Chapter 4 of What's Up, Danger?: After Laughter

9:30 PM, Monday— Noonan's Bar

"Group therapy?" Roy let out a long whistle before taking another swig from his tall can of beer. "That's…well, that's certainly an idea."

Jason's expression soured as he glowered down at the untouched can in front of him on the small table. "A really, really bad idea."

"I always thought that would make a good name for a bar though," Roy mused. He could already picture the bright neon sign. Roy glanced at Jason and slapped him on the back. "C'mon, Jaybird, it's not like you have to do it. Quit looking like someone took a piss in your drink."

"Thanks for the graphic imagery." Jason finally cracked open his beer and downed half of it in seconds. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Roy threw his arm over the back of his wooden chair and quickly surveyed their surroundings. The front bar where they were seated was illuminated in soft yellow and orange hues from the light fixtures overhead. Noonan's was dimly lit, typical of most dive bars, and besides the counter chairs at the bar, there were a few tables scattered about with patrons huddled around them; some passed out with their heads face-planted on the tables and others talking in hushed voices and shifty gazes. On one of the walls was a dartboard that had seen better days and faded posters and photographs covered the others.

Jason and Roy had picked seats around the corner of the bar counter where their backs faced the wall, which allowed them to survey the other patrons in the establishment.

When Jason had asked Roy to hang out tonight and grab a drink, he naively thought that meant Jaybird wanted to chill for once and maybe talk some shit about their mentors. But it turned out he only wanted backup at Noonan's, a renowned hangout spot in Gotham for criminals, and what were friends for if not to help you give some lowly henchman a swirly in the bathroom or a few gut punches if they didn't give you the information you wanted.

Roy slightly lifted the visor of his baseball cap and double-checked that the glove on his right hand was concealing his cybernetic arm, the glint of metal and blinking red lights would be a dead giveaway that he wasn't a regular patron. The goons in the bar knew that the Gotham vigilantes lurked in the shadows, but there was no way they would be ready for Arsenal.

Jason finished his beer and Roy leaned over to talk to him in a low voice. "The red hoodie is a little on the nose, don't you think?"

But he wasn't interested in hearing Roy critique his fashion choices or judge the red sweatshirt he had on underneath his brown jacket. Besides, what was he supposed to say—that it was laundry day and he left all of his stakeout appropriate attire in the wash?

Jason watched as a man he recognized as the bastard that had smashed him in the head with a baseball bat covered in nails a few weeks ago—early forties, bearded, and stout—headed to the bathroom.

He knocked into Roy's knee with his own before standing up. "Follow me."

Roy wanted to quip back at Jason for inviting him out for a slow night but stopped himself when he saw his friend's green eyes glowing with discernible intent: revenge.

Well, this is gonna be good, Roy mused, standing up and following Jason's lead.

Roy leaned against the bathroom door with his arms crossed and the brim of his cap pulled down, casting a shadow over his eyes. It was hard for him to mask his disappointment when Jason told him to be his lookout. From inside the bathroom, his ears picked up the sounds of a man pleading and grunting as Jason's fists slammed into him.

A grizzled man with a slight hunch and wearing a trenchcoat approached him. Even from several feet away, Roy could smell the nauseating smell of alcohol emitting from him.

"Sorry," Roy said with a shrug as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the closed door, "it's occupied."

The man grunted and shook his head in response, he muttered something in colorful language under his breath, and then stumbled back to his table.

From behind the door, Roy heard the toilet flush several times and gurgling sounds.

Roy, who now felt impatient, was about to bang on the heavy door himself and yell at Jason to hurry the hell up when the force of Jason shoving open the bath door almost knocked him to the ground.

"Hey!"

He trailed after Jason, who looked satisfied.

Jason shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the specks of fresh blood that covered his fists. "There's a shipment arriving at the docks tonight," he whispered as beelined for the front door.

He hadn't beaten the crap out of the guy with the intent to glean any worthwhile information, he had simply wanted payback—not that the goon knew he was Red Hood or anything. The man, frightened out of his mind by the things Jason could do with his hands, happened to serendipitously spill some valuable information in between gasps for air when he was shoving his head in the toilet. Or maybe he thought giving him a tip-off about an incoming drug shipment would garner him some mercy, not that Jason had much of that or need for it.

Well, for whatever it was worth, it looked like tonight was going to get more interesting.

Outside Noonan's, the howling wind ripped through the streets, which were littered with dead leaves and trash. Roy shivered as the frigid air pierced his layers of clothes. Sometimes Roy didn't understand why Jason chose to stay in Gotham, the weather was shit and it was the home of a lot of bad memories.

"So," Jason half-turned his head in Roy's direction as they walked down the street, passing by flickering light poles that lined the cracked sidewalk, "you in?"

Roy didn't even need a moment to consider. "Do you even have to ask?" He pretended to cock his cybernetic arm like a shotgun.

"No blowing up half the docks this time," Jason warned as they turned a corner, hardly believing what he was saying himself—actually telling Roy not to blow something up, "B would throw a fit."

"Aww."

10:50 AM, Tuesday— Outside Dr. Singh's Office

It was Tuesday morning again (which was continually growing to be his least favorite time of the week) and Jason was pretty sure he looked like hell because that was how he felt. Fresh bruises and cuts ached under his clothes. He was even surprised that Roy had managed to restrain himself and blow up only two containers last night ("It was an accident! One of the smugglers ran behind it." "Yeah, sure.").

He had sat in silence with Dr. Singh for almost the entire forty-five-minute session today, partly because he was half-asleep and partly because he could feel their eyes staring at his scarred knuckles and he didn't want to talk about it.

He hadn't even wanted to go in today, but he didn't want another talking or scolding from Bruce and he did not want to deal with that. So he went. He sat in silence. And left as soon as the clock turned 10:45.

Jason waited by the elevator. He hadn't pushed the button yet and instead busied himself by pretending to be engrossed in a news article on his phone. The article he was skimming could hardly be considered news though—'RED HOOD: THE HERO GOTHAM NEEDS OR A MENACE?'. The article, which was riddled with an embarrassing amount of spelling and grammatical errors, had an obviously photoshopped image of Red Hood—Jason was quite sure that not a soul in Gotham had ever managed to snap a non-blurry picture of him in costume—embedded in the middle of the text.

They never get my hood right, Jason lamented.

The 'article' was followed by another that compared Catwoman's and Batwoman's bust sizes from 'reputable eyewitnesses', which said all he needed to know about the 'news site'.

He was stalling. He couldn't articulate a good reason why he was doing that. He usually couldn't wait to leave the building fast enough to careen through the traffic on his motorcycle, leaving only fumes and headaches behind him.

And then his reason for waiting appeared beside him, pressing the down arrow with her thumb.

Sabine tilted her head to the side as she looked up at him. "Oh, hi, again? You're going down, right?"

Jason's hand that was holding his phone went a little limp. "Yeah."

Both of them could hear the elevator making its slow descent down from the higher floors, stopping every so often.

She busied herself with folding the half-dozen papers that her therapist had given her in her hands in half, purposefully obscuring the information on them from view.

Again, Jason felt the weight of awkwardness as they stood close to one another. And, again, Jason felt the need to fill the silence with chatter, noise, anything.

"So—-"

"—come here often?" She finished for him in a teasing tone, which surprised him.

He scowled, unimpressed but not unamused, and she chuckled.

Jason tried to think of a witty comeback, another light teasing jab when he noticed that she was giving him an expectant look. He wondered how this could be the same bumbling young woman he had met in the alley who had held a broom up to him like a sword. Of course, she didn't know that he recognized her or that they had met several times before. She probably wouldn't be trying to banter with him if she knew who he was.

Without being crammed inside the interior of the lift, Sabine had a better view of the messy dark-haired man. He looked a little worse for wear today with dark bags under his green eyes and his defined jawline had visible stubble. She decided that he didn't look entirely unfriendly, but also reminded herself that this was Gotham and that you couldn't blindly trust anyone.

Jason eventually shrugged, not wanting to answer now that his question had been turned on him.

Sabine stared at him with a mischievous glint reflected in her irises. "I'm going to guess you come here maybe once a week."

She wanted to add that he looked like he didn't want to be here but some things were better left unsaid between strangers.

Jason rolled his eyes, a little annoyed, but still amused. He tried, really tried, now to let his lips twitch upwards into a small smile as she continued to ramble on.

"Because I saw you last week, and…," she pointed to the guide full of names and office numbers posted on the wall next to the elevator, "this entire floor is psychotherapy offices."

"Your power of deduction astounds me." So that meant she was there for therapy as well. Jason tried not to dwell on the morbid curiosity of what caused her to seek therapy, she didn't seem to possess the air of resenting it as he did. And it was none of his business.

Sabine heard the sarcasm in his voice, but it wasn't cruel, it was light-heartened and playing along. She puffed out her chest and placed her hands on her hips, mimicking a superhero pose. "Right? Batman better watch out, there's a new detective in town."

Jason snorted. She was so weird.

The elevator doors opened at their usual glacial slow pace and the two stepped inside.

Sabine tucked the folded papers under her arm, inadvertently mimicking the way Jason was carrying his motorcycle helmet.

"Well, I made my therapist laugh so I'm pretty sure I got a gold star this week. I'm crushing therapy." She curled her hand into a fist.

"Woah, woah," Jason put a hand up in mock surrender, "it's not a competition."

"Oh, I know, but I'm winning."

Cheeky, Jason thought with a small grin and an eye roll as the elevator dinged and the doors peeled open, revealing the lobby.

"Maybe I'll see you next week," Sabine said, with a wave as she departed.

"Yeah, maybe," which was his non-committal response and as he gave her a half-wave with two of his fingers.

There was something about that mannerism that came off as familiar to her, but she had somewhere to be in an hour so she didn't dwell on it further. She put her earbuds in her ears, turned on some music in the app on her phone, and went on her way, letting the rhythm and loud bass drown out all the city sounds around her.

The elevator doors began to close when Jason noticed a strange flurry of movement as Sabine exited the building. Through the glass double doors, he saw a figure in a zip-up sweater with their hood up, obscuring their face, follow her as she crossed the street.

Immediately, he reached out to stop the doors, gripping the side of the door and forcing it open, and strode into the lobby, across the tiled floor, and shoved open the glass doors.

Outside, he shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight that broke through the gathering gray clouds.

His eyes caught sight of her backpack as she vanished around a street corner, disappearing from his view behind a brick building. Jason narrowed his eyes as he watched the hooded figure turn on the street, trailing behind her.

He darted down the stone steps, taking them two at a time before his boots hit the sidewalk and quickly pursued.

A/N: This chapter, or entire fic, could also be alternatively titled 'Jason Makes a Friend…Sort of?…". I've been debating about upping the rating as well because I realized things are going to get definitely more violent later and ??maybe horny??, ahaha (I hope that's okay? *sweats*).

Musical Inspiration— Paramore's After Laughter album

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