Chapter Text
Jason hated clichés.
That wasn’t something new about him that came around later in life. That was something that had been deeply ingrained in him since he was a child. He would always complain to the librarians when the current book he’d been reading in the library to stay out of the cold ended in a cliché. Later it was complaining to Alfred about all the clichés in books he had to read for school—and even the ones he didn’t. His English teacher had loved it. Bruce, not so much. Well, at least, he hadn’t loved it when they were trying to take Nygma back to Arkham while Jason critiqued all his riddles for having cliché answers and traps. At least the man had taken his critiques to heart, and the next time he caused trouble the riddles were much more entertaining to solve.
Even now, despite all the years and experiences separating him and that tiny version of himself, he found himself hating clichés. So many things had changed between then and now. He didn’t complain about them on the way home from school to Alfred anymore. Those days were long gone for him. He did still, however, find ways. The Outlaws had, well, outlawed the discussion of books or tropes past ten at night, though in that case it was really more Roy. Kori didn’t need as much sleep as them—one of those alien princess perks or something. He definitely wasn’t jealous.
One day Roy had walked up to him and told him there was a permanent ban on talking about all books and book-to-movie adaptations after ten. He thought that was a little extreme until Roy showed him the five-hour-long video about him explaining and criticising the entire plot of Sunday at Tiffany's, the book of course, in a sleep-deprived fever. He barely even remembered that—and he could have sworn it was only two hours long. It made him realize that maybe things weren’t as different now as he’d thought they were.
All that to say he was having trouble believing his life was this cliché. Well, maybe it wasn’t a cliché but it was certainly a cliché he’d seen before. Characters who died but didn’t stay dead, because the author didn’t really want the character dead. He’d seen it in stuff before and he hated the way it went back on the emotional moments they’d already had.
He couldn’t even be sure of anything. Every day he lived his life and nothing unusual happened the further out he was from the incident that brought his mortality into question. He grew more and more sure that it had never really happened. That he’d imagined or hallucinated half of what happened. That he’d lost himself so completely into Pit Rage he couldn’t possibly remember what had really occurred. After all, he’d had nights like that before. Hell, he’d had nights where he couldn’t really trust his own memory of what happened before the Pit. He knew human memory wasn't infallible, and he always kept that in mind.
But what if it was true? What if he hadn’t just imagined it all. Then what?
Sometimes that option kept him up at night. It was easy not to believe himself. It was simple to brush it off and call himself a liar in his head. It was different to entertain his memories as truth. To let his mind reach conclusions that seemed as if there was no other option but to believe them.
Some nights he could hardly convince himself to close his eyes and sleep, for fear he’d wake back up in a coffin. He couldn’t trust his memories, so who was to say any of this right now was even real? If it was real then he had to deal with the fact that he was the only person alive who had any idea what might be happening.
Nobody else knew he might be coming back. If he went down and someone found him, he was going in the ground again. And these days the likelihood of someone finding him was getting more and more likely. He and the Bats were more chummy every day. He couldn’t say he minded, except for the fact he wasn’t exactly in the mood to hang out with Daddy Bats anymore.
The uncertainty that came with being around Bruce now made his skin crawl. He could finally go days now without thinking about things that he didn’t want to think about, but just a second of seeing Bruce run around in his fursuit was enough to leave him sleepless again for days on end. He hated it.
He wasn’t even afraid of Bruce; he was afraid of possibilities. Which was just more stupid than actually being afraid of Bruce.
Honestly it was all completely stupid. There was no reason to worry about things that were completely out of his control. It wasn’t like he or anybody else could even do anything about it.
His entire brain was stupid.
And apparently very eloquent when thinking about Bruce and that stupid fake-worried look he'd get on his stupid face and—
Yeah.
Unfortunately, seeing Bruce came with the tentatively friendly territory. He had gotten closer to everyone else while Bruce was… gone, but that meant dealing with the radical shift when Bruce was back. Bruce’s absence just meant that when Bruce was back everyone clung around him that much more. Jason ended up in the background more often than not once again. He couldn’t say he minded when it kept everyone’s focus off of him. That was the smoothest his operations had run since…ever. It also gave him time to do a quick Outlaws mission. Sure, when he came back from that Dick and Tim had left a note in every single one of his safehouses asking where the hell he was, but that was their problem. He had enjoyed burning them.
He was not petty and dramatic. He wasn’t. Even if the little Alfred-sounding voice in his head said he was. He wasn’t.
He was pulled out of what definitely wasn’t him brooding in his kitchen over his breakfast to the smell of something burning.
He looked down at his now definitely burnt egg. Motherfucker.
With more aggression than strictly warranted, he moved the egg out of the pan and onto his plate. He poked at the egg with his fork. He could probably just get rid of the burnt part. He had practice from that one time Alfred left for Britain for a week. Bruce had given him a lot of practice that week in getting rid of the burnt portion of food. Via the garbage can most of the time. They ate a lot of takeout and wasted a lot of ingredients. Rich boy shit.
How the man could be expected to save the entire planet but couldn’t manage to cook a grilled cheese, he would never understand. Every time he saw the Justice League getting congratulated on another successful saving-the-Earth mission, he felt a wave of pity for Aunt Diana. She had to wrangle the stupidest genius on the planet and Mr. Smallville himself into saving the planet correctly so she could keep living on it. Truly Earth didn’t deserve such a dedicated protector.
He ate his burnt eggs with his delightfully not burnt pancakes and bacon. Maybe not the best before patrol meal but it couldn’t have been that bad. It had protein and calories and shit.
He could practically hear Alfred shaking his head from here.
Getting ready for patrol after that was plagued by memories of things best left forgotten. Sometimes he really understood why Bruce resorted to just locking everything away. It certainly wasn’t a healthy way to handle shit, but it seemed so convenient sometimes.
He pulled on his undershirt and then layered his armour over the top.
Now that things had relaxed and his relationship with the Bats was better, patrol was much easier. Who could have guessed such a thing? Without the concern of Batman maybe being around the corner constantly haunting his thoughts, it was easier to focus on the things that really mattered about patrol. Sure it had cost him the ease of just killing the scum of Gotham, but he had been planning to tone down the killing anyways. He just had to establish a foothold and then everything after that was just upkeep.
Bruce and most of the other Bats would very much not appreciate this way of thinking. Once upon a time he would have said all the Bats. He knew better now, though. Tim’s cute little innocent Robin-lover act was only good until you watched him threaten a guy by telling him that everything he had now was gone, and that he was going to see what it was really like out on a street corner working for his days. He’d never seen a grown man look that scared of someone a good six inches shorter than he was. Truly a force to be reckoned with.
He checked to make sure everything he needed was in his belt and where it belonged. A final check of all his gear and that everything was where it should be. Some habits were useful, after all—and Bruce’s obsessive checking of equipment was one of those.
He grumbled a little as he thought about the tense conversations that had happened in his strange interim between hostile and friendly. Bruce acted like he had been going everywhere guns first. Shooting first and asking questions later. He most certainly had not been doing that, but apparently it didn’t matter when you were breaking the no-guns taboo. Whatever conversation Alfred had with Bruce to help them reach a compromise, he sure wished he had been a fly on the wall for that one.
Not everyone who committed crimes was a bad guy anyways. Even if Batman didn’t understand that Red Hood understood that. Everyone knew that, too. So patrol most nights had just become getting information on the newest problem, making his rounds to handle petty crimes, and just talking to people. Ask them questions, see what people really wanted the Red Hood to be doing. People were much more willing to talk to Red Hood about their problems and things going on in Gotham than any other mask, so he got information that no one else did.
It had become an integral part of the information chain for Gotham vigilantes. He was more than a little smug about the fact he could pull the rug from under everyone else’s feet any time he felt like he needed to. Of course, that only worked to an extent; he knew better than to keep shit from Barbara or, even worse, Alfred. So the right stuff ended up where it needed to when it needed to, regardless of how roundabout the method.
Once he was sure he had everything , he made his way to the window to pull himself up and out. He didn’t always take the window, because frankly, Gothamites didn’t give a fuck if they saw Red Hood stomping down an apartment hallway. This time, however, he wanted to make it up to the roof as fast as possible.
He didn’t slip his helmet on just yet and instead took a deep breath of Gotham air while looking straight up into the smoggy night sky. Didn’t matter if the air was polluted with who-knows-what—it smelled like home. It was also the last step of his routine, so with that he slipped his helmet onto his head with a seal and started off. It was easy to lose himself into the familiar blur of patrol: Talking to the working girls on the corner of Westerly and Fifth and making sure the apartment buildings they used for work were still clean and usable. Stop by and make sure the homeless shelters were all stocked up and not in need of anything.
He had a routine and he followed it well.
His daily routine started without any problems. He had already checked up on all the shelters when it was time for one of his favourite parts of the night.
“Good evening, ladies.” He dropped down from his grapple with a bow, facing the alley where the girls stood waiting for him.
“My, what a lovely young gentleman you are. You don’t see chivalry like that every day, now do you, Nadia?” Grace said as she rolled her eyes.
He knew well enough now to know that it was done with fondness. All of the girls who came to him specifically seemed to get a kick out of when he really dialed up the theatrics. Then again, maybe they just really liked the fact that he paid them enough to keep them going for a week or more. He wished he could pay them all enough they didn’t have to do any of this, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that he could permanently fix the problem. It would just be someone else if it wasn’t Grace.
“We’ve got the juicy gossip tonight for you, Hood.” Nadia finally spoke up. She also finally moved closer and he felt a cold chill down his spine as he looked at the bruise blooming on her cheek. “No, before you start your growling. I know where the fuck he is and you’re going to want to get the fuck over there.”
She hesitated for a moment as Grace ran a hand up and down her arm.
“There’s kids involved, alright? Couldn’t just leave them be when there’s kids involved. I know you get that, so don’t even get on my ass about it.”
He grumbled but accepted that because she was right. He would never just sit around on his hands and shit when there were kids involved, and he couldn’t expect anyone else to either.
“Well? What the fuck’s going on that’s so important?” He tried to control the rage trying to slip into his tone, but judging by the flat looks he received, he wasn’t doing a very good job. “What? You wouldn’t tell me this shit unless you were expecting me to immediately go find his ass and beat it.”
“True enough. Well, there’s these guys down at the warehouses. Past the docks like there always is ‘cause that place practically breeds idiots. Anyways, they’ve been talking some big fucking game for their small-ass set-up and there were some rumours that they were going to be doing something big”—at this, Nadia made some exaggerated air quotes—“and they needed a lot of guys for it.”
“So obviously you investigated even though you knew better than to be around idiot fucks like that?” He asked with a sigh. He already knew the answer to that question.
“You bet your ass I did,” she said with a wicked smile.
Oh yeah—she was definitely getting a kick out of sending him after these guys like her own personal hunting dog. Lots of the girls did, though, so he couldn’t say he was surprised. Besides…he certainly got a lot of his own joy out of it, too.
He was ready to keep playfully arguing. He was interrupted suddenly by the chirp of the Batline. He quickly switched to the channel.
“One sec, O. I’m getting some information.”
He switched back off it and quickly started digging for the cash in his belt. He always appreciated that Babs wasn’t offended by shit like hanging up. She just wanted him to acknowledge her. Didn’t want him risking his life or anything trying to answer her call.
“Sorry to cut it short for the evening, but duty calls. You two keep safe for the rest of the night, okay?” Jason watched Nadia huff a breath out. “I’m being serious. I can't blame you without being a hypocrite, but you need to be careful.”
There was another chirp from his communicator. He tapped the side of his helmet to send an acknowledgement.
Grace rolled her eyes.
“Probably calling you about something that we already told you about.”
“We? Last time I checked I was the only one out there.”
While the two argued he quickly slipped the cash into their waiting hands. He shot off as quickly as possible after doing that. He waited a second on the next over roof just for—
“Hey! Hood, get your ass back here. This is double my rate!”
Jason snickered as he launched himself up and over to the next building. Once he found a good spot a couple more roofs over, he switched onto the Batline.
“Hood.” Oracle’s voice came over the line. “Nightwing and Red Robin need help on an operation. Initial estimates of firepower were off and Batman and Robin are performing an Arkham cleanup with Spoiler and Black Bat as backup. “
“How much extra firepower are we talking?”
“Hood, yes or no. I have other lines I need to get back to.”
It wasn’t often Babs wasn’t in the mood to joke. Whatever was happening with everyone else had to be particularly bad to have her so worked up. Nobody liked Arkham breakouts though. Part of him wondered if it had something to do with the Joker. He had purposely avoided any information as soon as there was news of problems at Arkham for his mental health. He wasn’t like the other Bats. He didn’t do Arkham breakouts anymore, not unless there was no one else available.
“Yeah, O. Anything for you. I’m on my way.”
“Good,” she said flatly. His phone pinged with the location a moment later. “There, now you’re on your way.”
He rolled his eyes fondly at the comment before checking where he needed to go. Before he could even finish reading it Babs clicked off the line. It must've really been going down with whatever lunatic had broken out tonight. Well, he couldn’t say it was anything other than a self-inflicted problem for Bruce. Unfortunate that so many other people were getting dragged into it.
He focused back in on the task at hand. He knew the entire layout of Gotham well enough to know exactly where he needed to go. And, hey, who would have guessed that sure was a familiar warehouse down by the docks? They were damn lucky he was already planning to find this place.
It was as simple as taking the rooftop express with the help of some grappling to get to where he needed to go. His line was silent almost the entire time it took to get over there but he wasn’t worried. If Babs was too busy to tell him what was going on properly, he would just ping Dick or walk in there without it.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to do that, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. He had enough experience to figure out shit on the fly without too many problems. Before he could do that however his line clicked again as someone joined.
“They’re inside the warehouse and are currently engaged. They’ve encountered some problems and requested backup. I’m going to connect you up to their joint line now.” Oracle’s smooth modulated tones rang down the line.
“Roger that. I’m—”
Click.
“—about two minutes out. What’s up, losers? I heard you needed help.”
“What, did Oracle get tired of your shit and send you over to our line?” Tim snarked back.
“Now, now she’s a very busy lady.” Jason caught sight of a window that would be perfect for an entrance. “Besides, how could she ever get tired of me?”
“Easily,” Tim said sharply.
“You’re very rude. Did you know that?” He lined up his grapple to give him the perfect angle.
“Like you’re fucking not?”
“Would you two quit it and actually help?” Dick finally cut in with a grunt.
Tim’s response was lost in the shower of glass as Jason burst in through the window. He couldn’t hold back the smile on his face as he felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins at the manoeuvre. He would never get tired of that. There was a reason there wasn’t any other line of work for him. Where else did you get to dramatically bust through windows all the time?
He dropped down next to Dick without much more fanfare despite the entrance. No one in Gotham even batted an eye at entrances like that anymore. They probably hadn’t to begin with. Good old Gotham. Since they had already gotten the party started without him, there wasn’t much need for stealth or analysing the situation. Now was the time to hit things until things stopped hitting them.
“They had kids here,” was all that Dick offered as an explanation for why they'd already gone in.
Jason nodded. He already knew that but even if he hadn’t, that fit with the fact Red Robin was nowhere to be found currently while Dick was down here fighting off the horde. Tim was probably getting the kids out of here while Dick served as a distraction. There was no telling why or how long they’d had the kids here, so they were first priority while someone else served as distraction. It was a usual first priority when doing a more guns-blazing approach.
Sometimes it could get on his nerves working with people who had the same priority list as him. Other times he could appreciate the simplicity. Didn’t mean he had to appreciate the fact that the Robin training regimen continued after his death. First death. Possibly first death. He shook his head with the hope of dislodging that line of thought. Worrying about his mortality was not the thing to do in the middle of a fight. He was turning into Bruce with all this brooding. He really needed to get it under control.
He needed to focus all his attention on the fight at hand. Even if the goons were horrifically predictable. A dodge here, punch here, avoid a bullet, wonder if maybe they have some sort of vat of convenient toxic chemicals around here. You could never be too careful in Gotham. Those things seemed to pop up out of the ground. Only in Gotham.
At least the banter with Dick and Tim saved him from the mind-numbing boredom and monotony.
“Wow, I saw that, Nightwing. Just so you know, my mask footage is automatically uploaded and saved,” Tim cut in from wherever he was watching them and probably hacking or some shit.
“And that makes you special?” Jason got out breathlessly.
“It does when I’m fighting to blackmail Mr. Acrobat with a fumble.”
“You saw nothing and if you did then you didn’t,” Dick hissed.
“You’re not as good at that as B-man,” Jason commented dryly.
“I’d give you like a six for effort,” Tim added.
“I am going to come over there,” Dick grunted with effort,” and strangle you both.”
“At the same time or separately? I’d like to request that I die after Hood.”
“I’d like to request you fuck off.”
“Stay mad about it.”
“How does O get anything done with all of us in her ears, good fucking Lord?” Dick griped.
“She’s an absolute miracle of a woman whom I very much respect and request none of her wrath,” Jason said exaggeratedly into the mic.
“You’ve been heard,” O’s voice suddenly broke in. Just as quickly as she came, she was gone.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
“You done schmoozing? We got shit to do.” There was an odd beeping sound from Tim’s side.
Jason wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“No, you have shit to do. My sector’s almost clear. Do better.” He was exaggerating a little. He was fairly sure there were a couple guys still wandering the odd maze of boxes they’d set up on this side of the warehouse. It reminded him of stories of hoarders using boxes to make little tunnels and stuff.
“If you’re so free then get your ass over here”—Dick’s voice went strained for a second before there was a loud grunt that was obviously not his—“and help me.”
“Oh, since you asked just so nicely.”
“What’s this? The famous Red Hood not willing to kick some ass? More at six,” Tim cut in.
“I’m going to come and kick your scrawny ass if you don’t shut the hell up.”
Despite the threats and protests, Jason did work his way around to where he could hear the sounds of Dick fighting. As much fun as it was to fuck around while they worked, it wasn’t funny to ignore a request. That was how people ended up fucked.
As he weaved his way around another box with ease, he was suddenly stopped harshly by something hard to the stomach. He whipped around to find a goon holding a metal pipe. Even as he doubled over from the pain, he was quick to strike out with a hard hit. One blow to the head and he crumpled like a house of cards. Why more goons didn’t wear helmets, he’d never know. As an avid helmet supporter, he could attest to the fact he’d avoided several head injuries thanks to the padding in his.
That was neither here nor a concussion. The goon was dispatched easily, and Jason paid him no further mind as he stepped over his prone body; a hit like that would have him down for the count for a while. Someone would come grab the idiot at some point. He was much more concerned with the pain he could already feel blossoming from where the pipe hit.. That was pretty unfortunate. Also pretty concerning. He continued on his path towards where he could hear Dick, but did take a second to lift up his shirt and check his armour. A hit like that should have been absorbed completely, but maybe he hadn’t been replacing it often enough.
Either way it wouldn’t be a major hindrance to the fight. He’d definitely worked with worse before.
He definitely didn’t hear echoes of a similar metal object hitting soft flesh. That was most certainly not affecting his ability to focus and be useful in a fight.
Somehow he felt like Dick knew as soon as he joined the fray. Dick was watching him with a concentration he didn’t just casually use. He felt self conscious as they fought their way through the last wave of goons. If Dick knew something was up, that meant he wasn’t hiding things as well as he’d like. As soon as the last goon dropped and was restrained he could practically feel Dick gearing up to talk.
“Shouldn’t we go make sure everything is alright on Tim’s end? He had the kids and all,” Jason cut in before Dick could start saying anything. It was also a genuine concern. They hadn’t heard from him in quite a few minutes now though that could just be from concentrating.
Dick gave him an indecipherable look and raised his hand to activate his comms. “Everything alright on your end, RR?”
“Yeah, we’re good; I got the kids outside and now we’re just here waiting for the police.” Tim’s voice got softer. “Yeah I’m talking to Nightwing and Red Hood. You interested in meeting either of them? Oh, you wanted to meet me— Hey, I gotta go, you guys—just come out here.”
Neither Jason nor Dick mentioned the fact that Tim’s voice sounded pretty wet over the line. The kid deserved as much.
Jason considered rescinding that kindness as Dick turned on him.
“What was that? You think I didn’t notice you’re injured or something?” Dick took a step closer to him. “We didn’t need you that badly there at the end—,you could have just said something and dropped out you know?”
“I do know that and I evaluated and decided I didn’t need to do that. Don’t get all high and mighty on me now like you’ve never worked at less than peak physical condition.” He sometimes mourned the fact that he couldn’t glare properly through his helmet. More people deserved the dirty looks he couldn’t actually give them.
Dick took a deep breath and scrubbed furiously at his eyes with his fingers for a moment.
“Okay yeah, I have, but I also feel like you should know you’re sounding like B right now and neither of us want that.”
He physically recoiled away from Dick. He was not—
Well, actually. That was a fair assessment of how the fuck he was acting.
“Yeah, well, you’re sounding like a tired old man,” he blurted out in a last ditch effort to avoid the tension building in this conversation.
“For one, I am a tired old man. I am very tired and very old after dealing with all of you people.” Dick made a sweeping gesture. “For two, that's exactly what I said about you. B is in fact a tired old man.
“Be careful not to throw a hip out then, old man. Wouldn’t want you to end up in the nursing home.” He ignored the second mention of Bruce and hoped Dick got the fucking message. He was not in the mood.
“Yeah, yeah. You wanna wait around somewhere close by and when me and Red get things wrapped up here we can go grab something to eat?” Dick looked so hopeful when he proposed the offer.
Jason also had a severe problem turning down free food.
“As long as you’re paying you know I’ll always be there for free food.” He quickly started towards the nearest exit. If he was getting permission to skip the hard part and free food, he was very much in for this deal.
“Some things never change.” Dick rolled his eyes with a fond look.
Jason took that as the permission it was and exited the building. It was barely a thought to work his way up to the next building over and wait on the roof. He amused himself by watching the cops arrive and having them deal with the overflow of idiots that was too much for their cars to handle. Dick offered to tie some of the guys together to the roof of the patrol car. How people considered him the more responsible one, Jason would never know.
While it was hilarious to watch Dick both help and mock the police, he did turn away to do a quick check on his stomach while they were busy. He may have made fun of Dick’s concern and brushed him off, but he was actually a little concerned. There was no reason for him to have been hit that hard through his armour. He couldn’t exactly just take his whole shirt off standing on some random roof but he could at least check for internal bleeding.
A quick palpation of the area assured him that there was no internal bleeding at least. The blow had caught him partially in the side which was probably the reason it was smarting this fucking much. So nothing life threatening but it hurt like a motherfucker and he’d have to figure out what exactly happened later—but at least it was just a bruise. That and his bruised pride. He should not have been taken that off his feet by some random Gotham muscle.
He also shouldn’t have had to wait around, idling, on those bozos to finish their whole circus routine for law enforcement. Free food was free food, though. He would wait an hour up here if he had to, just on the principle that free food was the best food. A remnant of his childhood that he shamelessly flaunted to everyone. He had the money now to not have to worry about his meals and where they were coming from, but that didn’t change that his favourite price for food was free.
He was about to start flashing S.O.S. to Tim with a piece of broken glass he found on the roof when finally the two of them finished up chatting and aimed their grapples towards the roof. Fucking finally. Couldn't just offer him food like that and then fuck off to do whatever. They were lucky he hadn’t started rioting earlier.
“Finally. How long does it take to tell them that the guys were all a bunch of bastards? Can’t possibly be hard when you had the kids standing right there as proof.”
“I know you’re getting hangry and all—” Tim held up placating hands.
“First of all, fuck you. Second of all, I am within my rights to be hangry; I was offered free food and now I’m being denied.”
Dick just let out a long-suffering sigh. Those were Jason’s favourites.
“You’re not being denied. We’re going, we are actively going right now.”
“No we’re not,” Tim chimed in helpfully.
Ever the bringer of chaos, that one. Tim bowed to no man and pledged himself to no side. Jason could respect his dedication to stirring up shit with everyone without discrimination or remorse. Even more so when it wasn’t fucking aimed at him for once.
“Why?” Dick said the word completely without tone as he looked up to the sky.
Jason wasn’t even sure who he was asking—or if Dick himself knew who he was asking. Simply that he was asking for help from someone.
Too bad there was no answer for him.
“Wow, you know now I think it’s actually a good thing we’re going to eat; Wing’s getting all melodramatic.” Jason jabbed a thumb in Dick’s direction. “Getting? I was unaware he even had another mode.”
“I am being tested. My patience is being tested.” Dick still hadn’t moved from his position staring up into the sky.
“Yeah, yeah. All you're missing is some rain to really make it dramatic now.”
“Are you implying this isn’t already dramatic?” Dick couldn’t hide the smile playing across his face now.
Tim groaned loudly suddenly enough to cause both Jason and Dick to snap around and stare at him.
“Speaking of dramatic.”
Jason almost let out his own groan cause there was only one person he could be referring to. It only took him a moment to pick out the black-on-black outline of the Batsuit against the night sky after years of practice. It was also helped by the brightly coloured miniature version of him standing next to the blob of black.
Suddenly, with startling clarity, he started to realize why the injury track record for Robins was so bad. Even Damian’s muted version of the suit caught the eye fast enough to distract and refocus on the brighter target. How Alfred let any of them run out in that traffic light abomination, he had no idea. He would think the old man knew well enough to stop them from doing something so idiotic.
Maybe it was because he knew them and knew for a fact none of them would have fucking listened to him.
Either way their party was about to be crashed by the ultimate buzzkill. He could almost sympathize with all the poor villains' plans that had been ruined by the same dark shadow. As it was, this was much worse than what they had to deal with. This was putting his free meal in danger.
He could practically feel Dick staring a hole into the side of his head trying to figure out what he would do next. He just sighed because, really, what were they meant to do in this situation? They’d already been spotted, and once a target was acquired Bruce wasn’t just going to let them go. Best to just weather out whatever lecture he wanted to disguise as helpful advice and get the fuck out of there at the earliest chance instead.
They were really in for it tonight, apparently, since Bruce had deemed it important enough to actually show up. Oh, sure—he had worked with Bruce long enough to know that he thought the words that were about to come out of his mouth were going to be very helpful. He also knew well enough to know the idiot would say them in a way that didn’t lend itself to such a flattering view.
How Bruce ever managed to masquerade around as a ditzy social idiot during the day and managed to painfully bumble his way through horrible attempts at emotion at night would never cease to confuse him. How one man could be so contrary to himself, he’d never know.
He watched as Bruce and Damian each shot out a line to swing over to their rooftop. They landed with all the usual grace yet it somehow felt unbelievably loud in the quiet of the roof.
Nobody said anything for one long, tense second.
“So, I take it everything is all cleared up on the West Side then?” Tim’s voice was light with a undercurrent of What the fuck are you doing here?
Bruce grunted in response.
Jason almost threw something at him on principle. Some people did not seem to have that level of self control though and a rock pinged off the top of the cowl.
“Words, old man. I’m not in the mood to decode your vague attempts at human engagement.” Dick’s hand was still up from where he had thrown the rock.
Well shit, they really did need to feed Dick. He was obviously losing it for real this time.
Bruce just sighed at the assault.
“Yes. The West Side has been handled.”
“Good. So what the fuck are you doing here?” He ignored the betrayed looks from Dick and Tim ‘cause he knew for a fact they were thinking the same fucking thing.
Bruce wouldn’t just come all the way across Gotham for the fun of it. There had to be a fucking reason he was here.
Bruce shifted awkwardly, basically entirely confirming Jason’s theory. How anyone found this man to be completely unreadable, he’d never know. It was all there if you looked close enough.
“I heard there were some injuries.”
“Nothing major.” Dick’s voice was certain as he said that, but in a move much too amateur for him he looked over towards Jason.
Oh that motherfucker must have been trying to give him away—
“Hood? Were you able to avoid injury?” Bruce couldn’t have sounded more awkward and stilted if he tried.
He could have just said what he was really thinking.
Were you reckless again? Did you fuck up again already?
Jason rolled his eyes and made sure Bruce could tell even through the helmet.
“You know, you can just start with your fucking lecture. I’m hungry and I’d like to get the hell out of here sooner or later.”
“That is not why I came down here.”
“No? Well, colour me surprised. You didn’t come down here to tell me all about the dangers my recklessness poses to me and everyone else in the field? It’s too good to be true.” He knew he was being petty. He knew and he didn’t fucking care. He was tired of dancing around and hoping he had the right combination for Bruce’s approval. Whatever he did Bruce seemed to stay as cold and unaffected as usual.
He really just wasn’t in the mood to deal with this tonight. He’d heard Bruce phrase it every which way, but every conversation seemed to carry that same undercurrent of You’re not doing it right. Which was fucking rich coming from the prick who couldn’t even apparently decide who did and didn’t apply for his stupid ass rules consistently. The man had never brought up that night again but it felt like it was always looming between them.
“Hood. Is there really a need for this? Can’t we just move past this already?”
Jason stared at him actually motherfucking flabbergasted. Had he really just asked if Jason could move past fucking dying? Sure, he didn’t expect much from Bruce but he expected better than fucking that. Nowhere in that big brain of his could he possibly think that was fine to say.
“No. You know what. I’m not going to just stand here and hear this shit. Fuck free food—I can’t stand this.” He ignored the protests from everyone as he turned towards the edge of the building.
“Now look at what you’ve done. You even made him turn down free food. We had it handled over here…” Tim’s complaints faded away as he jumped for the next roof.
No one made to follow him and for that he was both grateful and pissed. They were giving him space, which was great and all but they were also completely fucking ignoring him as soon as he was out of sight. Which was an incredibly stupid line of thought so he just focused on feeling glad they weren’t chasing him down the streets of Gotham in some misguided attempt to have a conversation.
He knew it was stupid to stay out after that. He was exhausted and injured, not to mention probably way too off the charts with his emotions. He should really just head home and chill the fuck out and pretend like Bruce wasn’t a huge prick every time he saw him now. It was an upgrade from homicidal, at least…but still it burned at him. He didn’t want Bruce to be mad at him at all, as sad as that was. He just wanted to be able to do his job and Bruce to do his and them not to bother each other. The perfect solution.
That was a lie.
His comms pinged again with an incoming call from Babs but he quickly declined. Because he wasn’t an awful person, though, he did text her that he was okay. Nothing else, though, because if she knew he wasn’t heading home right now she would call him a stupid idiot. He was too busy calling himself a stupid idiot for that yet.
Every time he hoped those conversations would go differently, and for what? Nothing had changed but the amount of time since Jason saw him last. The clown still lived and breathed and he still haunted Jason every night. Things were at least more civil these days. Besides that, though, there just wasn’t enough change to warrant the way he felt betrayed every time Bruce showed up as Batman and stayed all business. What else did he expect?
He could feel himself wearing down from the injuries he had gotten earlier but he refused to slow down. If he slowed down, that proved that he really was reckless and endangering himself. Instead of just being efficient and getting the job done. Like hell was he in the mood to even suggest Bruce was right in the confines of his own mind.
So he kept at it. Gotham wasn’t a city that slept. Ever. She ran twenty-four hours a day. That coincidentally meant that crime ran all day every day. He could run around every moment until he keeled over and there would always be someone else to stop, something else to handle.
Like this, for instance.
He saw the group of guys in a circle and dropped down from the rooftop before he could even look closer. He was tired, and he just wanted to get so exhausted he could go to sleep without thinking. That was a mistake, of course, because before he could even get a word out one of the guys swung around and hit him full force with his baseball bat, right over where he'd been caught in the gut earlier. He tried not to cringe at the sound of unforgiving steel to his organs. The amount of hits he was taking to the same place today, his armour was probably getting weak there by now.
He didn’t spare it a second thought as he moved to do an easy dispatch, though. He kept things efficient as he moved through the men. Controlled amounts of force to take them all out as quickly as possible. He didn’t even take out his guns. Sometimes fists were just the way to go.
There. If the old man wanted to say he was volatile and out of control then he could stick it up his ass. Jason knew what he was doing. He didn’t just go out and take everything out on any unsuspecting criminal with his fists. No, that's what Bruce did. How dare he accuse him of copying his behaviour—
He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of a gunshot. He felt the pain blooming in his thigh, and the hot rush of blood. Ah shit.
He didn’t focus on that and instead focused his energy on whipping around and taking out the guy with the gun.
Take out the long-range weapons first. Several voices overlapped to deliver him that advice. It’d been drilled into him for years by many different people.
He was quick to pivot and focus instead on diving into a roll. The guy obviously didn’t have good aim if he only managed to hit Jason in the thigh from less than a hundred feet, but still, you couldn’t be too cautious. He always applied all the same cautions that he did to everyone with a gun. Despite what Bruce thought, he did know how dangerous they were and he was in fact careful with them and around them.
His entire torso from his ribs down protested the movement heavily and he almost stopped mid-roll. He managed to keep himself together, though, and ducked low to rush the guy. It was child’s play to dodge the next bullet that was shot wildly his way and finally tackle the guy around the middle. He grappled him around into a headlock with the ease of someone who had spent months learning tackles around Dick Grayson. If you could hold onto that slimy eel, you could get anyone where you wanted them.
Once the guy finally stopped struggling he let go and stood up while rolling his shoulder. He felt…not great now. Maybe he should have gone in for the night after he left the other Bats. As the adrenaline started draining from his body he became very aware of exactly how fatigued and dizzy he was feeling right now. He stumbled and reached out for the wall when a particularly strong bout of vertigo happened. He was very thankful for his helmet when the side of his face crashed into the brick. That would have hurt like a motherfucker.
Shit, now he’d really done it.
He needed to get back to one of his places. A quick check of his mental map told him his nearest one was about four blocks too fucking far. Especially since he couldn’t exactly fire a grapple in the state he was in. No, it was the old-fashioned way for him.
He pinged the alleyway on the system and hoped Babs or someone would send some pick-up. He honestly couldn’t give a fuck right now if they did or didn’t. He stumbled out of the alleyway like a drunk idiot. On the bright side, he was pretty sure he was going to be able to fall asleep well now. If only in an attempt to block out the pain.
This was going to be a long four blocks.