Author's Note: There was awhile when I was a real Roy/Jason fan, so this chapter has a bit of a shout-out to that. For those who were asking about Jason's POV in the last chapter, we get inside his head here! His emo, emo head... Enjoy!

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I don't own any characters mentioned in this story. The rights belong to DC comics, Bob Kane, etc.

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Darkness Cannot Drive, Part 10/? (Chapter 9)

He feels like he's been fighting—full power and full speed, dodging gun blasts and weaving between T-gang members—for, like, forever. Unlike Jokerz, the T-Gang wears some amount of body armor (though they do leave their faces wide open, Terry notes) and their weapons are almost all projectiles.

Hiding in the shadows is the best bet when he can, but getting in close to take them down is more effective. Terry flies full force into one, who falls back and allows Terry to vault off of the alley wall and slam a kick into another T-gang member's face. The man falls back screaming as Terry dodges another shot of a heat gun and takes down one more thug from behind. One shot gets through, grazing Terry's arm. The suit protects him—mostly—but the heat is a reminder to keep his head in the game. Only two men still standing... Terry hooks his right arm around the one gang member's head and pulls down fast—just the way Jason taught him—and slams the man's head into his knee. Twice. All it takes is a pivot and a sharp Master-Chen-style shot to the final man's throat and it's over.

Terry lets out a heavy breath as he looks around. No one's getting up, but the groans and mumbles are a good sign that Terry achieved his goal of no serious damage. He hits the signal on his belt which auto-calls 9-1-1 and also signals for the Bat-plane.

"Not bad, huh?" he half-gasps and half-laughs into his microphone. He can hear Wayne grunt on the other side, but no other commentary. "So, what now?"

[[Are you injured?]]

"Um... not really? A slight graze from one gun. It stings, but it's not bad."

[[Come on back to the cave. You should put some burn-cream on that wound. You've done enough for tonight.]]

"Really?" Terry raises his eyebrow as he punches the accelerator and starts to turn toward the hidden Bat-Cave entrance near Wayne Manor. "It's not even midnight."

[[It's your first night back and you just took out a good percentage of the downtown gang violence in under twenty minutes. Let the word spread around Gotham and we'll see how crime patterns change. As for tonight, though... you've been working hard. And it... shows.]]

"Uh... Thanks?" Terry finds himself smiling like an idiot under his mask. He's pretty sure that Bruce Wayne just gave him an actual compliment. Did Hell freeze over? Should he watch out for aerial pigs?

[[Just making an accurate observation,]] Wayne corrects. [[Although, now that you've shown that you can meet high standards, my expectations will have to get even higher...]]

Terry can practically see the smirk over the radio. "Great. Seriously looking forward to it."

Wayne chuckles at Terry's obvious sarcasm. [[Just get back here.]]

"Roger that!" It's then that Terry just barely sees the red light flashing morse code on top of a roof in the historic district. A building right near to Jason's apartment no less... Terry notes the location and tries not to grin too much as he speeds toward Bruce and the cave.

.

.

Jason wonders briefly if his signal was too subtle or if maybe the kid didn't see it. But just as he starts to consider heading home, or at least getting off of this rooftop, he hears the sound of someone rushing up the fire-escape. Sure enough, Terry vaults onto the roof, his face practically glowing as he grins from ear to ear. "So, what was my time anyway?"

Jason tries to look grim. "Well, you took sixteen minutes to take both the Jokerz and the T-Gang out. There were twenty-eight thugs total who stuck around to fight. That's an average of 33 seconds per person. Way too long, junior."

"What?! Hey, wait—that's not fair. If that's cumulative, you know that I took longer to take down the T-Gang. But they not only took a few seconds to show up, but they also had armor and guns! That wasn't part of our original conversation. Plus, there were six or seven more Jokerz than planned!"

"Whine, whine, whine," Jason snarls. "You never know what Gotham will throw at you, kid. You have to be prepared for everything."

"Which I was—they all went down and they were all arrested, if you didn't notice. I can't believe you! Are you seriously saying that I was supposed to take all twenty-eight down in two minutes!? That's insane! That's..." Jason can't hold back his laughter anymore and it takes Terry a few moments to shake his head in realization. "You're just fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Definitely," Jason grins. "Believe it or not, you actually hit the two minute mark for taking down all of the Jokerz. And, yes, that is damn impressive. And a bit over twelve minutes of actual fighting time to take down eighteen guys with both guns and body armor isn't bad at all. So," Jason gestures out over the city horizon, "if the old man is true to form, he gave you the rest of the night off. And I owe you a celebration. Where to?"

Terry bites his lip, as if weighing his options and nods for Jason to follow him down the fire-escape.

It's a ten minute walk to the Juice Bar, and they spend most of the walk in a semi-comfortable silence. It's only when they reach the club itself that Jason pauses, listening to the beat vibrating through the walls. "Oh Christ, wait, is there going to be any actual music here?"

Terry raises an eyebrow. "It's a dance club. Of course there's music."

"Really? Because what I hear sounds more like someone threw some spare machine parts and a bunch of broken glass in a blender. Or like a motorcycle just peeled out of a parking lot and was immediately hit by a mach truck—over and over and over again. That is noise, not music."

"Huh... want to yell at those darn kids and tell them to get off your lawn too, while you're at it?" Terry's voice is impassive, but his lips twitch into a smirk so smug that Jason's trigger finger twitches slightly.

"You can't tell me that half of that 'music' doesn't sound like scraping knives across a chalkboard."

Terry's face scrunches up slightly. "What's a chalkboard?"

When Jason looks at him incredulously, the boy at least has the decency to laugh. Okay, yeah, the kid's fucking with him. Tit-for-tat, serves him right. Jason waves his hand toward the thumping club. "All right, all right. Lay on, Macduff..."

It's fascinating to watch Terry as he enters the Juice Bar, shaking his head for a moment as if to clear something out of his hair. As if a switch is turned, Terry's every step is in rhythm with the thumping beat. His fingers tap against his leg and he nods his head exactly when the beat shifts and warps. As a teen about his age winks at him, Terry nods back, looking completely and wholly in his element.

Without looking back to make sure Jason is following, Terry weaves effortlessly through the teenaged crowd and slides up to a LED lit bar. He shouts out an order that Jason can't hear over the screaming noise of the deejay. The bartender hands Terry a skinny shot glass full of a thick orange liquid as Terry swipes his card in payment. Jason's curiosity must have shown on his face because Terry immediately points to the glass as he walks over. "Orange-Carrot juice with ginseng, taurine, B-vitamins, and a few other uppers," he projects over the 'music.' "Want one?"

"No. Sounds a bit much for eleven at night."

Terry shrugs. "Your loss, old timer. It's a weekend—most people will stay here until closing and that's three a.m. Stimulants of all kinds are pretty common here." Terry frowns a moment and notes, "Oh, don't worry. I'd never use one on patrol."

The fact that Terry feels the need to say that—combined with the 'old timer' swipe—makes Jason feel like he's an actual senior citizen, like he's projecting clouds of out-of-touch ancientness all around him. "Wasn't worrying about it," Jason lies.

Terry raises an eyebrow for a moment, then half-shrugs as he tosses back the shot. He licks his lips a moment—something Jason would like him to never, ever do again thank you very much—and looks out into the thundering club. "So, want to dance?"

Jason winces. "Uh, no. Your next disgusting looking juice shot is on me and I'll watch your jacket or something, but that..." he points vaguely at two girls twisting and gnarling their bodies in time to the noxious noise, "...looks like it's not my scene. Let me know if they seem like they're about to play something that can be moshed to, though."

Terry smirks. "Okay, but you don't know what you're missing."

"Nope, pretty sure I do," Jason sighs as Terry slips away into the writhing crowd. "Jesus Christ..." Jason shakes his head and tries not to kick himself too much for suggesting a night out. 'Should be keeping things in the Bat-world, Todd. You're playing with fire here...' If he had guessed before showing up in Gotham, he would have said that there was a good chance of Wayne's new protege hating him. That was kind of the script, after all: Hood meets Bat, Hood and Bat fight, some sort of massive threat—like a multidimensional conspiracy—causes Bat and Hood to have to work together, Bat and Hood call truce, but Hood and Bat continue to hate each other. The end. Didn't matter if it was Bruce himself, or Dick, or Tim, or Damien, or Babs... they all did their song and dance to the same beat.

Terry's not following the script, though. The kid seems to actually like spending time with Jason. In fact, he almost seems to be flirting—but then, that might be Jason's wishful thinking, he realizes.

Still... he and Terry have definitely fallen into a strange and comfortable banter, the kind that usually comes from familiarity. Of course, Jason is used to Bat-banter; it was kind of a prerequisite for being a Robin, and all of the Bat's former sidekicks have an unspoken agreement that throwing barbs is as important to winning their personal battles as throwing fists. He remembers one fight with Tim in particular... Jason had dominated that fight physically, leaving the Red Robin broken and bloodied. But, spitting blood on the sidewalk, Tim had ended the fight with just a few sharp comments which caused Jason to feel like he had lost entirely. He doesn't remember what Tim said, only how it made him feel—like the younger Robin had taken to the role of Boy Wonder so much better than he had.

But banter with Terry isn't anything like Robin-banter. It isn't full of acid and malice and competition. It's lighter, more teasing and probing, like Terry is trying to figure out what and how Jason thinks with every joke and reference. It is un-Robin-like and, honestly, un-Batman-like as well... but it does remind Jason of someone... he just can't put his finger on who.

Terry's body is at home on the dance-floor and blends in perfectly with the other writhing figures his age. Jason tries not to stare—at least not stare obviously—but the boy can move and, worst of all, it seems like he knows it.

A girl nearby has a flicker of recognition on her face as she glances Terry's way and she slides over to him, her shimmery lips glowing under the flashing LED-lights. She has short blond hair and a killer body, and Jason allows himself some self-deception and tells himself that the stab of jealousy that he feels when the blond presses her whole body against Terry to whisper in his ear—causing him to lean in and then laugh about something, seemingly carelessly—is because he'd like her pressed up against his own body. And now that he thinks about it, Jason wouldn't mind that at all. The girl is hot. I mean, not Starfire hot, but then who is and...

Suddenly a realization hits Jason and it feels like a bucket of ice water has been poured directly into his veins.

Roy.

Terry's carefree banter, his flirty sense of humor, and his way of carrying himself in the world reminds him so very, very much of Roy. Jason feels his whole body tense. 'Okay, Todd, well that should be your final clue. You clearly have a type...'

Jason can't remember how long he carried a secret torch for Roy Harper. They had met each other as Teen Titans and had immediately bonded over being a little more dangerous than your average sidekick. There had been a decent amount of repartee between them, and a decent amount of sneaking out of Titan's headquarters together to get into a mild-amount of trouble too. The connection had led them to fooling around a bit as teens—nothing major, heavy petting and spit-swapping mostly. But it was enough.

After Jason died—and after he came back—he and Roy had gotten in touch again. Roy the ex-Arrow recovering junkie, Jason the ex-Robin not-so-recovering murderer. They were good together. So good and so at ease, in fact, that Jason had probably assumed some things about where the connection could go... but Roy, despite the semi-flirting and teenage fling between them, had turned out to be pretty straight-ish ('a pretty good possibility for Terry too,' he thinks) and Roy's deeply romantic relationship with Starfire was just too right, too perfect, too good for both of them for Jason to mess up.

Jason sees Terry walking toward him and forces a smirk to his face. He thinks of cigarette smoke, of scorpion tattoos and pale freckles, of creaking red leather.. Yeah, better to play it aloof, help get the kid trained, and not get too close. The lingering memories convince him—there's far too much potential for awkwardness and mess here. 'Better to stay alone...'

.

.

Terry notices just a flash of pensiveness on Jason's face before it morphs into a teasing grin. "Who was that, hot shot?"

Terry has a pretty good idea who Jason is talking about. "Chelsea. We go to school together."

"Yeah?" Jason pauses for a moment. "She clearly has a thing for you."

"Chelsea has a thing for everyone," Terry dismisses. "Well, anyone who isn't already drooling over her. She likes the challenge."

"So, not your thing?"

Terry shakes his head. "She's way too high maintenance. She can be as hot as she wants—but I didn't even have time for Dana, who was super easy-going and a freakin' saint for all of the times I blew her off. Chelsea is way more trouble than she's worth."

"Huh." There's something tight in Jason's voice that Terry can't identify. He looks up, ready to ask, when he sees the woman behind Jason fall off of her bar stool and collapse to the floor. Terry rushes over, on his knees and checking her pulse on instinct.

"Hey! You okay? Hey!"

"Ter..."

Terry looks up at the warning in Jason's voice, but Jason is looking out on to the dance floor. As Terry follows his eye line, his breath catches in his throat. The floor is littered with unconscious bodies. The Juice Bar is under attack.

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TO BE CONTINUED...