Chapter Text
Jason would like to make clear that this particular mess was absolutely in no way any of his fault.
Sure, has Jason fucked up in the past? Of course, he was insane. In the past week? Absolutely, he is a mess.
He’s not completely beyond reason, Jason has some level of self awareness unlike the rest of the hypocrites he keeps in his life. Dying really gives one a sense of retrospection, he just doesn’t care enough to apply it to every situation.
But this time, for once, he was in no way complicit in how this patrol is completely unravelling. And here’s the kicker, it was seeming like such a quiet night, the perfect patrol to finish off his awful week.
Y’know, if it wasn’t Thursday.
He and Bruce had another fight, the usual, his guns, his death, his recklessness, all the ways he’s a failure to his potential. Blah, blah. Jason had really thought they were getting better, that their relationship had a level of mutual respect when it comes to their, albeit, very different methods of vigilantism.
He thought wrong.
It turns out he and B screaming at each other is his new normal. Jason guesses it’s better than being ignored, if only marginally.
Despite what he claims out loud, Jason no longer hates the rest of the Gotham vigilantes. He’s really tried in the past year to make some amends, mostly with Dick and Babs, and was even accepted enough to be comfortable with the red bat plastered over his chest. Sometimes Jason catches himself wondering when his plans shifted from revenge to working alongside the bats most nights but it's nice to have some sort of relationship that doesn’t involve incessant screaming followed by the urge to cry until he pukes.
The Jason from three years ago would think he’s pathetic, but who cares what that loser thinks. That guy was cutting off heads left, right and center. Way too messy, he has now learnt, better to just stick with the guns, there was no need to be doing all that drama.
All Jason wants is to sleep for twelve straight hours then eat his weight in eggs. He’s not picky in which order, maybe even have a nice long shower, though he dares not to dream too hard, lest he be another Icarus.
Is that too much to ask for?
He only has another hour or two left on this patrol, he can totally make it as long as no other annoying vigilantes stick their noses into Crime Alley business. Alas, Jason had already used all his good karma for a lifetime.
Now his current predicament makes him regret all attempts of rekindling bonds with his estranged family. As apparently he is now safe enough to be stalked by a certain blonde bat for the past 23 minutes, not that he’s counting or anything.
What could she possibly want from me?
He’s absolutely certain he hadn’t antagonised the third Robin in months and the last he’s heard, the two of them have been on the rocks over something. Jason has no intention of shoving his nose into teenage drama between exes even if he’s slightly curious. He’d rather die again. But he’s only seen her with Blackbat and on the rare occasion Batman, and normally if they cross paths on patrol, she and Drake are typically attached at the hip.
Despite not being the World’s Greatest Detective, even he can put two and two together.
He barely knew the girl, other than Dick’s ribbing that they were practically the same person, he’s pretty certain that it’s supposed to be an insult to one of them, he just can’t figure out who. So this was a strange occurrence to say the least.
Just because two people both grew up poor and with crime dabbling fathers near Crime Alley, does not mean they’ll automatically get along. Statistically, Jason and Spoiler were more likely to have tried to claw each other’s eyes out over a half-mouldy dumpster sandwich than be kinda-pseudo adopted siblings by an most emotionally constipated billionaire, but he digresses.
What do you even call the relationship between you and your (rejected) brother from your estranged adoptive family’s ex-girlfriend anyways? Begrudging coworkers? Vigilante acquaintances?
Yet for the past 8 blocks since his brief foray out of the Narrows, Spoiler has been silently trailing him towards the docks. Subsequently, ruining any of his plans to go back to his apartment, just because they were friendlier, does not mean he wants any of the bats to know where his favourite safe house was.
Batman would be appalled if he knew one of his little proteges was this bad at stalking her mark. Jesus, the bright eggplant cape is about as inconspicuous as an elephant in a china shop.
She's truly an awful hero if she thinks that’s what qualifies as stealth
Okay, that's a lie.
Other than her horrible choice in ex-boyfriends, Jason truly has no problems with Stephanie Brown. She, by any definition, appears smart, capable and well-suited for vigilante life. Honestly, it was fun to watch her relentless optimism fuck with Batman’s rigidity and the replacement’s neuroticism the few times they had to all work together. Her pseudo death definitely made it easier for him to ruthlessly take over Gotham’s underworld, that’s for sure.
They’ve barely interacted, for the obvious Drake sized reasons, but game recognises game.
They are now only one rooftop apart, she hadn’t noticed that he had slowed his pace to make himself easier to follow.
Or maybe she had, bloody bats, always playing mindgames.
So he stops, he hears Spoiler’s sharp intake of breath, and yep, she’s absolutely weighing the pros and cons of actually approaching him right now instead of just following from the safe fifty metre distance.
Idly, he wonders if this was a mistake; God knows he can’t handle another lecture from Batman about ‘endangering the others’ with his ‘unconventional methods’. Whatever, his methods actually got results. Who’s actually in control of most of the criminal underworld? Take that, Batman.
Time ticks on. He's been standing alone on this rooftop for a hot couple of minutes now, but at least Spoiler’s also just been standing like a moron. He bites the bullet and turns to face her, and yup, she’s still just staring. Great.
He decides to join in on this staring contest. Two can play at that game.
Taking it all in, her costume probably wasn’t as bad as he thought. Especially since he used to prance about in neon red, green and yellow, no pants.
Unlike the rest of the bats, she had completely foregone the domino mask, opting to cover the lower half of her face with a thick black mask. It does a good job at hiding her identity, how Tim and Dick haven’t been recognised to some degree by their public persona always astounds him.
It is dark out, and they are good at avoiding security cameras, so he gives the general public the benefit of doubt. The Titans, however, must be stupider than they look if they can’t put those particular puzzle pieces together.
The two most recognisable black haired blue-eyed nepo-babies from Gotham, being the other two most recognisable black-haired vigilantes from Gotham? Impossible.
Not that Jason would know, they never wanted him on any missions together anyways.
He finds his eyes are starting to water, holding eye contact sucks. He can’t lose.
The purple cape, while garish and an insult to capes everywhere, did a great job at shrouding her eyes.
His only real problem with it is the hair out and down. He finds himself musing over how it doesn’t get absolutely tangled at that length. Jason briefly tried to grow out his hair during his time in the League, safe to say, he chopped it all off after it flopped in his face one too many times.
It absolutely had to get in her eyes. Style over substance he guesses. That’s why he went with his helmet, it was practical and it covered more than just his eyes and-
She can’t see his face, he can blink, she wouldn’t even know.
Not that she knew they were even in a staring contest anyways.
Once again proving his superiority in costume choices, the helmet absolutely doesn’t make him look like a walking bucket, take that Damian.
Like she sensed that he had lost their not-contest, she finally approached him, taking the short leap onto his rooftop. With the grace of a newborn fawn, she slowly makes her way closer to him, plopping down heavily on the rooftop unit next to him. She lets out a particularly loud sigh.
“Hey, how’ve you been?” She drawls.
He cocks his head at her. What an absolutely stupid question. She can do better than that.
“You’re right, I’ll cut the crap. Can I join you on the rest of your patrol? I can’t deal with the rest
of the Bats tonight and you, well, at least you’re not a hypocrite.” She nervously looks up at him, eyes slightly tinged in desperation.
Christ, it must be bad if she’s turning to him.
She’s tugging at the few heartstrings he has left, and… yeah, he gets it. Of course the first positive interaction he has with Spoiler is due to friction with the rest of the bats.
Jason begrudgingly admits to himself that he has no reason to say no. A little company couldn’t be that bad, he hasn’t talked to another Gotham vigilante that hasn’t ended in a fight for months. And this is when his relationship with the other Bats is at an all time high.
She can’t possibly be worse than Drake.
He scoffs, he’s got to keep it cool, “You basically already have, who am I to stop you?”
She beams at him. His sarcasm never did filter through the voice modulator very well. The price he pays for adequate head protection and identity safety.
So off they went, setting off on the worst adventure of Jason’s second life.
Stephanie has no clue where she was going with this.
Better yet, she has absolutely no clue what compelled herself to practically skip her merry way over to the Red Hood, notorious crime lord and estranged son of Batman, and squirm her way onto his patrol.
It was an impulsive decision, true recklessness to the utmost degree.
She truly let desperation get the better of her this time.
She just saw Hood and decided that if her night couldn’t get any worse, she could at least not be alone. At least Hood wasn’t a walking reminder that she could do better, in comparison to him, she was a saint. Who cares about her more wildish tendencies if she’s standing next to a literal mass-murdering serial killer.
As she strolls alongside Hood, she mulls over her current predicament that has led her to partnering with her least favourite bat-themed vigilante.
She didn’t want to cut her patrol short simply just because of a little spat she got into with the rest of the bats and the birds. Seriously, Batman has been in such a pissy mood tonight, short with everyone for absolutely no reason.
His criticisms got the better of her, so she lashed out. There had been no reason for him to ever speak to her that way- she’s not his child. He’s barely even her mentor at this point, as he’s made oh so clear, he has no jurisdiction over how she acts on patrol so long as she gets the job done. Which she does, near perfectly may she add. The people of Gotham trust that she’ll do right by them, which is more than she ever wanted when she first donned the mantle of Spoiler to stop her father's crimes.
Batman’s words have no reason to affect her as much as they have, but all in all, the final nail in the coffin was Tim.
Fucking Tim never knew when to keep his opinions to himself. Condescending, smug bastard.
He just had to side with Batman over her, typical, his little hero fetish striking once again.
Other than Nightwing, the rest of the Bats will probably leave her alone so long as she remains with Hood. She is not getting in two fights with them before the end of the week, her sanity won’t be able to take it with their constant reprimands and uppitiness.
Stephanie is nineteen years old, she has been a vigilante for almost four years, in college for the past year and a half, and had more than her fair share of hardships. She had her family issues with her father, and then her mother, and then teenage pregnancy, and then dying, and then regaining her past life.
She can take care of herself, she doesn’t need to be mother-henned by a bunch of neurotic assholes who always assume the worst of her.
She had proven time and time again that she was more than capable of handling anything that was thrown at her. When life kicked her down, she got back up again and when life, aka the Black Mask, curb stomped her to the ground, she still got the fuck back up.
She is bright and sunny, there’s no reason to act as if someone’s pissed in her curdled milk like the rest of the bats do. They have the brooding down to the T, there’s no need for Steph to dull herself down to fit in with the rest of them.
It wasn’t enough for them.
She was always the immature, naive blonde in their eyes, her unrelenting optimism combined with her headstrong ways made the rest of the bats perceive her as lesser, not good enough.
Maybe she should move to the day shift. Duke wouldn’t do this to her.
She wasn’t serious enough, too guided by her emotions to ever be respected, too much of a girl to be recognised as a Robin, too reckless, too much of anything and everything to compare to the likes of Tim Drake or Barbara Gordon.
Sometimes it felt like they needed a scapegoat for what was wrong with them.
She loved Cass, she really did, but even Cass was blind to Batman’s faults.
And Tim. Needless to say she was seething mad at him. How dare he use her past against her. How dare he side with Batman against her.
They had broken up over two years ago, they were way beyond awkward exes. He was her best friend in the entire world, it was them against the rest and yet, he always kept secrets from her. If not his identity then his other superhero friends. She just wanted him to be clear with her. Every time she broke down a barrier, he was quick to build up another.
Stephanie just wanted him to pick her first for once, defend her like she does for him. Instead he criticises her for sins he’s just as guilty for.
Too reckless, her ass. She has all her organs, knows exactly where they are and everything.
He can’t say the same now, can he?
She could have done worse, she muses, walking along behind Hood in awkward, prolonged silence.
At least Red Hood is adamant about not hurting kids. No selling them drugs, no using them to peddle shit and absolutely, not under any circumstances, are any of his goons allowed to hurt a child.
He may be a totally repressed, slightly murderous jackass, but at least he isn’t a monster.
His silence is a bore, though. Maybe she can make some light conversation, ease some of the tension before he kicks her away like a stray dog?
No one would stop her if she were to just leave, not herself, not Hood. It may be a slightly uncomfortable experience, trailing behind a crime lord for the night. But it's certainly better than patrolling alone, she guesses.
Let it be known, Stephanie Brown was not a quitter.
She was nothing if not a stubborn, obstinate beast and she was going to finish what she had started. All she had to do was to simply stay quiet, finish this patrol as fast as possible and put this night far, far behind her.
Take that Tim, she can keep her opinions to herself. Not that she should have to as a principle, but you get the point.
They probably only have to do this for another, slightly uncomfortable hour, then they will be able to part ways.
And Stephanie will walk away with a night free from incessant bickering and pointless chastisements for the low, low price of lackluster company!
The silence is deafening.
This somehow sucked more than when she was just following him. Dick was wrong, they have absolutely nothing in common. The pair of them have just been wandering in silence for the past forty-seven minutes, and counting.
Look, Jason has a reputation to uphold. He is cool, aloof and menacing, and she’s supposed to be a talker. All things considered, he is not the conversationalist of this brand new dynamic duo. She should have said something by now- why hasn’t she said anything? Should he say something?
He continues to say nothing.
He loves being a vigilante. He can’t go back to being a villain. He is not going to throw Spoiler off the roof of this building if she doesn't say anything soon. A Spoiler-shaped pancake will not make his day end any quicker.
“Does that warehouse look strange to you?”
Oh thank god.
She’s pointing off at a warehouse closer to the docks, and yeah, he sees the issue. The spot is not as raucous as it should be for this time of night. Practically a dead zone.
“Yeah, I get what you mean, it’s certainly quiet.”
“Too quiet?”
He nods affirmatively.
On a typical patrol, this area is bustling no matter the time of night, filled with people with jobs to do and drugs to sell. Yet currently, it’s deader than it would be at noon, needless to say, but it's practically empty in that one spot. The rest of the warehouses are the standard flurry of goons and trucks.
It’s as if a barrier has been drawn around the building to keep people out, or even worse, keep something else in.
“If my memory serves me correctly, this part of the docks is owned solely by Penguin."
She snorts, “From memory? You mean like when you were a crime lord barely a year ago?”
“You know what I mean, this is so not his typical MO. Leaving a warehouse empty when it could be used to generate profit?”
Nodding at each other once, it's as if muscle memory of Batman’s training has taken over their minds. They pace around the building, clockwise of course, only imbeciles would ever dare to go anticlockwise when travelling in a circular motion. Jason instinctively guards Spoiler’s back as she takes point.
It doesn’t take them long to figure out the problem. They've barely done half a rotation of the building when they see it.
A weird, pulsating light emanates from a window on the east side. Too rhythmic and purposeful for it to be just a flickering light bulb.
Every ten seconds, a bright glow builds and pulses quickly for roughly 3 counts before rapidly plunging the docks back into the atmospheric mood lighting of broken streetlights and dingy grey smog. Then the cycle repeats itself.
So just, y’know, casually shattering all his dreams for a quick end to this bizarro night.
Unfortunately, they have to go check this out.
Continuing to take the lead, Spoiler directs him towards the windowless back of the warehouse on the South side, away from the nosey, wandering eyes of the other patrons of this lovely, and certainly crime-free, dock.
Who are, still strangely enough, getting no closer than ten metres towards the warehouse.
Casually inspecting the back door to the warehouse, he carefully picks the lock to the door before it swings open with a bang.
Spoiler startles slightly before shooting him a quick glare. He throws her a lackadaisical shrug, it’s not his fault that she’s so jumpy. Dramatic much? It wasn't even that loud.
Inside, it’s… completely pitch black. No sign of the light from earlier.
Steph blinks at him wordlessly and gestures at him to go ahead.
“Split up or stay together?” She questions, as they step quietly into the building.
Historically, warehouses have not brought the most luck to Jason’s life. “Together,” he states. “The warehouse doesn’t appear to be too big and for whatever reason it appears to be mostly empty?”
Soon enough they were able to locate the source of the ebbing glow.
They slowly enter the main office area, the door left completely open, as if the owner was in a hurry to leave. The rest of the office carries that chaotic frenzy.
The desk is a mess, paperwork haphazardly thrown across the surface, electronics smashed in, shut off entirely.
Strangely enough, the floor is clean, no sign of shattered glass or any of the stray papers making its way down to the ground.
Except for, lying innocently on the ground, the source of their strange light.
A scroll.
Circling their prey like vultures, Spoiler and Jason both peer curiously at the scroll.
Jason stopped, transfixed.
The edges of the scroll are faded and worn, and on closer inspection, it’s not the paper itself that is glowing, but the ink. Shifting from a deep, midnight black to a bright incandescent white. The words aren’t written in Roman alphabet, nor is it any language that Jason recognises, yet the text nearly spans the whole scroll.
It’s mesmerising. The ink dances across the page, in lilting swoops and playful dots, that his eyes gleefully trace.
What would it be like to touch it? The paper is faded and worn in on the edges, he bets it would be some of the older books in the library, the ones he only got to read under Alfred’s watchful eyes. As he gets closer he wonders if it would smell like how some of the books from the manor’s library smelt.
He hasn’t been there since he died. He wonders what it would be like, if the memory of long afternoons with the dusty, old books would compare to the majesty of this gorgeous scroll.
The handwriting is simply marvellous.
He bets he could read it if he got a closer look. Could trace over the letters until he has them memorised, feel the raised edges of the page and see if he can tell the difference between ink and paper.
It’s so close. It's too far.
All he has to do is reach down and-
Wait.
Why would he think that? That’s definitely not a language he knows, it's almost alien-like with its swirls and spots.
He has no reason to read it. He has no reason to be reminiscing on his past at a time like this. It makes no sense.
Shit, it’s a magic scroll.
This is so out of his depth, he is not paid enough to deal with this. He needs to grab Spoiler and leave, this was the responsibility of a magician, definitely not two human vigilantes. He needs to call someone.
Out of the corner of his eye he senses movement. Just as spellbound as he initially was, Spoiler, transfixed, reaches down to pick up the scroll
“Fuck, don’t-“
He instinctively snatches at her hand to pull it back, his finger tips brushing the scroll alongside hers.
And that’s the last thing Jason remembers before he crumples to the ground.