Chapter Text
He needed to tell her.
The realization had struck Jason as he lay in his bed, forgoing sleep as he continually relived the moment Jo had agreed to be his girlfriend. It felt like a dream, like one of his novels had come to life, but the happily ever after was his this time.
And then he'd realized that Jo had no clue who he was. Who his family was. Because for all of their hours of talk, he'd faithfully hidden the secret from her, wearing one mask to hide another.
He couldn't sleep for a different reason after that.
The next few months were filled with many restless nights. Sometimes he would try and tough it out, staring stubbornly at the ceiling until his alarm went off for class. Most of the time he'd give up and take out his frustration on Gotham's streets.
(and sometimes Red Hood would sit in the shadows and watch through the windows as Jo worked across the street, wondering what would happen if he just walked in and bared it all)
(he never did)
But he couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep hiding when each day with Jo only made him more certain that he couldn't spend another day without her.
He thought of it when they chatted over coffee, the sunlight bringing out the secret gold of her hair and eyes.
He thought of it when they hiked together, his eyes fixed on her as she took pictures of the views.
He thought of it when they fought, their fingers laced together even as her voice shook with anger.
Jason was tired of thinking. It was time to act.
🦇 🦇 🦇
"Hey, old man."
Only a grunt welcomed Jason as he stepped onto the main platform of the Batcave. Bruce was at the computer, chin in hand as he stared at the monitor. Surprisingly, none of Jason's siblings were down there at the time; recently they'd all been spending more time at the Manor, using the Cave as the base for everyone's operations. Jason shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked up behind Bruce. Catching sight of the file on the screen, he frowned.
"Why're you looking at Arkham's cameras?"
Bruce's eyes were unmoving as he toggled through the security feeds. "Do you trust their security?"
Jason snorted. "Good point." He stood there for a bit, shifting from side to side. "Hey, B?"
Another grunt. Not the "I'm listening, keep talking" grunt either. It was the "my mind is elsewhere and I don't care" kind of grunt.
"Forget it," Jason turned back towards the stairs with a sigh. Forget trying to hold a conversation; he'd be lucky if the old man remembered him being down here at all.
"Jason, wait."
He did, pausing at the foot of the stairs to see Bruce swiveled around to face him.
"Did you need something?" his father asked. The screen was off behind him.
"Nope," Jason shot back reflexively.
Bruce stood from the chair and walked over. "Jaylad, I may often be oblivious, but I'm not completely obtuse. What's wrong?"
A warm hand grasped Jason's shoulder, and another long, tired sigh escaped him. "A lot, B. Just, a lot."
"Sounds like the kind of conversation to be had over some tea," Bruce said, leading him up the stairs.
It didn't take long before they were seated at the kitchen's island, teacups in hand. Steam curled through the air and teased Jason with the soft floral scent of jasmine. They didn't speak for a while, not until the pot was half-empty and Jason had his thoughts in order. He'd thought to ease into the conversation, to be subtle and diplomatic. But that'd never been his way. He drank the last of his tea, set his cup down, and turned to face Bruce fully.
"I need to tell Jo."
The adrenaline was already coursing through his veins, all fight and no flight. His hands were clenched, his jaw tight -
"I agree," Bruce said as he refilled Jason's cup.
Jason's eyebrows shot up. "You do?"
"Should I not?" Bruce took a sip of his own tea.
"No, you should! It's just," Jason shrugged, "I thought there'd be a bit more paranoia. Y'know, a few more 'It's too dangerous,' or 'The Mission means being alone.'"
"Well, that would be a bit hypocritical of me, wouldn't it?" Bruce chuckled. "Was that all? You wanted my blessing to tell her?"
And Jason had thought it was, thought that he'd just have to fight tooth and nail to reveal everyone's secrets and then he'd be ready to tell her. But now that adrenaline had curled around the tightness that had been in his chest for months, and Jason couldn't lie to himself and call this feeling anything other than fear.
"B, I dunno what I'll do if this goes wrong," Jason ran his fingers through his hair. "I mean, Jo's-Jo's amazing, and kind, and-and she's Jo, but I'm-" he was gasping, that unrelenting tightness squeezing all the breath out of him. He collapsed forward, elbows on the counter and hands behind his head. Each breath he choked in shook him, and the only thing keeping him from shattering into a thousand pieces was his dad's hand rubbing circles on his back.
"The first time I met Jo," he heard Bruce say, "she gave me a coffee because she felt sorry for me."
That sounded like her.
"The second time I met her," Bruce continued, "she gave me a coffee because I was your dad."
Jason opened his eyes and stared at the counter.
"And when I met her for the first time as your girlfriend, she only looked at ease when she was by your side."
Bruce's stool screeched as he stood, and a soft kiss was pressed to Jason's hair.
"I don't know what will happen Jason. I'm a detective, not a fortune teller. But I do know you need to try."
A deep sigh, and Jason raised his head to look at Bruce. "You really suck at this, old man."
Bruce shrugged, a crooked grin on his face. "Well, if you'd prefer we could ignore our emotions and spar instead. I'm an expert at that."
Jason narrowed his eyes. "Was that humor? Who are you, and what have you done with Bruce Wayne?"
He didn't dodge the soft slap to his head, but he also didn't hold back as the two fought on the mats a few minutes later.
🦇 🦇 🦇
While Jason may have determined to tell Jo about the Batfamily, he wouldn't be a proper vigilante if he didn't do some reconnaissance first. He'd spent the entire drive from his apartment to downtown Gotham trying to formulate a plan to organically introduce Red Hood into the conversation. So far he'd only come up with, "So, how do you feel about dating a guy who's mentally unstable and technically a murderer?" which was neither organic nor subtle. And now time was up, because here he was pushing open the door to Beowulf's Brews.
"Try this!"
The shop door had barely closed behind Jason when Jo shoved a cup in his hand. He sipped it without thinking, then looked at the cup in surprise.
"What is this?" he said before taking another sip. The bitterness of the coffee hit him first, almost shocking him with its intensity. But then the bitterness was smoothed over by the sweetness of vanilla and the vibrant tartness of cherry. Just like the rest of Jo's creations, it was absolutely divine.
Jo clapped her hands excitedly at his reaction. "It's the Red Hood!"
Bitterness burned down his throat and turned sour in his stomach as Jason began coughing. "What?"
Jo took the cup from him and began patting him on the back. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," he cleared his throat one more time. "Why've you got a drink named after him?"
She shoved the drink back in his hand before ducking behind the counter and grabbing a crinkled piece of paper. "So, you know how we always decorate the shop for October and call it Batman's Brews?"
Jason nodded, leaning against the counter.
"Well, I was thinking, why not have drinks themed after Batman and Robin and the others all year round!" She turned the paper around so he could see it. "I've got it all planned out, see?"
He didn't even glance at the paper, instead giving Jo a fond smile.
Her cheeks darkened. "Oh. Right. So, first you've got Batman's Breve since he probably needs a lot of espresso. Then you've got Robin's Ristretto, because he's our little angry boy. Next is Nightwing's Nitro. I know he's not technically a Gotham vigilante, but I get to make the decisions here, and I say he counts."
"Please tell me he's not your favorite," Jason groaned.
Jo winked teasingly. "I plead the fifth. Anyway, the one you just tried is my Red Hood drink. It's basically a Michigan cherry coffee, but I'm trying to think of an alliterated name. I'm still working on Red Robin's, but I was thinking . . ."
Jason heard nothing else as he stared down at the cup in his hand. The liquid inside was dark, almost black, but Jason could swear he saw green eyes reflected back at him on the surface.
"You sure he deserves a drink?"
He looked up at Jo as he interrupted her. Her eyes flicked from the him to the paper and back.
"Yes?" She quirked her head to the side in confusion. "He's one of the Bats, and I'm trying to do one for each of them-"
"Oh sure, he's got the bat on his chest," Jason scoffed, "but he's not a hero, not like the rest of them." He shoved away from the counter. "He's a killer, and no symbol is going to change that."
Jo clasped her hands together, and Jason just knew she was digging her fingernails into the skin. "I mean, yes, he's killed people before, but for the past few years he's been-"
"Seven heads in a duffel bag," Jason interrupted. "and that was just to make a statement. He's got dozens of bodies to his name, and it doesn't matter what good he's done since he's gone straight, because nothing can clean the blood from his hands."
He hadn't been shouting; he wouldn't do that to Jo, not even unintentionally. But his fingers ached from the tightness of his fists, and the muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth together.
Jo gave him a long, searching look, her eyes a muted gold in the dusk's fading sunlight.
"Jason," she said slowly, softly, "what is this really about?"
He laughed, a sharp, broken sound that cracked through the empty shop. Jo moved as if to come around the counter, maybe to wrap her arms around his shoulders like she had when he'd told her of Willis's beatings and his mother's death and those few hard years on the streets, but she froze as he held up his hand.
"I'm not a good person either, Jo," he admitted, blunt and unyielding. "You think you know me, but you don't. And when you do find out, I wouldn't blame you for hating me."
"I wouldn't," she whispered.
"You would. You'd listen and you'd look at me and want nothing to do with me, and-" another wet laugh burst from his throat. "Jo, you've bewitched me body and soul. But what will be left of me when you go?"
And then she was in front of him, her knuckles white as she grasped his hands. "I won't," she promised, her voice shaking but her grip strong. "I wouldn't. Maybe I'd be frightened, maybe I'd need some time to think, but I'd never hate you, and I can't leave you." She slipped her hands from his and cupped his face in her palms. His cheeks were wet; he hadn't noticed.
"It's okay," Jo's eyes didn't leave his as she brushed away his tears with her thumb. "You can tell me now, or you can tell me later. I'll be here either way."
And because it was Jo, he believed her.
And because the universe hated him, that was when his phone buzzed with an alert that the Joker had escaped.
🦇 🦇 🦇
A few years ago, when the green was overwhelming and he'd cut his family ties so thin that they were only strings, Jason would've stayed home. He would've locked his door and crawled into the closet and let the flashbacks overwhelm him until he slipped into unconsciousness, the clown's laugh his only lullaby. Things were better now. He could even look at a picture of the Joker without falling into a murderous rage (no, if he killed the Joker now, it would be with complete mental clarity and not a touch of green). So when he saw the alert, Jason hugged Jo goodbye and raced back to the Cave to be briefed. The Joker had escaped possibly hours ago, a trail of bodies showing the path he'd taken from his cell to a now-unguarded exit (there was no doubting which door he'd used to escape; he'd taken the time to paint a bat on it courtesy of the last guard's blood). The vigilantes had immediately fanned out over Gotham to no avail. Wherever the Joker had hidden, he'd done so thoroughly.
It wasn't until close to sunrise that Batman had given the call to regroup at the Cave for a debrief. Jason hadn't acknowledged the command; sure, he'd get there, but if he didn't pummel something first then he'd go crazier than he already was. Park Row always had trouble, though, and Crime Alley always lived up to its name. Three men, beating another on the ground, his cries bouncing weakly off the crumbling bricks. Red Hood had jumped from a fire escape into the darkness, intent on making something good come out of this night; but then the number of men seemed to triple, and there were too many knives and not enough room, and he caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral-
-sharp, piercing pain, and then darkness rushed over him.
He awoke silently, between one breath and the next.
Except, maybe he wasn't awake. No, he couldn't be, because Jason knew this nightmare. It was an old friend to him, a story he knew better than any other.
It started with the pain.
His head hurt the most, this time around. Usually his back and stomach hurt the most since those were the parts the crowbar had focused on, but this time his head ached with a fierceness only interrupted by the sharp stinging around his left eye. The rest of his body hurt too, of course - shoulders and arms wrenched above his head by chains, legs gashed and bleeding - but their aches were dull in comparison to his skull.
The sound came next.
Cackles, giggles, throaty chuckles - the Joker's mad symphony filled the air, loud with promise as to what would follow. The tap of shoes against a concrete floor provided the only percussion needed. No other sounds, not even his mother's sobs, could be heard through the cacophony.
And then, there was light.
The pain lanced through his head as Jason blinked his eyes open. It made sense now; his helmet was cracked, the HUD staticky except for a jagged hole near his left eye. Joker must've used his head as a soccer ball to do that. Jason blinked as his vision tinted red; blood dripped from a cut somewhere on his forehead, probably from the broken helmet. Tilting his head despite the pain, Jason peered through the crack in his helmet.
He knew what should come next. Next he died, screaming for Bruce like he did every time, only waking up after his body was torn apart by the bomb. His room would be painted a sick green, and he'd crawl down to the library to hide behind a book and Helena's blanket.
But this time, there was no crowbar. No crowbar, no bomb, no mother sobbing in a deserted warehouse.
Instead there was Jo, tears dripping from her chin as the Joker loomed above her and the other hostages.
And Jason knew that no matter how this ended, he had a new nightmare.