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“Did you figure it out yet?” Dick asks a few days later, pressing up against his side, exactly like a cat waiting to be pet.
“Figure what out?”
“How you’re gonna step up your game. You know, decided how you want to follow up the tree.”
“Absolutely,” Jason says, having done no such thing.
“Oh, good! I was gonna say, I had a suggestion, but —”
“Could always use more ideas,” Jason says casually. “Shoot.”
Dick smiles like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and says, “Two trees.”
Jason rolls his eyes and pushes him off the fire escape. He lands on his feet, irritatingly enough.
The problem, Jason thinks, is that his skills aren’t particularly geared toward seduction. That’s Ivy’s whole bag, and just because he’s her “sidekick” doesn’t mean he’s just a carbon copy.
He fought Robin for the first time the other day — it’s like a rite of passage around here — and the first thing the kid did was put on his rebreather.
“Yeah, great call, Birdie, that’s totally gonna protect you from ten-foot stinging nettles,” Jason laughed.
“I know how you people work,” Robin muttered darkly. “I will not be bewitched by your — your pollen .”
“Excuse the fuck outta you,” Jason said, bristling. “That’s — racist? Magic-ist? Whatever, fuck off, Ivy doesn’t even do that shit anymore.” Not since Jason basically filibustered Thanksgiving dinner with a speech about consent.
But even aside from that whole can of problematic worms, he’s not great with like… romance. Wiles. The art of seduction. Aside from trees, his skill set involves a lot of things with poison, spikes or spines, and all-around fuck-off vibes.
Time to phone a friend.
He calls Roy, of course, who does him the favor of not laughing out loud while Jason tells the story.
“Wow, Jay,” he says cheerfully. “That’s quite an in-tree-duction.”
Jason closes his eyes for a moment. “Just get it out of your system.”
“Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘giving you wood.’ I can’t be-leaf you thought that was a good idea.”
Jason waits patiently. When there are no more puns immediately forthcoming, he asks, “Okay, so… what do I do?”
“Uh… well, it’s good to like, show interest in a potential partner’s hobbies, right?”
“Huh. That’s not actually bad advice.” He pauses. “Now I just gotta figure out what Deathstroke does for fun.”
“I can ask around, see what comes down the grapevine?”
“Swords? He likes swords, right? I can work with that.”
“Aw, I’m proud of you, Jay. It’s good to see you putting yourself out there. You’re really turning over a new leaf… and I think this whole budding romance could really bloom into something special.”
“Going now,” Jason says.
“Go get him! I’m rooting for you!”
Jason gets ahold of a katana and convinces Black Cat to train him with it. Next time Slade is in town, Jason disembowels a team of child traffickers in his vicinity, and places himself firmly in Slade’s path while he’s cleaning the sword afterward.
Sure enough, he feels a telltale prickle on the back of his neck as he’s sharpening the katana on a rooftop. He looks up, glancing around, and makes eye contact with Slade, who’s watching from the roof across the alleyway. Slade looks fucking riveted, too.
Fuck yeah. Mission success.
Jason gives him his best “come hither” eyes.
Slade blanches and bolts.
Maybe he had somewhere to be, and Jason just distracted him?
Jason decides to feel a little bit flattered by that. Clearly, though, he needs to try harder.
Jason gets a call from Frank a few days later, asking for his advice on behalf of a friend who’s dealing with some sort of plant invasion, so it’s off to New York City.
The “friend” turns out to be Black Widow, which is one of the coolest things that has ever happened to Jason. He knew she and Frank were friends, but still.
She meets him on the outskirts of Central Park with a couple men in dark glasses and earpieces, who take Jason’s bike. He’d threaten them with bodily harm if it comes back with a scratch on it, but they already look pretty cowed by Widow, so.
Jason’s feeling a little cowed too, as she leads him over to their rally point, deeper in the park – but he tries not to show it. He used to want to be an Avenger. Then the Pit happened, and the magic made him mildly insane for awhile, and then he did all that murder… can’t audition for the Avengers with a duffel bag full of heads at the top of his resume.
But, hey, the Avengers are working with the Winter Soldier now, so maybe there’s still a chance for Jason.
The Winter Soldier, as it turns out, might be the coolest person Jason’s ever met; he doesn’t say a thing when Natasha introduces them, just gives Jason a barely-there nod, working his raccoon eyeliner like it’s Fashion Week. Actual Honest-to-God Captain America calls Jason “son,” which he has some funny feelings about, because Cap has grown a beard since the propaganda days and is looking pretty DILFy, which decidedly does not fit with Jason’s golly-gosh spangles-and-nationalism mental image of him. Iron Man starts talking a mile a minute about Jason’s outfit, or lack thereof, offering to help design him something that’ll give “equal parts protection and pizzazz.”
“Focus, Tony,” Natasha huffs. “And then there’s Hawkeye, who – wait, where’s Clint?”
“Is that him?” Jason asks, pointing at the distant purple-clad figure who’s being dangled upside down by a glowing vine.
“Fuck’s sake,” the Soldier grunts, and they’re off.
The Central Park invasion isn’t actually plants, is the thing – more like an alien invasion, which means that Jason’s powers are significantly less helpful than they would’ve been otherwise. But according to Actual Honest-to-God Captain America, just the fact that he’s able to confirm that the glowing vines are alien in nature is, in and of itself, a big help.
And yeah, Jason can’t actually do much with the alien vines, but he can grow a natural bamboo shelter to protect all the tourists who decided that possibly getting a shot of Iron Man in their vacation pictures was too good an opportunity to pass up, aliens or not.
After the battle, he does end up meeting Hawkeye, too, who looks a little worse for wear.
“I’m just glad I didn’t wet my plants,” he says cheerfully, poking at his own black eye as if gauging whether it’s still painful. “Or soil myself, I guess. Heh.”
God, Roy would love this guy.
Frank invites him to dinner and his weekly poker night, while he’s in town – along with Natasha, Hawkeye, and the Soldier, who Frank is apparently close with as well. Jason feels spectacularly dumb when he realizes that they’re the “Barnes and Barton” Frank has told stories about before, and they’re just as surprised to realize that Jason is “Frank’s kid” who they’d heard so much about.
That’s… not exactly the truth, but Jason doesn’t clarify.
Essentially: Frank saw Jason mid-murder spree and, for some godforsaken reason, decided to adopt him. Got him out of Gotham for awhile to clear his head, rehabilitated him (well, provided a better outlet for his rage, at least) until he was slightly more stable, and then helped him land the apprenticeship with Ivy so he could start to harness his new powers better. But yeah, if Frank’s calling Jason his kid, Jason’s not going to protest. Makes him feel pretty warm and fuzzy, if he’s being honest.
They’re all getting settled around chips and dip when Karen gets home; Jason exclaims over the shiny new rock on her hand as she kisses Frank hello.
“Oh, hey, I could use your expertise with something!” Karen asks Jason brightly, while she’s still taking off her coat. “I’ve been working on this serial killer case, right? And we think the victims in each murder were killed by belladonna, but –”
“The porn star?” Barton interrupts, wide-eyed.
“The poison,” Natasha sighs.
“No shop talk at poker night,” Frank grumbles.
“Sorry, babe,” Karen says, and says to Jason. “Later. How’s Gotham treating you, anyway? Is it really as bad as everybody says?”
“I think I have an old circus buddy who lives in Gotham,” Barton thinks out loud. “I should look him up.”
“It’s Jersey, of course it’s bad,” Barnes says scornfully.
“Hey, now,” Jason says, bristling. “What’sa matter with Jersey?”
“Oh, this should be fun,” Natasha says. She settles back in her seat and watches avidly as Jason takes a deep breath.
They’re a few bottles of wine deep, and the intensely competitive game of poker is put on hold while Frank dishes up dessert – so Jason takes the opening to ask for their advice on his whole… romantic situation.
“I dunno, the sword thing totally woulda worked on me,” Barnes says, shrugging.
“Talk dirt-y to him,” Barton smirks. “No point beating around the bush, right? Tell him he makes you thorny! Ha, get it?”
“What about you?” Jason asks Karen. “When was the moment you knew, with Frank?”
“He saved me from a bomb,” she says, dreamy-eyed and smiling. “Middle of a gigantic firefight, covered in blood, maybe half of it was his, and –”
“Why are we talking about this?” Frank asks, aggrieved, as he comes back from the kitchen with a tray of creme brulees.
“Seducing somebody,” Barton fills in, wiggling his eyebrows. “Jason wants this guy’s wood.”
“Did you try cleaning your guns in front of him?” Barnes suggests. “That’s always sexy.”
“Offer to choke him out with your thighs, straight up, nobody’s gonna say no to that,” Barton says reasonably. They all wait a beat for the inevitable pun; he looks around and, apparently, misreads the silence, because he shrugs and explains, “Usually I’d say start with the normal sort of choking, but you do have the thighs for it.”
Yeah, okay, Jason preens a little bit at that.
“You could always just present him with the head of one of his enemies,” Natasha suggests.
"Oooh, that's a great idea," Barton agrees.
“What is wrong with you people,” Frank says flatly. “How about a good old-fashioned candlelit dinner?”
“Maybe if it was C4 instead of candles,” Barnes muses, while Natasha nods in agreement.
“Flowers,” Frank says, dogged. “Roses!”
“Oh, right,” Barnes says, looking vaguely surprised. “A bouquet of a dozen red roses. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“Don’t worry, I thought the knife bouquet was super romantic,” Natasha tells him, patting him on the hand.
“Well, I’m not about to cut the stems, that’s barbaric,” Jason says. “But I can try a bush?”
“That’s what she said,” Barton mutters. Then, louder, “You can do it! Just gotta be-leaf in yourself.”
Yeah, Jason is never, ever introducing this guy to Roy.
Unfortunately, Jason doesn’t have much warning before the next time Slade comes to town, and he definitely woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He’s all sorts of grumpy by the time he tracks the guy down, although he does enjoy peering through the mobster’s window and watching Slade work.
When he thinks bushy thoughts, though, he ends up kinda covering the mobster’s house in thick, thorny briars, Sleeping Beauty style.
He flees the scene before Slade can emerge. He’s so flustered that he ends up with a trail of cacti and nettles springing up in his wake, like the world’s most unwelcoming breadcrumb trail.
Tim enlists him for help with a new trap he’s been working on; it’s a whole “swing from vines over a chasm filled with alligators” situation, which –
“Somebody’s been watching Indiana Jones,” Jason snickers.
“They’re classics,” Tim says haughtily.
“Ed totally hasn’t seen them, has he?” Jason asks.
“Nope.”
“Yeah, he’s gonna be super impressed.”
Tim is mollified. He tugs on one of the vines, testing it, then settles his ridiculous bowler hat more carefully on his head before he peers over the edge of the cliff, and he makes a few notes in his little pad.
“Hey, you’re fucking the clone boy, right?” Jason asks absent-mindedly, coaxing out another vine.
Tim gives him a dry, unimpressed look. “Conner Luthor and I have been in a committed relationship for two years, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yeah, that. How did that… happen? What does he see in you?”
“Is that really how you want to phrase it right now?” Tim asks waspishly, over the distant sound of screaming from below.
“You know what I mean.”
Tim rolls his eyes. “I suppose it started because we worked well together. I found his intellect very appealing. In order to prove myself worthy of being his partner, I found an innovative way to support his professional endeavors; he was impressed by my creativity.”
“You chucked a bunch of his business rivals in some really fucked-up escape rooms, didn’t you?” Jason asks.
Tim smirks. “Allegedly.”
“You terrify me,” Jason says.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Tim says, touched.
With that in mind, Jason sets to work inventing some new plants that might, as Tim put it, support Slade’s professional endeavors in innovative new ways.
His first thought is Dead Man’s Fingers that would actually grab people – but fungi tend to be a little bit on the stupid side, and the fingers either don’t know or don’t care who they end up snagging. Jason brings them to Tim, who’s delighted.
Mercenaries probably spend a lot of time disposing of human remains, right? Jason starts experimenting with some super-strength carrion flowers; he figures a pot of them would cover the smell of anything decomposing, while also attracting beetles that would help speed along decomposition… but the beetles get over-enthusiastic, and there are so many complaints about the smell that Jason gives up on those. He convinces the flowers to go back into hibernation for a bit, just long enough to get it through security, so he and Harley can send the pot to Arkham as a gift to the Joker – they’re both petty like that.
Next up is a mutated Venus fly trap, large enough to digest an entire body. It’s a thing of beauty, if Jason does say so himself, and he leaves it outside Slade’s safehouse with a note that says, “xoxo, FoxGlove.”
Unfortunately, Slade chops Jason’s baby to pieces with his katana, and then he flees, without even glancing at the note.
Slade doesn’t come back to Gotham for months, not that Jason’s counting or anything.
He’s definitely not sulking, either. He stays busy – joins a book club, starts going up to New York for weekly poker nights, adopts a dog. He’s widening his circle. Making friends and influencing people. He totally doesn’t need a man to complete his life.
But. Ugh.
Through book club, he meets Alfred Pennyworth, and Alfred (despite working for Bruce Wayne, who epitomizes social inequality, old-money ego, and all the other things Jason really hates) becomes a good friend. They meet up for tea and chess regularly, and one day he invites Jason over to give him advice on his greenhouse.
Alfred is annoyingly perceptive, and he catches Jason’s heavy sigh at the sight of a Venus fly trap – doesn’t let him wriggle out of it, either, and somehow manages to pry the whole stupid story out of him over shortbread.
Well… not the whole story. Jason leaves names out of it.
“Have you considered approaching this in a more forthright manner?” Alfred asks delicately.
“What do you mean?”
“You might state your interest plainly and ask if he returns the sentiment.”
“I’ll consider that,” Jason tells him, just to be polite.
He will absolutely not be doing that.
The next time Jason sees Slade Wilson, it’s because Slade Wilson is ringing his goddamn doorbell. He isn’t wearing his uniform, but Jason recognizes him. Something to do with the eyepatch, and the six-and-a-half feet of sheer fuck-off muscle.
Deathstroke. Is at his door. Wearing a button-down, and carrying a gift box, no less.
Jason weighs his curiosity against the possibility that there’s a bomb in that box, and his curiosity wins. He opens the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Hi?” he says.
“Hello,” Slade says uncomfortably.
“Uh.”
“May I… come in?”
Phenomenally stupid move on Jason’s part, but he opens the door wider and ushers the guy into his neat little apartment. All the cacti on the windowsill perk up, and Jason warns them against trying any funny business.
“I received a visitor a few days ago,” Slade says, perching stiffly in a chair that looks much too small for him. “A friend of yours, apparently.”
“Uh-oh,” Jason says, wondering who had the brass balls to threaten Slade goddamn Wilson. Roy isn’t that suicidal; Tim isn’t that blunt; Dick, like the feline he is, doesn’t care enough about Jason to go to all that effort.
“He insinuated that if I were to ask you out, you might say yes,” Slade tells him.
Jason is struck by the startling realization that Slade might be just as awkward as he is, when it comes to this stuff.
“I… might,” he ventures. “Who the fuck –”
“Blond,” Slade says. “He asked if I was interested, and when I said yes –
“Oh my god,” Jason says.
“He suggested that I bring you a gift to win you over, so. Here’s this.” He passes Jason the box.
Jason opens the box. Blinks.
That’s the Joker.
That’s the Joker’s head. Nestled in plastic. Severed so neatly it looks surgical.
“Oh my god,” Jason breathes. He has butterflies.
Slade clears his throat nervously. “Your friend threatened to shoot my other eye out if I didn’t make a move, but – well. Only reason I hadn’t already asked you out is I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
Fuck. He owes Barton one. One million, even…
Shit, he should really just give him Roy’s number. Jason will suffer, but this is worth putting up with the puns.
“Oh my god,” Jason repeats, and wonders if he’s going into shock.
“Are you? Interested, I mean,” Slade says gruffly. “I would really like to take you on a date, to be clear.”
Jason blinks at him a few times. His face splits into what feels like a very dopey grin. “Can I help you dispose of the body?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of dinner,” Slade says, and shoots him a tiny smile. “But if that’s your idea of a romantic first date, kid, this might just work out even better than I hoped.”