Jason Todd hated magic. Hated it. He hated the fancy stupid words, hated the unpredictability of the incantations, hated the versatility of the attacks, and he especially, especially hated the costumes all magicians seemed to wear. Barring Zatanna, every magician he had met or fought seemed to have no concept of subtlety. There was so much color, so much glitter.

Luckily most magic users were intelligent enough to stay away from Gotham. The Bats all tended to take particular offense against them, except for Nightwing, but his fashion sense was nearly as bad as a circus clown's. Damian had been known to strip them down to their underwear and hang them from high places by their tights, while Tim enjoyed gagging them, tying them up, and leaving them bundled for the police on public street corners, large, spray painted messages directing passersby to the attraction. Even Bruce was rumored to have dropped a particularly brightly dressed villain into the lion exhibit at the Gotham Zoo. He had stayed to make sure that the lions didn't eat the man before the police intervened, but the terrified wizard had been unaware of his lurking guardian. Due to these occurrences, most magicians tried to make their way in Metropolis or one of the other cities guarded by heroes who would react less violently to their outlandish fashion sense.

But not this one. He had attempted to declare his name at the beginning of the fight, but Jason had cut him off half-way through with a flying kick to the face. Pity it had only been an illusion. Was it Mar-something? Mav-something? Jason shrugged mentally. Who the hell cared? All that mattered was beating the asshole and preventing any more children from seeing that god-awful purple pant suit. The cape had fur. And sequins.

Thankfully, this magician's power came from his voice, meaning that no matter how well he was hidden, he gave Jason a veritable target every time he opened his mouth.

"Ayisha! Ayisha ranasda!"

Jason cursed as the ceiling above him caved in, debris raining down in randomly scattered chunks. He managed to duck out of the way of the bigger pieces, dodging and weaving his way to a more protected corner of the abandoned warehouse.

Why did it always have to be warehouses, Jason wondered, more than a little cranky. It seemed like every other week he was being lured into yet another warehouse by some psycho in a ridiculous costume.

A chunk of concrete about the size of a football fell from the sky and slammed into his shoulder. Jason rolled forward on the opposite shoulder, coming up behind a pile of oranges. The oranges had once been a stack of crates that he had been crouching on, before the magician had uttered a series of words that sounded a lot like gargling and had transformed his perch into a tower of falling, rolling fruit. While at the time Jason had decided that all oranges needed to be destroyed with fire, now he was thankful for the shelter; anything else he could have used for cover had simply disappeared with a single word from the sorcerer who stood at the other side of the warehouse, resplendent in his purple attire, laughing at the Red Hood's misfortune.

Jason gritted his teeth and tried to flex his deadened and bleeding shoulder. The pain made his head spin for a brief, terrifying moment, but the adrenaline racing through his bloodstream kept him from passing out. Not too much blood, he assessed. No danger of bleeding out. But his shoulder, and his right arm, were now entirely useless.

Fuck.

His comm crackled. "Red Hood."

"Oracle, really, really not a good time."

"Sorry. Just wanted to warn you about a magician that's supposed to be hanging out around your area."

"Yeah, I kind of already ran into him. Bastard took out my fucking arm."

Jason knew he wasn't imagining the worry that he heard in Bab's voice. "Are you alright? Do you need backup?"

"Nah, I'm good. The guy's not hiding behind anything, just need to get a clear shot-"

"Hood."

"-with a batarang, Jesus, don't bite my head off, I'm not gonna kill him, I've been listening to Daddy Bats, no guns, no fun for Red Hood, blah blah blahbity blah."

Jason peeked out over the edge of his orange fort, eyeing the magician, who was still on the other side of the room, completely out in the open, just a couple hundred feet away, and god, what he wouldn't give for a gun right now. Bruce hadn't particularly forbidden him from bringing guns on patrol, not that Jason would have listened if he had, but Jason had found that leaving them at his apartment decreased the sometimes very strong temptation to commit murder.

"Alright. I'm sending Red Robin in to help."

"Wait, what? I said I'm okay, it's just one arm, I can use the other one, I do not need help."

He didn't, not really, not at all. Sure, the spell from half an hour ago was still making his vision a little fuzzy, and maybe his right arm was out of commission, but all he had to do was get within throwing range of the little purple prick and one of Jason's modified batarangs would take him out. The fingers of his left hand traced the sharp outline of the small object. It was his own modification. Three seconds after contact it would emit an electric pulse strong enough to knock out anyone one happened to be touching it. Or who happened to have it buried in his leg.

All he had to do was get close enough to throw it. Just a couple hundred feet. With any luck the man would be stupid enough to let him get close before launching a counter attack.

See? He had a plan. He wasn't some idiot thug who only relied on his fists to get him out of trouble. And he certainly didn't need the replacement stepping in to help him, the kid was an annoying little know it all who would only get in his way.

"I'm sure you're perfectly fine," and that was definitely sarcasm he heard, "but backup doesn't hurt. Red Robin is only three blocks away, he should be there in less than a minute."

Jason sighed, listening to his breath crackle through the microphone. "Just one day, could we please just take my word for it and trust that I can take care of myself."

"Sure. Absolutely. And the day that happens and you kill yourself doing something stupid on patrol, who's going to tell Bruce? Who's going to tell Alfred?"

"…screw it. I'm going in. Tell the kid to hurry up or he's going to miss all the fun."

"Hood, wait for backup, he's less than a minute-"

"No can do, sis," Jason said, cutting off the two-way transmission with the tap of a finger. "Any other day I might wait, but not right now. That costume is just too damn obnoxious to let live."

He waited a second more before rushing out, batarang in hand, running in a vaguely zigzagging pattern in the direction of the magician, who was still standing there, just waiting for him. Good. If he was waiting for Jason to get closer than he wouldn't be expecting an attack while the Red Hood was still over a hundred feet away. Jason was confident that even with his left hand, he could hit the man from that distance, and even if he missed one, there were a dozed other weapons in his belt that could distract the wizard while he tried to get off another electrified batarang.

And then the floor opened up in front of him. Jason hadn't heard an incantation, hadn't seen the magician's lips move, and was therefore completely unprepared for the sudden lack of solid ground under his feet. There was nothing but the sudden fall, a dizzying drop, and…

Fuck.

Spikes. Fucking spikes, embedded in the floor.

Christ that seems a little excessive.

Jason had barely a second to try and position himself before his body slammed into the floor below. A spike, thin, pointed, and over a foot tall stabbed through his side and thank god they were spaced so far apart, he'd barely avoided impaling his leg, which would have sucked, loosing the use of an arm an a leg in the same night, at least it was just his side, as long as nothing vital had been damaged he would be alright in a week or two… Had anything vital been damaged? He couldn't really tell. He was kind of pinned to the floor like a butterfly. Which, by the way, really fucking hurt.

Ok. He was ok. Calm. Deep breathes, wait fuck no, no deep breathing no breathing at all, no moving, no nothing, just shift a little and find the knife in his belt, maybe he could saw through the spike...

Above, a crash echoed through the warehouse, something breaking, then a shout, (Tim's?) and a slew of answering syllables followed by something bright, something glowing...

In the darkness of the pit, Jason was blind to what was occurring above, but the rapidly brightening light could not be a good sign. Brighter and brighter and brighter, and something was tightening in his chest, something was pulling at him, jerking him, and as Jason squeezed his eyes shut and let the light engulf him, there was only time for a single thought.

Shit.


Aloha. I have resurrected myself yet again, this time bringing the promise of a multi-chapter Batman fic, featuring quite a bit of angst, brotherly love, the boys being smart-asses, and lots of fluff. Main characters are Jason and Tim, but lots of Damian and Cass, some Bruce and Dick.

I'm really excited about this one. As long as I stay motivated and actually write stuff, this should be one of my best fics, hopefully.

Fingers crossed.