Chapter Text
Jason had seen worse Thursdays.
Granted, the bar was pretty low, his worst Thursday involved a crowded warehouse, a psychotic clown, and a particularly memorable explosion— but this one wasn't making the top ten. Yet.
"Oracle, I'm at the location," he said into his comm, surveying the abandoned warehouse from a fire escape across the street. "Looks like your tip was solid. Lights on inside, movement on the second floor."
"Copy that, Hood." Barbara's voice crackled in his ear, professional and calm. "GCPD is twenty minutes out. Do not engage until—"
"Yeah, yeah, wait for backup, I know the drill." Jason rolled his eyes behind his helmet. "I'm just gonna do a little reconnaissance. Scout the perimeter. Very boring and responsible."
"Jason."
"Relax, Babs. I'm not gonna kick down the door and start shooting. That's more of a Friday thing."
He could practically hear her exasperated sigh. "Just... be careful. The building's been condemned for three months. Structural integrity is questionable."
"Story of my life," Jason muttered, grappling across to the warehouse roof.
The building was a relic from Gotham's industrial heyday, all rusted steel beams and crumbling brick, the kind of place that should've been demolished years ago but lingered like everything else in Crime Alley. Stubborn. Refusing to die even when it should.
Jason knew the feeling.
He landed on the roof with practiced silence, immediately noting the soft spots where the tar paper had rotted through. The whole structure groaned under his weight, a low metallic complaint that set his teeth on edge.
"Building's in worse shape than I thought," he reported, moving carefully toward a skylight. "Whoever's using this place is either stupid or desperate."
"In Gotham? Could be both."
Jason snorted. Through the grimy skylight, he could make out the warehouse floor below. Stacks of crates, scattered equipment, and three figures moving around what looked like a makeshift lab setup. Not good.
"Babs, we've got a problem. This isn't just a smuggling operation. Looks like they're cooking something."
"Can you get a visual on what they're making?"
Jason shifted his position, trying to get a better angle. The roof creaked ominously beneath him. "Working on it. If I can just—"
The skylight frame gave way.
It happened fast, the rotten wood splintering, glass shattering, Jason dropping through into open air. He twisted mid-fall, trying to land in a roll, but his shoulder clipped a steel beam. The impact sent him spinning into a stack of crates that exploded into splinters on contact.
"Hood? Hood, report!"
Jason groaned, shoving debris off his chest. "I'm good. Just—" He froze. The three figures were staring at him, and one was reaching for a detonator. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."
"HOOD, WHAT'S HAPPENING?"
"They're gonna blow the—"
The explosion wasn't huge. Didn't need to be. It was precisely placed to bring down the already-compromised support columns, and the warehouse folded like a house of cards.
Jason ran.
He made it maybe ten feet before the floor disappeared beneath him, concrete and steel and brick cascading down in a roaring avalanche. He fell, tumbling through collapsing levels, his world reduced to noise and pain and choking dust.
Something massive. A beam, maybe, or a chunk of concrete, slammed into his back, driving him down. More debris piled on top, crushing, suffocating. He tried to move, to push up, but the weight was impossible.
The roaring stopped.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Jason's last conscious thought was that he'd been wrong.
This was definitely making the top ten worst Thursdays.