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"Jay, we've been through this. You can't kill them. Injure them for all I care, but leave them alive. Shit I don't understand why you resort to killing; let them suffer the consequences if they're assholes."
Funny- It’s almost like they’ve been in this exact same scenario a hundred times before- Nightwing or Batman backing him into a corner in a cold grimy alley, lecturing him, telling him to come back to stop murdering others. Usually they pester him individually (they probably have a chart hanging on the fridge), if karmas feeling extra bitchy they both corner him. Those day’s piss him off the most.
Today it’s Nightwings shift and- will you look at that, boy wonder himself standing all loud and proud yet still hiding behind his oh so mighty brother like a coward. "I did it once for dramatic effect and it just got to be a habit." He replied with a shrug. Shit he was starving. The fridge probably still has some leftovers hidden behind all the beer. Or he’ll just get takeout, he was dying (heh. get it? cause he already died) to eat pizza.
„Hood, please. Can we just sit down- somewhere that isn’t a rat infested alley and talk? I doesn’t have to be about the murders or about any crime related stuff- We can just watch a movie if you want.“ Dick was sounding more desperate than usual, must be because of his fight with Bruce. Anyway- Fuck what Dickhead says.
He has better ways to waste his time than to listen to the same lecture for the hundred time „You can’t tell, but I’m dozing off under this mask.“ But Dick doesn’t deserve all the credit, his insomnia helped him. It’s a team effort, really.
A exasperated sigh could be heard followed by a low grumbling. „Jay..“ something about how disappointed Dicki sounded made him snap „I killed them because they deserve it!“ and he was yelling now. Leave it to his so called family to break his streak. His therapist would scratch him if she saw Jason right now- though whiskers tends to stay near restaurants where the food-waste is probably high enough to be considered illegal.
He could see Dick open his mouth ready to spout more bs but someone beat him to it. It was the little pretender, birdy was looking straight into his eyes- disgust taking over his usually calm expression. „What’re you? A cop?.“ Wonderboy scoffed at the end, looking at Jason as if he were a filthy rat.
And HUH?!? He, Jason Peter Todd, a cop? Those b@stards that shoot first ask questions never, hit anyone and everyone even if they’re the victim, stand in front of hurt children and instead of helping them press a gun against there head (he was hit with the memory of Robin laying in the TT unconscious and so so young).
And fuck he wasn’t a cop but he sure as fuck was on the way. He stood there staring at the young boy- how old is he even? 13? 14? he couldn’t be older than 15. He knew he was quiet too long because Dick started frowning, he was probably talking but Jason was in no mood to listen.
He let out a squeak yelp before he grappled himself as far away as fast as possible. (Whiskers pissed in his coffee for running from his problems. He threw cat treats at her)
That was a week ago. That has also been the span of time he hasn’t touched a gun, or a crowbar in. He also hasn’t committed any homicide since then. It surprisingly, felt good. Those high grade dealers or abusers still went to the hospital and came out with the minimum of six life long injuries, of course, but they came out of that hospital alive.
„So… I’ve heard the Red Hood doesn’t do homicide anymore. Know something ‘bout that?“
If he told past Jason he’d be sitting in a lokal cutesy coffee shop in front of an infuriating little brat who talks as if he were a foot taller he probably would have been murdered- or does it count as suicide because he was technically killing himself but from the future. „Just so you know. Our conversation has nothing to do with Hoods death rates.“ Tim just smiled. „Sure. That’s what Bruce said about the criminal hospital rates.“