Chapter Text
Present Day…
The heavy rain streaks across Jason’s mask as he weaves through late night traffic on his bike with a practiced ease. The GCPD radio chattered away in his earpiece as he rode. It had been almost a year of meddling with the Black Mask and avoiding Batman as much as he could. The voice of a detective sputtered out in his ear, calling for backup on a drug bust. Black Mask goons spotted, shots fired, civilian hostage taken. Jason redirected his bike, taking a sharp left turn toward the address read out. Jason sped up, realizing what address it was. It was a Boys and Girls Club in Park Row, near Crime Alley. It was one he’d frequent before he died. There shouldn’t be anyone there this late, so why was a civilian involved?
Jason turned down an alley nearby and parked his bike. He snuck around, surveying the situation. Three GCPD squad cars were parked out front with cops taking cover behind their doors, guns drawn and pointed at the building. The glass windows were shattered. Inside were about five Black Mask thugs. Two carried duffel bags, and they all had guns. One held the civilian around the neck, a gun pointed at their head. The civilian wasn’t struggling. It was dark except for one swinging light and silent, other than the heavy rain on the metal roof; the calm before a firefight.
Jason snuck into a second-floor window, silently walking along the balcony. The light swung back and forth, illuminating each person briefly. It was long enough to see each face. Jason's adrenaline spiked, and his blood ran cold as he got a good look at the hostage. His fear became a reality. One doesn't easily forget the face of their first love. Jason lets out a barely audible ‘fuck’ as his feet shift his weight and he pulls out his pistol. He had hoped Y/n had left Gotham altogether since the last time they saw each other, but that would have been too easy—one breath, two, three.
Red Hood let out a sharp yell, “Down!”
Y/n reacted immediately, ragdolling before hitting the floor. Jason pulled the trigger, downing two of the thugs before a firefight deafened the sound of the rain. Y/n crawled to the side of the room behind the check-in counter. Jason was glad Y/n hadn’t forgotten the safety training Bruce had taught him as a teen. Jason jumped down behind the same counter. Y/n jumped and went to swing the small bat that he must have been hiding. Jason grabbed his wrist and shook his head no.
“Get lost before you get hurt. Side door,” Red Hood’s modulated voice ordered.
Y/n didn’t move. He looked like he was seeing a ghost, and he technically had. But there was no way he knew, Jason thought.
“Jason?” Y/n squeaked out.
Y/n ducked at the sound of a bullet hitting the reception desk. Before Jason could say another word, Y/n ripped his wrist out of Jason’s grip, running for the side door. His survival instinct was higher than his need for answers. Jason routed the rest of the goons with ease while avoiding shots from the GCPD. He was out the same window he came in from before the dust even settled. Jason started searching the nearby alleys, thinking Y/n couldn’t have run far. The last time he had seen Y/n, he could barely run a mile in twelve minutes. After alley sweeps with no luck, Jason went back to his bike. The streets were quiet again, save for the sound of the still-pounding rain. Jason tore his mask off, throwing it against the nearby brick wall. He leaned against his bike, hands in his slowly soaking hair.
Jason had come back fundamentally different from the Lazarus pit; he knew that. When he had first seen his siblings and Bruce, any love he had felt had been replaced by a searing rage. He thought that would extend to feelings like this. But all he felt when he saw Y/n was panic and adrenaline in its purest form. Now that he was alone in the alleyway, Jason’s chest twisted. His stomach was doing flips. He felt like he was going to vomit.
8 Years Earlier…
The golden light streaks across Jason’s helmet as he weaves through traffic on his bike with a practiced ease. He could hear his passenger’s laughter through his earpiece, bright and carefree, their arms stretched out like they were flying. It had been almost a year of lugging around the deadweight of this man. Deadweight, that’s what he’d tell his nosey brothers, but Y/n was anything but that. Jason feels Y/n’s arms wrap back around his torso, and the light thud of his helmet on the back of his. Jason smiles to himself as his bike slows in front of the Boys and Girls Club in Park Row. Y/n hops off, bonking Jason's helmeted head with their own; their way of kissing goodbye without taking their helmets off. Y/n pulls off his helmet as he runs up the stairs and into work. Jason watched them disappear into the building before riding off back to Wayne Manor.
Present Day…
Y/n bolted out of the warehouse, running down the street from the firefight. He didn’t let his legs stop. Gotham showers always hid tears the best. Y/n scrambled around corners, zigzagging as far away as he could with no real direction other than away. He couldn’t figure out if he were running from the gunshots or the ghost who had just saved him. Five years ago, Jason had gone missing, presumed dead. At least, that was what Y/n was told by his boyfriend’s father. Adoptive father, Jason would have corrected him. Y/n stood beside Bruce Wayne as they lowered an empty coffin into the ground, paparazzi poorly hidden, capturing Y/n’s worst day. And now, to just show up and save Y/n from a bunch of thugs the same way they had met nearly 10 years ago. ‘Get lost before you get hurt.’ He had said the same thing that night. ‘Get lost,’ was Jason’s most used phrase. It never had any real bite behind it, even now, 5 years after disappearing.