Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Master Jason,” Alfred said, his voice choked. “It’s so good to see you well.”

Jason eyed him silently, then finally nodded. “You too,” he said.

Alfred hesitated, something in Jason’s voice putting him on notice. “Are you- is everything all right, sir?”

The young man took in a long, deep breath, looking away. Then he took a few steps away from the entry to the store, Alfred following, until they were in a quiet corner where they could not be overheard. Jason’s jaw was set on an angle that Alfred had never seen before, and it was incredibly disquieting. He knew Master Jason when he was angry, or frustrated, or hurt, or scared. This version of the lad was something else.

“Why are you asking me that?” Jason said. His voice was quiet.

Alfred blinked. “I am merely concerned for your welfare. As I would be for any member of the fam-”

“Stop,” Jason said, and this time there was a firm snap in his voice. He took a deep breath. “Here is the thing, Alfred. I thought I had a Dad. I thought, things were rocky, maybe, but I definitely still had a father.”

“-you do, Master Jason-”

“And then I got myself into a bad situation,” Jason said, without pausing. That alone had Alfred nervous. Jason had always been so attentive to Alfred. He had always known he was the lad’s favourite, the whole family knew. In this moment, however, Jason was giving Alfred about as much emotion as the brick wall behind him. “It was mostly my fault, I admit that. I made some stupid choices.” His voice slowed. “But instead of my Dad helping me, trying to show me a better way, or protecting me-”

He swallowed, and turned his head to the side, dragging at the collar of his t-shirt. The scar was raised, and red, and hideous. “He stabbed me in the throat.”

He must have heard the choked sound from Alfred, and turned back to face the older man.

“And that was when I knew I didn’t have a Dad anymore. Not if my father could do that to me.”

Alfred raised a shaking hand to his mouth.

“And then, as I lay there trying to stop the bleeding, the building I was in blew up.” Jason closed his eyes. “And do you know who came to dig me out of the rubble? Do you know who helped me?”

Alfred shook his head slowly, silently.

“No-one. No-one looked for me in that rubble, Alfie. The Joker was dug out and taken to get medical attention, though. I saw that in the news. And then was when I knew I didn’t have any brothers anymore.”

“And then.” Jason’s voice slowed, dropped low. “I got myself to hospital. And I was there for days, more than a week, I think. And do you know how many visitors I had? Do you know who came to see me, to check on me?”

A single tear traced down Alfred’s cheek.

“No-one, Alfred,” Jason whispered. “No-one came for me in all that time. And that,” he said, swallowing hard, “that was when I knew I didn’t have a grandfather anymore, either.”

“Oh my boy,” Alfred said. “My poor boy. How can I ever ap-”

Jason held up his hand and Alfred stopped like he had run into a wall.

“Please don’t,” he said. “Alfred. Really. There’s no point.” Jason took a breath and said, “You don’t have to torture yourself, or feel guilty. This is just… where we’ve ended up. And I’m not- it doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s over, and there’s a clarity to that. I’m doing all right. I’m not self-destructing, I’m not hurting innocents or on a rampage, it’s fine. You’ve got a nice family waiting for you back at the Manor, and you should just focus on them and forget about the one little cuckoo that never quite fit.”

“I could never-” Alfred began.

“Well, I’m asking you to,” Jason said, a little snap in his voice this time. “It’s too late. The time for that was in the past. We are where we are, and we all just need to move forward now.”

He reached out and rested a hand on Alfred’s wrist. “Take care of yourself, Alfred. You’re the best of that bunch, so please look after yourself, okay?”

The old man stood, head bowed, Jason’s hand on his wrist. For several beats, neither of them moves. Then Alfred took a deliberate, slow breath and raises his head. “Indeed, Master Jason,” he said, in an approximation of his usual calm tone. “I can promise you that I will endeavour to return to my normal standards of care.”

Chapter Text

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “I have some questions about a past case. Records for it on the Batcomputer are surprisingly sparse.”

Dick sauntered down the stairs behind Alfred, Tim already at the computer. Damian and Bruce are at the lockers, suiting up. Alfred had thought things all the way through, and decided that while he did not want to make a spectacle of this conversation, he did want the immediate family present. Witnesses, perhaps. But Alfred was also quite intent on gauging their reaction to what he suspected had been a tightly held secret. So he had called Master Richard to get him back to Gotham, and he had timed his approach carefully.

“What case?” Bruce asked, retrieving his gauntlets and boots and moving closer to Alfred.

“Your most recent capture of the Joker.”

The Cave was instantly, shockingly silent. Bruce’s face, damningly, went blank just as fast. Alfred could feel his heart begin to beat faster. He’d believed Master Jason, of course he had, the boy’s pain had been all too evident on his face. But he’d hoped-

For what? That the boy was somehow mistaken? That perhaps Bruce didn’t remember what he’d done? Or that he’d recognised his horrible error and was somehow, in the background, trying to fix things.

In that moment Alfred knew it was none of those things. That his Bruce, his boy, had hurt his own son, and lied about it. Had taken no responsibility, not even the most basic one of admitting it to himself. Certainly he had not taken any steps toward rectifying what he had done.

“The Joker’s capture?” Dick said from behind Alfred, startled. “What about it, Alfred?”

“I should like to see the reports of how the capture occurred,” he said, without turning toward Master Richard.

Tim, too, was now sitting up and paying attention. Behind Bruce, Damian had stopped in the act of applying his domino. This was not usual. They all knew that. Jason’s ghost was everywhere in this conversation.

“Alfred, why would you want to drag that up again-” Dick began. Bruce hadn’t moved, his eyes locked on Alfred, still as a stone.

“Have any of you seen Master Jason since that night?”

“As Jason, no,” Tim said slowly. “Hood showed up again but not for about two months, I think.”

That, Dick obviously hadn’t realized. “That long?” Tim hesitated for a second, then placed his hands on the keyboard, mouth firming.

“What difference does it make how long it took Todd to show his face again?” Damian drawled. “The outcast is not welcome in Father’s city-”

“Damian,” Dick said sharply. “Jason has his issues, but he is still part of this family, and if we can bring him back into the fold-”

“Why are you asking this, Alfred,” Bruce said. “Why this, why now?”

“It occurred to me recently that I have no idea how that particular case resolved,” Alfred said. “Considering the closeness to the family of certain aspects, surely it is something we should all be aware of?”

“The cowl footage isn’t available,” Tim said, cutting across the gentle back-and-forth. The words dropped like a stone, even Damian whirled toward the Batcomputer. There was a familiar glow on Tim’s face, the screens setting a green cast over his face, but his mouth was set in a grim line. “I know you sometimes put restrictions on footage you give to the cops, Bruce, but why would you lock it away from us?”

Bruce was standing like a statue in the middle of the cave.

Alfred was the only one who hadn’t turned toward the computer when Timothy spoke. He had kept his eyes on Bruce, and he saw the flash of guilt.

“Bruce,” Dick said slowly, now standing behind Tim and staring at the screen. “Why would you do that? Why restrict the cowl footage?”

Tim’s fingers are still moving on the keyboard, and now Damian had crossed the cave to stand with his brothers. Alfred tried not to read too much into that, even though he knew what he had set into motion, and where it might lead. Then Tim’s fingers stilled, and he leaned back in the chair. “Well, we can watch it now, if Bruce puts in the final authorisation.” His completely dispassionate delivery was its own devastating challenge.

Bruce didn’t move for a long moment. Dick and Damian both turned their heads to watch him. Finally, he strode forward and entered a few keystrokes, then stepped back, arms folded, unmoving. Albert took a deep breath, prayed for strength, and crossed the cave to a position where he could see both the screen and Batman.

Thankfully, he was forewarned, at least, by Jason’s bare-bones description. Things proceeded much as the young master had described. Jason, of course, couldn’t adequately describe the desperation in his own eyes, the anger and the pain and the rage in his voice. But what Alfred was most interested in was the flatness of Batman’s responses.

Unyielding. Alfred had seen more sympathy, more empathy in Batman’s takedowns of Two-Face, of Ivy, of the Riddler than he was displaying toward his own, tortured son.

“Oh my God,” Dick whispered, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as Jason made his final demand, his final plea. And then-

“No!” Dick shouted, that same hand shooting out toward the video playback as if he could stop the batarang mid-flight.

Damian did not move. He stood, stone-faced, and watched the rest of it play out. Alfred could not begin to guess what the boy was thinking.

Tim, by contrast, had turned his face away and slightly to the side, no longer caring about the screens. He barely flinched when the building exploded, that quick mind of his racing ahead.

Dick choked out an anguished Jason, as the picture dissolved into dust and rubble.

“What,” Dick said, “the actual fuck, Bruce. What the FUCK was THAT?”

Chapter Text

Jason was trying something new. He was dipping a toe into the swimming pool of normal life. He was still the Red Hood, of course, he was. But it had dawned on him at some point during his hospital stay that lately he was cutting himself off from the ordinary folks he’d sworn to protect. And also, that it was way too easy to lose himself in the nightlife, and end up with nothing else.

The paramedic had started it, really. The one who had found him, blocks from the explosion, still dragging himself away from the scene. She’d triaged his wounds and gotten him to the hospital and then, crazily, had dropped in to visit two days later, when Jason was finally beginning to be conscious for longer than two minutes at a time.

“Hi,” she’d said from the doorway.

“Hi,” Jason said. He wouldn’t have recognised her face, his vision had been blurry at best that night, but the uniform and her voice had been enough of a reminder for him to realize who she was.

“Do you remember me?”

“Vaguely,” Jason said. He was giving vague answers to everything, pretty much. It was the best play, considering he was going to have to ghost out of the hospital before either the Bats found him or his fake health insurance ran out.

“I’m Natalie,” she said.

“You found me.”

“Yeah,” she said, and took one more step forward so she was fully inside the room. There was an odd pause, then she said, “Look. You may want to tell me to get lost, and that’s fine, but. The spot where I found you was awfully close to the spot where Batman caught the Joker that night.”

Jason froze.

“And so, if you were caught up in that stuff, that night,” she said, and drew in a deep breath, “I just want you to know you’re not the only one who’s been a victim of the Joker.”

“Sorry, what?” Jason had said, truly struck dumb by those words. A victim of the Joker…

“There’s a group,” she said, stepping closer again. She reached into the pocket of her uniform jumpsuit and withdraw a small black and white flyer. “Like, a support group. There’s a bunch of us who have been injured, or lost someone, or been otherwise traumatised by that asshole. We meet and… talk things through.” She shrugged, glanced away, “It helps, sometimes.”

Jason stared for a long, awkward moment. The words kept echoing around in his head. There’s a bunch of us.

Then he reached out a slow, trembling hand to take the flyer. “I’m not much of a talker,” he said quietly.

One corner of her mouth quirked. “That’s okay,” she said. “Sometimes it helps just listening to others. I don’t talk a whole lot either, usually.”

Jason stared down at the flyer. “I can’t believe there’s a support group for Joker victims.”

She shrugged. “Good old Gotham, huh.”

“Yeah, good old fucking Gotham,” Jason said, still staring down at the paper.

“Well,” Natalie said after another silence. “Maybe I’ll see you there someday.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jason said. He finally looked up, “Hey, thanks for picking me up the other night.”

She shrugged. “No problem. It’s my job, dude.”

“I think you saved my life,” he said.

She smiled a little. “Like I said, my job.”

“And like I said, thanks.”

Chapter Text

Jason had slipped out of the hospital late that night. He been sore, still, but mobile at least, enough to evade anyone looking for him. He’d gone to ground hard, and given himself a few days to think about things while he healed.

And the decision he’d come to, staring at that flyer for the support group, was that he needed to remember who he was doing this for. He had to remember none of this had ever been about Bruce, or Dick, or any of the ‘family’. He’d always, always, even before he became Robin, cared about the people first. Specifically, the people no-one else cared about.

Jason sat back and stared around his extremely makeshift safehouse. It was stocked with MRE’s, bottled water, first aid supplies and not much else. He drew in a slow breath and tilted his head back to stare at the water-stained ceiling. Red Hood did good work, but he mostly interacted with scumbags, prostitutes, the homeless and the occasional victim – all with the Hood firmly on. It left Jason isolated.

He needed… “a job,” he said aloud, testing it out. A job gave him a presence in the city. A reason to interact with ordinary people. An ear to the ground. And something more than his night life, to live for.

Three weeks later Outlaw Bike Repairs opened its doors. He’d chosen a spot inside Crime Alley, but not so far inside that normal Gotham citizens would be too intimidated to venture. Then again, normal Gotham citizens knew full fucking well that there was nowhere safe, not really. Not while the Clown and the other Rogues could check in and out of Hotel Arkham whenever they liked.

Jason faked his mechanic’s credentials to open the business, but he knew more than enough from his time working on the Batmobile with Bruce, and building his own custom bike as Red Hood, to be a fair mechanic. Besides, he had no intention of making this his vocation. It was a part-time gig, one that made him ‘real’, and one that made him part of the Crime Alley community. He had more than enough drug lord money stashed to keep himself alive. But he would fix bikes as and when they came, and one of these days, if he turned the business into any kind of success, he would hire a real mechanic and become a manager instead. That would really free up his time to track crime and other activities in the area.

All the better for his night life.

He went to one of the support group meetings. He hadn’t meant to. He kept them in his mind, like a touchstone, all the ordinary people out there who were like him, who’d been going about their normal lives when the clown appeared from nowhere and hurt them.

And then, one night, he was walking the few blocks to his favourite Chinese place after closing up the workshop, and he realized he recognised the person getting out of their car just up ahead. They didn’t know Jason, but he’d helped them when he was Robin, post-attack, and then read about his story in the papers in the weeks after. Douglas Randall, former surgeon.

Joker had managed to get his Venom into the vents at the hospital. Randall had been mid-surgery when it struck. While most of the staff had evacuated the suite, Randall and a nurse had remained behind until their patient was stable enough to be moved. It was a move that cost both their careers. Overexposure to the Venom had left the man with occasional, unpredictable tremors.

Jason hadn’t kept track, but he thought the man now taught anatomy at GU, and took the occasional gig as a medical examiner. The nurse had taken her victim’s fund payout and moved far away from Gotham. But Randall grit his teeth and stayed. Jason fell back instinctively to the shadows, and watched as Randall locked up his car, checked both ways before crossing the street to climb the stairs to the community centre. Others were beginning to trickle in by now.

His heart was pounding, but Jason found his feet moving, following. He, too, crossed the street, climbed the wide stone stairs. And then somehow, he was sitting in a hard plastic chair, in a rough circle, with fourteen other Gothamites.

“Welcome,” came a familiar voice. Jason looked up, and met the eyes of the paramedic. Natalie gave him a quick, fleeting smile, and went on to deliver a spiel that was clearly the result of long practice.

Jason didn’t speak, and it helped a great deal that no-one seemed to expect him to. If someone went to the trouble of joining a group, he figured, their trauma was probably no small thing, and it would take time to build enough trust to show your scars to strangers. So instead he listened as a legal receptionist talked about how she was going to have to go work for another company because she couldn’t face going back to a workplace that was also the site of her hostage situation.

Another member talked about how they were afraid to take up their custody visitations with their kid again, as long as they were still having outbreaks of the uncontrolled laughter. There were tears in his eyes as he explained that his kid was afraid of Joker, too, having accidentally seen some television footage, knowing the monster had hurt his Dad. “And how can I be around him and laugh like that fucking asshole, knowing he’s afraid? I don’t want him to see me like that, have those memories of me.”

Jason clenched his jaw. This was the shit Bruce missed. Jason knew he had compassion, of course he did. But the ripples of pain that went outward from everything Joker did – this small stuff Bruce had no idea of. And he kept on doing the same thing, checking the clown back into Arkham like it did any good at all.

Chapter Text

At first he got only the most routine of repair jobs. New tyres, various fluids and brake pads, bearings and drive chains. He did excellent work, hoped for word of mouth, and studied repair manuals and YouTube videos at night to stay a step ahead of any new jobs he might get in.

He made a loss his first month in business. That was okay, he had lots of drug lord money to keep paying his rent and keep the doors open. Jason kept working. And then one day Dick Fucking Grayson walked through the door.

At the sound of the bell Jason walked away from the tune-up he was doing on his own bike and into the workshop reception area, wiping his hands on a rag. Then stopped dead.

“What the fuck are you doing h-”

“Jason,” Dick said, very quietly. “Please hear me out.”

“What exactly is there to-”

“I’m here to apologise.”

“Apologise.” Jason folded his arms and cocked a brow. “For what, exactly.”

“For not knowing what was going on that night. For just trusting Bruce would handle things the right way-”

Jason set his jaw. “And what exactly is the point of this apology.”

“Because I owe it to you, for a start,” Dick said.

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“And because I want my brother back,” he went on, like Jason had never spoken.

“You want your what?” Jason said, flat and unamused.

Dick’s gaze never faltered. “I want my brother back. Or I want the chance to be more of a brother to you than I was before, in your traffic-light days.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“B is on probation,” Dick added casually. “We’re all super pissed with him.”

“What?” Jason felt his arms drop to his side.

“Alfred resigned.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“He did. He moved out a week ago. Got a place of his own in downtown Gotham.”

“What- why?”

Dick gave him a look like Jason was the stupidest person to ever live.

“No,” Jason said, faltering. “There’s no way. Bruce is his kid.”

“And you’re his grandson.”

The term caught Jason completely flatfooted. He’d, in his head, yeah that was how he thought of Alfred but to hear Dick just say it, so matter-of-fact. It undid all of the secret assumptions Jason had about where Dick thought Jason fit in the family. The outcast, the misfit, the sub-stand Robin.

“He-” Jason couldn’t seem to get a reply out.

Dick’s face softened. “Jason, I know the family as a whole has let you down. I feel like an idiot for not watching the cowl footage – or trying, at least. Bruce had locked it down, but I should have at least tried to watch it. I just assumed you got away from him and were licking your wounds somewhere.” He chanced stepping a little closer. “Little Wing,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there that night and I’m sorry I didn’t check on you after.”

Jason looked away and shook his head, silent. Throat closed. He couldn’t handle this. He’d closed that door, damnit. He’d set his path forward without Dick, or Alfred or any of them.

“Listen, Alfred doesn’t know I’m here. He said you wouldn’t want to see any of us. But I had to try. And now I am at least going to listen to my grandpa enough to give you some space. But can I come back and see you again?”

Jason took a shaky breath and shrugged, then gave one sharp nod. He could feel the pressure building up in his chest, knew that if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t get Dick out of here now, he was going to fucking cry, in front of his idiot big brother. The one he thought had thrown him away.

“Okay,” Dick said, still quiet. “Thank you, Jason.” He squeezed Jason’s shoulder once and then he was gone.

Chapter Text

Jason avoided even thinking about the Family for a good week after that. He threw himself into the business instead – both businesses – and then stared, narrow-eyed as the workshop encountered a small but steady period of growth.

One night he stood in the middle of his office, arms folded, staring down at his receipts, and glancing at his phone. Then he hit one number and waited for the answer.

“Hello?”

“Is it you or is it the kid?”

“Jason?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, you know exactly who is on the other end before you answer the fuckin’ phone. Is it you driving customers my way, or the kid?”

There was a pause, then Babs said, “I just added some improved metadata to your Google search result.”

Jason turned that over in his head, then said, “What Google search result?”

“From your website?”

Jason let out a breath and let his head fall back. “Last week I didn’t have a website, Babs. I just had a phone number and location.”

“Oh.”

Jason shook his head, but he was smiling against his will. “This fuckin’ family. Nothing done normally. Ever.”

“What would be the fun in that?”

Jason snorted, despite his best intentions. Then he said, “Look, no more, ok? I am not building an empire here. Just making a- living,” he managed, and hung up on her.

Had he honestly been about to say honest living?

Getting dangerously delusional there, Jason.

He went out that night as Hood and kicked some heads extra hard to make up for it.

Chapter Text

Batman came nowhere near Red Hood nowadays, he noticed. Before there had been the occasional brood-off from separate rooftops, or the Bat landing lightly behind Jason as he finished up kicking ass. Probably to make extra-sure he didn’t kill people. Now, there was not the faintest hint of a cowl in his direction. Red Robin was in his periphery, sometimes with BatGirl, sometimes with Robin. He and Tim exchanged brief words, assistance with pursuits, offers of backup or hastily assembled field intel. It actually helped Jason feel less alone, stupid though it was to take comfort in it.

Batgirl, by contrast, kept on showing up just like she had before. She dragged Jason off to eat waffles at all hours, and complained about every other member of the BatFam without prejudice, as far as he could tell. Black Bat never bothered him, but she dropped in once or twice to back him up when a situation got hairier than he’d anticipated, and she accepted Jason’s offer to share a bag of pork rinds one night as he oversaw a warehouse full of drugs burning to the ground. They’d sat in silence on the roof, taking turns to jump down and stomp out burning embers that were drifting on the wind toward other buildings.

He rarely saw Nightwing. Dick Grayson, however, dropped by every two weeks or so. Jason could picture him trying to calculate the precise amount of time that would indicate, I care, I’ve always cared, but also, I’m not trying to monitor or crowd you.

Jason was not a good person, because he laughed quite a lot about that.

On Dick’s second visit, a delivery of burritos and tamales from a place Dick should not have known existed (damned Oracle), Jason asked quietly for Alfred’s address. Dick’s eyes brightened so fast it was like the stupid sun rising or something.

“Oh Jay, it would mean so much to him.”

Jason just nodded, a bit shamefaced. He knew that. But he hadn’t found the courage to face the older man yet, and the longer he waited the worse it got. A Wayne Manor without Alfred was just all wrong, and Jason was responsible for that, no matter how you sliced it.

When he knocked on Alfred’s door, however, there were no recriminations. The older man took one silent breath, and then said shakily, “Master Jason. It is so very good to see you.”

Jason winced. He’s fairly sure that’s almost exactly what Alfred said to him at the grocery store that day, right before Jason unloaded on him. “Hey Alfie,” he said, hands flexing around his container.

“Please, come in,” Alfred said, and stepped back to make room. Jason eyed the place with a prejudiced eye, comparing it to the Manor and of course finding everything lacking. It wasn’t right that Alfred was spending his days in an ordinary place like this instead of the Manor which had been his home for many decades.

The place was perfectly nice, of course. He couldn’t picture Alfred in a place that wasn’t neat and tidy, and he could see Tim’s hand in the very new alarm system, Dick’s in the stylish but sturdy bars on the ground floor windows. Nice part of town or not, this was still Gotham.

Alfred led Jason down the hallway and past a neat, if lightly furnished sitting room, to the back of the house where a dine-in kitchen was bathed in afternoon sunlight. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

“I’d like that, Alfred, thanks.” Jason hesitated, then passed his offering into the older man’s hands, “And I made fresh pasta.”

Surprised pleasure lit Alfred’s face.

“I thought… if you’re not busy. We could make dinner together.”

“I would like nothing better, my lad,” he said, a smile wreathing his face. “Though I believe Master Timothy was going to drop by later, is that all right?”

Jason shrugged uncomfortably. “I made plenty,” was all he said.

“Wonderful,” Alfred said, and Jason felt his heart ease a little at the man’s obvious pleasure. He didn’t seem to feel cheated, or stifled, or resentful.

“How are you finding things, here, in a normal sized house?” Jason said, and slipped onto one of the stools parked at the kitchen bench. “Must be a big change after all those years.”

“Indeed,” Alfred said, hands already busy with the kettle. “I certainly have more hours in my day with far fewer rooms requiring my time. But I am occupying myself without too much difficulty.”

“I bet,” Jason said, smiling faintly. No-one could ever accuse Alfred Pennyworth of sloth. There was a moment of pause, and then Jason began, “Alfred. I-I’m sorry. I never meant-”

“If you are about to apologise to me for my recent change in employment, do not,” the older man said without turning. There was a snap in his voice Jason hadn’t heard since the time the butler caught Jason smoking in a secluded corner of the empty ballroom, but far too close to the apparently flammable curtains. “The things which have happened recently should have happened a very long time ago,” Alfred said. “When Master Dick was forced into undercover work he did not wish to do, or when Master Tim was struggling to balance his secrets with his relationship with his father. You are not the only one Master Bruce has let down or used ill, and I have stood by and done nothing, effectively, to stop it.”

Jason froze.

Then Alfred turned and stepped closer to Jason, standing at his side, not facing him directly. “I know you do not wish to hear my apologies,” Alfred said, and Jason could not move. “But I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for coming here tonight and giving an old man a third chance.”

“You don’t have anything to apologise for,” Jason managed.

“And I will not hear apologies from you,” Alfred said. “We are here together, now, so let that be enough, hmm?”

Chapter Text

And then out of nowhere, Bruce showed up.

Not as Bruce Wayne, thank God. Jason had no desire to be the target of tabloid photographers. But as Jason collected his purchases from the counter of the second-hand bookstore, he glanced up, and there, waiting across the street, was Matches Malone.

Fuck’s sake.

Jason paused for a second, then tucked the bag into the crook of his arm like a football, pushed the door open and turned right, walking with purpose. Damned if he was going to cross the street, or wait, or make eye contact.

The other man fell in at his shoulder before he’d gone half a block.

“Fuck. Off,” Jason said between gritted teeth.

“Can we not even talk now?” Bruce said. “Jason, please.”

Jason turned the corner, went half a block and then stepped into an alleyway. He swung around to face Bruce, and said, “What exactly are you wanting to say to me?”

If it was an apology, heartfelt and sincere, Jason might consider hearing it all the way through. Maybe.

But of course, as always, Bruce said nothing. Fucking nothing. And Jason was not going to help him out. So he stood, crossed his arms and stared.

A minute ticked by. He could see Bruce start to speak, three or four times. “I-”

Then stop.

“Wh-” … “I wish...”

Jason stayed silent.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did,” he finally managed, voice low.

“Correct,” Jason said, unmoved.

Bruce gestured, then, helpless, and then clenched his hands into fists. “I can’t-”

He didn’t finish the sentence. His jaw was set so hard it looked like stone.

Jason shook his head slowly. “Wow,” he said. “Wooowww.” He stepped slowly away from Bruce, circled him, and then continued on to the mouth of the alley.

“Alfred,” Bruce ground out, and Jason glanced back. “Ask him,” he said, and this was a plea. “Ask him about-” he took a breath and swallowed, looking sick and pale. “After the alley.” That came out as a thin thread, so quiet Jason almost didn’t hear the, “I’m sorry.”

Jason didn’t go to see Alfred immediately. He wanted to think things over first. That little interaction had been… odd. Bruce hadn’t seemed to be aiming for anything in particular, and that on its own was strange. Batman didn’t do random encounters. He didn’t do the Bat equivalent of small-talk. He always had an agenda – for Jason, anyway.

So what had he been trying to achieve?

Over tea and scones at Alfred’s place, Jason tried to sketch out what had happened as best he could. He even tried not to be biased about it.

Alfred listened, pain in his heart and the slow throb of disappointment.

“After the alley,” Jason prompted. “Meaning?”

“Meaning after Thomas and Martha’s murders,” Alfred confirmed.

Jason’s brows went up and he sat back in his chair. “Huh,” he said.

The murder of Bruce’s parents was never spoken of in Wayne Manor. Never. They were the unspoken ghosts hovering over the entire BatFamily. Without them, there was no Batman, no mission, no crusade. Without them, Dick and Jason would have been orphans in the system, Tim a neglected kid rattling ‘round a mansion on his own, and Damian probably would never have even existed. For Bruce to reference their deaths, even obliquely…

“What did it mean?” Jason said. “I don’t get it.”

Alfred released a slow breath. “Will you allow me, Master Jason, to handle this matter?”

Jason shrugged, seemingly careless, and said nothing. Alfred, being neither a fool nor a stripling, is not taken in by this display, and sets his hand atop Jason’s. “I will explain, lad,” he said. “I promise you that. But I will speak to your father first.”

Jason doesn’t flinch at the f-word, but it’s a near thing, and Alfred silently curses his son’s emotional ineptitude once again.

“Okay,” Jason finally said. “I trust you, Alfred.”

Alfred was a British man of a specific generation. He did not cry at hearing these words from his grandson. It was a near thing, though.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Jason went back to another meeting. He couldn’t have explained why, he had no intention of talking about his history with any of these people, but… he couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t helping him, definitely not that. Every week hearing how a paramedic had been injured while trying to administer first aid to one of these chucklefucks, or of another family that was torn apart or somehow damaged by that fucking clown… but he couldn’t stop himself.  

Natalie watched, eyes dark with anger, as a middle aged woman sobbed, helpless to stop her young daughter’s nightmares. “How can I comfort her?” she asked, wringing her hands. “What am I supposed to say? The thing she is scared of is real .”  

Jason swallowed and looked away. He managed not to make a big production of it, but he slipped out of his chair and headed over to the refreshments table. He absolutely could not sit there and listen to that without feeling all that rage and helpless anger all over again. From the refreshment table he slipped out of the room altogether, and he found himself pacing the deserted hallways, fists clenched tight with the need to hit something.  

He didn’t know how much later it was that Natalie found him.  

“I coulda-” Jason stopped himself before he said too much, and shook his head.  

“What?”  

He shook his head again.  

Natalie shifted, turning until her back was against the stair railing, level with Jason’s but facing the opposite direction.  She stared off into the distance, almost back-to-back with him, and said coolly, “You know, losing the jacket helps, and the pants are enough like motorcycle leathers that they would fool a lot of people.”  

“What,” Jason said, snapping his head round to stare at her.  

“I’ve seen a lot on this job,” she said, not looking his way. “But that was one of the weirdest nights I can recall. Realising I’d accidentally seen under the hood, so to speak.”  

Jason just stared.  

“I’m guessing from the explosions you almost got him?” Her tone was conversational, unbothered, and Jason realized as he gaped at her that if she was telling the truth – and what reason was there to lie? – then she had known who he was for months and never said a word.  

She certainly hadn’t told the cops.  

“What?” He said weakly.  

“You musta got close that night. So close.”  

“Yeah,” Jason said, giving up the pretence, despite the churning in his gut, the instinctive panic of it. His mouth twisted bitterly. “I had my gun to his fuckin’ head.”  

She turned her head at that, eyes wide. “Shit,” she breathed. “ Real close, then.” There was no recoil from the idea of killing, no judgement at all in her gaze. And, watching her, Jason felt the realization settle in him – there never would be. Natalie had been listening to stories from damaged civilians for months. Years, maybe. She had a pit of rage to match Jason’s own.  

“I was such a fuckin’ idiot.” Jason closed his eyes. “I had him. I had him .”  

“So what happened?”  

He shook his head helplessly. “I wanted Batman to do it.”  

“What?”  

That had clearly caught her off guard.  

“I wanted him to fuckin learn something. For once, I wanted him to admit that his way doesn’t fuckin work . Not with someone like the clown.”  

There was a long silence. When he risked a glance up, Natalie was staring down at the floor, face expressionless. Finally, she lifted her head, looked Jason in the eye and said, “Well. Guess you know better now.”  

He let out a helpless snort. “No shit.” And he touched his throat, the phantom ache of it. “Next time I won’t fuckin hesitate. Next time he won’t even get to let out a fuckin giggle .” He clenched his fists.  

When he looked up, Natalie was watching him thoughtfully. He looked back, waiting, noting the lines of her body, taut but not scared, intense but not panicked. And then she completely floored him, once again. “Next time,” she said, and offered a hand.  

Jason blinked at it. Looked her in the eye, and reached out to clasp her hand in his.  

“It’s a deal,” he said, and they shook on it.  

Chapter Text

Dick found out about the ‘family dinner’ that took place without him, and put on such a fucking dramatic show of injured baby deer eyes that no mortal on this earth could have withstood it. Which led to Jason, carrying a home-made pie, knocking awkwardly at Alfred’s front door on a random Sunday night.  

“Jaybird!” Dick greeted him like they’d been separated for years instead of approximately nine days.  

“Dick,” Jason said, because he was secretly nine years old and never stopped getting a kick out of greeting Dick and half-insulting him at the same time.  

“Mmm, pie,” Dick said, beaming. “Can’t wait to taste it.” Behind them on the street came the sound of a motorbike engine, and they both glanced out to see Tim pull up to the kerb.  

“Well, I told the kid to bring ice-cream to go with it,” Jason said, “so let’s hope he can follow instructions, otherwise you’re eating it on its own. Hey, Timmers,” he said, lifting his voice slightly, “tell me you remembered.”  

Tim rolled his eyes hard enough it was visible from the stoop. “The very complicated instructions you texted me to pick up ‘plain ice-cream Jesus Christ nothing frou-frou Replacement’ ? Yes, Jason, I managed to piece together the clues in that message. Believe it or not I run a multi million dollar company, I can buy ice-cream.”  

“You’ll notice there’s no mention of whether it’s frou-frou or not,” Jason murmured to Dick and sauntered inside. Behind him, Dick muffled a laugh and greeted Tim with enthusiasm.  

It was worth everything to see Damian inside, laying the table with an air of affront that made him resemble a cat that had been dropped in the bathtub.  

Conversation over dinner was… smoother than probably could have been expected, Jason thought later. Alfred was, of course, a social master, Dick was an absolute fucking bulldozer of smoothing over awkward situations when he wanted to be, while Jason and Damian existed to make things awkward. Strangely enough, it all hinged on Tim, who could be resentful and contrary when the mood took him, poking just enough to set Damian off, or who occasionally re-discovered the Society pod-person he’d been raised to be. But tonight he’d evidently decided to provide the final point of stability to keep the whole night from going off the rails, and so the dinner passed with only a few verbal tangles, easily saved with redirection and distraction. And Alfred’s cooking, as always, was a hell of a distraction.  

Another meeting came and went, and Jason found himself torn between wanting desperately to talk to Natalie about last week’s revelation, and avoiding her like the plague. Ugh. Make up your mind, asshole .  

Which was how he found himself standing in the lobby of the community centre, twenty minutes late to the meeting, staring through the square of glass in the door, frozen.  

Natalie was there, as normal. A few seats to her left was Dr Randall again, and beside him the woman with the frightened daughter from last week. But directly to Natalie’s right, and the reason Jason was stuck, unmoving in the lobby, was Alfred Pennyworth.  

Jason managed one shaky step sideways, ensuring he wasn’t visible to anyone from the group, and with a trembling hand, turned the knob just enough to open the door a crack. Someone he couldn’t see was speaking, finishing up what sounded like a laundry list of reasons they’d decided to leave Gotham. When they finished there was a pause. Then,  

“My name is Alfred.” That beloved, familiar voice came slowly, thoughtfully.  

“Hi Alfred,” Natalie said, similar welcomes repeated by others in the circle. “If you’d like to share your story, you’re very welcome. But there’s no obligation.”  

“Thank you.” There was a moment of pause. “I am originally from England, however I have worked and lived in Gotham for over twenty years now. I remember a time, believe it or not, before any of these so-called Rogues made a name for themselves in this city.”  

There were mumblings at that. Silence fell again, and then a long sigh.  

“I have suffered losses in my life, indeed it is fairly inevitable when you reach an age such as mine. But I must confess there is one loss, at the hands of the Joker, with which I have never truly come to terms.”  

Another silence.  

“He took my grandson from us,” Alfred said, voice rich with grief. “A boy of fifteen, and he beat him so badly…” more silence. A heavy, shared one this time, and Jason knew he would hear the anguish in Alfie’s voice for years to come. “Then there was an explosion, and he was believed to be dead.”  

Jason reached up to touch and found his face wet with tears.  

“Such a terrible thing, to bury a child. And then, a miracle,” Alfred said. “My grandson returned. Alive, after all. But so, so changed. The things that man had put him through, the pain he’d suffered, and the isolation from his family. In a way, we lost him all over again. And my son – the grief has changed him so much I barely recognize him at times.”  

The group fell into silence again.  

“Dealing with trauma over the long term is a whole separate challenge to dealing with a death,” Natalie said carefully. “Lots of us here have gone through similar things, Alfred. I hope we can help in some small way.”  

“Thank you, my dear,” Alfred said.   

There was another pause. “Anyone else want to talk about their week?” Natalie asked.  

“Well, it’s a little different than our other stories tonight, but uh. I haven’t completely given up on trying to fight from within the system,” Dr Randall said. “I gave a speech to a group of unions and employers today about safety for workers when dealing with the Rogues. Cops, first responders, transit workers, that type of thing. We’ll see where that goes.”  

There were mutterings and murmurings then, and Jason found himself backing away, fleeing up the stairs on light feet to hide on the roof.  

Of all the places he’d thought he might see Alfred, this had not been one of them.  

Chapter Text

She found him on the roof two meetings later. He still hadn’t found the courage to go in, but he’d taken to loitering on the roof of the community center and watching the support group members arrive and then leave again. Alfred had been to both of the meetings Jason had skipped.  

“So you’re okay with it,” he said abruptly. “Just like that.”  

Natalie turned slightly toward him, not meeting his eyes but looking past him. There was silence, then she said, “I never told you where I got my training, did I?”  

Jason frowned, confused.  

“Angela and I grew up in Crime Alley, and we grew up poor,” she said. “But I got out of here as soon as I could. So you tell me – how does a poor kid from the Alley do that?”  

Jason blinked. Suddenly Natalie’s posture and clipped way of speaking all came together into one logical picture. “They join the military,” he said quietly.  

“I was a Navy corspmen. I saw some shit. So, no,” she said, smiling tightly. “I do not lie awake at night agonising over that asshole’s well-being. And I doubt very much anyone else in Gotham does either.”  

Jason was already on patrol when the news broke. He had no doubt that the Bats had known for longer and carefully kept it quiet, specifically, kept it from Jason . Probation or not, they would all fall into line when Batman spoke about the Joker .  

“Here we fuckin go again,” Jason said, far calmer than he would have expected he could ever be.  

“Hood-” Oracle said.  

“How long has he been out.”  

“Hood, we’re-”  

“Look, I know you’re going to try and shut me out of this, and I’m not wasting time arguing with you about it. If you won’t give me intel, then just say so. I got sources of my own.”  

There was silence. Then she said, “48 hours.”  

“Fuck.”  

There was another pause, then the Batman’s voice on the line, “Hood-”  

“Do not fuckin talk to me, old man. We got nothin’ to say to each other, on this topic especially. Now why don’t you stop wasting both our time. I know you got a rescue to plan,” he said, deliberately cruel.  

“Red,” Nightwing said, voice low. “Please.”  

“Stay outta this, N,” Jason warned. “And don’t get in my way.”  

“We’re worried about you.” That was Red Robin.  

“Yeah, everyone’s worried. Worried about what I might do,” Jason said. All the progress they’d made with the two ‘family dinners’ they’d managed, and Dick’s regular visits was just washed away in a heartbeat.   

“Worried for your safety!” Nightwing exclaimed. “As if I give a shit about-”  

“Sighting of Harley at the corner of Burley and Walter,” Oracle broke in, and then Jason’s comm went completely silent, not even background noise to be heard.  

Right. So that was the way of it. Jason paused at the edge of the roof, staring down at his bike, thinking furiously. The sighting of Harley could be a red herring, Joker usually orchestrated his little performances pretty well, so if she was-  

His comm clicked again. “Jason,” Oracle said.  

“Fuck off.”  

“This is a private line.” And there was a tension thrumming in her voice that had him pausing, eyes narrowed.   

“Right.”  

“Do you think for one second I am interested in preserving his life,” she said, and even through the voice modulator he could hear the fury in it.  

“So what are you going to do about it?”  

“I am going to be subtle,” she said. “Can you work with that, Hood?”  

“You know me, O,” Jason said, lip curling. “I’m the most subtle fucker you’ve ever met .”  

“I’m supposed to keep you locked out of comms,” she said, rushed, “so if you suddenly hear something it’s because it’s significant, do you understand?”  

“Gotcha, O.”  

“I’m going to feed them intel about where you’re going,” she said, “they’ll know something’s up if I don’t.”   

And then she was gone. Jason found himself staring thoughtfully into the distance. He didn’t know if he could trust her, but there were people he knew were completely on his side.  

He grappled down to his bike and hit the call button on his phone. “It’s me,” he said when she answered. “He’s out.”  

Chapter Text

Jason has been toying with this idea for a while, what might happen when (fucking when) Joker gets out again. The Red Hood has made a splash. And after the shitshow with the batarang and the bomb, Joker knows who Jason really is. There’s a connection there, not as much history as Joker has with Batman, but a strong enough link to snag the clown’s attention. All Jason has to do is put himself out there. But the Joker won’t walk into a trap – he’s too twisty for that. So either the clown will figure out someone important to Jason – at this point, the Bats are really the only possible candidates – or he’ll kidnap victims Jason can’t ignore. Children, probably.  

Another, troubling possibility is that Joker knows about the mechanic workshop, and will show up there.  

Jason tunes his comm into the police channel and stays on the move. Joker might try to snatch him, it’s possible, he’s had two days to prepare, but it’s more the clown’s style to make Jason come to him.  

And then it drops. Reports of a break-in and manic laughter at a costume hire shop in Otisburg, comes across the radio, a betraying crackle at the end. Jason turns sharply and guns his bike. Jason’s workshop was just the other side of the Botanical Gardens from Otisburg, and the train line ran direct from there to Amusement Mile. Looks like Joker knew Jason’s old haunts, just as Jason knew his.  

His comm explodes to life in his ear.  

-eight minutes out, B , Nightwing says, voice urgent.  

- twelve here, Batman grits out through clenched teeth.  

I’m nearly there, says Red Robin. Spoiler’s right behind me.  

Surveillance only, Batman barks, do not engage. Do not enter the building. Understood.  

Understood, Red Robin said, subdued.  

Jason could understand the kid’s reaction. It was the closest he’d ever heard to panic in the Batman’s voice.  

He hit the number on his phone again and said, “He’s in Otisburg. Likely has civilian hostages.”  

“Understood.”  

Jason kicked down the door, a gun in each hand, and took out two of the clown’s goons before the noise had even died down. Two more dropped as he bulled into the room, and then he had to duck away from a spray of – yep, that was acid, from one of Joker’s fucking flowers.  

He turned toward it, gun automatically centering on the figure in the middle of the room and then Jason just… froze.  

She couldn’t have been any older than seven.  

Fuck this guy, Jason had time to think, then he looked down at what she was holding in her two shaking hands. A Jack-in-the-Box.  

Jason took a shuddering breath and moved his gun away from her, not ready to give it up yet but already knowing he was losing control of the situation.  

“Hey, sweetie,” he said, and she raised her eyes to him, tears tracking down her face. “You okay? What’s your name?”  

“Her name’s Daisy,” Joker said, entering the room like the world’s worst punchline. “Aint that sweet? And Daisy is going to go boom if you don’t throw down that gun, Hoodsy, and the rest of the guns you got on ya.”  

Jason swallowed, eyes still on the little girl. Fuck , he thought wryly. He’d known this was a possibility, and still. He was pissed off and disappointed and very, very alone. He dropped his guns to the floor and kicked them away.  

He grunted as they jolted him in the ribs with a taser, and he stumbled forward onto one knee. “Let her go,” he gritted out.  

“Oh of course,” Joker said, all sincerity. “Never let it be said I don’t keep my word.” He looked down at the girl, who kept her eyes fixed unerringly on Jason. “Daisy, sweetheart, you can put the box down now and go on home. I hope you don’t live far from here, though,” he said, cackling. “Gotham’s streets aren’t exactly the safest for little girls.”  

Lips trembling, she bent to put down the Jack in the Box, which began to shoot out gas the moment she lifted her hands away.  

“Go,” Jason told her, “Run as far as you can, honey. Find a shop that’s open and hide in there, okay?”  

“Awww,” Joker said, and she bolted for the door.  

Jason lifted his head to look at Joker again through the cloud of gas.  

A taser hit him from behind, completely overloading his senses, and the last thing he saw before they dropped a bag over his head was Joker, pacing forward with his eyes alight and that smile plastered all of his goddam face.  

Chapter Text

Hands cuffed in front of him, a goon in front and behind, and a needle in his neck, Jason paced up the stairs to the community center roof, still thinking furiously. If Joker knew about the support group, what else did he-  

“Hoodsy,” Joker cackled, but Jason didn’t even hear him. He was staring in frozen horror at the tableau before him.  

“You never told me you had more family. I’m hurt. So many more people for me to visit, if only I’d known.”  

“No,” Nightwing- no, Dick breathed through the comms. He had clearly arrived on scene, and there was no vigilante in his voice, only a horrified grandson.  

Because Alfred, Alfred stood at the Joker’s side, hands clasped politely together, one arm held firmly in the clown’s grasp.  

ETA three minutes Batman said over comms.  He clearly had no clue what had just happened.  

I’m in position to assist, Red Robin said, voice tight.  

“No, ” Jason choked out. It wasn’t supposed to be- it was never supposed to be Alfred in harm’s way.  

“Good evening,” Alfred said, painfully polite as usual. “I do apologise, my boy. I fear tonight was not a good night to attend a support group meeting.” There was a choked noise over the comms as Batman registered the familiar voice.  

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Joker said, sly, “it’s like a reunion, everyone who cares about the little dead Robin all gathering together on the roof. You can’t tell me Batsy isn’t barrelling straight at us with all his other little birdies. And I wonder what he’ll do with a senior citizen in the line of fire. Can’t exactly expect him to fight his way out of it, can he?” And he laughed again, manic and bright, jerking Alfred casually back toward the hip-height barrier that ran around the edge of the roof.  

Alfred’s mouth tightened at the blithe reference to Jason’s death, and it flashed over Jason that the older man’s body looked casual but was actually held in a tight readiness he recognised instinctively.   

All at once Jason remembered Alfred’s history, and his training. Jason’s head lifted and he met his grandfather’s eyes, saw the steely resolve there.   

I can’t stop it, Jason realized. He was too far away, and most likely if he tried to interfere he’d make things worse, not better.  

“Wing, if you can hear me, get ready,” Jason breathed. Then he dropped like a stone to land on one knee, unbalancing his captors and partially dislodging the needle from his neck. As expected, it drew Joker’s focus. But even as the clown’s fingers tightened on Alfred’s arm the older man was hooking his foot behind Joker’s leg.  

In one smooth, flawless movement, Alfred spun, flinging his free arm out and clotheslining Joker straight across the chest. Pressed up against the railing as they both were, when Joker’s upper body began to tilt, with only one leg left for balance, he couldn’t stop his momentum, and he tipped neatly over the side.  

Of course, Joker being Joker, he tightened his hold on Alfred’s arm, his eyes full of spite, determined to drag the old man over with him.  

“WING,” Jason roared, throwing punches with every ounce of force his body was capable of, “ Wing! ”  

And then there was a flash of black and blue at the edge of the roof, and he felt the weakness of relief swamp his body because his big brother was there and Jason knew, he knew Dick would never let anything happen to Alfred while there was breath in his body.  

Jason smashed heads with wild abandon, saw over his shoulder Red Robin fly through the air in a sweetly perfect swing that took down two goons before he even landed. “O?” Jason panted, “Update?” Because he couldn’t see . Whatever was happening over there was happening over the edge and out of his sightline.  

“N has him,” O said, “but they could use an assist.” There was strain in her voice, a heightened tension, and Jason hit the last guy with an upper-cut elbow that knocked him out cold. He flung himself across the roof, seeing now that Nightwing was gripping the top of the railing with one hand, the front of Alfred’s coat clutched in his other hand as the older man dangled above the alleyway below.  

Four stories beneath them, Joker lay on the pavement, wheezing, but still fucking breathing.  

Jason didn’t even spare the clown a glance, just climbed over the railing, secured his line to it and lowered himself down until he could take Alfred’s weight from Nightwing. “Got him,” Jason said when he was sure, and Dick let out a shuddering breath and unclenched his hand, head dropping for a second.  

He said something very quietly in Romani, something profane, Jason was pretty sure.  

“You okay, Alfie?” Jason said, his arms wrapped tight around the older man. In his peripheral vision he could see Nightwing haul himself up and over the railing.  

“I am all right, my boy,” Alfred said, and lent his head against Jason’s helmet. “And I am sorry for worrying you.”  

“Worrying-” Jason burst out, then gave an exasperated laugh. “Do you hear this, N?” He tilted his head back until he could meet his big brother’s eyes. There was a crunching sound in the gravel on the other side of the roof, so the big Bat had obviously arrived, far too late, as fucking usual.  

“Yeah,” Nightwing breathed, voice thready. “Yeah I hear it. Worried, yeah, worried would almost cover it, Agent A,” Dick said, and when Jason eyed him carefully he could see the acrobat’s arms were shaking. “Oh my god, can we please get both of you up here on solid ground?”  

Beneath them, many yards below at street level Jason could hear a hoarse wheezing that was trying to be laughter and he could only hope, viciously, that the fucker was down there breathing his last. Jason wasn’t even going to look at him. He wasn’t going to spare him a single thought right now.  

Batman’s silhouette appeared over the edge of the roof and Jason flinched, then was glad all over again that his hood disguised his facial expressions. “Are you all right?” Batman ground out, and only the family would have recognised the panic in his tone.  

Jason didn’t reply, focused instead on Nightwing’s steady assistance getting them both on the roof.  

“Everyone’s fine,” Red Robin said as Alfred and Jason rolled over the railing’s edge and got their feet under them on the roof. “But O, if you could call in the paramedics that would be good.”  

“On it,” Oracle said.  

Batman was hovering. Hovering . It was weird as hell. Jason kept his eyes on Alfred, shoulder to shoulder with Dick, who turned and sent him a sidelong glance. Their eyes met for a half-second, even through the masks, understanding flashing between them. Alfred hadn’t even looked in Bruce’s direction, and only the two oldest truly understood how weird that was.  

“Batman,” Robin said from across the roof where he and Red Robin were zip-tying the hands of the Joker’s unconscious goons. “Is the Joker secure?”  

Jason could almost see the Bat gather himself together. “Wait for my confirmation,” he ground out, and jumped to the edge of the roof to take a look. He grappled out of sight and Jason immediately tore off the helmet and let out an explosive breath. Alfred raised a hand to grab Jason’s unsteady one, and Jason squeezed back, unable to speak.  

“Ambulance is on its way,” Oracle said, an odd note in her voice. “I should probably call in the GCPD too.”  

“Good idea,” Nightwing said on a sigh. “I think the situation is contained for now.”  

“Uh-huh,” O said. “They’ll need to confirm, though.”  

Jason, in the middle of setting his helmet down on the gravel roof, went very still. He suddenly had an idea of exactly what Oracle was sounding so shady about. Oh. Ohhh .  

Things were about to get in-ter-est-ing .  

Sirens were becoming audible in the distance, and for a moment Jason couldn’t decide if he wanted to stick around for this or not.  

Head wound down here, definitely some broken bones. , Batman reported over the comms, voice tight. Possibly spinal.  

No-one replied.  

Red Robin and Robin strode across the roof to where Nightwing, Red Hood and Alfred were leaning against the wall, catching their breath.  

“Everyone okay here?”  

“Some bruising, I believe,” Alfred said, carefully not using anyone’s name even though everyone could hear the Master Tim at the end of the sentence. Robin gave them a quick once over before turning back to keep his eyes firmly on their captives. Without saying a word, he circled casually until he could stand close to Nightwing and Alfred while still keeping up his self-imposed guard duty.  

Aww, he cares, Jason thought sarcastically to himself. More and more like a real boy every day.  

Chapter Text

Sirens were becoming audible in the distance, as the three of them sat huddled on the roof, catching their breath. Nightwing reached across Alfred to rest a hand on Red Hood’s shoulder, gripping tightly without words. Jason closed his eyes for a second, then reached up to lay his gloved hand over Dick’s.  

As if it had been a pre-arranged signal, they dropped their hands and turned back to Alfred.  

“Thank you, boys,” Alfred said, very low, as they brushed gently at his normally pristine suit.  

“Just glad you’re okay,” Jason managed gruffly, as the sirens burst onto the street at full volume. A second later the flashing lights were reflecting, bouncing off seemingly every surface. Red Robin leapt up to stand on the edge of the roof, watching the events down in the alleyway below.  

Jason jumped up to stand beside Red Robin, watching, waiting for it.  

The two paramedics jumped out of the vehicle and hastened toward the Joker, who was still softly wheezing. A few yards away they halted, spoke quietly to one another, and then took a definite step back.  

That was, of course, Batman’s cue to emerge from the shadows. “He’s seriously injured,” he ground out.  

“Yeah,” one of the paramedics said, squinting up at the rooftop as if measuring the fall. “I can see that. Unfortunately we’re not permitted to treat him right now. Are there any other injured here?”  

“Not perm-” Batman began.  

Jason leaned out and hollered, “We’ve got injured up here on the roof. Including a civilian.” His voice echoed into the alley and as the two paramedics glanced up he almost grinned when he got a look at their faces. It really was nice having Oracle on his side.  

“Understood,” Natalie called up, and turned for the front of the building.  

“Hold on,” Batman began. “You have a seriously injured-”  

Natalie paused, glancing back. “This individual will receive treatment when we’ve had confirmation that it’s safe for us to do so. He has deliberately caused injury to paramedics who were assisting injured at the scene of his crimes before, and in accordance with our latest OSHA directive, Gotham’s EMTs are now forbidden from attempting to render assistance to this individual or his partners in crime without the all-clear from the GCPD. They are en-route, and when we get an assurance from them, we’ll return to assist this patient.”  

“I have checked him,” Batman said, clearly taken aback. “He’s disarmed.”  

“Sir, while your help is always appreciated, our instructions are to accept clearance from GCPD only. You are not part of the city’s recognised emergency responder network, and we cannot take orders from you. If we break OSHA procedures we could lose our jobs, and more importantly, if I direct my partner here to do so, he could be hurt and that would be on me.”  

And with that she turned on her heel and left.  

Jason drew in a long, shaky breath and sagged against the wall.  

“Holy shit,” Red Robin said, very very softly, and Jason registered a second later that the kid had clearly muted his comms. He glanced sideways at Jason, then back down at the Joker, who was weakly moving his arms, breath sounds getting slower even as Batman stepped closer, clearly undecided about what to do next.   

On Jason’s other side, Robin appeared, staring down at the same spot they were all monitoring. There was silence, and then he said without inflection, “As ye reap, so shall ye sow.”  

That remark was broadcast on comms. Jason watched Bruce’s head snap up. “Robin,” he said, curt, “come down here and assist me to stabilise his neck.”  

“I am sorry, Batman,” Robin said without raising his voice, “but I am responsible for the Joker’s henchmen up here, and I need to be sure they cannot escape their bonds and injure the paramedics who have just arrived. I will be down when the situation on the roof is handled.”  

Then the kid turned on his heel and walked away just as the rooftop door opened, admitting Natalie and her partner.  

“Holy shitballs,” Jason blurted involuntarily. When he glanced down at Alfred and Nightwing, he could see one side of Dick’s mouth curled up in a proud smile. No-one else said a word. Jason glanced back over the side of the roof, and registered, abruptly, that the wheezing sound had stopped.  

He staggered a little, his shoulder bumping against Red Robin’s. He, too, was staring down into the shadowy alleyway where Batman now stood, hovering helplessly. “And just like that,” Red Robin said, still ultra-quietly, “just like that he switches from an active threat to a cautionary tale.”  

“Is he- is he really- did-” Holy fuck, Jason thinks, and steadies himself with a hand on the wall. He’s dead. He’s dead and I wasn’t even looking . No-one was even paying attention when the monster slipped away.  

“Yeah,” Tim said, and raised a hand to clasp Jason’s shoulder. “Yeah, he is.”  

Nightwing’s head was leaning heavily on Alfred’s shoulder. For just a moment he could see all of the tangled emotions in his brother’s body language, and then he drew in a breath, straightened, and became Nightwing again. “Let me help you up, sir,” he said, and there was a note running through his voice like an exaggerated pantomime wink to the audience. Red Robin appeared on Alfred’s other side, an upturned oil drum in his hand to serve as a seat, probably left behind by an employee on a smoke break.  

“Thank you,” Alfred said, the picture of a hostage requiring assistance.  

In the distance, police sirens could be heard.  

Too late. Too fucking late , Jason thought dizzily. The clown was gone, and not by anyone’s hand, really, not in a way that could come back to hurt anyone.  

“Alfie,” Jason whispered, just as the paramedics reached them. Their eyes met in perfect understanding.  

“Sir,” Natalie said to Alfred, all courtesy as she introduced herself and absolutely ignoring the vigilante convention happening around her. “Are you injured?”  

“Bruises only, I believe.” Alfred said. “Though I suspect there will be some shock, when all is said and done.”  

“Joker tried to pull him over the side when he fell,” Nightwing supplied. “I caught him, but it would be good to check-”  

Natalie’s partner – Dat, according to the nametag – nodded briskly and moved to Alfred’s side, putting down his pack and drawing out a blood pressure pump  

Jason straightened and staggered back a little, tuning out the low murmur of the paramedics getting a history from Alfred, passing things back and forth between them. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the unremarkable roof, the group of thugs tied up near the rooftop door access, Robin looming over them as he was genetically designed to do.  

Joker dead , he thought again. And then. Fuck. What do I do now?  

Chapter Text

As it turned out, what Jason did next was to reconvene with all of his brothers at Alfred’s house and insist on cooking for everyone while Alfred – for once – rested.  

Gotham without the Joker was… weird.  

The first night after, all of the assholes on the street seemed to be particularly hyped up, like maybe it wasn’t real, like maybe if they caused enough mayhem they’d cause him to rise from the grave. The vigilantes of Gotham, it could be argued, were equally hyped over the change, and after two consecutive nights of being greeted by amped up Bats or an adrenaline-charged Red Hood, it all seemed to settle.  

Weeks went by. Jason’s nightmares came back full force, because of fucking course they did, and he spent some shaky moments on the phone with Dick, or sitting at Alfred’s kitchen table, or punching the bag he kept out back of the workshop. Tim dropped by to argue bike upgrades, and damn if the kid’s own machine wasn’t gorgeous , and he blithely ignored any tremor in Jason’s hands.  

But that, too, passed. Jason evened out, and found himself grateful for the structure that Outlaw Bike Repairs gave to his days. Customers didn’t give a shit if Jason had trauma, they cared if the parts for their bike had arrived on time, if the bill wasn’t a massive mark-up.  

Jason couldn’t bring himself to attend another meeting. He met with Natalie, though, after.  

“They okay?” he asked, unwrapping his fish taco.  

“They will be,” she said, her own burrito disappearing at a terrifying rate. “Sometimes it’s hard to accept good news, but they’ll get there.”  

They ate in reverent silence for a while, and then he said, eyes on his hands, “I never thanked you,” he said. “For being my backup. For being prepared to-"  

“You don’t need to thank me.” her tone was certain, and very final. “Not for that.”  

He swallowed, then nodded, and did not ask her what she might have done if Joker had made it as far as being transported to hospital in her rig. No point asking when you already knew the answer.  

And then. The fucking Batman dropped by.  

He landed, just behind Jason and to the right. Quiet, shockingly quiet as always, and then he waited. Jason didn’t move. Just took another long drag of his cigarette, blew out the smoke and thought, idly, that Natalie was going to kill him if she saw him. Considering she’d handled the big Hood reveal like ice-water ran in her veins, he’d been pretty shocked at how quickly she fired up about the smoking. Between her and Alfred, Jason’s smoking days were probably down to single digits.  

Still, this one was one to savour. He wasn’t above admitting it felt cool and badass to ignore the Batman looming behind him, and blow out a plume of smoke into the night sky.  

There was the tiniest sound, telling him Bruce was shifting his weight, uncertain, and Jason felt his mouth pull down at the corners. He sighed, took one more drag and then leaned forward to stub out the butt on the side of the air conditioning tower. On his final exhale, he collected his hood and turned away, headed for the far edge of the roof.  

“Hood,” Batman said, almost involuntary. “Wait.”  

Jason shook his head and jammed on the helmet. “Wait for what?” He retorted. “The next ice age?”  

“Please. Can I – I wanted to talk.”  

Jason stepped up to the edge of the roof and half turned to look back over his shoulder.  

“Did you,” he said. “Now. Now you want to talk.”  

He saw Bruce’s mouth flatten into an unhappy line.  

“I…” he began, then trailed off.  

“Did you seriously think I’d be happy to hear from you now?” Hood said, incredulous. “Now that you wait until that fucker is dead before you reach out to me.”  

There’s a short, horrible silence. Then Jason said, “You are months too late, old man. Not only do I not need anything from you, my life is going just fine. But more importantly? I don’t want anything from you. Not ever again. Congratulations, you cured me. I’m free. So don’t trouble your little head about it. Focus on salvaging the other relationships that might still be available to you, maybe. But you can cross mine off the list.”   

He shot his grapple without any hesitation, and swung off into the Gotham skyline, feeling strangely light, but also strangely hollow.  

On another rooftop, deeper into Crime Alley territory, he loped to a halt and stared out across the skyline. He must have stayed there, frozen, for long enough to worry the others, because his comm crackled to life and Oracle’s distorted voice broke the silence. “Hood, status report.”  

“I’m okay,” he said automatically. The silence that followed was somehow disbelieving. “I’m okay, O. I just...” He took a deep breath, and opened his comm channel to bring in the others. “I’m feeling brave.” And somehow the act of saying it made it true. Jason felt his shoulders draw down and back, his head lift.  

“O-kay?” Red Robin said.  

“I’m doing it, brats. Seize the friggin’ moment and all that. I... am going to give Agent A the feedback we’ve all been too chickenshit to say.”  

“You- what?” Huh. Babs had obviously looped in Nightwing from all the way over in Bludhaven. Jason hadn’t known Dick’s voice could go that high anymore.  

“Yup,” Jason said, grinning broadly under his helmet. “I’m dropping truth bombs, and I've got enough for everyone. Tonight’s the night. Here I go - Red Robin, you keep dropping your left shoulder when we spar.”  

“As I have been saying for years-" Robin sniffed disdainfully over Tim’s offended scoff.  

“Robin,” Jason broke in over the top, “your refusal to vary your extremely distinctive speech patterns is going to blow your secret identity wide open.”  

“Ha!” Red Robin crowed when Damian growled.  

“Nightwing, you need to start accepting that your body will age, and your freaky acrobatic shit can’t be sustained at this level forever. Get ahead of it and adjust your fucking fighting style .”  

“Wow,” Oracle said. “I can’t wait for my turn.”  

Jason was not, in fact, an idiot. “O, you are a flawless diamond. Never change.”  

“Suck up,” Dick muttered, sulky.  

“And in the morning, I am going around to A’s place, and I am going to tell him that his waffles are crap,” Jason declared, feeling bulletproof.  

“I beg your pardon,” Alfred said, 1000% English offence coming clearly down the line.  

There was a frozen moment of silence on comms. It stretched for approximately forever, and Hood swore that a cold breeze somehow penetrated both the coverage of his helmet and his jacket to blow on the back of his neck.  

“ 911, I would like to report a murder, ” Tim whispered, and Jason didn’t need the visuals to know that was some fucking meme. Damian made his weird tch noise even as Dick choked back a laugh. His fucking brothers, ladies and gentlemen. He’d been better off all those months ago, abandoned under the rubble.  

“Gotta go,” Jason said desperately. “I see crime. It's right there in front of me.”  

“And I will see you when you are done with... crime ,” Alfred returned.  

Jason swallowed. He was a dead man.  

Heh.  

Again.  

Well, at least this time he was a dead man walking . He grappled off into the night, resigned to a dignified British arse-kicking, followed by narrow-eyed observation of Jason’s undeniably superior waffle skills. “I’m making breakfast, bitches,” he said. “See you all at Grampa’s place.”