Chapter Text
The invitation comes through Roy’s mailbox without ceremony. He and Jason are sprawled on the floor, watching a movie together, when Bizarro runs in, clutching it with both hands.
“Bad news! Dont look!"
Roy bounds over the couch backwards to grab onto it, tearing a corner. Bizarro frowns, but leaves it be.
Jay, come look at this.” He says, already showing Jason.
Jason closes his eyes, a migraine throbbing. “Just read it to me.”
He can practically hear the eye roll they both give him, but Bizarro calls Artemis while Roy starts reading.
“JUSTICE LEAGUE WORLD RESPONSE INITIATIVE
OFFICIAL INVITATION TO GLOBAL HEROES’ CEREMONIAL TOURNAMENT
To: Jason Todd and verified vigilante group ‘Outlaws’”
Jason scowls, picking up his helmet to start tinkering with it next to Roy. Artemis puts a hand on his shoulder, vibrating in anticipation. Jason leans into her hand and mutters. “It's THE Outlaws.”
“ Designation: Red Hood (Affiliated / Unverified / Situationally Cooperative)
Location: Gotham City Sector
You are hereby formally invited to participate in the Global Heroic Cohesion Tournament, a structured event sanctioned by the Justice League to promote inter-heroic cooperation, strategic evaluation, and ceremonial recognition of active metahuman and vigilante operatives worldwide.
This event is optional but beneficial for inter-territorial communication between heroes. We at The Watchtower would appreciate your attendance, even if not as a participant.
Attendance for participants is expected on:
June 28th, 20XX
Arrival window: 0800–1000 hours
Location: Watchtower Annex, Low Orbit Training Sector
While the heroes of the world participate in this event, sectors will be taken care of by the Amazons as an act of unity and trust."
Roy pauses, squinting and bringing the paper closer to his face. Artemis moves closer to look at the paper, and Jason almost misses the contact.
“We should go.” She whispers, fixated on the letter. Jason clenches his jaw, trying to figure out a way to say no without turning into the bad guy.
Before he can, Bizarro nods. Then Roy looks at him, raising one eyebrow.
He brushes a finger over the voice modulator of his helmet, unscrewing a dismembered piece from a recent squabble with Scarecrow.
It's probably a trap. Or a test. Or some kind of recruitment thing. For all they know, it could all be a way to catch them.
But… It's not like they couldn't have done it weeks ago if they wanted. Dick brought beer last month, and everyone passed out drunk. He could have taken them in them. It could be a new problem, though.
Would Damien have warned them? Would he want to?
Jason shakes his head. He refocuses on the paper. “Fine. But we finish all of our open missions before we leave. I dont trust any Amazon in my logs.”
Bizarro claps. “Boo!”
Artemis raises an eyebrow. “I'd better be an exception.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“C’mon, B, I gotta pack my good arrows,” Roy says, tapping Bizarro's shoulder and walking to the closet. Bizarro nods and bumps Roy's shoulder, looking back at Jason and Artemis. Roy smiles.
Jason reads over the rules underneath the letter, rubbing a thumb on the edge. Artemis leans in to read it with him.
AUTHORIZED PARTICIPANTS
Justice League affiliates
Outsider teams
Independent vigilante units
Other individuals of demonstrated capability
ACCEPTABLE EQUIPMENT
Participants may bring:
Standard issued or personal protective gear
Non-lethal combat tools
Authorized tech augmentations
Medic kits
Personalized diet items, if not provided
Personal records, identification, and mission statements to share with other teams
Participants may NOT bring:
Weapons classified as mass-casualty capable
Kryptonite-based substances
Reality-altering artifacts
Unauthorized cloning devices"
Artemis clicks her tongue. “Nothing fun, then.” Jason snorts.
Bizarro calls out from the closet “Yes, guns?”
“Sorry, B.”
Bizarro groans, but continues rummaging.
HOUSEKEEPING RULES
No killing
No permanent maiming of competitors
No destruction of Watchtower infrastructure
No fighting, insulting, or baiting outside or in the ring
No poisons, gas (with the exception of power use involving gas) or sabotage of other teams' weaponry
All matches are monitored. Mediators will be deployed where needed
Any rule-breaking will result in disqualification and/ or a permanent ban from future ceremonies
FINAL NOTE
This tournament is intended as a symbol of unity and growth.
Please behave accordingly.
Signed,
Strategic Oversight Division
Justice League
Countersigned,
The Dark Knight
Jason laughs, sneering at the signature. “Unity and growth. Sure.” He folds the paper to hide Bruce’s signature, and Artemis pretends not to notice.
—
The punching dummy falls sideways to the floor, sand spilling from a tear in its side. Jason’s foot stops most of it before he pulls it out, brushing sand off his suit. Sweat collects at his brow, and he takes off his helmet to wipe it. Roy appears out of the corner of his eye, hands behind his back, with that expression he usually reserves for Lian.
Jason grunts, grabbing another dummy. He wants to shout at him. Instead, he keeps his voice calm while hooking the dummy in place. “Mission over? Ive got a few piled up for Art—”
“What are you doing?” Roy interrupts, cocking a gun to stand next to Jason.
Jason takes a step back when Roy shoots t at a target next to the dummy. Corrects it before Roy could notice. “Training.”
“Hmm.” He aims.
Jason roundhouses the bag, gasping a bit for air. “Im done with my share of work.”
“Hmm.” Another shot.
“Stop that.”
“Hmm.” Aim.
Jason grabs Roy's shoulders, not realizing how tight until Roy winces. He clenches his jaw and steps back, hands at his sides. Roy doesn't react, just turns the safety on and throws the half-used gun on the floor.
“Just don't do that.” Jason mutters, turning back to the bag.
Roy shrugs. “Dunno what youre talking about.” He steps in Jason’s way. “You really gonna make me ask?”
“Fuck off.”
Roy scoffs. “Hard way it is. What’s wrong?”
Jason doesn't respond immediately, which is answer enough. He looks back at the door, making sure nobody will walk through it. Roy dosent ask again.
Jason sighs, rubbing his cheek and crouching. “We shouldn't go. Could be a trap, could be a test, could be some stupid…”
“Oh.” Roy’s gaze softens for a moment, then snaps back. He crouches next to Jason. “Aren't you two on good terms now?”
Jason swallows. “Good as we can be.” He puts a wrapped hand on his stomach focus back on the pit that's been growing since he started patrolling today.
Roy stands, grabbing a second gun and loading it. He walks back to Jason. “Oi.” He shakes it, getting Jason’s attention.
Jason takes it, unzipping his jacket and tying it around his waist. Roy retracts his hand, then moves to the door when the first shot fires through a target. He stops at the door, sneer back on. “You smell rancid, by the way.”
Jason flips him off.
—
Jason stands in the middle of the room with a duffel bag open on the table, already regretting the concept of “optional ceremonial tournament.”
Artemis is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him like she’s supervising a particularly stubborn animal.
Roy is upside down on the couch.
Bizarro is holding three identical boots and looking personally betrayed by the concept of footwear.
Jason points at the boots. “Two pairs. That’s it.”
“No.” Roy gasps, coming off a call with a babysitter for Lian.
Jason doesn’t look at him. “You own seventeen guns. You don’t get to talk about footwear.”
Roy rolls off the couch and lands on his feet like gravity is optional. “Fair. But those guns have personalities.”
Artemis glances over. “That’s concerning.”
“You dont talk to a sword.” Bizarro frowns.
Artemis ignores him. Roy laughs quietly behind her. She pushes off the wall and walks closer, peering into the bag. “You’re overpacking.”
“I’m under-trusting,” Jason corrects.
Roy taps the bag. “You packed rope.”
“Yes.”
“You also packed more rope.”
“Yes.”
“Why.”
Jason finally looks at him. “Because I don’t trust you.”
Roy smiles. “That’s fair.”
For a second, Jason expects the stress to spike. Roy just keeps rummaging like the accusation is part of the room’s furniture.
Bizarro raises a hand. “I don’t pack rope.”
“You do not need rope,” Artemis says.
Jason exhales through his nose, something almost like laughter trying to escape and failing halfway. He doesn’t comment on it.
Artemis notices anyway. She always does.
Roy leans on the table. “So what’s the actual plan? We show up, win everything, leave dramatically, refuse to explain anything?”
“Yes,” Jason says.
“That’s my kind of diplomacy,” Roy replies.
Artemis tilts her head. “You’re assuming we win.”
Jason shrugs. “We will.” There’s no arrogance in it. Just certainty.
Artemis reaches into the bag, adjusts something Jason packed wrong on purpose just to see if anyone would notice, then fixes it without looking at him. “We’re going to need a rule for you.”
Jason raises an eyebrow. “Me?”
“Yes,” she says. “No sulking alone in corners.”
“I don’t sulk.”
Roy and Artemis speak at the same time. “Yes, you do.”
Bizarro nods enthusiastically. “Jason is very happy.”
Jason stares at all three of them for a long moment. Then he turns back to the bag and continues packing as if the conversation never happened. But his shoulders aren’t as tight anymore.
Roy notices first, of course, because Roy notices everything annoying. He grins. “You’re in a good mood.”
“I’m not in a mood.”
“That’s worse,” Roy says.
Artemis steps slightly closer, watching Jason fold gear with less violence than usual. “Sure, birdie.”
“Dont call me that.” He snaps, shoving a dagger into a sheath.
Ray pats his back. “Theres he is.”
Jason doesn’t shove him off. Artemis looks at him like she’s filing the information away somewhere important. Not surprised. Just noting.
“Ready?” she asks.
Jason clips the bag shut. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go get this over with.”
Roy smirks. “That’s the spirit.”
Bizarro nods. “We not make problems.”
Jason sighs. “You already are a problem.” He starts walking out.
—
The sky over Earth stops looking like sky a long time before the Watchtower comes into view. It’s just a curve of blue turning into glass, then steel, then something that refuses to pretend it belongs in orbit.
Jason steps through the airlock first.
Roy follows, spinning once like he’s checking for hidden cameras in the most annoying possible way. Artemis walks in like she’s already decided she dislikes the architecture. Bizarro squeezes through the door with careful reverence, like the entire station might apologize if he treats it wrong.
The docking bay is already loud.
Too loud.
Different teams are arriving in staggered bursts. Teleportation flashes, boom tubes, aircraft docking clamps. The air is full of overlapping conversations, introductions, and the specific kind of confident noise that happens when too many people in capes are placed in the same room and told it’s “ceremonial.”
Jason immediately clocks it as a mistake.
Roy whistles. “Oh, this is gonna be a mess.”
Artemis tilts her head. “It already is.”
Bizarro waves at a passing group of armoured heroes. “Goodbye.” They stare back. One of them nods slowly, unsure whether that was a greeting or a threat.
Jason doesn’t take off his helmet.
He just keeps walking.
A few heads turn as they pass. Not many. Enough.
Outlaws have that effect after their relation to Batman was discovered—half recognition, half calculation.
Roy leans closer. “We have fans.” He sings.
“We have problems,” Jason mutters with clenched fists. His chest tightens slightly when he sees Wonder Woman across the room, smiling a fake smile at a camera. He spins, centering himself away from the noise of the crowd. He presses a button to cancel out the noises around him. “Fake bastards.”
Roy looks at him, then gets waved away to Bizarro. Artemis follows close behind, keeping clear of Wonder Woman.
Jason finds a wall, looking down at the earth. Small. Fragile. He looks back at the room, even smaller. Too many people.
Sounds make their way through even the mask.
Jason pulls the helmet off, covering his face with his shirt and turning to press his forehead against the glass. He evens out his breaths. The crowd turns louder, voices echoing around him.
Someone taps his shoulder. He raises a hand to wave them off, then sees the black glove.
Bruce.
He spins, slapping the hand away. Bruce’s expression dosent change in the cowl.
“Your team is registering. I was wondering what you're doing apart from them.” He stumbles slightly at the word ‘team.” Jason almost smiles.
He stands, putting the helmet back on. “I can take care of myself.”
Bruce clenches a fist. Jason notes the vein.
“I know.”
Jason shoves past him, jogging to a waving Artemis. Superman passes him on the way there, busy taking a photo with someone. “Oh— morning, Hood.”
Artemis stands next to Roy, followed now by Jason. They keep still when the metal scanner passes over his face. It flashes his vision in green for a moment.
Then they walk into an elevator, Bizarro pressing his face to the window. Jason closes his eyes, standing right in the middle. He tries not to imagine the walls coming closer, made of glass though they are.
Artemis holds her sword in her lap, sharpening it with a smooth, repetitive SHINK.
The migraine fades a bit when he takes off his helmet, and Roy exclaims something from a few feet away. Jason opened his eyes halfway, yawning. He sees Bruce still watching him from the lobby. They stare at each other. Bruce raises his hand in a stiff wave, then returns it underneath his cape. He turns and walks into the crowd.
Jason closes his eyes.
—
Artemis runs in front of the boys, waist-length braid untangling in her hands. She pulls off her gear and spreads out on the bed, smiling at the ceiling for a moment. “Say what you will about the rich idiots, their beds are amazing.”
“I shower last,” Bizarro says, already taking off his shirt. Jason walks in with Roy, slumping on the edge of the bed with his helmet held under his arm.
Roy slides into the bathroom first. “Well, if you insist.” Bizarro crosses his arms and sits cross-legged in front of the door.
Jason yawns again, rubbing his eyes till they explode in colour. The migraine faded fast, leaving him feeling boneless. Artemis pats the space beside her.
Jason faceplants before she can even offer. The helmet falls, rolling under the bed, and he presses his cheek into the pillow. “W’ke m’up.”
“Sure.” Artemis hums, but Jason can hear the lie in her voice.
The shower turns on, warming the room slightly, and Bizarro puts a jacket on him. Artemis brushes his hair out of his eyes. Jason dosent complain.
His mouth is already hanging open.