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The figure drops down into the fray and Jason wishes he had a spare moment to be more resentful.
It’s way too early in the morning for this shit. Or, maybe not early in the morning so much as mid-afternoon, but for a vigilante, it’s practically the ass crack of dawn.
Things have admittedly gone to shit a bit. The fight should have ended in 2 minutes flat with a couple of Falcone’s goons a little worse for wear and Jason knowing more than he did 2 minutes ago about who had gone against his rules and sold to the local high school kids. Currently, they were 12 minutes in with Jason wondering if he had a bruised rib or just a bruised ego and the 5 fucking goons surrounding him are holding their own pretty well. Three of the assholes have guns.
The last thing this moment needs is some unknown punk getting involved, but he’s a little too preoccupied breaking a few vital shooting bones in Mr. Trigger-Happy’s hand to do more than shout a “Get the hell out of here!”
The figure’s in street clothes, no domino, but has a sweatshirt hood pulled so tight with a mangled knot of drawstrings that he can only really see a nose clearly, the mouth completely obscured and the eyes peeking through just enough to tell that they’re at least not fighting blind.
Gun Guy is down, and not getting up anytime soon, so Jason pivots to fight Other Gun Guy before one of them ends up shot. He’s got to get Sweatshirt Kid out of here sooner rather than later. Like Jason doesn’t have enough going on trying to protect the 5 most dangerous neighborhoods in Gotham, without adding a helpless kid with no self-preservation onto his plate.
Sweatshirt Kid lands a kick to the head of a knife wielding dude with a height advantage of at least a foot and half. The kick is hard enough that it should throw a tiny thing like Sweatshirt Kid off balance, but instead, the extra momentum powers a sucker punch that makes Third Gun Guy crumple .
That… makes a certain amount of sense actually. Jason’s not in the habit of fraternizing with the Bats, but he wasn’t reborn yesterday. The ‘helpless kid with no self-preservation’ is yet another child Batman has recruited into his Mission.
And Jason’s head has a habit of referring to her as ‘The Scary One’ for a reason.
Cassandra Cain.
‘Cass’, Dick had called her.
League Of Assassins training. Bat Training. Oracle training. A match for just about anyone in combat. Annoyingly two months older than Jason Todd.
While Jason’s distracted, his opponent takes the chance to fire off a shot that feels like a punch to the gut, but doesn’t pierce his kevlar. The world tilts green and the guy goes down, but Jason resists the urge to put a bullet in his throat. Barely. Even if the Bats aren’t honoring their end of the fucking deal, the fragile peace treaty isn’t worth throwing away on this guy.
Scary Girl is still holding her own, but now Jason is good and irritated enough to not particularly care that he could use the help. He dodges a few swings and swings back harder at the non-gunned goons. He’s not going to turn on an ally, but he doesn’t have to be pleasant either.
“What the fuck are you doing on this side of Eleventh?” He growls.
There’s no answer, but he wasn’t really expecting one. He’s collaborated with the Bats a few times now, and she’s never been much of a talker, even over the comms. For a split second, he misses Dickhead’s quips, before green swallows the nostalgia, and a solid punch to one of his combatants drowns the green.
Suddenly, there’s movement at his back, and Jason turns to see that The Scary One is pummeling a dude who wasn’t even in the fight a moment ago. A pair of bolt cutters lie abandoned on the gravel. Fuck. With his back turned and his head distracted, the asshole could have done some serious damage to Jason.
First Gun Guy is back up and has Third Gun Guy’s glock in his left hand, training it shakily on The Scary One. Jason forces himself to focus. Without firing a shot, the goon drops the gun once he sees Jason coming for him. Smart man. Jason lets him retreat in favor of fighting someone who’s fighting back: a short, fast guy.
Jason takes less than 10 seconds disarming his opponent, but subduing him, and his partner who joins in a minute later, feels like it takes forever. He’ll admit, if only to himself, that he’s gotten a little rusty on how to do this work quickly without just shooting kneecaps. Shooting kneecaps isn’t generally lethal, and wouldn’t violate the peace treaty, but it certainly wouldn’t help relatations.
Not that relations are all that stellar if The Scary One feels comfortable enough to stroll into his territory in broad fucking daylight.
When he turns back around Cassandra Cain stands; everyone else is on the ground or gone.
Well, she saved his ass, but there’s no point trying to get info now. Even in Gotham, this kind of action will draw attention at 2pm, and that stupid sweatshirt isn’t exactly an airtight disguise.
She gives him a thumbs up and he gives her one back before flipping her off.
She moves her hands, more insistently and exaggerated this time, her thumbs up resting on her other palm.. Dammit. He knows that sign, but his brain feels half an inch shy of remembering it.
“Uh… Shit, um..” He touches his fingers to the side of his helmet, trying to pull out knowledge from a lifetime ago.
Her hands move again, insistently, and she turns. There’s a huge chunk missing out of her sweatshirt, and a wide surface area of sluggish bleeding.
She signs again and his brain finally gives him some useful connections. ‘Help’.
“Fuck.” He’s got to get out of here and he’s dealing with a hurt ally he can’t even understand asking for help.
Well, this definitely isn’t Jason’s problem. The Bats should at least have the decency to patch up their own.
Alfred! …no, Jason’s pretty sure the Shakesphere festival is running right now, and Alfred never misses it. Or at least, he hadn’t when Jason was alive. Honestly, Jason can’t keep track of what’s changed and what hasn’t, but Alfred’s out unless he’s desperate. Dick’s in Bludhaven, and there’s no way in hell he’s calling Bruce.
Barbie could probably help, but he feels a little bad making The Scary One hang around for a ride. She definitely shouldn’t walk home, and he’s not that big of a fan of bringing more Bats into his territory.
Ugh, fine . He’s been meaning to change up his safe houses anyway.
“You up for walking two blocks?”
The Scary One nods and walks towards him. He’ll patch her up, walk her to the edge of his territory, and send her on her merry little way. If she doesn’t annoy him too much he’ll even let the breach of treaty go. That should be enough to take care of his debt for her unsolicited help.
Jason’s helmet covers his face. His body still speaks.
Worry. Jealous.
His hands are tight. His feet clomp. He looks up at the roofs. He turns back so he will not be followed.
Bitter. Fear.
He wants to help. He does not want to have debt.
He does not trust. Cass does not trust him too.
She does not kill. He will. (He will not kill her. She still does not trust.)
Her arm hurts. It will heal. Bruce says to fix the hurt parts anyway.
Jason brings her to a safe house. He does not want to open the door. He opens the door.
He does not want her to know a place he goes to be safe. He does not want Cass or her family in his safe place.
He wants to be alone.
He does not want to be alone.
He does not know he is loved.
Cass does not need Jason. Cass’ family needs Jason. So Cass needs Jason.
Cass walks into Jason’s safe place. He kicks off his boots. She copies.
He does not trust. He trusts anyway. She is not polite. She is polite anyway.
“Thank you.”
Her voice is clear. It is a gift like his open door is a gift.
“Take off that stupid sweatshirt and sit down. I’ll grab the med kit.”
His voice is wrong. His hood makes his voice wrong. She does not mind.
His safe place has books and clothes and pens and papers set on counters and chairs instead of shelves and drawers. The room smells like tomato and lime.
The carpet is stained. It has vacuum lines like Alfred makes.
She sits on the counter. The kitchen is easier to clean blood from than the table or couch.
She will get Tim a new sweatshirt. Small holes are okay, but this is a big one.
Her arm stings when she takes the sweatshirt off. The cuts and scrapes are not deep, but they cover a big space. It hurts to move out of the sleeves.
Her face does not wince on its own. She winces anyway, because she can. She shows when she is hurt, even though no one will see her face, because she is free. She breaks the rules. She fixes the hurts. She does not kill. She winces.
Ha.
Jason comes with the med kit. His hood is off.
He did not know her cuts were so big. He winces. Bruce did not teach him to hide. The League did, but he is more like Bruce.
He is League-trained on the outside, but he is Bruce-family on the inside. He is almost more Bruce-family than he is green-mad on the inside.
When Jason hurt her little brother he was all green-mad and almost no Bruce-family. He made Tim so scared. Sad. Hurt.
“I can patch you up, or you can try it yourself, but you’re going to have a hell of a time reaching behind yourself like that with bloody knuckles.” His voice is clear with no hood. His words sound like the Narrows, not Romani, Bristol, British. The words sound like Steph with no smile.
Jason will help, but she can say no. She thinks of Tim and wants to say no. She thinks of Bruce and wants to say yes.
She looks at Jason. His arms say he is trying. His shoulders say he does not trust. His breath says he wants to be calm. His hands say he does not like her in his safe place.
She nods.
He washes his hands. He is careful when he scrubs. He is careful when he turns.
He speaks with his body like people in the Narrows do, showing her what he will do. His arms and shoulders spell out ‘I’m coming close, be ready for me’ loud and clear.
He stands near her. He does not like it when people make him afraid. He does not want her to be afraid. He had 5 guns on him, but he stands next to her like he is not a weapon.
She moves her shirt to let him see all the blood. He hums like he is sorry. “I’ll clean it with saline. It’ll hurt, but you already know that.”
It does hurt, but not bad. He starts at the bottom, halfway between her elbow and her shoulder.
He does not brush the wound lightly like Dick or scrub at it like Bruce does when he’s stressed. His hands move like Alfred’s. Careful. Steady. Correct. He is not pushed by emotions. It is funny that Jason’s hands are not full of emotions because the rest of his body always is. She wants to laugh, but she does not think this is a joke anyone else would understand.
Jason’s arms and legs and spine are always full of feelings and his hands are the quiet part of him right now. They say more with their quiet than she expected to hear.
He cleans higher up her arm. He talks to himself about the dirt and pebble bits that are stuck to her arm.
He talks about how she should not fight in a sweatshirt. How he did not need her help. How the men they were fighting fought dirty. How she fought well.
He talks about small things so she will be calm. He does not like to sit in quiet. He can be quiet when he wants someone else to talk, but he knows she will not.
It is nice to hear him talk. She talks back in her way, nodding, facing him, tilting her head in interest.
She smiles when he teases Dick for not sitting still for stitches. She rolls her eyes when he talks about Bruce ‘helicoptering’. She knows what a helicopter is, but it doesn’t fit. Jason is annoyed, not angry. He’s fond. Helicoptering is maybe what Dick calls ‘fretting’. She is also fond of that, but rolls her eyes anyway.
The scratch goes way up her shoulder, up on her back near her neck. She has to turn to let him clean the whole thing.
The saline makes big damp patches. She takes a slow breath to stop from letting her body move from the cold.
“Sorry about your pants.” He is not sorry. He knows they will dry. He knows she is not upset.
He has a pair of sweatpants that are on his chair. Alfred would not look happy at the mess. She leans over and grabs them. She smiles at him.
He huffs a laugh. “Fine if you want to steal mine, be my guest. Just don’t come crying to me when you break your damn ankle swimming in them.”
She will not steal his pants. It is funny to pretend. She teases him like her brothers tease her.
The med kit has scissors. She smiles bigger, to show him she is teasing, like how he is using his arms to show he will not be a threat. She grabs the scissors. She makes big cuts in the air near the pant leg.
He thinks she is funny. “Don’t you dare.” His voice is flat.
Her laugh is small. She does it anyway.
She laughs a lot, but it does not burst out like Dick’s. It does not fight past closed lips like Tim’s. Laughing is still a choice. She is too well trained to make noise without meaning to. She chooses it anyway because Steph says ‘fuck your dad’ and Cass agrees. She does not want to be a weapon. Fuck that.
“You have to turn more,” Jason says. Alfred makes orders that sound like asking. Jason asks and makes it sound like an order.
Jason knows that she will not be able to see his hands. She will not hear his body say ‘I will not hurt’. He does not know her language, but he does know danger.
She turns. Jason’s fan is loud and he still speaks to her. It does not stop the room from feeling too quiet now.
She knows he is helping. She knows they are allies. She knows if he fought her, she could win. It still feels bad.
She cannot hear his body talk, so there is only the sting and burn of his work. She knows how many weapons he can reach. She can’t see and it is easy to think he will point them at her.
Tim thinks that she trusts. She does not. She knows who will not hurt. That is not trust.
“You won’t need stitches. I’ll just put cream on it and wrap it up well.”
He knows she does not trust. He wants to help.
She breaths. She pretends that she trusts so that her body will look like she trusts.
Most people believe body lies.
“Almost done. Is it okay if I move your shirt down a bit so I can get the rest?”
She likes that he asks first. She does not mind. She pulls the front of the shirt high up on her neck so he can pull the back down. The cuts and scrapes just below her shoulder are not as bad. Bruce says to heal the hurt parts anyway.
“I’ll be quick.” He stretches her shirt to finish his work.
She cannot see him, but his hands stop being quiet. They freeze. Shock. Scared.
She cannot hear him, but still she feels the way the air behind her changes. His body is not still. Shaky.
She thinks about turning back to look at him, but she does not. He is trying. He is an ally. He matters to her family.
She is working on trust.
He will not hurt her. If he does, she will win.
“Fuck dude, that’s bad even for Gotham.”
His tone speaks before his words do. He sounds more calm than he is. He does not want to sound upset.
He is upset. He is not mad. Or he is, but not mad to hurt. Or maybe to hurt, but not right now.
She is quiet.
He makes his words sound small. Like he is not upset. Dick would say ‘no biggie’. Jason wants to sound like ‘no biggie’, but it is ‘yes biggie’.
He makes his words sound like ‘Don’t worry’, like ‘I understand’, like ‘I did not know we were the same.’
He is shaking.
She turns her head to look at him. The blue in his eyes is gone.
He gives a smile. He has bile behind his teeth. His face tries to say ‘we’re okay, don’t worry’. His face says he is upset. Angry. Scared. He wants to hide, fight, scream, protect, act like it is ‘no biggie’.
“Safe.” She could be talking to herself or him. Now or years ago. She says it anyway. She hopes he will hear what he needs to.
“Bullshit. You’ve got scars at least a decade old and I know you’ve only got a couple months on me. You look worse than I did before the pit.”
“Safe now.”
“Yeah, real fucking safe.” His voice is a growl, but he does not want that. He does not want to scare her.
His hands are close to the medkit. They say ‘you got hurt today’.
She points to her shoulder. A few hard throws into the asphalt made the skin raw and red. It will not scar. She points to her back.
Pink and white. Thick and tough. Stretched and pulled.
He throws the cotton pads he used to clean the cuts into the trash. He throws hard. The trashcan shakes. There is no blue in his eyes.
He breathes like Bruce. Like Dick, Tim, Alfred, Steph, Barbara. He breathes like family who calm you down. Like family who would not shoot you.
Jason is guns and anger. Not long ago, he was killing. Not long enough ago, he hurt Timmy.
But he breathes like family.
“Not the same.” She shrugs.
He knows it is not the same, but she says it anyway.
“Yeah, whatever. Let me finish you up.”
She sees specks of blue.
She turns and lets him finish. He does everything right to make sure she will heal.
“I know you’ve had a lot worse, but I got some over the counter stuff for the pain if you want.”
He is scared of medicine.
She shakes her head. She does not like feeling wrong. Medicine makes her too slow.
“I know it’s not anything like a bullet or whatever the fuck else happened to your back, but you still shouldn’t be jumping into shit in your goddamn street clothes. Way too easy to compromise identities, but also like, it’s way too easy to get hurt in a way you won’t jump back from. And I know you were fucking saving my ass, but I had armour. I know you don’t have to listen to me, but for the love of fuck, if you’re planning to be that dumb, can you do it not on my territory?”
Red Hood does not hurt kids. She is not a kid, but she was one. He is upset that she was hurt when she could not fight back. She can fight back now, but he is still worried.
Cass’ family would be upset at Jason. They like to do things alone, no help, no one saying ‘no’.
Cass does not mind. Jason can’t stop her. He does not want to stop her. He wants her to be safe.
She nods. He relaxes.
“Seriously, not a damn person I know has an ounce of self-preservation.” His words aren’t sharp. They roll out gently with half of a smile.
“I dodge.”
He snorts.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you. It’s not fucking fair, you’re like a goddamn speedster. I think B’s just an idiot and didn’t check you for the meta gene.”
“Not meta. Just better.”
“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. You’re good to go. Change out the bandage. Or get sepsis, what do I care?”
He cleans up the med kit. She hops off the counter. She looks at him. There’s more blue.
She smiles. “Brother hen.”
He was not ready for that. His face can’t pick between laugh or glare.
“I’m hungry.” Cass has heard Dick talk about Jason’s cooking. Also, she will be seeing him more. He is less green than he was. He will be in the family. She will not stop him.
He sighs. He glares. His body is bad at lying. His chest says ‘I am proud that I make good food’. His back says ‘You can be in my safe place right now.’ His shoulders say ‘I don’t trust, but I don’t hate’.
“Ugh, fine .” His mouth says. “You can stay for dinner. Then you’re going back to your own territory and you’re not coming back.”
She will go back to the cave after dinner. She won’t not come back.
“Tacos or stirfry?” He works. He looks at the food he has. This is not his main house, but it is in use.
She doesn’t know what ‘stir-fry’ is. She helps herself to a juice box in his fridge. She hops onto his counter to watch him work.
“Both.” She decides.
He can roll his eyes all he wants. His smirk was faster, and it spoke up loud and clear.