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Metal clattered to the ground before him as the man doubled over. Jason leaned against the wall unsympathetically.
“So, you done yet?”
“Fuck. You.” The man spat.
He shrugged “Round two then.” He cracked his knuckles. He was having a good night. The man was the head of a trafficking ring, one of the last ones in the alley. He’d put up a good fight, using a rusty pole to go for Jason’s helmet, but it wasn’t enough. Not when Jason’s vision kept flickering green.
He was getting better. He remembered with visceral clarity the first few days in Gotham. The pit was so loud he couldn’t hear anything but Tailia’s words echoing in his head, insisting he’d been replaced. It was sheer luck that his preparations had put him into contact with Robin. Meeting Tim Drake in civies, he was able to clear the green smog just long enough to see the situation clearly. See that he was a child. A child who needed Robin, maybe more than Jason had.
So he went on with life. He kept his identity a closely guarded secret, unknown to both the people of Gotham and their protectors.
That wasn’t to say he was happy. Honestly, when the pit wasn’t clouding his senses he didn’t feel much of anything. So, he did what he did best; avoid the issue until it either went away or forced him to acknowledge it. He stayed within the bounds of the alley, keeping the death toll down and his territory clearly marked. It was enough that the Bats seemed to turn a blind eye. What was more confusing, honestly, was Crime Alley’s reaction.
His alias was no longer hissed, but whispered with reverence, as though it was something to be treasured. Uttered like the name of a merciful god. He knew their names, their faces, their families. He knew their routes, their clients, and exactly how legal their services were. They weren't so trusting at first. In the beginning, he was subject to the same wary ire he’d gotten as Robin. The same silent question of how long it would take for him to give up on the dregs. He remembered the day it changed.
Firefly was loose in Gotham. Smoke had billowed from the docks, staining the watercolor sky with clouds of ash. Jason was standing on the rooftop, at the very edge of his alley. If he took another step he’d be out of his territory. His foot hovered over the invisible line and his conviction wavered. As though hearing his internal conflict, the universe intervened with a BOOM. He spun around to see an apartment building burst into flames. Seconds later, he was stalking through the blaze. The bright yellow sparks merged with the green coating his vision as he beat Firefly into the ground. Barely a minute later, he was standing over him with a gun aimed at his forehead.
“But the Bats don’t kill”
“I’m not a Bat.”
‘BANG’
He had dragged the broken body out of the building, leaving it at the feet of the onlookers. The message sent was clear:
Crime alley is off-limits.
Ever since that day, the alley had changed. Hope hung in the air even as it wavered, as though dispellable with a harsh exhale.
He pulled himself out of his thoughts as the trafficker straightened and reached again for the pole. The bullet wound dripped, staining the metal red. Jason gripped his shoulders and sent him tumbling to the ground. He drew back a steel-toed boot and delivered a precise kick to the ribs.
“Look at me.” the man groaned, splayed on the pavement.
Jason pressed a foot to his neck. “I said fucking look at me.”
He whimpered but made eye contact
“That’s better. Now, here’s what we’re going to do. I am going to drop you at the edge of the alley, you are going to be found by police and serve your time. I don’t doubt your ability to get out, I know how this works, However, I want you to consider your options.” Jason’s grin sharpened into something feral “You could make your way back, start rounding up the girls, building some power,” He pressed harder on his neck “Or, you could stay in your cell like a good boy and be safe. From me. Understand?”
The figure nodded and Jason pulled out a roll of duct tape.
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Jason trudged through the empty streets. It was late, and everyone with two brain cells was inside. He paused just outside his door and cracked his back. That guy had been heavy and the judgmental face he'd made as Jason wrapped him up pissed him off. No need to be a classist bitch, not everyone was funded by a billionaire.
He made it halfway up the steps when he heard a sound. He spun around, reaching for his guns. The street was empty and still, save for the dead leaves that scuttled over the pavement, darting in and out of streetlamp rays. Jason slowly took his hands off his holsters and took another step. The sound called again, now recognizable as the mewling of a kitten. He scanned the street, searching for the source of the cries. His eyes landed on a brown ball of fluff, huddled between the wall and railing.
He crouched down for a closer look and was met with a pair of large, green, eyes. Almost the same shade as his. The cat was a dirty brown, fur matted with leaves and twigs. At Jason's movement, She puffed up and pushed further into the corner. Her paws were darkened like soot and her emerald eyes wide. Her long tail was tucked behind her. Jason, almost on instinct, reached out an open palm. The cat eyed it distrustfully and her eyes darted to the gaps in the railing.
They stayed there, frozen in that position for several minutes. Eventually, as Jason’s knees started to cry in protest, the cat moved. She leaned forward, keeping perfect eye contact, and delicately sniffed his hand. Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her, because it was like a switch was flipped. Suddenly, her hackles lowered and she leaped forward, slotting herself between Jason’s boots. He blinked and ran a hand through her fur, fully expecting her to flinch away. Instead, she arched into his touch, kneading the concrete beneath them. He gently pulled at the burrs lodged in her coat, easing them out with care. With each piece of detritus removed, the cat relaxed more, until she was slumped against Jason’s leg, purring faintly. As he loosened the last stem, a distant car alarm jolted him out of his tranquil haze.
Jesus, what was he doing, he was out in the open, if anyone saw him… He glanced over his shoulder, not even remotely reassured by the emptiness. This was Gotham, just because you couldn’t see anyone didn’t mean someone wasn’t there. The cat seemed to pick up on his mood and sat up, scrutinizing the area. Jason opened the door. He paused, one foot over the threshold, and glanced back at the cat. He couldn’t just leave her, right? But could he really care for a cat with the pit constantly humming under his thoughts? His stomach turned. The cat, however, did not seem to share his reservations and darted into the building.
Jason entered the stairwell and he could hear her paws tapping as she ran up the steps. He trailed after her, bemusedly, and opened the door into his hallway. At the long stretch of carpet, she fell back, trailing behind his legs until he unlocked his apartment. As soon as the door swung open, she shot through it and settled herself onto the couch.
Jason hesitated in the doorway for a moment, feeling almost a guest in his own home. The cat sat on the couch, grooming a paw and paying no heed to the crime lord's gaze. Jason shook himself and hung his jacket on a peg. He had food to cook.
He entered the kitchen and pulled out his ingredients. He was making fideos secos, a pasta dish with short angel hair cooked in a tomato paste. His mom made it once, on one of her good days. He’d come home to the smell of garlic and spices and the sound of sizzling oil. His mom had the radio on and a lively flush he hadn’t seen in years decorated her cheeks. They’d danced around the kitchen to Guns ‘N Roses. Willis was out of town and they ate at the table. The short moment of joy lasted three days before she was gone again.
Jason threw everything in the pan, listening as it hissed and spat. As he stirred, he clicked on the shitty radio he’d found in a dumpster. He combed the static for the threads of a song, finally tuning it to a classic rock station. Kurt Cobain’s husky voice filled the kitchen as Jason chopped the vegetables.
He hummed as he worked, mumbling the lyrics under his breath. The cat stared at him and Jason felt oddly defensive.
“Hey, this is your own fault, don’t you know not to go home with strangers?” He gestured with his knife. “Are you gonna pay rent? No?” He continued, “Then stop judging my music choices.”
The cat looked unimpressed.
Several minutes later, the food was done and the table set. Jason turned down the radio until it was a quiet buzz and looked back at his guest. The cat was staring longingly at his plate, and he swore he could count her ribs. He sighed.
“I had a whole dinner planned, you know. Butter chicken.” he said, complaining even as he opened the fridge. “I could have deliciously spiced chicken curry but noOOo '' He pulled out a chicken breast, peeling a large chunk off and dropped it on a plate.
“Here.” He slid the dish along the floor, closer to where the cat was perched. She twitched her tail haughtily and landed with a soft thump. She sniffed the chicken, seemingly deeming it acceptable, and started her meal. Jason did the same, a small smile forcing its way across his face as he watched her inhale the food. He re-filled her dish a few times, using most of the chicken.
When they were both sufficiently fed, he started on the dishes. The music was returned to its original volume and the cat twined about his legs, purring softly. He set them out to dry and settled on the couch.
He removed a well-worn book from its hiding place beneath the couch. Its faded cover proclaimed Pride and Prejudice in peeling gold. He slid his fingers along until he found the bookmark and pressed it open.
He was nearing the end of the book and resisting the urge to scoff at Lady de Bourgh, when something warm settled into his side. He looked down to see the cat wedged between him and the couch cushions.
"There is a spot right there," Jason sighed, exasperated, "you're getting dirt all over my clothes."
He didn't bother trying to move her. He just went back to his book, absentmindedly scratching the feline’s chin.
The next morning, he woke slowly. He laid there for several seconds, letting his eyes rest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through the night.
As Jason searched his memories for what had granted him respite from his nightmares, he became aware of a weight on his chest. He stretched, remembering only at the last moment his visitor.
He blinked his eyes open and came face to face with the cat. She surveyed him for a moment and stepped delicately to the floor. Jason watched as she padded into the kitchen and sat directly in front of the fridge.
He took the hint.
“Yeah, yeah, fine.”
He took out the last of the chicken and put away the dry dishes as she ate. She would need more food. The closest pet store was in Gotham Village, roughly 20 minutes out. The idea of leaving Park Row without identity protection made him squeeze his eyes shut and clench his fists. He forced himself to relax. Even if the bats tolerate him, he couldn’t risk being out of the alley as Hood.
He slipped out the door, careful not to let the cat out, and slid his helmet into place. He allowed himself a small, hidden smile as the engine purred to life.
It was an ‘09 Night Rod Special with a custom paint job and upgraded bodywork. He couldn’t exactly use it as Red Hood, he knew better, but even without any gadgetry, it packed a punch.
He cruised through the bustling streets, taking back roads and slowing down as soon as he was out of the alley. Gotham Village was nice, but being off his home turf made his skin itch and the back of his neck tingle. He would have to keep this short.
He parked out front of a small pet store. The shop was small but well-maintained. A pale marquee sign rested against the window, telling him this was “Wags and Whiskers, the home of all your pet shopping needs!”. He pushed the door open, starting slightly as a faint sound jingled above his head. He glared upward at the offending bell and continued on. The store was quaint and tidy, sunlight streaming in through the freshly cleaned glass. The walls were lined with shelves, each modestly stocked with items. At the back of the room, an old man fiddled with a sheet of price stickers.
He perused the rack of pet shampoos, trying to pretend he knew what he was looking for. What was the difference between hypoallergenic and allergy friendly? Was “enriching shea butter” necessary? How could three different bottles claim to be the #1 rated brand in the USA? He glanced over at the still kneeling man and grabbed one of everything. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. Even after putting 95% of his money back into the alley, being a crime lord had its perks.
He opted to take the same approach for the food. And the litter. And the toys. By the time he made it to the checkout line, his arms held a tower of items that were wobbling precariously over the counter. The man in the corner peered over at him and did a double-take. He scurried over and began bagging everything before Jason could get a word in edgewise. Within seconds an army of bags was amassed at the man’s shoulder. Jason just sighed and pulled out his wallet.
As he went over his total with the cashier something nagged at the back of his mind. Something seemed familiar. It danced just out of reach as he attached his purchases and kicked the stand up.
This scene, one with a sea of bags, and a concerned cashier, all for a new addition for the family…
In an instant, it came flooding back. A few weeks into his stay at the manor, Jason had made an off-handed mention on his lack of possessions. Dick, instantly ablaze with righteous indignation, had yanked him off the couch and dragged him to the car. They’d arrived at the mall not 15 minutes later, cell phones ringing at the uninformed excursion. Dick had flitted about the store like a sparrow on 46 espresso shots, filling their cart with anything and everything he thought Jason might need. Jason had trailed behind, thankful and slightly overwhelmed.
When they’d gotten to the front, the cashier looked at them like they’d grown three heads before shrugging and bagging their items. When they got home, Dick had helped him put everything away, hanging the posters he found and shelving the books. For a moment Jason wanted nothing more than to run a hand over the silky smooth cover, perfectly preserved by the dust jacket. To read, in his newly decorated room as his brother leaned against him.
Then he remembered. Dick didn’t care. Dick forgot him. Those neat books and glossy posters were probably rotting in a landfill by now. Dick had replaced him with the newer, shinier, version. And honestly? That he could forgive. One look into Drake Manor told Jason how badly Tim needed someone. No, what sent green sparks of fury rushing through his veins was that his death meant nothing.
Jason had died. Jason had died, and while his corpse was still warm in the ground, Dick had picked up another brother. Dick had let Tim take up the mantle and done nothing to protect him from Jason’s fate. And it wasn’t an idle threat. Just weeks before Jason came back to Gotham, Tim was kidnapped. Dick had watched two of his brothers suffer at the hands of the Joker and still, he lived. Jason would have killed the clown himself if he could find the chalk-faced bastard.
Jason took a deep breath and did his best to calm the thrumming of the pit beneath his skin. He felt something trickle into the foam around his eyes and realized, with belated embarrassment, he was crying. He hid his bike and removed his helmet, running a shaking hand through his hair.
Fuck.
The whispers of the pit were louder now. They howled in his ears, making his head spin. He needed to patrol, work off some steam, but it wouldn’t be dark for a few more hours. He grit his teeth. He should have known better than to get himself worked up. He’d have to wait this out in his apartment. He entered his building, nearly forgetting the bags, and slammed them down on the table.
He desperately scanned the apartment for any sign of the cat. Wherever she went, he couldn't. His eyes jumped from the empty food bowl to the abandoned cushion on the couch, to the bedroom door, each location as barren as the last.
Another wave of neon flooded his vision and he hissed out a breath.
“Fuck”
He shoved his door open, taking in the rumpled sheets in the dim light, but there was no one to be found. He did the same with the bathroom, ripping the shower curtain back and searching for any sign of life with frenzied eyes. He stumbled back to the couch, covering his ears as the pit rose like a fog.
His muscles shook with barely contained rage. The whispers were gone, replaced with near-incomprehensible screaming. The pounding of his head drowned out any attempt at rational thought. A food dish clattered against his foot as he drew his legs upward.
Jason tried to ignore the bitterness pooling in his gut. It was for the best that the cat was gone, they’d only known each other for a day. Besides, it wasn’t safe for her here. It wasn’t like he cared.
As the pit swelled and Jason braced for another wave, a sound pinged at the edge of his consciousness. Blearily, he looked up, searching for the source of the quiet scratching. He squeezed his eyes shut while a tremor wracked his body. His guns were slid out of their holsters and into his hands as he stood, hungry for a fight. His thumbs rested snuggly on the safeties.
The scratching paused momentarily and Jason took a moment to locate the source of the sound. The fire escape. Alright, he could work with this. He pressed himself against the wall as the pit roared for him to drop the gun and tear them apart with his bare hands. After a few moments, the scratching stopped. Replaced with a small, mournful, cry.
Jason’s mouth went dry. He holstered his guns and flew to the window, barely daring to hope.
Beyond the speckled glass, sitting on the rusty iron bars, was the cat. Her fur was a little worse for the wear, but he couldn’t see any injuries. She was holding something (maybe a scrap of fabric?) in her mouth, which she dropped as she stepped around his legs.
Jason was many things, crime lord, vigilante, murderer, but one thing he was not, was impolite. Alfred had drilled into his head that rejecting a gift was the height of rudeness. So, smiling slightly, he slid the fabric into his pocket.
The cat perched on the couch expectantly as Jason rifled through the bags. He grabbed a treat box at random and slid into his spot next to her.
At the sound of the plastic ripping she perked up, swatting a treat from his outstretched hand. She crunched it down, immediately searching for more. After a few minutes, Jason closed the bag.
“No more for you missy, I have, like, sixteen new bags of cat food for you to try and that’s not even counting the cans.”
The cat seemed unimpressed by this logic and retaliated by replacing the treat with his hand.
Jason sighed. “Do you have to use my hand as a chew toy?”
The cat just blinked and resumed her attack on his thumb.
While the cat gently gnawed on his fingers, Jason reached into his pocket for the cat’s gift, examining the fabric closer.
It seemed to be a scrap of fabric, maybe an inch wide. It was a flexible version of an almost kevlar-like material. The front was mostly black, with a small patch of blue occupying the corner. There were multiple layers, a shiny, glossy outer layer, a thicker heavy middle layer, and what looked like the remnants of a liner. It reminded him a bit of his old suit honestly. The smooth outer surface was marred by scratches and what looked like a few puncture marks.
Jason bit back a snicker. Some poor sod must have been walking with his brand new, blue and black boots when the cat came by and decided they looked edible. Though, Jason supposed he couldn’t judge, not when the cat was just finishing licking his finger.
Jason ran a finger over the fabric as the cat nuzzled closer. There was something calming and almost familiar about the texture against his hands. He was still absentmindedly thumbing at it when he realized the pit was gone.
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The sound of sirens rose and fell in the distance as Jason faced his brother. Dick had joined his fight, uninvited and out of nowhere for seemingly no reason.
“Why are you here?”
Dick, maddeningly, seemed unaffected by the hostility. “Oh, no reason, you just looked like you needed a hand.”
Jason snorted. “Cut the bullshit Dickwing, we both know you’re not here to chat, what’s your game.”
Dick’s nonchalant demeanor was unchanged. “Honestly? I was sent to spy on you. But I don’t want to, so I’ll just say you got away before we could talk.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. The last time he’d seen Dick outright ignore Bruce was when he first got to the manor. “What’s got you so rebellious? Family spat?”
For the first time, Dick’s face hardened. “Ideological differences.”
Jason waited but Dick didn’t elaborate. “Ok… well that’s rough but if we’re done here-”
“Can you wait?” Dick pleaded, “I can’t go back yet and I’m bored.”
“Okay what else did he do, there’s no way you’re getting this pissed from ‘Ideological differences’.”
Dick grimaced. “He defended his choices using a dead- He wasn’t exactly kind in the delivery.”
“Well Dick for brains, I happen to have somewhere to be.” He reveled in Dick’s hidden flinch at every variation of his name.
“Ugh, But-”
“No buts. Besides, Richie, you ought to head back to your part of town, you never seem to be there when someone needs you.”
He watched with silent satisfaction as Dick recoiled as though from a physical blow. Then he processed Jason’s words and went very, very still. Huh. who knew someone could go the exact shade of printer paper.
“What? Richie? Why do you say that?” Dick rasped.
Jason painted his face into a mask of casualness “Well you’re obviously loaded. I mean, look at you. The gloves alone would be worth a couple grand, I’m sure.”
Dick swayed slightly as he let out a whoosh of air.
“What? No clever reply? Cat got your tongue?” Jason teased.
“More like my suit.” he muttered under his breath.
He paused. Was Selena back on her cat burglary kick? It was possible, she'd stolen Wayne tech before.
He glanced at the lowering moon. He had to get going.
“Right, uh, thanks for the hand, I guess. Tell Batsie to stay out of my territory if he doesn’t want to lose his arms, and do the same if you value your ability to walk.”
Jason didn’t bother to look back as he swung in the direction of his apartment. He had an early appointment with the vet. Just an easy in and out checkup and maybe a few shots.
It would go great.
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Jason was willing to admit, several days later, that it did not go great. He picked ruefully at the scratches still healing along his arms.
It had started well enough.
Jason had wanted to give the cat a bath before their visit, so he’d run the water and grabbed his supplies. His plan was to rinse the cat, lather, rinse again, and dry.
The cat did not like that plan.
As soon as Jason managed to catch her, (Which took far longer than necessary) he’d walked them both to the bathroom and closed the door. Once he was sitting, he realized the shampoo was still plastic wrapped, so he had to wrestle with the crappy plastic liner and little foil disc before he could even start.
Once he was done opening it and the cat was done distrustfully eyeing the tub, he picked her up and put her in.
Well.
Tried to.
The cat squirmed and writhed, yowling any time she got within a foot of the water. When he tried to ignore her, she dug her claws in and refused to move. After several full minutes of fighting, he finally sat her in the tub where she glared at him venomously.
It didn’t get better.
He got her into the carrier, still slightly damp due to her rampant hatred for towels, only to notice one, large glaring flaw in his plan.
He didn’t have a car.
There was no way in hell he was strapping the carrier to his bike, so the only thing for it was to call a taxi.
When the car finally pulled up the cat was still vocalizing her discontent, which meant Jason had to sit there, making awkward eye contact with the driver the entire ride.
By the time they actually entered the vet they were 10 minutes late and the waiting room was packed. Jason winced slightly as a bull terrier and its owner glared at him.
After checking in, he was sent to the room where a harried-looking vet flipped through a clipboard.
She glanced up “Hello, you must be Jason, I’m Dr. Garcia.”
He reached out a hand to shake “Yep, that’s me.”
She smiled at the cat’s carrier. “And who’s this little guy?”
Jason’s mind blue-screened.
Fuck. The cat didn’t have a name. Why didn’t she have a name? Shit, shit, shit. What about a cute nickname?
At Dr. Garcia's asking glance, Jason blurted out the first name he could think of. Which was, for some godforsaken reason;
“Gremlin!”
The vet blinked twice.
Shit. Okay, how does he salvage this?
“We usually just call her Grem.”
Fuck that just made it worse, okay how do people get away with naming their kids stupid names?
“It’s uh- a family name?”
Yeah, It was safe to say that visit didn’t go so well.
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Several weeks later, Jason was standing in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating a small shelf. The shelf was Gremlin’s, full of all the gifts she’d brought for him. Several cat toys, a few electronic parts, and, most noticeably, a slew of fabric scraps, all pridefully pinned to a board.
As Jason chopped the chicken breast, setting a few pieces aside for Gremlin, he wondered where she was getting the scraps from. Honestly, he probably shouldn’t be encouraging this kind of behavior, it was sure to bite him in the ass, but the way she beamed whenever presenting her newest find made it impossible to reprimand.
The sound of paws on the fire escape alerted him to her presence. He hid a smile, pretending not to notice as she darted inside. Without bothering to quiet her steps, she wrapped herself around his legs, and dropped something small and metal at his feet. Jason frowned. She liked to sneak up on him, pouncing, before rewarding him with her catch. This was new. He was about to crouch down to check for injuries when he heard a second, far more human, pair of feet on the fire escape.
“Godamnit.” a voice muttered
Jason reached for his guns, pausing when he remembered his holsters were on the couch. He pushed Gremlin a little further back and readied his knife.
A figure bent down, silhouetted against the bright windows. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Jason froze, if the guy was here to rob, he’d prefer an empty house. “Yeah, Jackass, piss off. Go steal something from my neighbor”
The figure was halfway through the window when Jason recognised him. The man set both feet on the ground and Jason was suddenly staring at the bright, masked, beaming face of Dick Grayson.
“Hey! Sorry for barging in, your cat grabbed my comn-” Dicks face fell, twisting into a bloodthirsty snarl.“You.”
“Yeah, me, asshat. Get the fuck out of my apartment.” Jason took a step forward.
“You’re supposed to be cozied up in a cell at Arkham, why are you here?” Dick slid out his escrima sticks.
“Nice to see that despite your ‘Ideological differences.’, you and B can still agree to hate me.”
Dick’s grip momentarily slackened, letting his weapons tip forward. “Hood.”
Jason smiled, all teeth. “Surprise.”
Dick’s face went rigid with cold fury, crossing the room in two long strides. “How dare you. How fucking dare you! What was it, Clayface? Decided watching us grieve twice wasn’t enough? Had to watch us do it all over again? I fought for you! I kept B off your ass for months! And now you have the nerve to use my dead brother’s face as a goddamned puppet?”
Jason’s vision flickered green. He really wished Gremlin would move so he could let the pit take over. Anything would be better than this acidic bitterness and the poignant loneliness of seeing his brother again.
Gremlin apparently concurred, leaping past him and running his claws down Dick’s leg. His face twisted in pain as her claws retracted and Jason’s blood turned to ice. He snatched her by the scruff of her neck and hid her behind his legs again.
“Oh? Not happy to see Robin again? Speaking ill of the dead? Whatever would Batsie say?” He stalled.
“Take his goddamned face off.” Dick growled
“Hm no. I’m not in the mood, mud really clogs the pores, you know?” Jason watched in satisfaction as Dick’s knuckles went white, cat completely forgotten.
“Take it off, or so help me God I will-”
“Or what?” He snapped “What will you do? Kill me? You didn’t kill the Joker when he killed me! Then you let my goddamned replacement run around in tights while a madman blew up the fucking streets around him! Then, as if that wasn’t e- fucking -nough, when the pipsqueak got wholass tortured, you let that walking embodiment of an ingrown toenail live!”
Something in Dick seemed to snap. “I KILLED HIM AND I SWEAR ON EVERYTHING HOLY I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU TOO!”
“That’s what I thou-” he wavered “Wait, what?”
Dick’s eyes danced with a feral light. “What’s wrong, Clay? Realizing your actions have consequences? Didn’t think the Bat’s favorite bird had blood on his hands?”
A hole yawned in Jason’s chest. What was Dick talking about “What? No, he’s alive. He’s still alive!”
There was something animalistic about Dick’s smile as he replied. “Only thanks to a certain Bat’s interference, and if there’s one thing I notice about this shitty apartment?” Dick slid a switch up, watching as the electricity arced between the sticks in a deadly curve. “It’s a remarkable lack of morally superior vigilanties.”
Jason stumbled backwards, reeling as the world shifted under his feet. There wasn’t enough air in his lungs, his breath coming out in a harsh gasp.
“No.” He rasped “No, No, you’re lying, Bruce wouldn’t let you back. He-”
Dick faltered. His eyes widened behind the domino mask. “Jay?” He whispered, fingers twitching as though to remove his mask. Longing was visible in every line of his face, a painful ragged thing that begged to be soothed. Suddenly it was all gone, packed behind a flawless sheet.
He leveled an escrima stick at Jason’s throat.
“What’s your code.”
Jason, still dizzy from the revelation, took a moment to answer. “I- what?”
Dick stepped closer, close enough that Jason could feel the heat from the electricity sparking under his chin. “What. Is. Your. Code.” Jason was still frozen “Robin, report.”
Some deeply hidden part of his mind shoved him fully upright and sent numbers bubbling up through his mouth. “48560484“
Dick collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, dragging him into a hug as he openly sobbed on his shoulder.
“Little Wing,” He croaked
Jason found himself sinking into the hug, basking in the feeling, his mind repeating one sentence on loop.
He pulled back “You killed him for me.”
Dick’s face crumpled with guilt “I know, I’m so sorry Jay, I know it’s not what you wanted but I-”
Jason flung himself at Dick, sending them both tumbling to the kitchen floor. He wrapped around him, clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline. “You cared.” Gremlin wound herself into his space.
Dick made shushing noises, running his hand along Jason’s back. “Of course I did Little Wing, I always did. I promise.”
They stayed there, all three of them, protected in each other's arms for several minutes before Jason slid back.
He let out a wet chuckle, wiping his eyes “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but how’d you find me?”
Dick nodded to the ball of fluff next to Jason’s leg. “It’s that one’s fault, she stole my damned com, not the first thing she stole either.”
The gears in Jason’s head started turning. “Question, she didn’t happen to keep stealing scraps of your suit, did she?”
Dick nodded slowly “yeah… why?”
Jason did his best to control his laughter. “No reason,” He sobered, “Though, that doesn’t explain why you were even patrolling this early.”
Dick hesitated for a moment. Then, he took a deep breath and answered Jason’s question.
“They’re on a Joker stakeout, they think they found him.” He searched Jason’s eyes and seemed to come to a decision “514 park avenue. The side by the docks. After last time, I’m not allowed to go but you…”
Jason reached for his jacket and hood, swinging the door open as he scratched Gremlin under the chin.
“Jay.” Dick called out “You left these on the couch.” He offered Jason his guns, which he accepted with a smile.
“And Little Wing?” Jason glanced back “I love you.”