Chapter Text
If Jason had grown up in a cute little duplex by a Metropolis park, he might have actually enjoyed autumn. He might not have scoffed at blonde college chicks with their pumpkin spice lattes and fashion boots. The golden leaves and misty mornings and spooky vibes could have been more than the poetic background in most of his favorite classics. As it was, he'd grown up in a crumbling, moldy apartment in Gotham's poorest district where fall meant twice as much rain, miserably cold nights, and at least one good case of the flu shared equally throughout the entire complex.
Still better than when he moved to the street.
“Do you go anywhere without your little friend?” Dick raised an eyebrow at Jason over the cast-iron coffee table, stirring his coffee with one of the little sticks provided.
Jason knew without looking that his holster was well hidden, but it would have been a near impossibility to hide it from his older brother. “What, not up to dress code for your fancy French bakery?”
“You like the croissants here too; you cannot lie about it,” Dick said.
“Sure, Princess. Whatever you say.” He waved a hand to encompass Dick’s less-than-coiffed appearance. “You aren’t exactly ready to walk down a catwalk yourself, Goldie. When’s the last time you washed your hair?”
Was it another bad week with his depression, or was Dick just overworked?
“I didn’t have energy for a shower after patrol last night,” Dick huffed. “I may not exactly look like a billionaire’s charity acquisition right now, but at least I didn’t bring a weapon to a fancy bakery in Metropolis.”
“You can take the kid outta Gotham…” Jason shrugged. “Those who don’t live by the sword can still die on it.”
“Are you quoting scripture or The Lord of the Rings?”
“Neither and both.” Jason lifted his tiny cup of matcha, making sure to stick out one pinky obnoxiously. “Besides, Dickie, you don’t need to bring weapons, you ARE a weapon, with the ungodly amount of cologne you put on to cover the BO.”
“And you’re a punk.”
“Like I could do anything to fit in here,” Jason mumbled around the china rim of his teacup. No amount of effort on Alfred’s part could counteract six plus feet of muscle, scars, and street-rat upbringing. The anxious glances of Metropolis’s well-polished elite made that much clear.
“I’m sure Cass appreciates you making the effort to be here,” Dick said with all the softness of a big brother trying to soothe his younger sibling's anxieties.. “She’s been so excited about this.”
“Cass is a sweetheart. She’d be excited if Damian's pet rock came to watch her ballet. But it’s only fair, I guess. She stuck out the whole ‘Jason comes back from the dead’ deal, so she should at least get to reap the benefits of having a living brother.”
Dick rolled his eyes and leaned back in the incredibly uncomfortable chairs. You’d think a place that asked for your firstborn son in exchange for a thimble of coffee and a baked good more suited for Instagram than breakfast would at least provide seating that didn’t aggravate every bruise and cut on their patrons’ bodies. Then again, these places were usually brunch spots for the absent moms after their spa days and plastic surgery appointments, not vigilantes with chronic body ache.
“This place is gonna trigger Timbo’s trauma. Half the patrons in here have his mom’s face. I wonder if her surgeon had a special.”
Dick brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead and offered Jason a half-grin. “Get it out before he and Cass get here. It’s rude to ridicule someone’s culture.”
“It's also rude to STARE.” Jason raised his voice to a yell as two women dressed in identical tennis skirts attempted to skitter past with mouths half-open and eyes as wide around as the obnoxious mushroom Soufflé Dick had gotten for Tim.
Dick chuckled as the women started into a jog. “They’re gonna kick us out.”
“They wouldn’t dare. You have WAYNE written all over you. Even if you do look like you just completed the walk of shame after spending the night with Killer Croc.”
“Fuck you,”
“Fuck us both,” Jason replied. He prodded the edge of his croissant. “This is your kinda breakfast all the way, isn’t it. Packed full of sugar with an aftertaste of dollar bills.”
“It’s the American way, and I’ve settled in quite well, thank you very much.” Dick lifted whatever icing-crusted monstrosity he had settled on and took a large, satisfied bite.
He really was a rich kid at heart. He may have spent eight years in a traveling circus, but he had more than made up for it as a spoiled Wayne heir.
Jason snorted before his eyes caught another pair staring openly at him from over Dick’s shoulder. He started to open his mouth to yell another snide remark, but the words died in his mouth as the features started to register with him.
The man was almost as tall as him, easily over six feet, but lanky and hollow-cheeked. His curly black hair looked like it was just starting to grow out from a buzz cut. Under a mask of wrinkles, the kind earned by a hard life and hard living, his thin lips twisted into a frown before mouthing ‘Jason?’
“Jay?” Dick tugged on his arm. “Where’d you go? You…” As he spoke, Dick twisted, and his hand dropped from Jason’s arm.
“Is that…?”
“Willis,” Jason rasped. “That’s Willis Todd.”
He hadn’t seen the man since he was… what… eight? Nine? A few months before Catherine died. Still, he would have known the face anywhere. It still popped up in his nightmares now and then, playing a minor role. Usually, only for an instant before it warped into the clown.
Looking at him now, a part of Jason’s brain wanted to start laughing. That was the man who had scared him so much once? Him? Jason could have broken him over his knee. Hell, TIM could have broken him over his knee.
Another, equally insistent part was urging him to climb under the table, curl into a tight ball, and pray that today was 'good day'.
Willis was the one who made the decision for them both. A look of frustration creased his brows, his lips tugging into a sneer that had usually preceded an all-too-familiar reel of cusses, and he sprinted.
Jason vaulted over the decorative fence around the café and dodged a startled group of businessmen. He was infinitely aware of Dick’s quick steps and his sharp breaths just behind him as he shoved his way through a knot of shoppers and skidded on the brick road.
Willis had disappeared down an alley. A less threatening prospect than it would have been in Gotham, but Jason still pulled his shirt up and unclipped his holster before stepping in. Dick bumped into his back with the effort to slow down in time as yells and cries of fear went up behind them. Civilians here weren't like the Gothomites. It was a pretty noticeable thing when someone pulled a gun and started chasing someone else down a street in Superman's city.
At the end of the narrow alley, Willis stood flat-palmed against the wall beside a remarkably clean dumpster. “You weren’t supposed to see me,” he snapped, turning around to face them.
“What the fuck,” Jason took a step back, and Dick put one hand on his back in an effort to steady him. “What is popping up outa of the grave a family trait? Did you pass on the zombie gene or something?”
“You aren’t the one I’m looking for. Do yourself a favor and get out of here before it's too late.”
Dick tensed, and Jason took a few steps back. He could practically feel Dick casing the area, scanning every shadow. He let Dick take the lead and kept his focus on the man he had once called 'Dad'. “Willis, what the actual fuck are you doing here? You’d better spit it out because I’ve attempted patricide in the past, and I’m very willing to try again now.”
Anger flashed across Willis’s features. A hint of the type of reaction that had once risen up at his kid’s disrespect. Willis was not a man to hide his feelings. Whether it was rage, or sobbing at Catherine’s feet for yet another chance, or the unmitigated affection that flooded his eyes in the moments he actually decided to love his son, he wore his black heart on his sleeve. Not that he hadn’t hated Jason for doing the same, but Willis was nothing if not a man of extremes.
“I’m trying to warn you. If you leave now, nothing worse will happen to you,” Willis ground out.
Jason wrapped his hand around the handle of his gun. “I’m not so little anymore, Asshole. Let's see you try it.”
“Jason,” Dick’s voice was strident and tense as he grabbed Jason’s shoulder.
A manic laugh echoed through the closed-in space. It was so familiar, in so many disjointed ways, that Jason nearly hurled on the asphalt at the sound of it.
“You should have listened,” Willis said. He tilted his head, his expression flat and his hands loose at his side.
Above them came a scrabbling, scratching sound. Like some sort of demon was trying to climb the walls. Something shimmered behind them. Flickered. Jason flattened his back against the wall and dragged Dick to the far side of him, closer to Willis. Whatever this thing was, it was more of a threat than one worn-out, worn-down henchman.
The smile appeared first. Like a cheshire cat. Only, it wasn’t an actual smile. The face that materialized from thin air was the source of the laughter, but his lips stayed slack. Nerves severed and destroyed. The Glasgow smile creasing either cheek was a haunting echo of what should have been there instead.
“What the…” Dick’s voice trailed into what sounded like a death rattle as the rest of the person took shape. A skeletal frame, bony, twisted arms. Legs like a spider's. Duel knives glinted in either hand.
It was Jason.
Or some warped, hell-scape version of him. Like someone had smashed Jason and his own murderer together and stretched them together like a kid might with two different colors of playdough. This Jason was small, clearly still caught in the throes of malnutrition. His body was more scar tissue than skin. One eye milky white, a throbbing dent in his temple where a piece of his skull had been chipped out.
“Jase,” Willis warned. “No. Stop fucking doing this.”
The warped Jason let out a giggle that was going to haunt Jason’s nightmares for eternity and scratched at his arm with the flat side of his blade. He didn’t even bother looking at Willis. He was too focused on Dick and Jason.
“Not cool,” Dick muttered.
Jason pulled his gun and flicked off the safety. The other version of himself flashed out of existence. A moment later, he appeared beside Dick. The knife flicked, and Jason threw himself around Dick, curling one arm to keep Dick’s head from slamming into the brick behind him. The sting of the blade in his shoulder barely registered as he twisted around, catching other-him’s blade between the wall and his shoulder blade. He lifted his elbow to crash it into the guy’s head, but it met only the wall.
“I’m sorry,” Willis called. The same, shimmery field opened behind him. “It’s too late for you. But he’ll follow me when you are dead. He always follows me.”
Other Jason flicked back into existence in front of Jason, and the blade in his hand was already lodged in Jason’s clavicle before he could move out of the way. Jason kicked wildly, and the warped version of him fell backward just as a dark shape slipped into the alley behind him.
Cass.
Thank fuck.
Other-Jason didn’t even see her coming.
Willis was starting to fade out. Cass already had Joker-Jason on his knees. A shadow and a sonic boom overhead marked Superman’s appearance.
Whatever this joker-ized, meta version of him that was, the two of them could handle it. It was Willis who was already flickering out of the alley in pursuit of God knew what. Jason lunged. A hand grabbed at his shirt even as he grasped Willis’s trailing wrist. Something seemed to grab hold of Jason from INSIDE his chest, and it yanked him forward.
The alley flickered briefly and went black.