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You rarely see stars in Gotham.
With the combination of light pollution, smog, and Gotham’s propensity for dark clouds, Jason knows that the odds are against him. But despite what people think, he’s always been something of an optimist.
So while he doesn’t expect many Gothamites to be holding their breath to see the Geminid meteor shower, he’s in it for the long haul.
He leans back on his hands to turn his full attention to the sky, hoping that Ivy has worse men to kill than the one laying down on the edge of Robinson Park, and waits as the clock gets closer to 2 AM.
He huddles further into his jacket, his blanket like a cape around his shoulders wrapping him in a fierce nostalgia against the December chill. Gotham is a city that sleeps, but never rests, her Bat still haunts her streets and right now he should be chasing a lead in Diamond District if his intel is correct.
Here’s a truth: Gotham in winter is beautiful.
It’s grey skies with air so crisp it can fool you into thinking it’s clean, the snow never stays untouched for long instead it turns into slush so quickly that the fresh coat may as well have been a false memory.
When he lived on the streets, he knew Gotham’s winter intimately. It’s harsh, it can be unforgiving, and living with that frigid cold should be reason enough for Jason to despise it…it doesn’t mean he can’t love it too.
He charts the stars lazily, buckling Orion’s Belt and latching the Gemini’s hands. It’s funny how you’re remembered after you’re gone, you have no say in it. Sometimes you’re a belt and sometimes you’re holding your brother’s hand. Jason, not himself nor his namesake— a grandfather who he’s never met but the Argonaut, has a constellation not too far from Sirius in the shape of a ship. It’s the one that he sailed and the one whose falling beam killed him, yet when you think of him you think of his ship. The Argo wasn’t even made by him, it was gifted and it’s what he’s remembered by, it’s how he died.
In a way it reminds him of the Sunday school he went to as a kid which was more for the snacks they gave out than any faith his parents had. He had stared at the crucified man with his crown of thorns when he learned that two other men were crucified that same day. He’d think of Christ resurrected confronted by a crucifix and feel a little sick. Not everyone gets a life remembered divorced from their death.
He looks back to the stars. He hadn’t seen them often enough as a kid to be jarred by the constellations during his Talia funded training. His displacement was soul deep, that he was alive when he was dead. Even when he thought to climb himself out of that hole of thinking, the whole mess with Donna and Kyle happened. He couldn’t forget the phrase if he tried: Cosmic Mistakes.
He’s heard menace, criminal, scum, demon, plague onto the world, but cosmic mistake had its own ring to it. The club wouldn’t have been half so bad if it was just Donna, the Lantern was such a loser.
But still he wonders how the two are. Probably somewhere in space caught in the oncoming meteor shower, probably around people who ground them with belonging. People like them are always in some kind of team an-
A dash of light streaks through the sky before disappearing, a blink and you’ll miss it. It quiets his mind in anticipation with only a stray thought that Duke could probably still see it if he were looking. Another dash barrels through the sky, and his mouth falls open in soft awe as they keep coming, tiny streaks of light taunting him into making a wish, so distant but real.
There’s another Greek myth that shooting stars are human souls in transit that we wish upon. Could he have turned into one that first time after Ethiopia? Could his father? His mother?
It’s with a puff of his own breath as a companion that he stares and wishes. He doesn’t let his mind linger on the wish even though he’s not one for superstitions, if he’s already wishing on a star, he’ll keep the details to himself.
The star he’s looking at grows brighter as if in acknowledgement, he chuckles oddly pleased until it continues to get brighter and brighter and not so distant. He jumps onto his feet, blanket falling off his shoulders and knife in hand with even more weapons strapped to him. Go fucking figure his night would end with a team up with Poison Ivy against an interstellar threat.
Before he does something drastic like actually call the Rogue for backup, the light grows familiar. Less of a falling star and more of a spiraling Lantern.
“What the hell,” he splutters.
Kyle freaking Rayner skids a landing just to look dazedly back at him, “Hood?”
He blinks through his bewilderment, “I feel like there’s an office I should be complaining to. What’s the number to call if I have a problem with your flying?”
Rayner groans, face falling into the dirt, “Do you ever shut up?”
He frowns, “Real rich coming from you.” He toes at the hero with his boot. He can’t be that injured if he’s able to talk back. He pauses, okay he wouldn’t put it past him to bicker on death’s door. “You’re not gonna expire on me, are you? I don’t wanna deal with Ivy’s babies with a lantern ring.”
Oh crud, imagine? Wrestling a giant man eating plant just for it to summon an energy construct of an even bigger man eating plant. If they don’t move, she might accuse him of dumping bodies on her turf again.
“Glowstick?” He nudges the guy’s shoulder again.
“Yeah, Hood?”
“Are you dying on me?”
The man flops over, the move eliciting another groan from him that actually has Jason somewhat concerned. “It feels like it.”
Jason’s face scrunches in distaste. He looks back to the sky for any fading remnants of the meteor shower, surprised his luck didn’t have the lantern crash land directly on top of him. He sighs, calculating the quickest route to one of his safehouses. “Alright, Yvaine. Up and at ‘em.”
Kyle tries to sit up and it’s like those videos of baby horses taking their first steps, except baby horses actually succeed. The lantern lets out a few lung wracking coughs, no blood, he notes. “I think I’m good here.”
The Ivy threat wasn’t just his paranoia talking, so he’d really like to get out of here sooner rather than whenever the beat up lantern manages to gather his pride. He bends down to pick the guy up, slinging an arm around his shoulder when a quick inspection reveals deep bruises, but nothing broken.
“You’re taking this rather calmly.”
Jason snorts, “We first met jumping through interdimensional rifts. This is par for course.”
“Right, of course.” Kyle huffs and actually tries to help them move forward. “What were you even doing in the middle of nowhere.”
“Wishing on stars,” he replies deadpan.
Kyle squints at him, the scent of ozone and sweat unavoidable with him so close. He should dislike it more than he does. “I could never tell when you were being serious.”
“Aren’t you lot supposed to be diplomats? I’d think you’d be better at social cues.”
He looks at him incredulously, his frog green mask hiding what he knows to be expressive brown eyes. “Now that’s gotta be a joke.”
“Nah, you’re the only joke here.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’m saving you from man eating plants, I’m a saint.”
“I could’ve sworn I landed on earth.”
“You landed in Gotham,” he replies succinctly and actually sympathetic now. Gotham isn’t for most people. She’s a mean city, cruel even to those that love her.
“Awesome, just what I needed.”
Jason ignores him, “Doesn’t your ring heal you?”
“It does, it is.”
It paints his injuries in a new light, how bad were the injuries before they started healing? “Is whoever who did this to you coming to finish the job?”
“Nah,” He doesn’t seem like he’s lying. “If you think this is bad you should see the other guy.”
Maybe the lantern got better at fighting since their last encounter, but he wouldn’t bet against the other guy being brought through a metaphysical wringer. It’s the sort of nonsense that battling any cape humbles you with. Sometimes a preteen makes puns while they roundhouse kick you and other times you’re hit with giant green cymbal-banging monkeys.
“So, where are you taking me?” Kyle asks casually fifteen minutes into their addled walk.
“That’s a question that you should’ve asked a quarter hour ago. Do you normally just trust random strangers to drag you to safety?”
Kyle shrugs, “You’re not a stranger.”
“Debatable.”
“Debate with the wall. And if push came to shove, I could still fight.”
“You sure about that?” Jason ducks the arm that he was supporting to see Kyle teeter, the man’s face grows ashen at the sudden movement.
“Again, you’re an asshole.”
He chuckles but moves back to support him. He forgot how fun it was to mess with the guy. “Just helping you put your money where your mouth is.”
“Right, right. Cuz you’re such a saint. Give me a warning before you pull that shit.”
He hums noncommittedly. He should just leave him, they’re not the only constants in a foreign universe anymore. Still, the instinct of it clings to him like a coat of ash, absorbed into his body, decorating his lungs. During those trips through realities, Rayner’s eyes were always laden with fatigue. It moved with him, a spectre of weariness that had him questioning whether the guy could actually watch their back. “I’m taking you to bed.”
He frowns, “Hey, I’m not that easy.”
Jason rolls his eyes, “Sure thing, doll.”
“I’m serious.”
“So’s he,” he gestures at the brightest point of light in the sky.
For a moment they both look up, the meteor shower has long since waned, but the usual constellations still pockmark the atmosphere. So many universes and this is the one he belongs in or at least this is the one he came back to. He looks at Kyle. Myths trail after the man in the absurd whispers that he’s come to accept just as he accepted his crash landing. Of all the stories to rewrite he chose to stay in this one.
“If you were a constellation, what do you think you’d be?” He asks curiously.
Kyle blinks back at him, he wonders what he sees on his face to let his snip fizzle out. He looks to the sky as a canvas, an oddly solemn air about him and shrugs. “Everyone looks at the stars and sees something different.”
He chews on that as they descend into a subway station and snorts, “That’s such a cop out answer.”