Work Text:
When Jason wakes up cold and alone after stitching up the wound left by the batarang, he's surprised to find himself not only alive, but still on the cold tile floor of the shitty bathroom in his rundown safe house, rather than on the cold concrete floor of an Arkham cell. Apparently, Batman hadn't shown up to drag him away while he was unconscious. Which means he's either biding his time, or he doesn't care what had become of Jason Peter Todd. If he's being honest with himself, Jason doesn't know which option he prefers more.
Despite the heavy numbness that still lingers, he pushes himself to his feet and makes his way over to the tiny kitchenette, where he has a stash of protein bars and bottled water. He figures he might as well continue to keep himself alive since he made it through the night. He had already put in the effort of stitching up the wound. No point in wasting it.
For the rest of the day, he oscillates between the bathroom and the living room. The stitches, though a bit sloppy from his shaking fingers, are still in place, and there isn’t any blood seeping from the wound. With the added healing boost from the Pit, it looks better than it reasonably should, considering how recent it is, and how little care he took in sewing it shut. He hadn’t bandaged it at all the night before, so he makes sure to do that before moving to check the security on the window and front door. Jason fully expects Batman or the police to show up at some point. Surprisingly, there's still no sign of anyone even as the afternoon sunlight shifts into the darkness of late night.
Sleep doesn't come easy to him that night. He can't shake the cold that comes from losing so much blood, and every sound has him shooting off the shitty couch, convinced Batman finally decided to show up. During what little sleep he does manage to get, his dreams are filled with manic laughter and the sound of crowbar meeting flesh. By the time he finally decides to give up on sleep, the edge of the horizon is a few shades lighter and he feels awful.
Jason continues to keep watch throughout the day, just like he had yesterday. And just like yesterday, there's no sign of Batman or law enforcement. He doesn't like it, this waiting. Waiting to see the man who wouldn't choose him. Waiting to be taken to Arkham.
A whole week passes in much the same fashion, and he finally decides Batman isn't coming. Because of course he isn't. He didn't come to save him when he was Robin. He didn't kill the Joker to avenge him. He didn't kill the Joker when Jason practically begged him to. There's no reason for Batman to suddenly start caring about him now. Jason has to accept that.
He tries not to think of the implication that he's not even enough of a threat to be pursued. Despite the brutality of their interactions since Jason's return to Gotham, Batman still hadn't come looking for him. Batman had slit his throat and just left him there, as though he was nothing. Left to bleed out in the rubble of an abandoned building and suddenly Jason doesn't even matter.
He makes the decision to leave this safe house for a better one. A bigger, cleaner one with actual food and his spare helmet. And his books. He had gone longer without any form of entertainment before, but sue him, he misses Mary Shelley’s writing. He wasn't even meant to be in this safe house for this long. He never planned on becoming intimately familiar with the water stains on the ceiling.
The safe house he aims for is all the way on the other side of Crime Alley. It's not his only safe house, but it's definitely the most comfortable one. He changes into civilian clothes before heading out; it would be safer at this point to blend in amongst the crowd, than to stand out with his body armor and obvious weapon holsters. It's also probably better for the wound on his neck if he doesn't grapple around and do parkour off of rooftops. He's fairly certain he'll be able to remove the stitches no problem once he reaches his destination, but the scar tissue is new and still fragile. Not to mention the fact that it's midday and Red Hood being seen running around in broad daylight(well, what passes for daylight in Gotham) would definitely attract unwanted attention.
Luckily, no one even spares a glance his way as he walks through the streets of Gotham, and he makes it to his safe house without any issues. It's a relief to have access to a fully stocked kitchen and an actual mattress. He's sore from spending a week sleeping on an old, sagging couch. It will be nice to sleep on a surface that doesn't smell like a horrifying mix of dried blood and vomit.
Once he's in the kitchen, Jason pulls out a pot, filling it with water and setting it on the stove to boil. After eating nothing but protein bars for a whole week, he's looking forward to real food. Even if that real food is farfalle pasta from a box. Unfortunately, he doesn't have any spaghetti, and he doesn't have it in him to make anything too complicated, so he'll have to settle for bow ties with regular tomato sauce. While the water boils, he sets up a saucepan on the backburner to heat up the pasta sauce.
Cooking is a really nice, simple way to take his mind off of unpleasant things. It's rather hard to spiral when one is focused on not letting their pasta noodles boil for too long, at risk of them congealing on the bottom of the pot. Jason doesn't think about Batman, or Joker, or bleeding out in a dingy bathroom as he pours the pasta into the colander. He doesn't think about any of it as he grabs a plate from the cupboard and serves himself farfalle and tomato sauce. He wishes he had parmesan, but he makes it a point not to keep any perishables in his safe houses, since he moves between them so frequently. Maybe he should start. This one is close enough to where he normally patrols to make it convenient, while being far enough away that he would have little difficulty in shaking any pursuers while traveling back. Pursuers like Batman. No— he doesn't want to think about Batman.
Jason glares at the pasta. The pasta, predictably, does not react. At least it tastes okay.
In an effort to avoid thinking about Batman, Jason instead tries to think about his next steps regarding his presence in Gotham. Obviously, his plan to convince Batman to avenge him didn't work out. He's spent the last week paranoid and waiting with nothing to show for it. Still—that doesn't mean the big bat won't be on Jason's tail eventually.
He could leave Gotham, Jason realizes. Go far away from this damn city. Beyond the reaches of Batman and his ilk. He could set up shop in a different city, one where he won't have to face his father former mentor while he takes down criminals in his own way. With the resources he still has from Talia, it would be ridiculously easy to establish his base of operations pretty much anywhere not already populated by self-righteous do-gooders like Batman, or Superman, or Flash.
For a moment, he entertains the idea.
But no. He can't do it. Even while he had been focused on planning the confrontation, he had truly been trying to help the people in Crime Alley. He had been discussing the possibility of setting up shelters for the homeless folks in the Alley with his lieutenants. His subordinates were decent people, but without his resources or dedication, most of them likely wouldn't enact such plans on their own. Many of them had previously been employed by the likes of Black Mask, Two-Face, or other crime bosses that didn't give two shits about the people just trying to get by. Jason really had been trying to do good as Red Hood, and he had been born and raised in Gotham. Batman may think this is his city, but he wasn't the one who had to steal scraps just to survive. Batman never experienced the worst parts of the city firsthand. He had no right to lay claim over it all as if he knew better than the people actually living in it.
Jason sighs, pushing away from the table and standing up. He carries his plate over to the sink and begins washing the dishes. If he's going to continue this crime lord thing here in Gotham, he'll have to get back in contact with his lieutenants. After disappearing for a week, he'll probably have to re-establish himself as an active threat to criminals. Hopefully they didn't get too confident in his absence.
Mind made up, he finds the spare burner phone he had in one of the kitchen drawers and dials a number he has memorized. It picks up on the third ring.
"Hello?" a voice with a thick Crime Alley accent answers, sounding suspicious.
"Ramirez," he growls, "be at the warehouse near the docks by 9 PM. Spread the word to the other lieutenants."
There's a pause on the other end, before she responds. "Who is this?"
Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, holding back a sigh. "It's Red Hood."
Another pause, this one a little longer. "Boss? You're alive?"
He frowns, brows furrowing. "Obviously."
"Oh thank God," she says, actually sounding relieved. It doesn't make him feel warm. Not at all. "We were worried about you, ya know? Disappearing for a whole week after that fiasco with Joker and the Bat."
"How did you know about that?" He hadn't told any of his subordinates of his plans. Whenever they asked questions about what he was doing, he had just brushed them off.
"How did we— It was all over the news! And then the news stations were saying the Joker was back in Arkham, but there was nothin' about you."
Jason's mouth suddenly feels dry. "The Joker's back in Arkham?"
"Yeah, apparently Batman brought him in."
His world seems to narrow to a small point at those words. Ramirez says something else, but Jason isn't listening anymore. He cuts her off. "Warehouse by the docks. 9 PM." And without giving her a chance to respond, he hangs up. It takes everything in him to set the phone down on the counter instead of throwing it.
The Joker is in Arkham. That means he survived. The Joker is still alive. Jason already knew that his efforts to get Batman to avenge him were wasted, but to have confirmation that Batman had left him to die and saved the Joker…
He grips the edge of the counter, his breaths coming out harsh. It was all for nothing. All that effort he had put into his scheme, fruitless. Of course Joker survived. Jason had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that the explosion had been enough, since Batman had chosen to stop him from shooting the bastard. It would have been one last 'fuck you' to the old man—failing to save either of them. But no. The Joker was alive and in Arkham and it was all for nothing. Batman had decided the Joker's life was worth more than Jason's and he had succeeded in his efforts to keep the clown alive.
And Jason had failed. Failed to avenge himself. Failed to convince his father to avenge him. Just one more failure to add to his ever growing list. There was a reason, after all, that he was Batman's greatest failure, and it wasn't because he was a son worth saving.
One of his hands leaves the counter, and he runs his fingers along the stitches still lining the scar along his throat. Jasoncan feel the phantom pain of the batarang slicing through the delicate skin. He can feel the sensation of warm, slick blood soaking through his gloves and dripping down to pool on the ground beneath him. Can feel his lungs aching as he struggles to draw in a breath.
That last one is real, he realizes. He can't breathe. He can't—he needs—
He needs to get his shit together. He has a meeting with his lieutenants in a matter of hours and he can't be like this when he shows up. Red Hood has a reputation to maintain, after all. If he shows up to a meeting acting like a scared, weak kid, they'll never respect him.
Jason sucks in a deep breath, even as his lungs protest. Then another. And another, until breathing feels normal again and he's back in the kitchen of his safe house, rather than amidst the rubble of an abandoned building. He lets go of the counter, leaning back against it as he runs a hand down his face.
So Batman saved the Joker. That's fine. Jason doesn't need to care about that. Batman no longer sees him as a son. Also fine; Jason no longer considers him a father anyway, so he doesn't need to care about the old man either. It's useless trying to fight for his attention and approval. The mission will always come first to Batman. Jason is no longer a naive child, convinced he's worth caring about; now, he's a formidable crime lord, with a large enough arsenal of weapons and fighting techniques at hand to handle any threat that comes his way. He doesn't need Batman anymore.
He has enough resources to put into controlling the Alley and ending the corruption of other crime bosses. Red Hood doesn't need a giant cave and a stupid cape to get shit done. He's been far more effective than Batman at stopping crime since his return to Gotham, and he'll be more effective still as he continues his work. He's got people like Avery Ramirez working for him that are just as invested in the wellbeing of the people living in Crime Alley as he is. Crime Alley doesn't need Batman and his allies when it's got Red Hood as its protector.
His subordinates already know he's at odds with the Bat; it won't be any difficulty to convince them to drive away any of the other local vigilantes, should they come sniffing around Red Hood's territory. And if keeping them out of Crime Alley requires the use of force, so be it.
For now though, Jason has a meeting to prepare for.