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Being a vigilante was, in a lot of ways, like working the night shift—unless of course, you were Bruce ‘I conquered sleep’ Wayne that is.
In general, they worked all night, slept all morning, and dragged themselves awake sometime in the afternoon. When the world returned to their homes, vigilantes (and the night shift) had a few hours to do what they needed to do to get ready for another night of work — of crime fighting (or crime lording) and investigating the underbelly of their respective cities. They lived in a world that only came out in the dark.
It was easy to forget that there was anything else sometimes, outside the darkness of back alleys, stray bullets, and late nights.
Jason was used to this life.
Once upon a time, back when he still lived with his parents, he’d actually been a morning person. As a kid, he liked rising with the sun and getting ready before the rest of the city woke up. He was always excited for school, so he would scramble through making his lunch box and getting dressed to make sure that he never missed the bus. Jason Peter Todd aged eight had been so proud of his perfect attendance at school, and no one was more surprised than his parents. The mornings were his time, and he’d wanted all of it.
Then, there were the years on the street where he learned to stay awake in the dark for safety. Sleeping in the day meant he could protect himself at night. Those times primed him for his future nocturnal schedule just as much as his time with Bruce had (at least with Bruce, he was still expected to wake up for school).
Apart from Duke Thomas, Jason knew few vigilantes who were awake early in the morning. It wasn’t great for their vitamin D intake, but it wasn’t as if Gotham got all that much sun to begin with.
The one exception to Jason’s nocturnal schedule were his semi-monthly trips to Jimbo’s Hot Dog stand.
Jimbo’s had been in operation for as long as he could remember. It was run by an older Italian man named Jimmy Mancini whose deep laughter, rotund belly, and large beard gave the impression that he was a knockoff, greasier, more Italian Santa Clause. He was a Crime Alley staple, and every time Jason visited, he felt… small. In a good way.
He only went when he needed a day off something desperate. If he saw too much darkness, too much pain, too many victims, too much of the worst parts of humanity, he would set aside a night to go to bed a little bit early. He’d set an alarm just like he did as a kid and rise with the sun. He’d dress in civilian clothes, no disguises. Jeans and a hoodie—real normal. For the morning, he’d be just Jason. Then he’d set off for the familiar stand.
On those days, Jason liked to walk.
He liked hearing Crime Alley wake up. A crying toddler and the radio on in someone’s kitchen. Windows opened to air out apartments and people meandering to start their jobs. The sweeping sound of shop owners dusting off their stoops and the rickety metal shutters rolling up for opening. Cars already honking in the distance. So much life. None of the darkness the night brought.
He walked past his old bus stop and smiled, seeing the kids waiting patiently just as he had. Their jackets may have been worn and their shoes beat up, but Jason saw the innocence in their gazes. There was hope in their laughter and their teasing.
He saw Mrs. June Williams, an old coworker of his mom’s from when she worked at a diner. She used to watch him as a kid. Her dark coils had whitened with age, but her smile was bright as she gave him a wave. He waved back and wondered if she remembered him.
The people of the Alley weren't all friendly by any means, but even the grunts from strangers he passed brought a certain comfort to him. They were familiar, and they acknowledged him. It was enough.
By the time he reached Jimbo’s, the knots in his chest had usually started to loosen.
The store wasn’t open yet, but Jimmy always arrived early to set up.
The moment the bright red and yellow stand came into view, Jason took a deep, steadying breath and tried to bring a natural smile to his face. He wasn’t sure how successful he was, but it was the best he had after the shit he’d seen that week.
(No—the whole idea was to take a vacation from thinking about it, he reminded himself).
Smile painted on, Jason took even strides until he’d reached the stand and the familiar older man setting it up.
“Morning Mr. Mancini,” said Jason, hoping not to startle the old man. “Long time no see.”
“Jason!” the man exclaimed, standing up from where he’d been bent over trying to sort his morning inventory. “My best customer! It’s Jimmy, boyo. We’ve been over this.”
Jason tucked his hands in his pockets sheepishly. “It’s a sign of respect for a master chef.”
“Master chef, the boy says!” Jimmy seemed to look around to an imaginary audience, as if to say ‘get a load of this guy’. “Ha! He must think he’s getting a deal on his dog.”
“And short change you? I would never.”
Jimmy walked around the stand to give him a firm pat on the back. “I know you wouldn’t, son.” He winked. “Especially since you know it’ll be on the house.”
“As if I’d ever let you give me one for free.”
There was a bench next to the stand (it was why Jimmy chose this spot in the first place), and Jason took his usual seat while Jimmy finished setting up the grill. While he worked, Jimmy talked. He didn’t need much encouragement, which was one of Jason’s favourite things about the man.
He told stories about his daughter (she was Jason’s age and expecting her first child in a few months), and he told stories about his wife (a spitfire who he’d been in love with since the second grade, their playground romance one for the storybooks). He spoke about his business and the goings-on of Crime Alley, and he even shared some gossip about some of the other businesses on the street.
As he spoke, Jason appreciated the heating up of the grill and the first scent of hotdogs cooking. As the chili came to a boil, deep spices filled the air. Jason sat, and listened, and appreciated.
He almost didn’t notice when Jimmy started to prepare his order, a chili dog with all the dressings. Almost.
The older man brought it to him on the bench and took a seat next to him while he ate, claiming, “I’ll just sit for a pop. There ain’t never any business for an hour anyways.”
Jason nodded his thanks and bit into the fresh chili dog, appreciating the meat and carbs and cheese and sauce and onions and everything that was good in the world. He moaned in appreciation, and Jimmy laughed in appreciation of his appreciation.
He tried to savour the thing, not scarf it down too quickly or anything—although boy did he want to. It was the taste of his childhood, and it warmed him from the inside. He would never relate to people who cut carbs. Carbs were the fuckin’ bomb.
Still, it was gone too quickly. He wiped his mouth with a thin napkin and crumpled the garbage in his hands.
Normally, this would be when he would leave on his way, but instead, beside him, Jimmy looked out across the street at the convenience store and remarked, “You know, you’re too young for eye bags like that. And save the wrinkles for us old guys.”
Jason swallowed a lump in his throat, but he didn’t know what to say.
“Just…” The old man turned and gave him a knowing smile. “You take care of yourself, son. Just like you take care of all of us.”
Tentatively, Jason nodded. “Alright. I’ll try.”
“And don’t make yourself a stranger.”
Jason nodded again and stood up. With expert aim, he tossed his ball of garbage into the nearby bin, satisfied when it landed in the slot. Then he turned back to Jimmy and offered a hand.
“I’m not that old,” chuckled the man, but he still took the offered hand to help him stand, and Jason used the moment to slip some bills into his apron pocket, knowing Jimmy wouldn’t let him pay.
“Thanks for this,” Jason said, and this time the smile he gave was genuine. No need to fake it. “Really.”
They said their goodbyes, and Jimmy gave him a slightly bone-crushing hug that reminded him of being smaller.
And he headed back to his safe house.
The streets were riddled with cigarette butts and discarded trash, and there was no doubt that the buildings were in disrepair, but as Jason walked back home, his stomach full of chili dog, he focused on the people. The goodness. The life.
And he was reminded of what he was fighting for.
There was so much good in his city.
He just needed a morning to remember.