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Jason sits stock still on the trim around the outside of the building, perched at the corner where an old gargoyle used to maintain its post. Squatting, hands gripping the ledge, his wings back, Jason thinks he probably matches the gargoyle at the far corner fairly well. At a distance, at least. Given he’s taken up this position about a hundred feet in the air, most people, if they even bother to look, would hardly be able to tell the difference.
Below him, streetlights glow in the Gotham night. Jason shifts his weight.
“Patience, Robin.” Batman’s low growl in Jason’s ear brings him back to attention. Standing at the ready atop the building opposite Jason’s roost, he can just make out the silhouette of Batman’s cape flapping in the wind. Jason draws his wings closer, protecting himself from the chill.
“How much longer, B? Shouldn’t they be on their way out by now?”
Batman grunts into his comm, and Jason huffs. The neon sign above the night club’s door flickers at the end of the block. He waits.
Ten minutes later, Jason watches with rapt attention as a man stumbles out of the club, a woman on each arm and four burly men forming a perimeter around him. They start making their way down the block. Around them, the street is all but empty, only a couple of working girls on the corner and a few men smoking cigarettes across the street. Batman drops.
Impatiently, Jason watches as Batman takes down the four bodyguards, all of them out cold before they even hit the ground. Even from so high up, Jason can tell the man they were guarding is shaking in his boots. The two women he’s with exchange fearful glances before retreating back into the club. Across the street, the men keep smoking their cigarettes, and the women on the corner try to get the attention of a passing car. Stupidly, the man reaches into his jacket for a firearm.
Batman gives the signal.
Jason dives.
A few months ago, he never imagined he could feel this way, wind in his hair and under his wings. A few months ago, he didn’t even have wings. Now, though, with leathery skin stretched across bone, Jason never wants to go back. He thought it was a myth, like everyone else did. Now, he knows the magic is real. He spreads his wings as he approaches the ground.
Most people still think it’s a myth.
Jason plants his knees on the man’s shoulders and yanks the man backward. The man stumbles, and Jason uses his leverage to guide him into the opening of a nearby alley. Batman takes the opening, grabbing the man by the front of his dress shirt and lifting him so his toes just barely scrape the sidewalk.
With the darkness of the alley closing in around them, the man seems to realize how dire his situation really is. He starts begging.
“Your organization is smuggling something into Gotham. When and where?”
Jason can’t help grinning as he watches Batman work, shadows rising around him like they’re alive. The man resists, though the tremble in his voice gives him away. Batman sets the man on his feet, letting him stumble as he regains his balance. Jason takes the invitation for what it is. He goes for the man’s knees. He hits the ground hard, and Jason is on top of him in a moment.
Batman lifts the man’s head by his hair. “When and where?”
The man sputters out a time and location, trying desperately to catch a glimpse behind him, to see what has him pinned.
Grinning up at Batman, Jason trills, the perfect imitation of a robin. It’s tradition, as much as one can consider something tradition when it’s only been passed down the one time. Dick’s wings are feathered, and he’d had the nickname long before he had those. Jason could have gone with something different, but by the time his wings came in, he’d already taken up the mantle.
Batman doesn’t trill back. That’s not for him to do. Instead, with a flick of his wrist, he signals Jason back up to the rooftops.
It only takes a moment for Jason to take to the air once again, despite the challenge of the tight space. In seconds, he’s resumed his perch.
A camera flashes, but Jason doesn’t flinch. He keeps his eyes trained forward, wings at rest across his back, the perfect picture of a gargoyle, a protector in the dark of a Gotham night.