March 15th
2032hrs
Jason paced back and forth. He wanted to smoke, he wanted to step outside and pick a fight with the nearest asshole. It was Gotham. There was bound to be someone he could smack around. He wiped his face with his hands irritably. He ignored the men and women staring at him in the cafeteria. Hospitals were stressful, there was a lot of odd behaviors that could be forgiven.
Still, he felt self-conscious.
"I'm trying to quit smoking, alright?" He snapped at one of the women staring at him.
She jumped in surprise at being called out and looked back down into plate of food and avoided looking at him. Thankfully, most of the other half dozen or so people also looked away.
He blew out a breath and walked out of the cafeteria. He and Harv had to talk. He didn't want to end what had actually been a pretty good day on such a terrible note. So what if he knew that Dick knew about Red Hood. It didn't out anyone else. It didn't mean Harvey had figured out the rest.
Jason chewed at his lip, feening for a cigarette.
He needed a fight. He was half tempted to call up Arsenal and get his ass on the computers so that Red Hood could make an appearance. He started to do just that when he recalled his and Slade's conversation on their private jet ride home. Courtesy of Slade's employer, otherwise known as Timothy Drake-Wayne.
"No more Hood for at least a few days, Kid. Maybe even weeks," Slade insisted. "We need that persona to go dark until we can get rid of some of these assassins. Then you can focus on Joker."
Jason had laughed to keep Slade from seeing that he flinched at the mention of the clown. "Wouldn't it be easier for me to be the bait?"
Slade had looked at him with that one dark eye, something indescribable forming in the depths of his glare. Something that felt like irritation and concern. Something almost… Jason shook off the thought and then looked out the window. Better to ignore it.
"Easier, but riskier. We don't need anyone making the connection that JT Bennet has any affiliation with The Red Hood," Slade answered. "Unless you're ready to ditch the alias, of course."
The thought had crossed his mind a time or two, but Bennet Construction would allow him to help the city in a way Red Hood couldn't.
Jason shook his head. "No, Bennet stays."
"Then Red Hood is out for at least three weeks. You can use that gear you borrowed from me the other night."
"And if Joker attacks again?"
Slade looked up from his laptop and then closed it. "Is this about revenge or putting down the clown?"
Instantly, Jason flew to the defensive. He couldn't help it. "That fucker killed me, Slade! He put me in the ground, and he doesn't just get to—"
Slade lifted his hands in supplication and chuckled. "Easy, Brat, that's not what I meant." Slade paused for a moment before he elaborated. "All I'm saying is that you have to decide what you want. Revenge or just to kill him. Clearly, you think you want more, or he'd be dead and burned by now."
Jason couldn't have denied it if he wanted to. "Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, that's true. I want…"
"It won't help, Kid," Slade warned when Jason couldn't seem to find his words. "The pomp and circumstance? Nothing is going to feel good enough. Not a slug to the head. Not torturing him for weeks on end. No matter what you have planned, the elation and the relief will not live up to the buildup you're sitting in currently.
"I get that you don't know that yet but trust me. The planning of revenge, the setting up your traps… Those feel far better than the end result. You'll feel good, but after that rush leaves you? Once the mission has been completed after a few hours and the joy and pride settle, you're gonna be empty again."
It was in that moment that Jason understood why Slade was so worried about him. Why the Terminator had returned to Gotham. Earlier that week Jason had wondered if people truly saw him as suicidal. Hell, Slade had all but said it. Now though, he could understand the why.
Looking at the assassin it was too easy to see. Slade had been there before. Had finished out some bloody vendetta and found himself with nothing left to do to heal whatever old hurts there might have been. Not even the exhilaration of plotting the demise of a man or woman Slade had spent up to years focusing on. That's what would happen to Jason once he killed Joker.
But he had to be honest. With himself especially.
"I want my revenge," Jason answered.
Slade nodded, no judgement over his stern face "Then no more of The Red Hood until I say."
Jason sighed as he shook his head. No Red Hood. Let Joker think he ran away or that he got picked off by one of the many mercenaries in the city. For now, he'd play by Slade's rules. He'd be "Protégé" a nameless, black helmeted vigilante with out a single personality trait to speak of beyond quiet and obedient to Deathstroke.
Well… He'd try quiet.
Robins tended to be a little chatty regardless of what uniform they wore.
2245hrs
Dick slammed into the wall with frightening force. He'd forgotten how much stronger Red Hood was. "JT" had pulled his punches and Jason had only ever struck when they were kids. Well, when Jason was a kid. His eyes widened behind his domino as he stared at the black-armored figure in front of him. Jason's free arm was out and away from his own body as he attempted to protect Nightwing from the sword wielding maniac.
Dick had been on patrol, trying not to overthink the fact that Jason still hadn't reached out in any way. Dick was sure that come Hell or high water, his ex was going to find a way to rip him a new one for pulling away during their last shared kiss. Especially after Dick and Bullock talked that afternoon.
Unfortunately, Dick's current situation was his own fault and he knew it; he'd let his mind wander to Jason constantly. It gave the sword carrying mercenary from parts unknown all the opportunity they needed to attack.
Whatever the sword was made of it, it was sharp! The blade had sliced right through Nightwing's body armor. Thankfully, his reflexes had stood him well and Dick only suffered a small cut just under his right arm. For several intense minutes, Dick refocused on fighting back and nearly had the swordsmen beat when the man tossed pepper at him! Pepper!
The effect was immediate as he sneezed and coughed.
Jason, in his borrowed gear from Slade, had shown up just in time and thrown Dick bodily away from the danger and straight into the roof access. He made some quip that Dick didn't get. "Who do you think you are? The Scarlet Pimpernel?"
His eyes watered as he tried to see what the not-so-red Red Hood did. He kept coughing and wheezing, relieved when he heard Oracle's voice in his ear.
"It's an inhalant," she informed him. "It's just dry pepper spray and not nearly as concentrated or harmful. You should be able to catch your breath."
He watched as Jason bore down on the man with a skill and intensity he'd never before witnessed in the former Robin. The Red Hood to this point had been spontaneous and enraged with the men and women he targeted. Unleashed fury let loose upon the world at large.
The man fighting now reminded Dick of the first tapes he'd shown Bruce. It brought back the cold efficiency that Red Hood had shown when he bombed the club or killed the bank robbers. As he and Tim once argued after Two-Face and Deadshot were killed, it brought back the reminder of Red Hood's duality. The frenzied revenge killer and the cold competent assassin.
"Good thing Hood's hood is more of a helmet," she commented. "Now, for the tenth time, Nightwing, how bad is it?"
His eyes widened as he watched Jason toy with the man. No, not toy. He was trying to determine the man's threat level. Dick's heart skipped a beat. "He's gonna kill him, Oracle."
"Nightwing, why are you still out of the fight?" Batman's voice demanded. "Oracle, check his vitals!"
"Hood's gonna kill him!" He insisted again. Why weren't they taking him seriously and why wasn't he getting up to do anything about it?
To Dick surprise, Jason's seething tone came across the comms. "He'll be fine. It's mild poison. His body just needs to let it run its course. It's not lethal in the slightest."
"Don't you dare kill him, Hood!" Nightwing growled as menacingly as he was capable.
Instead of answering, Dick watched in horror as Red Hood left himself open. The swordsman took the bait. Red Hood's dagger didn't twirl even once before it was shoved into the man's throat. The Red Hood pulled the weapon back and in his opposite hand he held his gun. Hood fired twice into the swordsman's chest cavity. Once in each lung.
"How could you do that?" Dick cried out.
Jason snorted beneath his black helmet. "Yeah, I'm the fucking bad guy. Just protected you from an assassin, but I'm the asshole." Jason walked toward Dick and then crouched down within inches. His black-helmeted ex reached forward as gloved fingers grazed Dick's cheek. "This is why it won't work between us. You think you want me, but you don't."
"That's no—"
Dick was stopped by Jason pressing a gentle hand to his lips. "It's true." Jason insisted in quieter tone than Dick could recall the man ever using before. "When I'm broken, crying, and talking nonsense, you want me. You want to scoop me up and take me home. That's the brotherly instinct. When I'm JT and I'm laughing and snarking, that's when you love me. But when I'm in uniform, whether calm or wild, you flinch… And you'll flinch every time. I can't hold back, Nightwing, not even for you."
Dick felt too sleepy for the argument, but he pushed forward anyhow. Jason sounded hurt and dammit, Dick had made his choice. He wasn't letting Jason go. He wasn't.
"Just, just stop killing. Why is it so hard?"
There was a long awkward moment of silence before Jason pulled his helmet off. Dick was relieved to see his bright teal blue eyes. To know for certain that it was Jason under the mask and not some freaky decoy.
For the first time since the drama of Joker's killings, Jason almost seemed… normal. It unnerved Dick. He didn't want to hear the Red Hood manifesto from a supposedly sane and clear minded Jason. When The Red Hood was screaming and fighting his way through carnage, Dick could make excuses for him. Could blame the hysteria and the probable PTSD. Dick would always make excuses for that side of Jason.
But how could it be defended if Jason wasn't really crazy?
"It's too hard not to kill, Nightwing," Jason said with a touch of finality that made Dick shiver.
"It's not," he insisted. "You just… your mind has been fucked up since Deathstroke and—"
Jason stopped him with a shake of his head. "No. No, I killed long before the Terminator. Just like Green Arrow. Just like Wonder Woman and Green Lantern," Jason smirked to himself as if telling himself a joke. "Did you know that Flash has killed, and even Superman has had to take a life?"
The deadly vigilante stood up and ran a hand through his hair. Dick wanted to reach out for him, but his stomach felt ill and his heart rate was picking up a touch. "That's not… It's… Dammit. B, help me out here."
Jason laughed and for once, Dick couldn't see or hear the hysteria that had plagued Jason over the past week or so. He wasn't sure what was better. A hysterical, obsessive Red Hood or a calm, rational Jason Todd who condoned murder?
The Hood leaned down into his space again and grinned, his eyes sparkling brightly like they had anytime Jason got passionate about something. "No matter what he says, I'm not wrong. His friends have all taken at least one life."
Dick licked his lips and then flushed as he stared up at his former lover. He didn't understand how he could be so drawn in by someone who stood for everything Dick stood against. Dick wanted to submit to Jason's reasoning, he wanted to agree. He remembered the burn and ache for vengeance against the man who killed his parents. He remembered Bruce trying to console him. Worse, he remembered the relief and satisfaction he felt when Tony Zucco was sentenced to death. When the mobster was electrocuted.
He'd never wanted to tell Bruce. Never. But even as he looked into Jason's face, he still felt it.
"Every man and woman I've killed is directly responsible for death or extreme tragedy, Nightwing," Jason whispered. "I'm never going to apologize for keeping kids safe. Be they the nameless street urchins in Crime Alley, or the Timothy Drakes of the Gotham Elite."
Dick choked at Tim's name.
It was too easy to remember the horror Dick felt when Alfred called to tell him about Jason's murder. He recalled the grief and the gloom that hung over the cave. Over him. He'd lost Jason, and as Wally had pointed out, they weren't even that close. What would it be like to lose Tim? To lose a real brother?
Not that one meant more to Dick than the other… but. He squeezed his eyes closed against the tears that threatened to fall inside his mask. Wasn't that the very reason Bruce had yet to allow Tim to return? They couldn't take the chance. Wouldn't take it. Not again.
"Joker will never kill him," Jason vowed in a whisper, as if reading his mind. "The clown will not get his hands on another Robin, I promise, Nightwing. You'll never lose a brother and Batman will never lose another so— partner."
Dick wondered if Jason was going to say soldier or son, but he didn't get a chance to ask when he caught a sudden shift. Jason's face paled at the same time that he looked to this left. The man was back to his feet, looking over his shoulder with a wild look on his face. Dick watched as Jason put the black helmet back on with trembling hands.
"Hood?" he tried.
"No, fuck off Nightwing. I have to…" The Red Hood looked about slowly as if searching for something, but everything had changed. The edge of insanity loomed over Jason as he tensed and searched for something even he must not have been able to see.
"Hood, wait," Nightwing called. "Don't go! I…"
The Red Hood turned and faced him, his faceless helmet looking at him expectantly.
"I… I think I understand now," he whispered, ashamed and worried about Oracle and Batman's reaction, but he needed Jason to know. Maybe it would even snap Jason out of whatever had taken him away.
The tension eased a touch as The Red Hood nodded once before he took off running for the ledge of the building. Dick heard Oracle and Batman demand status updates, but he didn't care about his health. He worried about Jason. He worried about how sane he'd seemed before falling back into the abyss of something unnamed. Something he knew he'd seen once or twice in the recent past.
Dick slowly got to his feet, his stomach still twisting or cramping dully. He just needed to get back to the cave.
"I need a ride, Oracle. I still feel weak and dizzy," Nightwing finally announced.
"Batman's on his way. He insists he can do this one thing," Oracle sighed.
They both knew it was the beginning of the end of Batman's grounding.
March 16th
1216hrs
Jason chewed at his tongue impatiently. Harvey was taking a shower and then they'd head back to the condo. Slade was glaring at him from the doorway of the room, as if it were somehow Jason's fault that the detective wanted to be clean before going home. He pointedly kept his eyes off the assassin, staring at the various hospital equipment.
"Things are going to get intense, Kid," Slade warned.
Jason nodded. He didn't need Slade to tell him what he already knew.
"You won't have contact with anyone but me for at least five days. Maybe more if I think it's necessary," the ornery old cyclops continued.
Jason's teeth bit down hard, glaring at the heart monitor as he tried not to lose his shit. If Slade noticed, which he likely did, he didn't mention it. He just rambled on about the training he'd be going through. The rules he'd need to follow.
"Tell me what I want to hear, Kid," Slade ordered.
He took a deep breath. It was for his own good. It really was. People thought Slade was a monster, and on some level, he was. But without Slade, for better or worse, Jason would be dead. He'd have lost his mind before he even got to Gotham. Before he could do the good he'd done. All the training with Ra's' real monsters would have all been for naught.
"I'll stay away from Nightwing. No more rescues," he acknowledged. Slade was mostly focused on Dick, but he didn't have a reason to be. Not anymore. Dick claimed he understood, but that didn't mean he'd condone it. He'd still wind up taking it all back.
They were bad for each other. Jason killed, Dick didn't. They were too opposite, too… But the look on Dick's face. Even with the white lenses, something had sparked in Dick. Something that felt like acceptance and understanding and Jason's chest hurt that a fucking ghost or delusion of all things had destroyed their connection.
"I'm not taking you out of Gotham," Slade added.
Of course, he wouldn't. Jason had to learn to face the monsters in his closet. Deathstroke's "protégé" couldn't be seen falling apart anytime Joker laughed. Jason or Red Hood wasn't allowed to hear things because he refused to sleep or simply hadn't been able to for days on end. It wasn't professional. It wasn't tidy. It didn't inspire confidence.
It was weak and pathetic. Two things The Terminator would not be associated with.
"But?"
"I am restricting your access to Bullock, too."
He rolled his eyes as he finally turned to face Slade. "Do you think I can't comprehend the words 'anyone but me'?" he demanded as rage started to bloom in the pit of his stomach. His fists clenched and he almost stood up from the chair he'd been lounging in. "I got it, alright? For the past two days you've been drilling into my head that I'm at the fucking crossroads. Buck up or fuck off, right? I get it. Just… back the fuck off me, alright?"
To Jason's surprise, Slade didn't retaliate or comment further. Instead they both fell into silence until Harvey finally walked out of the small bathroom fully clothed and read to go.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," Harvey grumbled, shouldering past Slade as he headed into the hall.
Jason wasn't sure, but after the way they'd left things last night, he was worried about Harvey. Would the detective want anything to do with him by the time Slade finished training him? He hoped so. Harvey had become as important to him as Alfred in a short amount of time. He didn't want to lose their friendship.
Harvey was his choice. His first choice at a solid friend since leaving the League.
"Wintergreen will be staying with you, Detective, for at least the next four or five nights. I'll keep Mr. Bennet in our apartment next door. It's not safe to have both targets in the same place if we can help it," Slade announced as they headed out of the hospital. "From this point forward, you two don't ride in vehicles together and you don't go anywhere alone."
Jason nodded to Harvey when the man looked at him with a raised auburn brow. "Yeah, it's sound strategy, Babe. It's just until we know it's safe. I promise."
"Whatever you say," Harvey snorted. "This is your rodeo, Kid, not mine."
Jason nodded, grateful that there wasn't going to be an argument, even if he could tell Harvey badly wanted one.
2 Weeks Later
Bruce watched as Dick frowned at his cell phone. He knew who his first ward was trying to contact, just like he knew he wouldn't answer. They were gathered in the media room, watching the news along with Roy and Barbara. Alfred acted like a vigilant guardian, standing at the doorway while Bruce was seated upright on the couch, leaned in toward the TV. Like the rest of them, he hoped Donald Troy or Sandie Bowers would have the answer to their questions. The answer to Dick's unanswered phone calls.
But tonight, like every night for the past two weeks, was without any news on The Red Hood or Joker. Since the miraculous rescue of Joker's most recent victim by Nightwing and two other unknown vigilantes, nothing else had happened. Bruce knew better; Red Hood was running around as a black-masked anonymous vigilante that had yet to be seen by cops or news outlets.
Now that he wasn't using signs or theatrics to point out his kills, it was frightening to realize just how good Jason was at keeping under the radar.
Several opinion columnists and news anchors speculated that Red Hood and Joker may have killed one another. They'd offered up a few ideas; one being that Red Hood killed Joker and left Gotham to go deal with Trickster in Central City. All the police needed to do was find the body and a cardboard sign. Another newspaper insisted that Joker and Red Hood were one in the same and referenced some old organization that many believed Joker had originally come from.
There were plenty of theories.
The only truth that Bruce knew for certain was that Slade Wilson had isolated and somehow managed to contain Jason Todd. He maneuvered the young man into his care and had only allowed Harvey Bullock to be anywhere near him. No one had made any kind of contact with Jason or Red Hood since Nightwing's incident the night before Harvey was released from the hospital.
Pendleton still guarded JT Bennet at his job site and Harvey Bullock during work hours, but it appeared to Bruce and Alfred that Slade and Wintergreen were taking care of them during the evenings, nights, and early morning hours. With Black Mask dead, Joker quiet, and Red Hood nowhere to be found, Gotham had slowly gotten back to its more manageable state.
Nightwing patrolled nightly, running into Deathstroke now and again, but never Red Hood. Nor even "Protégé" as Slade had taken to calling him over the comms.
"He isn't answering your calls either?" Bruce asked from the couch as the report ended without a single hint of death and destruction.
While Dick shook his head, it was Alfred who answered with a sigh. "No, Sir. Not one."
"Have you tried to initiate contact at Detective Bullock's place?" Bruce asked curiously.
"I can't, B." Dick looked ashamed as his eyes looked to the floor. "Slade and Wintergreen made it clear that none of us are welcome anywhere near him right now."
Alfred tutted and shook his head. "If it didn't put Mr. Fox in danger, I'd suggest going through him. He's kept in contact with Mr. Bennet as the liaison for Wayne Enterprises."
Bruce stood. "No. This has gone on long enough. Slade can't be trusted. I'm calling Detective Bullock. Maybe I can get some information."
"What good will that do?" Dick demanded irritably. "Bullock admitted to me and Roy that their relationship was all a set-up to protect JT Bennet. Besides, that man's too close to figuring everything out, B. You calling him, acting more concerned than a casual business partner? It could tip him off."
Bruce sighed, but didn't argue. "Harvey Bullock is the last person in Gotham that I want knowing the truth."
It was well documented by several Internal Affairs reports on the detective that he hated capes, but they all knew he hated the Waynes, too. It was necessary though. People needed to think he and his family were nothing more than vapid, narcissistic socialites.
"Are we sure he doesn't know?" Alfred asked skeptically. "Not only did Master Jason start getting rather reckless with his identity, but Mr. Harper was at the hospital often with or without Master Dick."
Bruce couldn't help his glare at either young man. Barbara looked away, indicating she and Roy had at least returned to a friendly standing with one another.
"I told him to help Hood out," Dick shrugged.
The butler looked just as disappointed. "True, but how is Detective Bullock kept out of the loop? He may not be your favorite cop in Gotham, but you have to admit, he's very good at what he does when he wants to be," Alfred countered. "I think you should call him, Master Bruce. He and Mr. Fox are our only connections to the wayward Master Jason."
Bruce nodded and left the room for his study. He hated doing things in the wrong rooms. It was something Alfred had instilled in them all. Every room had a function and all that. Besides, he wasn't really going to call Harvey and he didn't need anyone to know that. He might not be cleared to go out and fight as Batman, but that didn't mean he was grounded to the house.
"How's Timmy?" he heard Dick ask before he sneaked off toward the garage.
Bruce knew exactly how Tim was. His third was absolutely chomping at the bit to get home. He'd nearly talked Bruce into it, but Joker was too much of a threat. The boys might not believe it, but Bruce agreed with Jason about one thing.
That clown was never going to get his hands on another of his children. And that's why Timothy was still stuck in Smallville, the Kent's thankfully siding with him and keeping an eye on the sneakiest of the Wayne children.
Some might insist he was wrong, but they didn't know any of his kids like he and Alfred.
Dick never needed to sneak, and he was abysmal at it due to a lack of practice. Bruce almost always knew when he was up to something. Jason was better than Dick at it by far, but what he did quietly was rarely bad. Ironically, Jason's sneaking was usually to read a book he thought he might be made fun of over. He boldly and loudly did all the things he should have been hiding right in plain sight. Like smoking and even drinking once or twice.
Bruce strapped himself into one of his favorite civilian vehicles, the sleek black Mercedes-AMG GT Coupe, and took off. With Dick getting ready for patrol with Alfred, and Barbara, the only one he worried about outing him was Roy. That wouldn't happen though. Roy was terrified of him because they both knew Bruce was aware that he'd started working with The Red Hood.
He'd need to set aside some time and talk with Oliver's wayward son.
In the meantime, he wasn't going to let Slade steal away Jason another night. It was time for them to have another talk. He was taking a gamble, the same gamble he had a couple weeks ago, only this time, there wouldn't be cameras, security or people.
If Dick's hysterics and concerns were accurate, it could be… bad. He'd be facing Slade and Jason at the same time with no back up, at less than fully recovered.
No.
He trusted Jason. He'd gone to such lengths to keep out of a real fight with him so far, there was no way Jason would attack him without provocation. Without Bruce being 100%.
He was certain of it.
Slade Wilson was not pleased when he saw Bruce Wayne's face on the camera feed on his laptop. He was in the middle of training with Jason. He and the brat had pretty much taken over the small, unused gym down in the basement of the condos Bullock lived in.
With his own skill and some not very helpful comments from Wintergreen, Slade had also managed to rig up the security systems into his own computer. It was helpful when all four men were in their condos or in moments like this one where Slade and Jason were training. Unfortunately, every time someone buzzed in, it interrupted their grappling work on the thick mats he'd set up on the floor.
He didn't need the lesson interrupted. Not this lesson and Slade couldn't have Bruce Wayne getting all pissy and sensitive as he watched either. Slade was certain Jason couldn't have it either.
He was a professional after all.
He stopped the lesson, stopped snapping vile words at Jason, and then turned fully to reach over and hit the mic so he could tell Bruce to leave when he caught the weary grimace on the man's face. Despite what people thought, despite how different the two men were, Slade knew that wasn't the whole truth. Slade killed. For money. But he and Bruce had… similarities that even Sladewouldn't deny.
Bruce might, though.
Instead of telling the billionaire to fuck off, Slade just pressed the door release and clicked the mic. "We're in the basement," he snarled before returning to his position on the mats.
"You're letting him in?" Jason snickered, sweat dripping down his face despite the cooler temperatures down in the basement. "Thought I was being quarantined?"
"You don't have an illness, Kid, you're just stupid," Slade snapped. "Useless. Weak. Incapable of doing anything right."
Jason rolled his eyes and while Slade would normally knock the brat on his ass for it, at the moment it was a good thing. It was part of the training. He needed to desensitize Jason to the comments of those who knew exactly what to say. Joker only had power because Jason had given it to him.
That wasn't to say that Slade believed Jason had no reason to fear the clown. Jason wasn't the only man Slade met that died brutally and had returned with a fear and loathing the likes of which most people never saw before.
They didn't really get back into the training though. Slade really couldn't let Bruce undermine it all by objecting or trying to change things. He sighed, ignoring the constant loop of clown laughter and random bangs coming from his computer. It wouldn't kill Jason if he let him go early that night. Hell, seeing Bullock, Kid's only real friend in all this, might keep him in good spirits.
"Hit the showers, Brat," Slade ordered just as Bruce walked through the door. He pretended to ignore both Jason and the new arrival as he bent down in front of his laptop and turned off the noise. Out of his peripherals he noted Jason's refusal to look anywhere near Bruce's face, shame and guilt rolling off the boy in waves.
Bruce on the other hand looked a mixture of concern and relief. Slade would never admit it aloud, but that look was exactly why he allowed Bruce to come down and see that Jason was in fact alive and well. Slade knew how he'd want things to go if his and Bruce's positions were reversed.
Jason on the other hand, didn't look relieved at all. More annoyed and embarrassed as he walked out of the gym without so much as glance in the Bruce's direction.
"You're training him to fight Joker," Bruce stated calmly rather than chase down his son.
Slade didn't think much of it as he nodded. Bruce Wayne had always been a bit stunted emotionally. "That's right."
"Has he improved?" Bruce asked.
Slade moved close, but without violent intent. He kept his movements easy to telegraph; lazy, casual. Not only had he not been paid to harm Bruce, but Slade had been contracted by two of the man's own to ensure he didn't take any contracts on him.
Besides, Bruce Wayne wasn't the challenge that Batman was.
"Todd ever hear voices before he died?" he asked. It was something he'd been curious about. Slade hacked into Bruce's files years ago, but he assumed some things even Bruce wouldn't have put in writing.
"No, of course not," Bruce shook his head.
"You're sure?" he pushed.
"What's going on?" Bruce growled.
Slade stared at him for several long minutes before he let out an angry breath. "Since his resurrection, he hears Joker's laughter."
Bruce nodded, unsurprised. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder combined with insomnia. He doesn't sleep, he gets stressed, he can't tell when he's awake or dreaming and gets lost in his own memories." Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. "It would make sense with what he's been through."
"Yeah, I figured that, too," Slade walked over to the laptop. It rested on a folding chair beside the mats he and Jason had been training on. "I keep him in a state of perpetual exhaustion so that he gets a solid six to eight hours of sleep. Problem is, it's not just the Joker he hears anymore."
Bruce arched a brow at that. "What do you mean?"
Slade hesitated for a fraction of a second before he pulled up the training video that he had of one of his and Jason's spars. Billy insisted on documenting it all. It wasn't that his friend didn't like the kid, Wintergreen just didn't trust Jason. But then, Slade's mentor had never trusted the "deranged". Felt they were too unpredictable.
"I think he's hearing someone he killed recently," Slade answered as he set up where he wanted the recording to begin.
"Why do you say that? Why someone recent?"
"See for yourself," Slade shrugged as he handed over the laptop.
He knew what Bruce would see. Even though it happened a week ago, it was still fresh in Slade's mind.
He blocked a series of jabs, one at a time, with calm patience. He knew Jason was in the process of testing him. Trying to figure out what weaknesses Slade had this time. Not that Slade really had any. He was just pretending to. Taking up the styles of various men and women that Jason might have to fight one day.
Slade was on Jason's seventh "opponent". It wasn't strictly necessary to make Jason guess who he was fighting, but it would come in handy if he ever had to face off with a cyborg or something.
He nearly snorted at the thought. Fifty, sixty years ago, such a thought would have been absurd.
They cycled through several moves as Jason seemed to figure out he was using Bane's methods; until Jason's left shoulder rose. It moved the same way anyone would lift their shoulder to get someone to stop whispering in their ear.
Had the kid heard something?
As the fight progressed Slade kept a close eye on Jason's tells. Was it the laughter again? Or was it worse? He knew Jason had heard a voice the night they rescued that kid from Joker's bomb. He wanted to ask Jason, but the brat would lie. He always lied. Especially when it came to shit like that.
The more Slade pressed his physical advantage, the more the kid's eyes kept tracking left. Slade searched and glanced himself to his right, but there was nothing there. He thought for a moment that Jason might be trying to fake him out. Might be up to some new trick, but then it happened.
Jason's face morphed from an expression of focus and irritation to one of fury and mania. Jason lunged, but not at Slade. The kid attacked the empty space to their side and snarled. "I'm not a fucking pussy!"
"Black Mask," Bruce decided immediately, snapping Slade from the memory. The billionaire closed the laptop and handed it over. "Of all the people he's fought recently, he's the only one that really talked like that."
"I don't really care who it is he hears, unless knowing tells me why he's hearing them," Slade growled. "I'm trying to discover how to fix it before he loses himself completely. I thought about the pit first, but it doesn't wash. Rage and emotional instability may occur, but only in the beginning. That shit doesn't last years, and no one starts hearing voices."
"Perhaps it's just a form of PTSD?" Bruce asked, but Slade knew it was a lie. The billionaire just didn't want to think about what it could be.
"This world we live in is fucked, Wayne. You've met John Constantine and so have I. Hell, we both have fought Greek Gods alongside other Gods," Slade shook his head. "Kid woke up in the coffin, I know you know that. What I want to know, is why? Why'd he come back? How did he come back?"
"Ra's never would have let him go if he thought he could figure it out," Bruce replied.
"I don't think he has let him go," Slade frowned with a shake of his head. "I think he sent him back to the world's greatest detective. Work smarter, not harder, eh, Brucie?"
Slade watched Bruce's eyes widened at the revelation. It made perfect sense and it had been weighing on Slade's mind since he'd met Jason. Everyone knew the Demon's Head was obsessed with the secrets of cheating death. Why else would Ra's al Ghul fund, train, and support Jason Todd in helping to fix Gotham? The truth was, the League had wanted to bring Jason and Bruce's shithole city to its knees for decades. Ra's would have to know that throwing The Red Hood into the mix wouldn't achieve those goals.
But if that wasn't what The Demon's Head was after?
"Between Tim and I, he thinks we'll figure it out," Bruce frowned. "What does that mean for Jason?"
"Means I need to get him trained up. Fully this time. No quitting," Slade said, but knew Bruce heard the warning in his tone. Slade wasn't going to let Ra's or even Bruce and company stop him. "That punk is mine now. You had your chance. What two, three times?"
Bruce Wayne's jaw tightened, and Slade smirked triumphantly. He hoped Bruce would throw a punch. He'd love to remind the Batman just where he ranked. Especially while Bruce was still in recovery. Wayne didn't stand a chance against him in his current state.
But then, Bruce's mind was getting back to its usual quickness. It wouldn't be long. Not long at all and Deathstroke would likely be going to toe to toe with the Bat. Slade looked forward to it. It had been a long time since he'd faced a worthy opponent.
"I'd like to see Jason now, Slade."
He rolled his eye, grabbed his laptop and began to walk them both out of the gym and toward the elevator. "If he lets you in, I won't stop him or you, but if he says no—"
"I'll leave," Bruce assured him.
Slade had only just approached the correct door when it opened to reveal a freshly showered Jason. The former Robin stared at Bruce in surprise. Water was dripping down his black and white tresses. He was wearing a black tank top and red flannel pajama bottoms. But more important than what he was wearing, was the suspicious look in his eyes as he looked from Bruce to Slade.
"I was just gonna grab Bullock," Jason directed his words to him. "He left a note saying he was at your place playing cards again."
Slade could tell the young man was unsure of himself, being without his weapons or armor. He might have been comfortable in Slade's presence that way, but Slade imagined that in front of Bruce, Jason felt naked. But despite all the discomfort, there was a defiant look in his eye that Slade knew meant Jason would let Bruce say his piece.
"I'll send Bullock back to you in about half an hour if you want," Slade replied neutrally.
As the mercenary waited, Bruce caught the look of shock on Jason's face. His son had always worn his heart on his sleeve. It was one of the reasons Jason was so easy to foul up in a fight. Or at least it had been. Was that why Jason had gone with the Red Hood helmet instead of a mask? Dick's laughter and easy smile had been as great a mask as Bruce's own scowl or stoicism, but Jason? No, Jason needed the helmet to hide his prickled pride or his fury in the face of a well-worded insult.
Jason finally looked at Bruce, and then hearing a huff of impatience from Slade, he nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. Thanks, Slade," Jason decided and then looked back to Bruce. "Come on in."
He walked into the condo and was met with a room which was half dining room and half kitchen. To Bruce's right was a poker table and four chairs, rather than a kitchen table, so he took a seat there. It didn't feel right to invite himself inside any further.
He looked over the furnishings and found that everything was well taken care of and properly cleaned. He didn't know much about Bullock personally, but he had a feeling the dusting, floor care, and general cleanliness could be owed to Jason. His second ward was a neat freak. Tim and Dick were quite slovenly.
He let his mind wander since Jason apparently hadn't followed him into the apartment. He thought back on better times. Like when he and Jason had gone up into the attic of the manor. Alfred had threatened to hire a hoarding expert if Bruce didn't at least attempt to clean out a few boxes. Jason had shown a sudden interest in seeing what was in the attic. It wasn't at all like him. Jason wasn't like Dick or even Tim, especially when he first arrived. He had no investigative instincts.
Being nosy was dangerous on the streets of Gotham, and Jason had a hard time meddling or snooping. So, it had been a pleasant surprise to see his curiosity bloom. They spent hours in the attic that day. They sorted through old toys, books, and boxes upon boxes of knick-knacks. Jason was very organized and started designating piles for the items that would go to Goodwill and those that were heirlooms that needed to be preserved.
Nothing impactful had happened that day. They didn't have a major heart-to-heart. There weren't any fights or arguments. Just Bruce sharing stories about his life whenever Jason asked and the child fondly trading the only good memories he had about his life with Catherine and Willis Todd.
"Hey," Bruce looked up at the sound of Jason's voice. "Slade says you have some important information for me?"
"Yes, though to be honest, he is aware of it and just as capable of telling you if you'd rather I leave." Bruce immediately regretted making the offer. He just knew Jason didn't see it as a genuine attempt to respect his privacy or offer a compromise, but rather an attempt for Bruce to run from and/or abandon Jason to the whims of someone like Slade.
"You wanna leave, there's the fucking door," Jason snapped as he walked over to a cabinet above the sink. "Don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out."
Bruce carefully took a breath and released it without making a noise. He didn't want Jason to think he was exasperated already. "Jason, I came here to see you. Not Slade. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't have come at all."
Jason's eyes narrowed on him as he looked away from the cabinet. "Don't condescend to me in my own fucking home, Bruce. This isn't the manor."
"Jason Peter Todd, you are trying to make me your enemy and you are picking at everything I say. Maybe I deserve it, maybe I should let you say whatever you want, but we can't get through this unless we both agree to a truce of sorts," he tried. "Just for this conversation, Jason, please?"
Once more Jason looked caught off guard. His wide eyes softened a touch before he returned to rummaging through the cabinet. Finally, Jason must have found what he was looking for because he grabbed a small box, close the door and then bent down to grab a small metal saucepan.
"You want some tea?" Jason asked.
Bruce knew better than to just agree right away. It would come off too desperate. "What do you have?"
"Not that bitter Earl Grey shit, if that's what you're worried about," Jason grinned. "It's herbal, no caffeine. This one is," he picked up the box and looked it over, "chamomile."
Bruce nodded. "Yes. Please."
While Jason filled the saucepan with water, Bruce tried to put his thoughts together. He had a feeling this wasn't going to come out completely right and that their issues wouldn't actually be solved, but Bruce didn't want to make anything worse. He knew there were subjects to avoid, particularly Joker and his recent string of victims. He wasn't even sure that bringing up the Red Hood was a good idea.
"Fuck, B, just talk to me. I can hear you thinking from here," Jason snapped as he leaned his hip against the counter beside the stove.
So much for getting his words in order.
"I think Slade and I figured out why Ra's let you leave his cult," Bruce said carefully, watching intently for any change in Jason's posture.
"Let me leave? I was never part of it to begin with," Jason shrugged. "He didn't think I was worth a damn."
"Jason, he wanted you to come back to Gotham," he explained. "He thought your resurrection would pique mine and Tim's curiosity. He wanted us to do what he couldn't."
Instead of boiling rage bubbling over, Jason smiled. It wasn't mean, but it was mischievous. "Yeah, I know."
While Bruce was pleased by his son's calm reaction to the news, he was confused. Bruce thought for sure that Jason would fold in on himself and let his terrible self-esteem lead him to faulty conclusions. "You know?"
Jason nodded as he pulled out a couple of ceramic mugs. "Of course, I know! Ra's al Ghul has only ever seen you and Dick as anything worth pursuing. But since Tim showed up on the scene, he's no longer as impressed by Dickie-bird. He wants Tim."
That wasn't new information, actually. Ra's may not have been a constant thorn in Bruce's side, but the ancient warrior liked to poke him once in a while, if only to remind Bruce that he still existed and still wanted what Ra's could never have.
"Ra's got screwed, trust me," Jason promised as his smile remained. "Even if I knew what he wanted, I'd cut my own tongue out or lobotomize myself to keep him from getting it."
"But it's not you that he expects to figure it out," Bruce pointed out carefully. He doubted the subject would be comfortable for Jason to continue talking about. "What if he decides to—"
"He already did, B," Jason frowned. "He used magic, he used psychics, he tried everything he could think of."
Bruce felt his heart lurch at those words.
"It wasn't torture," Jason added. "Trust me, I know it sounds that way, but Ra's had two roads he could go down. Either rip me apart and torture me until he'd dissected me and learned everything he could, about me and risk losing it all; or, he could be as gentle as he was capable of, and try to make me an ally so that I'd feel safe around him and his men."
"He might still choose the first if the second doesn't yield results, Jason," Bruce frowned.
He hoped he wasn't being too obvious in his usage of Jason's name. It was important though. For both of them. Bruce needed his son to see that he valued him as the man he was, that he was humanizing him. He also wanted Jason to know that he was human. That he wasn't just the Red Hood or a former Robin, or Protégé or whatever nicknames Jason used to feel disassociated from what he did every night.
Jason shrugged as he started to pour the nearly boiling water in the two cups. He then set the empty pan in the sink. Jason took out a couple of tea bags, placing one in each cup and then walked over with both. If Jason had a plan to protect himself, he wasn't going to tell Bruce about it, but then Jason had already figured it out, hadn't he?
Slade Wilson said it himself. Jason Todd was his protégé, something that belonged to Slade. Training Jason wouldn't be where it ended with the mercenary. Slade didn't have family anymore. They were all dead. Slade made it perfectly clear that he'd never let Jason go.
"Aren't you worried you've painted yourself into a corner?" Bruce questioned as he took the offered cup. He waited until Jason was seated across from him before he continued. "Jason, you have Slade convinced that you all but belong to him no different than one of his weapons, and Ra's on the other end just waiting to get a hold of something only you really understand."
Jason didn't answer as he sat in front of his tea, waiting for it to steep. Bruce almost thought he was about to be kicked out, but Jason never said a thing. Maybe it was a test to see if Bruce would keep pushing at him. It was hard to resist interrogating Jason. Bruce hadn't seen Jason since their fight in the cemetery and he was terrified of the position he found Jason in. Three of the deadliest men all had their sights set on Jason for one reason or another.
"Bruce, why are you here?" Jason asked softly. "You aren't here to warn me, because you and Slade only just discovered this Ra's piece tonight. So why did you come out?"
It was Bruce's turn to fall silent. He took a sip of the tea to stall, to give himself some time to say what he came to say, and say it well. He feared Jason's reaction. Even if he said it right, there was a chance Jason would get pissed off and tell him to leave.
"You gonna ignore me?" the boy sneered as Bruce caught Jason's fingers tighten around the mug. "Shouldn't be too surprised by that though, right?"
Bruce glared and shook his head. "Grow up, Jason. I didn't ignore you back then and I'm not ignoring you now." He continued before Jason could interrupt. "Why do you believe I came here? What reason could I possibly have?"
"Well it certainly wasn't to reminisce about the good-old-days!" he snapped.
"I'm not going to play games with you, Jason. You want to know why I came here?" Bruce asked.
"Yeah! I fucking do! Are you capable of being honest?"
Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath, doing all he could not to lose his temper. "I came to tell you that I love you, Jason." He took advantage of Jason's stunned silence and barreled forward with his words. "I came to tell you that I've never stopped mourning you. I came to tell you that if you ever have need of me, or just want to hide away in the manor, it's still your home. I came to tell you that you'll always be welcome. Most importantly, I came to make sure you were safe and not in need of a rescue."
"You're fucking lying! You can't accept me. You can't say that shit when we both know you don't mean it!" Jason growled through his teeth.
Bruce stood and stepped toward the younger. He wasn't alarmed by Jason standing too. It was expected. Jason wasn't going to let Bruce look down on him. Not now that Jason was an adult and whether he believed it or not, Bruce was glad for it. He was happy that Jason stood his ground, even if it was with him.
"Jason, I do not approve of nor do I respect your choice to murder men and women. We will never agree on that." Bruce stated calmly. "That doesn't mean I don't or can't love you or respect the other things you've done well in your life. It doesn't mean that we must be enemies. It doesn't even mean that I can't understand how you feel."
"I can't keep having this same fucking fight with you, B!" Jason shouted, his teal eyes lit up and his face red with rage.
"Then stop twisting my words and listen to me," Bruce stated in a firmer tone, though he didn't raise his voice as Jason had. "Come home when you can. Stop hiding from us. Stop fighting with us. Let us be your family. And if you can, stop killing."
Jason scowled, "You're meds are fucking with you, B. No way you let me keep killing and come home."
"Jason, I told you that night in the graveyard, I won't let you be killed again. I won't let you be taken away, ever again. I can't and won't make you come home, but I'm not a fool. I can't make you stop killing. So, if it comes down to seeing you or pushing you away… I'd rather you come back."
"Joker," Jason said quietly. "Are you going to stop me from killing him?"
Bruce closed his eyes. "I will always try to stop you from killing. No matter who it is, but I won't endanger your life or anyone else's to prevent it." He opened his eyes and was hurt by the obvious skepticism on Jason's grinning face. "I'm serious."
"You are," Jason agreed. "Right now. I believe you mean it. But tomorrow, when I show up drenched in the blood of the clown, you'll turn me away. You're just like Dick."
With a heavy sigh, Bruce nodded. "Maybe you're right, Jason. Maybe I am the one that's overestimating myself," he conceded. "But we'll never really know unless one or both of us take that chance, will we?"
Bruce's shoulders drooped as his head ached. It had nothing to do with his recovery. He wished with all his heart he could just get Jason to see he wasn't an enemy. But then, that's not what Jason wanted. It wasn't what Jason ever wanted. He might not admit it, but Jason liked feeling as if it was just him against the entire family. Against the entire world.
"I'm going to head back home before Alfred realizes I'm gone and sends Nightwing to come find me," Bruce told him. "I know you don't believe me, and maybe you never will. But the offer still stands, and it always will."
To his relief, Jason didn't look angry. Skeptical, yes. But his fair skin lost the red hue and his brows were knitted in confusion rather than ire. It was a positive step. "Good night, Son." He turned toward the door and then paused. Would Jason hate him for it? Did it really matter if he did? "And, Jason?"
As he turned once more, he saw a flash of fear in those teal eyes. "What?"
"I am grateful you're alive," Bruce said softly, carefully, all the while maintaining eye contact. "No matter what happens."
Bruce knew better than to linger. He promptly opened the door and walked out of the apartment.