let it slip to Oliver, who would have let it slip to the Justice League or something, which was arguably worse.

Alexander was bound to give serious advice, if not because he was a sane person, then because Jason was paying him.

"How do you fix it when you fuck up? And not a regular fuck up, a really, really bad one."
Cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, Alexander wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Jason groaned, though his lips pulled up into an involuntary smile. He would if he could. Alexander sobered quickly and said, "nah man, you just buy her something and say sorry."
"No, like, what if you said something that crossed a line- maybe sort of embarrassed her?"
Alexander let out a sharp whistle followed by a snort. "Saying sorry is easy, y'know but showing her you're sorry is harder. 'sides, it's free. Why, you got an upset girl at home?"
"She's not my girl," he corrected robotically.

His right hand man hummed and took a drag, blowing out a puff of smoke, but his eyes were assessing. Jason didn't like the way Alexander seemed to see right though his bullshit, always had in spite of the mask, so he lifted the duffel bag up onto his shoulder and took off.
"Call a meeting," he said over his shoulder. "I want them all assembled in two hours."
"Gotcha, Boss."

Jason felt Alexander’s eyes on him all the way to his bike.

~~

Your police radio went off the moment you got home from work. There were reports of headless bodies propped up outside the Black Mask Club. You groaned and dropped your bag beside the door, pocketing your phone and the radio and turning to leave again.

When you made it to the lounge, there were crowds gathered outside of the yellow tape, shouting at the officers for answers. You spotted Richard and Shawn, whose heads were bowed while they spoke quietly. Shawn was gesturing around the scene and Richard was nodding gravely.

There were too many people around for you to sneak in unnoticed, so you made your way to Richard and Shawn. They both saw you coming before you reached them and had polar opposite reactions. Shawn stuttered and took an involuntary step back. Richard grabbed his collar and yanked him into place, a shit eating grin fixing itself onto his face.

"Well if it isn't my favourite journalist," Richard said cheerfully. "Why am I not shocked to see you?"
"Because I'm good at my job. Whose bodies are those?"
"Can't say."
"Who killed them?"
"Can't say."
"Surely you suspect someone," you insisted. Richard just smiled and you berated yourself internally. That wasn't a question, so he wouldn't answer. "Slippery fucker."

Shawn swallowed audibly and raised a shaky hand. Neither you nor Richard looked at him but Richard sighed and said, "you don't need to raise your hand, Shawn."
"Perhaps we should give a press conference?"
Richard clapped him on the back. "Of course. Wouldn't want mass hysteria spreading, would we?"
"No sir. Besides, if the Red Ho-" Shawn clamped his mouth shut. Richard's smile turned from lukewarm water to ice in an instant and his grip tightened on Shawn's shoulder. With a sweating Shawn in his grip, Richard said pleasantly, "good seeing you" and walked away, dragging the other cop with him.

He said the Red Ho-something- definitely the Red Hood, you knew, because this wasn't some cliche movie where you pretended not to know what people were talking about- and based on the duffel bag of heads you read about, this fit his MO perfectly.

There was speculation that Hood did it as a means to intimidate Gotham's underworld into bowing to his wishes, and crime had dropped significantly after he first showed up. It was a surprise to most that he was actually good for the streets and although there was speculation about his unorthodox methods, he was the only one who took out the bad guys permanently. You knew all about Batman's no killing rule, but that rule left the real crazies alive to have their run of the mill- like the Joker.

You pulled up an article on the Hood and his crime syndicate. Through all your interactions, you had forgotten that he was the most dangerous man in Gotham aside from the crazy nut who kidnapped you. He was calculated and smart, and he didn't bluff. Was it safe to bet that the criminals would reconvene at the place where the first duffel bag was found? No. But it was definitely a start.

You silenced your phone and took off, hoping and praying that Hood wouldn't spot you when you got to the warehouse. And if he did, well... that was Future You's problem.

~~

Jason dropped the duffel bag on the large, round table, grinning under the helmet at the silence that ensued. Sionis was fidgeting with his hands and Cobblepot grasped the sides of his chair, knuckles whitening with how tight he was holding on.

"Any takers?" Jason asked. No one said anything. "Come on, one of you fuckers must be nosy enough to want to open it."
He leaned down between two low level crime bosses, who shook their heads vigorously.

"I'm going to count to ten, and then there will be more-"
Sionis grabbed the duffel and ripped it open with shaking hands to find-
"It's empty." The men around the table seemed to deflate and a few even laughed it off, pointing at Red Hood jokingly as if to say, I see what you did there.
"So it is." Jason smiled. "But this one isn't."

He almost wished he'd lived long enough to have taken drama in college or done a few more plays in high school because, damn was that satisfying. He relished in the stunned silence, soaked it in like a sponge while Alexander stepped out of the shadows and upended another bag's contents onto the table. Eight severed heads slipped out and rolled down the long table. The farthest one came to a stop in front of Falcone, who sneered down at it.

He could practically hear their hearts drumming under their expensive suits. Dread, indignance, animosity. They hated him, hated how he undermined their authority like it wasn't even theirs to begin with and the way he acted like the laws of the underground didn't apply to him. The thing was, they didn't, because The Red Hood was ruthless enough to go after what he wanted and eliminate anyone who stood in his way.

They got lazy, complacent, when he wasn't around, they assumed they were back in control just because the Red Hood wasn't there to pull their strings and puppeteer them around. And just when they thought he disappeared into nonbeing, he called meetings like this to remind them he was still here, watching and waiting for them to slip up.

Batman didn't approve, obviously, but as long as Jason was keeping crime and his body count down, their relationship was a rickety bridge that both parties steered clear of; they just let it sway between them, existing. When Jason patrolled with the Bats, he used rubber bullets, which appeased Bruce enough that he didn't mind, and in turn, Bruce avoided dealing with Jason's areas of crime directly. He usually sent one of the others to convey short messages like 'keep the streets clean please' or 'less bodies next time.'

It took three weeks and Barbara's infinite wisdom before he realised Bruce was trying to gentle parent him by using tactics from TikTok. Still, it worked and it made it easier to get through family dinners every other week when Alfred sent his summons and Bruce greeted him on his way to the kitchen. They even hugged, once.

"Eight heads?" Falcone said. "That's five less than before."
Jason leaned his fists on the table, staring down the syndicate leader. "And yet, it's still twenty-one more than you've ever ripped off."
The man paled.
"If I find any one of you harbouring Joker or his men, it will just be one more head on my hands. No one is to supply him with any chemicals, harmless or otherwise. Understood?" He waited until they all nodded before dropping back into his chair, kicking his legs up. "Good. Now, onto business."

~~

The warehouse was empty when you got there, but there was an overwhelming stench of bleach and dirt that didn't sit right with you. You shone a flashlight over the space and gasped. Because in the middle of a very long table, and surrounded by six... seven... eight heads! Was another dead body.

This one was just like the others with the J carved into the cheek, but worse, because the eyeballs were ripped out of their sockets and placed neatly on the body's chest- right beside a note.

You fought a gag and grabbed the note. In retrospect, you probably should have used your T-shirt or gloves, but then you figured Richard would just smuggle this to the Hood anyway and the cops would never get wind of your DNA on the paper.

Dearest Jason,
Having fun playing crime lord? I'll see you again soon little birdie and we can swap stories. Our anniversary is fast approaching :D
xoxo Joker

Again? What did he mean again? And what did he mean 'playing crime lord'?
There was a noise and you whirled around. Two shining slits encased within a red helmet stared back at you. You met his eyes and backed away slowly, his head turning to track your movements. Your back hit the wall and you reached behind you, fiddling with the rust covered door to let you out.

Hood crossed his arms, biceps straining under the material, and cocked his head. Behind him, the shadows rippled and whatever anger you may have felt from that morning dissipated, morphing into something akin to dread. Would he stop you? Hurt you? Kill you? Over your little spat?

The sound of the latch flipping echoed through the warehouse and you dragged the door open with a loud grating sound. You almost expected Hood to give chase but he just stood there, still as a statue, watching. You broke away into a run, not stopping until you were on the train, feeling trapped inside your own head. And then, before you could even flip the deadbolt- you were home.

It was only when you were safely tucked against your front door, a thin sheen of sweat coating your forehead that you realised Hood could have caught you- easily- if he wanted to. He was taller, bigger and faster. The evidence of his violent talents had stared lifelessly back at you in the warehouse eight times over. So if you got away, it meant that he let you. You fell asleep with a smile, because that meant you'd grown on him. That meant he liked you to some degree, and if he was as civil as you made him out to be, he would be dropping by soon to ask for the note.

~~

"She got away," Alexander said obviously.
"Yep." Jason strolled closer to the body, his face twisting dangerously when he recognised the corpse. "One of our guys, I'll need you to make the funeral arrangements and I'll visit his family later. Looks like Joker stopped killing his own."
"Yeah, sure, clown finally grew a braincell. Back to the lady- why'd you let her go? She took the note."
Jason waved off his concern. "I'll see it later when I apologise."
"Ohh, so she's the lucky lady then." Alexander wiggled his eyebrows.
Jason shrugged. "Wouldn't really call her lucky. Call in the body, make sure you request Officer Grayson and leave the heads where they are."
"Yessir." Alexander scratched his chin. "You off to see your lady friend now?"
"Yep."

~~

You showered three times and threw up once. The scene in the warehouse was nowhere near as gory as Joker's murders, but seeing so many decapitated heads in one place was never a comforting sight. You clutched your shaking hands to your chest and got into bed.

When you somehow managed to fall asleep, there were no nightmares or dreams, just a restless awareness that woke you every few hours. Eventually, when you woke for a fourth time, it was to find Hood hovering over you. He pulled back when he noticed you were awake and you groaned, stretching out and flopping over onto your back. However angry, however compromised you were, he wouldn't hurt you. You were sure of that. And if he wanted to, at least you would die in a comfy bed.

"Hey, stranger."
"Hi, Trouble." He sank his fingers into the sides of his helmet when he realised you weren't startled by him and it let out a hiss when he pulled it off. Then, he let his chest plate and other external padding drop to the ground, leaving him in a soft black shirt. Oh. He was getting comfy.

"How was your day?" Playing it casual then, you turned onto your back to watch him. This was new to both of you and painfully domestic. If you were even just a little more awake and coherent, it would be a stark reminder of all the memories you'd never get to make.

"It was fine." You yawned. "Saw you at the warehouse. I know you know that I know you know. And 'm sorry for looking for danger."
"No you aren't," he grumbled, lifting you so that your head rested in the crook of his elbow as he settled in beside you. The shirt was made of some weird material that was a cross between cotton and really fine chainmail or sorts.

"No, I'm not," you agreed and closed your eyes again.
"I am though," he said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have insinuated... you know. You're great at your job, I just worry." He cleared his throat. "And I can't really explain why I care, but I do."
"Thank you. And I know you care because I do too," you admitted, "I was just a little thrown off because I haven't been making any headway."
"So how did you find the warehouse?" His fingers skittered gently over your hair and you damn near started purring like a cat. He repeated the motion a few more times, and then reiterated his question, lifting his shoulder and you in a demanding jostle.

"Googled where the first duffel bag was found." You let out a yawn. "Did you decapitate those men?"
"I did," he said carefully and his fingers stopped moving. You opened your eyes. "Does that scare you?"
You threw your elbow back into his diaphragm and heard him choke a little. "Obviously. What are you, some kind of homicidal Darth Vader wannabe?"
"No," he said. "Of course not. They were Joker's guys- and not the ones he blackmailed into helping him."
"Eye for an eye then. He took us, you hit back."
"Yeah. So you're okay?"
"I did throw up when I got home, so thanks for that, but otherwise I'm fine."
"Sorry." You felt him wince before his hands started working through your hair again and your eyes fluttered closed. "You mind if I take a look at the note he left?"

You nodded and shifted closer to him. He smelled like that tea he liked so much and an old library. One that hasn't been touched in years and had a slight coating of dust on the upper shelving. Those libraries felt like frozen time capsules where history and reality met in fragmented shards of sunlight and dust particles hovered in the air, opened only by the curious and untouched by the cynical.

He smelled like a world where your wrist wasn't unmarred and he was a normal man. A world where you could call him yours- and for these few hours when the sun slept and the moon reigned, when the stars glittered unseen above an endless Gotham fog, he was.

Hood pulled you out of slumber with another question, and you felt like hitting him. "Do you think he's literally killing them from the grave, or is he running around like a zombie?"
"Who?"
"Your guy, Jason Todd."
"Dunno. Maybe like a sparkly vampire," you said into his chest. "I like sparkly vamps. Also like your abs. You promised to show me your abs. We should be Bella and Edward for Halloween, but you have to do it shirtless."
You were barely awake and didn't even stir when his laugh jolted you slightly. "Whatever you want, baby."

You weren't sure if you heard that last part right, but for now you were content to pretend. To play at domesticity and fall asleep in his arms and turn a blind eye to his customary absence come morning.

As expected, when your alarm blared and you turned over, the sheets were cold with truth and disappointment. He was gone.

Chapter Text

Jason had taken the note and stolen (now twice over) police radio when he left the apartment. He felt a sliver of guilt for not waiting until sunrise, but you were sleeping so peacefully. He hoped you wouldn't notice, though chances were slim, and clipped it onto his utility belt.

Patrol was nothing special, and he kept finding his thoughts wandering to you, hoping he would see you illuminated in every window he looked into despite being on the other side of town from your apartment. He was vaguely aware of the voices on his comms, but he tuned them out and rubbed his bicep where your initials sat.

"Red Hood are you with us?" Barbara's voice came through.
"Sorry, what?"
"I said there's been a robbery," she said, probably for the third time, "they hit a research lab."
"What did they take?"
"The pharmacist and a shit load of Dubnium."
"Put me on it," Batman said, "They're helping the Joker. Dubnium is a key ingredient in Joker gas."
"I'm with you," Jason said, scaling down the building to his motorcycle.

He followed Oracle's directions, speeding through the streets until he met Batman at the research lab. He wondered if Joker would come back for you, or if he was just looking to wreak havoc on Jason. The clown hated knowing Jason was out there, alive despite everything he'd been put through. Somewhere in that dark, twisted brain, Jason belonged to him. His to torture. His to hurt. His to kill. Again.

The entrance of the lab was blown in, the once sturdy wall blown through with ease. The guards were dead too, but Jason noted that the lights inside were flashing. He picked his way over bodies and shattered glass through the building.

If he could, he would end it tonight.

~~

1 day to the Annual Wayne Gala.

~~

"You can't afford to look schizophrenic at work," Vicki said, snapping you out of your thoughts. You stared blankly and she sighed, scooting her chair over to you. "You keep mouthing things to yourself. It's very distracting."
"We sit back to back."
"I can hear it."
You fought yourself not to laugh. "Of course."

Before she could roll back to her desk, your phone rang and you picked up. Vicki stayed put because she was nosy as ever, leaning close to listen in.

"Hello, Gotham Gazette, this is-"
"Hi, yes, this is Brice Whyne- that's W-H-Y-N-E, Whyne- from Channel 6 News." He cleared his throat on the other end. "Is Vicki Vale around?"
"Give me a moment." You pulled the phone away from your ear and whispered to Vicki, "I thought you didn't like Bruce Wayne?"
"He's rich. I changed my mind."
"Oh, for fucks sake, here." You shoved the phone into Vicki's hands and stood, grabbing your mug and going to the break room where the landline connected to yours. You picked up on the other end- Vicki wasn't the only nosy one in the office.

"Please Vicki," Brice was begging. "Please, I need you, I love you!"
"Brice, I really don't know if I can do this." She wasn't whispering because the department was mostly empty. "You're a Channel 6er, and I'm a Gazette Girl. We were doomed the moment we touched."
"But my heart sings for you, and I know yours calls to me."
"But Bruce Wayne-"
"-I can make you happier!"
"Oh, Brice!"
"Oh, Vicki!"
"I want you!"
"I need you!"
"I yearn for you!"
"I love you!"
"I love you!"

You slammed the phone down. Your next article was going to be Eavesdropping for Amateurs: The Detrimental Effects.

Three hours later, Vicki was still on the phone with Brice, and you were temporarily moved to the desk beside Melanie as no one wanted to get near Vicki and interrupt her planning for fear of securing a premature invite.

With all your work done for the day, you clicked through some admin work and wondered if Hood would show up tonight. Or whether last night was a one time thing. Whether he woke with regret simmering where you woke with blooming warmth that dimmed when the coldness of your bed crept up around you instead of his arms. You... liked him. You liked him and his arrogant temperament and stubborn disposition and the way he slotted receipts between the pages of his books and pressed his lips together, vexed, when you dog-eared yours. You liked the way you argued and made up and the way a tingle worked its way up your arms when you got too close to him, like sunlight dancing on the surface of water on a clear blue day.

You liked him selfishly and in spite of the fact that one day his soulmate's initials would brand him hers- not yours. Never yours. He could never be yours- not in this lifetime at least, when so many things kept you both at arms length from each other and he couldn't seem to stand you- but then, why did he know how you took your coffee? Why did he know that you preferred pancakes over waffles and that you were most productive when left alone and why did his eyes, despite being hidden behind a helmet or domino, always seem to find you when you were near each other?

Unlike the turmoil brewing within you, your day was relatively uneventful and the walk home even more so. When you neared your apartment, your eye caught on a familiar red car parked on the curb. Surely it couldn't be-?

You crossed the street spotting two very obvious Metropolis-natives over the hood of the car. The couple were bickering and dressed far too brightly to be anything but tourists- they even lacked the signature Gotham bulk of layered clothing and the woman rubbed her bare arms and shuddered.

"I'm telling you, this is the address she gave me."
"I don't know, it looks a little-"
"Are you being judgy?"
"What? No!"
"You are so being judgy right now. You know what Gotham prices are like and you of all people who grew up in a literal b-"
"Whatever, just buzz her again. It's almost seven, no one in Gotham is out at this time."
"She didn't answer the first four times what makes you think sh-"

Your steps faltered as you came around the front of the car and Clark whirled around, a smile breaking across his face like the first comings of dawn. He opened his arms as if to say "surprise!" and "there she is!" all at once. Lois' sentence broke off when she noticed her husband was no longer paying attention, and she turned to see what he was looking at.

Your brain had barely caught up, but muscle memory must have kicked in because you weren't even thinking when you broke into a short sprint to reach them, throwing your arms around the couple. Clark was accommodating and bent down so that you could hug him comfortably while Lois clutched you like a lifeline, talking nonsense into your hair.

You hadn't realised how much you missed them until that moment. You sagged into them and both journalists supported your weight while you blinked away tears. When you finally pulled away, Clark straightened his glasses, rubbing under his eye to wipe away the mist gathering there.

"Little warning might've been nice," Lois muttered.
You laughed and shrugged. "Sorry but... I mean, same."
"Not you," she said, elbowing Clark, who lifted a shoulder apologetically. "I'm so happy to see you."
"I am too, I just didn't expect to see you so soon." You manoeuvred between them to unlock the door, letting them in. "I'm still coming up to Metropolis in a month, you know."
"We know, but we were going to be in town anyway, and we figured we'd stop by. You have a guest room, don't you?"
"Uhh yeah! Yeah, sure."

You pressed your lips together and led them up the stairs. You weren't sure if you remembered to wash your dishes this morning or whether that one sock was still lying on your couch, and- oh shit, there was a stain in your carpet that Lois was definitely going to notice. Did you even dust the guest room? You tried thinking back to whether there were extra towels, blankets and linen in the cupboards. And Clark would probably have something to say about the state of the plumbing. Was this how kids with parents felt when their parents dropped in for surprise visits? Did they mentally sweep through everything their parents would notice?

"How long are you in town for?" You asked, slotting the keys into the lock. You prayed to whoever was listening and turned it, hoping there were no stray socks and the stain on the carpet was faded. You held the door open and your breath along with it.

"Well, we have a work thing tomorrow, but we're here until Tuesday," Lois said, dropping her bag on the hooks you had behind the door. "This place doesn't feel like Gotham at all, I love what you've done with it."
"Thanks," you said, kicking off your shoes. "I tried keeping the dull and dreary to a minimum. So, the work thing- is it the Wayne Gala?"
Clark snapped his fingers. "That's the one. Are you going?"

You nodded and explained briefly how you had gotten an invite while Lois meandered into the kitchen (thankfully, you noticed that Hood had done the dishes before he left, and they were all mostly dried on the rack) with Clark and he began opening the cupboards. As predicted, once he was done making sure you had food in your cabinets, Clark opened the door beneath the sink and eyeballed the pipes. He glanced at you before he let it slip shut and stayed silent. You would have told them to make themselves at home but... well.

"Coffee?"
"God, yes," Lois sighed, tilting her head back. "I would kill for a cup right now."
You moved around to fill the kettle and set it to boil, turning to face your unexpected guests, who were now both staring at you oddly. "What?"
"Why," Clark said slowly, "do you have four packs of tea on the top shelf? And why are they all different flavours?"
You slammed the cabinet shut.

Fuck.

Lois held up a worn book, Wuthering Heights embossed in swirling script on the cover. "And since when have you been into Classic Literature?"

Double fuck.

"Got into drinking tea a while ago because of the health benefits and Bronte was just some light reading fo-or an aaarticle," you stammered, drawing out each word to buy yourself time. You only hoped the lies wouldn't snowball.

"Ohh," she nodded, "right. An article."
"Yup." The kettle started boiling and shaking behind you.
Clark nodded along, steepling his fingers in front of him and looking to Lois. When he noted her narrowed eyes and the firm press of her lips to one side, he schooled his expression into a similar one.
"Which- which article?" Lois shot the kettle a dirty look when it whistled over her.
"Oh, you know. Just that one about the most read books in Gotham."
"You didn't write an article like that." She locked eyes with you, blue piercing into you like a drilling rig for oil. The switch on the kettle flipped and you turned to start pouring coffee.

"We read all the articles, remember?"
"Yeah, 'cause we're helicopters like that," Clark said. "Can I get a cup of earl grey?"
"Sure." You grabbed another cup and reached for the tea. Which was way too high up. You strained to get your finger just a little close to the tea, hoping to nudge it forward and catch it when it fell. Clark, tall and southern as he was, had conveniently left his manners back in Metropolis and just watched you struggle without so much as a twitch.

"Interesting that you put your health benefits so high up you can't even reach it," Lois said. "And you made two cups of coffee."
"Didn't say I stuck around for the benefits."
"Oh, for God's sake, Clark, just help her. I know you're itching."
He was out of his seat and handing you the teabags in an instant. So the manners weren't left behind, just reigned in tightly.

When you all three steaming mugs were ready, you sat down across from the two of them, your back to the living room.

"So, how's the plumbing here?" Clark asked. "If you need me to tighten anything up or fix weird shower heads, let me know. Lois mentioned something about a leaky sink?"
"No, it's okay," you said, "A friend stopped by and helped earlier this week."
"A friend, huh?" He bounced his eyebrows.
"Same friend whose tea you keep up there?" Lois motioned to the cabinets where the tea was. "And who left this book here?"
"It's my book."
Your mentor flipped open the cover and cleared her throat. "If found, please call two-one-two-three-"
"I bought it second hand."

You weren't sure just how long you could keep this up or whether they would start believing you in this lifetime, but you could hardly tell them about the Vigilante who came and went as he pleased.
Lois was sipping on her coffee slowly, inspecting your apartment over the rim while Clark stirred honey into his tea.

"What the hell is that?"
"Second hand bookstores are-"
"No," Lois set her mug down and shot to her feet. Her eyes were fixed on something behind you and you turned to follow her gaze. "That-" she pointed- "That psycho crime scene wall, what is the hell is that?"

Triple fuck.

"Just a pet project." You stood to block her path but Lois Lane on a mission was not to be trifled with, and she shoved you to the side. "Lois, seriously, I'm not involved in anything that dangerous, it's just got to do with that warm Gotham welcome."
"Xoxo, Joker," she read aloud. "The Joker? You're involved with the joker?"
"Jeez, kid," Clark muttered. "What about Joker screams warm?"
"Aside from the bomb he put under my chair?"
"Excuse me?"
"Hm?"
"That's it," Lois said, putting her hands on her hips. "That is it. You're coming back to Metropolis with us, there's no way I'm letting you stay another night in this insane city where a sociopathic clown put a bomb under your chair."

Clark began pacing behind your couch, rubbing at his temples. Apparently Lois hadn't told him about your short stint as a kidnappee, because he seemed to be handling this terribly.

"It was that day I got kidnapped."
Enraged, Clark whipped off his glasses to stare alarmedly. "You what? Do you need me to handle this, because I will get that clown locked up so fast-"

His voice faded into the background. Something was amiss. You squinted up at the man. He was looking rather... super and you wondered if you were hallucinating. The man standing in front of you looked just like Clark except not.

"Superman?"
He stopped talking. Lois barked out an order that had him shoving his glasses back on haphazardly. "Uhh... what?"
You pointed between Lois and Clark, blinking rapidly. "Oh my God. Oh my God, he's Superman and- oh! That makes so much sense now. I have so many questions- wait, do you think I can interview you? I know I'm not in Metropolis anymore, but-"
"Terrible idea."
"Horrible, really," Clark agreed, "and not because I wouldn't love to, just because it can get messy."
Lois snorted. "Really messy."

It sounded like they were speaking from personal experience, and if you weren't you were running through all the times Superman- Clark- had saved you and Lois, you would have asked more questions. He probably had some kind of weird GPS tracker to find her, and since you were seldom alone in Metropolis, you benefitted from the premium tier Superhusband-saving package.

"I feel like my life is a lie," you said, flopping back into your couch. "Holy shit. Clark is superman."
"We wanted to tell you," Clark started but Lois slapped his chest and said, "shut up, no we didn't."
"Ouch. I'm hurt by your deception."
"Just the truth, kid. This doesn't mean you can go rushing off into more danger though, he isn't... well, he actually is, but you know what I mean."
Groaning, you threw a hand over your eyes. "Okay mom. So am I off the hook now? You can't actually make me move back to Metropolis- I am an adult, you know."
"Sure you are honey," Lois said and patted your leg. "You can stay, but only if you keep us in the loop. We have a groupchat for a reason."

You snorted. A groupchat that you barely used because whenever you told Lois something, it got back to Clark anyway and vice versa, though he was better at keeping secrets from Lois than she was him. Lois liked to talk, it was as simple as that, and while she wouldn't tell just anyone about things you told her, Clark was her one exception and she was his, but his honour wouldn't let him betray your trust when you made him promise not to tell her.

"Yeah," Clark said, perching himself next to Lois on your coffee table. "We should rename it Superman Gang. Superfam. Supergang. Su-"
You sat up suddenly. "Holy shit, Superman is married to Lois Lane. Clark, that's like the coolest thing you've ever done."
Staring fondly at his soulmate, Clark nodded. "Yes. Yes, I know."
"Aww," Lois leaned into him and they gazed nauseatingly into one another's eyes for what seemed like way longer than necessary.

Lois looked away first, eyebrows raised and eyes widening like they often did when she remembered something that had been bugging her. "By the way," she said and you lifted your neck to look at her. "There's a stain on your carpet. You should send it in for cleaning."

You let your head fall back. Sighed.
Fucking called it.

Chapter Text

~~

Day of the Annual Wayne Gala.

~~

Jason woke with a hammering headache that told him he had forgotten something important, but he couldn't for the life of him put his finger on what. Dick was already awake, moving around the kitchen so loudly he wasn't sure how he managed to sleep through it as long as he did.

They hadn't managed to catch the Joker, or even the men who helped him, and he remembered being thrust into a simmering rage so hot it turned the edges of his vision green. He destroyed what was left of the laboratory, hurling tables into glass cabinets and research equipment into the wall.

It took Nightwing, Batman and Red Robin to shoved him into the back of the Batmobile. Nightwing injected him with something that made the green turn to a blurring grey, and the last thing he remembered was fingers carding gently over his hair and the sharp turn back to Wayne Manor.

"How'd I get here," he mumbled, half to himself and half to his brother, who couldn't hear him over the racket in the kitchen. "Dick... wha's happening, Dick?"

He wandered to the kitchen, leaning heavily on the counter and waiting for Dick to acknowledge him. He didn't have to wait too long because his brother was turning this way and that and caught sight of him looking like a mess almost instantly.

"You're up," Dick said gleefully, abandoning a smoking stove to drag Jason to his kitchen table. He pulled up a chair and with a hand on either of Jason's shoulder, shoved him down. If he hadn't been tranquilised the night before, Jason would have resisted.

"I thought you'd sleep straight through the gala with how out of it you were. I told Bruce not to give you a double dosage," Dick said, throwing his arms up, "but noooo, no one ever listens to Dick, not even- stop that, you'll burn your finger off- when I make perfectly reasonable sense."
"Gala?" He stared blankly, still trying to make sense of the thoughts floating through his head. "What gala?"
"The Annual Wayne Charity Gala?"
"Oh." He blinked once. Twice. "That's today?"
"Yep." Dick hummed and moved his brother to sit at the table, emptying a burnt mess from hell onto a plate. "Eat up."
"I can't go to a gala with Joker still out there."
Dick sighed dramatically. "Well, Bruce is announcing Selina at the gala, so you have to be there. Besides, we can always-"
"I'm not going."

Dick stared at him, piercing blue clashing with piercing blue in a battle of wills. Dick knew that Jason's soulmate would be at the gala. Jason thought his soulmate would be at home, safe where no one could touch her, and was ready to spend his evening beside her instead of in a tux. Dick knew that Jason would die all over again if he caught half a glimpse of his soulmate dressed up at the gala. Jason kept his lives so firmly divided that the thought of seeing his soulmate at Wayne Manor, under the roof of his childhood home where he was just Jason Todd and not Red Hood, wasn't even in the realm of possibility. Dick knew the opposite to be true.

Jason saw the flicker of determination in Dick's eyes the second Dick came to the realisation that he, Richard Grayson, was determined to see this plan through and win the bet. And if that meant personally wrangling Jason into a tux, he would do it.

Jason bolted.

Dick pounced.

Jason was still lethargic and Dick tackled him to the ground, pinned his arms behind his back in a police hold and looked around for something to tie him up with while Jason yelled profanities at him.

"Ooh," Dick said, "don't let Alfie catch you saying that one."
"Get off me, you nimble limbed oaf-"
"If you don't get yourself in that tux-"
"I don't wanna go to the-"
"I'll do it myself-"
"Stupid gala-"
"Remember that time I tied you to-"
"I want to find Joker so I-"
"The tree and-"
"Can-"
"Left-"
"Kill-"
"You-"
"Him-"
"There- HA!"

Dick sat atop Jason proudly, having used three dish towels to tie his hands together. It wouldn't last very long, but just enough to get Jason into the bathroom, where he would lock him until he showered and shaved. Pulling his brother up with the ease of a practiced detective, Dick escorted him to the bathroom, dragging him in while Jason tried to run.

Dick almost had him in the tub when there was a click and a bucket of water tipped over, drenching him through a trap door in the ceiling. Then, to make matters worse, he was zapped mercilessly with a taser hidden somewhere in the walls. Jason laughed so hard he tripped and fell into the tub, his legs sticking out haphazardly, and Dick spasmed on the floor, shaking off the lingering shocks.

"You re-booby trapped it?" Dick shouted when the shock wore off and he lurched to his feet with a wet squelch, the fabric of his shirt sticking to him like a second skin.
"'Course I did."
"Who the heck booby traps a bathroom? And why?" Jason looked pointedly at Dick and then down at himself, still tied up and in the tub against his will. "Fair enough. Get showered or I'll do it myself."

Jason knew he meant it, so he sighed and started working on untying himself. Dick pulled the door shut fast but his younger brother saw the flash of a dimple in his cheek and let out a tortured groan. Richard Grayson was up to something.

~~

Deep in the Gotham underworld, in a place so dark and dangerous that not even the most seasoned criminals would dare venture close, the Joker was hard at work.

From the doorway, the makeshift lab looked smaller than it was because the old desks and tables that had been pushed together filled the room. Stolen equipment and chemicals littered the space and there was a chalkboard, messy with mad ramblings and equations that didn't add up, pushed up against the window which looked out on the street.

The building was unassuming on the street level, and though the window sometimes lit up around the edges, no one paid it any notice. This was the kind of neighbourhood where information was currency but silence was law.

Joker moved around the room, a happy little pep to his step because his formula was finally worsening. His captive, the chemist, was strapped to a chair beside the chalkboard, shaking his head and mumbling behind the gag every time Joker made progress. He understood just how deadly the gorgeous swirls of gas dancing around the tank were, he knew exactly which chemicals would react and how severely. It was pathetic, really, and Joker had cackled when the man struggled against his restrains.

"Aww," the clown cooed at the time, "you don' wike that? You don' wike it? Poor wittwe hero gonna save the day?"
And then Joker injected him with the base formula, which had worn off rather quickly, so he got back to work.

Now, the man was smiling ear to ear, crying and laughing uncontrollably, though his face was spasming into neutrality and Joker couldn't have his gas wearing off like that. He didn't have access to the same chemicals he did before his pesky rival barred him from the black market. No one would sell to him, not even Falcone and not even when he held the man at gunpoint. So he'd had to improvise. Break into three research labs and storage facilities simultaneously and hope the Bats only caught one of them. And they did. The other break ins hadn't triggered silent alarms, and what the chemicals lacked in quality, they made up for in quantity.

Joker was almost ready for the gala. He was almost ready to exact his revenge on the boy who lived, who evaded him and then had nerve to come back, not only to life, but to Gotham- which was his city, by the way- and steal his former alias and blackmail his crime lords. Oh revenge would be his. And would be sweet. And he would enjoy it thoroughly.

The cloudy green liquid bubbled as he fed it into a syringe, drawing the plunger all the way back to fill it completely. He approached the terrified man, who had stopped laughing and was now just crying to be released.
"Please," the chemist begged. "Please, I'll do anything. I'll cook for you, I'll help perfect your formula. I can-"
"All I need you to do," Joker said lowly, his rank breath fanning over the chemist, "is test this out."

The chemist was injected and then- there was a beat. A moment where the man's eyes bulged deliciously and his tongue darted out to lick at his lips. Joker leaned closer, savouring the way fear hung heavy in the air and terror manifested on the chemist's face with a smile. Then he started laughing and laughing and laughing and- oh, Joker could just eat it up, the first of a five course Michelin star meal laid out before him, and he couldn't wait for the other courses to begin.

~~

Lois and Clark left before you did. They claimed it was to get a feel for the space, but when Clark left the room to search for Lois' purse, she leaned down to whisper in your ear that Clark actually liked going early for the little finger foods. She liked scoping out the seating arrangements and making sure her table wasn't filled with 'capitalistic dicks.' You told her to put that in an article and she laughed.

Clark had come back with an eye on his watch and one on you and Lois. He complimented your dress and then linked his fingers with Lois and told her they needed to get going.
"Finger foods," she mouthed at you, wiggling her eyebrows before her soulmate pulled her out of the doorway. They yelled their goodbyes and you heard the front door slam shut.

There was a stillness that fell over your apartment then, and you couldn't help feeling alone. You wished you could give Hood a call or even send him a text, but if he wasn't out chasing villains, he would have been here already and you didn't want to interrupt his patrol.

Besides, you still had some time before the gala started and you needed to get your head on straight. "Right," you said to yourself in the mirror, "this is a work thing. You need to get something tangible about Jason Todd and find a way to connect him to you. Death certificate, I need a death certificate or concrete evidence that he's dead, that he was my soulmate- anything works at this point- and then I can go after Joker for using his name and..."

You drummed your fingers on your table. You hadn't actually thought your plan out this far, but you knew exactly what you wanted now: justice and an article.

You'll never forget the heat that had licked up your wrist the day he died. The sheer agony that pierced you from the marrow inside your wrist, straight to the valley of your ribs where roses bloomed and died and withered all at once. There was a mark on your soul, a cliff that ended where his soul once began and yours ended. You remembered the emptiness that came with knowing your soul was incomplete, being so aware of something lost despite not knowing was there in the first place.

You had to admit that some small part of you thought he wasn't dead, and you needed to confront that. Chasing down Joker- a madman, you reminded yourself harshly- had only been deepening your delusions that Jason Todd would miraculously rise from the dead and sweep you off your feet. It was almost insane how the mad ramblings of a clown had almost convinced you that your soulmate was still alive and exacting revenge on his killer from beyond the grave.

"Head on straight," you reminded yourself in the mirror. "I need a plan."

Step one: Find the death certificate.
Step two: Attend the gala like a normal person who didn't just plan and execute a B&E.
Step three: Write an article to provoke Joker out of hiding.
Step four: Get Joker locked up.

With a newfound determination, you pinned your hair up into an elegant updo and stood, grabbing your clutch and heels. You stopped at the front door, three fingers on the door handle.

Deep breath in. Hold it. Out, slowly.
You were ready.

~~

"This suit is itchy," Tim complained, tugging at his collar. Jason yanked his brother's hand away from his neck and shoved him in between Damian and Cass. "What's your problem-"
"I need you to cover for me," Jason said. "Joker is out there and I can't keep an eye on my soulmate if I'm here."
"Isn't she- oof!" Tim doubled over, courtesy of Cass and Damian's elbows. "Never mind. Dunno what I was thinking, of course not."
"Todd," Damian cleared his throat, "Brown and Harper have this under control. I would suggest you sit down and don't cause a scene."
"But-"
"I will tell father about the nail gun."
Jason levelled Damian with a look. "You wouldn't."
"Sit down, Todd."

Jason ended up at a table, bouncing his leg and counting down the seconds until he could swap shifts with Steph and Duke. He needed to be out there. He needed to be- a flash of red caught his eye and... surely not?- on the streets hunting down the- there it was again. He stood and had to shake off Damian's grip on his sleeve. He leaned to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the familiar side profile gliding through the ballroom.

Holy shit.

~~

"Hi, stranger." A hand tapped your shoulder and you turned to find Duke dusting off his suit. "Dick didn't think you were coming, press usually gets here early."
"Yeah, well, I was busy giving myself a pep talk. Is that blood?"
Duke wiped his thumb over his upper lip with a grimace. "Uhh, no. Just ketchup."
"Speaking of, where is your brother?"
"Probably monitoring when the crab cakes come out and making his rounds at the same time." Duke looked down at his watch. "I have to go, but I'm sure you'll catch him if you take a walk around."

So you did. You took a lap around the ballroom, looking for Lois, Clark, Richard and a way into the rest of the manor. You found Lois entertaining a crowd with Clark at her side. He was sipping on champagne with her clutch tucked in the crook of her arm and when you saw her make a sweeping gesture, you knew why. You were drawn in and introduced before you spotted someone you knew and excused yourself.

The boy was walking quicker than anyone attending a gala needed to be, and his lanky frame swerved precariously around a waiter, nearly knocking the tray to the ground. He steadied the tray and muttered a few apologies before he stalked off. He made it about five steps before he spotted you and froze, mouth agape. He was definitely the kid who'd been stranded on the side of the road- the one whose brother blew him off for his girlfriend.

You saw it the moment he changed course and headed for you, a smile plastering itself onto his face. "Hey, fancy seeing you here."
"Got ahold of your RedBull?"
He frowned and patted his pockets like there were cans sitting there. Coming up empty, he looked back up at you and asked, "what makes you say that?"
You gestured between his eyes. "You look tired."
"Are you-" his hands came up to feel at his face, trace the dark shadows there, "are you saying I have eyebags? Damn, I knew I should've used Steph's skincare."
"Well, that's two Wayne's you've insulted now," a smooth voice interrupted. "First you call me constipated and now you tell Timbit he's got eyebags."
"Hello Richard."
He smiled and held up his hand, which was linked with a redhead's. "Hi. This is my wife Kori." Richard released her fingers so that she could shake your hand and exchange pleasantries, and then wrapped an arm around her waist.

All you could think was holy shit that's Starfire. Superhero and famed model, you would kill for an interview with her, though you doubted now was an appropriate time to drop your questions about her home planet. The second thought that slammed into was how many freaking Wayne siblings are there and how many had you accidentally met?

"Anyway, you aren't entirely wrong; Tim does look tired." Richard reached over and flicked his nose. "You should ask Steph for some tips."
"Hey!"
"Oh hey, you found him," Duke sidled up to the group. "Dick, the caterers are looking for you. There's some type of emergency in the kitchen, and Dami wants you to know that Jay is trying to dip."
"Shit."
"Do you want me to accompany you?" Kori asked. "I am excellent at diffusing situations and cooking, although you are aware of that already."
"Please." Before he left, he jabbed a finger at Tim and said, "go help Dami."

Tim waited until Richard was out of earshot before he groaned and doubled over. Duke shifted to shield his body from the rest of the room which put him shoulder to shoulder with you. "He does this sometimes."
"It hurts," Tim said, but it was muffled by his palms clamped over his mouth. When he was done pretending he had period cramps, he straightened up and pouted. "Why do I have to help Dami?"
"Because he likes you best. He's probably in the study."

Your heart jumped. The study sounded like a great place to start snooping, you just needed to find an excuse to leave the ballroom. Maybe you could sneak out and follow Tim, but you figured the Manor was empty and he would definitely notice.

Instead, you settled for, "is there a bathroom here?"
"I... actually don't know," Duke admitted and looked at Tim, who shook his head.
"Usually people have Alfie escort them, but I can take you since I'm on my way there."

Aaaaand that was your out. You accepted and Tim held out an arm in a gentlemanly fashion, walking you to the large door. Just before you slipped out, you caught sight of a white streak that looked an awful lot like... no. You let the door close behind you. You couldn't think like that.

"You think you can find your way back?" Tim asked when you reached a dark oak door. You nodded and recounted the directions back to the ballroom. He corrected you and once he was satisfied he laughed and said, "great, because if you take the wrong left past that statue, you'll end up in Bruce's study which is, like, this creepy gothic room that might be booby trapped."

Oh this was too easy.

"Wouldn't want that," you said and Tim agreed. Then you had to go into the bathroom (for appearances sake, obviously) where you, once again, found yourself in a staring competition with your reflection.

She didn't look at all like you- she was polished and had a healthy glow to her. She looked like she was attending a gala as a member of the Gotham Gazette. She didn't look like she was ready to start dealing out a healthy dose of revenge or snoop through a billionaire socialite's private files.

You left the bathroom and made sure to take the wrong left into Bruce Wayne's study. Tim was right; it was definitely a little creepy and decorated in gothic Victorian fashion with a huge curved window behind the imposing high backed chair, though it was draped with dark fabric to block out most outside light.

There was a lit fireplace against the wall connected to the door and in front of it, a dark wooden table that sat low to the ground. There were papers, official looking documents tossed carelessly across the surface and a mug that read 'Worlds Greatest Dad' on a Batman themed coaster. You crept closer, nearly caught your heel on the edge of the Persian rug, and crouched to scan one of the documents.

Nothing stood out to you, so you shuffled through the files, one titled 'Oliver Queen,' another titled 'Payment to Batman'- which you made a mental note to come back to- and finally the third one, which was called 'Legal CPR.' You skimmed through the last one and caught one- or rather three- important names: Jason Peter Todd.

You frowned at the name of the folder, folding it over to double check the name. It definitely said 'Legal CPR,' but why would-?

The light blinked on.

"You know, usually thieves go for the safe."
You pivoted on one heel, intending to stand- and tripped on the length of your gown. The clumsy move chafed your knee against the expensive rug but there was no time to dwell on it because Bruce Wayne was standing there with Selina Kyle on his arm.

"I wasn't stealing."
"I know," Bruce said pleasantly, walking further into the room. "Those papers aren't all that valuable unless you want information on my son."
"His son isn't that interesting either," Selina laughed, "not unless you're into tall broody types."
"Please don't offer me your son," you blurted. "Four kids have already offered to set me up with their brothers- two of them were actually your sons and- oh my gosh I hope they didn't mean each other."

Bruce snorted and then slapped a hand over his mouth like he was shocked he could even make a sound like that. "No, ah, I wasn't going to and I doubt they meant each other, not to worry."
"You can look," Selina said, pointing to the documents. Bruce mumbled his agreement and narrowed his eyes at you, probably trying to place you. "Nothing on that table is going to be confidential in a few months."

You glanced between the couple- because they were very obviously a couple- and something clicked. They were the big news of the night and the only reason Richard invited you was because he thought it would give you something to write about that wasn't his dead brother. Their soulmarks were probably on their person somewhere you couldn't see, but the love that bound them was so clear it might have wrapped them up in a warm blanket of sunshine.

You glanced back at the documents on the coffee table, turning in a way that had the heat of the fireplace spiralling up your neck. "I think I'm good, thanks. And sorry," you said to Bruce, "I didn't mean to snoop."
"I think you did, but it's okay."

You made for the door, which they were blocking, and the couple moved out of the way for you. You felt their eyes on you when you reached to let yourself out and Selina threw out a parting remark, "cute tattoo."
"Than- wait, what tattoo?" You tried looking down over your shoulder. You were sure there was nothing on your back- you'd looked after Hood touched you that first and only time. "I don't have any tattoos back there."

There was a horrible silence broken by a sharp intake, a gasped "Bruce-" and then Selina's nimble fingers were on your shoulders, smoothing down the skin at the nape of your neck. You heard a phone unlock and then the shutter.

"Look," Selina handed her phone to you. "You wouldn't be able to see it in the mirror, but the initials are there."
There, in stark black ink, were the initials JPT.

Chapter Text

It made no sense and all the sense in the world. The initials had appeared on the most inconvenient part of your body, and it was no wonder you hadn't noticed it sooner because whenever you turned your neck to catch a glimpse of it, the letters turned too.

"It doesn't make sense, it can't be true, there's got to be some sort of mistake," you rambled, pressing two fingertips to your temple as darkness tinged the edges of your vision. "I think I'm going to be sick."

You were not, in fact, sick, but when you blinked open your eyes again, Bruce (freaking Wayne) and Selina (freaking Kyle) each had a hand on your elbow and were helping you lower yourself into a chair, where you thumbed at the scar on your wrist. The couple exchanged a look- one that told you they knew more than you did.

"Did you know him?" Selina asked, but something told you she already knew the answer to that. When you shook your head no, she took ahold of Bruce's hand. "And it's the same initials?" You nodded. "Well, maybe he's not dead then."

There was a tense silence and you contemplated what they meant. Jason Peter Todd was alive. Denial suddenly ran hot like a tap that's been turned too far to the left and you felt a wave of anger take over you. "What the actual fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to tell me that... that he's been alive all these years? And that I'm just-" you cursed as you slammed the top of your knee into the coffee table, which rocked over dangerously. It would have tipped over, but Selina was there in an instant, steadying it and looking at you with pity.

"Please, please just tell me this is some sick prank." The socialite pressed her lips together and shrugged apologetically. You paced around the table. "Please, just tell me it's a joke. I'm... I'll do anything, just tell me this isn't real. Maybe I'll wake up soon, maybe I'm going to wake up. Right?"

Neither one moved. When the silence started ringing in your ears, you groaned and put your head on your knees, bent over to cover your ears, tears glossing over your eyes but nor falling- not yet. You were too worked up to cry, too angry and overwhelmed and ready to grieve a life you thought had been lost.

You must have blacked out again because when you came to, Bruce and Selina were talking in hushed tones while you thought back to every possible encounter that might have led to this. If Lois had seen it earlier, would you have still come? And then if you did? You probably would have looked for him, and this was everything you needed to prove that Jason Peter Todd was not your soulmate, because he was most definitely dead.

You stared into the fire and felt the walls close in, taunting and mocking. You had fed your own delusions in the hopes of... what, putting away a murderous clown who wanted revenge on a dead kid? You needed out.

"I should leave-"
"We want to give you an exclusive," Bruce cut you off. "Obviously there's a lot of emotions running high and we were supposed to announce this at the gala, but I think there's something else we need to announce."

What. On. Earth.

"An exclusive?" They nodded. "For the Gazette?" They nodded again. "About-" you gestured between the two of them and two matching smiles lit up when they nodded once again. Maybe it was pity, maybe it really was convenience that they needed to announce something else, you weren't complaining because an exclusive from Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle about their relationship status was bound to be a hit, especially if they really meant exclusive.

"Are you sure?"
Selina's eyes glittered and you saw them flick to the papers on the coffee table before she dragged Bruce to the loveseat. "Oh, absolutely."

~~

Jason was ready to pull his hair out. His siblings were acting sketchy, Tim had disappeared with you and come back alone, and he couldn't for the life of him find Bruce or Selina. He also, apparently, wasn't allowed to leave the ballroom because every time he did, Damian appeared and threatened to expose one of his many secrets.

So he took a lap around the ballroom. And then another one. And another, and another until he ran into Clark and Lois, who were pleased to see him but had an inane amount of questions about being kidnapped by the Joker. He answered as politely as he could and then escaped, intent on tracking down his siblings and having an emergency meeting in the corner of the ballroom.

He found Cass first, who was in a lilac gown and more than happy to go along with him, and then Tim had come back into the ballroom, so he grabbed him by the elbow and dragged them to a table.

"Stay here," he ordered, "I'm getting everyone else for a family meeting."
Tim yawned and shrugged, slumping back in the ornately decorated chair. "Whatever, Jay, you could've just texted instead of being so dramatic."
"Ugh fine."

He shot off a text to the groupchat: family meeting northwest corner ballroom asap.

Jason hated when Tim was right, because when Tim was right- which was most of the time- he tended to get all smug and high and mighty about it. It made him want to punch the arrogant smile clean off his face and see how big headed he looked then.

So when his family appeared within moments, Damian looking suspiciously well-armed with a knife sticking out of his cuff, Duke eating a crème brûlée and Dick with his hair standing on end from running around and putting out fires (literally- Jason saw one of the guests accidentally knock over a candelabra and Dick had singlehandedly saved the curtains).

"Where's Kori?"
"On shift, helping Roy."
Jason nearly screamed. "I could have gone."
"No," Tim said pointedly, "you could not have, because you're a Wayne."
"I'm not even legally alive."
"Yet," Duke said around a mouthful of food. "Didn't you say Bruce is figuring that shit out?"

As much as it pained him to admit that his father was handling the legalities, Jason knew it would have been harder to 'come back to life' by himself. Especially if the authorities started asking questions.

"He is. Anyway, I need your help."
"Finally you admit your faults, it is about time, Todd," Damian tsked.
"What, all of us?" Tim rolled his neck and sighed at the ceiling. "What could you possibly want from all of us?"
"Remember that journalist? She's here."
"Oh!" Duke pointed at him, "your soulmate, right? She's great. I met her when she took a trip to-oowww, Dick that hurt, man."

Dick's elbow was lodged in Duke's gut and Damian was trying to sneak off, alarm written over his face. Jason dragged him back by his ear and turned stonily to glare at Dick. "What did you do, Dickhead?"
"I only told Babs and Kori, I promise!"
"Babs told Steph," Tim said unhelpfully, "and she told me, so I told Dami and then-"
"Dami told me," Duke offered.
Damian huffed, still being held by the scruff of his neck. "Traitor."
"Who told Cass?" Jason looked between them and Cass pointed at Duke. "Does Bruce know?" They all exchanged looks that told him yes, his father did know. "Who told Bruce?"

None of them moved. None of them even breathed. Jason narrowed his eyes, ready to start pointing fingers when Alfred approached and cleared his throat.

"Excuse my interruption," he said in a tone that indicated he was not in the mood for their bullshit, "but you all look deranged, and need to disperse immediately. Master Jason, if you need an escape, I suggest the study."

And just like that, the siblings were scattering around the ballroom and Jason was sneaking off to Bruce's study for some quiet time before he faced the music. Just before he could pull the huge double doors open, they swung inwards and almost hit him in the face. Bruce and Selina emerged looking radiant as ever. They didn't look like a couple despite the fact that they would be announcing it later, both keeping their hands firmly to themselves. Odd.

"Jason!" Selina pulled him into a hug. "Where are you running off to? We need you here at nine for the announcement."
"It's only half-past-seven," he mumbled and tried to extract himself. He glanced at Bruce for help but the older man just shrugged as if to say 'what can I do? She's affectionate.'

"Be back at nine, Jaylad. It's important," Bruce said. He didn't object to Jason sneaking off, so when the couple turned their attention away from him, Jason slipped out.

~~

You put your recorder into your clutch and scribbled down a few notes on the notepad you brought. Your boss was going to be elated. The Gazette had been fighting Channel 6 for exclusives since the beginning of time, and although you had only been there a month, the Gazette already had your loyalty.

You heard the door open and close and you knew, immediately, it wasn't Bruce or Selina back for something. They had sat, hand in hand, on the loveseat while you interviewed them for forty minutes and then turned the study lights off at your request and left, but not before you stopped them with an outstretched hand- "do you mind if I go through that file?"
Bruce had squinted at the title over your shoulder and shrugged. "Go for it- like I said, this is going public soon anyway."

When you were alone, you started flipping through the file and every paragraph dragged you closer to tears. He was alive, and the documents were legalities to 'bring someone back to life.' There were a few notes that made you snort at the blatant nepotism of it all, like the one that said 'bribe office' and another that said 'hefty donation to library.'

You were skimming the last few pages when you heard the door click open behind you, making you jump out of fright. It wasn't Bruce or Selina back to retrieve something, surely, but a voice spoke up behind you before you could react.

"Oh. Hi," a man said. You swivelled around on the ottoman. He was tall, handsome and had blue eyes like heavy rainfall during a sunny day, or a lake that was only dark because of its depth.

He rubbed a hand up the back of his neck and you tilted your head. You just couldn't place the familiarity that soothed over your tense shoulders. "Hi?"
"Hey," he said, twisting around to look at the door. "I just came in here for some quiet time. I can go-"
"No," you found yourself blurting, "you can stay, I really don't mind."

He moved towards the fireplace where Bruce left a tumbler of brandy and poured himself a glass. When he faced you again, the light caught his hair and a white streak fell perfectly across and tickled his forehead. In the dim lighting, his hair looked the same colour, but when he moved just so, the fire caught on that one strand. Clarity slammed into you, a tidal wave come to destroy your peaceful beach town.

There was only one other person you knew with a white streak in his hair, and if your time in Gotham taught you anything, it was that coincidences just didn't exist anymore. You closed one eye and held two fingers up, covering the man's eyes from a distance, just to see if your theory had merit. You would know him anywhere with a domino mask.

Words eluded you and when your voice came back, it sounded like you were behind a glass wall. "It's you."
He took a step back, shook his head, and you took one forward.

"My name is Jason," he said hoarsely and you almost believed he wasn't just trying to protect his cover, but it was all there: the scratch on his jaw from when Joker kidnapped you, the tell tale streak in his hair- even the mannerisms; he curved his neck down to look you in the eye when you spoke and rolled his shoulders back.

Though his voice wasn't modulated, he still spoke in that same calm but haunted, gentle but firm tone, the one that told you he grew up never having to keep himself in check, but tried to now. For your sake? Maybe.

"Hood," you said. "You're Hood."
"Uhh..." His eyes darted around you, up to the walls and down to the fireplace like the flames had been the one to rat him out. You followed every step he took away with one of your own, closing in on him. "I don't know what you're talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"No," he insisted, "no I don't."
"Yes, you do."
"I definitely don't know what you mean."

You suppressed the urge to stamp your foot like a child and took a deep breath instead. Then you let it out and then took another one until you weren't feeling so heated. Hood- or Jason- was staring at you with something in between fascination and adoration.

"Just drop it already," you said, "I know it's you. Also, Jason? Really? Pulling a name from a case I'm working isn't going to get you anywhere." You raised your hands before he could tell you who he was- or wasn't- again. "I know, I know. Not Hood, definitely Jason but I don't be- hey, are you listening to me?"

He was staring intently at your wrist and you realised it was the first time he'd seen you out of long sleeved shirts. Then, he reached over and cupped your wrist gently, pulled you closer so that he could look at the scar there. As soon as he touched you, you felt it again: the sparks from the riverbank.

An electric current that tied the two of you together, a bright, burning blaze and the cool rush of air that brushes over rain soaked bodies escaping the downpour.

Lois was right, you couldn't mistake soulmate sparks. But then-? Wait. You twitched when his thumb brushed over the letters. The Red Hood was your soulmate. Jason Todd was your soulmate. Hadn't he mentioned something about dying before? Maybe when his heart stopped, the bond had broken only to be resuscitated with him and-

Jason was the Red Hood.

"Your soulmate died," he said, voice rough. His thumb brushed over the lettering there once, twice, and then he released you. "Did it hurt?"
"Like hell," you told him. "Worst pain I ever felt."
It was like a solid brick wall slammed down between you then, and he backed away from you until the back of his knees hit the sofa. "I'm sorry."
"Hood, I need to tell you-"
"I told you I don't know who that is," he said brusquely and you slammed your mouth shut.

He'd never spoken to you like that before, not even when you argued, and the harsh gravel in his voice made you flinch back.

~~

She'd been hurt, scarred, by his death and Jason didn't know what to do with that. Maybe when he died, something had gotten screwed up- she was his soulmate because he came back to life, but he was no longer hers. The tie had been severed on her end and he just had to figure out how to be okay with that.

It was probably better, he reasoned with himself, she could go on to be with someone more normal. Someone less damaged, less violent. Someone whose very existence wouldn't put her in danger.

He stared at you with fresh eyes and felt the sweet burn of the soulmark under his dress shirt. He knew what he needed to do.

~~

"Hood," you said and waved your hand in front of his face. He completely zoned out a minute ago and you couldn't figure out why. "What's happening, are you okay?"
"Fine," he said, blinking rapidly all of a sudden and you sat on the coffee table, right in front of him. Gosh his eyes were gorgeous. "And I told you, I'm not the Red Hood."
You pointed at him triumphantly and a grin snaked over your face slowly. "Ha! No one said anything about a 'Red Hood,' I just called you 'Hood.'"

~~

Fuck it was hard to push her away when she was so cute. Jason squared up for what was sure to be the hardest thing he would ever have to do.

~~

"Anyway," you waved him off. "I need to tell you something."
"Sure," he said dryly.
"I found my soulmark."
"Really? That's great." He didn't sound like he thought it was great. He must not have seen it in the dim lighting when he came in.
"Can I see yours?"
He flinched like you slapped him. "No."
"Why not?"
"I don't have one."
"Now I know you're lying, Hood. I also know you're the Jason Peter Todd I was reading up on." You poked him in the chest with one sharp nail. "I read the Legal CPR file, I know you're alive and I know you're the Hood."

He leapt from the couch and a shard of hurt pierced your chest. Was he so upset that he couldn't bear to be near you? Was the proximity so painful? The distance grew as he escaped to stand behind the desk at the far side of the room. You followed, because you refused to let him make whatever decision this was alone.

"Hood- look," you said and turned around, tapping the initials on the back of your neck. His silence spoke volumes and when you turned back to face him, confusion, dread, joy and realisation played across his features, pooling in all at once like the opening of a dam. You couldn't tell how he was feeling, just that he was coming to the same realisation as you.

And then he turned his face away from you deliberately. "If you really figured it out," he said and leaned forward on his fists, "you would know exactly why we can't be having this conversation."
"I really don't."
"I'm dangerous."
You shrugged. "Most people in Gotham are."
"But-"
"Are you telling me," you said slowly, "that you didn't know either?"

With the way his cheeks turned pink and he pressed his lips together that much tighter, you knew a 'yes' would be a lie. He did know. Jason sighed and walked around the desk, back to the fireplace. Your feet were starting to hurt with how much he was moving around, but you figured the movement probably helped him process or at least give him the illusion that he could escape his problems with physical distance.

"You don't get to make this decision alone," you said to his back. "I know what you're worried about; putting me in danger, but I can handle myself."

He just stood there, gripping the mantelpiece, heat licking over his cheek and you watched the rise and fall of his back, watched him roll his shoulders back before he spoke, quieting his voice to a hush.

"I need to know," he said, "I need to you that you felt it that day, when we escaped. Tell me it wasn't just me who felt it?"
The breath left you all at once. "I felt it, I just thought it was static."
"Static," he said humourlessly and muttered your name amusedly. "Only you."

And then you realised you had never said his name. You called him Hood all the time, but since you found it out, you hadn't once called him Jason.

"Jason?" You tested his name, a slight lilt to your voice. He really didn't seem to be taking this very well, but you liked the way his name sounded out loud, so you said it again. "Jason. Jason. You have a nice name. Jay-son. Jason-"
"Fuck it," he said and in an instant he was there, and his hands were on you, on your waist and your neck and his fingers were rubbing the place where his initials sat, and then cupping your face, pulling you closer, and you were straining up on your tiptoes as much as you could in heels because his lips were brushing against yours with urgency. He tasted like the gold of a songbird's early morning melody, frozen mid-air in a whimsical swirl of mania.

You gripped Jason's suit jacket with one hand to anchor yourself and gripped his bicep with the other, fitting against him perfectly. He was so much taller than you, having to crane his neck down while his lips moved against yours. The kiss was frantic. Feverish. Heated.

It was as if the world had shifted an inch over to the right overnight, and you couldn't quite place why you felt so late to a party that hadn't even started. He said your name like a prayer. To you, to the fates that tied your destinies together in tangled red string, to the altar that he had been sacrificed on in both life and death to have brought him to this moment. He was a dead man come back to life- to you- and he had a desperate hunger that gnawed at the soft marrow his chest, begging to be set free.

"Jason," you sighed into his mouth as he pulled away slightly, mumbling sweet nothings while he pressed soft kisses to your lower lip, your jaw, your neck. He flattened himself closer to you, trying to meld himself to you. You could hardly tell where he ended and you began and then his mouth was on yours again.

"I thought you were dead," you said softly against him, running your hand up and down the back of his head. You carded through his soft hair like blades of grass.
"I was, for almost five years." He moved to tuck his nose under your jaw but you pulled back, holding him at arms length- literally- and his eyes widened like a kicked puppy. You took his face in your hands and forced him to look at you.

"What do you mean five years?"
"I told you, I died and came back to life."
"Yeah, but I thought you meant like, CPR or flatlined or something," you shoved him away, hands on your hips and ready to argue. "How could you be dead for five years and still be standing here looking like..." you looked him up and down. "That."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lip and he ducked down to look you in the eye. "Are you saying I'm handsome for a dead man?"
"Well... yes, but that isn't the point." You shoved one finger into the place below his collarbone and put your nose close to his, relishing in the fact that you didn't have to keep the faux intentional distance between you. "Explain. Now."

So he sat you down and he told you. He told you all about his mother luring him to Ethiopia, about Joker and the crowbar and the way he passed out and woke up in a coffin five years later. He didn't spare a single detail and you suddenly felt terrible about going to see Sheila.

He explained that he met his brother, Damian- "the kid you met at Park Row," he told you in the League of Assassins. He told you about the Lazarus Pit and his eyes started glowing slightly; "A lasting side effect," he muttered and squeezed them shut, rubbing at his temples.

When he got into his return to Gotham, he didn't look at you. He explained the pit madness, his relationship with Tim, how he'd almost killed his brother and still hated that he was that person. But that he was different now.

You listened until the door burst open and a frenzied looking old man pointed at you, then Jason, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder and said, "You're needed in the ballroom, Master Jason, urgently."

Chapter Text

You rushed into the ballroom with Jason's hand in yours to see Bruce Wayne up on the makeshift stage, a small group of press gathered in front of him. You pressed one last lingering peck to the back of his hand before you unwound yourself from him and joined the press.

"I am pleased to announce," Bruce said, his eyes skimming over you and then behind you to settle on Jason. A perfectly timed smile broke over his face and he finished, "that my son, Jason Todd has returned!"

Your jaw dopped. Oh he meant going public soon soon.

~~

"-my son, Jason Todd has returned!" Bruce held his arms open and the cameras flashed wildly. Jason froze in place, hands halfway shoved in his pockets and his hair still mussed from where your hands had run through it.

Bruce met his eyes and tilted his head slightly, the universal parental gesture that said "get up here." Jason's response was to point at himself in disbelief. He thought they were announcing Sebrucia or Brulina or whatever strange shipname his siblings had come up for Selina and Bruce.

"Let's welcome Jason to the stage," Bruce said, a prompt that got his feet moving on autopilot. He weaved through the crowd and up the short steps where Bruce clapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him into a hug that didn't feel like it was entirely geared towards uplifting the optics.

He heard the cameras go off again and then his father was whispering, "give them a short speech, say thank you and walk off."
"But I don't-"

And then Bruce was pulling away and moving off to the side and Jason was alone in front of at least seven hundred pairs of eager eyes and a crowd of vultures- wait, no, he could barely call the press that when you were one of them.

"Uhh, hi." The cameras flashed and pens moved across pads of paper. "I'm grateful to be back and while I can't give you all the details-" he cut a look to Bruce, who inclined his head in confirmation- "I just want to say that I'm so grateful to be back with my family- and the new siblings I've gained-" he was such a good liar- "It's great to be back around so many people who make me feel loved and never stopped believing in me even after- even after my supposed- uhh..."

He found Dick in the crowd, who had two arms around Kori's waist while he typed furiously on his phone. Odd, Dick was usually attentive during this part of the night, or running around and ordering people around.
"Supposed death," he continued, still searching. "It was a difficult time for everyone, and while I've been back for almost four-" he saw Alfred's head shoot up from where he was conversing with a caterer- "sorry, three years, the legal process has taken some time to get through, hence the late announcement."

Then Jason saw Tim and Damian elbowing each other near the door, both of their eyes fixed on their phones, and Duke behind them muttering words that Jason made out to be "tell them I said my day wins." Cass was with Selina, whispering to each other in a way that was subtle to most people, but not Jason. What in the name of the Lazarus Pit was happening?

"There have been-" there was a loud chime and everyone's attention snagged on Bruce Wayne, whose attention was solely on... his cellphone. Jason cleared his throat and Bruce looked up with wide eyes. His father smiled easily and lifted an apologetic hand, waving for Jason to continue. "There have been some circumstances which inhibited legal resurrection, but the process has been every bit worth it. Thank you so much for your time, I hope you have a wonderful night."

Just as Jason was walking off the stage, the lights flickered and the patrons gasped, looking up and at each other. Jason felt it like a feather trailing up the back of his neck and yelled out, "get down!"

Everyone dove for the floor as an explosion rocked the ballroom. Jason saw Tim, Damian and Duke shuffle away from the double doors just before they were blown wide open and the Joker waltzed in. He was followed by at least twenty of his men wearing masks printed with Bruce Wayne's face. Another explosion went off and there were a series of yelps.

Jason searched for you and sighed when he met your eyes, giving you a sharp nod to stay down. Then, he scooted over to Bruce, who was eyeing the service entrance. "Don't."

"A party," Joker clasped his hands over the place where his cold rotten heart beat. "And I wasn't invited. Gosh it hurts to be left out."
"What do you want?" Jason asked, standing to his full height. Bruce needed to stay here, keep the attention on himself while the rest of the Bats snuck off to the cave.

"Oh," Joker waved a hand around, giggling, "I don't want anything to do with Daddy dearest, I want you."
"Done," Jason said without hesitating, "you can have me, just let everyone else go."

~~

You could not believe what you were hearing and seeing. Jason was giving himself up, taking cautious steps towards Joker with his hands up in surrender. You could lose him in the same hour you found him- again. Your hands shook and you ran a hand up your cheek. Lois and Clark were crouched behind a table, but Clark could hardly go after Joker in his civilian attire.

The henchmen were tying guests to their chairs or just binding their hands behind their backs if they weren't seated. One of them approached the crowd of journalists at the base of the stage and a whimper escaped you. You saw Jason's eyes flick toward you. It was momentary and he barely even reacted, but Joker was smarter and more perceptive than you thought, because he reached into his vest and pulled two guns.

"Wait," he said to Jason and jerked the other gun in your direction. "You, get up and come here."
"Leave her out of it-"
"I remember you," Joker said when you got to your feet, wobbling a little on your heels. "You're that nosy little brat who snuck into my lair." When you were close enough, he tapped the gun against your chin. "You're supposed to be dead. I even left you that goodbye present on the bed."

You flushed at the memory of finding a box of condoms on the motel bed after you and Hood had gotten out of the ropes. Joker reached forward and gripped your cheeks between you fingers and in your periphery, you saw Jason twitch closer and Lois lunge forward.

You heard Lois shout your name, Clark at her back looking torn between his superhero identity and his civilian one. "Let her go! You get your hands off her or else-"
"Can you PLEASE shut up," Joker groaned. "We're trying to have a conversation over here."
"You're a psychopath," Lois spat and Clark pulled her away from the goon with a gun. "If you lay a single finger on her, I'll make sure your life is hell."
"Yes, yes, that's what they all say before they die," Joker chortled.

Lois was more angry than scared if the deepening red of her cheeks were anything to go by. The cool metal of the gun was still pressed dangerously close to your mouth and Jason hadn't looked at you once except when Joker had grabbed your face.

"Woah, no," Jason cut in. "No one is dying because I'm coming with you. I'm the one you failed to kill. I'm the one you want."
You figured speaking would only escalate the situation, so you kept your mouth shut despite wanting to beg Jason not to do it. He had to have a plan, he always did.

"Hmm..." Joker considered his words. He must have seen the sense in Jason's words because he twirled the gun around. There was a startled yelp behind you where one of the goons was tying guests to their chairs and you turned instinctively. There was a muttered curse from your soulmate and one cold, bony hand closed over the junction of your neck and shoulder.

"Well, well, well," Joker mused. "Would you look at that; soulmates."
"Don't touch her," Jason said, but Joker was already pulling you in front of him and shoving his gun against your temple. You met Jason's eyes and shook your head slightly. "You don't want her."
Joker dragged you back one step. "Maybe I do." Then another. "Hurting her will hurt you, won't it?" He laughed and the sound was a death rattle ringing through your ear. "Oh this is too good. She's coming with me, and if I see anyone come after us-" he fumbled with the gun and a syringe popped out of the muzzle, the needle kissing your neck. "I'll inject her with my very own concoction and my men will gas the room."

You were almost through the doors now and Jason was moving to follow. The clown pressed the needle harder against your neck and he stopped. "I'm not bluffing, she'll go insane before I get to have any fun if you follow us."

And then he was pulling you away from the ballroom, the needle hovering over your vein. There was a deadly sort of calm that overtook you and you let the villain manhandle you, dragging you down the corridor and up the stairs. You heard shouting from the ballroom and when you reached the third floor- gunshots. Loud enough to echo through the entire manor even as big as it was, and you stumbled up the next flight of stairs.

"That'll be my men," Joker giggled, pushing you forward. "I did tell them to shoot anyone they wanted as long as they kept it melodic."
"You're a psychopath."
"I prefer the term mentally unstable- psychopath is a medical term, you know."

There was another round of gunshots, a bang and then you heard Jason yelling your name. Joker's fingers banded tightly around your arm and he dragged you over to a window. Just as he raised his gun to shoot it, Jason appeared over the top of the stairs. You saw his lips shape your name over the sound of two bullets being fired: one at him, and the other at the window.
~~

Kori managed to knock out two guys and slide their weapons across to Dick, who chucked a gun over to Jason, who caught it and flung his arm back. The crack that resounded through the ballroom was followed by a yelp and then a solid thump as one of the masked intruders fell to the floor, unconscious. Jason fired a round of shots at two who were advancing on him, making sure they were left helpless just as Roy stormed in, outfitted in full Red Arrow gear.

"I have to-"
"Go get your girl," Roy said over his shoulder, drawing back an arrow, "I'll cover you."

Jason took off down the hallway, up the stairs, his heart pounding twice for every step he took too long to climb. The steady thump, thump, thump in his ears perfectly in tune with the urge to squeeze the trigger. His fingers twitched around the handle of the gun once, twice, and then he was there, stepping out of a broken window and onto a slippery roof.

The water pelted down in little plinks that turned into a whooshing blur of sound over the roof, and Jason stumbled over the worn shingles. Despite being well maintained, they had the sturdiness of something build so long ago that time had weathered through any defining characteristics, like a post card at the bottom of a drawer with a faded red blotch that was once a stamp, and writing that cut off mid-sentence because the ink had run its course.

There was a yelp and a crack from just over a part of the roof that was jutting out, and then your voice shouted out over the rain- "get off of me, you pessimistic bastard!"

Jason pulled himself up and over and then- BANG!

~~

You grappled with the Joker for his gun- well, other gun, which he'd whipped out in an attempt to intimidate you- and landed a kick to his shin, making him drop the syringe-gun and accidentally fire a shot off with the other. Like a wound up spring, his fingers lashed out to coil around your wrist, and he yanked you close enough that his breath was rank against your cheek. Gross. You squirmed and tried to get away but the cold press of metal against your temple stilled you.

"Now," he said, "that wasn't very polite, was it? Metropolians are supposed to have more manners than us Gothamites."
"Fuck you."
"Yeah," a voice echoed from behind Joker, "fuck you."
"Well, well, well," Joker said and pulled you in front of him. "If it isn't the dead little birdie whose wings flew him back up from hell."
"First of all, I was never in hell. Second of all, you have to stop calling me a dead little birdie when I'm standing right here."

The gun was pressed more firmly to your temple in response, and you felt the clown take a step closer to the edge of the roof, pulling you along with him. You struggled to keep your balance steady and the water drenching you down to the bone pierced something warm in your chest. You knew then, as the whoosh of the wind and rain briefly drowned out their conversation, that you would do whatever it took to keep Jason alive.

"Take me instead," Jason was saying when you came back to yourself. "It's me who came back, just let her go back in and you can have me."
"I could do that," Joker said, pretending to think, "but it would be so much more romantic to kill her and watch you mourn. Oh, the pain would be so delicious."
"Maybe like, momentarily," you muttered. "It scars over and stop hurting after a day, idiot."
"Idiot with a gun," Joker snarked back, tapping the weapon against your forehead and wrenching your head down to look at the drop from where you were stood. "Wouldn't that be a pretty place to die?"

You could see the vague shape of the syringe gun that had fallen below, and you noted a loose slab just at the edge of the roof where the rain was building up and then running around.

Jason clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his own gun, which he was loath to raise because it was almost impossible to guarantee your safety. "Just let her go. Please, I'm begging you."
"Maybe... no." Joker stepped at the same time Jason did, the former lunging for the edge and the latter raising his gun, which jammed thrice when he tried to fire off a shot. You twisted your body and yanked Joker as hard as you could, forcing him to step in a way that brought the back of his foot against the loose tile. And then he fell. And fell. And fell. And fell. And f- crunch.

Dead.

You stared for a moment, then looked up at Jason, who was frozen on the spot. He looked between you and the lifeless form below, and then in an instant he was taking two large steps in your direction, letting his gun slip from his fingers and scooping you up in his arms.

"I thought I lost you again," you whispered, into his neck. "I almost lost you again."
"No chance, Trouble, I'm not going anywhere for a looong time."
"Anywhere?"
"Nowhere you aren't."

And then he kissed you. He kissed you in spite of the morbid scene surrounding you and the rain so cold it was burning your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. He kissed you so long you stopped shivering, his palm cupped around the back of your neck possessively, right over his initials.

When he finally stopped kissing you, it was only to drag you back inside and then pull you into a tight embrace.

He didn't let go of you until half an hour later, when the ballroom had been cleared and Lois, Clark, and his family all found you huddled together at the top of the staircase.

"Oh thank god," Lois breathed, pulling you into a hug made awkward by Jason's fingers clamped around yours. "I was so worried, and then Clark wanted to- you know- but then he couldn't, and then I saw that weird fake gun and-"
"Breathe, Lois," you said, extracting your hand from your soulmate's to rub both of them up her arms soothingly. "I'm okay, I swear. Jason saved me."
"Right." Lois eyed him suspiciously. "Come back to Metropolis, this place is crazy,, It's also gloomy and cold, and depressing. Metropolis is safer."
"Not form property damage," Jason muttered and Lois' sharp eyes found him, narrowing slightly before she turned her attention back to you.

You laughed and then shivered because the movement reminded you of how cold you were. "I'm not going anywhere." Your fingers found Jason's again. "Not for a long while anyway."

You squeezed his fingers and he squeezed back twice. You would be okay. Maybe not immediately, but you would be okay eventually, and you knew Jason wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon.

~~

Bruce had given Lois and Clark a room down the hall from you and Jason, who had stared intently while Alfred ran tests and made sure your vitals were all okay.

Jason's siblings were more than happy to divulge just how happy they were that "Jaybird finally came to his senses" and "stopped pussying his way out of happiness."

"Glad you're okay," Richard had said to you when you were walking to your room, his arm looked around Kori. "And welcome to the family."
"Thanks Ric-" You'd paused, glanced at Jason, who smiled faintly and then corrected yourself. "Thanks, Dick."
The detective grinned and took his wife's hand, "oh she's definitely one if us now."
"Absolutely," Kori agreed.

Now, it was just you and Jason in his old bedroom, and he was staring at you reverentially, the way a priest might stare at the aurora borealis after taking his vows. In the dim light of the room, he almost looked like a smoky silhouette that could slip through your fingers if you reached for him.

"Jason," you said softly, "it's alright."
"No," he breathed, "no it isn't, but I'm too selfish to let you go and I hate that you be in danger because of me." He knelt in front of you and pressed a kiss to your navel. "I just want you to be safe."
You took his hand and pulled him down. "No, look, it's really okay, I promise-"
"You can't be sure of tha-"
"I bought a gun and I put it in the Frosties."
Jason paused. "In... in the Frosties?"
"Mhm."
A beat. And then- "I love you so much." and he was pulling you in for a kiss, his tongue running over the seam of your lips.
"I love you too," you said between kisses that stole your breath straight out of your lungs. "I love you too. I always have."