AN: Uh…Dick's still…upset…with me about the breadstick thing. You guys love me, right? You don't want me to die horribly? Of course you don't! So if you see him, and he asks, tell him…uh…I'm dead. Yup. You saw the whole thing. I was…surrounded by…shit, um…ninjas! Yeah, yeah, ninjas. Shit-ton of ninjas. I did my best, but there were too many, and they dismembered me and threw my remains in the river. But like, weeks ago, so there's no point in dredging it. Nothin' to be found. Terrible tragedy. Make it convincing, dammit. Cry if you have to. Maybe throw in, like, an old grandma I was rescuing or something.

McStaken-Fuckin' rude, is what that is. I am grade-A vigilante beef, thank you very much, I am at least half a mil to take out. At. LEAST.

AndAnotherOneBitesTheDust-I...I fucked up. So. Both, I guess. And no, I'm not...just Red. There's no more Knight. Not now.

Ow.

No, seriously, holy shit, ow. He doesn't know what happened, but everything hurts.

Punk kids…if he sees them again, they're gonna pay for this.

Jason forces his aching limbs to haul him out of bed and wishes, not for the first time, that he had an electric blanket. He just keeps forgetting…oh, fuck. Moving that way was a poor choice.

Whatever. Coffee. Coffee and maybe a hot towel, at least…those little shits, who taught them manners, jeeze…

He slumps backwards onto a chair, arm curled between his ribs and the cold, cheap wood, and listens to the outside. Traffic, lotta traffic. S'it a shopping day or something?

Eh, whatever. As long as nobody breaks out of Arkham and decides to blow up a mall, he really doesn't care.

Okay. Game plan. Maybe it's Black Mask, maybe he's just the name people know best, but some asshole tried to have him killed last night and that's not gonna fly. He didn't escape from the Joker just be taken out by some guy with a cattle prod. And certainly not for a measly fifty thousand. Sheesh.

Coffee shop first, he's thinking. The French Maid-that really is the name, has been since forever-gets all kinds. Has surprisingly good wi-fi, considering it's the shadiest coffee shop known to man. Maybe somebody noticed something, or heard something, or whatever.

He twists to see what time it is, remembers what a bad idea that is, and amends his plans for the day. First stop is the corner drugstore, get one of those sticky hot-packs.

The French Maid, despite the name and the fact that it's in Crime Alley and is horribly seedy on its own, gets a lot of business. But there is a table right by the front window that is never empty-at least, not when Jason drops by.

Sitting at this table are what Jason has dubbed the Caffeinated Three. He thinks they live here. They're never not here, anyway-they huddle at their table, laptops glowing, and communicate in little hisses. He's pretty sure that if he tries to take a laptop, they'll all morph into strange lizardmen and kill him.

Heh. He should test that someday. Just for shits 'n giggles. There's worse ways to die, right?

Potential lizardmen or not, if you wanna know somethin', go to them. They can be bribed with awe and espresso. That, and sometimes listening to their latest Batman Conspiracy Theory ™. God, if Jason has to hear one more idea about 'Batman is from another dimension!', he's going to give Bruce a mental Fuck Off and rat him out, just to stop the insanity.

He parks his bike near the sidewalk and strolls in, steals a chair from another table, and settles down next to…uh…Loki Shirt.

"Hello, boys."

"Hood." they chorus. That's creepy. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Been busy." He gets espresso shots for them and a small black for himself and finds the most comfortable position for the bruises. "Got some questions for you guys."

Three index fingers flick up and the next few minutes are filled with awkward silence and the tapping of keys. Coffee arrives and three hands shoot out, drawing the little cups closer to the laptops. Jason's expecting a chorus of 'my preciousssss' and is a little disappointed when it doesn't come.

The typing finally stops and the one across from him-Stars Wars Decal-raises his head and blinks.

"You look like shit."

One, he can't prove that, and two, he does not.

"Thanks."

"Mm. What did you want to talk to us about?"

"Black Mask." The other two look up at that. "Had a run-in with some employees of his last night, supposedly. Now, since you guys know everything that goes on down here, I thought I'd come to you."

"Black Mask…" Star Wars Decal muses. "Now that is a name I haven't heard in a very long time."

"You're too young to make the Obi-Wan thing work." Truth hurts, can't be helped. "Do you know anything or not?"

The other two snicker. Ouch. Jason will bet legally obtained money that there'll be squabbling when he leaves. Oh, to be a fly on that wall…

"There were Skypers, three tables away." Loki Shirt says absently. "Last night. Their screen was big, but it was all black. Dark room or something."

Not helpful. Also, not Black Mask's usual style. Blackie…well…he likes to be seen. He's not a shadow worker. But hey, maybe he's learning about this little thing called 'don't draw attention to yourself'. Stranger things have happened.

"How long were they here?"

"Thirty minutes and twenty-nine seconds."

Okay, that's really creepy and he's now convinced the only reason they haven't gone for world domination is because they're lazy.

Not that he's complaining.

"You didn't overhear anything, did you?"

Three empty glasses hit the middle of the table in response.

It's raining.

That's nothing new. It's Gotham. It's either raining or threatening to rain, and when there's sunshine everyone screams "THE END IS EXTREMELY FUCKING NIGH".

No matter how used to the rain he is, summer rain is a special kind of evil. It's hot 'n humid and all the rain does is make the heat wet. It might make him a bad person (like it matters), but sometimes he wishes Mr. Freeze would escape, give them all a respite.

What? He's not wishing for deaths, just less heat. Besides, it's Gotham. Anyone dumb enough to frolic outside after an Arkham breakout is takin' their chances. (Like he didn't play in Freeze-caused snow as a kid…ah, good times.)

Still, though. It's hot. And humid. And this helmet is great and all, but…hot. Very hot. He thinks his hair might be working its way towards 'comic book flatness'. He can guarantee that when he pulls this thing off later, it's going to be gross.

He slumps against the bricks, feeling them press into bruises that don't want to be pressed into, and hopes nothing happens in fifteen minutes. He wants to go home, take a cool shower, go to bed. Maybe that's selfish, but it's been a dead fuckin' night and hey, somebody tried to kill him less than twenty-four hours ago.

Yeah, that's a cop-out and he knows it. But still. It's hot, nothing's happening, and he's tired.

He hauls himself up, intending to do one last sweep before calling it a night, when he spots a flash of pink amongst the brown and gray.

Wait, what?

He really needs to get some little windshield wipers for this thing…

Yup. Pink. A man in a pink jacket, standing under an awning across the street. Despite the fact that it's raining and dark, Jason thinks he's smiling at him. Which is ridiculous. He's probably just…a smiley person. Maybe he got hit by an early strain of Joker Gas-that shit left side effects, 'cuz nobody knew what to do with it.

Brr.

Things get weird. Pink Jacket continues to smile, and, like he knows Jason's seen him, he lifts a hand and waves. Just a little one, a Queen-wave.

O-kay…

Yeah, Jason's just gonna…go. Find somewhere darker and with more distance between him and this weird fanboy.

What? He learned his lesson last time-charging in blindly gets you tortured for months and mentally shattered. Hellova way to learn a lesson, but it stuck. If he forgets his own name, he'll remember it just fine. That, and 'make your bed in the morning'.

(Alfred always knows. He forgot a few days ago and felt irrational dread for the twenty minutes it took to remember.)

He circles around to a new fire escape down the street. Gives him a good view of Pink Jacket without being in his immediate line of vision.

He'll admit it. This guy's creeping him out. Not the 'will be force-fed healthy food' kinda creepy, but more 'wears skins as dresses' kind.

Brr.

The guy eventually goes into the store. Jason lingers, just to make sure he's not doing something awful (would explain the creeped out feeling, though), but nothing happens. He buys a pack of chips or whatever and goes on down the street. Huh. Garden-variety weirdo. Maybe he's an internet fanboy. Jason's seen the forums. Once. Once was enough. He'd clicked right the hell out when he'd stumbled upon 'Ivy's plants' and 'mpreg'.

He has enough mental problems, thanks. No need to add to that.

He follows Pink Jacket, keeping his distance and hoping this isn't a Bad Idea ™, until the guy lets himself into a little apartment not far from Jason's own. No screams of terror emit from the premises, and he leaves to do one last sweep and head home for the night.