And so, the continuation. I can't say that I was expecting this level of a response since I think I'm fairly unknown to at least some of you, but let's just say that I was delighted.

In addition, I thought I might as well go ahead and warn you all; this chapter contains its fair deal of profanities, bad humour and… Jason talking about stuff he enjoys. Also, I thought I might as well warn you about his inability to retain one form of tense throughout; I did try to set about and correct that, but it proved way more challenging than I thought.

Cheers.

- o0o -

II

- o0o -

"The Death of the Red Hood" the ageing newspaper headlines read, and I suppose he might actually be dead for real this time around.

Maybe Jason Todd is all that's left of me after all.

I always knew that I would never die peacefully, mostly because I have a strong will to live. It is an inherent thing, something which all street kids who live past a certain age possess, because that is the very thing – the very core of things – which keeps us alive. Due to our inherent will to live and our willingness to use any means to ensure our survival, we die violently – fighting – in one way or the other.

I think I may have heard from somewhere that you can take a beast out of a jungle, but not the jungle out of the beast or something like that, and considering that I can't help but wonder if the same principle applies to kids of the street.

Then again, it doesn't matter, I suppose, because I am no longer on the street. I am in Gotham, and I have only recently woken up after having spent the last three months or so in a coma. That's what people have been telling me at least, but I don't really care whether it's true or not.

In any case, the Red Hood is dead, at least according to the public opinion, even though at least a part of my old fan base insists that it's only a question of time before the Red Hood will turn up to haunt the nights once more.

Maybe I will, maybe I won't, but at the moment, I lean towards the latter.

Being someone's hero is tiring, not to mention hazardous, and quite frankly, I've had enough.

Besides, I doubt he – Bruce or the Bat or Robin for that matter – would let me go even if I wanted to.

The Red Hood is dead, yet his murderer roams free – or at least he does now, since he escaped from Arkham just a couple of days ago. The Bat attempted to keep this from me, probably under the impression that I'd run off and extract bloody vengeance if I knew.

I smile.

For a person who has spent so little time in my presence, he knows me far too well.

However, I know better than to go after the Joker unprepared.

Bruce leaves for a conference, Robin leaves for school and Alfred, good old Alfred, leaves for the kitchen.

I myself get up from the confinement of my bed – it's my old room after all – and leave for the bat cave, since I have a score to settle with the Harlequin of Hate and I intend to do so permanently, because I am sick and tired of getting killed by him over and over and over again.

He did manage to kill me a third time by the way, but that death wasn't permanent either.

CPR and adrenaline brought me back before I was sent headlong into a deep coma, and I can't help but wonder why I can die all the time yet never seem to stay dead like I should.

Then again, I suppose, maybe some mysteries are just not meant to be explained, regardless of how nonsensical and annoying they are.

- o0o -

I fully intended on hunting down the Joker – my mind had been set on this – however, for whatever reason, my feet steered me elsewhere.

Instead, I found myself walking through the more rundown part of the city, heading towards the place I had vague recollections of once having called my home. Perhaps it was curiosity that had driven me there; I was and had always been far too curious for my own good after all, seeing that it was curiosity – my innate unwillingness to live without tracking down my biological mother – that had led to my death the first time around, since I probably wouldn't have ended up in the Joker's grasp if I hadn't.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but I have already died a time too many to care much for the danger.

- o0o -

What I found was a fatherless child caring for his drug-addicted mother. I can't say that either surprised me; back in my own time, my father was a petty crook who'd been sentenced to prison and never came back to us after that, mostly because he had already been killed by Two-Face by then, leaving me to take care of mother until she died of an overdose.

Back then, I had made my living by stealing and selling car parts, and when that was not enough, by selling myself. I can't say that I'm very proud of this, but I was young and desperate and it was a fairly easy – albeit degrading – way to make some quick cash.

The Jason I met did not seem to have gone all the way down that road yet, though judging from his behaviour I'd say that he was not all that far away from going there. It shouldn't have bothered me, but for some reason, it did.

As I have said, time and time again, death changes you, and it's not always for the better.

But, maybe sometimes it is?

- o0o -

I am not a hero, not by any means.

But, that in itself doesn't mean that I do not know how to act like one.

Besides, with me being the selfish person I am, I only ever do things for myself – or at least things which will benefit me in one way or the other. Maybe my younger self will one day come around to return the favour, but I don't get my hopes up. Besides, as already mentioned, I gave up on hope a long time ago.

- o0o -

In any case, perhaps saving my other self from a life as a thief and a part-time prostitute did provide me with some good karma after all, seeing that I had procured a gun within the week and had managed to take a shot at the Joker, hitting him right between the eyes and all.

Admittedly, and rather disappointingly on my part, the bastard survived, but he received brain damage and lapsed into a coma and apparently he is not expected to wake up anytime soon, if at all.

I don't care; he had it coming.

Admittedly, neither the Bat nor the Brat was very happy when they found out, but I can't say that I've ever cared enough about other people's opinions to care much about theirs.

- o0o -

For being a man of supposed justice – a hero, if you will – the Bat sure has double standards, both when it comes to regular super villains and when it comes to me. As for the former, he can beat them up and dump them back into either prison or Arkham – neither of which can hold them for very long – but when it comes to me, he can't seem to do either.

Oh, he has threatened to turn me in alright, especially so when he learned of my attempt to assassinate the Joker, but he still hasn't and in a way I doubt he ever will.

For one thing, turning me over to justice would definitely put him at odds with Dickiebird, and for whatever reason, I think he tries to avoid that as much as possible.

Evidently, he has beaten me up a couple of times, but that's training – for what, I do not know, since I really can't see him dragging me along to patrol the city, considering the fact that I am a recovering murderous psychopath and all. Then again, maybe he is training me as some sort of reassurance in case something happens to Dick, probably because he knows that whether I like it or not, I do care about the brat for some reason and have been protective of him in the past, ensuring my place as a wild card in case Batman ever finds himself in a situation where the Dynamic Duo is not enough.

I believe that's his vaguely formulated plan at any rate, considering the highly modified Robin costume I found down in the cave at some point. It, being much too big to fit Dick, could hardly have been done pre-emptively for the time when Dickiebird finally decided to ditch the pixie boots and the short-shorts; things just don't work quite that way.

For a costume, I supposed it looked pretty cool with all the red and black and all, but since it was a costume, I still found that it looked quite ridiculous. Honestly, what's wrong with these Kevlar- and spandex-obsessed freaks? I understand the need to conceal one's identity, just as I understand the advantages of wearing a bloody suit of armour, but I fail to comprehend why they are always – almost always – brightly coloured to the extent that they stick out like sore thumb. Then again, barring Batman and a few others, a lot of heroes are probably secretly a very attention-craving lot, or maybe they just dress in bright colours to make it easier for the criminals to spot them because they have a freaking target painted on their fronts or backs or their being in general.

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a reckless idiot armed with a spandex outfit and a severe hero complex, you know?

Dying really helps putting things into perspective, and dying has helped me realise the extreme lameness of quite a few of the things I admired during my years as Robin. Honestly, why do kids – not to mention grown men – find it so easy to idolise grown men in costumes, many of whom seem to wear their underpants on the outside?

Oh, laughing now, are you?

Thought that was funny now, did you?

But it is true, isn't it?

It's disturbingly true.

Then again, maybe those men are not specifically idolised for their ridiculous costumes, but rather for their selfless actions. Men – and women, and children, and the whole lot – should be defined by their actions, should they not?

Then again, if people should be defined by their actions, then I suppose I really would have to classify myself as a ruthless murdering psychopath, wouldn't I?

Nah, I don't do labels. Labels are restricting and useless; they hold no meaning, not to me, because whether I truly am a ruthless murdering psychopath or not, first and foremost, I am still myself and that's all there is to it.

- o0o -

Mildly ridiculous or not, it's a suit and I wear it for protection if I must, even if I do still wear reasonably normal clothes – as normal as hooded trench coat and combat boots can be considered to be – over it. It's mostly in black, but since I'm not going out as the Red Hood or anything the colour of my outfit shouldn't matter, not to me, not to anyone.

Five hours later, I make my return to the cave with a bloodied bird cradled in my arms.

The Bat is appropriately startled by the sight of us – horrified even, though with the cowl it's kind of hard to tell – to the extent that he even attempts to get up from his chair and put weight on his injured leg.

He should be happy, I suppose, because most of the blood isn't Robin's anyhow.

Besides, if he hadn't sent me out, he himself would have had to go and retrieve the bird… from the morgue. So yeah, he should be damn happy and disregard the fact that Harvey Dent is now in the same condition as the Joker – that is to say, comatose and likely brain-damaged.

He clearly isn't happy about my methods, but I don't really see him complaining much about my results once he has been able to discern that Dick will be making a full recovery – and that he isn't dead or anything, but let's not go into that.

Then, for whatever reason, Bruce Wayne decides he wants to adopt me, and for once I am actually stunned by the man's stupidity. Once I recover my speech, I proceed by basically telling him to go fuck himself since I am just a few months away from turning eighteen and because I have no solid identity to speak of – no birth certificate, no nothing – because it would be just a tiny bit difficult to explain to people why the Hell there are two of me out there.

Evidently, with his level of resources and all, Bruce would no doubt have been able to fake one for me if I came clean and asked him to, but with all due honesty I really don't see the point of it. Besides, as I was sure to inform him, it really didn't make sense for him to suddenly adopt some stray teenager he'd barely known instead of let's say Dick Grayson – his legal ward since years back.

In the end, he adopts the both of us even though I can't really see why, and I still – up until this day – refuse to title myself a Wayne in any way or form. I am stubborn, yes, but that's just the way I am, and that's the way I've always been – not even death can change that, so what makes a mere mortal think he can?

For whatever reason, Batman bestows upon me the name Red Robin, a deed which once again makes me frown openly, which leaves me wondering about the man's sanity. Then again, considering the fact that his civilian self decided to adopt me for no viable reason, I guess I really shouldn't be asking myself such things.

Then again, I suppose I should've seen it coming; the Red Hood is dead after all, officially at least, even if Jason Todd is not. Hence, if I am supposed to set out and roam the night all dressed up, I obviously have to have some sort of ridiculous name to go with the costume as well.

Still, I won't deny that Red Robin does have quite a nice ring to it; perhaps because it reminds me of a time when life was less complicated, when I actually had something to live for and when I was a little less dead on the inside compared to how I am now. I won't deny it, but simply because I won't deny it doesn't mean I have to like it.

What I do like however is the fact that I don't have to prance around in short-shorts and pixie boots. That's something – some minor improvement – at least, I guess.

- o0o -

A man like Bruce Wayne can do a lot of things, but order me around is not one of them.

I already have my doubts about the man's sanity, considering the fact that he adopted me and all, but this time around I really don't know what to say about the matter.

For whatever reason, Bruce has come to insist that I start going to school and all, even though I have been perfectly clear about the fact that my background in the education system – or lack thereof – is a perfectly good reason for him not to send me off to attend high school. Home tutors I can handle – barely – but high school? Are you bloody insane?

Bruce even had the audacity to claim that my lacking education put the family to shame – No really, Old Man, don't you think you should've maybe thought about that before you adopted me and all? And yeah, I did have the audacity to tell him to go fuck himself; it has become somewhat of a habit nowadays.

Either way, a tutor was arranged and once that hag was done with me, Bruce sent me off to boarding school… overseas – imagine that?

I really should've killed him; I really should have taken a shot at him back when I had so many splendid opportunities to do so.

The moment I'm eighteen, I'm ditching this place, regardless of whether Bruce threatens to disinherit me or not; I was never in it for the money anyway, seeing that I can't say I ever agreed to this arrangement in the first place.

- o0o -

I have to admit that I am surprised when Bruce turns up in person to fetch me a few days before my planned departure. Or rather, it is Bruce – his face, not his person – who turns up to fetch me, but the person behind it is the Bat through and through.

The Bat, foregoing any sort of dillydallying Bruce would probably have engaged in, goes straight to the point.

For whatever reason, the Bat is now a whole lot more involved with the Justice League business than previously, and for whatever reason, a team of younger heroes – the Young Justice, aka the Team – has now been formed to deal with covert threats and for whatever reason, Robin is now a part of it.

Tch. Young Justice?

It takes a whole lot of effort on my part not to laugh. Just when I thought the spandex-wearing idiot league's naming sense couldn't get any worse, they come up with something like that. It's laughable, really, in a really pathetic kind of way.

Still, I can't help but wonder just what the Hell drove the Bat to accept Robin's admittance to said team, seeing that he is supposedly overprotective when he wants to be and all.

Maybe, just maybe, he wanted Robin on the team simply because though scarce, the Boy Wonder does actually possess just a sliver of common sense – which is a whole lot compared to the amount many other heroes possess – and as such, his presence and analytical skills on a team would probably ensure that they did not go off and get themselves killed all too soon in the game.

Then again, what do I know? I've been in exile for months and a lot of things may have changed since then.

Either way, it is definitely a bad sign when Daddy Bats goes out of his way to seek my help, and even more so when he asks me – no really, he asks me – to take up the mantle of Red Robin (figuratively speaking, since my current costume does not have a cape) again and make myself available to head out to assist this new team on short notice.

Really, it makes me wonder what he could possibly be planning…

If he, for whatever nonsensical reason, is attempting to bring me into the fold of the Justice League, then I'll definitely kill him, even if I have to make Dick an orphan again to do it.

- o0o -

Five weeks later, I get sent to infiltrate a secret research facility in some godforsaken outback of the world, because apparently the Young Justice team had been sent there a bit earlier and hadn't been heard from since, prompting Batman to give me a call since for whatever reason, those super-powered spandex-wearing freaks are simply too busy with some other greater threat to go and save their little team of sidekicks by themselves.

And no, even though I may sound a bit bitter I am by no means as bitter as I have the right to be.

The reason, you ask?

My homicidal urges, amoral behaviour and multiple death experiences aside, I am a perfectly healthy hormonally frustrated young man and as such I have every right to be bitter when a call from my estranged father – I wonder, can I even refer to him as such? I mean, it wasn't like we were ever on good speaking terms to begin with, right? – disturbs me right in the middle of some of the best sex I can ever recall having.

And, yes, I have sex. Why are you so bloody surprised about that?

As a red-blooded male, I obviously have urges – I'm not asexual or anything, even if I do not automatically ogle anything that walks by with a nice pair of melons or a nice ass. I have urges, yes, though not necessarily to reproduce (obviously, since that could create some serious complications) but rather to enjoy myself. I like enjoying myself.

Okay, seriously, stop smirking.

Anyway, there I was out in the outback right in the middle of nowhere, scouting out the terrain and the secret underground lair I probably had to dive into. I am not enjoying myself by any means.

Spotting a couple of guards from my hiding place, I naturally whip out my sniper rifle – because no one really cares about the henchmen anyway – and take them down in a matter of seconds. No alarm is raised and I am satisfied with my progress, even if I know that this means I have to hurry up and move along before someone realises what's going on.

Then again, my cynical inner voice informs me. They probably know already and wait for you to enter so that they can ambush you…

Contrary to popular belief, paranoia is actually your friend most of the time, at least if you're in this line of business; if you're not careful enough, you're going to get yourself captured and killed someday, hence it's far better to be paranoid to some extent than not to be. Since paranoia is such a good friend of mine, I make sure to listen to it and adjust my plan of action to the information it feeds me, because getting captured and killed – again – would really suck.

With that in mind, I discard the heavier pieces of artillery and proceed in stealth mode once I've made sure that my suit fits the way it should and that the domino mask and the hood are in place and will stay there until I decide otherwise. Bringing my hand up to my modified mask, I press a hidden button to switch from thermal vision to regular night vision, taking a good look at my surroundings before I proceed. Fancy little gimmicks – makes me wonder why I couldn't have had any of them during my own time as Robin.

Admittedly, I hold very little love for the Bat himself… but the stuff, the stuff I love. I imagine it's about the same feeling normal people get when they get a new cell phone or a new computer or something, or like me when I get my hands on a really nice gun.

Anyways, Batman's crafty little devices do certainly come in handy at times, because even if they are – in a sense – just fancy toys, they can still incapacitate and even kill if they are used correctly. Now, I sincerely doubt the Bat would appreciate it if he learned that I made use of his devices for such devious purposes, but what the Bat doesn't know doesn't hurt him. Besides, with the Bat being the paranoid person he is, he is definitely on to me already, even if he hasn't been able to prove anything; lately, I have become quite crafty in terms of getting rid of all the evidence.

Oh, and those guards I shot? I dragged them away into the dark, swiping whatever useful stuff I could quickly get my hands on. I could've taken a uniform, but I settled for taking an access card and a pinkie – yeah, a pinkie. How else was I supposed to bypass the finger-print scanner at the entrance? I'm not master hacker like Robin for goodness sake.

In any case, I got in and I already have blood on my hands – gloves, if you're going to nitpick.

Am I a terrible person if I dare say that my lousy day just got a whole lot better?

- o0o -

Once I had succeeded in infiltrating the place, finding the sidekicks themselves was not all that difficult, especially not if one followed general logic – criminal logic, that is.

I can't say that I was very surprised to find the lot of them locked into separate cells and them themselves strapped up on the wall in the typical manner – you know, like crucifixion… without the spikes.

Now, where was I?

Yes, they were all trapped and kind of helpless, and from the looks of it they weren't in such a good shape either. No really, it was pathetic, especially since it took me less than fifteen minutes to, you know, make my way there and incapacitate the people standing guard. It was almost a bit too easy, but then again, I was just getting warmed up and since I don't do anything halfway if I can avoid it, I had also planted a few of my homemade bombs around the place, you know, because I was still kind of in a bad mood and blowing stuff up makes it all so much better.

Either way, the sidekicks looked appropriately shocked when I finally stepped out into the light, and Robin, well… he just cackled weakly, bringing a mild frown to my face. The kid had a minor head injury – that much was evident from the caked blood in his hair – but damn, that laugh was creepy, way creepier than I remembered. I moved to set him free first, and it did take some effort because my knowledge about technology is on a need-to-know basis, but eventually I got him free and the brat had the audacity to hug me, totally ruining my bad boy image, but since we were in his cell and no one else really saw it, I guess it was alright; he was likely a bit concussed after all, and people do strange things when they are concussed. I also took notice of the fact that he had – finally – ditched the pixie boots, and the short-shorts, which was a great improvement overall.

Anyhow, with Robin setting to work to free the rest of the Justice Brats, I set about to plant my remaining explosives right next to the main computer, and we finished at around the same time. Straightening up, I came to rest my eyes on them and believe me, they were a sight for sore eyes. Not that I actually cared or anything; I just needed to make sure they left the building alive and after that, they weren't really my problem anymore.

That being said, for some reason I found myself under some quite intense scrutiny and wow, no one was taking command and no one was ordering the team to vacate the area. They had seen me set up a bomb for goodness sake; had they absolutely no sense of self-preservation?

Eventually, I decided I might as well start dishing out orders, since the sooner they were out of here, the sooner I would be able to get back as well. "Get the Hell out of here. I have a dozen bombs to detonate."

It was actually a bit more than that, but who cares about such small details?

- o0o -

I did get to blow up my bombs, all fourteen of them, and watched the place go up in smoke from a safe distance. Evidently, since the brats were still around, I did check with Superman's teenaged clone whether there were any people still in the building before I pressed the switch, but that was mostly a formality since I would've done it either way.

Once that was over with, Robin somehow managed to convince me to hitch a ride with them back to their headquarters at Happy Harbor. Surely, it was going to piss quite a few people off, but it was either that or dumping all my weaponry before commandeering a vehicle to the nearest international airport and taking a commercial flight home, simply because the Bat didn't trust me with that "bat plane" of his. Besides, I had never ridden a spaceship before, and with such a splendid opportunity presenting itself with an invitation and all, who would I be to refuse?

The downside to this was obviously the intense scrutiny of the Justice Brats and of Robin chatting amiably until my ears threatened to fall off all while I attempted to ignore him to the best of my ability. Still, all that staring; it was actually starting to piss me off and I began to feel oddly tempted to snap at them something along the lines of "Why don't you snap a picture? It lasts longer!", but having become reasonably accustomed to the trends of the youth of the time, I knew better than to do that since at least one of them were extremely likely to pick up on the offer; they probably all had some sort of mobile phone cameras after all.

Speaking of which, it was the rapidly advancing technology which tipped me off to the fact that I had not – as I had initially expected – just been thrown back in time. Instead, I had somehow managed to land myself in a completely different dimension. Go figure.

This should probably have freaked me out, but I've died a time too many to freak out over nothing. Besides, I've been here for several years already so it hadn't been too hard to get accustomed to the thought of it, and if my dimension-hopping theory really was correct then it would certainly explain why I felt like such an alien at times, compared to regular human beings and all.

Anyways, my possible dimension-hopping aside, we had arrived at our destination and the latch opened up to reveal – wait for it… – the Boy Scout himself, looking just about as constipated as I remembered him, his arms crossed as he watched the Justice Brats make their way out. Robin exited last, alongside me, and I must admit that I did enjoy the way Big Blue's facial expression changed at the sight of me. He looked like he was seeing a ghost, since you know, just because I didn't wear a red hood anymore did not mean that he wouldn't recognise me in a black one. Either way, I flipped him the bird for good measure before moving past him as he stood temporarily frozen in shock, striding up to the Bat as he arrived.

"I expect full compensation for this," I announced and he smiled – no really, he did – even though it's much more of a smirk than anything, likely directed at Big Blue as the idiot's head snapped up at the realisation that the Bat had enlisted a criminal – me, that is – to save their precious little sidekicks.

"You get to keep your guns," the Bat gruffly responded and I shrugged, considering it's probably the best deal I was going to get with the Justice Geeks in the room.

I made my way out before the shouting competition started.

- o0o -

I am not a hero, not by any means.

I may not have super speed, super strength or X-ray vision, but at least I have a few useful gimmicks and a whole lot of common sense.

I am a vigilante, but I don't just hunt criminals; I kill them, but only when no one's looking since I'd seriously hate to have to be forced back under parental supervision.

I am not a hero, not by any means.

But, that in itself does not mean that I don't know how to act like one.

- o0o -

I am not a hero, not by any means.

I kill far more people than I save, and in the end I don't really save anyone.

I stand beneath the canopy a slowly dying tree, my back leaning against the thick trunk of it.

The sky is grey, riddled with heavy rainclouds, maybe even with a hint of thunder in them. It hasn't started raining yet, but from the way I see it, it has already been pouring down for a while now.

Catherine Todd – a rehabilitated drug addict – stands by the edge of the hole in the ground into which the coffin containing the mutilated remains of her son has already been lowered. Her face is drawn and her eyes are dry, but I can still hear her wails echoing through the silence, even though she has not uttered a single word during the entire funeral.

I am not a hero, not by any means.

I do not know how to act like one.

I can save no one, because I cannot even save myself.

Even so, I keep on trying.

- o0o -

That aside, for whatever reason, my homicidal hide is once again sent out as backup to the Young Justice team, only this time around, I am not alone.

My companion – just about as displeased as I am, but showing it far more openly – is Speedy, Green Arrow's former sidekick. No wait… It was Red Arrow now, wasn't it?

Either way… what's with all the red all of a sudden?

First I start going about as the Red Hood, and then I get myself killed.

Then, Batman suddenly decides I would make an awesome last resort and gives me the name Red Robin.

And here I am, paired up with Speed… – Sorry, Red Arrow – of all people.

Is anyone else seeing a pattern yet?

Then again, it could just be a coincidence, I suppose…

After all, in the JL, there's a Green Lantern and a Green Arrow and god knows what else.

Where was I going with this again?

Oh yeah, right. My severely displeased companion…

For one thing, he hates the fact that he is still being ordered around even though he has officially broken away from GA and the JL as well as far as I'm aware.

Secondly, he hates the mission, but whatever concerns he may or may not harbour for the rest of the sidekicks – aka the Team – weighs up for it.

Thirdly… well… he obviously hates the fact that he's been paired up with me to act as a potential backup, since he feels that he can't trust me – which is very sensible of him, since I do have to quell a sudden urge to stab him when he starts whining about having been paired up with a murderous rogue like me. In either case, not that it is likely to bring him any sort of consolation whatsoever, I can't say that I trust him all that much either. Neither can I say that I like him all that much, which is a pity, since we could've passed the time by discussing our seemingly mutual hatred for the JL and their holier-than-thou attitudes.

Oh well… You can't have everything in life, can you?

I sigh, adjusting the frequency of my communicator.

- o0o -

Six agonisingly slow hours later, we receive our cue to head in, and forty-five minutes after that, we encounter the Justice Brats, weary but by no means in any need of further assistance. Shrugging, I turn and prepare to make my departure, but I am called back before I am able to. After an additional fifteen minutes and a great deal of persuasion, I have a robin with a sprained ankle clinging to my back with a lopsided grin, arms wrapped around my neck. Really, the nerve of him; I really should've just let him fall off of that building back then. But alas, I did not, and that is just one regret of many.

Either way, my badass image is obviously ruined for real this time around, or at least until this moronic lot see me back in action – real action – getting my hands dirty and all.

It is at times like this that my paranoia – my best friend, you know – kicks in and wonders whether or not Robin is actually faking getting hurt all the time just so that he can get an excuse to have me either carry him around or tend to his injuries, because I'm really good at that stuff despite popular belief; I had plenty of training after all, during my own time as Robin. Either way, for once I decide to disregard paranoia, and once the brats have been returned to base and I am ready to head off to my own, I find myself with a rather unlikely companion.

Oh yes, Speedy – Red Arrow, whatever – decides that he wants pizza and for whatever reason, he decides I want one as well. Then again, who would I be to say no to free food, since he's paying for it and all?

- o0o -

Two weeks later, Roy Harper turns up at the doorstep of my newly attained crib and installs himself as my new best friend for some strange inexplicable reason, all while my fingers keep on itching closer and closer to where I keep my guns hidden. Just one quick shot to the head, I reason, just one quick shot to the head and then it'll be over with, yet I do nothing and my only outward reaction consists of a slight twitch.

I never ask him how he found me – anyone with an Internet connection and two brain cells to rub together would've been able to do that, given enough time – and neither do I ask him why, because he is obviously feeling a bit lonely and left out since his friends are all on the team and don't seem to realise he's feeling just a bit excluded.

Either way, we talk. Then we drink. Then we talk some more. Then we spar. Then we drink. Then we nearly get ourselves killed. Then we play poker and talk some more before almost simultaneously crashing on the floor. Then finally, hours later, we wake up with the hangover of a century and yet he is the one to suggest that we should do this all over again and regularly even. I want to shoot him then, kind of, but my head hurts too fucking much so I just groan and roll over.

- o0o -

People have dared to suggest that the aforementioned day and the encounter which took place on it was the start of a beautiful friendship, and just as people have dared to speak their mind about things which really don't concern them at all, I have dared to suggest that they should fuck off and get their eyes checked out, because there's nothing even remotely beautiful in this "friendship" of ours. Then again, I suppose that could depend greatly on the perspective of the one looking. Some idiot has even dared to suggest that the two of us have some kind of "bromance" going on and I honestly – honestly – had to keep myself from stabbing them in the eye with the pen I had been twirling between my fingers in a random act of idleness.

Regardless of the label, there's nothing beautiful whatsoever within it.

Would you consider the relationship consisting of two guys randomly meeting up with the sole goal of getting hammered and wreaking some havoc before ultimately crashing either back at my apartment or off in some random alley or on some random rooftop even remotely beautiful?

No?

…

What do you mean?

…

What the fuck is wrong with you?

…

That aside, I… have a stalker.

No really, I do.

I have a stalker, though it's not of the usual psychopathic megalomania quality – I think? – but rather that of a self-styled wannabe follower who keeps on following me around armed with a high-tech camera.

At first, I thought my paranoia was just causing my mind to start playing tricks on me, but eventually I arrived at the conclusion that after that many observations, at least a few of those ought to have been real even if my mind had fabricated the rest.

I have a stalker, and it's a kid to the boot. From the glimpses I've caught of him, he's not even a teenager, but I could be wrong because he's really fast – not of speedster variety, but fast enough to avoid being spotted whenever I turn around to glance behind me.

I have a stalker – a picture-taking stalker – and I am not entirely sure as to how I should be dealing with that. On one end, I find it incredibly creepy and mildly disturbing and on the other, I find it… odd, in a disturbingly cute fashion I cannot quite understand.

For one thing, anyone can tell that it's not a normal kid, not by any means, because it takes skill and guts to stalk a person like me. Then again, it is fucking dangerous to stalk a person like me and since I am under the impression that the kid knows a whole lot about me, I have simply come to draw the conclusion that he has some serious lack of self-preservation. That, along with his apparent persistence, makes me think he would probably make an excellent hero if he ever tried out for the job, seeing that they're all pretty thick-headed, persistent and severely lacking in self-preservation when it all comes down to it.

Then again, he could just be harbouring a death wish, or a crush, though the latter alternative makes my skin crawl for some reason.

At any rate, I have a stalker, and said stalker is on a good way to get himself killed for every additional minute he spends in my immediate vicinity, and no, I'm not going to kill him; I don't kill kids. However, quite a few of the enemies who may or may not seek me out while I'm out on patrol do have a thing for murdering them. Still, I decide not to meddle, and I actually don't, harbouring the thought that maybe, just maybe, he will just lose interest and go away if I just ignore him for long enough.

So far, I've had no such luck.

He is still following me around.

- o0o -

I did say I had one stalker, but apparently I have two of them now.

One is a kid and the other seems to be a teenager, but the seeming age gap aside, neither is making this very easy for me.

Then again, I suppose it doesn't help that both of them are running around in red hoodies, meaning that I pretty much only catch a glimpse of a red hood and then they're gone again. I don't follow, since I harbour no particular interest in hunting them down, but the first time I encountered one of them firsthand and got a reasonably good look at them, I actually froze up a bit when I recognised the style of dress. It's generic, but there are two of them and they're both stalking me. I am not an idiot, so I obviously draw some conclusions, but even so I do very little about it.

Eventually, I get called in by the Bat and he inquires – with the bat glare and all – whether or not I have set out to corrupt some youths to continue my career as the Red Hood. Obviously, I am mildly offended overall – clearly, he was still quite miffed at the fact that I had already managed to bend Goldie towards my immoral ways – and obviously, since the Bat went through the trouble of accusing me and all, I decide to get to the bottom with the problem before it escalates into something a bit more problematic than two kids following me around. Maybe.

- o0o -

I land on a rooftop, crouching down low to protect myself from the stormy winds and the whipping rain they brought along. The arrival of the storm and the downpour had both been sudden, and I made my retreat, deciding that it simply wasn't worth it to continue to patrol during such weather conditions. I take cover from the rain and the winds where I can find it, and overall I am not overly picky about such things. Once I have determined that the amount of coverage I've found is adequate, I slouch against the wall, opting to wait for the storm to calm a bit before attempting to make my way back; using grappling hooks under conditions like the aforementioned is not very recommendable, seeing that rain makes things slippery and the winds can bring you off course and in combination both heighten the risk of you falling to your death.

Either way, that's where I find myself, out on a rooftop in the middle of a stormy night, alone – or at least that's what I had thought until my eyes caught sight of some nearby movement. My ingrained instincts cause me to reach for a weapon, but something stops me and once I catch sight of him – the younger of the brats that had been stalking me as of late – I immediately forget all thoughts I might've had about attacking.

- o0o -

The kid – I don't know his name, though he seems eerily familiar for some reason even though I'm positive I've never met him in my entire life – is sleeping on my sofa, huddled up in blankets. He is still shivering a bit, but by no means as much as he was back when we encountered each other on that rooftop.

With all due honesty, I have no fucking idea as to what possessed me to bring the brat back with me. Maybe it was the miserable sight of the drenched little rat – wearing the red hoodie and all – that made me pause and think things over for a bit. Maybe it struck a chord in me for whatever reason, forcing me to actually consider my options before heading off. Either way, I ended up bringing the kid along, and hence I find myself with said kid sleeping in the living room.

Had I been a responsible adult, then I probably would've called in the police or something. Then again, I can't say I've ever considered myself as such and besides, there's no way in Hell I'm letting any members of law enforcement over my doorstep without a warrant, seeing that I have quite a few illegal items lying around. Besides, if any parent is irresponsible enough to allow their kid to roam the night and stalk me, they certainly deserve to worry about their kid's whereabouts.

I sigh, taking a sip out of my cup of coffee, grimacing slightly when the cold bitter liquid makes it down my throat.

The next morning, the brat is gone again, but there is a polite note waiting for me on the fridge. Reading it, I learn that my mini-stalker's name is "Tim", and that he is apparently sorry for the inconvenience. I just snort, wondering how a normal and reasonably sane person would react in the same position.

What a weird kid…

- o0o -

A few weeks later, I wake up with the hangover of a century, only to find that – hey, guess what? – the brat is back again. Oddly enough, my first instinct is not to shoot the unexpected intruder in my home, perhaps because I find him in the kitchen standing on top of a chair before the stove making pancakes of all things or perhaps because my migraine prevents me from thinking straight. Probably both.

Either way, I collapse into one of the chairs and take the cup of coffee which is offered, reasoning that it probably isn't poisoned or anything since the brat would've killed me in my sleep if he was out to do it since he's probably had plenty of opportunities to do so, considering the ease he seems to have in entering my home uninvited.

The hooded brat seems a bit fidgety though, eyes warily darting back and forth between what he's doing and the entrance to the living room. I frown mildly at this, slowly piecing things together in my aching head. Soon afterwards however, the answer decides to present itself as someone groans loudly from said direction, and I vaguely recall that Roy and I were probably out the night before, making trouble for ourselves.

Speaking of the Devil… said archer soon materialises in the doorway, leaning heavily onto the frame of it with one hand, cradling his head with the other. "Hey, Jay… Got any-…"

Silence.

Roy Harper blinks slightly, rubbing his eyes, probably to see whether or not the mirage of the miniature Red Hood will disappear or not, and obviously it doesn't, even if the brat has also paused, looking like he is about to bolt at any given moment. I roll my eyes at the spectacle, feeling a bit more like myself now that the caffeine has begun kicking in.

"We've been through this before, moron," I drawl. "They are in the same place they've always been."

The arrow's eyes snap to me in an instant and then back to the brat who at some point had removed himself from the vicinity of the stove in favour of shuffling closer to me. "But…"

"Go," I snap at him, because headaches make me even moodier than usual.

By the time he gets back, I have already sent my miniature stalker on his way. And no, I did not kick him out – technically, I just opened the door for him.

- o0o -

As soon as I have gotten Roy out of the way, he turns up again in my sofa, tinkering with some sort of electronics. For several minutes, I do my best to ignore him, but before long annoyance wins over practicality.

"Don't you have places to be – people to annoy?" I snap at him as I pass him on my way to take a shower. "This isn't a day-care centre."

He looks up at me then, looking mildly startled for a second before his facial expression turns oddly blank. Then he just shrugs mildly and goes back to whatever he's doing.

He is still there when I come back out.

- o0o -

His name is Tim, Tim Drake. Or was it Timothy?

Why do I even care?

Either way, he is a kid – a frighteningly intelligent one, but a kid nonetheless.

He is a child, yet he terrifies me – imagine that, the former Red Hood being terrified by a child. Okay, so maybe he doesn't terrify me a whole lot normally, but at times I can't help but notice how outrageously creepy and fucking dangerous he is or at least has the potential to be. Bearing no apparent weapons, most people would consider him harmless; I consider him armed to the teeth. It's his intelligence that has the potential to make him lethal, because with a head like that on his shoulders he can pick up just about anything from the street and make it into a weapon if given the incentive.

Then again, it is not his current self that terrifies me, but rather the potential I see within.

If anyone, say the Joker or Two-Face or just about any greater villain worth their name, ever got their hands on him and managed to make him cooperate, then Batman wouldn't last long and neither would any other hero.

Either way, for some utterly bizarre reason, he decided to pick me as his main object of interest after having followed Batman and Robin around for an undefined amount of time. I still don't know what initially sparked his interest in me, but from the way he keeps following me around I think it must've been something major.

For some reason, the fact that I didn't know ticked me off, and since I was already on some sort of first name basis with the brat, I thought I might as well ask him.

Big mistake.

Some mysteries… are just not meant to be explained, and this particular one was one of those.

I allowed curiosity to get the better of me, and against better judgement I tagged along with my little stalker to meet with my second stalker, completely unaware of the fact that I was in for the ride of a lifetime…

- o0o -