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It wasn't that Jason planned on getting kidnapped while his gear wasn't work properly, and two fingers of his dominant hand were most definitely broken, but hey, he hadn't planned on dying either.
The warehouse he ended up in was a bit of a cliche – a rundown place near the harbour, abandoned and definitely not up to code. Broken glass was scattered on the ground, leftover from when Jason burst from the ceiling right into the wanna be human traffickers. He had expected the goons, but was met with an underage Meta instead. The slip second of hesitation was enough time for the teen to grab him by the lapels of his leather jacket and thrust Jason into the wall, the impact breaking his fingers and his helmet in one smooth motion. It was rotten luck Jason’s hand got stuck between him and the bricks, but the result knocked him unconscious for a few minutes.
When he came to, he was tied to the chair by his wrists and ankles, with knots rivalrying his own.
He was left alone in the warehouse, but it didn't help him much, not when he couldn't move his fingers without passing out. One would think that by now, he should be used to the pain, but it always managed to take him by surprise.
“Damn,” he croaked, his throat too dry to make speaking comfortable. “If this is the end of Red Hood, this is gonna be really embarrassing.”
His helmet wasn't working properly to alert him of someone approaching the entrance, but the goons’ footsteps were loud enough to easily reach Jason's ears. Amongst them, Jason saw the Meta who shattered his bones.
“So, you're the Red Hood?” they asked, a piece of gum sticking out from their mouth as they spoke. “Disappointing.”
“That's not what your fath–” he began to say, but was abruptly stopped by a boot thrust right at his stomach. “Fuck–!”
“No one coming to your aid, Hood? Rumour has it you're all chummy with the bats, is that a lie, I wonder?” A bright pink bubble formed as they finished speaking, popping loud soon after. “Depressing, really. To think you're held in such high regard, but you're really just one sad man.”
The ground shook slightly, or maybe it was Jason's own vision that made it seem like it was.
“Hey, boss…” said one of the goons – a red haired woman with a slight lisp – and came to stand near the teenager. She held out a tablet for the Meta, and pointed at something on the screen. “Boss, we better run.”
“What?”
Just then, the ground shook some more, and a second later the wall crumbled, sending debris everywhere. A piece of rubble hit him in the temple, making him pass out briefly.
After he blinked away the stars, the Meta was unconscious on the ground, and in the centre of the warehouse Jason saw Superman holding Batman in the bridal carry. They seemed comfortable in the position, and Jason would go as far as to say there was a sliver of reluctance when it came to finally separating. Gotham's vigilante was placed gently on the ground as Superman surveyed the space. Jason expected them to step away, but they remained in close proximity. It was odd, and impractical, and yet the two seasoned heroes seemingly subconsciously drifted towards each other, like two magnets.
“Clear,” Superman said, turning fully towards Batman. “You good?”
Batman grunted affirmatively.
The pair was still close, and Jason couldn't miss the way Superman's fingers were still wrapped tightly around Batman's waist – the connection Batman not only didn't break immediately after being placed on the ground, but encouraged, his one gloved hand touching Superman's shoulder.
Jason blinked hard, then again, but the connection between two men remained.
“Crap.” He sniffed. “I think I'm concussed.”
“Hood.” Batman broke from the embrace to kneel by Jason's side. “Sit-rep.”
As Batman broke him free, Jason rattled off the list of injuries – keeping one eye on Superman, who hovered over Batman's shoulder like a concerned parent.
This was the first time Jason had seen the two of them together since coming back to Gotham. Something about their dynamic felt charged, but Jason didn't have the brain power to dissect it for now.
He was too preoccupied with not passing out, so he couldn't be blamed, really, that the matters of his father's romantic life drifted to the back of his mind.
It wasn't until a week later while talking to Dick, that the memory resurfaced, prompting him to ask his brother, “How long has Bruce's fling with Clark been going on?”
Dick choked on the coke he was sipping on, spilling the drink on Jason's sofa.
In the background, some sort of sitcom played, but neither of them paid it any mind. They were sprawled on the couch together, with Jason laying on top of Dick, but he pushed himself up when his brother started to cosplay as a coke fountain.
“Hey! Watch out, it's new!” Annoyed, he jogged to the kitchen to grab a towel to dab at the droplets of coke, cursing himself for choosing crimson red leather instead of a more sensible black. “Dick.”
“I'll pay for the cleaners,” Dick said after he stopped choking on the drink. “Um. What thing with Clark?”
Jason scoffed, but swallowed a barbed reply when faced with Dick’s clear confusion. “What thing– I know I hit my head, but I wasn't that out of it. They stared into each other’s eyes right after knocking out some of the goons that kidnapped me.”
“You were kidnapped?!” Dick sat up straight on his side of the sofa, knocking one of the fluffy pillows to the floor. “Why haven't I heard about that?”
“That's not important right now.” Suppressing the green fog of irritation, Jason explained what he saw. When he was finished, Dick stared at him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“I don't think I've seen them do anything like that before. Are you sure you don't have a concussion? Because you shouldn't be watching TV if you do.” He reached for the remote, but Jason swatted at his hand. “Jason!”
“Let it play, it's getting interesting.”
“You're not even watching it,” Dick complained, but left the TV on. They settled back into the cuddle.
Jason bit his lip. “I was pretty out of it…”
“See? I used to see you when I was out of it, I know what I'm talking about.” Dick's fingers tapped on Jason's arm, distracted. “Now, tell me about this kidnapping.”
“Oh my–”
It so happened that a few days later Dick participated in a Watchtower meeting together with Batman and Superman. Jason wasn't interested in coming – or invited, for that matter – but after Dick was back in Gotham, he texted Jason two words, ‘Family meeting’.
“I don't think they are together,” argued Tim when they got together the same night, back in Jason's apartment. There were not enough seats for everyone, so Steph and Duke settled on the ground while Jason was delegated to the kitchen, providing snacks for everyone. Cass was perched on the windowsill, glancing at the evening sky. Tim had a laptop balanced haphazardly on his knees. “I haven't seen them together outside of missions.”
Damian clicked his tongue, “Father wouldn't fornicate with the likes of Clark Kent.” He tilted his head, considering something. “Although the man is a good warrior.”
“Why do you care if they're together or not?” asked Duke, reaching for a cookie from a fresh batch Jason brought. “It’s not like he can't have his secrets.”
Brushing his hands on the apron, Jason replied, “It's payback for all the times he messed with my life. Besides, if it's true we need to have a contingency plan if things go tits up.”
Steph straightened her legs with a groan. “Don't you think he'd at least tell us if they really were dating? Invite Clark to meet the family?”
“They don't have to be dating,” pointed out Dick from his place in the corner of the sofa. The leather still had a few stains from the Coke Incident, so he was temporarily banned from drinking sodas. Jason settled right next to him, letting Dick wrap an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. It wasn't the best cuddle position, but Jason was used to being uncomfortable.
Stephanie cringed, “Bleh! Don't make me think of them together like that!”
Tim rolled his eyes, still fixated on the screen, “It's a completely ordinary part of life, Steph. When two people like each other very much–”
“Oh. My. God.” She threw a pillow at his head, which he easily dodged. “Stop. Talking.”
“I'm just saying–”
Jason cleared his throat. “So what are we going to do about this… thing?”
Tim raised an eyebrow at him, “Nothing?”
“Who thinks they're dating?” Steph asked, exasperated. “Raise your hand.” Jason, Dick and Duke raised their hands. “And, ugh, who thinks they're– fuck buddies?” At this, Tim, Stephanie and Damian raised theirs. “Cass? What do you think?”
Cassandra turned her head from the window, her black hair framing her face like a hood. ‘Pining,’ she signed, as if it was the most obvious answer.
The room fell silent.
“Well, then,” Jason said after a beat, a wicked grin fighting its way onto his face, stretching the jagged scar on his face. “I think we have to come up with a plan to get them together, then.”
The first one to volunteer was Damian, who – in his words – ‘wanted to put this stupid idea behind himself’. Still, he dutifully came up with a plan, and set out to execute it with Jason's help.
They carefully chose a moment to strike, a slow early morning on the weekend Alfred had a day off.
With Bruce already there, drinking his second coffee of the day, the scene was set beautifully.
As they descended down the stairs, they made sure their voices were audible, but not loud enough to be considered suspicious.
“I can pose for you, Dami,” Jason said, keeping his voice level.
“You can't.” Damian sounded somewhat stilled, unused to lying. “I need to– Draw two adults. Together.”
As they entered the kitchen, Jason made sure to look slightly offended, “I am an adult!” He crossed his arms and tried to appear like he was sulking.
Damian leveled him with a withering stare. It brought back memories from their time at the League, and warmed Jason's heart with nostalgia.
“What is it, boys?”
Bruce glanced at them from over his coffee, dressed in casual clothes, yesterday's newspaper open on the countertop before him. He looked relaxed, and Jason was almost sorry for what they had planned.
“I require two adults to sit for a set of portraits I need to do for my art class. That is. On Monday. You'll do fine, but since Pennyworth is unavailable, I would require another subject to join us.”
Bruce blinked at him. “I- see. And this cannot wait?”
“You cannot make good art under pressure, Father.”
“And Jason can't sit with me?” Bruce seamlessly went from his casual to his analytical, problem solving self.
“Teacher said I have too many portraits of him, the imbecile. Besides, he's much too young. The task called for middle-aged subjects.”
Bruce's face twisted as if he bit on a lemon. “Is that so?”
“And do you have someone in mind, perhaps?”
“No one comes to mind.”
Now was the time for Jason to step in one final time “You could call Clark?” he suggested with a scoff, “Since I am not good enough for you, surely Superman will do?”
Damian made a show of pondering that idea, while Bruce started to look slightly constipated.
“Acceptable. I'm certain Kent will be willing to spend a few hours at your side, Father. I already have a few ideas in mind for the poses we could try. Have you heard of The Honeysuckle Bower by Peter Paul Rubens?
After that, Jason made himself scarce, so the uncontrollable cackle that rose in his chest wouldn't betray his true feelings.
When forcing the men to spend an afternoon pressed close together didn't work, Stephanie came up with a different plan. She worked together with Tim to hack into Daily Planet’s and Bruce Wayne's calendars to schedule Clark an interview with Gotham's most eligible bachelor. Of course the meeting could only take place in the Wayne Tower, in the middle of the day, so everyone and their mother would see Bruce Wayne get into a busy elevator to see a flustered Clark Kent off.
Then, with one punch of the button on Tim’s keyboard, the elevator would halt right in the middle of the Tower.
It was foolproof.
Gotham being Gotham, of course things had to go sideways.
Jason, who waited in the lobby in case of an emergency, was the first to spot the group covering their faces with black balaclavas. He cursed and used the moment of panic of everyone noticing the thugs to pull on his helmet, the tech immediately switching on.
“What’s up?” Duke’s voice in his ear bordered on excitement. “How is– the you-know-what going?”
“Change of plans, kid.” The gun on his thigh weighed on him as Jason made his way towards the centre of the room just as the goon approached the Gothamite secretary – she was folded on the ground, her hands over her head, but no trace of fear. “We have company at the Tower.”
“Incoming.” Any trace of humour was gone, replaced by cold professionalism. “ETA 4 minutes.”
“Getting rusty?” he asked, hopping onto the front desk. “Don’t take a step further.”
“It’s Red Hood!”
The man who spoke first, got a taste of Jason’s boot. The rest didn’t wait for him to get back up, reading their guns.
The fight took maybe 10 minutes, with Duke showing up halfway through. Once they were done, and the door to the elevator opened to reveal a bunch of civilians sitting on the ground, eyes shining as they listened to Bruce Wayne tell a story – or a joke, Jason wasn’t sure – they knew their plan failed, again. Not only did the forced proximity not work, Clark wasn’t even in the damned elevator.
His father looked perfectly calm, although his hair was slightly tousled, as if he moved a hand through it, as he was prone to do when nervous.
“What happened to your guest, Mr Wayne?” Jason growled, thanking his helmet for keeping his voice level and not betraying his annoyance. “The reporter? Oh, he got out after one floor. Too many people, he said. Well, his loss! He missed the story of my first gala. Do you want to hear it as well, Mr Hood?”
Jason grit his teeth. “Not particularly, no.”
He’ll have to talk to Tim about his security feed not working correctly.
Since the stick didn’t work, they decided to go with the carrot; as luck had it, Cass had an upcoming recital planned, and since Bruce missed a few of her previous ones, they knew he wouldn’t say ‘no’.
And if she extended the invitation to Clark, strongly suggesting she’d appreciate his presence, and then secured two seats right next to each other– well, what of it? It wasn’t like Bruce could refuse, and Clark was too polite to go back on his word.
Jason expected things to go smoothly. He himself was posing as an employee, securing the exit to the auditorium like a seasoned bouncer (not like anyone would want to start a fight during a ballet recital, but it paid to be well-prepared), scouring the room for any sign of a disruption.
Clark arrived early, a beautiful rose in his hand. He went past Jason, gracing him with a smile as he moved towards his assigned seat, and Jason found himself smiling back. Bruce, on the other hand, was fashionably late, forcing half of the row to stand up to let him through. He had with himself the biggest bouquet of wildflowers Jason has ever seen, and when he set it on his knees once seated, the flower arrangement peeked out like a curious animal.
Watching the two men greet each other was mesmerising, as it was the first time in a long while Jasone saw Bruce’s eyes go wide – although to anyone who didn’t know the man as well as he did, the change would be imperceivable – before he smoothed his expression into something neutral.
They exchanged a few words before the recital started, too quiet for Jason to hear.
“We should have bugged the place,” he muttered into his comm as the lights dimmed.
“Wouldn’t that be invading their privacy?” Stephanie argued, accompanied by a loud crunch.
“Are you eating something?” Duke hissed back. Jason could just about see the top of his head from where he was seated at the back of the audience.
“I think we’re well past invading their privacy, at this point.” With a sigh, Jason looked for a seat of his own. The room was packed with people. “Good luck, Cass.”
“Break a leg!”
Cass, silent until now, muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” and went radio silent the second the music started.
Watching her was a pleasure, and it wasn’t until the curtain dropped again that Jason remembered he was supposed to be watching Bruce and Clark.
A curse formed on his lips as he searched for the familiar broad shoulders in the crowd, in vain. Cass was gone, too.
“I lost them. Cass, are they with you?”
He tried to push himself through the audience, receiving sour looks in response.
“Kids these days, I swear,” one of the people spat, which Jason pointedly ignored.
“I see Father,” reported Damian quietly, “no sign of Kent.”
“Damn.”
Free of the crowd at last, Jason finally reached the seats they chose for Bruce and Clark. The room was emptying, with no sign of their targets.
“Cass?”
“Saw Bruce.”
Jason sat down with a deep sigh. On a seat next to him – Bruce’s seat – there was a lone red petal.
It wasn’t until Dick and Duke came up with a nuclear option that Jason started to consider the ethics of what they were doing.
He was in his flat, with Duke tinkering with handcuffs and Dick rattling off about a plan to get his hands on some kryptonite, gesticulating wildly. It was still early afternoon, as signified by the yelling and honking coming from the outside.
“–we could sneak into the Watchtower, get a tiny piece of it, then sneak back, and no one would be none the wiser.”
Tim was sitting on the sofa, Jason’s feet in his lap. There was a cup of freshly brewed coffee on a table next to him, even though Jason was pretty sure he had no caffeine in his home. He and Dick were trying to get Tim to limit his coffee intake, so far with no real success.
“Are we going too far?” he asked out loud, stretching, and was surprised to see he had everyone’s attention. “With the Bruce stuff, I mean.”
Duke put away his tools. “In what sense?”
“Come on, you’re talking about breaking into the Watchtower and stealing kryptonite!”
“It’s not breaking in, Jason, if your father funded the thing.” Despite his words, Dick sounded less than convinced. “And we’re not stealing, we’re– borrowing… indefinitely.”
Jason opened his mouth to argue, but then Tim’s phone vibrated with an alert, and he dug into the pocket of his jeans to get it.
“Hey!” Tim ignored Jason, his eyes glued to the screen.
“It’s an alert from the Manor.” There was a pause. “We have an intruder.”
“What?!” Dick leapt to his feet. “Why are you so calm, then?”
They could be at the Manor in less than 15 minutes, or even faster if they disregarded several speed limits (which Jason was more than happy to do, if it weren’t for Dick).
“It’s–” Tim cut himself off, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“Spit it out!” Duke was already halfway in his suit.
“It’s Clark. And… Bruce? Oh. Ooooh.”
Jason looked over Tim’s shoulder to peer at the screen, greeted with the grainy footage of Bruce Wayne, in his casual clothes, embracing an equally disheveled Clark Kent. They were standing in the garden, with a singular red rose on the grass at their feet. Clark held him close by his shirt, although the grip softened with each beat.
“Do you remember if Clark gave Cass that rose at the end of her recital?” Jason asked, but it sounded far away.
“She didn’t mention anything.” Duke cleared his throat, letting the rest of his suit crumple to the ground. “I guess the plan is cancelled, huh?”
Jason tore his eyes away from the screen. “I think I need to bleach my eyes after that.”
In the meantime, he had a few calls to make and a lot of people to notify. Soon, half of Gotham's hero scene would know of the new power couple, but for now Jason turned to his fellow vigilantes.
“I guess the mission was a success after all.”