Archive of Our Own

The Joker is dead. 

Jason is only upset about it because he missed the celebration. The news reports that when the Joker’s death was officially announced, the streets of Gotham were truly alive that night, filled with parties and celebration like never before. Even Harley Quinn was spotted, drink in hand, toasting to his end. 

At least now Jason can return to his home in peace, no shadows lingering around the corner to haunt him, not having to share the streets with his murderer. It’s nice to have been avenged. He can almost convince himself that nothing has changed at all, slowly but surely making a name for himself and helping the struggling people of Crime Alley. 

But just because the Joker’s dead doesn't mean the Bats still aren’t out at work. So, really, Jason can't ever catch a break. 

Despite his subtleties, the Bats have noticed something stirring in Crime Alley. He’s not going out of his way to hide any of his operations, but he’s not doing anything drastic enough to make front-page news. And since they're smaller things, providing food for the hungry kids or helping addicts to rehab if they want, well, no one in Gotham cares enough to report on it. 

And it’s not like Jason isn’t trying to overhaul Crime Alley entirely; it just takes longer to set up and maintain a criminal empire than one would think. Sure, kicking the other crime lords out is one thing, especially when that can be solved with a simple bullet if need be, but establishing yourself as trustworthy to those who need help and a threat to those who might try to fill any power vacuums is a fine line that takes nuance. He’s been doing pretty well, if he says so himself, as he has a tight-knit group of loyal followers and a couple of alley inhabitants who have taken to fearlessly asking for help. 

But any changes, as minor as they may be, are enough to catch the Bats' attention.

All that really means is that they’re sniffing around Crime Alley, sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. It’s not like they cared enough to do anything before, so why are they out now, encroaching on his newly established territory, threatening to tear down what he’s spent the better part of a year trying to build? Sure, he knows they don’t like his methods, but it’s not like he goes around and kills without reason. He just views a swift bullet to the chest as an effective pest control solution, instead of following this outdated ideology that a stern talking-to will banish demons back to the shadows. 

So, yeah, they don’t like that he kills, and he doesn’t like that their methods involve running in circles until their inevitable early end. That doesn’t mean he’s knocking on the front door of the manor, demanding information about their operation. He supposes that’s not a fair analogy because he kind of already knows the details of their operation and could probably break into the cave if he really wanted to. He’s not sure if he's more scared of the idea that his old code might still work or that it might not. 

He'll reframe his statement then. They don’t like that he kills, but he doesn’t like that they stuck another bright-eyed and naive twelve-year-old in the Robin suit. The first time he had seen the new Robin swinging through Crime Alley, hot on Batman's heels, he ducked behind a nearby dumpster and just sat there for a moment, trying to decipher if the feeling stirring in his stomach was anger or nausea. He decides that he’s not angry but righteously pissed at Bruce for even considering putting another kid in that suit after what happened to him. He tries to dredge up a similar feeling of hatred or betrayal for the kid, but worse, all he finds is fear. 

He knows that Joker is dead—thank anything good in this world for that—but it’s not like crime-fighting is safe. The idea of the new Robin getting hit with Scarecrow's toxin or caught up in Riddler's fucked-up games or under Mad Hatter's control is enough to keep him awake for three days straight. When he wakes up after finally collapsing from pure exhaustion, he’s decided that he’s going to keep an eye on the kid. 

It's a begrudging thing, he convinces himself, though he believes it a little less each time he sees them swinging through, asking around, pretending to care. He watches from a distance, from the shadows that he pretends to enjoy calling his home, like the cold emptiness isn’t seeping life from his core. He tells himself, the loyal members of his crime empire, and the people he helps around Crime Alley that it’s just because he wants to make sure another kid doesn’t get hurt. That another Robin doesn’t end up dead. He's made it clear as Red Hood that kids are a priority for him and not a group that should be messed with, but even then, no one believes him. 

It’s hard to keep that air of indifference around people who have grown close to him when he watches the kid swing off a building with a stuttering grappling hook and doesn’t relax until his feet are on solid ground again. But it’s only obvious to the people around him, and since he keeps lying to himself, tricking the Bats really isn’t all that hard. Under his helmet and his leather jacket and all the layers of armor and the gun in his hand, he can be really convincing when he wants to be. 

Because he can’t avoid Batman forever. 

That’s another thing he wasn’t honest about with himself. It’s something that he knew he was running away from, but he deluded himself into thinking that if he were stealthy enough, he could linger just out of sight, just out of mind, forever. It’s not like Batman showed up when he needed him to previously, so he supposes it’s only in character for him to show up when Jason didn’t want him there, always exactly not what he needs. 

“Red Hood.” Batman’s voice calls out to him, and Jason tries to hide the way it sets him on edge. Normally, he tries to be firm while calm and understanding, but he doesn’t have that kind of patience right now. 

“Who’s asking?” he drawls lazily, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. All three of them know that’s not true. 

Batman opens his mouth to speak again, but Jason interrupts him. He finds he doesn’t have the patience to be lectured by Bruce right now. 

“You’re in my territory, by the way.” He says, as if they might not have noticed. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking around. It’s quite rude to drop in unannounced. I think I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” 

Bruce continues, like he hadn’t interrupted. Asshole. “We’ve been watching your takeover of this area. Quite a few casualties have emerged in the process.”

“Have to break a few eggs to make an omelet.” Jason snarks. “I don’t have time for this. Criminal empire to run, scumbags to kill, things like that. I’m sure you can see yourself out.” 

He makes a break for it, and they give chase as expected, much to his chagrin. He makes a few twists and turns, taking a shortcut to try and lose them, eventually ending up on a nearby rooftop. He huffs, annoyed as the duo lands behind him. They start to charge towards him, but he pulls out his gun, shooting at them. It goes wide on purpose, meant to be a warning shot, but it’s enough to make them stop. 

“I tried to give you a chance to solve this peacefully. You know, non-violence,” he sneers. “Isn’t that your whole thing?” 

“We will stop you, Red Hood.” Batman intones seriously, and Jason can’t help but laugh. 

“Is it worth risking your little birdie?” He taunts, pointing the gun vaguely in the new Robin’s direction. He wouldn’t actually shoot the kid, but Batman has made assumptions about him that make it seem like he’s not bluffing. “Heard the last one flew the coop and didn’t make it back.” 

Bruce doesn’t say anything, but his jaw tightens as he grinds his teeth together. The kid, who had been steadfastly serious and silent by Bruce’s side, seems a little saddened at the mention, and Jason’s not sure how that makes him feel. 

“Look,” Jason snarls, shoving that tangled ball of emotions down for later, “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me, so let’s just go back to pretending each other doesn’t exist. I don’t want to see you around Crime Alley ever again, Batman, either of you. This is my only warning. I hate you and don’t really care for your little bird either. If I see evidence of you around again, there’s no telling what I might do.”

This time when he leaves, they let him go. 

___ ___ ___
It doesn’t work. 

Of course it doesn’t work. Jason already knows that talking, negotiating, and threatening do little to nothing at all. It’s only enough to keep them away for a couple of weeks, and Jason knows that’s just about long enough to make a plan. Not seeing them almost sets him more on edge than if they showed up at his front door, because he knows it’s just not that easy. 

He expects something grand, some sort of manufactured meeting where they intercept him on his normal patrols so they can try to convince him to refute his evil ways or cart him off to jail. He’s anxious and fidgety, a little more trigger-happy than normal, awaiting a second confrontation. He’d be busy dreaming up rebuttals to Batman’s imminent prodding, but he doesn’t think he could actually get through that conversation without getting pissed off. Bruce didn’t trust him as Jason, thinking him prone to murderous ways because he expressed distaste for a guy, so why would he be given trust as Red Hood? 

There’s no way that they would actually leave him to his devices, even if he professed to seeing the error in his ways, so he doesn’t see the point in even trying to pretend. Now that the Bats have latched onto him, he’s not going to get rid of them again. If they could realize that he has the same end goal as them, just acquired through different means, they might be able to accomplish help for Crime Alley with more ease, but Jason knows better than to believe in that. 

He spends so long prowling around, expecting another confrontation, another fight, another round of condescension disguised as an attempt to help, that when he finally runs into them again, he’s thrown off kilter. Because he doesn’t run into them again. He runs into Robin. Just Robin. 

At first, he watches from the shadows, expecting it to be a trap. 

This has got to be a setup where that bastard is using Red Hood’s well-known soft spot for kids against him, sending Robin out to fight a group of people by himself. He knows that Batman will appear out of nowhere to assist his partner, because the kid is outnumbered and losing badly. Jason shifts from his position on the roof and waits and waits and waits until he realizes the kid is well and truly alone. 

It looks like it’s his turn to materialize out of the shadows. 

It’s laughably easy to take down the remaining men, even without shooting them, and he pretends that doesn’t make him concerned. If Bruce was letting this kid follow him around, certainly he was giving him training, and he was pretty sure he’d seen this Robin take out bigger foes and win. He turns a watchful eye on Robin as the last body hits the pavement and notes the way he sways in place slightly. He looks exhausted. 

“What’s up with you, little bird?” He asks, and hopes his voice comes out of the modulator of his helmet as unimpressed instead of concerned. “Batman’s sidekick can’t handle some action?” 

Robin shifts towards him, his body turning to face him, and Jason kind of wishes he could see his eyes to tell if he were concussed or not. White lenses bore into his soul for a moment before the kid lets out a monumental sneeze. Jason almost laughs in surprise and relief as he puts the pieces together. 

“I take it you’re not supposed to be here?” He continues to question, his tone taking on something more amused. The kid is a real Robin, defying Batman like this. 

“I tracked your normal patrol routes using Gotham’s security cameras and knew you’d be here tonight,” Robin explains. 

“Impressive,” Jason says, and means it, not that the kid could tell. There are not many security cameras in Crime Alley—working ones at that—so the fact that the kid could intentionally find him was a real feat of genius. Maybe that’s what took so long. He wonders if Batman was ever planning on meeting with him again or had given up on him entirely. Wouldn’t be the first time, he thinks bitterly, but the kid shivers in front of him and pulls him out of his thoughts. “What are you doing here? Besides getting your ass kicked.” 

“If I capture you and bring you back to Batman, it’ll prove I'm capable,” Robin explains. Ah, the feeling of inadequacy. Another common thread between Robins.

“The only thing you’re capturing tonight is the flu.” Jason points out, and his feeling of being impressed is starting to slide into annoyance. Does any preteen contain a single scrap of intelligence, or are they all willing to throw themselves to their death for a hint of approval? “Were you sick before you left?” 

“Batman thinks I’m at home resting. He wouldn’t let me come here otherwise.” 

“The old man is being smart for once, minding his own business.” 

“You just want to help people.” Robin insists, and even sick, the kid is whip smart.

“I kill people," Jason deadpans. 

“Because you think it’ll help.” 

“That sounds an awful lot like you defending me," Jason points out. “I thought you wanted to capture me.” 

“I do.” He pouts, and Jason grins a little bit at the kid's antics. “He says you’re just as dangerous as any of the other rogues we fight, but you helped me tonight, so I know it’s not true.” 

Any feelings of fondness that had been dredged up sour immediately. “Batman’s made it clear he doesn’t trust me. You shouldn’t either. This is strike two," Jason warns, his voice suddenly harsh. “Leave now and go get some goddamned rest before I drag you to one of our clinics.”

"That's not the threat you think it is.” 

“At the clinic they’ll make you call your emergency contact, which means if you’re lucky, you’ll have a pissed-off Batman on your ass, and if I’m lucky, I’ll learn your identity.” He points out, as if he doesn’t already know. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together when he got back. Still, it’s enough to get through the haze of Robin's fever-addled brain, emphasizing that he doesn’t have the upper hand. “Five minutes to be out of my sight, little bird, or I'm sending my people after you.” 

Sufficiently cowed, Robin grapples away, and Jason pretends it doesn’t bother him not to ensure he makes it back safely. 

___ ___ ___
Jason is making his usual rounds through Crime Alley today, hoping he’ll get some peace and knowing he won’t. 

He knows he won’t because he’s already run into two little boys, shivering on the streets, flinching away from him like they don’t know he wants to help. That’s not unfair; he knows because he grew up on these streets as well, but it makes something ugly twist inside him all the same. He sent Robin home because he was sick, but he can’t do that with them because there’s no home for them to return to. 

The little blond kid doesn’t even try to pretend to be unbothered that their hiding spot was discovered; he's just resigned. He’s older and is used to this kind of thing, quick to abandon his current spot without a fuss if it means getting away. He’s calm, reserved, and doesn’t speak, fawning in a way that only really serves to set him more on edge. He knows what that type of response means, even as he tries not to think about it, but it's impossible when the way the kid expects him to get aggressive is written all across his face. 

He’s doing his best to wrangle the younger boy, apologizing for him as the black-haired kid glowers with harsh insults, like a bit of false bravado might preserve the attempt at a home they have. It reminds him of himself, and that only serves to piss him off more. 

Wasn’t that the whole point of all this? Not just his operation, but Batman and Robin's? To fight crime and make the street safer? But what’s the point if kids like these still slip through the cracks, their only destiny to starve or freeze and die? Even he couldn’t escape it, not even after he got brought to a nice, fancy house with food and a warm place to sleep, with a family who loved and cared for him. No, even then, he died too young, and now he’s right back where he started, staring at his failures in an alleyway, cold wind cutting through him like a knife.

He supposes he can’t adopt every single one of these kids and provide them with all they need himself, but he can act like the interfering force that affected his life, changing their trajectory once and for all. And if he keeps doing it, maybe just once, one of these kids will make it out, and that will be enough. 

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He placates, even though he knows they won’t believe him. The blond kid stares at him placidly, and the black-haired one growls something at him in a language he doesn’t know. “You know where Leslie’s clinic is?” He continues confidently. “You can tell her Red Hood sent you, and she’ll check you over, free of charge.”

Something in the blond boy’s posture shifts, his face becoming less closed off, like Leslie’s name is a magic trick. Given his own time in Crime Alley, he knows it is. All of the kids know about Leslie’s clinic, that she’s willing to treat someone with no money to pay and turn a blind eye to them when they escape out the door, back towards whatever pitiful hideyhole they call home. He had made a point to establish his alliance with her early and thinks she might be the only person who knows who he actually is because he knows she’s not a snitch. Not even to Batman. Besides, he needed someone who could help him out with all his shit. Coming back to life does weird things to a guy. 

“How do you know Leslie?” The blond kid demands, willing to hear him out but suspicious nonetheless. 

“How do we know you haven’t done something to her?” The other boy demands.

“Ain’t nobody doing anything to Leslie,” Jason promises, a bit of a growl coming through his modulator. “If so, let me know, and they’ll answer to me.”

"Is she your friend?”

“Every Crime Alley kid is a friend to Leslie.” 

They look surprised. “You’re from Crime Alley?” 

“Yeah, all the mob bosses around here are some preppy rich assholes. Don’t know what it’s like and think they can just tell us all what to do.” 

Oh, right, the helmet hides the accent pretty well, which is great for his identity but sucks for gaining the trust of fellow residents. He slips it off, wearing a domino mask underneath for this exact reason.

"Am I real enough for you?" he asks, and the kids whisper to each other, stuck between surprise and awe. “Also, I’m not a mob boss.” 

“You control all of the alley and then some.” One points out. 

“Yeah, you kicked the previous guys out and shot a bunch of them. That’s what mob bosses do.” 

“I run a criminal empire. I have hired help that gets a weekly paycheck, and we help stop drug shipments and make sure people have food and get kids off the street. I don’t go around and blackmail people for money and kill at random, and we’re not all like family, or whatever. It’s different. Not a mob boss.” He emphasizes.

The blond one thinks. “You’re a crime lord, then.”

Jason stares at him for a moment. “Sure, kid. Crime lord, at your service. Now do you know your way to Leslie's clinic or not? I feel like I'm watching your fingers turn blue standing out here.”

“Of course I know the way,” he huffs, like he’s offended Jason might think he doesn’t. “But he’s injured. I can’t carry him the whole time.” 

“Shut up,” the black-haired kid hissed, bumping him angrily. 

Now that it’s been pointed out, Jason can see the way he favors one leg and figures his ankle must’ve gotten messed up. 

“That’s what you get for having such shit shoes.” The blond snarks back. “I told you I’d get you some new ones, but you insisted I didn’t need to.” 

“Shoes are expensive.”

“As if I'd waste our money on that.” 

“I’m sure Leslie can dig you up a pair in the lost and found." Jason cuts in. There’s always a way to miraculously find something that’s the right size, if need be. “I can take you there if you’d like.”

“Do you have a motorcycle? Can we ride it?” the black-haired kid asked, eyes shining wide. 

“No.”

“If you were cool, you’d have one," the kid pouts, and it makes Jason grin a little. He slips his helmet back on and gestures for the kid to get on his back. 

“You’re just going to have to deal with doing it the old-fashioned way.” He says it and crouches down so the kid can ride piggyback. “You’re helping watch my six.” He tells the other. “I can’t react as fast carrying your friend.” 

The kid nods seriously, and they set off. 

“Do we trust the Bats?” The blond-haired kid asks after a while. Jason glances over at him. 

“They’re not welcome in Crime Alley, but they usually don’t mess with civilians without reason. Why?”

"Nightwing has been tailing us for a while.” 

Jason doesn’t glance over at the rooftop; he can practically feel the other vigilante’s presence radiating from it. “Yeah, he does that.” 

“Should we be worried?” 

“Nah, he’s information gathering. It’s only when he starts talking to you that he’s annoying.” 

The kids laugh. 

“He tries his best,” Jason continues, “but he doesn’t really understand what alley life is like.”

“Sounds like you kinda like him.” 

Sue him; he has a soft spot for his older brother. “Nah, he’s just not as bad as the others.” 

He gets the boys dropped off at Leslie’s clinic and knows she’ll make sure they end up somewhere safe tonight, so he steps back out into the foggy Gotham air, feeling relieved about at least one thing. His next stop is for some groceries, so he strolls leisurely through the streets like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The groceries are for an older lady who lives in one of the rent-controlled apartment buildings he owns and who can’t leave her house on certain days due to a bad hip. 

What do you think of the Big Bad Red Hood now? He thinks somewhat wryly as he ducks into the store. Nightwing lingers on a nearby rooftop, undoubtedly watching him fill up the basket. Being a crime lord, as the kids had called it, can’t all be shooting bad guys and stopping drug deals; it’s about taking care of the little man too. His main goal is to help people. Sometimes helping people is killing an abusive pimp, and sometimes it’s providing them with resources they can’t get otherwise. That’s what the Bats don’t get. 

He brings the few bags of groceries with him as he grapples up to the roof of the apartment building and then just waits. He’s not sure if Nightwing is truly just observing or is trying to find a time to talk. He gives him a minute to appear from the shadows but gets impatient. Don’t they realize he’s a busy man? 

“Are you coming down here or what?” He asks dryly, tilting his head in the direction of the place the other crouches without actually turning to look at him. It’s only when he hears the barely audible sound of footsteps landing next to him that he spares him a glance. 

“Red Hood.”

“Nosy Bird.” He returns, and it makes Nightwing smile a little, like he considers it a compliment. 

“Robin said you helped him the other night,” Nightwing says, straight to business. “But I thought you didn’t like him.” 

“Kid’s fine; it’s Daddy Bat I don’t like.”

Nightwing nods slowly, as if digesting the information. “Well, thank you anyway.” 

Jason scoffs. “Keeping kids safe in Crime Alley is kind of my whole thing.” 

“Lots of others don’t agree to see him that way.” 

“Yeah, well, don’t go around thinking I’m like everyone else. And don’t thank me.” He points emphatically at Nightwing, like he’d poke him in his chest if he were closer. “It’s weird. We're not friends.” 

Nightwing grins at him, a teasing lilt to his tone. “Only because you haven’t asked nicely.” 

Jason stares at him, curiously. “You don’t hate me.” He notes. 

Nightwing shrugs, facade falling. “You haven’t done anything that warrants it.“

“The murder seems enough for Batman.”

“You help people.” Nightwing counters.

"Funny," Jason says in a way that makes it clear he's not laughing. "Robin said the same thing. What part of killing people do you stupid birds not get?"

“You took those two boys to get treated. You bought groceries for someone—assumedly not yourself, because I doubt you would’ve led me to where you stay. You sent Robin home without doing anything, even though you could’ve easily taken advantage of the situation. You didn’t immediately chase me out of Crime Alley, even though you knew I was following you.” 

“I can hardly keep you from reporting back to the big man.”

“You chased Batman and Robin out for less.” 

“Only when they started bothering me. Besides, you killed the Joker," Jason says nonchalantly, just to test the waters. “That goes a long way in my books.” 

Nightwing’s posture tightens. “Yeah, well, he took something important from me.” 

Jason tries not to think about that too much, keeping his voice even as he responds. “Broken up a lot of families here in Crime Alley too.” 

“I guess we’re both just doing what we think is right.” 

“Sure. Now get outta here. I’ve got errands to run. Don’t think that this little chat means I’ll be nice if I see you around again.” Jason threatens, but Nightwing seems unbothered. 

He knows it’s part of the persona to be overly cheery, quippy, and unflappable, but it still gets under Jason’s skin, like he’s not keeping a tight enough lid on his emotions. Like he’s acting too familiar with someone he’s supposed to hate. It pains him that he still cares about his family, even though they didn’t really care about him before he died. And now, if they found out it was him, they’d just latch onto their honeyed memories of a perfect child who was no more. 

He’s pissed with Bruce, genuinely so, stemming from a place of hurt that carried over from before he even died, but hearing that Dick killed that Joker for him does a lot for his being upset regarding his older brother. And Robin, well, Jason already said he was just a kid. It’s not his fault he lacks strong role models in his life. 

He’s going to have to be more careful in the future, he thinks to himself as Nightwing fades back into the night, before he reveals something he regrets.

___ __ ___
Admittedly, it takes a while before they run into each other again, and this time, it’s seemingly not on purpose.

Jason is proud that his threats were enough to keep them away. Proud in a weird, backwards way that only fills the spaces in his chest that aren’t concerned. He doesn’t for a moment think that they’re not keeping tabs on him—Robin had already mentioned something about tracking him on security cameras—but at least they’re staying out of his way. 

Out of his way, that is, until he finds them infiltrating the same drug shipment he was. 

He supposes, if he were feeling generous, you might be able to say this interaction was his fault because the docks of Gotham don’t exactly fall within the confines of his previously defined territory. But the drug that gets delivered tonight—cut with something that’s been causing people to drop like flies—will find its way into Crime Alley if he doesn’t stop the supplier at the source. 

In hindsight, it’s obvious that the Bats would be cracking down on this too, seeing as it’s caused so many deaths already. It’s a shame that he didn’t put those pieces together until he was already there, watching the smugglers attempt to fend off the Bats’ attack. He could just leave and avoid the confrontation altogether, because it’s likely the three of them can handle this measly operation by themselves. He’s—begrudgingly—willing to admit that he believes in their abilities enough that he is not worried about any loose ends. But he needs a sample of the drug and would love names of those involved. 

Despite stopping the shipment tonight, he’s sure that there’s still some of it on the street that he needs to create an antidote for, and he needs to try to weed out which dealers might be handling it so he can stop them too. So, as much as he’d like to turn tail now, it’s not in his best interest. If he’s lucky, he can stealth his way through, find their main office with the information, and then snag a sample while letting the Bats do all the heavy lifting. 

He drops to the ground at the back entrance of the warehouse, slipping inside with his weapon at the ready. It’s not entirely empty, but a vast majority of the smuggling team is distracted by the commotion out front, so it’s much easier for Jason to sneak through the stacked crates of supplies. There are fewer crates than he thought, which means that the Bats either attacked them before they could get too much unloaded or that most of the product was already distributed. Jason hopes it isn’t the latter. 

As is predictably similar for all these types of operations, there's a small room in the back where all the information is kept: dates for imports and exports, chemical composition for making more, and names of buyers, sellers, and informants. It’s remarkably messy, kept by hand instead of on a computer, but he supposes that makes it easier to cover your tracks when you can just burn any record of wrongdoing. 

The downside for him is there's only one copy of everything, and the Bats will also certainly want their hands on this information. Oh well, he got to it first. He tucks it safely away in his jacket, somewhere it won’t get harmed in a fight, and ducks back out into the main area of the warehouse. He creeps over to one of the nearby crates, starting to pry it open, when he hears footsteps. He whirls around, leveling his gun at the intruder, only to find it’s Robin. 

Fuck, there went any attempt at stealth. 

They both just kinda stare at each other for a second. Robin starts to shift into a fighting stance, but Jason grabs the end of his cape, tugging him to crouch down around the corner.

“Are you crazy?” He hisses quietly as Robin yanks his cape free in obvious annoyance. They both keep hold of their respective weapons, but neither attempts to hurt the other. “You’re going to get me caught.” 

“Caught?” Robin returns just as quiet, disbelief lining his voice. “This isn’t your operation?”

“My operation?” Jason asks, anger swelling up inside him. “No, it’s not my operation. You think I’m selling drugs that would kill my people?” he blinks behind his helmet, as if fully processing the accusation. “You think I’m selling drugs at all?”

“We’ve seen residents of Crime Alley being provided with drugs,” Robin states, as if he’s backed him into a corner. 

“Because withdrawal is a bitch, idiot. Going cold turkey on some of these things can be extremely detrimental or even deadly. It’s easier, and safer a lot of the time, to wean off it slowly.” 

“Then why are you trying to take some? We’re planning on destroying it all tonight.”

“I need some to synthesize an antidote.” 

“You don’t have an antidote?” Robin asks, sounding confused. 

“You do?” Jason demands, and Robin nods. “Well, good for you.” He snarks. “But that doesn’t help me.” 

“I’ll trade you.” Robin offers. Jason eyes him suspiciously. 

“What the hell do you want that you think I’d be willing to give up?" 

“I need a copy of the files you took from the office.” 

Shit. That kid is smart.

“We both need them,” Robin continues, “like we both need the antidote.” 

“So we’re suggesting we work together,” Jason says flatly. 

“Unless you have a better idea, then yeah.”

“Yeah, how about I just shoot you, take a sample of the drugs, and leave?”

“You don’t hurt kids," Robin points out.

“The criminal underworld hardly considers you a kid; Nightwing said so himself.”

“But you haven’t done it yet, so you won’t.” 

Jason scowls, but they both freeze as they hear yelling and some of the commotion coming their way. They stand, falling into a fighting position, but Jason grabs hold of Robin’s collar, holding him in place as he fires three shots, hitting their would-be attackers. 

“We’ve just announced our position, so we’re out of time,” Jason says, letting go of Robin so he can look at him. “Do you have that antidote on you? If not, no dice.” 

Robin fishes something out of his suit and hands it over. Jason inspects it, but there’s no way of knowing it’s legit unless he tests it. He pulls the papers out of his jacket and shoves them in his hands, pushing Robin behind him. “You have two minutes, and then I’m taking them back and leaving.” He warns and then turns his attention back to the choke point of the little hallway, waiting for more intruders. 

“The lighting is terrible back here,” the kid whines. 

“I don’t care; figure it out. Two minutes.” Jason emphasizes again. He hears the sound of a picture being taken and risks a glance back at the kid, taking photos of the document with what appears to be a phone. “Shit, kid, do you know anything about stealth?” He snarks, and Robin hisses something back, but the phone falls silent. 

“Done,” Robin says shortly after, and Jason checks through the files to ensure he wasn’t tricked and tucks them away again. 

“Good. Now get outta here. I’m sure momma bird has noticed you’ve been gone for too long by now.” 

Jason still takes a sample of the drug from the crate he pried open earlier, just to ensure he has everything he needs, and then heads back out the way he came. He’s about to grapple up to the roof to make his escape when a figure comes darting into the alley, panting heavily, trying to run away from something. Jason points his gun at him as he realizes who it is. 

"Evan Johnson," his voice growls through the modulator. “I’ve been looking for you.” He catches the man by the lapel of his jacket, pressing his gun closer. “I had a feeling it was your slimy hands all over this operation.” 

“Red Hood.” Johnson stammers out, but he doesn’t get to say much more because the Bats drop out of the sky, blocking the other exit. 

“Running from Batman, were you?” Jason sneers. “Look how well that turned out. Don’t you know that he keeps away the bad guys?” 

“Return him to us, Red Hood," Batman calls. “He deserves to serve justice for his crimes.” 

“My type of justice is a bullet to the head,” Jason says, still looking at Johnson. “It’s faster than years in prison. What do you think, Johnson? I’m feeling generous tonight. I’ll let you choose. Me or the Bat?”

“The-the Bat.” Johnson manages, terrified, like he doesn’t expect Jason to actually let him go. 

“Be a good little boy, Johnson. If you run away again, I’ll be waiting. I can’t guarantee I’ll be feeling so nice next time.”  He taunts, shoving him back towards the others. Nightwing grabs Johnson and puts him in handcuffs so he doesn’t try to run again.

Jason makes his escape as they’re distracted, only catching a little more of their conversation as he goes.

“Make sure he gets to the police station," Batman instructs. “Robin and I will take care of the rest of the shipment." 

“You’re not going after Red Hood, are you, B?” Nightwing asks. 

“No,” Batman decides. “Not tonight.” 

___ ___ ___
The antidote is legit. 

Thank anything good that remains in Gotham for it too. It saves him a lot of time—and, subsequently, a lot of lives—by not having to reverse-engineer it himself. Not that it means he hasn’t been busy. He’s spent every day since the drug bust either distributing the antidote or tracking down the dealers that are pedaling it. Jason’s never going to complain about fewer drug dealers hanging around his territory, especially ones that don't care about the casualties from what they're selling. 

So he’s been running himself ragged for the better part of a week now and is taking a quick break on the roof of some old building when Nightwing drops in. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Nightwing says cheerfully, and Jason wishes he could see how he’s glaring at him behind his helmet. 

“You’re the one who always finds me.” He points out dryly. 

“You hang out on so many rooftops. It just makes it easy.” 

“Mad I’m stealing your shtick?” 

“I’ve come to offer an olive branch, of sorts.” 

“What makes you think I want your pathetic twig?”

“We have intel you don’t. You have intel we don’t. We could share.” Nightwing offers.

“What makes you think I’d share?”

“Robin said you were willing to trade during the drug bust.” 

"Snitch," Jason huffs. 

“I have a spare one of our comms that connects to our lines. You could reach out to us at any time, and we can reach out to you.”  Nightwing holds it out, and Jason takes it, inspecting it warily.

“There better not be a tracking device in this. I’ll know if you start sniffing around my main areas of operation, and if so, consider whatever the fuck arrangement you think we have going on done.”

“It’s not going to track you,” Nightwing reassures. “It’s just a comm.” 

“Good. If you’re lying, I’ll start poking around your headquarters too. I don’t care if it's underground; I’ll find a way in.” 

Nightwing’s body language shifts in a way that Jason knows he thinks that comment is odd but stays quiet because he doesn’t want to reveal anything. Whoops. That’s a concerningly specific guess for someone who isn’t supposed to know all that much about their operation. 

“Did you want anything else? Or are you just here to threaten me with an alliance?”

“Only you would see working with us as a threat.” 

“I can’t be seen teaming up with the good guys. I’ll lose any sort of credibility.” 

“If it’s any consolation, Batman thought this was a bad idea. He lectured Robin for at least thirty minutes for trading info with you.” 

“Not that bad of an idea if he went through with it anyway.” 

Nightwing looks a little self-satisfied. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him," he says mischievously, and Jason smiles a little. That much hasn’t changed, at least. Bruce could never make Dick do anything or stop him from doing something he really wanted to. 

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled when this backfires," Jason says. “It’s a race to which one of us betrays the other first.” 

“Think optimistically, Hood. This is the beginning of a thrilling partnership.” 

“I already told you we aren’t friends. I’m still not convinced this isn’t a ploy to ferret out who I am. Now leave before I change my mind.”

“Just one last thing.” 

"No," he huffs, getting tired of this. He wants to take this comm unit apart to check it for a tracker before he gets much further. This conversation shouldn’t even be happening. He’s not sure why Nightwing is so insistent on trying to make this work, and it’s making him suspicious. There’s no way this isn’t a trap, but he can’t figure out the catch. He turns to leave when Nightwing speaks up again. 

“How’s your list of drug dealers looking?”

Jason stops and turns back to look at him. That’s not what he was expecting. “What?”

“We’re sharing information, aren’t we?” Nightwing points out. “No point in trying to track down a dealer that the other has already caught. We got Johnson and a few others that were peddling this batch, and they’re in jail. I suspect you’ve caught a few others and dealt with them through your own means.” 

“And?” Jason's challenges, like Nightwing might have a comment about his chosen methods for disposing of waste. 

“And I want names. Like I said, I don’t want to waste time chasing down someone who’s been taken care of.” 

Jason debates for a moment. “Fine.” He takes out his phone and pulls up the list of people he’d gotten from the papers he took. 

“WayneTech phone?” Nightwing asks, surprised. 

“Stole it off a rich guy and wiped it so I could have a burner.” 

“Really?” Nightwing asks. Jason's not sure if he’s offended or impressed. 

“Do you want the names or not?” Jason snaps. He’s not going to admit—not to Nightwing, at least—that WayneTech is stupidly reliable and, most annoyingly, what he’s familiar with. And he’s sure as hell not going to admit he bought it with his own money.

Nightwing holds his hands up placatingly, and they bend over the small screen together, looking at the names. The ones Jason has tracked down are already crossed off, and Nightwing points at a few that they’ve captured. Jason stars them because he needs the information in case they escape prison in the future. 

They bump shoulders at some point, and Jason stiffens, but nothing explodes, and Nightwing carries on like he didn’t notice. Jason’s brain lags over trying to remember the last time someone touched him without intent to hurt, or the last time someone that he fully trusted touched him, someone he didn’t have to worry about stabbing him in the back. 

He thinks maybe it was Leslie, patching up a particularly bad wound from a fight, or one of the working girls, who doesn't know who he is but knows he grew up as a kid in Crime Alley. They treat him with that same level of care and kindness and force him to take breaks sometimes, but that’s been weeks now. Maybe more. He realizes Nightwing is still talking and forces himself to cycle out of his racing thoughts, tuning back into what he’s saying. 

“That’s all of them, I’m pretty sure,” Nightwing says. “How’s the antidote been? A couple of people on our end have had a bad reaction, but all of them ended up okay.”

“It’s been fine," Jason says. “I haven’t heard anything, but I’ll be sure to let my people know it’s a possibility.” 

Nightwing nods, seeming satisfied. “Don’t lose that comm. I’ll keep you updated. Maybe with all of us, we can put this thing into the ground.” 

“If I hear one peep out of you that’s not case-related, I’m crushing this under my foot.” 

Nightwing just grins and pulls out his grapple. “Hear from you soon, Hood.” 

“I hope not,” Jason grumbles as Nightwing launches himself into the air. Now that he’s alone again, Jason turns over the device in his hand, as if he could sense maliciousness from it. What is he getting himself into?

Information gathering, apparently. 

He takes the comm back to one of his lesser-used safe houses and disassembles it, but it’s just that. It’s just a comm. He pokes at it, messes with a few settings, reassembles it, and then glares as it sits innocently on his wobbly table. He skips through the channels it’s connected to and then immediately starts to listen in to the Bats’ conversations.

It’s all what you would expect. Batman is giving orders, coordinating patrols, stopping criminals, and occasionally, some idle chatter. Besides some witty remarks from Robin, most of the banter comes when Nightwing is involved, which makes sense because Batman makes a terrible conversation partner and Nightwing never shuts up.

He mostly tunes into their channels when he’s out on patrols of his own, so he can avoid them as much as possible. He’s starting to worry that all this collaboration is giving them the wrong idea. Sometimes the case they work on and the crimes they stop help fill in the gaps for things he’s doing as well, but it’s mostly worthless chatter that fills his ears. He’s learning to let it wash over him without letting it be a distraction, only tuning in when he catches something that might be helpful.

Maybe that’s why when they actually reach out to him, he’s so caught off guard. 

“Red Hood, you got your listening ears on?” Nightwing's voice asks, and Jason stops where he’s standing, going stiff. He quickly darts somewhere he can hide to talk and checks his surroundings, half worried they're going to appear out of nowhere to discuss something. 

“You actually think he kept the thing?” Robin asks skeptically. They’re on the shared channel between the two of them—three of them, he supposes—the one without Batman.

“You said he seemed willing to trade info for the drug bust. How is this any different?”

“Yeah, but that was a situation of coincidence and convenience. He doesn’t actually like us.”

“Intel is intel.” 

“Do you have something to share, or are you just here to waste my time?”

“Holy shit," Robin breathes. “He kept it. Maybe he does like us.” 

“We’re easy to like.” Nightwing agrees.

“Tolerating you for my own personal gain is not the same as liking you," Jason growls. “And this doesn’t sound very case-related.”

“So you don’t want to hear the info about the child trafficking ring we dug up?” 

Jason’s mood shifts immediately. “Tell me everything.” He demands. 

Nightwing begins to list off some of what they found, the names of people running it, the locations they're using, and some of the children they managed to free. Robin interjects with his own statements, adding extra details and filling in gaps. Despite who they did manage to turn in to the police and what they’ve managed to stop, Jason knows that this is just uncovering the beginning of something much larger, some key players escaping through the cracks. It looks like he has some work to do. 

“We can help," Robin offers, and Jason’s lip curls at the idea. He's not exactly sure how young Robin is, but he knows he’s young, and he doesn’t want him anywhere near freaks like that.

“I don’t need your help.”

“C’mon, this is big! We can’t just let him do it all himself.”

“Red Hood has his own team of people, Robin.” Nightwing diffuses calmly. “If he says he can handle it himself, then he can. Besides, he can always contact us if he changes his mind later.” 

Jason has a feeling that Nightwing knows exactly how he plans on getting rid of this trafficking operation and doesn’t want any Bat-affiliated personnel near it in an attempt to not piss off the Big Bat himself. Though, given how many bodies pile up over the next couple of days, Batman gets upset anyway. 

“I thought you were going to handle that trafficking ring, Nightwing,” Batman says lowly over the line about a week later, Jason listening in to their conversation. 

“Seems like I didn’t need to.” 

“Red Hood dealt with them. Yes, I know. But he didn’t know about them until recently. You informed him of the situation, did you not?” Batman asks, but it’s obvious he knows that they have been chatting. Jason's not concerned. He knows there’s not much you can sneak by Batman and, well, it's not like he's going to be the one getting in trouble for it.

“Seemed like he would be more pissed at us if I didn’t.” Nightwing points out. He's right; Jason would’ve been real mad if they knew about it and didn’t tell him when children were going missing right out from under him. 

“We would have handled it. There was no need for such lethal force.” 

“I didn’t tell him to go shoot all those people. I just told him that there was a problem.” 

“We should’ve helped him," Robin cuts in, still sounding a little miffed. “It worked out well enough last time.” 

“You should stay away from him, Robin. He’s dangerous,” Batman intones, and Jason rolls his eyes. Did the old man miss that the entire point of this conversation was that he killed some people to save a bunch of kids? Sure, he doesn’t want Robin poking his nose in his stuff and definitely doesn’t need their help, but certainly he knows that Jason isn’t interested in hurting the kid. Jason flicks the comm off. He’s not dumb enough to keep listening in when all he’s going to hear is slander. 

They contact him for information just a few weeks later, which means that Batman’s lecture was about as helpful as a bucket of water on a grease fire. This time it's about some people trying to manufacture fear gas while Scarecrow is locked up. Jason never understood the petty criminal’s desire to try to recreate some of the rogue's gimmicks while they’re temporarily off the playing field, but it’s a consistent trend. At least no one is dumb enough to try to recreate Joker venom. Even the criminal underbelly didn’t like him enough for that. 

“Seen anything weird in your area?” Nightwing asks. “We can’t find anything other than a few isolated incidents. The main production site is seemingly nonexistent.” 

Jason hums. He hasn’t seen anything too strange, but he hasn’t exactly been looking for signs of Scarecrow activity, not with him currently tucked away in Arkham. He’ll have to do another sweep through the Alley, investigating prime spots. “Nothing on my end.” He reports dutifully, almost absentmindedly as he tries to note places of significance in his head. “I’ll keep you updated.” 

“Looking forward to it.” 

Jason briefs his men and spreads the word to the people he sees about making sure to keep a rebreather with them, just in case. Then he sets out, stopping by some warehouses that are common spots of activity, checking them over thoroughly. He's relieved, but also maybe upset, to find nothing out of the ordinary. It’s nice that there aren’t things popping up in Crime Alley without him knowing about it, but that means the bulk of the operation is still at large. 

It sets something itching under his skin that he can’t solve the problem immediately, that there’s potential for people under his care to get hurt. It also means that whoever is running this is doing so outside of his normal territory, and that putting effort into helping out with it is kinda like admitting defeat. He’s been so steadfast and resolute about avoiding the Bats, only teaming up with them out of convenience, but it’s been nice; he can’t deny it. 

It’s not surprising, but he told himself that he doesn’t trust them. And he doesn’t, not really.  A large part of him is angry and upset at previous hurts, but he’s also tired and sad. He wishes he could have the family he lost, the bond he once had, but sometimes he’s not really sure he had it in the first place. He wants to believe it, to have some place safe to return to, but he’s so scared of being hurt again. 

He wants to fall into old patterns, trusting his family to have his back like muscle memory, this tentative alliance pulling at something aching deep inside of him, but he just can’t quite make that last step to let go entirely. He needs advice. 

“I’ve got a problem.”

“You know, we’re not actually qualified, right?” One of the working girls standing in front of him says with a teasing grin. Her name is Scarlett, always seen wearing an aptly named red outfit, and she often takes pity on him when he needs a break. Her friend, Trixie, seems to be well known by the Crime Alley kids because they can ask her for assistance if need be, and she is always ready to punch someone for being a dick to children. 

“Don’t worry,” Trixie says, shoving her friend lightly and coaxing Jason closer, like she might need to bribe him like a stray cat. “We’re not busy right now. What’s the problem?”

Jason slinks closer, trying not to feel as young as he is when these two fawn over him. He’s long given up on being the Big Bad Red Hood around them because they see right through his front, and he pretends that it’s not nice for someone else to have all the answers at once. 

“I think the Bats like me," Jason says, somewhat rushed, holding his helmet in his hands, just wearing his domino mask. 

“What did you do that made Batman like you?” Scarlett asks, sounding skeptical. “Did you swear off killing people or something?”

“Okay, well, not Batman. But Nightwing and Robin. We have this weird alliance thing, where we share information. They both say I help people.” 

“Were you under the impression that you didn't? Was feeding the hungry and housing the poor an attempt at evil that I missed? A part of your plan to rule the world?” Trixie asks in a way that implies he’s being a little silly. 

“Yeah, but shouldn't all the murder counteract that? Shouldn’t it mean that I break even? I mean, all of the Bats don’t kill. I shouldn’t be any different than other criminals they fight."

“Other criminals they fight kill to hurt people. You kill to help people. It’s different.“ Scarlett points out. 

“Besides, not all the Bats have a perfect track record.” 

“The Joker does not count," Jason rebuts. “Everyone wanted him dead.”

"Maybe, but if Nightwing can do that and still work with Batman, why can’t you?”

“Because Nightwing is his favorite. And this is a trap to find out my identity. And I’m going to end up in Arkham if they catch me.” Jason lists sarcastically, as if it were obvious. 

“You have some real issues, man,” Trixie notes dryly. “Is it so hard to believe that you work well together?” 

“Enemy of my enemy and all that.” Scarlett agrees with a nod. 

“So you think I should trust them, just like that?” Jason asks, sounding more nervous than he’d like. Younger than he’d like. 

“I’m not saying you don’t be careful," Trixie clarifies. “We don’t want anything to happen to you, but it can’t hurt to try, can it?” 

Jason thinks for a moment. “Alright.” 

He’s still not going out of his way to be overly friendly; he’s not going to leave the Alley or offer help unless they ask, and even then, only maybe, but maybe he’ll start to believe that they’re genuine. He keeps their conversation in mind when he reports back to Nightwing that he found no suspicious activity in his area but that he’d keep an ear to the ground for any extra information. And he ruminates on their conversation for even longer, lying on his couch in his apartment, staring at the ceiling with the comm in his hand, before finally asking for help with a case of his own. 

Nightwing doesn’t respond, and Jason almost gives up on it all right then, but Robin answers when he tries a second time and is happy to provide him with information. Information that is very helpful when it comes to getting what he needs and, once again, saves him a bunch of time. 

He still refuses to say thank you.

___ ___ ___
It’s been months since he’s seen any of them in person. 

Despite the fact they work together sharing intel quite frequently, the drug bust that spawned their whole reluctant alliance seems like a lifetime ago. He supposes he should’ve realized that things can only be so good for so long, especially when in Gotham. 

He hears about the Arkham breakout. 

Of course, he does. Every citizen does pretty much as soon as it happens. At this rate, they should have a siren that goes off, like some places do for tornadoes, but Jason knows that somehow that would make it worse. So he’s already hard at work, coordinating his men and making sure that everyone in the Alley has a safe place to stay for the immediate future. If they're lucky, the Bats can have this all under control in a couple of days. If they're not, Jason will worry about making long-term plans then. 

He supposes, with not having to worry about Joker running around unchecked, Jason isn’t as worried about breakouts as he used to be. Not that he’s stupid enough to think that the other rogues aren’t formidable foes, but he feels like he handles them with a certain lack of stress. Everyone seems so reasonable in comparison; they don’t linger in the dark corners of his mind, haunting him like a shadow and setting him on edge the way the Joker might have. He’s so used to somewhat coasting through breakouts without much thought, going through the same motions, like some fucked up routine. It was only a matter of time before that got disrupted. It's jarring, being pulled out of the familiar rhythm, but he thinks that part of the reason that it catches him off guard is that it takes so long for them to contact him.

“Hood, you on comms?” Nightwing’s voice suddenly chimes in his ear. He sounds tired, slightly out of breath, and distressed. It sets Jason on edge. “Please be on comms.” He says it a little quieter, like he’s talking to himself. 

“I’m here, Nightwing. What’s wrong?”

“I hope you’ve seen the news by now to know what’s wrong,” Nightwing says dryly, as if somehow Jason made it 36 hours into a breakout and had yet to figure out what’s happening.

“Yes, obviously," Jason snarks back. “What exactly is wrong at this moment?”

“Riddler.” Nightwing breathes and then falls silent on the other end of the line for a moment. Jason hears what he can only assume is the sound of Nightwing being attacked, and for the few minutes it takes him to fend them off, Jason’s heart is left racing in his throat. No matter the status of his relationship with the Bats—which has slowly been improving—he doesn’t want his family to get hurt. 

The noises stop. “Nightwing.” Jason prompts tentatively, almost fearing a response. “You okay?” 

“Fine,” Nightwing says unconvincingly. “Riddler’s men thought they could take me down. Doesn’t matter. Riddler has captured civilians and is threatening to kill them one at a time until we solve his riddles. We’ve narrowed it down to three places, but I don’t have time to check all of them.”

“Where are the others?” Jason presses. Why would they leave Nightwing to do it all himself? 

“Batman is currently escorting Two Face back to Arkham. Robin is investigating one of the possible options; I’m at the second, and the third is fairly close to you. Can you help?” There’s a moment of silence, where all he can hear is Nightwing’s pained breathing. That attack definitely fucked up his ribs, which means it’s bad if Jason can tell over the comm alone. “It’s fine if you’re busy with the Alley.” Nightwing promises diplomatically, like he wants to trust Red Hood to be on their side but can’t make himself believe it just yet. Like he thinks it might be too much of a step, too much of an ask, and would try to do it all himself if told so. 

“Count me in.” Jason cuts in. “Where is it?”

Jason arrives at Gotham’s history museum, surveying the grounds around the building for any signs of activity. He’s starting to think that his place was a dud, especially considering there were some of Riddler’s goons patrolling around where Nightwing was earlier, but he catches something through one of the windows. Men with guns. 

Jason clenches his jaw, his stomach curling with disgust, and finds a way in. 

“No go here, Wing," Robin reports, causing Jason to jump slightly out of his skin as he slides in through a window. He nearly cuts himself on the broken glass, freezing in place for a moment to steel himself with a huff. 

“None here either,” Nightwing says, which confirms Jason's theory. "Hood, I hope you’re having more luck than us.” 

“I knew you didn’t like me," Jason says, somewhat teasingly. “You gave me the one with all the guns and guys dressed in green. 

Nightwing’s laugh rings out across the line, used to Jason’s brand of humor by now. “Think of it as a welcoming gift, since we’re working together so officially now. You’re no longer just an informant.” 

“I’m turning around and leaving right now if all you ever thought of me as was an informant.” 

“It’s not," Robin says cheekily. “I only ever thought you were annoying.” 

Jason pretends that it doesn’t make him grin a little. ”Get your asses over here before I start shooting.” He threatens mildly before sneaking deeper into the building.

The only thing about going after rogues, especially ones like Riddler, is that they liked spectacle, hence the fact that he’s in a museum and not a dingy, old warehouse. While the scenery is a nice change of pace, there are no rafters for him to skulk around in, which means Jason is left trying to sneak glances over the third floor’s balcony without getting spotted. On the plus side, all of the hostages are being kept out in the open, in the main lobby of the museum on the first floor. They’re bunched in a small group in the middle, kept in place by Riddler's men holding them at gunpoint. 

Riddler is around somewhere; he’s sure, but he doesn’t see him for now. It doesn’t matter. He’ll show himself as soon as the others make their appearance. "Hostages on the first floor, in the main lobby,” Jason reports quietly over the comm. He leans in to get a better view through the rungs of the railing. “Looks like maybe 15 civilians and 10 armed guards.” 

“No sign of Riddler yet?” Robin asks. 

“Not yet.” 

“We’re almost there,” Nightwing reassures, but Jason eyes the way the armed men shift and seem antsy. 

“Too late.”

“My, my," Riddler’s voice suddenly echoes through the room, emitted from the loudspeakers. Jason still doesn’t see him. “It seems our intrepid heroes are just a little too slow. After an hour with no response, I’m starting to get impatient. Perhaps we should give them some… motivation.”

Jason aims as one of the armed men does, and when the shot rings out, it’s the goon that falls dead, not the civilian.

“My, my,” Riddler crows again, and it starts to piss him off. Wasn’t he supposed to have more class than this? “An interloper. What a surprise.” 

There’s no point in trying to hide any longer, so Jason grapples down from his spot, landing emphatically on the polished floor. 

“The Red Hood?” Riddler says, seeming genuinely surprised. Jason spots him now, standing on the front desk like it’s some sort of stage. Jason half expects a spotlight to appear out of nowhere to highlight him as he gestures dramatically. If he’d had more time, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d find a way to do exactly that. He holds his cane in one hand and the microphone for the speaker system in the other. “What a pleasant surprise. Do you not approve of my methods? I thought shooting people was right up your alley?” The Riddler says, with a self-satisfied grin. 

Jason growls a little. Why did everyone think that just because he killed people, it meant that he didn’t care who died? “You obviously haven’t been paying attention very well, then.” He tilts his head in a way he hopes comes across as mockingly, even behind his helmet. “Though, I suppose it’d be hard to, seeing as this is the first bit of fresh air you’ve seen in a while.”

Riddler glares at him. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you here and now?” He demands. 

"Incoming." Nightwing’s voice warns in his ear. 

“I have something I think you’re missing.” 

“Oh?” The Riddler sounds intrigued but disbelieving. “How would you know that?” 

Jason grins, even though no one can see. “A little bird told me.” He says, and Nightwing and Robin fall through the skylight.

The room descends into chaos, and Jason seizes the opportunity to attack the armed men. Robin darts toward Riddler, who is already attempting to scamper away again, and Nightwing heads towards the civilians. It’s impossible to get to the civilians without Riddler’s men trying to stand in their way, which means Nightwing gets waylaid from his original goal and is forced to join the fight. Any good Gotham citizen knows how to get out of dodge and to watch their back, so in reality, the civilians will likely be fine. 

It’s shockingly easy to fall into old patterns, even after all these years, knowing how Nightwing moves and where he’s going to strike. They dance seamlessly together through the onslaught, Jason shooting at one of the men who tried to attack Nightwing from behind. He threads the bullet around his movements and into the man's shoulder, causing him to lose grasp of his weapon. It’s enough to temporarily disable the would-be attacker and alert Nightwing to his presence so he can handle him more readily. 

Nightwing’s escrima goes sailing past his ear, hitting someone who was trying to take advantage of his helmet’s blind spot. Jason easily ducks, rolls, and picks the stick off the floor in one smooth motion, using it to knock out a few more people before tossing it back to Nightwing, who catches it seamlessly. 

As familiar as it was, it wasn’t perfect, like trying to shrug on a coat a few sizes too small, which means Jason still gets shot. He shoots back with twice as much lethality and accuracy, lodging a few bullets in the attacker's arm. The impact on his side hurts even through his armor, but Jason keeps focused. A shot like that isn’t enough to get him down. 

When all the men are finally dealt with, Nightwing turns his attention back towards the civilians, ensuring no one actually got hurt, and Jason looks where he last saw Riddler. He gets to watch with something like smug delight as Robin gets one last hit in, knocking him down. Soon, the rogue is tied up to a nearby pillar, looking defeated and a little worse for wear. 

“Everything alright?” Jason double-checks as Nightwing wanders back over to him. 

“No major injuries. I called the GPD, so they’re on their way.”

“I best not stick around then.” Jason hums consideringly. “I only killed one person tonight, but I doubt they’ll appreciate it.” 

“That’s practically a new record,” Nightwing says, somewhat teasingly. “You’ll be one of us in no time.” 

Jason makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, but it just makes Nightwing grin. 

“Great work tonight, by the way. Our fighting styles are surprisingly compatible.”

Jason keeps quiet on exactly why that might be. “I’m surprised you were able to perform half the bullshit stunts you did with those ribs.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t bullshit me, birdie. When you got attacked earlier, I could practically hear them creaking over the comm.” 

“Hypocrite,” Nightwing deflects, though Jason can see how he doesn’t try to hide it as much now that it's been called out. "You're bleeding.” 

“What? No I’m not.” He refutes immediately, glancing down and checking himself over. It’s only then he remembers being shot earlier and stares down at the growing red stain on his side, barely visible through his dark clothes. Just his luck it would hit the weak point of his armor. “Huh, would you look at that? Bastard had better aim than I thought.” He muses aloud. 

This does nothing but make Nightwing concerned. “You got shot?” He asks, pressing in for a closer look. 

“Oh, great.” Robin's voice chimes in, appearing next to them. “You let Hood get shot on our first mission together. Now we’ll never see him again.” 

“I didn’t let him do anything.” Nightwing rebuts, “He’s the one with the shit armor.” 

“Who’s the hypocrite now?” Jason snarks. “You barely wear armor at all.” 

“And yet, I wasn’t the one that got hit. Let me look.” He demands, and Jason continues to shy away. 

“I’ll be fine.” He avoids, pushing Nightwing's hands off. There’s no way he’s letting him convince him to go back to the cave for medical help. 

“You have a bullet lodged in your side.” Robin points out. “That’s hardly fine.”

“And I’ll deal with it. Worry about the mother hen over there. He’s the one with the busted ribs," Jason says, poking at Nightwing gently, causing him to hiss slightly in pain. 

“You too?” Robin asks with a huff. “How am I the only one who made it out of this unscathed?” 

“Because Riddler is pathetic in a fight.” Jason drawls, and Robin scowls at him. “There’s a reason he hires people to do the work for him.” 

Robin opened up his mouth to shoot something back at him, looking indignant, when a dark shape fell from the already broken ceiling. Jason flinches back, ready for another fight, but finds it's only Batman coming towards them. 

“All done with Two Face, B?” Nightwing asks.

Batman gives a sharp nod before glancing over at Robin. “Robin, report.” 

It takes every ounce of willpower Jason possesses not to start speaking; the phrase pulls at something deeper inside of him than even Nightwing’s familiar fighting patterns. He clenches his teeth, grinding them slightly, and pretends not to notice that Nightwing fares the same. Robin lists off the events of the night, and Jason uses it as his cue to leave, slipping away into the darkness as police sirens start to echo in the distance. 

___ ___ ___
He should’ve known that patching himself up at his safe house wouldn’t be good enough for them. He just didn’t think they’d track him down to bug him about it. 

He’s fine, mind you, not that anyone believes him enough to take his word for it. Where’s all this trust they’ve supposedly built up between them when it comes to him reporting about his own injuries? They pester him about it on the comm, of course. They somehow seem more upset when they wangle out of him that he had a place he could’ve gone to get help and still did it himself. 

Sure, he could’ve gotten Leslie to help him with it, and he does for more serious injuries, but it’s not like he hasn’t treated a bullet wound before. It hurts to pull a hunk of metal out of your side, and his stitches are not the best, but he’s fine. Or he will be in a few weeks. Too bad they don’t give him that long. 

He’s out on his normal route through Crime Alley when he hears banging on metal and looks up to see Robin tapping on the fire escape with his staff. Jason scowls and hopes they can tell through his body language, but Nightwing just waves, and Robin looks smugly satisfied. They drop down in front of him in a way that would have set him on edge just half a year ago, landing between him and the exit to the little alley. Now, Jason is just somewhat annoyed. 

“What could you two possibly want?”

“I’ll have you know, we’re here on very serious business.” Nightwing intones in a way that shows he’s not here on serious business at all. 

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” 

“We’re checking up on you,” Robin says, and he’s a little taken aback by the kid’s bluntness. 

“You disappeared without warning the other night and then told us you patched up a gunshot wound yourself.” 

“And given its placement on your side, you wouldn’t have a good angle to see it well, which probably means you did a bad job.” 

“I did just fine, thank you.” Jason huffs. 

“Then you won’t mind me checking on it,” Nightwing says, bullying himself close to Jason’s side and trying to pry under his armor once more. 

Jason grabs his hands, holding them in place for a moment, and Nightwing stills, glancing up to look at him. “Look, this thing we have going on is great and all, but I’m not sharing my identity with you. So if that’s the end goal, we better call it off now.”

“We don’t care about that.” Nightwing tries to reassure, and Jason just scoffs, shoving his hands away again. 

“Yeah, that’s not really true.” Robin agrees, stepping closer. “I have some theories, and Batman has a profile with everything we know about you, but we’ve stopped treating you as a threat a while ago.” He continues, and Jason tries to decide if he’s flattered or annoyed. “We won’t pry. We’re not exactly planning on revealing our identities to you either.”

“We’ll always wear our masks and won’t try to get intel about your civilian life, and if you do the same, we’ll call it even.” Nightwing agrees. 

They’re implying that they care about him as he is. As Red Hood, someone that they’ve slowly gathered trust with over the course of months, even after fighting multiple times in the beginning. They’re trusting him and caring for him and caring about him as someone they don’t really know, as a stranger, and not as Jason Todd. Not as someone they would feel guilt about or obligation to do so with. It’s odd. Jason isn’t sure what to think. 

“We really did just want to make sure you were okay,” Robin says, somewhat quietly. 

And Jason thinks about all their interactions and his conversation with Trixie and Scarlett and thinks that begrudgingly, reluctantly, fearfully, this is the last wall he has up. Accepting this will mean that he’s admitting that he trusts them, and it makes his heart race and his head spin at the thought, after resisting it for so long. It’s a risk—a big one—only because if it goes sour, he doesn’t think he’ll ever recover, but he’s tired of pretending it doesn’t sound nice, like he hasn’t been craving the attention and affection, so he finally gives in. 

“Fine.” He says, and the words coming out of his mouth are like battering rams against his final resisting stronghold, bringing it crumbling to the ground. “But not here. I’m not taking my armor off in public.”

They follow him back to one of his safe houses, not his main apartment, because it pays to be cautious, and Jason shrugs off his jacket. He sets the helmet on the table, leaving himself in just the domino mask, and pulls some of his armor off. He’s going to pretend that not having the plates pushing against his tender side doesn’t already feel better. Nightwing is ushering him into a chair, and Robin starts rummaging around in his cabinets for a first aid kit, like they don’t trust his work even without seeing it. 

“Pushy bird,” Jason snarks, but it’s his only rebuttal as Nightwing finally gets to look at his side. As usual, it does little more than make him grin. 

“Just as I thought,” Nightwing declares as Robin places the kit on the table. 

“It’s perfect?” Jason guesses. “And you’re being a huge mother hen for nothing?” 

“It’s horrible," Robin corrects dryly. “I hope this isn’t your stitching when you can see, because I think a three-legged cat could do a better job.” 

“Hey.” Jason protests on principle, but Nightwing presses against his side, cutting off his protest with a hiss. 

“You’re lucky this isn’t infected," he chastises.

“Oh, like your ribs have magically healed in four days.”

Nightwing lifts his head, and Jason just knows he’s staring him in the eyes, even through the domino mask. “I got mine professionally treated and have been taking it easy, unlike you.” 

Jason's not sure if Alfred really counts as professionally treated, but knows better than to remark about that. “No one’s perfect.” He says instead.

“You’re an idiot who refuses to use the resources he has available,” Robin says derisively. 

“You know, there’s a new Thai place that opened up nearby,” Nightwing says in an attempt to distract him as he undoes and subsequently redoes the stitching. “We were going to go after this.”

Jason grits his teeth, “Cool.” 

“If you’re willing to go around without your helmet, maybe you could join us.” He offers. 

“Sure.” 

“Really?” Robin asks, sounding surprised. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason manages, trying to pretend he can form more than one-word sentences right now. 

“Careful, Hood.” Nightwing pauses for a moment, glancing up at him with a grin. Jason pretends it’s so he can tease him and not because he knows Jason needs a quick breather. “That’s sounding awfully like something friends do.”

“Fuck off,” Jason growls as Nightwing starts back to work again. “I don’t have to join you.” 

“Nah, it’s too late. You already said yes. Besides, Robin has never had Thai food before. You have to help me properly educate him.” 

That does the most to distract him from the pain of anything in this conversation. Jason looks over at Robin in disbelief, the kid's face going red as he stammers out a defense. 

“Look, I had a… sheltered childhood. Didn’t get out much.” 

Nightwing huffs out a laugh. “I don’t think that’s necessarily true. But your food palate was very limited, for sure.” He turns to Jason. “All done.” 

Jason sags against the chair some more and pretends that it already doesn’t feel better. Nightwing probably did a better job both cleaning and sewing than he did. He takes a deep breath and stares at his armor, dreading putting it back on. 

“We can just get takeout if you want a quick break.” Nightwing offers, seeming to pick up on his mood. “We won’t be long.” 

“Nah, I gotta come with if it’s the little bird’s first time. Can’t miss how he’ll stutter over the names on the menu.” He teases, and Robin’s look sours. Jason ruffles his hair fondly, starting to slide his armor back on. "C'mon, kid, let’s go.” 

___ ___ ___
Fucking Poison Ivy.

Jason’s shaking so hard he’s afraid his skeleton will come loose despite the fact it’s fairly warm outside. He knows it’s warm and can practically feel the weight of it pulling at his skin, but the pollen negates any of the heat he might get from it, leaving him shivering like it’s the dead of winter. Jason doesn’t tend to mess with Ivy, partially because he usually agrees with her and partially because she’s not worth the hassle. Still, he keeps an eye on her when she strays near the Alley, and just him snooping around her labs was enough to get a face full of pollen, despite the fact he didn’t do anything to mess with it. 

He makes his way through his apartment, locking the door behind himself with trembling hands, and gets into the shower to wash the pollen off his skin. He turns the water as hot as it’ll go even though he knows it won’t help and only turns it back down again when he notices his skin turning red. The water only serves to make him feel even colder, so he quickly trades it for a thick pair of sweatpants and a sweater. Despite knowing it wouldn’t actually help, it’s hard to convince his brain to dress any differently when it’s receiving such intense signals of cold. 

It’s starting to turn painful, the intense cold shifting into a stabbing pain, like the goosebumps prickling across his skin have turned violent. Jason dreads trying to tough it out on his own before realizing he might not have to. Certainly, the Bats have an antidote for Ivy’s pollen. Bruce has been dealing with her for years; there’s no way he doesn’t have a cure that negates the effects. Now he just has to go about getting his hands on some. 

Asking the Bats for help would mean leaving his bed, and Jason is half tempted to give up at that thought as exhaustion sweeps through him, but the pain redoubles, and he pushes himself into action. He stutters to his feet, fumbling through his things for the comm and flicking it on. 

“Anyone around?” Jason asks, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. He’s experienced way worse than this, actually being at risk of expiring from the cold during his time on the streets, but his mind can’t seem to get past the psychological barrier in his head. 

“What’s up, Hood?” Nightwing’s cheery voice replies. 

Something in Jason starts to melt at the sound of another human person, endorphins running high at the potential of human contact. Jason feels a little bit like a dog salivating over a piece of meat and firmly reminds himself he’s after the antidote—nothing else. So what if he has been getting closer with Nightwing and Robin? They’re strictly professional, except for all the times they watch movies together or get food or Jason has let them crash at one of his safehouses. They don’t need to waste time coddling him. 

“You guys probably have an antidote for Ivy’s pollen, right?” Jason says, and hopes his voice comes out more inquiring than pleading. Given how he can practically hear Nightwing’s frown over the line, he doesn’t think it works. 

“You get hit?” 

“Maybe a little,” Jason admits as a tremor runs through him, causing his muscles to tense up. 

“How long?” 

“Couple hours.” 

“Did you get somewhere safe before it set in?” Nightwing continues to press, something like worry slipping into his voice. 

“I’m at my apartment,” Jason replies, collapsing down onto his couch. He had kind of just been standing there, staring at the wall until he remembered he could move and settle somewhere more comfortable. 

“I don’t know where that is, Hood.” Nightwing points out gently. 

That’s right. They’ve met up either out on patrol or back at one of his various safe houses. They don’t actually know where he mainly resides. Fuck it. He’s gotten this far without getting fucked over. What’s one more? “If I tell you, will you help?”

“Of course.”  

“Then get over here, Nosy Bird,” Jason says, rattling off his address. “I'm waiting on your miracle cure.” 

“I’ll be there before you even know it,” Nightwing reassures. 

He’s kind of right, but only because Jason loses a bit of time, alternating between curling up in pain and staring blearily at the dark TV screen, his brain turning to mush. It seems like forever and also somehow a blink of an eye before there’s someone knocking on his door. The noise startles him into motion, and he finds a spare domino mask to put on before he drags himself to the door. It swings open, and his brain lags for a second at seeing two figures standing there. 

“You brought Robin?” He asks, his brain refusing to put the pieces together.

“The more the merrier,” Nightwing says as they force their way inside. The door gets shut and locked behind them, but Jason barely processes it because his brain blanks out for a different reason, reveling in the feeling of Nightwing's hand on his shoulder. Robin is rummaging around through his things again, but he doesn’t even really care because he’s still waiting for his brain to get fully back online again.

“What kind of cure requires two people?” He asks when he’s somewhat able to form thoughts again. Nightwing’s hand is great, but he needs more than that one little spot of warmth. 

“It goes faster with more contact.”

Jason blinks at him, like he's certainly misheard. “You don’t have any sort of injection to counteract the effects, like you do for fear toxin?" 

“It’s usually easier to let it run its course naturally as long as you have a partner,” Robin explains, and Jason wonders if this strain of pollen causes hallucinations, because other than his domino mask, Robin isn’t wearing his uniform.

“Are those pajamas?” He asks, fearing he’s gone insane. 

"It's not very comfortable to lie around in the suit, and it doesn’t allow for much contact,” Robin says, as if it were obvious. “Now where do you want to stay for the night? Nightwing will join us in a moment.” 

Jason hadn’t even noticed Nightwing was gone, too distracted by Robin tucking himself against his side. He doesn’t say anything, so Robin speaks up again, taking his silence as permission. 

“I assume your bed is bigger than your couch, so let's go there; that way we'll all fit.” He suggests, and Jason follows him on instinct as he moves deeper into the apartment, chasing the warmth.

They collapse on the bed, and Jason almost immediately curls around Robin, finding it easy to tuck himself close. How anyone would want to put a kid this small out on the street to fight crime, he’ll never know.

“It’s like you don’t even need me.” Nightwing’s teasing voice comes, but Jason doesn’t process the snarky reply that Robin shoots back at him. He’s dressed in what appears to be old clothing: a threadbare t-shirt and a faded pair of shorts, but all that Jason can really think is that it looks comfortable. 

The warmth that Robin provides is wonderful and a much-needed reprieve from the building pain from before. His back already aches from his muscles being tense for so long, and his limbs hurt from the sharp feeling of stabbing pain. So while he’s already starting to feel better, the idea of someone else being around and not helping out seems like it’s making every part of him that’s not touching Robin sting even more. 

“Rude.” He manages to complain, but Nightwing was already moving before he said anything. 

“I know, I know,” Nightwing says, lying down behind him and pressing up against his back, draping an arm over him. “I’m so mean for not helping you.” 

Jason doesn’t even care about the sass, because with Nightwing there, it's like all of the pieces finally fall into place, the puzzle complete with him in the middle. He barely registers the blanket being pulled on top of them as the warmth finally settles in his bones, thawing him from the inside out. 

___ ___ ___
Okay, so maybe he’s friends with Nightwing and Robin. 

As much as you can be friends with someone who doesn’t actually know your name, that is. He helps them out with cases on the regular, and they get food after, or sometimes they just show up at his apartment unannounced. His actual apartment, not one of his safehouses, and if that isn’t a show of trust, then he doesn’t know what is. It’s weird, but Jason’s gotten used to it.

While he’s friendly with the two birds, he barely interacts with Batman at all, and even then, it’s really only during cases. In fact, he thinks he’s heard Nightwing and Robin talk about him more than he’s interacted with him in person. Which Jason is kind of fine with, because B obviously doesn’t like his killing and Jason is still upset about a lot of things when it comes to Bruce. But he turns a blind eye to their obvious hangouts and doesn’t attempt to corner him or lecture him or ferret out his identity, so that’s about as much of a blessing as Jason will get. 

And when they do work together, it’s usually Nightwing or Robin who notifies him on the comm, coordinating with him. Not that Jason is stupid enough to think that Batman doesn’t know about it or have access to their channels, but he doesn’t pry or interject into any of their conversations, even when they get off topic.

All it means is that when Batman finally does reach out to him directly, he’s thrown off kilter. He's not expecting the easygoing sanctity of their space to be invaded, so it immediately pisses him off and sets him on edge. It reverts him back to how they interacted initially, which was almost a year ago at this point. That might be the weirdest thing of it all. 

“Red Hood.” Batman’s voice suddenly rings in his ear. Jason glances around, looking for him standing nearby, only to realize it’s coming from his comm.

“What are you doing?” Jason asks, bristling internally. 

“We have something serious to discuss,” Batman says calmly, and it only sets him off more. 

“I have absolutely nothing to say to you," Jason growls and then immediately defaults to taunting, something bitter seeping into his tone. "It’s too late to change your mind if you’ve suddenly decided you don’t want your precious birdies hanging around me and—“

“Nightwing and Robin have been taken.” Batman interrupts, and Jason finds himself frozen, mouth half open, ice seeping through his veins. 

“What?” He asks, but it’s quiet, tinged in something like confusion and despair, like the wind has shifted the other way and his sails have fallen flat. 

“I do not entirely know what the perpetrator has planned for them, so I would appreciate your assistance retrieving them to reduce the potential for harm. While we do not necessarily get along, I have concluded the past couple of months that you care for them.” 

“Yeah.”

“I would ask that if we work together, you keep your use of guns to a minimum and do not do anything lethal.” 

“No promises.” 

“Hm.” Batman hums lowly, and Jason has to resist the laugh that tries to bubble out of his throat. It seems like Bruce hasn’t changed all that much either. “How soon can you meet me?” 

“As soon as you give me a place,” Jason says, and he’s moving even before Bruce finishes listing the address. 

Jason lands on the roof to find Batman already there, peering closely at an empty building across the street. Jason doesn’t see any sign of activity, but knows better than to think it’s uninhabited. 

"So, boss man, what’s the plan?” 

Batman glances up at him. “We get in and get Nightwing and Robin out as quickly as possible and with as little damage as possible.” 

Jason tilts his head, unimpressed. “Do we have any information about these people? I thought you were normally more prepared than this.” 

“I’d like to be, but from what I can tell, this isn’t related to any of the cases we are working on." 

“So, what, just a bad place at a bad time?” 

“It seems so.” 

“Alright then.” He gestures loosely towards the building. “Lead the way.”

Batman seems surprised. “You’re willing to follow my plan?” 

“What do you think I’ve been doing all the other times we work together?” He huffs. Now is not the time for the old man to get paranoid. "Look, we have two options, and seeing as you already said nothing lethal, my plan is a no-go. So your plan it is.” 

“I’d ask what your plan was, but I don’t think I'd like it.”

Jason smirks, even though he can’t see through the helmet. “Probably not. Now are we going or what? I hear there are some birds we need to free from a cage.” He huffs, trying to pretend that he’s not twitching from impatience. He’s been on edge ever since he found out they got taken. 

It seems to be all the prompting Batman needs because he leaps towards the other building, cape flaring out behind him without another word. Jason rolls his eyes at the dramatics and follows after him. There’s not much security, and that honesty is more distressing to Jason than fighting past twenty guards would be. The handful of men get knocked unconscious, and they very quickly search through the first level, not finding much. Jason motions to some stairs, and they work their way through the second floor, but they still turn up empty-handed. 

It’s only when they reach a door out to a platform that looks over the rest of the warehouse that they find what they were looking for. He supposes he gave the villain of the week too much credit for assuming they would try to sequester Nightwing and Robin away somewhere deep within the winding halls of small rooms where it would be harder to escape. Instead, they’re out in the open, under the dingy yellow lights of the warehouse floor. Unfortunately, they’re tied to simple metal chairs, which means if they haven’t escaped yet, they’re like not as unharmed as he would like. By the way Batman shifts, he’s come to the same conclusion. 

“Batman,” the man standing behind Nightwing and Robin says as he drops down into the light. “I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come alone. Given how easily I’ve subdued these two, you should be a piece of cake.” He leers. 

Jason steps out into the light next to him, gun in hand. “Good thing he didn’t then.” 

“Oh, Red Hood. Now isn’t that interesting.” The man says. “I was just going to get Batman to reveal his identity, but yours might be more fascinating. How easily Crime Alley could fall into my control if everyone knew who you were.” 

“Looking to expand your territory? I don’t share very well.” Jason says. “Land or secrets.”

“I’m sure I could find ways for you to talk.” The man smiles, but it’s sharp and mean. Jason’s stomach turns, fingers tightening around his gun.

“Why shouldn’t I just shoot you now?” 

“You wouldn’t want to hit one of our valued guests, would you?” The man says, reaching out and lifting Nighting’s head by his hair. He lets out a small grunt but noticeably doesn’t say anything. “Do you know how impossible it is to get him to stop squawking? He thinks he’s so clever, keeping all the attention on himself so I wouldn’t hurt his young partner. But I noticed. Then it was easy enough to get him to shut up. Even when I added some extra fun into the mix, he kept quiet.” He lets go of Nightwing carelessly, and Jason notices a knife sticking out of his thigh and various cuts across his arms. He clenches his teeth together, but the guy just keeps talking. “It’s so easy to get people to do what you want when you notice things. Even little things that no one thinks matter. So I keep a sharp eye out, and now I know lots of things.” He glances over at Jason. “I hate not knowing.” 

“You don’t care about territory," Batman notes. “You deal in information.” 

“And what good information you have.” The man agrees. “How desperate are you to keep it? I’ve already gotten one person to do what I want by threatening Robin,” he says, shifting closer and placing his hands on Robin’s shoulders roughly, pulling him back to place a knife under his chin. “Do you think I can make it two?” 

“Don’t,” Robin says, and the man laughs ugly, drawing a small line on his skin. 

“No one was asking you.” 

Jason glances over at Nightwing, trying to see if he is alright, and while he looks a little pale and must be in pain, he just shakes his head. You don’t have to do this, we can figure something else out, it's fine, he tries to convey the subtle movement. Jason signals back with a small sign indicating he has a plan and hopes B forgives him for going with option two. 

“Put the knife down, and I’ll think about it,” Jason says, and the man glances at him, unimpressed. 

“Your gun first.” He demands. 

"Fine," Jason says, placing it on the ground.

“Now kick it away," he demands again, and Jason does so. The gun skitters across the floor, away from all of them, and after a few moments, the man puts the knife down. He steps away from the chairs as Jason removes his helmet, revealing just him in the domino mask. 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” The man screeches, offended. 

“I’m not done yet.” Jason interrupts before he can do something drastic. “But I can’t take the rest off with my hands full.” He points out, setting the helmet on the ground as well. 

The man seems temporarily placated as Jason peels off the domino, trying to ignore the way all eyes are on him. He lets that fall to the ground too, and for the first time in a long time, he’s out in public without something covering his face. The man scrutinizes him, stepping closer in confusion. 

“Who are you?” 

“Your information gathering must be shit,” Jason says, and the man seethes with anger. “I’m the Red Hood.” He pulls a second gun from his belt and shoots the man, his dead body dropping to the floor with a thud. "And everyone knows that Red Hood carries two guns.” 

The room is silent, tension thick in the air until Nightwing lets out a small, broken noise. Jason is immediately at his side, checking his injuries. He spares a glance over at Robin, who appears to be still in shock, but knows that Batman will attend to him, so he focuses back on Nightwing instead. 

“What’s wrong, Wing?” He asks, trying to determine the cause of his distress. Sure, the wound in his thigh probably hurts like a bitch, but the cuts on his arms don’t look too bad, and he hasn’t seemed to have lost that much blood. He was handling it stoically before, so something must have happened for him to be reacting like this. 

“Little Wing.” Nightwing manages. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re alive.” 

Oh, right.

He had kind of forgotten about that part of his identity, embarrassingly enough. It’s not that he had forgotten that the Bats were his family, but as their relationship grew with him as Red Hood, he had kind of forgotten why he was so prickly about his identity in the first place. Knowing that they cared about him for him and not because they expected him to be anyone else, it was an easy choice to reveal his identity, especially since he was going to kill the guy for it after. 

It was easy because he knew they didn’t care. He didn’t feel pressured to do it and didn’t feel they would get anything out of it, since they'd stopped prying into his identity a while ago. He just didn’t take into account that them knowing he was Jason meant they would know he was Jason. They've made it clear that they love and care about him for who he is now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get out of explaining how he’s not dead. 

“Yeah, Dickie," Jason says softly. “I am.” He confirms, and Dick breaks down into tears.

“You can have Robin back, if you want." Tim offers, and Jason turns to look at him, surprised. The kid has freed himself from his bonds, standing nervously at his side. 

Jason gives him a small grin, peeking over where Dick has buried himself in his chest. “It’s yours, little bird. You’re doing a great job.” 

Tim nods and flushes a little but seems happy with the compliment. 

“You hurt anywhere?” Jason prods. 

Tim shakes his head. “Just this." He reaches up to feel at the small line on his neck, but it’s shallow and already stopped bleeding. We should get—” he starts to say, but cuts himself off, looking at Batman. “Bruce?” Tim questions quietly. 

“Jaylad?” Bruce’s voice comes from behind him, sounding choked with emotion and disbelief. Jason takes a moment to steel himself. 

“Switch with me, would you?” He asks Tim, reluctantly pulling himself away from Dick and letting Tim fill the space instead. Dick is starting to calm down some, and Tim takes to poking at his injuries. 

Jason turns to find Bruce there, cowl off, tears in his eyes. “Hey, Dad.” He says somewhat shyly, feeling a little self-conscious.

“My son,” Bruce says, sweeping him up into his arms, holding him tight for a moment, before pulling back to look at him. “What happened? How are you alive?”

“Lazarus pit.” He replies shortly. There’s no nice way to put it. 

Bruce seems perturbed by that. “Are you okay?”

“As good as I can be, I guess. A little fucked that you trusted me more as Red Hood than you did when I was Robin, though.” He says, unable to let go of one last grudge. 

“Oh, Jason," Bruce says, voice breaking a little. He squeezes Jason’s arms gently from where he’s still holding onto him. “I never meant to make you think that I didn’t care about you or that you couldn’t come to me with things. I’m so sorry I pushed you away.”

Jason does his best not to cry as well. “You made me feel like you didn’t want me. That I made one mistake and I could never be redeemed. Now look at me. I’ve made a bunch.” 

“Nothing you could do would make me love you less,” Bruce promises. 

Jason laughs, but it’s a little wet. “Even killing that guy? I know how much you hate people not following the plan.”

Bruce lets out a small laugh as well and pulls Jason close again.  “You’re not getting rid of me ever again.” 

“Not to interrupt," Tim says hesitantly, "but we really need to get Dick back to the cave.” 

They both turn to look at Dick, who has started to slump, both the wounds and the emotions of the night taking the energy out of him. Jason walks back over to him and sees that Tim has wrapped the wounds as best he can with the limited supplies, but the large wound in his leg would need more than they had in the field. 

“You still with me, Big Bird?” Jason asks, and Dick gives him a small nod. “Are you going to start crying on me again if I give you a hug?” 

“If you think I’m bad, just wait until Alfred finds out.” Dick teases in return, eyes shiny. “But I’m all cried out for now. Too exhausted.” 

“That’s a problem for later,” Jason says. Alfred’s reaction might be the thing that actually gets him to cry as well. He glances over at Tim. “I assume the Batmobile is nearby? He won’t be getting very far without it.”

“ETA 30 seconds out front,” Bruce confirms. He’s slipped the cowl back on and is falling back into mission mode, despite the lingering emotion in the air. They can properly settle once they get back to the cave.

"I'm going to carry you for a bit; is that okay?” He asks, turning back to Dick. “Just out to the car. You shouldn’t be walking.”

“If you think you can manage," Dick teases with a grin.

“Of course I can," Jason huffs. “I’m not 14 anymore. I’m bigger and stronger than you.” 

Dick huffs. “Unfair that my little brother is taller than me.” 

“There’s always Tim for that.” 

“Hey,” Tim yelps from where he’s retrieving Jason’s gun and helmet. “And to think I was starting to like you. Here, take this before you get your arms full.” He hands them over, and Jason tucks the gun away and slips the helmet back on. “What about the guy?” 

“I’ve already alerted the GPD," Bruce informs. 

“That’s our cue then,” Jason says. “Ready, Wing?”

“Sweep me away, Big Bad Red Hood," Dick teases once more.

Jason gently pulls him into a bridal-style carry, careful not to jostle his leg too much. “You’re never gonna be able to take me seriously again, huh?” 

“You lost your intimidation factor a while ago.” Tim cuts in. “I think it was when I saw you slip off a fire escape when chasing after Mr. Freeze.” He muses.

“We agreed to never mention that again.” Jason hisses. 

“For me, it was when I saw him get food for a group of homeless kids and then go back to the store to buy pet food when he learned they had a dog.” Nightwing chimes in happily. 

“I knew teaming up with you guys would be bad for my reputation. You nosy motherfuckers.” Jason says, stepping out into the cool night air, Bruce leading the way towards the Batmobile. “Hey, Dick,” Jason continues when they both get settled in the backseat, taking his helmet back off and letting it fall carelessly to the floorboards. “Thanks for avenging me.” 

Dick pulls him into a tight hug. “Of course, Jason.” 

Dick removes his mask as well now that they’re safely tucked away behind closed doors, and while it’s nice to get to see his brother’s unfiltered face again, he doesn’t appreciate the pain in his eyes. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the physical wounds he’s suffered or the emotional turmoil of the night. That reminds him…

“Now that you know who I am, I get to do this,” Jason says and smacks his brother across the back of his head. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Ow,” Dick whines, “what was that for?” 

“For getting yourself needlessly injured. After all this time, you’re still stupidly self-sacrificial.” 

“It wasn’t needlessly,” Dick defends. “He was threatening Tim. I couldn’t let him get hurt.” 

“I would’ve been fine," Tim protests, and Jason glares at him for a moment before turning back to Dick.

“You getting hurt in his stead isn’t any better.”

“Jason—“ Dick starts to say, but Jason just buries his face against his shoulder. 

“I know.” He says, voice cracking a little as the anger fizzles out. He’s always burned bright and fast. 

“I’m okay, Little Wing," Dick reassures. 

“You can’t say that," Tim scoffs. “You have a knife in your leg.” 

Dick rolls his eyes. “Nothing a little rest can’t fix.” 

“I’m going to teach Tim to put you in time-out for pulling stupid shit like this, like I used to do.”

“Is that what you were doing all those times you would drag me back to your room and lay on top of me after I got hurt?” Dick asks, sounding fond, recalling those foggy memories from years ago. 

“Obviously.” Jason huffs and Dick laughs. “I’m glad I killed that guy.” 

“I thought Jason was bad with his dramatic speeches and mildly threatening monologue, but you should’ve heard this guy," Tim jokes.

“Don’t compare me to him.” 

“Of course. You were worse.” Tim jabs, and Jason wonders if that’s just what having a younger brother was like. He was probably the same way at that age. 

“We’re here," Bruce announces. Jason helps Dick out of the car, carrying him across the cave and settling him on one of the cots. Tim darts off to find more medical supplies and takes off his mask sometime in the process. When he comes back, he’s holding disinfectant, a needle, and some thread. 

Bruce removes his cowl again and disappears for a bit as Tim and Jason get to work cleaning and suturing the wound on Dick’s leg. Jason resists the urge to throw the knife with his brother’s blood on it somewhere very far away from him and instead resigns himself to his role of stress ball as Tim handles the needle. He only really notices Bruce coming back when his shadow falls over him, Jason turning to look at the blood-drawing kit in his hand. He has a feeling it isn’t for Dick.

“I figured when the emotion wore off, you’d start to second-guess everything," Jason says easily. “I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.” 

Bruce looks properly cowed, hovering nearby like an anxious butterfly. “I believe you, Jason, I really do. I just…” He trails off, like he needs the reassurance the test would provide but doesn’t want to offend Jason. 

“It’s alright, old man. It’s a hard story to believe, I know.” Jason places, holding out his arm for the sample. “If you weren’t paranoid, I might start to think you were the imposter instead.”

Bruce lets out a small sigh of relief, and some of the tension eases from his body. Jason turns his gaze back to Tim sewing up Dick’s leg, because somehow that’s easier to watch than Bruce taking a sample of his blood. He nestles a little closer to Dick’s side from where he’s sitting on the cot next to him, and Dick reaches up to gently run a hand through his hair.

“You can’t fake that.” Dick muses, his voice a little tired from the painkiller running through his system. "You always hated needles.”

“Still do," Jason agrees. Bruce ducks away to process the sample when the blood draw is done, and Jason pulls his arm back, cradling it to his chest.

“Missed you, Little Wing," Dick says softly, and Jason kicks his shoes off, shifting to lie fully on the small cot next to him. He moves carefully to not jostle Tim, who is finishing up the sutures and wrapping his leg. 

“Missed you too.” He admits. He glances over at Tim, who has put away the supplies and has started to strip out of his costume. “Get over here, Little Bird," Jason calls. “We’re making sure Dick doesn’t do anything else stupid.” 

Tim walks back over to them, looking at their haphazard pile on the bed warily. “I don’t think I’ll fit.”

“Of course you will. Plenty of room. Dickiebird won’t care if you sprawl across him.”

Dick hums a lazy agreement, finding it harder and harder to stay awake. 

“One wrong move and I’ll undo all the work I just did patching him back up.” 

“Then be careful," Jason huffs. 

“Fine,” Tim relents, "but if this goes bad, I’m blaming you.” He threatens and manages to settle himself on the cot as well, half draped across Jason and half on top of Dick, avoiding his bad leg. 

By the time Bruce comes back with the results confirming it is indeed Jason, the three of them are asleep. He smiles softly at the sight of his three sons home and safe all together at last.