Chapter Text
He ran as fast as his tense legs allowed him, cutting through the same alleyways he had lived in as a child for a while, ignoring the piled-up trash, the stench of urine, and other substances he preferred not to identify. He felt the communicator in his left ear beep—an incoming call. He growled in annoyance before jumping the fence that separated that rundown alley from the main street, hearing a mix of noises that made his temple throb in frustration: the honking of cars, the shouting and cursing of drivers, the curious chatter of passersby, the yelling of the thugs chasing him, and the most recent addition—the damn call on his communicator. It was probably that idiot Nightwing, which only made the throbbing in his forehead worse. Stupid bastard.
“What the hell do you want?” he answered irritably, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was still being followed by the men of the now-dead White Fox—a pimp and sex trafficker who had recently started to lay down roots in Gotham City (because apparently, this is the most popular city among sex traffickers), with his unbelievably large network of prostitutes, most of whom weren’t even old enough to legally drink. He sold them like mere objects to be used at will—girls and boys stripped of all dignity. It was the perfect job for Red Hood.
“Nothing, I just heard about a little accident that happened in your territory—and by little, I mean the most recent of White Fox’s brothels exploding into pieces with, oh my God, what a tragedy! the White Fox himself inside, along with his second-in-command and many of his generals and buyers. So, being the good brother I am, I wanted to make sure you, dear Red Hood, were okay, since, after all, this did happen in your zone.”
The tone he used made it very clear how pissed off the hero was—sarcasm and drama always sounded weird coming from Dick, especially when he was actually mad.
Jason rolled his eyes in annoyance, dodging a couple of bullets as he quickly and smoothly climbed up the fire escape of one of the buildings. If the goons were gonna start shooting, better to lead them away from the civilians still wandering around Gotham’s dark, grimy night.
“I’m fine. The explosion and a few dead guys probably got you and B foaming at the mouth like rabid dogs, but it was either that or let that white bastard keep trafficking and pimping out little girls. But like you so kindly pointed out, big bro, this is MY territory, MY zone—and in it, I do whatever the hell I want. And that includes cleaning up the trash.” he growled defensively, pulling out one of his pistols and suddenly turning around, catching his pursuers off guard. He shot both in the legs, making them scream and drop like sacks of bricks onto the rooftop.
“And B and I told you you could do whatever the hell you wanted—as long as you didn’t kill anyone. You know that, Hood. Or what, you wanna go back to Arkham?”
And that—that was Jason’s cue to growl again, this time with pure rage, at the idiot he once (still does, honestly) considered a brother.
“I’m not going back to that shithole,” he growled. “I don’t give a damn what you or B think—and I care even less about your no-kill rule. Scum is still scum. Jail or not. Don’t call me again. I’ll go to the Cave when I’m done with this.”
Before the other could say a single word, Jason cut the call and shut off his comm, stepping toward the groaning thugs who, just moments ago, were chasing him like rabid dogs.
“So… you’re part of the trash White Fox hired, huh? Were, actually. Since your boss is now a pile of burned meat and can’t punish you for leaking info. Now tell me, gentlemen, where are you keeping the girls? Answer truthfully, and I might let you walk away with just busted legs. You know how expensive bullets are these days.”
The two men on the ground stared up at him, both drenched in sweat, whimpering, clutching at the gunshot wounds in their legs in some desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.
“Don’t worry, boys,” Jason said coldly. “I didn’t hit an artery. I need you awake.” he aimed the gun at one of them. “So. Are you gonna talk? Or do I have to waste more precious ammo on you?”
One of the men spat near Jason’s boots. The other let out a pained groan before turning his bruised, ugly face up toward him.
“I-I don’t… I’m not sure,” he stammered. “But I think I heard something about an old clothing factory near the south docks… They were planning to move the girls today—I don’t know what time, I swear.”
His trembling voice sounded like the truth. Still, Jason turned the barrel of his gun toward the other thug’s sweat-slicked forehead.
“Is your buddy telling the truth?” his tone dropped to a low, threatening growl. “Lie to me—and that bullet in your leg will be the kindest thing that happens to you tonight.” he was so close to ending all this.
If only he didn’t have to go back to the damn Cave later and sit through one of those bullshit morality lectures.
The second guy let out a loud grunt, biting down on his lip before finally speaking. His bloodshot, tear-filled eyes locked onto Jason’s.
“Yeah—fuck, yeah—he’s telling the truth! The boss was gonna move them today, four in the goddamn morning, from that shitty factory straight to their new owners.”
He blurted it out quickly, then clenched his eyes shut as a fresh wave of pain exploded in his leg—Jason was now crushing it under his boot, no mercy in sight.
“Four a.m., huh?” Jason echoed. “Alright. I believe you, boys. See? Doing the right thing does come with its perks.” he took his foot off the thug’s leg and straightened up, his voice going dark.
“Now get the hell out. Out of my territory, out of this damn city. And I swear to God—if either of you shows up in Gotham again, I will find you… and trust me, you’ll wish you hadn’t made it out alive.”
He holstered his gun and stepped back just far enough to watch them writhe one last time. The sound of sirens blaring in the distance was all the sign he needed—it was time to go.
“This concludes the meeting, gentlemen. Thanks for the thalk.”
With that, he jumped from one rooftop to the next, heading back to where he’d left his bike. There was an abandoned factory that needed his attention. Sure, he should have gone to the Cave. But the kidnapped girls were more important than another damn lecture from Bruce or Dick. And honestly, what did it matter if he was a few hours late? It’s not like they could get any madder than they already were.
That thought made him let out a low, wicked chuckle as he weaved through traffic, full speed, until he reached the godforsaken factory.
He parked the bike a few meters away from the building and started approaching the entrance in silence, scanning the area. Seemed clear.
Maybe that was his mistake.
With his head still buzzing from Dick’s annoying call and the inevitable fight waiting for him back in the Cave, Jason missed the shadow creeping along the broken rooftop above him—watching.
Once inside the factory, Jason’s eyes—hidden behind the red helmet of RedHood—swept the room in every direction. He spotted them immediately: a group of girls huddled together in the farthest corner from the entrance.
They all gasped and whimpered the moment he stepped in and started walking toward them.
Crammed into that space were at least twenty girls, none older than twenty-one. Thin as needles, pale, filthy, covered in bruises and smudged makeup. The older ones were clinging to the younger, who sobbed and cried out for their parents. Every single one of them wore something revealing—some worse than others—but none of them looked okay, and that alone lit a fire of pure rage in Jason’s chest.
He pulled out a burner phone he’d taken from one of the thugs that chased him earlier and slowly held it out to the girl who seemed the most alert—maybe the most used to this kind of nightmare.
“Here. Call the cops or an ambulance. White Fox is dead—I killed him. Same with the bastards who were buying you. Get out of here. Go home. To your families, your friends, whoever. You’re free now. Or as free as this rotten city will let you be.”
His voice was calm, but unshakably firm. He placed the phone into her thin, pale hand, then stepped back far enough to give them space—to protect them if some stray thug showed up, but also far enough for them to feel safe around him.
The girl—bleached blonde, though the dark roots gave her away—stared at him, then at the phone. She looked back and forth a few times, like she wasn’t sure if he’d snatch it away or hurt her or the others. But finally, she dialed quickly, calling the police.
The rest of the girls, sensing no threat from him, slowly started to relax. They crowded around the girl on the phone, who was crying now as she tried to explain what happened to the officer on the other end. The others whispered to each other, their voices low, and little by little, a fragile sense of hope crept across their worn, broken faces.
One of them—a girl with deep black eyes and hair dyed a shade of blue like the night sky—walked up to him. She studied him for a moment, then finally spoke.
“You’re RedHood.” she said, her voice rough and broken. Probably from crying and screaming. At least, that was the better reason for why it might sound like that.
Jason crossed his arms, glancing back at the group. Most of them had already moved on from calling the police to phoning their families or anyone they trusted. Then, his tired, pissed-off gaze—hidden behind the helmet—fell back on the blue-haired girl.
“Yeah… I think that’s me.” he replied with sarcasm, earning a small, tired laugh from the girl.
“Ha… funny.” she went quiet after that, her eyes drifting back to the group of girls huddled together, crying from relief as they spoke softly to one another.
“We heard an explosion about an hour ago—was that you? Did you really take care of those sick bastards? Is someone gonna come looking for us? Are we… really free?” her voice trembled, breaking into a mix of relief, gratitude, and joy when she saw the red helmet nod.
Without warning, she threw herself at the man who’d saved her—saved all of them—and wrapped her arms around him, repeating “thank you” like a prayer, over and over again.
Jason froze in place, caught off guard, before finally wrapping his arms around her too, letting her cry as much as she needed.
And before he knew it, most of the girls had joined her—surrounding him, hugging him, whispering the same grateful words. Overwhelmed and more than a little stunned by the sudden affection, Jason carefully tried to step back, doing his best not to hurt any of them with his strength against their fragile, malnourished bodies.
“I have to go, ladies,” he said once he’d managed to free himself from the hugs and tears. “Cops are almost here, and considering the scene I left with that White bastard—and a few others this week—I doubt they’d be thrilled to see me. Stay out of trouble if you can… but if you can’t, find me. I’ll help you. No matter what kind of shit you’re in.”
The girls looked at him, still crying, but now from something closer to hope. Not healed—but no longer shaking from fear. Just from the cold.
The sound of police sirens marked both their arrival—and the girls' final goodbye to him.
“Thank you so much for your help!” most of them shouted, offering what was probably the biggest collection of smiles Jason had seen in years—at least since coming back from the dead.
The last girl to leave was the one he’d given the phone to. With a grateful smile and a faint blush—though her pale, sickly skin made it look redder than it probably was—she handed the phone back to him, thanking him one last time before hurrying off to join the others.
Jason took that as his cue to slip out—heading for the back exit and making his way toward where he’d parked his motorcycle.
But he came to a hard stop about five meters away.
There, standing next to his bike, was a tall man. Maybe even taller than Jason—and he was already pushing six-foot-three. The figure was hard to make out in the dim lighting. The tattered black cloak he wore covered everything—even his face.
Carefully, Jason moved a hand toward the pistol strapped to the back of his suit, preparing for a possible fight.
“I saw what you did in there with those girls. Very noble of you,” said the strange man, his deep, unfamiliar voice drifting out from the shadows beside Jason’s motorcycle.
Jason growled in response and raised his gun, aiming it directly at the figure.
“They don’t deserve what was done to them—or what was going to happen. Now tell me, mystery man in a Dementor cosplay, what the hell are you doing next to my bike? Hate to break it to you, but it’s not for sale, and I definitely don’t do Uber. So either back off and leave me the fuck alone, or I’ll fill your head with bullets.”
His tone was sharp, dangerous. He clicked the safety off, every muscle tense and ready for action.
The stranger let out a sigh—not annoyed or scared. No. The bastard laughed.
“What the hell’s so funny, Voldemort? Do I look like I’m joking? Get the hell away from my damn motorcycle!”
Jason’s anger surged. This was the last thing he needed—some cryptic asshole wasting his time after just wrapping up a case, making him even later for the Cave. If the lecture was going to be an hour before, it’d be three now.
“Oh, no need to get so worked up, Jason Todd... or do you prefer RedHood now?” the man murmured, amused.
Jason froze.
How the hell does he know who I am?
He needed backup. This guy might be way more dangerous than he looked.
His free hand moved toward his helmet, trying to activate the comms and call for help.
But he didn’t expect the guy to move right then.
One second he was ready to fire—the next, he was slammed into a wall, pinned by the throat. The grip wasn’t choking him, but it was strong enough to hold him in place.
“Tch… what manners. You’re like a petulant child. So angry. So defensive. And your language—tsk tsk. Did you kiss your mother with that mouth, Jason Todd?”
Jason wanted to spit in his face—but he couldn’t through the helmet. So instead, he drove his knee up into the guy’s groin.
His neck was pinned, but his legs still worked—and they weren’t going down without a fight.
To the stranger’s credit, he didn’t even react to the hit. He just laughed, tightening his grip on Jason’s throat and raising his free hand toward the red helmet.
Jason thrashed, trying to break free before the man could unmask him.
“Come on now, be a good boy and let me take this off, hmm? It'll make everything so much easier… and a lot less painful.”
Jason ignored the threat, still fighting the grip around his neck. Every second that passed, he could feel the oxygen slipping away. His lungs burned. Panic thudded through his chest, his heart pounding—
and then the man tightened his grip.
“No, no, no, Jason. I need you to listen. You don’t want to be a bad boy, do you? That’s how you died, remember? You disobeyed Batman. You went after the Clown to save your mother. But you didn’t expect her to sell you out to the Joker himself… who then murdered you.” the voice dropped, venomous and almost gleeful.
“That’s what happens to bad little boys, Jason. They die. You were the worst one. But don’t worry—I’m here to fix it. You’ll get another chance. To be the sweet, obedient little boy you were always meant to be. Before Robin. Before Bruce Wayne. Before it all.”
The man stopped talking.
Jason trembled where he stood, stunned by what he'd just heard. His mother. The reason for his death. The Joker. And this freak somehow knew about Bruce.
What the hell is happening tonight?
Before he could react, the man raised his other hand—this one holding a dagger long enough to pierce a throat clean through. But instead of going for his jugular, the man drove it deep into Jason’s chest—straight into his heart.
Jason’s eyes closed beneath the helmet, bracing for the burn of steel tearing through flesh and organ—waiting for death.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, his heartbeat sped up—from 100 to 120 beats per minute. His body ignited, burning from the tips of his toes to the last strand of hair on his head. His mouth went dry, and his hands clenched involuntarily into fists. The man finally let go, and Jason dropped to the ground, unable to fight, unable even to stand—consumed by the violent sensations overwhelming his mind and senses.
“What… what the fuck did you do to me?” he managed to gasp, blinking up at the figure now calmly standing once again by his motorcycle.
“I gave you a new chance,” the man said softly. “To be the sweet, obedient little boy you should’ve always been, Jason Todd. Don’t mess it up. We wouldn’t want you to die again because of that unfunny clown, would we?” he chuckled as he turned and walked off, vanishing into the shadows of the night until the only thing Jason could hear, trapped in that broken, burning body, was the tide crashing against the harbor—and far beyond, the hum of Gotham.
“Fuck… damn bastard…” Jason cursed between ragged breaths, his whole body trembling as the heat inside him kept rising. He tried to get up—
and by "tried," it meant he barely managed to get on his knees against the wall he’d been slammed into, yanking off his helmet just in time to throw up from the burning sickness wrecking his body.
Gasping, tasting bile and what was left of a chicken burger, he wiped his mouth, grabbed the helmet again, and turned on the comm, calling the Cave.
The call didn’t even finish the second ring before it was picked up. Jason spat out the last of the vomit lingering in his mouth before slipping the helmet back on—only to feel like he’d just taken a crowbar to the head when multiple Bat voices came crashing in all at once.
“Do you have any idea what time it is? You were supposed to be back an hour and a half ago.” That was Dick.
“Why’d you shut off your comm? You know no one’s supposed to go dark during a case—what if there’s an emergency? That’s basic protocol.” Tim, probably. At this point, they were all blurring together inside his dizzy head.
Jason groaned, pushing himself upright with help from the wall, starting the slow walk back to his bike while trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t lead to even more questions.
“Tt. Do you always have to be this much of a disaster? Where are you? Your signal’s offline. Grayson’s been pacing around like a headless chicken, and it’s driving me insane. Hurry up and stop dodging the consequences of breaking yet another rule. You’re on a streak, Hood.” ah, Damian. The small, furious ball of death.
Jason couldn’t help but huff out a breath of laughter, despite the fog clouding his mind.
Funny. Not one of them had asked if I was okay.
“I’m fine, idiots,” Jason grumbled. “Just wanted a break from Dickie’s annoying voice for a bit, guess I lost track of time.”
He tried to sound normal. Bored, even. Maybe a little annoyed. But his body wasn’t cooperating. The sickness was getting worse. He had to make it to the Cave. The last thing he needed now was to black out and die in a traffic accident.
He should probably start keeping a list of potential causes of death—he could already cross one off. That thought made him laugh.
“Oh, you think this is funny?” there it was. Bruce. The final piece of the Batfam puzzle.
Was he still considered one of them?
“Yeah, B, I’m laughing. This whole mess is hilarious. I go off the radar for an hour and a half and not one of you asks if I’m okay. So yeah, B, I’m dying of laughter. See you in twenty.” he ended the call, climbed onto his motorcycle, and started riding toward the family cave at a moderate pace—he wasn’t being reckless, and he stuck to the clearest alleys.
Twenty-five minutes later—five more than he promised—he finally reached the damn entrance to the cursed cave. He burst in, braking hard and making the tires screech, yanking off his helmet just as fast before striding over to Alfred, who, as always, was already waiting for him with a tray holding water and a first-aid kit.
He waved off the kit but gladly accepted the water. Instead of pouring it into the glass on the tray, he drank straight from the pitcher, ignoring Alfred’s disapproving look. He was used to those looks by now anyway.
“Welcome back, Young Master Jason. Master Bruce and the others are waiting for you at the computer,” the butler greeted him with his usual professionalism. Jason nodded, setting the now-empty pitcher back on the tray before heading toward the rest of the crew.
“Thanks, Alfie. Mind bringing me some more water?” he asked, trying to gather his senses. The discomfort still lingered—which must’ve been obvious, considering Alfred didn’t even scold him for his lack of manners.
“Right away, Young Master. But you really should hurry along. You don’t want to keep them waiting another hour… do you?” Alfred said with half a smile, half a warning.
Jason followed Alfred’s advice—he was the only one left in the manor Jason still fully respected—and walked toward the inevitable meeting with the rest of the bats.
Once there, he didn’t even need to announce himself. They were all already staring at him. Every single one of them was frowning. Jason could swear even the demon brat’s cow looked annoyed.
“Jesus, it’s just five more minutes than I said. Don’t look at me like this is some intervention for a junkie,” he tried to joke, though he still felt the aftershocks of whatever that freak had done to him. His heart was racing again, and his brain was spinning.
Bruce was the first to break the silence, glaring straight at Jason.
“Don’t try to joke now, Jason. You didn’t just kill one person—you killed ten. Deliberately. Even after agreeing to the rules we set, the rules you accepted so we’d let you operate in your part of the city.”
He pulled up images of the ten men Jason had killed on the screen.
The rest just kept staring at him.
“Yeah, I killed them. But if I hadn’t, those girls would’ve been in their hands. They were getting ready to ship them out of the country and do whatever the hell their sick minds wanted. I saved them. Why does it matter if I killed ten traffickers and pimps when it meant saving twenty kids?” Jason snapped back, gripping his chest instinctively. His breath was getting shallower and faster—was it just him or was he seeing double?
He really needed that new pitcher of water.
Dick scoffed from a few steps behind Bruce. Dressed in civilian clothes, arms crossed, he looked Jason up and down.
“We’re glad those girls were saved, Jason. But the way you handled their buyers wasn’t right. You agreed to the rules—you have to follow them,” he said sharply, stepping closer to Jason. He was clearly picking up that something wasn’t right. Jason wasn’t defensive or angry—he was uneasy.
“Yeah, well, what’s done is done. Unless Bruce plans to resurrect those ten bastards the same way he did the damn clown, they’re gonna stay dead.”
Bruce opened his mouth to say something else, but Jason couldn’t take it anymore. On unsteady legs, he tried to make it to the wall to support himself. Dick was just a few steps away, but Jason resisted the urge to lean on him.
He didn’t realize he was falling until his head hit the floor—hard.
Not even a full second passed before he was surrounded by the very bats he still, somehow, clung to calling family. They all looked at him with a strange mix of shock and concern.
When was the last time anyone had looked at him like that? He must’ve been hallucinating from the blow to the head.
And if Jason had been more aware—if his brain wasn’t shutting down and his ears didn’t feel stuffed with cotton—he might’ve actually heard the sincerity in the worried voices around him.
One last blink, and Jason Todd slipped into unconsciousness in the middle of the Batcave, surrounded by the ones he once proudly and lovingly called family.