Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Come on, Todd. Lighten up.

Jason frowned as Roy’s teasing words bounced mindlessly around the inside of his skull. He could be plenty light; just not here, in the basement of some backstreet, hole-in-the-wall joint that Roy had insisted on taking them to. Something about ‘properly’ introducing Kori to Gotham’s nightlife - though why that had to involve an underground dance club was beyond Jason. The pulsing strobes, the smoky haze, the scent of sweat and liquor swirling around the dizzying throng of people… everything about the place had Jason on edge. The tumult of the crowd would provide excellent cover for some less-than-legal dealing, and the whole ‘one way down,’ rickety staircase of an exit felt like Gotham Gazette front page waiting to happen.

He shook the thought from his head.

It’s just a night out, Jason reminded himself. So he found himself a corner - close to the stairs, just in case - and after eyeing the stain-spattered walls suspiciously, he settled in for the long night to come. He wasn’t sure how an alien princess became fascinated by human dances, but Kori was bound to lose interest eventually. It was only a matter of waiting it out.

The rhythm of the salsa music, however, proved hard to ignore. Not that he was particularly surprised. He had spent more than a few nights in clubs just like this, letting the rhythm distract him from thoughts even an all-out brawl couldn’t free him from.

...Or maybe that was just the pretty brunette with the crop top and the hips that twisted and turned like pulled taffy. As much as he had wanted to go, it only took a too-sweet smile and the offer of a dance to get Jason to stay.

“Hey,” Jason called to her, crossing the floor in time with the music as the fiery Latin rhythm began to pull at his body. The music drowned out the sound of his voice, but he knew he had caught her attention - she watched him with interest as he approached, her eyes gleaming under the flashing lights.

“Hey yourself,” she replied. She swayed as she moved closer, shifting to match Jason step for step. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” she said, leaning up to speak the words right into Jason’s ear. Jason could feel the heat of her breath on his skin. “You come here often?”

“Nah,” Jason replied. “Just droppin’ in. Although,” he continued, giving her a lopsided grin as he spun her in his arms, “I could certainly be... persuaded… to come a little more often.”

“I can be persuasive,” she replied.

By now they were almost too close, Jason’s hands slipping lower on her waist, her fingers tracing appreciatively over the hard planes of his arms, a question gleaming in her dark eyes. The music swirled around them, heady and intoxicating.

“No need,” Jason murmured into her ear. “Just dance with me.”

They started slowly, testing each other’s steps and searching for a spark, a common ground, before Jason found himself falling into a familiar pattern, his feet moving in time with the rhythm.

“You…” the women looked up at him quizzically. “What’s a gringo like you doing dancing a cha-cha?”

Jason smirked. “ Ay, bella,” he said, his accent flawless. Pulling her in close, he reached out to take her hand in his. “You’ve never danced with a gringo like me.”

In three long strides, they cut through to the center of the dance floor, a wild grin playing at the corners of Jason’s lips as he and his partner fell under the spell of the music. The rhythm thrummed through their footsteps, it sizzled at their touch; she moved like a firecracker, flashy and brilliant, and Jason was more than happy to oblige her, leading her through a dizzying series of dips and spins, their footwork moving faster and faster. Before long, a crowd had formed around them as they danced, moving freely in ever-widening circles until -

“Hey!”

The music came to a squealing halt.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

What Jason was doing at that moment was holding a very beautiful woman very close to his body, his eyes scanning the dance floor as he searched for the man who had shouted.

He didn’t have to search for long - a short, stocky, unpleasant-looking man was heading towards them, fury radiating from his every feature. “That’s my woman!” the man insisted as he drew closer, shoving people out of his path as he made his way through the crowd.

Jason might have considered arguing the choice of words had he not seen the gun tucked into the man’s belt. Before the man could reach them, Jason pulled his partner upright, brushed his lips lightly against her hand, gave her boyfriend a jaunty wave…

...and promptly bolted.

“Roy! Kori!” Jason barked, barreling through the throngs of dancers and racing for the exit. “Time to go!” He took the stairs two at a time without looking back. The man might not be fast enough to catch him but a bullet could do the trick, and while it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d brought his fists to a firefight, he decided that tonight he’d hedge his bets.

It was supposed to be their night off, after all.

He made it out without incident, pushing past the people at the door and running out into the warm September night. A few seconds later, the sound of breaking glass announced his friend’s escape - with Kori carrying Roy in her arms as she flew him out to safety.

“...don’t understand why this has to happen every freaking time,” Roy griped, pouting as Kori lowered carefully to the ground. “Going out by myself? Everything’s fine. Going out with Jason? Better have a fucking escape route planned if you don’t want to get hauled out princess-style before it all goes to hell.”

Roy stumbled out of Kori’s grasp as soon as she landed, clinging desperately to his half-empty glass of lemonade and the last shreds of his dignity as he turned to face Jason. “Really, Todd? The owner’s girlfriend?”

“What?” Jason demanded, throwing up his hands. “It’s not like I knew.”

“He just has a thing for dancers,” Roy stage-whispered to Kori, who grinned slyly at Jason and laughed. “He just can’t help himself.”

“Clearly,” Kori replied.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Jason muttered.

“And go to another club?” Kori asked hopefully.

“No!” Roy spat. “Not another club - not when Mister Latin Fire over there can’t keep the dance in his pants. No clubs.”

~~~

‘No clubs’ it was - instead, they wandered, taking to the Gotham streets without a care for where they might go or who they might find. The night was warm and sultry, with the last traces of the day’s heat rising off the pavement to be swept away by the thin summer breeze, and if they squinted, the lights of the downtown skyscrapers almost looked like stars.

Almost.

Eventually, the grunge of the downtown club scene gave way to the high-rises and the marbled facades of Gotham’s historic uptown. Jason rarely came here - let Bruce and his ilk take care of their own - and as they meandered the mansion-studded avenues and tiptoed around the manicured parks, Jason remembered why he stayed away. Rising above the squalor of life and death to laze about in the easy promises of wealth and greed, the crime in this part of town was of a different breed. Much like the people.

He scowled.

“Oh!”

Jason turned at the sound.

Roy knelt by the basement window of a stately brownstone building, peering down through the glass. “Would you look at that,” he murmured, leaning closer for a better view. “The preps built themselves a playplace.”

It was a theatre set, ornate and elaborate, spread out before them like a childhood dream. Dark velvet curtains had been drawn back to reveal a complicated set structure with bridges and balconies and doors that coaxed the curiosity to explore beyond them. Spotlights and catwalks hung from the ceiling, high above the seats for a small audience, and everywhere below, Jason saw costume racks and set collections and props from shows that Jason couldn’t even name - not that he could name many. But looking down at the auditorium, he found himself wishing he could.

He let out a low whistle.

“Hey, Jason,” Roy said, eyeing the stage with a thoughtful look.

“Yeah?”

Roy smirked. “Betcha can’t land a backflip from the catwalk.”

After studying the narrow bridge above the theatre for a moment, Jason grinned.

“You know what, Roy?” Jason asked slyly. “I bet you I can pull two.”

~~~

Breaking in was the easy part.

The old window frame gave without any problem at all, no complicated locks to pick, no cameras to catch them in the act, and then the three of them lowered themselves one by one and dropped into the theatre, each of them waiting intently for the sound of an alarm to give them away.

None came.

The hard part was maintaining some semblance of self control after they got in.

“Ho-ly shit look at this place,” Roy muttered. “These preps don’t know when to stop.”

It was like nothing Jason had ever seen. Wandering the almost maze-like sprawl of costumes and props, Jason got the distinct impression that he hadn’t broken into a theatre, but that he had fallen into a completely different world. From the ground, the stage and the set took on new life; towering and majestic, the structure and the painted canvas backdrop beyond it no longer looked like some child’s flimsy playground, but a scaffold for something greater. Something… magical.

“Hey Todd, you coming up, or what?”

Jason grinned. “You really want to lose that bet, don't you.”

In half an hour, the theatre was a kingdom laid to waste. While the catwalks could bear the strain of some Flying Grayson-esque acrobatics, the costume racks were not designed with Olympic-level uneven bar techniques in mind. The set structures had a similar problem; while it tolerated walking and careful running, it quickly became clear that it hadn't been built to withstand a good chase… or parkour. Toppled props and and scattered costumes littered the floor, a trail that led right to where Roy and Kori were laughing - Kori wrapped in a heavy faux fur robe and crown, Roy bedecked in a chintzy feather boa - as Kori threw clothing into the air and Roy shot at them with a toy bow he'd found.

Jason watched it all from his perch atop the battered set tower, taking in the chaos with a quiet grin. From up here, he felt weightless, untouchable.

From here, he could see the glow of flashlight beams sweeping across the dark hallway that led straight to them.

Shit.

“ Guys!” Jason barked, scrambling off his perch. “We’ve got company!”

The mirth evaporated immediately.

“Aw, hell,” Roy drawled, looking up to the window they had entered through and watching the arrival of the familiar red and blue lights of the GCPD.

“I can fly us back through the window,” Kori said, “but unless you want me blasting through the building, it'll have to be one at a time.”

“No blasting,” Jason replied. “Who knows how old this dump is, we don't want it collapsing on us. Kori, take Roy. I'll be right behind you.”

“Seriously?” Roy griped as Kori held out her arms. “I'm getting carried again?”

“Well unless you've recently learned how to fly,” Jason bit back, “you're just gonna have to get used to it. Now hop in, Princess, we don't have all night.”

The lights were getting closer. Down the hall, Jason could now hear footsteps.

“Guys, go!”

Kori needed no further prompting - she swept Roy into her arms and took off with a burst of light, no doubt leaving police cars and stunned policemen in her dust. They'd be hard-pressed to chase after her.

Jason snorted. Now for his escape.

Just then, the doors to the auditorium burst open and the police rushed in.

Why, hello, Commissioner,” Jason said, calmly taking a seat at the edge of the stage. “Didn’t realize this old dump was so highly treasured by the GCP; you brought an awful lot of friends to come see little old me.”

And indeed he had. Jason counted a good fifteen officers, all wearing Kevlar and armed to the teeth.

Gordon frowned, lowering his gun slightly. “Jason,” he said, blinking slowly as if not believing what he saw. “Jason Todd.”

“In the flesh,” Jason replied, spreading his arms wide. “Miss me?”

The commissioner blinked again, hardly daring to move. “You… I thought you were dead… the Joker...”

Jason laughed - a harsh, heartless sound. “Is that what the big bat told you, Commissioner?” Jason asked coldly. “Was that his story for bringing on the new bird?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He lied to you, old man. Straight through his teeth. The Joker didn't get me.” The hard, mirthless grin on his face grew bitter. “Just my mother.”

The commissioner lowered his weapon, and after a moment’s tension, signaled for his men to do the same. “Sounds like you've got a story to share, Todd,” Gordon said slowly, tucking his gun into his holster. “And this isn't the place for it. Why don't we take this downtown and have a little chat - for old times sake?”

Jason stilled. Thought for a moment.

“Sure, old man,” Jason said quietly. “For old times sake.”

~~~

“You really gonna make me go over the story of Ma’s death again, Gordon?” Jason asked, slumping into the seat across the commissioner's desk. It had been a long time since he'd last been here - almost four years.

A lot had changed since then.

Gordon settled into his chair with a sigh. “Just the summary, if you'd prefer,” he said. Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out a tin of butter cookies and offered one to Jason.

Jason took it.

“I knew your mother, even though I didn't know her well. I was concerned when she disappeared all those years ago - I had hoped, somewhat naively I suppose, that she had gone someplace to get better after your… passing.”

Jason scoffed. “You got it backwards, old man,” he said. “The Joker killed her . I'm the one who left.”

“Why?”

Jason was quiet for a long moment.

“...because… B did nothing. After all that, after all fucking clown has done, he's still alive…” His knuckles whitened as he balled his hands into fists. “He was going after me, you know. Told me he was gonna beat me to death with a crowbar, that he was going to count how many strikes it took before The Batman shot him dead…”

The commissioner watched him sadly.

“He doesn't care about me, about us. He doesn't care who ends up dead, as long as he's not the one pulling the trigger. I'm done with him. I'll save Gotham my own way, with my own hands.”

“And is that what you were doing tonight? Cleaning up Gotham?”

“It was just a little fun-”

“Fun?” Gordon repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You call the destruction of that theatre fun? That was the work of thousands of student-hours, the culmination of years of effort, down the drain in a night’s callous actions.”

“They can just pay for a new one!” Jason snapped.

“No, they can't,” Gordon cut back. “That theatre and everything in it was made by hand by the students of that school - kids no older than you who want to make this place a little brighter.”

“Why should I care?”

“...Your mother did.”

Jason froze.

“She worked there, you know. When she could. And they took her back every time, because addicted or no she loved those kids. She saw something in them that she also saw in you.”

Silence.

“I got you tonight on trespassing, breaking and entering, destruction of property and slew of other offenses that would make any judge worth their coattails throw you in jail for the next few months - and with the attitude you're giving me now, I have half a mind to let the justice system have you.”

Jason scowled.

“But…” Commissioner Gordon took a long pause, studying the young man in front of him intently. “But if you go to the school tomorrow and confess, I will let you off the hook.”

“For a simple confession?” Jason snorted, moving to stand and leave. “You got yourself a deal.”

“Not so fast.”

Jason sat.

“You must confess,” Gordon said slowly, “and then you have to offer to make up for it. Despite what you may think, not every one of those students are there on mommy's and daddy's money. Many are on scholarship, scholarships that will have to be cut to pay for the repairs to the theatre. I'm sure the service will be greatly appreciated - no matter who it comes from.”

~~~

The next morning found Jason sitting outside the office of principal, a prim woman whose thin lips pursed when she was told who had come to see her and exactly what he had come to say. Once he had said his piece - confession and all, just as the commissioner had requested - he was promptly kicked out of the room, instructed to wait as the principal… and then the head of the theatre department… and then the other department heads of the Very Illustrious and Self-important Gotham Conservatory for the Arts filed one by one into the conference room and discussed his fate.

Jason scowled.

After what felt like ages, the door opened and the staff members walked out. No one looked at Jason.

“Mr. Todd?” someone called from inside. “The principal will see you now.”

“Hurray,” Jason said under his breath. He rose and entered.

"The head of the theatre department," the principal began after a long moment, "has estimated that you and whoever you were with last night caused upwards of $50,000 of irreparable damage to the auditorium. The creative efforts of countless students, for countless hours, have all been for naught.”

“I can help rebuild it-”

“No,” she retorted, “I sincerely doubt you can. The professional scouts who come to this Conservatory are not interested in the mediocre work of an artless young man and his destructive tendencies, they are here for the students. As such,” she continued, silencing Jason’s argument with a sharp look, “the faculty and I have decided that several of the maintenance staff will assist the students in the repairs to the theatre. You, Mr. Todd, will make up for the lack of labor. I'm talking maintenance. Janitorial work. Scrubbing toilets, painting walls, polishing floors - you know the deal.”

“When do I start?” Jason grit out.

“Right now,” the principle replied. “The commissioner informed me that you have no current daytime engagements, so I will expect you here every weekday from eight to five, and weekends if the work isn't getting done. Is that clear?”

“As crystal,” Jason muttered.

“Excellent. One of our maintenance staff will show you where to find the cleaning supplies.”

Ten minutes later, Jason stood outside the bathroom, freshly dressed in a full-length brown jumpsuit and armed with a bucket and a mop. Around him, students passed on their way to their classes, chattering and talking amongst themselves.

“Did you hear about the theatre?”

“I heard the punk confessed.”

“That's him right there.”

Jason turned.

Another boy, not much younger than Jason himself, stood at the door of a dance studio down the hall. He was speaking to a girl, blonde and pretty, but the boy’s glare was undoubtedly for Jason.

Jason glared back.

“Shut it, Twinkletoes,” Jason hissed. “You don't know who you're messing with.”

The other boy scoffed, sweeping a lock of his dark hair out of his face.

“Neither do you.”

Chapter Text

Jason had heard of Plants vs. Zombies, but this was getting out of control.

Gotham’s downtown was in chaos - no surprises there - and Jason was right in the thick of it, taking down whole hordes of zombified citizens as Scarecrow and Poison Ivy continued their squabble.

“They're both the bad guys,” Jason muttered into his comm link, grateful that he had recently upgraded his air filtration system on a whim. “They should just hug it out.”

“Wouldn't that make all our lives easier,” Roy replied. His voice was muffled by his gas mask, but at least he wasn't one of the far-too-many people strung out on Scarecrow’s latest batch of fear gas - a potent mixture that seemed to be temporarily stripping its victims of pain, fear, and higher-level thinking - or one of Ivy’s new plant-controlled minions with parasitic vines crawling into their noses and ears. No, thank you.

“Is this what you humans call ‘shipping’?” Kori asked curiously, floating overhead. “When you want two people to hug?”

Roy snorted. “Not when that hug would kill one of them,” he replied. “And holy shit, what did I tell you about staying away from internet fandoms?”

Kori frowned and flew higher, using her vantage point to get a better view of the city. “I see no sign of your adversary the scary crow, but a large growth of vines has appeared a few blocks from here.”

“That'll be Ivy,” Jason grunted. “Let's see what we can do to prune her back a bit, shall we? A little fire should do the trick - let’s move in.”

“Hell no,” Roy pouted, folding his arms in front of his chest. “You may have high-tech suits and superpowers, but I do not, and I am not getting poisoned again.”

The last time they’d faced off against Ivy, Roy had ended up covered in large purple blisters - and the time before that, it had taken three days to get him to stop kissing the potted plants in his apartment. Bad times were had by most. Jason still had pictures.

“Fair enough,” Jason said with a shrug. “You stay back and keep your eyes on the field. B and his merry band of sidekicks will be here soon and I wanna be out of here before the flock descends.”

“You got it,” Roy replied. He saluted once, casual as anything, then raced off with Starfire hot on his heels.

Which left Jason a good three blocks of zombies all to himself.

Holstering his gun, Jason cracked his knuckles, the capacitors hidden in his gloves charging immediately. The plates in his armored gloves, courtesy of Roy, could produce short bursts of electricity on command, and while it wouldn't kill anyone, a strike laced with that much power would be enough to knock any zombie flat on their ass.

Jason dove into the fray, grinning wildly as he dodged the zombified citizens of Gotham and the flailing vines, taking down attackers with impunity and carving through the chaos. Progress was only slowed by the occasional detours here and there to aid unaffected civilians caught in the conflict. Most rescues only required a good punch to an incoming zombie-jaw, but not everyone was so lucky. Jason found countless people nursing vine-whip lashes and nasty bite wounds, as well as a few broken limbs here and there. He managed to pull one girl - her long blonde hair vaguely, frustratingly familiar - out of the middle of a zombie mob by the straps of her heavy purple backpack, and a block away he had to draw his knife to slash through the vines tying an old man to telephone pole.

“Why can't crime in this city ever be normal?” he griped into the comm.

Kori snickered. “If things were normal here, would you even bother staying?”

The princess had a point.

Before he could consider the validity of that point, however, something brushed against his thigh. Jason hardly registered the touch before that something was winding tightly around his chest, capturing his arms in tight coils as it constricted around his body.

Ivy’s vines.

Jason swore. Getting caught very rarely played a role in his plans, but when Poison Ivy was involved, capture was never pleasant. Already, Jason could feel the vines circling his throat, the slender tips exploring beneath the edges of his mask, pressing so tightly against the skin of his face he feared there’d be welts there the next day - if he was even conscious the next day. If these vines found their target, who knew when he’d wake up from his stint as a plant-zombie…

Or if you’d wake up at all, a nasty little voice suggested in the back of his mind. How much damage could Ivy cause if she took control of him? Everyone would be in danger…

“Uh. Guys I-”

Jason snapped his mouth shut as quickly as he’d opened it, grimacing as the tips of some adventuring vines pulled at his lips and stretched farther along his face. But his arms were pinned to his body; his hands clenched uselessly against his sides.

Bad. This was bad, this was very, very ba-

Something whizzed past his visor, moving so fast he flinched as it hissed in and out of sight - and all at once the vine’s grip loosened. Jason immediately took advantage of his newly-regained freedom, shoving the vines from his body and yanking them out from under his mask.

“Nice shot, Arsenal,” he muttered into the comm, relieved and chagrined and grateful all at once. He hadn’t even known Roy could still see him - when keeping an eye out for Batman, it was best to stick to the high ground. The old man liked coming in from above.

The comm crackled once. “Shot?” Roy asked. “I haven’t started shooting yet; you put me on recon, remember?”

Jason stilled.

“You alright there, Hood?”

Kicking aside some of the fallen vines, Jason knelt to inspect the object that had cut him loose - not an arrow like he first thought, but some sort of throwing disc, smooth and sharp and…

...marked with the emblem of a bird.

“Shit.” Jason looked up and scanned the nearby buildings, finding what he sought almost immediately.

One of the Robins had perched on the fire escape jutting out from the apartments across the street, and he seemed to watch Jason intently, his black cloak snapping in the wind.

The replacement.

It could be no one else; word on the streets after Jason disappeared said that the young man who had appeared to fight by Batman’s side had refused to take up the mantle of Robin, choosing instead to wear a different mask and a different name. It was the only info Jason had managed to dig up on the kid; all other information, including who he was and where he came from, had proven next to impossible to find.

And now there he stood, fit and fresh as a fiddle, like a cowled knight in gleaming red armor waiting for some sort of acknowledgement - or at least a thank you - from the the distressed damsel he’d so kindly rescued.

What a smug fuck.

“Arsenal!” Jason barked into the comm, “I thought I told you to alert me when the birds arrived.”

Roy made an indignant sound. “They haven’t! You think I’d miss an arrival like tha- ”

A flash of light burst through the snarled vines at the top of the tower Jason had been approaching, and before he could figure out what happened, large pieces of plant-flesh came raining down from above. Overhead, he thought he could make out the sound of an angry scream.

“...oh.”

“Goddammit,” Jason muttered.

“Alright, looks like it’s time to scram, Hood,” Roy amended. “This is not a fight I want to be in the middle of.”

Jason wholeheartedly agreed.

The replacement looked up, assessing what had happened, and then - casting one last, unfathomable look back at Jason - he cast off, firing a grappling hook into a nearby building and swinging up to join the three silhouettes that had appeared on the tower directly across from where Ivy was wrecking havoc.

No need to guess who had arrived. Jason would know the Bat and his Birds anywhere, and he had no intentions of furthering that acquaintanceship now or ever.

“Exit, stage left,” Jason muttered. Looking around, he found a motorbike, fiddled a bit with the wires, started the ignition, and drove away.

~~~

Unfortunately, saving the city from zombies didn't serve as a valid excuse for Jason to miss out on cleaning the next morning.

The chore of the day: window washing. Dusting and spraying and scrubbing and drying every single blasted window in the entire damned school - a task that Jason took to with little vigor. While most of the vine-lashes had disappeared by the time he’d woken up, by midmorning, the dull soreness from the night before had become a throbbing ache, one that hung like lead from his shoulders and dug deep into his back.

“Who decided dance studios needed French doors?” Jason grumbled, turning onto the dance wing with a sound of dismay. The art wing had been bad enough - most of the windows had been plastered with art, so he’d only needed to wash one side of them - but the dance wing, with its windowed studios and wall-to-wall mirrors, just looked like torture. He almost preferred the plant-zombies.

And after cleaning the all the mirrors in a single studio, Jason decided he definitely preferred the plant-zombies.

Whoever the architect was should be fired, Jason thought as he moved on to the next studio, feeling bitter despite knowing that the school had been designed and built long before he ever stepped foot in it. They should’ve hired someone else, anyone else, what kind of assholes would hire this asshole to -

Jason stilled.

“She worked there, you know. When she could.”

The commissioner’s words echoed in Jason’s mind, piercing and inescapable. His fingers knotted tighter around the rag in his hands.

“She loved those kids. She saw something in them that she also saw in you.”

“This isn’t quite what you wanted for me, is it,” Jason whispered. Beyond the doors, he could see his reflection in the mirror of the empty studio, saw exhaustion weighing on his shoulders and weariness in his sleepless eyes. A troublemaker, a lawbreaker, who danced around in a mask at night and called it justice, then had to clean up his crimes the next day.

“Oh my gosh, Steph - what happened to you? ”

Jason jumped, startled by the sound of a voice from the other end of the hall. Looking around and finding no one, he wandered farther down the hall to look, pausing just out of sight of the last studio.

It was the angry student from the other day - Twinkletoes, Jason had called him - looking in shock at the girl standing before him. Jason remembered her from that day as well, she’d been talking to the boy then too. Curiosity piqued, he drew closer to listen, slipping into a narrow alcove and leaning out just enough to be able to see the two students and hear what they said.

“It’s from last night,” Steph replied with a sigh, leaning heavily on her crutches. Her leg was now encased in a heavy black fracture boot. “Got caught by some fear-zombies on my way into town.”

“Is it-?” the boy started, stunned.

“Broken,” Stephanie finished, sounding resigned. “In two places. Though honestly? It could’ve been much worse. If it wasn’t for the guy who pulled me to safety, who knows what shape I’d be in.”

Jason stared, shocked, realizing all at once that the guy she had mentioned was him. She’d been the girl from the night before; he’d saved her from the zombies. He knew she’d been familiar…

The boy pulled her into a gentle hug. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmured into her hair.

“Me too,” she whispered, so quiet Jason barely caught the words. “But what about the Showcase? I won’t be able to dance… you won’t have a partner...”

The boy released her, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “It’s fine,” he said seriously.

Even with what little he knew about Twinkletoes, Jason could tell things were decidedly not fine. Tension pulled at the other boy’s shoulders and disappointment drew fine lines along his brow.

“Tim…”

The boy shook his head, any signs of stress vanishing in an instant. He placed his hands on Stephanie’s shoulders and smiled gently at her.

“It’ll be fine,” Tim said easily. “I’ll figure things out, maybe hold auditions, and it’ll all work out. Don’t worry about the Showcase; focus on healing up. What’s really important is that you get better.”

Stephanie’s shoulders sagged, visibly relieved. “Thanks, Tim.”

“No problem,” he said easily.

Jason watched as Tim helped Stephanie gather her belongings and readjust her crutches, then followed her to the open door to see her out.

For a moment, it looked to Jason as though the other boy would leave as well. Now that he didn’t have a partner, any practice he might’ve had planned would now be pointless. Jason had no idea what this Showcase was, but it seemed like whatever this kid had planned for it was now in shambles.

But he didn’t leave.

Once Stephanie had gone, the boy - Tim - turned back to the studio and shut the door behind him, taking careful, even steps until he stood alone in the center of the room.

Jason could hear his own heartbeat. Tim took a long, slow breath.

All at once, Tim leapt backwards and threw himself into a flip, landing on his feet with a hard thud and then dropping to the floor in a wide, sweeping kick, motion exploding from the stillness like lightning screaming from the sky.

He was… dancing, Jason realized as he watched the other boy whirl across the floor in an improvised series of elaborate twists and turns, giving a voice to all the stress and disappointment he had hidden so expertly just minutes before. Moving from the alcove, Jason drew closer so he could get a better view, entranced by the raw emotion of it all as Tim danced with the sort of power and grace Jason could only equate to the best of fighters.

...It was incredible.

The dance ended almost as suddenly as it had started, Tim finishing one final flying leap that seemed to last forever before he landed and brought the storm of his dance to a close. Now Jason could see that the display was nowhere near as effortless as the other boy had made it seem - Tim’s pale brow now glistened with sweat and the locks of his hair at the base of his neck were damp.

Winded by the exertion, Tim pulled his shirt up and over his head, using it to mop the perspiration from his face and neck, exposing - in Jason’s expert opinion - a surprising amount of muscle for a dancer of his size, and more concerningly, a nasty-looking bruise that stretched across his flank.

Jason leaned closer and squinted, stunned by the severity of the injury. Black and violet stains bled across the pale skin like ink spilled on canvas - the boy looked like he’d been hit with a baseball bat… or a telephone pole maybe. He’d be lucky if all his ribs were intact.

How did a kid like Twinkletoes get a bruise like that?

He didn’t get much time to think about it. His movement, as slight as it was, was enough to catch Tim’s attention - and he turned with a jolt when he noticed someone outside the studio, watching him.

Time to go, Jason thought.

He ran.

A split second later, Tim made it to the door of the studio and yanked it open, the hinges squealing in protest as he ran through.

But the hall beyond was empty.

Whoever had been there had gone.