Chapter Text
“Fuck!” Jason grimaced as he slipped on the rooftop. He scrambled, regained his balance, and took off.
He ran hard, the edge of the building coming up in three, two, one…he leapt, landed on the next rooftop, rolled, and kept running.
A second later, he saw his target, just a rooftop over to the right and making for the fire exit stairs on the side of the building. The figure reached the top of the stairs, then turned and looked back.
Jason ducked out of sight behind a huge boiler. He climbed it and peered over the top.
Looked like he’d decided not to take the rickety fire exit after all; instead, the figure moved towards the middle of the roof, like he was lining up to risk the jump to the next building.
Jason adjusted to a better angle, and pulled out his gun. One bullet did him in. He watched the body jerk and fall to the roof of the building.
Jason activated his comm. “Number 18? Yeah, Red, that makes 18 for me tonight, is down.”
Tim’s voice crackled over comms just a second later. “Down?” He didn’t even try to hide the implication. Jason’s smile fell a little.
“He’s fine. Probably,” he snarled, then added, “if you’re really that worried about him, check the buildings between 8th and 15th. Or 17th?” Jason cocked his head, the screen on his helmet zooming in, but he couldn’t read the street sign from this distance. “Somewhere over that way.” He gestured, even though Tim couldn’t see it.
He heard Tim sigh over comms, which made him smirk again. He’d figured as much. Tim opted for plausible deniability when it came to Jason. Most of the family did, actually. He shook his head, then asked, “So what’s your count, Red?”
A pause. “Seven.”
The chuckle turned into an outright laugh as he jumped off the boiler, landing back on the roof. “Seven? Aw, baby bird, that’s adorable.”
Judging by the silence, he’d pressed a button. Tim always did get uptight when he was losing.
Jason grinned. They had a pretty sweet bet; Tim would meticulously clean his motorcycle if Jason took out the most goons on patrol tonight. Tim’s side of the bet was a question he got to ask for every criminal Jason put away tonight. Tim’s choice, and he had to answer them honestly. Not a deal he appreciated making, but he was confident he’d win anyways, so what did it matter?
He ignored the part of his mind that was unsettled by Tim’s wager. What did Tim want to know from him so badly he took a bet he had to know he’d almost certainly lose?
These weren’t just any goons; these were Penguin’s men. Oswald had been causing trouble lately, and Jason decided it was time to push back. He couldn’t go directly after him, because Bruce, but he could for sure hobble his operations.
Of course, there were hands-off ways of doing that, but Jason was in a mood. While the Big Bat went off skulking around whatever part of the city he was terrorizing tonight, Jason and Tim struck a wager: person to take out the most of Penguin’s men tonight won. (“Injure, Jason, as in, not kill” Tim stressed, and Jason rolled his eyes. “I got it, T.”) It was pretty easy to recognize them; Oswald was the only crime lord who insisted on his men all wearing his symbol, an umbrella, on their sleeves.
He made it back to the street, to an unlit corner when his comm crackled. A couple of grunts, then Tim’s voice, breathing hard, “Nine. And the nights’ not over yet, Hood.”
Jason watched the building across the street; an old bar, nothing out of the ordinary.
“All the more time to extend my lead. Hope you’ve got a hefty stock of oil and rags in the cave. I want my baby shining.”
“I dunno, you’re well on your way to making this an even game of twenty questions.” Tim said. “Which was more than I estimated, by the way.”
“See? That’s your problem, Red.” Jason headed across the street, circling the front entrance to the bar in favor of the alley at the back of the building. “You’re always sizing things up. Planning too much. Me? I just go in, guns blazing.” Jason turned off his comm’s audio (nobody likes the sound of gunshots in their ear) and rushed through the backdoor of the bar. It opened into a small room, like he expected, and there were six men, all sporting Penguin’s umbrella.
Okay, that was more than he was expecting. He started firing.
He was in the heart of Penguin’s territory; he’d run the crime lord’s iceberg for half a year and had been a crime boss in his own right a lot longer.
Tim might be good, and have access to daddy bat’s big computer, but he didn’t know the beating heart of criminal Gotham like Jason did. Jason knew Oswald’s territory intimately. Tonight wasn’t as much a game of chess as it was assembling a puzzle. Find the right place, find the right people, done. Easy-peasy.
He aimed for kneecaps and shoulders, mostly: he'd respect Bruce’s stupid rules for now. But that sure as hell didn’t mean he had to save any of the people he shot; if they bled out, that’s on them.
The last guy went down. The next thing he heard was “And how’s that working for you?” There was no worry in Tim’s voice, or judgement this time, both of which Jason appreciated. Getting the batfam to trust him was still a work in progress, but Tim seemed to be an early convert. He switched his comms back on.
“Seems to be okay. Twenty-four.”
“What?” Tim hissed.
“Sorry, Red.” he said, grinning under the helmet. “Face it. You’re in over your head. I can keep going all night, or you can just surrender with grace now.”
He let the offer stand in the air. Personally, he wouldn’t mind either way. Staying out meant shooting more bad guys. Going in meant witnessing Tim’s humiliation and getting his bike cleaned sooner than he’d expected.
He’d let the kid decide, because he knew for sure that Tim wasn’t going to win now. There was a chance early on, there always was with Tim. But as the night wore on it became obvious that Tim just didn’t have the knowledge he did to win this bet.
Jason glanced around the small room as he waited for Tim’s answer. The six men lay on the floor, some of them still and others twitching or groaning. There were a couple glasses of whiskey on the table, and Jason raised an eyebrow under the helmet, wondering what Penguin’s men drank. That, he didn’t know. He looked around for the bottle.
His comms hissed. “Fine.”
Jason smiled, letting his search for the bottle go unsolved.
“Fine what?” he pressed, just to see what Tim would do.
He could hear the agitation in Tim's silence; surrender was not easy for any of them, he knew that. But Tim was basically his younger brother and Jason felt it necessary to train him in the art of humiliation. Tim would probably, no, definitely, pay it back later anyways.
“Fine. You win.” Tim’s voice glared.
“Good enough. See you at the cave, Red.”
Tim didn’t answer, and the faint crackle followed by no ambient noise told Jason he’d turned off his comm. Jason headed out.
He’d go to the cave, but first, he had to get his bike.