Chapter Text
As it turned out, what Jason did next was to reconvene with all of his brothers at Alfred’s house and insist on cooking for everyone while Alfred – for once – rested.
Gotham without the Joker was… weird.
The first night after, all of the assholes on the street seemed to be particularly hyped up, like maybe it wasn’t real, like maybe if they caused enough mayhem they’d cause him to rise from the grave. The vigilantes of Gotham, it could be argued, were equally hyped over the change, and after two consecutive nights of being greeted by amped up Bats or an adrenaline-charged Red Hood, it all seemed to settle.
Weeks went by. Jason’s nightmares came back full force, because of fucking course they did, and he spent some shaky moments on the phone with Dick, or sitting at Alfred’s kitchen table, or punching the bag he kept out back of the workshop. Tim dropped by to argue bike upgrades, and damn if the kid’s own machine wasn’t gorgeous , and he blithely ignored any tremor in Jason’s hands.
But that, too, passed. Jason evened out, and found himself grateful for the structure that Outlaw Bike Repairs gave to his days. Customers didn’t give a shit if Jason had trauma, they cared if the parts for their bike had arrived on time, if the bill wasn’t a massive mark-up.
Jason couldn’t bring himself to attend another meeting. He met with Natalie, though, after.
“They okay?” he asked, unwrapping his fish taco.
“They will be,” she said, her own burrito disappearing at a terrifying rate. “Sometimes it’s hard to accept good news, but they’ll get there.”
They ate in reverent silence for a while, and then he said, eyes on his hands, “I never thanked you,” he said. “For being my backup. For being prepared to-"
“You don’t need to thank me.” her tone was certain, and very final. “Not for that.”
He swallowed, then nodded, and did not ask her what she might have done if Joker had made it as far as being transported to hospital in her rig. No point asking when you already knew the answer.
And then. The fucking Batman dropped by.
He landed, just behind Jason and to the right. Quiet, shockingly quiet as always, and then he waited. Jason didn’t move. Just took another long drag of his cigarette, blew out the smoke and thought, idly, that Natalie was going to kill him if she saw him. Considering she’d handled the big Hood reveal like ice-water ran in her veins, he’d been pretty shocked at how quickly she fired up about the smoking. Between her and Alfred, Jason’s smoking days were probably down to single digits.
Still, this one was one to savour. He wasn’t above admitting it felt cool and badass to ignore the Batman looming behind him, and blow out a plume of smoke into the night sky.
There was the tiniest sound, telling him Bruce was shifting his weight, uncertain, and Jason felt his mouth pull down at the corners. He sighed, took one more drag and then leaned forward to stub out the butt on the side of the air conditioning tower. On his final exhale, he collected his hood and turned away, headed for the far edge of the roof.
“Hood,” Batman said, almost involuntary. “Wait.”
Jason shook his head and jammed on the helmet. “Wait for what?” He retorted. “The next ice age?”
“Please. Can I – I wanted to talk.”
Jason stepped up to the edge of the roof and half turned to look back over his shoulder.
“Did you,” he said. “Now. Now you want to talk.”
He saw Bruce’s mouth flatten into an unhappy line.
“I…” he began, then trailed off.
“Did you seriously think I’d be happy to hear from you now?” Hood said, incredulous. “Now that you wait until that fucker is dead before you reach out to me.”
There’s a short, horrible silence. Then Jason said, “You are months too late, old man. Not only do I not need anything from you, my life is going just fine. But more importantly? I don’t want anything from you. Not ever again. Congratulations, you cured me. I’m free. So don’t trouble your little head about it. Focus on salvaging the other relationships that might still be available to you, maybe. But you can cross mine off the list.”
He shot his grapple without any hesitation, and swung off into the Gotham skyline, feeling strangely light, but also strangely hollow.
On another rooftop, deeper into Crime Alley territory, he loped to a halt and stared out across the skyline. He must have stayed there, frozen, for long enough to worry the others, because his comm crackled to life and Oracle’s distorted voice broke the silence. “Hood, status report.”
“I’m okay,” he said automatically. The silence that followed was somehow disbelieving. “I’m okay, O. I just...” He took a deep breath, and opened his comm channel to bring in the others. “I’m feeling brave.” And somehow the act of saying it made it true. Jason felt his shoulders draw down and back, his head lift.
“O-kay?” Red Robin said.
“I’m doing it, brats. Seize the friggin’ moment and all that. I... am going to give Agent A the feedback we’ve all been too chickenshit to say.”
“You- what?” Huh. Babs had obviously looped in Nightwing from all the way over in Bludhaven. Jason hadn’t known Dick’s voice could go that high anymore.
“Yup,” Jason said, grinning broadly under his helmet. “I’m dropping truth bombs, and I've got enough for everyone. Tonight’s the night. Here I go - Red Robin, you keep dropping your left shoulder when we spar.”
“As I have been saying for years-" Robin sniffed disdainfully over Tim’s offended scoff.
“Robin,” Jason broke in over the top, “your refusal to vary your extremely distinctive speech patterns is going to blow your secret identity wide open.”
“Ha!” Red Robin crowed when Damian growled.
“Nightwing, you need to start accepting that your body will age, and your freaky acrobatic shit can’t be sustained at this level forever. Get ahead of it and adjust your fucking fighting style .”
“Wow,” Oracle said. “I can’t wait for my turn.”
Jason was not, in fact, an idiot. “O, you are a flawless diamond. Never change.”
“Suck up,” Dick muttered, sulky.
“And in the morning, I am going around to A’s place, and I am going to tell him that his waffles are crap,” Jason declared, feeling bulletproof.
“I beg your pardon,” Alfred said, 1000% English offence coming clearly down the line.
There was a frozen moment of silence on comms. It stretched for approximately forever, and Hood swore that a cold breeze somehow penetrated both the coverage of his helmet and his jacket to blow on the back of his neck.
“ 911, I would like to report a murder, ” Tim whispered, and Jason didn’t need the visuals to know that was some fucking meme. Damian made his weird tch noise even as Dick choked back a laugh. His fucking brothers, ladies and gentlemen. He’d been better off all those months ago, abandoned under the rubble.
“Gotta go,” Jason said desperately. “I see crime. It's right there in front of me.”
“And I will see you when you are done with... crime ,” Alfred returned.
Jason swallowed. He was a dead man.
Heh.
Again.
Well, at least this time he was a dead man walking . He grappled off into the night, resigned to a dignified British arse-kicking, followed by narrow-eyed observation of Jason’s undeniably superior waffle skills. “I’m making breakfast, bitches,” he said. “See you all at Grampa’s place.”