A/N: Set during S3 for the Winchesters and during Lost Days for Jason. Let's just pretend the timelines actually match, shall we? :)
Something outside howls, and Jason smiles.
"Listen to them, the children of the night," he whispers to the air. "What music they make." The quote brings back old memories, of an old man who liked books as much as he did, of hours spent searching for the best, oldest editions they could find, of happiness and finally belonging and thisismyhome.
He pushes the thoughts away. That was a long time ago.
He crosses the cold floor to the window, in time to see a flash of lightning, a rumble of thunder in the distance. He counts five seconds between the two. The lightning illuminates the motel parking lot, if only for a moment. It is enough to count three cars, besides his motorcycle. This isn't a very popular place, it seems, and that is just fine by him. He's not looking to be noticed, especially not after that stunt he pulled in London.
He'll start drawing attention to himself soon enough. But not here, and not now. He has the Joker's location now, and he absolutely refuses to get caught before he can put the clown six feet under.
Lightning cracks against the sky once again, and he only has time to count to three before the thunder follows. Getting closer, then, he thinks, and sighs. He likely wouldn't have slept tonight, storm or no; this is just a convenient excuse to be up and about. He turns from the window and exits the room, only stopping to grab a knife and a gun from his duffle. He may be in the Middle Of Nowhere, USA, but that doesn't mean he's stopping to take any chances.
He wanders down the hall almost aimlessly, running his hand against the wall. He counts the dark doors that he passes: one, two, three, four, fi- huh. That one's occupied. He stops to stare at it for a moment, recalling the few other cars in the lot. Apparently, he isn't the only one with insomnia tonight. Vaguely, he wonders who they are, what they're doing in a slum like this, what their story has been so far to lead them here.
And as if reading his mind, the door bursts open. Jason jumps out of the way, and it's just as well that he does, since the two men that burst out of the room don't look like they'd have moved out of the way for him. He stares after them for a moment, lifting an eyebrow. They're running like they've got the Flash himself after them, and that's… wait a moment. It's only for a second or two, but he's sure he sees guns tucked into their waistlines.
Hm. Interesting. So, they're either running to commit murder or running to prevent one.
Either way, they are certainly worth following. So Jason does.
It begins to rain as soon as he steps outside, as if it were waiting for this. He growls and glares at the sky, but continues to his bike. They're pulling out now -and goddamn is that one gorgeous car- and if he wants to keep up, he doesn't have time to grab a jacket. Not that he has a good one anyway.
The keys turn in the ignition, and the motor starts up with a low purr. He grins, sharp and fierce, and slams the gas, roaring onto the road with an immense feeling of satisfaction. He has never been the sedentary type, and there's nothing that gets his heart pumping like a good old-fashioned high speed chase. Because that's definitely what this is. The speeds these guys are going at are definitely illegal, especially at this time of night.
It's funny, but with the wind and rain in his hair, and the pavement passing underneath him like water, this almost reminds him of-
Nope, he cuts himself off. Not going there. Eyes on the prize, Todd.
The car in front of him makes a sharp right, and he does the same. He recognizes this road; they're headed into town, whatever this town is called. He didn't bother to check on his way in, and he certainly isn't going to bother now.
Minutes pass, he's sure, before the car stops, but they are lost in the blur of icy needles of rain stinging his cheeks and the smell of burning rubber on asphalt. All he knows is that they are now in the suburbs, or what qualifies for suburbs in a tiny town like this, and he has to slam on the brakes to stop a reasonable distance away. He doesn't manage to cut his lights before they clamber out of the car, and for a moment, he thinks he's been seen, but they rush up to a house on the block like nothing else matters. They don't even bother to knock; they kick the door open like it's a practiced movement, tugging out their guns as they walk inside. Jason is quick to follow, sprinting across the muddy yard and pulling out his .22. Maybe they're here to help someone, maybe the opposite, but one thing is clear: they are not playing around.
He reaches the front door in record time, but before he can step across the threshold, there is a loud clatter, and a shout. A young, feminine shout, and Jason curses. Now he's definitely glad he brought the gun. Raising it, he charges inside.
He is not prepared for what greets him.
It's a living room, or what used to be one, he thinks. The furniture is strewn everywhere, half of it broken, and everything glass has been shattered. The two men are there, as is the woman he heard, but there is a fourth, an older woman who looks like she just crawled out of her grave (and he would know). As he watches, stunned for a moment, she sort of… flickers forward in a lurch and waves her hand. One of the two men, the taller one, goes flying across the room. Jason suppresses a curse.
He knows what's going on here.
Supernatural entities are relatively rare, or so Batman told him, but there have been a few severe cases that the League got called in to take care of. So, Jason was taught just enough to know that whatever this is, it's not a woman anymore, and regular bullets aren't going to do shit.
The second of the men seems to be putting up a fight, so he takes a few seconds to look for something that might actually be of use. His gaze lights on a metal rod; for a moment, he thinks it's a crowbar, and he freezes, but then he sees that it's a poker stick.
An iron one.
Iron. Okay. Isn't that supposed to hurt ghosts and shit?
Only one way to find out.
Without hesitating, he takes two steps, grabbing the poker in one and swinging it with the next. His aim is true, and is goes right through the thing's midsection. Not entirely to his surprise, it dissolves with a screech. He meets the man's startled eyes.
"I've got things covered here," he snaps. "Go kill this thing."
To his credit, the man only spares him a moment before darting from the room. Jason tracks his progress, paying close attention to his surroundings. "You okay?" he asks the young woman, without looking at her.
Unsurprisingly, she does not respond. She's too busy cowering on the floor. He supposes he can't blame her.
Across the room, the other guy moans and struggles to a sitting position, hand pressed gingerly against his head. "Ugh, Dean, are you-" They lock eyes, and his widen. "Behind you!" he exclaims, and Jason does not hesitate to whip his poker around, banishing the creature (ghost?) for a second time.
"Hey, how long will this take?" he demands, scanning the room again. The hairs stand up on the back of his neck, and he barely turns in time to take it out again.
"I don't know," the guy says, standing and leaning on the wall for support. "We salted the wrong thing, but Dean knows what to look for." He backs against the wall, eyes darting around continuously, vigilance that Jason approves of. The gun is steady in his hand, though Jason honestly doesn't know what he thinks a gun will do against something like this.
The thing appears again. The guy shoots at it, and it disintegrates.
Well. Okay. That answers that.
"Can I get one of those?" he asks, eyeing the gun. The other guy laughs briefly.
"Just rock salt bullets, man. You're a hunter without knowing about them?"
Hunter. Interesting. Jason files the term away for future reference. The way this guy talks, it seems like this might actually be what these these guys do for a living. Not, of course, that he can judge.
Then, he is flung against the wall. He would curse, but the wind seems to be knocked out of him. The thing, ghost, whatever the hell it is, is right in front of him, looking positively murderous. It flickers closer and makes a gesture with its hand… and suddenly he can't breath. It's the coffin all over again, and as much as he struggles, he can't escape the force that has him pinned. Vaguely, he sees the other guy on the opposite wall, struggling for breath, but at the moment, he's more concerned with himself. If he doesn't free himself soon, he'll die all over again, and he'll be damned if he lets that happen before he can confront the Joker. Batman. Either, both, it doesn't matter.
LetmegoletmegoIcan'tfuckingbreatheletGO-
And then, the thing screams and lurches backward. Jason collapses to the floor, coughing, and watches as the thing goes up in flames that seem to come out of nowhere. There is not so much as ash left; only a faint scent of burning signifies that it was ever there at all.
The other guy sits up with an obvious effort. "You okay?" he asks, voice breathy.
Jason nods. "Just peachy," he mutters, rubbing at his chest. The feeling of being suffocated again is something that will haunt his dreams for the next few nights, but he'll make it through. He always does.
The guy grins. "That's good," he says, like he honestly cares. "We didn't know there was another hunter working this case."
"Right. Sure," he replies, and decides to go with honesty on this one. "What the hell's a hunter?"
And as the second guy comes back into the room, and the first stares at him in incredulity, he gets the feeling that his night isn't nearly over yet.
Their names, he learns after helping them tidy up and calming the almost-victim down, are Sam and Dean Winchester. Yes, like the serial killers. Only, apparently they are not serial killers, but monster hunters. If they had said this to him a year or two ago, Jason might not have believed them, but after what he's been through, he's a hell of a lot more open-minded than he once was.
"So, you guys seriously do this for a living?" he asks, following them out to their car. For a moment, his brain short-circuits, because damn. He admired it from far away, but up close, this is a work of art. He's not saying he would choose this over the Batmobile, but… well, he probably would, actually.
"Wow," he says. "Loving the wheels."
Dean, the older and shorter one, grins. "1967 Chevy Impala," he boasts. "She's my Baby."
Jason nods in understanding.
"To answer your question, though, yeah, this is what we do for a living," Dean continues. "Doesn't exactly pay very well, but we get by on hustling and stuff like that."
"And credit card fraud, I'm sure," Jason adds wryly.
"And if that's the case?" Sam the Sasquatch adds. Jason frowns at his tone and looks at him. His gaze is sharp and wary, and… damn. He must have him figured out. A random guy, who just happens to have a skill set that could help them, showing up in the middle of their hunt? Not likely. Some sort of vigilante on the other hand…
"Guys like you have been hiding from guys like the Justice League for a long time, haven't you?" he asks, and by the way they both stiffen, he can tell that it's true. "This is your life, and you don't want their interference or their help. You're even willing to be named serial killers and go to prison to avoid that." And that is something that he can definitely respect.
"Sorry, but who exactly are you again?" Dean demands, fire flashing in his eyes. He steps slightly in front of Sam, a big-brother move if he's ever seen one. He waits for a moment, sizes them up. If it were to come down to a fight, he could probably take both of them, but it would be hard. In skill, they're lacking compared to him, but they make up for that with pure determination.
Not, of course, that he wants to let it get to a fight.
"Relax," he says, raising his hands in the universal gesture for peace. "The name's Jason Todd. I'm no friend to the League. Haven't been for a long time. I'm not a bad guy," he hastens to add at their faces.
"You are a vigilante though," Sam states.
He shrugs. "Guilty, though it's not like you'll have heard of me." Not what he's going by now, anyway, and there's no way he's bringing up his past. Too many skeletons in that closet. "I don't exactly play with the big boys."
At that, Dean scoffs, and abruptly steps around the car to the driver's side, muttering something about heroes "never being around when you need 'em." Jason can't fault him for that. It's mostly true. Sam gives him an apologetic look.
"Uh, sorry about him. We've never really gotten along with heroes either, so…" He trails off with a shrug. "We should probably be getting on the road now, but, uh… here." He takes a notebook and a pen out of a jacket pocket and scribbles something down, tearing the paper out and handing it to him. "Our number. In case you ever encounter anything else like this."
"Right." Jason takes it and stares at the messy number sequence. He likely won't ever call, but he thinks he likes these two well enough, so he might keep the number anyway. "Sure. Thanks."
Sam smiles and holds out his hand. Jason takes it. They shake briefly, and then Sam is moving away, stepping into the car.
Jason hesitates, an idea striking him. It probably wouldn't be very smart, seeing as he's only just met these two, but there's something about them that he relates to. Maybe it's the look in Dean's eyes like he's waiting for an anvil to be dropped on him, or the way that they seem to trust each other completely in a way that he hasn't been able to trust anyone in a long time. Either way, it's drawing him in, and he decides not to resist for once.
"Here," he says, grabbing the notebook from Sam. "Here's my number too." One of many, anyway, but he supposes he'll keep this disposable cell phone charged from now on. "Call if you need a crack shot, or a shoulder to cry on, et cetera. Or if you meet a lady named Talia. Definitely call if that happens. But, uh…" He thrusts the notebook back at him and steps back. Damn, not very good at the whole social interaction thing anymore, are you, Jay? The voice sounds like Dick, and he tells it to shut up. In his defense, it has been a while since he talked to someone who wasn't either the scum of the earth or trying to manipulate him.
Sam smiles. "Thanks, man. We'll keep that in mind."
"Right. See ya around, then, I guess."
Sam gives him a wave and another smile, and Dean gives him a nod, and then the engine is revving and the Winchesters are speeding off into the night, leaving him in their dust.
"Like a bat out of hell," he mutters, and goes to grab his motorbike, wondering if it's too early to check out of the motel.
After all, the Joker won't kill himself.
And so it is that months later, after the Joker and Hush and all of the baggage that came with them, when Jason is ready to put his final plans in motion and wreak havoc on the Batman, he gets a phone call, and Sam Winchester is on the other end.
"Uh, hey man. What's up?" he asks, because Sam… does not sound good.
"Jason. Hey," he says, he and gives a shaky little laugh that sets alarm bells ringing. "Sorry if this is a bad time, but I kind of needed to talk to someone."
"No, no, not a bad time at all," he replies, even though he's in the middle of a stakeout and it kind of is. "What's wrong?"
There is only static on the other end of the line for a moment. And then: "Dean's gone," he says, and his voice is so full of pain that Jason winces. "I… everyone… they all mean well, but I don't… I mean…"
"You don't want pity right now," Jason guesses. Right. Okay. No pity. That's something he can do. "You want me to come?" he offers, scowling as the words leave his mouth. Where had that come from? It's not like he knows the guy.
But he knows all too well what it's like to have the world ripped out from under your feet. He knows what it's like to lose the only family you've got.
There is another long pause. "Uh… I mean…" He laughs again, and Jason's frown deepens. He stares at the docks, at the shipment that's just about to arrive. This would be a fantastic way to announce his presence in Gotham, but…
Damn it. He's getting too soft.
"Nevermind, don't answer that. Where are you?"
"Uh, Sioux Falls, South Dakota, but-"
"Don't go anywhere." He flips the phone shut and takes another look at the docks.
Another day, then. Batman will still be here when he returns.
And so it is that the Red Hood's reign is over before it begins. He abandons Gotham in the dead of night, and none mark his passing.
Batman doesn't realize he was there at all.
A/N: The quote that Jason uses in the beginning is, if anyone was wondering, from Dracula.
I'll most likely write more for this, though I can't promise it'll be soon. Until then, I hope you enjoyed. :)