Title: JayLad

Words: 12694

Rating: T

Fandom: Batman

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, and Alfred PennyWorth

Summary: Jason gets sick, goes out and fights -I know, D U M B- but he runs into the bats. Jason is pretty young in this story and he is still recovering from the after effects of all that happened with him and the pit. And, I may have thrown canon right out of the window from a plane down into the recessing pool of ocean... What I'm saying is that Jason gets a hug from his FREAKING Dad. Okay. Imagine that. Happy Ending.


Chapter 1: "All the World's a Stage"

Summary:

Alfred would be so disappointed. The tsks and vehement criticism could already be heard in his mind from the gallant old butler concerning his hygienic skills, and self-preservation skills. Or maybe it was more so the lack of caring about such matters that would be more so concerning than anything?


Groaning against the throbs emanating from his stomach, he blinked hesitantly.

Eyesight still being askew, he forcefully blinked. Successful, there was a nauseatingly welcome of an all too familiar sight, darkness.

It was the darkness that followed him wherever his footsteps befell. It, with its darkened hue, twinkled a light dusting of stars followed by a large splash of flooded lights.

Those were probably lamp posts though. No need to be so poetic.

However, it was the little things in life.

Tonight, there seemed to be some sort of foreboding sense of doom looming above him, mocking him. What was new? It mocked him like an eerie laugh. A laugh that seemed to follow right behind those non-poetic shadows. Along with that, and the aches plaguing his body, was the reason he couldn't seem to sleep.

Throughout the night, an ongoing throb located in the lower right region of his body kept him awake. Also, the chills didn't help with sleeping either. It was the kind of chills that seemed to resonate in the marrow of your bones. No matter how many layers of clothing you could put on, it didn't go away. Although, not that there was many options for layers around him.

So all night - well for the last couple hour's since he retired to 'bed '- it had jumbled back and forth from being extremely chilled to aggravatingly warm. It was the same whish-wash feeling of getting in and out of the pool on a extremely hot day.

It was nonetheless very cold in here for the moment, so the irritating twinge must be from the lack of proper warmth at the moment. What he had - a couple of old bath towels - couldn't be providing THAT much heat. Bath towels were rather... itchy as well. Coupling all this with the fact that a good night sleep hadn't come to him as of late from nightmares; this wasn't terribly unexpected. His body was taxed. Soon he needed to find better sleeping arrangements. That much was obvious a while ago. It was improbable that he could sleep much longer exposed to the Gotham's winters. It wasn't even as cold as it would get as of yet.

It was so cold. Also, he was so so so desperate. So desperate, that he was about to sneak into the Manor to relax by a sure to be running fireplace. That was of course when Alfie was the only one home.

Laughing for even thinking at one point to stoop so low, he scowled as another stab of sharp pain jabbed him but again. Along with it, another chill that wracked at his burning skin was fought.

" #$%! What's wrong with me?" He whispered through clenched teeth.

Nothing could be pinpointed as to what could be the matter with him. Earlier that night, before retreating to sleep, he checked the entire scope of his body -like he does every night to ensure he doesn't have to stop by Leslie's clinic- and found no new injuries, no new unusual bruising, nothing. So, nothing in 'theory' could explain the pain he was feeling right now. Especially the level of pain.

Going to bed he had been feeling fine and now, now he felt like #$%.

Grimacing as the burning cramp refused to relinquish it's hold on his body, he tentatively rolled into a more semi-comfortable position. In doing so, his line of sight was towards the gaping hole right next to him. It was almost in arms reach. It brought in the most soothing bite of frigid air upon the flushed skin of his face.

Breathing in the cold air coming in, the guess that this abandoned facility had to have been a fish canning factory was highly believable. Or maybe the funk residing in the place as of the moment was him deciding to delay in the partaking of a shower. That was at least until the fixing of Ms. Megreger's stove was done of course. Which would be tomorrow. Hopefully. Yes, another day another penny.

Alfred would be so disappointed. The tsks and vehement criticism could already be heard in his mind from the gallant old butler concerning his hygienic skills, and self-preservation skills. Or maybe it was more so the lack of caring about such matters that would be more so concerning than anything?

Shrugging such thoughts aside, he looked outwards at the Gotham's sky. In the end, he wasn't really a Wayne, nor even a Todd. Not just here in Gotham, but in all the surrounding areas that claimed itself as reminders to himself and the old man as the failure of the past.

The failure of someone who still lives.

The failure who seems nonexistent in the eyes of everyone.

Snubbing the tears trekking down his face, he crunched his fists as the smarting pain clenched his stomach again. Yet this time, it was more agonizing than the last.

Taking in slow breaths, his mind wandered onto why he was here in the first place. Normally his job was cleaning up crime alley. However, this particular case involved Gotham and Crime Alley combined.

Don't worry Bats he had the rubber bullets. A special olive branch to the old man he supposed. Hm, however, it seemed that the only one holding that olive branch was him. A bit lopsided of a deal if ya ask him.

Working behind the scenes, in the background, or even in the dark of night, he wouldn't in his own Father's footsteps or in Bruce's follow. He was his own man or teenager you could really say, and the filthy work that Batman wouldn't bother his pointed ears to do he was going to do. Plus, since no one else in the Bat clan seemed to be all too interested in volunteering for the mess there was to clean, he did and is. Its not like he could do much of anything else anyway being declared 'officially dead' and all.

Curling into a fetal position, he wrapped his arms around his midriff willing the pain to stop. It was fortuitous that for all the places for him to be sick that it was here. This particular safe-haven was the one he liked the best. It was his favorite one. As depressing as it was to say, it was the most decent place he had. That was including the fact that it didn't have running water, electricity, or stable walls. Nonetheless, it was good. Good enough. The lights from across the street -even though they held a bitter reminder- it was close to where he at one time felt at home; at one time he felt like he HAD a home. It wasn't often that he could be found here. That was because, anywhere the bat was, anywhere in the shadows where you think you see something or someone, it was too close. Although, a visit was nice.

As much as he enjoyed, relished, and dreamed, that one day, he might be safe again. It was all wishful thinking, or rather lies that he told himself so he could sleep at night.

As some might say, it was too close for comfort.

Here in Gotham, -where the bat lives- he had to watch his back, had to remain alert, stay focused on to what or whom resided in the obscurity of the night.

He was tired.

He didn't what to be found.

He didn't think he would be dragged off to Arkham again.

Nonetheless he couldn't 'think', action was much more needed.

Too much thinking, had caused too much pain.

Maybe that is why he acted so rash when he came back from the dead. Well, the parts he remembered anyway.

Some bad choices were made on his part, however he wasn't completely in his right mind as of then. Not an excuse, but he still isn't completely sure that he's 'normal' yet. How normal could you get for once being dead?

Nonetheless, whatever happened, whatever he had to do, there was one thing that was never going to happen again.

He couldn't let anyone know where he was. The best thing to do was to remain as secretive as possible.

Just one slip might mean, he had to hear him again.

The noise.

The laughter.

The amusing chuckle of a clown rejoicing in the fact that a couple cells away you reside.

The person that he had once thought to be killed by his own hands, laughing so that he torments you.

Whispering all night words.

Fuzzy words mingled with cackling. Cackling that got beat out of him when the guards would get fed up with the nonsensical gibberish.

Words describing how he was to kill you again, but this time you would stay dead.

...

Every time he would read or watch the News detailing on how the Joker escaped or at rarity see the Joker himself, his insides would twist into a bitter knot. Breathing would hitch, and would come to a complete standstill. Even just thinking about it made him want to expel his insides out. Although he was pretty sure that right now it was for different reasons.

Even from miles upon miles away, Joker knew that he was there. There was some sort of a killer's instinct. Eyes that prowled upon him as he prowled back wondering if this was it? Was the Joker coming for his rightful due? His revenge?

That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that Joker wanted him gone. So that meant no where was safe. The Joker hadn't gotten his last laugh. It can only be hoped that he never would. Nonetheless, maybe it would be easier for everyone's sake if-

Shaking his head, something wet tore freely down his face. Hiccuping embarrassingly into the crook of his arm, he choked. He was so tired.

From the slippery sheet of ice that covered the rooftops, work from the last couple of days had been ruined all because he messed up. Retry he must, but he wasn't going to let the culprits get away with the scandal they were in. They were going to be stopped. Even if it was the last thing he would do. Metaphorically of course.

Innocent people weren't going to be let suffer anymore, that was something that he had vowed. It didn't matter if it was by Joker's hand or by some random punk off the street. It wasn't going to continue.

With the limited information received, it must have been a bad source. Therefore it had been wrong and he got sent to the receiving end of a transport place. Thus stopping a shipment of illegal weapons too late. His luck. Payback had been a good smack down that had left him dangerously close to slipping off a slick building. That's when he lost sight of the perpetrators.

It wasn't good enough. He had to do better. He had to do more.

There was another shipment the very next day, and whether these people cared knowing that Red Hood would be there, they, in their bloodthirsty ways would go ahead and keep to their plan anyway.

Groaning, his muscles twitched at the flashback of him gripping for dear life at the edge of the building.

It was already too late, and he had to be up in the morning. Better for him to put these thoughts aside and get some sleep. Or, get the best sleep one can obtain whilst feeling like roadkill.

Since being legally dead and all, it caused him to be unable to find a reputable job that would hire him with no questions asked. It was easy to lie about your name and all, but because no one could find him on their background record under his persona it was always a 'no'. Or at least until he signed in somewhere. He didn't remember where, but then again he really didn't care because, DEAD!

It's not like you could show up to a state license department and say,

"Hey so, I know I'm the legally dead kid of the Wayne's, but can ya help a guy out?"

Shivering at such public shame and attention, his stomach turned in flips. Instead he had been helping people out in the surrounding neighborhoods. This included doing laborious work such as mowing the lawn, raking leaves, trimming shrubs, fixing drains, washing siding, fixing appliances, etc. etc. etc. No, it didn't pay much, but it was infinitely preferable than to the other method.

It was however truly unfortunate because with his nightly and day-time routines, it hardly left him any time for sleep. Well, that is when he did get any sleep. Man, he would love to get his hand's on some sleeping pills. Especially now.

Groaning as another round of the stabbing commenced, he cursed.

How in the world did the pain reach this level of intensity? Wrapping the arms around his midsection tighter, he recalled something. In this evenings fight, the thugs did get a good whack on his abdomen. It was sure to have a bruise in the morning if it still hurts this bad. Scratch the sleeping pills, he'd die again for some ibuprofen.

Well, anyway, might as well attempt to go to sleep. Didn't want to make Ms. Megreger's wait too long on the usage of her stove.

Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to sink to what he knew would be a dreadful dream-filled sleep. Particularly one of a certain crowbar dragging against the concrete following behind it a voice trailing not to far behind. A voice that not only lived in the nightmares of his mind, but in the everyday life that he lived as well.

...

"Oh,... Batsy-Watsy... Come on let's have some funnn..."