Chapter 2 of What's Up, Danger?: No Place Like Home
Jason always appreciated that Alfred laid out clean clothes for him in the mornings.
Even though his stays at the manor were infrequent and often times involuntary, it was the little things like that that made Jason at least tolerate Bruce and the rest of his 'family'; mostly for Alfred's sake.
After slowly dragging himself out of bed, Jason sauntered over to the en suite bathroom. He stripped, turned on the shower, and let the hot water fall over him, being careful not to get his fresh stitches wet. The streams of water washed away the last of the grime and dried blood that lingered on his body from the previous night. Jason didn't bother with any of the flowery or fruity body washes or soaps that were present on the rim of the bathtub.
He placed his hands, fingers spread out, on the tiled wall under the showerhead and let the water run down his taut back like a furious waterfall for a few minutes. He basked in the pitter patter of water as it hit his skin and splashed on the floor, finding the ambient noise soothing.
After showering, Jason made his way over to the dresser where Alfred had placed some folded clothes for him to change into—a white shirt, his old black leather jacket, jeans, and a pair of un-scuffed black boots.
Jason shrugged on his black jacket and flinched as the movement triggered a shooting pain through the side of his abdomen. The stitches on his forehead pulled on his skin whenever he moved his eyebrows. His whole body ached in response to last night's escapades. Falling into a trash pit does that to you, even if it does cushion the fall somewhat. He was no stranger to injuries or aching body parts, it came with the job. He was also no stranger to his 'brothers' pulling him out of sticky situations or finding him unconscious or half-dead in some seedy alley way. Again, it came with the job.
When he was done lacing up the boots, Jason left the guest bedroom and descended the grand staircase that led to the entrance hall, which split off into several rooms. The grandiose and extravagant nature of the manor with its numerous portraits, huge library, perfectly manicured lawn and hedges, and ornate chandeliers used to fascinate him when he was a young boy, but nowadays he preferred the secluded sanctuary of his safe house. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed off the staircase as he disturbed the opulence of it all.
The bitter scent of coffee hit his nose as he walked into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Master Jason. You will want to take it easy for the next six weeks," Alfred said as he expertly poured steaming hot coffee into a white mug. He placed the filled cup in front of Jason. He sent Jason a knowing look. "Meaning, late-night activities are ill-advised."
"G'morning, Al," Jason returned the greeting as he refrained from rolling his eyes. "I'll take that into consideration."
In Jason-speak this meant I'll do whatever the hell I want. However, he was too fond of Alfred to utter that crass response out loud.
Alfred narrowed his eyes ever-so-slightly not only to convey disapproval but in a manner that would probably even make Bruce Wayne second-guess himself. But Jason was used to, and even immune to, looks of disapproval at this point.
He took a short sip of coffee. The coffee scorched his mouth, but he tried his best to keep his face neutral to hide the pain from the burning-hot liquid.
The loud padding of footsteps entering the room agitated Jason as he prepared for an unwelcome verbal lashing from the demon spawn, the current and most infuriating Robin, but found himself even more annoyed when he turned to face the archway and saw Dick—the oldest brother of the 'family'.
"Oh great, you're here too," Jason grumbled coldly.
Dick folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the entryway. "Good morning to you too, Jay."
One of Jason's eyebrows ticked upwards at the nickname. So help Grayson if he ever dared to call him Little Wing again.
Jason didn't even know why he was surprised to see Dick; although the Wayne manor only had four permanent residents, Bruce, Damian, Alfred, and now Duke (Bruce's newest protégé), and the rest of them came and went like it was a hostel with a rotating door. Sometimes they only came to crash for the night, other times to train or work on a case together, and sometimes they just liked to pop in for Alfred's world-renowned baked goods and cooking.
A few moments of tense silence filled the air as Jason and Dick stared at each other, both being too stubborn to be the first one to break eye contact or even blink.
"Another delightful morning," Alfred quipped wistfully, he was more than used to witnessing the battle of egos between young men in the manor. He picked up the coffee pot. "Coffee, Master Dick?"
The question drew Dick's attention away from Jason and he stepped forward, joining them at the large counter in the middle of the kitchen. "Sure, thanks, Alfred."
Alfred poured Dick a cup of coffee and took the two young men's word-less glowering as an opportunity to excuse himself and attend to other matters elsewhere in the mansion that required his attention. He knew that Dick and Jason were like oil and water, unmixable, but still hoped that the two would learn to coexist without circling one another like dogs in a fighting pit.
"So," Dick began by gesturing a hand in the air, "do you want to talk about last night?"
Jason shifted his gaze downwards at the tendrils of heat swirling upwards from his coffee. "No."
Dick exhaled. "Well, we're going to talk about it whether you like it or not," he continued on in a stern tone. "You went after those guys with no backup—out-numbered, out-manned—and you turned off your comms. And then some civilian finds you bleeding out from your head. Babs had to hack into your communicator when it sent her an emergency alert that your vitals suddenly dropped."
"It was just a scratch," Jason scoffed dryly. "Not like I haven't had worse—"
"—So not the point," Dick interjected impatiently before his expression softened. "Jason, you have us. You don't need to do these things alone."
Jason looked at Dick, the first Robin, now Nightwing, and his predecessor, with an unmoved expression. Dick and the others could preach about how they were a family all they wanted, and heaven knows they did that all the time, but he still felt as though he barely knew any of them. He had met Dick when he was Robin only a handful of times, and ever since he made his big comeback in Gotham and agreed to a truce with Batman the guy kept trying to act like he was some caring big brother figure; like he had always been there for Jason when he hadn't. It was all too easy for Jason to feel bitterness and resentment towards him.
Dick, Tim, Damian, and the others, they were all reminders that he had died and that the world—and they, his 'family'—had soldiered on without him. It was a tough pill to swallow, and deep down he knew that it wasn't their fault, but it was easier for him to be angry then it was for him to forgive and move on. He wore the badge of hurt on his sleeve, even if it pushed them away.
In other words, life after death was messy and complicated. And Jason sure could do with less complications in his life.
"Did Bruce ask you to give me a pep talk on his behalf?" Jason probed, half-turning away so he could avoid looking at Dick. "Because you're doing a real bang-up job of it."
"That's not—" Dick pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He leaned back against the counter. "I'm not his messenger, and I'm not trying to act like him."
"That's funny because you sure sound like him," Jason jabbed.
It was an unspoken rule that it was a low blow for any of the former Robins to compare one another to Bruce, or Batman. The only Robin that actually wanted to be like Bruce when he grew up was the demon spawn.
Dick didn't respond. Sometimes trying to talk to Jason was like talking to a concrete wall, it was impossible to get through.
Jason cleared his throat. "Well, as much as I love these forced conversations, I'm gonna head out before the demon spawn returns from daycare."
Jason forced himself to chug the rest of the hot coffee in his cup out of sheer spite, ignoring how the liquid burnt his tongue and throat as it went down. He turned to leave and noticed the tempting assortment of pastries Alfred had prepared on a three-tier dessert tower stand on one of the marble countertops. He nabbed a croissant, took a bit out its corner, and then jogged out to the foyer, waving half-heartedly over his shoulder with his free hand.
"Later, Dick-bird."
Trash duty, again.
Sabine cursed. But at least she was only working the middle shift today. The sun was only beginning to set, painting the Gotham skyline in soft pinks and oranges when she found herself in the back alley again.
She threw open the lid and looked over the edge of the dumpster as she held onto the large trash bag in her other hand; no vigilantes were hiding in the garbage today. She sighed in relief and chucked the trash bag into the bin before closing the lid.
"Aww, how romantic, this is the place we first met."
Sabine's body froze at the sound of the familiar modulated voice and her face turned pale. Slowly, and while breathing rapidly, she turned her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him—Red Hood—leaning against the brick wall with his arms crossed, as if he didn't have any other cares or concerns in the world. He waved at her with two fingers in a familiar manner.
Sabine remained still, like some small animal caught in the sights of a hungry predator, as her mind tried to plot an escape. She wondered how he had crept up on her like a soundless shadow, or if maybe he had been waiting in the alley for her. Both thoughts were unsettling, she decided.
Red Hood was well aware of the effects he had on people. Nothing looked friendlier or more inviting than wearing a crimson mask and guns trapped to your thighs, although they were loaded with rubber bullets these days. Some would say—namely Red Robin, Spoiler, Oracle— that he tried to mitigate his intimidating presence with dry humor in front of civilians, to which he would say that no one was scarier than someone who could shatter the bones in your hand and make you bust your gut laughing at the same time.
"So," Red Hood said, pushing himself off the wall. "What does a guy have to do around here to get a cucumber sandwich and a pumpkin spice latte?"
If Sabine didn't feel like she was about to throw up from sheer panic, she would have realized he was joking.
She found enough strength in her legs to rush back inside, into the safety and shelter of the café and putting a large heavy door between herself and the vigilante.
"Hey, wait, I just wanted to say—"
Red Hood outstretched his hand as the back door slammed in his face, the sound echoing off the high walls of the alley almost like a small explosion.
"—thanks."
It was 6PM and a clock tower chimed in the distance. The loud bell sound reverberated in the air before fading.
Sabine had maybe thirty minutes to an hour before the weather outside got too unbearably frigid that she would have to retreat back into her studio. She already felt tired from working a middle shift, although it was only for four hours. She was exhaustingly burning the candle on both ends by working almost full-time while in graduate school, but her student loans weren't enough to cover everything, like rent or groceries.
Sabine nestled down in the wrought iron chair that was partially covered in orange-red rust with a large textbook, Understanding Criminal Law, in her hands. The roof of the apartment building was one of her favorite places to study, the landlord had even allowed the tenants to place patio furniture and several raised garden beds on it. The furniture set was rusty from exposure to the outdoor elements, such as rain and snow and some of the plants in the garden beds were on the brink of death from the look of them, brown and wilting but there was a homeliness and lived-in feeling that the roof provided. Some tenants had attempted to grow tomatoes and peppers, while others tried to grow colorful flowers. However, the climate in Gotham was not forgiving for aspiring gardeners.
The typical city sounds drifted up and over the building, sounding muffled in blasts of wind.
Other than how abysmally cold the air was on the roof, the five-story building granted the tenants a spectacular view of the Gotham skyline. The panorama was densely populated with other apartment buildings, neon lights, and skyscrapers. It was one of her favorite vantage points in the whole city. Just beyond the jagged skyline of buildings was the dark velvet blue night sky punctuated by a waxing moon.
Up here, it was easy for her to forget how messy and complicated the city was. Up here, she could enjoy Gotham.
She placed her textbook on the iron patio table that had a piece of wood wedged under one of its legs to keep it balanced and opened it to the chapter titled 'Burdens of Proof'. She reached into her jacket pocket and took out her pencil case. Unzipping it, she retrieved a highlighter and then put the case down next to her textbook.
Sabine had not been settled in her spot for more than five minutes when she was interrupted by a ragged meowing.
By the fire escape ladder that hooked onto the top of the building, a large tuxedo cat with a tipped left ear jumped up onto the raised ledge that surrounded the perimeter of the roof. The stray cat, who was a frequent visitor, paced back and forth for a few seconds before noticing her. He trotted over to her, meowing for attention.
She and the other residents had named the stray cat CEO because he walked around on their fire escape and roof and made demands like he owned the place. His black and white markings resembled a suit, with black fur coating most of his body except for a large triangular patch of fur on his chest and his paws. And he had a protruding gut, so he was a literal 'fat cat'.
She sighed and closed her book with the highlighter in-between the pages.
"You're hungry, aren't you?" she asked although she knew the answer.
CEO yowled as if he had never eaten in his life and walked around her shins in a figure-eight pattern.
"Okay, okay," she sighed with a smile, "you're so impatient."
Sabine stood up and walked over to a small gardening and storage shed that had been built on the roof. Inside, she found the bag of dry cat food she had stored there. She opened the bag and scooped up a half cup of pellets as the cat meowed in the doorway. Her other hand fiddled around in the dark, searching for the small pet food bowl she kept in the shed.
Suddenly, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. A wrenching feeling deep in her gut told her that someone was watching her.
"Yo."
That voice that haunted her now broke through the air like an unwelcomed boom of thunder.
Sabine shrieked in surprise at the voice and dropped the ceramic bowl. It broke in half on impact with the ground and the dry food scattered all around her feet. The sudden noise sent CEO skittering away to hide behind one of the raised garden beds.
"Ah, shit…" she mumbled as she crouched down and quickly assessed the damage.
Sabine didn't want to turn around and face the source of the disruption. Seconds ticked by agonizingly slow, but she could still feel his eyes on her back through the slits in his helmet. She didn't want to face him. She couldn't even fathom why he felt the need to seek her out.
"I'm not gonna bite you, Donuts," he assured her and held up three fingers—not that she could see what he was doing. "Scout's honor. Although I think Superman corners the market on acting like a Boy Scout."
She exhaled, letting go of the deep breath and tension that she was holding inside her lungs, before peering over her shoulder at him.
And for the second time today, and the third time in 24 hours, she was face-to-face with Red Hood again. His silhouette shadowed, dramatic, and imposing against the light of city and moon behind him.
Her fingers curled around a shard of ceramic as she narrowed her eyes.
Red Hood spied the sleight hand movement even though she had her back to him. Aw, crap.
He quickly evaded to the side as a small piece of pottery came hurtling at him and he heard it smash around the ledge behind him.
"Why. Are. You. Following. Me?" she snarled, chucking a second and larger piece of ceramic at his head.
Red Hood careened his head to the side as the piece whizzed by where his ear would be if he wasn't wearing a helmet. Her aim wasn't bad. He was glad she didn't have anything bigger or pointier to throw at him.
"I just wanted to say thanks for not leaving me for dead the other day," Red Hood joked as he tiptoed over the tiny broken ceramic pieces, "but you seem allergic to gratitude."
He stayed next to the raised edge of the building and a good ten feet away from her this time. Any closer and he had a feeling she might even throw one of those patio chairs at him.
After cautiously poking his head out, CEO rushed towards her feet and hungrily devoured the dry brown pellets of salmon-flavored food.
Sabine tucked a chunk of her short brown hair behind her ear as a gust blew it in front of her eyes and she felt CEO's body graze by her boots as he scavenged for food amidst the broken pieces of the bowl.
Sabine eventually huffed in frustration. "What was I supposed to do, post an ad online? Found: Emotionally and psychologically scarred vigilante in a dumpster; local pick up only."
Red Hood tilted his head to the side and snorted, appreciating her sense of humor.
"Emotionally and psychologically scarred? How do you figure that?" Not that it isn't true, he mentally added.
She continued to stare hard at him, mentally digesting the scenario she found herself in. It would be better to ignore him. It would be better to not engage with him. It would have been better if she hadn't freakin' thrown something at him. But sometimes even she couldn't stop herself from running her mouth, which seemed to be something she had in common with Red Hood.
"I don't think that anyone who goes around wearing masks and goes around killing people doesn't have some sort of, umm, baggage," Sabine elaborated hastily as CEO nuzzled against her shin. Her voice sounded hoarse from the nerves and wished she hadn't said anything at all.
Red Hood shrugged. "I was working through some things."
As if that one, short sentence was all the explanation that was needed.
Besides, he didn't kill anymore. He had finally agreed to a no-killing truce with the Bat ages ago, not that he advertised the fact. It made his job easier when gangbangers would piss their pants and spill their guts if they thought he was going to behead them. But he still kept his guns, though they were loaded with rubber bullets.
"Riiight," she said as she shoved her hands, which were trembling from the harsh Gotham wind, into her jacket pockets.
This conversation was already dragging out longer than she wanted. Why was he here? What did he want? He had said he wanted to thank her, but the gesture seemed entirely unnecessary. And didn't he know how menacing he looked with a mask the color of blood?
Red Hood glanced down at the tuxedo cat. "Cute cat. Yours?"
The friendly nature of the question dumbfounded her.
CEO munched noisily on the dry food, a continuous vibrating purr emitting from his body as he ate.
"No," she muttered slowly and then continued after a short lull, "…he's a stray. My landlord doesn't allow pets."
She felt silly talking about something so incredibly mundane with one of Gotham's infamous vigilantes. She couldn't imagine Batman stopping to make small talk with anyone.
For some reason though, the stiffness in her shoulders began to gradually release. She realized that her hands weren't tightened into uneasy fists anymore and her jaw unclenched. Was he trying to make her feel more comfortable? She now noticed that he had been careful to keep his distance while conversing with her.
Red Hood reached for his grappling hook that was holstered on the side of his hip. "Well, good talk."
Things felt awkward now, at least for him. He fiddled with the device in his hand as he jumped onto the ledge. Batman and some of the others had tried to impress on him the importance of building positive public relations and trust with civilians, which hardly ever seemed to go well for him when he tried it. His explosive and deadly entrance onto the crime-fighting scene as Red Hood over a year ago was still fresh in everyone's minds. Oh well, at least he could say he tried.
Without looking back, Red Hood jumped down onto the small fire escape balcony under the gooseneck ladder, and out of her view.
She heard the bang of the grappling hook followed by the cable extending before it anchored into something nearby, and then a whoosh.
Sabine put her weight against the exterior wall of the shed and lowered herself to the floor. She sat down next to the cat before resting the side of her head on her knees. She scratched behind CEO's right ear, the special sweet spot that made the ragged cat melt into an affectionate puddle. She sighed into the cold air, a ghostly white puff of breath escaping from her lips.
"He's so…weird," she whispered to the cat.
Me: I love the Batfamily, they're all precious cinnamon rolls who care about one another in their own ways (≧◡≦)3
Also me: *makes Jason resent everyone except Alfred*
Thank you for all the hits, favorites, bookmarks, kudos, and comments/reviews! And thank you for reading through two chapters of set-up, more exciting things are to come in the upcoming chapters. :)