Chapter 2

It was well after 3 am when Jason stumbled into the warehouse for the second time. He smelled like sweat and blood. Not for the first time, he was grateful for the ingenuity in his mask's design, glad that his hood hid his face and limited his sensory input. He wasn't sure he could handle how bright it was inside. Pain throbbed at the back of his head. He could feel a headache forming behind his temples, pounding lightly as he made his way through the shadows in the corridor.

Sometime between removing Molly's body, making funeral arrangements and returning to the warehouse he started feeling a little off. Under his mask he was sure he was a little pale, hell, he could feel himself shivering through his armor. He hoped he hadn't caught a bug from whatever else they'd cooked up in the freaky lab. With his luck though he wasn't holding his breath.

Jason sighed. All he wanted after this shitstorm of a night was his crappy shower and the mattress bunched in the corner of his safehouse.

Normally, he'd handle Black Mask's forces with a bit more calculated cruelty and showmanship. As far as Gotham's Crime Lords went Black Mask was one of the worst and in Jason's book that meant the man had Bat signal sized target on his back. But after the events earlier and the developing headache, he didn't have it in him to drag this out.

The building was crawling with hired thugs. He'd noticed more on the perimeter as he approached the building, but that was nothing compared to inside the warehouse.

Jason let out a low whistle. There were well over fifty armed men marching around the halls. Black Mask certainly had deep pockets. A smile crept onto his face. Maybe, tonight wouldn't be a total bust and he'd get to piss off Black Mask more than anticipated.

Jason fell back to his training. He slipped past the swarm of guards like a shadow.

Two corridors deeper and he slid into the nearest lab room. This room was more or less intact and filled to the brim with various carefully sorted chemicals. Jason scoured the shelves until he found the red border of a carefully placed hazard sticker. He grinned at the simple lines of an exploding beaker.

Highly explosive, perfect.

There was more than enough here to set off a chain reaction of chemical explosions, but Jason wasn't taking any chances. He'd promised Molly some swift justice and he planned to deliver in a blaze of glory. No one could say that the Red Hood didn't keep his promises.

He carefully lifted the containers and attached his pre-made detonators along with a cylinder of C-4 he pulled out from his belt. His fingers finished twisting the wires and he attached the timer to the detonator.

Jason stood up and cast one last look at his handiwork. The mess of wires blinked into view as the red numbers of the timer flashed. Who would think that the blown-up birdy would be so handy with bombs?

He could hear the faint echo of the Joker's laughter in the back of his skull.

'What a hoot, bird boy! You're leaving me in stitches! Developing a great sense of comedic timing just like your Uncle J! Brings a tear to my eye. Who says you can't teach an old bird new tricks, Pumpkin?' The clown cackled madly.

Jason forced his eyes closed as he felt the rage fizzle to the surface. He took one breath and then another, trying to calm the burning anger in his belly and keep the green out of his vision. His fist shot out involuntarily, knocking a set of beakers off the lab bench. They clattered to the floor, shattering.

Shit.

The sound brought him back to the present as the footsteps outside the lab stopped suddenly. Jason forced his eyes opened and towards the door, his hand was already slipping to the knife on his belt.

A crack of light streamed in through the door as a guard cracked it open. Jason held his breath and slowly slid the knife from its sheath.

A pair of blue eyes widened as they caught sight of Jason. That was the last thing they ever did. In one move Jason gripped the man's shirt pulled him into the room and shoved his knife in his throat before he could even blink.

Jason lowered him to the floor quietly as the man gurgled and choked on his blood. In one fluid motion, Jason yanked his knife out wiping the knife on the man's pants. Then he stood and closed the door. There was a gasping intake of air as the man struggled to breathe. It wouldn't matter, the man would die of blood loss in two minutes. The body didn't take well to having its jugular severed.

He felt the thrill of the kill sing in his veins, mixing with the bubbling anger of the pit. Together they formed a swirling chaotic melody that only he could hear. It drummed in his head beating against what little sanity remained.

He was so angry all the time. Jason knew something was wrong with him. He'd known since he came back. What was dead was meant to stay dead or there were consequences. Ever since his resurrection he practically ran on rage. The fire in his veins didn't let him do anything else. He barely ate. He hardly slept. The burning kept him moving. It helped his knife and bullets find their victims and only then did the fire subside temporarily.

He was more of a wraith than a human at this point. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He clipped one last wire, set the clock and ran like a bat out of hell. Pun intended Jason thought amused. He was out of the warehouse before anyone noticed his presence.

Jason made it two blocks away before the thing went up like the Fourth of July. It was a blazing column of fire and light. He let out a low whistle at the impressive display. Black Mask's Warehouse would be nothing but ashes soon.

He could feel the heat on his skin even from here. The warmth did nothing to dampen his growing shiver. He tucked his leather jacket a little bit tighter around him as if it would fend off the cold.

Those scientists and any other bastards that were in that warehouse were toast now. And honestly, he didn't mind one bit. Karma's a bitch.

Jason found his way into the nearest alley and watched the glowing embers soar into Gotham's polluted sky. He unclipped his mask and tugged a cigarette out of his inner pocket, flicking a lighter he watched the end smolder to life. The cigarette felt heavy between his lips. He took a long drag, breathing out slowly and watching the tobacco smoke rise into the air.

All he could say was what a fuckin' night.

In the distance, he could hear the wailing sound of sirens. He turned and slipped deeper into the alley, disappearing into the darkness.

Jason made it back to his safehouse in one piece, though he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He kicked his boots off by the door, so he didn't track blood all over the floor. Next, he peeled off his stained outerwear, tossing it into a corner.

He'd take care of it later, preferably after he slept. Clothes were easily replaceable, and, in all honesty, he'd probably have to burn those to get the human tissue out. His nose crinkled at the thought; he'd liked that jacket too.

His feet shakily made their way across the cold concrete floor before he settled on his mattress. The springs in the padding protested as he sank down. The mattress wasn't anything fancy, just a tortured piece of furniture he'd dug out of one of the side streets. Still, it beat the hard ground or the cardboard boxes from his childhood. He grumbled to himself, his body felt twice as heavy as it did earlier. He definitely caught something.

The bathroom entrance was across the room, he wanted that shower, but he could hear Talia's voice berating him for giving into worldly pleasures when he had not insured his safety yet. Of course, by safety inner Talia meant weapons. He groaned internally at the rationality of it, the same cold logic the Al Ghuls seemed to apply to everything.

Ah, but what did Jason know. He could probably use a bit more rationality in his life.

He let out a sigh as he forced his body back up.

His safe house was a little sparse on furniture, all he had was a hot plate, his mattress, and a tiny dinged-up coffee table. The rest of the space was devoted to more practical things like munitions. He dragged the coffee table over to his mattress. At least he could try to be comfortable while he worked.

The knife Talia gave him was first. It was one of the best weapons he owned. He carefully wiped the remaining blood and grit from its blade. Then thumbed it, checking for sharpness, he smiled in approval when his thumb came away bloody. Jason stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking away any blood as he gave the knife a final wipe down before sheathing it and setting it under his pillow.

Next came his guns, his two side holsters and the smaller handgun he'd strapped to his leg. Jason emptied the bullets and carefully took apart his prized weapons piece by piece, laying the steel out on his worn-down coffee table.

He went over each part of his weapons, inspecting for any damage or sign of deterioration. They didn't have so much as a scratch on them, but Jason liked to be thorough. If his time with the League taught him anything it was that, although anything could be used as a weapon the right equipment sure made the job a hell of a lot easier.

Jason huffed at the memory of Talia's barely restrained look of insult —on her, it was really a slight frown and pinched eyebrows, but on an Al Ghul that said a lot— when he'd told her he wanted to pick up marksmanship. She didn't come outright and say it not with Slade Wilson, the one and only Deathstroke, regularly on the League's payroll. But he could still tell that it was a disappointment for him not to be focusing on the more traditional arts.

Jason snorted.

He isn't sure what she expected from him. His life was just a long line of fuck-ups before his death and he doubted it was going to get any better now. But he was really past the point of caring. Why fight the tide when he could flow with it? If life wanted to fuck him up, let it. He'd take it and still come out swinging until they put him back in the ground. That'd probably be sooner rather than later anyway.

His hands worked like clockwork while his mind wandered. When he glanced down he already had one of his handguns cleaned and reassembled. He sighed as he finished piecing the other two back together. It's not like he had anything better to do. Between his after-hour activities and his insomnia, he didn't sleep much anyways. Cleaning was relaxing; the repetitiveness and familiarity gave him some semblance of structure in his otherwise chaos-ridden joke of a life.

When he finished with his guns he reloaded his clips and placed one on each side of his bed within easy drawing distance.

His hood was next. Drugged up Molly really did a number on his internal systems' integrity. He flipped the hood over in his hand. The back had a singular crack that ran from the crown to just above were the mask clipped around his neck.

That was… that was impressive. One more hit and his hood would have shattered. There was no way to patch this. He'd need to rebuild his hood from the basics, rip out the tech inside and start over. Thank fuck, he'd had the foresight to stock up make a few backups before he returned to Gotham.

This hood was a lost cause, but some of the tech inside wasn't. Jason pulled out a screwdriver and began prying it apart.

The trickiest part was a series of small switches that had to be flipped in a particular order. If any of them were missed they fried the tech in his mask, that and more importantly, they triggered the start to the internal bomb.

He smirked if someone managed to steal his tech, the bat or an enterprising criminal either way they were going to be in for a nasty shock.

Sometimes the more rational part of his brain told him he was a masochistic bastard for walking around with a bomb inside his helmet. The rest of Jason's brain thought it was the funniest fucking joke he'd ever made.

His mind went back to wandering, focusing on fine-tuning his plan as his hands worked. Tomorrow he'd have to send out his contacts and check on Matt. Make sure he found his way to Leslie's doors and he wasn't infected with whatever bio-toxin ate away Molly from the inside. He'd have to tell him about Molly too.

Then he'd need to do reconnaissance. Blowing up the warehouse might have stopped the toxin from getting out for a short time, but if there were other labs or supply ports working with whatever that black liquid it would only be a matter of time until it added to Gotham's usual brand of crazy. He'd need to make sure the scientist behind that concoction were dead and Black Mask didn't have any in storage.

A drop of sweat rolled down his chin and landed on the open circuitry. It sizzled and sparked. And Jason cursed up a storm, whipping his fingers away before they got shocked.

Fuck! He was sweating like a pig.

He dabbed the sweat off on his sleeve. It came away wet and sticky. Jason frowned, getting sick was not in his plan. He looked down between his hands noticing that his body was shaking. He didn't feel cold if anything his safehouse felt warmer than usual in the cold January air.

Whatever. There was just one piece he needed out of his hood and then he could take a nice hot shower, drink enough cold medicine to knock out an elephant and get a good four hours of sleep.

The hood's internal bomb rested just below a metal plate in the middle of the helmet. Jason placed the screwdriver under the plate and pried upwards. His hand shook. The screwdriver slipped past the plate coming down hard on the explosive cylinder. The back of his compromised helmet gave way to the direct pressure, leaving Jason with the skeletal remains of an active bomb on his coffee table.

Fuck. Today just wasn't his day.

Jason tossed the screwdriver aside, scrambling to get a grip on his wire cutters. The mess of wires was wrapped throughout the circuitry of the hood. The LED light on the detonator flashed red rapidly. He thrust the cutters in finding the nearest series of green wires and clipping them all. The blinking light stopped, and Jason dropped the wire cutters. They dented his coffee table in the fall before bouncing to the floor.

Jason let out his breath. That was close. He felt like banging his head against the wall.

"Stupid Todd," Jason muttered to himself, "That was stupid. You should've just gone to bed."

Idiot.

The word echoed around the walls of the room.

Someone just spoke.

Someone was in his safehouse.

Jason was on his feet in a flash, one of his pistols in his hand as he whirled around to face the intruder. There was nothing. No one was there just the familiar shadows of his safehouse. A cold sweat spread up his spine as laughter surrounded him.

"Who are you!? Who the fuck is speaking?!" Jason growled, "Get the fuck out here now and maybe I won't break every bone in your body."

His threat fell on empty ears. Nothing stirred as he glared out at the dingy room.

Cute~

Jason's finger closed around the trigger firing three bullets into the shadows.

You missed. Really what were you even aiming for Jason?

Jason snarled. "Why don't you come out and say that to my face!"

A dark voice laughed in his head. Jason's eyes widened.

You really are funny for a meatsack.

The laughing grew louder. He clutched his head until his knuckles turned white. Pain speared through his skull. It felt like every synapse was firing at once.

"Come on Todd you can take it." He whimpered. "This is in your head. Just the familiar psychotic nightly lullaby. Nothing new at all. You just need sleep."

He couldn't stop the unease from crawling up his spine.

"Get your fucking life together Todd," He muttered to himself.

This wasn't the first time he'd had lucid episodes or hallucinations. They'd been more common after his revival. This voice though, it was new it wasn't the Joker or Bruce or even himself in his old Robin costume. He needed to call Talia she'd always managed to ground him. He reached across the table for his burner phone.

I don't think that's a good idea, Jason. The voice whispered darkly.

"Fuck you!" He said to the imaginary voice as his fingers clenching around the phone. Then suddenly he was throwing the phone across the room. It shattered as it met the wall in his apartment. He frowned down at his hand like it was a foreign entity, that wasn't what he meant to do.

The laughter returned, I told you it was a bad idea. Now I think it's time we have a chat.

Jason felt his legs turn and propel him towards his shoddy bathroom. He clenched his muscles and tried to grab onto the walls as he was forcibly marched into the room.

What the fuck?

His bathroom was bare, a few cracked tiles on the edge, a steel sink that would fit in better at a butcher's shop than in a house, and a greying porcelain toilet bowl were all that greeted him. He felt his body march up to the grimy mirror overhanging the sink.

He watched his hand raise and wipe the glass in one smooth motion. Fuck what was going on?

"That's fucking disgusting," He said as his hand lowered with a new layer of dust covering it.

It's your house. The voice whispered.

And yeah it was, the bathroom had been next on his list of insomnia cleaning. He just hadn't gotten to it yet. He griped internally. Apparently, even the voices in his head were critical of his life choices.

Jason stared into the mirror he saw his own blue-green eyes staring back at him. This was… he'd had this dream before. Usually, with the clown laughing in the background, but still this was familiar territory. He didn't remember passing out, but that didn't mean much these days, he was lucky to sleep for three hours. Now he just needed to wake up and this awkward out of body experience would end.

The cold laugh started again, I'm afraid you aren't asleep Jason.

Something started moving against his back. He froze his eyes leaving the mirror as he tried to turn his head and swat at whatever was on him.

Tsk, tsk. No manners, street brat.

His heart pounded. His fingers brushed against something cold and smooth, it felt like a liquid. He pulled his fingers forward. His hand was clean beyond the dust layer. There was nothing there.

Jason turned back to the mirror.

Boo.

He froze. Something black stared at him. It looked like a face, the thing had wide white spots, that were probably meant to be eyes. Its mouth was open, and Jason could see his teeth, all of them, sharp and needle-like. Beyond that, a long pink tongue lulled out of the side of its mouth.

Hello there.

Jason did what any reasonable Gothamite would do. He pulled out his pistol and shot the thing twice in the head.

The thing reared its head back, letting out an offended huff. It blinked at Jason like it couldn't believe he did that. Then it tilted its head to the side and rolled two lead bullets down its tongue. They clattered to the floor.

Jason looked between the bullets, the non-dead thing, his hand and the mirror. What the fuck was going on?

He noticed a tendril of liquid black following the head back somewhere behind him. He pivoted around only to be met with open air.

Jason, Jason, Jason. The thing chastised as it slunk around to face him.

He could feel its liquid form creeping across his body. Oh god, was this thing attached to him?

Rude the voice chorused.

"What the fuck are you?" Jason breathed. The thing stretched forward so it was now level with his eyes. If it was possible its toothy smile spread even wider.

I am Venom and you are mine.

He blinked, then let out a soft laugh, "Yeah buddy, I don't think so. Besides, Venom? Is that shit supposed to mean something to me?"

The thing sighed. Sighed at him like he was some annoying dumb little grade schooler and not an up and coming crime lord that'd seen some shit.

As the initial shock of the creature wore off and Jason felt his instincts kick his brain back on, "You're from that lab," He realized, his brain finally putting the pieces together. The black liquid, the sudden change in Molly's actions, "You were that thing inside of Molly!"

Seems you aren't as dumb as you look. The thing said smirking at him. Then it leaned in closer the white film of its eyes staring blankly at him.

We found you and you are going to help us, Jason. The first order of business is finding food. I haven't eaten anything since I nibbled on my last host's pancreas she didn't even taste that good.

"YOU FUCKING ATE HER!"

Green flooded his vision full force; a low growl clawed its way up his throat.

Jason's hand shot forward to try to grab Venom's throat, but his hand merely slipped through like water clanging against the steel sink. Jason howled and clutched his bloody knuckles to his chest.

She wasn't compatible as a host that means she's just fuel in the tank. It's an eat or be eaten world out there. Venom's tendrils moved slightly in a way that gave the impression of a shrug. Jason spat at him like an angry cat.

"What the fuck even are you?"

The creature flashed its bone white teeth again. Let us say we are not of this world. That's not important, not now anyway, what's important is you are going to help us.

"News flash you bastard! There is no us! And I got plans for this city and they sure as fuck don't involve you, so why don't you take your slimy parasitic ass back to whatever pit you crawled out of and go-"

Jason choked on the last word as a bunch of black slime clenched around his throat like a noose.

I'm not going anywhere, Jason. The thing purred. We can either do this the easy way where I get everything I want, and you help me, or we can do this the hard way where you fight me every step of the way and inevitably lose.

Venom's face inched closer to Jason's his long pink tongue licking down the side of his face, leaving a trail of saliva as it went.

Then I ride your body until it's a useless husk, consuming every part of you from the inside before I move on to a better host. It looked at Jason like he was eyeing an especially juicy and tender steak. So what's it going to be?

Jason would never claim to be the smartest man in the room, no that trophy would always go to someone else. But if there was one trait he prided himself on it was his ability to be the mouthiest smartass anyone ever met, even upon pain of death. That's why despite years of training with the league and before that Batman when he opened his mouth what came out next was 100% crime alley kid.

"Yeah, how about we go with the option: fuck you!" Jason spat at the alien. Venom laughed.

Dinner it is.

Venom unhinged his jaw and suddenly he was staring up at a large mass of teeth coming for him. The blackness consumed him.

Author's Note: Well, here it is and Venom formally enters the scene. This was my first time writing Venom and I'm not incredibly familiar with the character's history beyond the movie and mentions in other comics and cartoons. So sorry if he was OOC any suggestions you have for writing him would be greatly appreciated. Anyways hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think!