Note to self: Cook before hitting the sleep deprivation crash threshold. Microwaves are our friends.
Digging through the kitchen unit's cabinets was a little like searching for buried treasure, only with way less effort. And the results involved frying pans. It was all a discouraging amount of work. Sleeping for eighteen hours was all fun and games until she ate all the no-prep food and crashed again, only to face hunger for a rematch at eleven at night.
Do you expect me to keep these notes for you?
No, Kei thought as she waffled between her choices, but I guess you're here for them anyway.
Unavoidably so.
Kei ended up checking the stockpile in one of her storage scrolls. Many of the spaces were blank already, because she'd removed a bowl of okayu or ramen or udon at various points over the last almost-month. It was one of the safer methods to stretch her food budget, aside from going out and trawling some new neighborhood for violent criminals.
Which wasn't much of a concern anymore. Not if Kei was living on Bruce Wayne's dime. The Bats had confiscated Hood's drug money for testing and given her a card for some monitored bank account. Supposedly, Kei could use the landline in the apartment to order food with it.
An actual Bat credit card. Someone was probably rolling in their grave. Not Jason Todd, though; he'd clearly gotten out and decided to raise hell to make up for lost time.
Maybe she'd get a pizza.
This time, Kei tapped the seal with a bloodied thumb, and a bento box of tuna teriyaki over rice poofed into existence. She found a pair of chopsticks in her bag, then debated whether she wanted to eat in the kitchen or the main room.
Maybe I should get a barstool, Kei thought. Her emotions had gotten a bit floaty from her sleep-hangover, so it took a little longer for her train of thought to leave the station.
A problem for another time, Isobu said. Move.
Okay.
Gotham City, New Jersey, shared its latitude with such wonderful places as New York City one universe over. As a result, when Kei first lapsed into her mini-coma, she slept from past midnight to past sunset the next day. Even in late October, Konoha's lower latitude—whatever it was—kept daylight hours more consistent throughout the year. That wasn't to say that Kei disliked the longer nights. It was just that she wasn't really used to looking outside during dinner and noticing the sun was absent from the sky.
Noticing that lack of light and the glowing numbers on the alarm clock, she'd gone back to sleep. For about another six hours.
And I did tell you that you slept for almost a full day. It is not my fault you did not believe me.
I already said I was sorry. Twenty-four hours, just gone. She'd beat herself up for that one once she actually ate something more substantial than granola, yogurt, and fruit. She needed the calories to have thoughts much more complex than "argh."
Hence, homemade teriyaki.
The taste of home was great. It was grounding. It was also not distracting her enough, so when she brought the bowl to the table, Kei pulled the blackout curtain up for the view.
And found a local vigilante lurking on the fire escape.
Kei stared at Nightwing, hand still locked around the chain for the curtain.
Nightwing lifted a striped glove and offered a tiny, rapid wave right next to his thousand-watt smile. He pointed at his mask with his other hand, then at Kei's face. As a hint.
Her first thought, absurdly, was to close the curtain and pretend she hadn't seen him. Her hand twitched toward that outcome before she remembered that his dad probably owned the whole apartment building and that would be rude. Therefore, not doing that.
So, Kei sighed, got up, and slapped her hand down on the security seal she'd pasted to the inside of the window. It tingled against her palm as it deactivated. Then, complying with the mask thing, she clapped her hands and a blob of water materialized just long enough to flick her mask up from its spot on the bedpost and across the room. She caught it one-handed and put it on. There was no hole for the mouth unless she wanted to make one.
Kei's proper follow-up thought was, So much for dinner.
Then she swore a little under her breath until she managed to get the crusted window unlatched and opened wide enough to admit a superhero she honestly hadn't expected to see.
"You can come in," was all she said at the end of this farce.
"Thanks!" Presumably, Nightwing had already gotten past Robin's electronic whatevers without trouble. He probably had universal access, like Oracle. If not, the zaps were his problem.
There were no zaps, or alarms, and Kei just closed the window behind him.
Nightwing was somehow simultaneously very out of place and yet strangely at home in Kei's temporary shoebox apartment. Even under bright kitchen lights, he was completely at ease. He only had about two inches and maybe thirty pounds on her, which put him in a weird space because he nearly matched Sensei's dimensions. With a spring to his step, Nightwing maneuvered past her and made himself at home on the couch. The cushions bounced.
"Heck, did I interrupt you in the middle of dinner? Sorry about that." Well, calling ahead might've been a better precaution if he felt like being polite. Not just showing up.
"It's…fine?" Kei wasn't wearing anything to disguise herself, but it wasn't like she'd particularly expected houseguests. And…she didn't really have a secret double life to protect. Awkward. "Uh, there's coffee."
Specifically, there was ambient-temperature coffee because Kei had forgotten to turn the coffeemaker's heating element on again. After getting up the second time and shuffling around the apartment until enough brain cells clonked together for a shower, it'd just slipped her mind. And then the thought stayed gone because it was already late.
"It's all right. I don't really need anything this early." Nightwing shifted his weight a little so the back-mounted rack for his escrima sticks didn't dig into the back of the couch. "I'm just here to talk!"
"…Okay?" Kei didn't really have a script past this point. "This…feels like a mask conversation." Kei did not cringe at the sound of her own hesitation. She was perfectly capable of shoving Nightwing right back out that window, physics or not. There was no reason to be nervous. "I wish you'd called ahead."
Too bad anxiety was a bastard like that.
Nightwing scratched the back of his head. "If it's any consolation, there's no way I recognize you just based on your face." Well, no. She'd been wearing a mask for a reason, even if that reason was a bit pathetic. "You'll get off scot-free, really."
A cold comfort. If Nightwing had a camera in his mask—which Kei didn't put past any of the Bats—then some dots would start lining up for Oracle. If they hadn't already.
Kei sighed again.
"I really, really didn't mean to interrupt. Honest. So, you can sit down and do what you were doing, it's fine." He made a vague gesture that sort of encompass her whole being, then stopped. A tiny frown crossed his face. "I don't think you can eat with that on, right?"
Kei shook her head. I have no mouth and I must scream, et cetera.
"Then you can borrow one of mine." Without waiting, Nightwing tossed her a domino-style mask that was a clear copy of his. Maybe it was just a spare he had in case of accidental damage? "Don't worry, they're sanitized and only mildly adhesive! Sorry, I really should have called ahead."
Kei turned the domino over in her hands. The bridge of Nightwing's nose was too tall for his mask to fit Kei's face, but the central spine of material went far enough up and down to hide the edge of her scar. Being able to cover her most recognizable feature soothed Kei's nerves a little, even if the fit wasn't going to be great.
"Did you forget there was a landline?" Kei asked, testing the adhesive with one fingertip. It probably wouldn't yank on her eyebrows. The glue didn't feel strong enough to stand up to a running, flipping, fighting lifestyle, but she didn't say so.
It took her a moment to realize Nightwing had stopped talking for a little too long. When she looked up, he held his hands up innocently and said, "In a way. One, I thought Robin gave you a cell before he left, and two, actually calling ahead…fell down the priority list after what happened last night."
"What happened" was almost certainly why Kei was hosting Nightwing now. Probably Red Hood-related.
Turning her face briefly to the wall, she pulled off her mask again—feeling extremely silly—and fitted Nightwing's birdlike mask over her face. It was, indeed, not a great match. There were one-way lenses over her eyes now and her eyelashes brushed them, just because of the close fit. But it did settle her a tiny bit to know nobody could read her eyes for tells and that she could eat.
Sure, the entire rest of her body was a certified jumpy mess, but what did that matter? She'd gotten her energy back enough for it. Net positive.
"Just don't push any buttons. It's really hard to hold a conversation when someone's just a thermal silhouette." Nightwing paused, thinking that over. "I mean, you can, it just looks ridiculous and I kind of hope to have a real talk, here."
"Okay. Anyway," Kei managed in a totally-controlled voice, "what did you need from me?"
"It's a wellness check for our favorite ninja turtle, for one." Nightwing flashed another grin when Kei groaned at the pun. "So, did you ever decide which one you'd be?"
"Obviously Leo, because of the swords. Wellness check, huh?" There had to be a reason for it. It wasn't like this safehouse—apartment—lacked electronic monitoring. Robin had already explained the motion sensors primarily mounted around the door and window, which would let the Bats know if anybody entered or left. And probably let them know if Kei lapsed into an actual coma. She pushed that to the side and insisted, "What happened?"
"Kind of a long story, there."
Kei watched Nightwing debate exactly how much he was going to tell her, then started in on her dinner.
If it even counted when she'd fucked her circadian rhythm up so badly. See if she ever woke up before noon in this town again. She was one step short of turning into an owl.
While Kei hadn't seen Robin's report, it didn't take an international superspy to realize that all the typing the other night was probably about her. There was a tiny bubble of memory, more notion than thought, that said the third Robin was the genius detective. It didn't have the solidity of something she'd seen for herself. More of a barebones textbook feel. Regardless, this world seemed to follow some of the guidelines of the comic books that existed in her first lifetime, and that was enough for a little while.
Interrupting that train of thought, Nightwing said, "Red Hood made another move last night."
Kei swallowed her mouthful of fish. She was already a third of the way through her bento, thanks to a lifetime's worth of crappy modern eating habits all coming back at once. She barely tasted it. Oh, good. This is going to be fun. "Sounds bad. What kind of move?"
"Some of his thieves took one of Black Mask's weapon shipments, but didn't get away clean." Nightwing was almost assuredly half the reason why. Kei didn't think they'd let Robin into the crossfire of that kind of situation on purpose. "And when we tried to interrogate them after that, a sniper had something to add to the conversation."
"I guess they're all dead." Nightwing's nod was as much information as Kei would probably ever get from a Bat. She'd have to tolerate not being kept entirely up to date. "Not really that surprising. Red Hood's got that 'snitches get stitches' thing down pat."
"Usually it's not the kind of statement that ends with explosives."
Well, not with that attitude. "What got blown up?"
"The entire ACE Chemicals plant. Whatever Red Hood's been doing behind the scenes, he definitely doesn't have a shortage of explosives. So you can see why we'd be a bit concerned about your safety." Nightwing didn't turn his head, but with the lenses of his mask intact, he could be looking anywhere. Scanning her for injuries.
Kei just scooped up some rice and decided to focus on that first. While she didn't doubt Red Hood was a trained killer, Kei didn't particularly think he'd bother with her. Contractors were effectively disposable in most industries, crime definitely included, but she served better as a living question mark for the Bats to ponder over. Probably. If not, she probably would have gotten a bullet to the head already, even if it didn't kill her.
I assure you, I would not allow it, Isobu told her. If he could raise his spikes like an angry porcupine, he would have. Since his shell wasn't nearly that flexible, his tails lashed instead.
Well, Red Hood doesn't involve kids in his business. Kei chewed slowly, buying herself time. Fully zoning out while talking to Isobu and a Bat seemed like a bad idea. I don't think the question will come up.
Even so.
"I'm fine," Kei said at last, shrugging. "From Hood's perspective, I'm doing exactly what he paid me for."
Distracting the Bats—however mildly—from whatever Red Hood was up to was her entire job, and she'd done it. He hadn't specified how, which was his own fault. Kei was pretty sure accepting money from a mob boss made her complicit in some kind of crime, even if she didn't have a local position to ruin through a bribery scandal. Might as well not dig herself any deeper.
"No worries about the 'you have failed me' villain spiel?" Nightwing asked. Another smile curled at the edges of his mouth. He had matching dimples on each cheek.
Kei shrugged again. When it came down to the core of the issue, Red Hood didn't give two shits about her compared to other potential targets in Gotham. Like, say, the Joker. And while Kei lived under Bat protection, there were probably easier targets. Like henchmen.
That, and he seemed to be the type who just sniped people and ran.
"All right then. Thanks for the vote of confidence." Nightwing sat back, sounding somewhere between baffled and pleased despite Kei's lackluster response.
Kei finished the remainder of the bento in record time, then set it aside with a sigh. "So, about that talk."
"I almost forgot." Liar. "Did you have any theories about where the Red Hood came from? After that little tantrum, it seems like it's time to start turning over some stones, and Batman won the coin flip for Arkham."
Just one. Behind the mask, Kei squinted suspiciously at Nightwing.
Arkham meant the Joker, because of course the Bats had worked out the name connection. It was probably the least subtle part of Red Hood's entire scheme, including the reliance on explosives. And if they were interrogating the clown, there was no way he could miss the emergence of a new guy with his old name; the Joker was damn clever outside of the "wellspring of murderous chaos" thing. The likelihood of an Arkham breakout had just skyrocketed.
Kei wasn't sure why Gotham's citizenry hadn't pooled enough of a bounty for someone like Deathstroke to remove that fucker's head. Whether with a gun or a sword didn't matter. Anything to avoid the inevitable future casualties.
But none of that was what Nightwing had asked.
"Red Hood is definitely Gotham-born," Kei said. Because so were a million other people, that information didn't help the Bats that much. Kei rested her head on her hand. "The vocoder doesn't hide the accent."
Nightwing hummed along, though he didn't appear to be taking any kind of notes. One more point in favor of his mask having a camera.
Might as well push a tiny bit. "And if I had to guess, he despises the Joker."
"Yeah, the clown's not exactly Mr. Popular around here." Nightwing's tone didn't change as he spoke. If Kei hadn't been looking, she wouldn't have seen the minute tightening of his fist. And on an Inuzuka, Nightwing's pinched expression would be a prelude to someone getting their trachea bitten through.
She wasn't quite sure which part of the topic was annoying him—ah.
Nightwing was a big brother. Kei hadn't even needed to see him interact with Robin to know. He looked after that kid with the same easy, thoughtless affection Kei did with Hayate. They'd tag-teamed her clone pretty well during that first meeting until she cut the interaction short.
And he'd been one twice.
From the magma chamber that was Kei's core, anger creeped in. Cracked stone veins in its path. That sadistic shit killed your little brother and he's still breathing. If that had been Hayate—
When she'd looked up the Waynes at the start of all this, Kei had used the second Robin's death as a timestamp. Nothing personal. But as she was drawn further and further into this Bat-shaped drama's orbit, the shape of her nightmares would inevitably twist to fit the circumstances. There was some part of her selfish, unhappy brain that started blending details of Hayate's future death—torso ruined and innards strewn across concrete, crows mobbing the corpse—with the flame and shrapnel of a bomb inside an enclosed space. It was only a matter of time.
If that had been Hayate, the Joker would've been a smear before the day was out. She'd have pulled his fucking jaw off his head as an icebreaker.
But it was not, Isobu said sharply. One of Isobu's tails reached out and twanged her chakra coils for attention. There is no need for this now.
Riding out the spike of anger, Kei held her breath for a good few seconds longer than normal. Isobu helped by pulling it away like someone hogging a blanket, leaving her in the cold. Rage was one of those quick emotions that burned hot and bright in Kei's brain, drowning out anything else. She didn't need it; she needed Isobu's control when her mental discipline kept getting undermined.
It helped. Enough. She'd need to meditate later.
Nightwing hadn't taken his eyes off her once, and that was a little alarming. He'd shifted into more of a combat stance, like he was going to launch off the couch, without even letting his friendly façade slip.
Had he…felt Isobu? Somehow? Or her killing intent…?
Damn it. The Bats were supposed to be unpowered. What the hell?
"If I had to guess, the name and the costume are a targeted taunt." Kei didn't want to explain the loss of control in the slightest. Sleep deprivation could only account for so much. So, she pushed onward. "There's no way Red Hood doesn't know who used to have that name."
The Bats had to know that by mentioning a new jackass in a helmet, they were putting Red Hood and Joker on a collision course for the next time that bleached bastard escaped. Which he would, because the perversity of the universe trended upward around here. There was a level of confidence—or total ignorance of logical consequences based on the way their world worked—in that line of decisions that Kei would not imitate.
Red Hood was probably counting on it.
"I didn't realize you knew that much Rogue history," Nightwing said finally, tension ratcheting back down.
"It seemed like a decent idea to look up what I didn't know." Which was how she'd learned that there was a fucking Twitter page for every single Rogue's Arkham or Blackgate status. She didn't have a phone capable of checking it now, but it existed.
This city was a never-ending nightmare and she still hadn't paid her sleep debt.
"Genbu," Nightwing began, "would you object to staying here for a few more days? At least until the city calms down a little." He leaned forward to try and catch her gaze. If she'd been able to see his eyes, Kei wasn't sure if he'd be stern or puppy-dog when asking for compliance. He was in appeasement mode. "I promise that once the Red Hood situation is handled, we'll be able to tackle the ninja problems."
Sounds like begging to me, sneered Isobu, who liked the vigilante a lot less than Kei did, but trusted them about the same.
Kei ignored him. This was an opportunity to shake enough of her fatigue to finally experience those delayed nightmares. What a blessing that would be. "It sounds like I really don't have that much of a choice."
"You're not a prisoner, Genbu," Nightwing insisted. Seeing his earnest expression mostly made Kei wonder if she was really that gullible. "I don't want you to feel like you can't leave."
"The other option is getting attacked by ninjas. Again." And while Kei had recovered enough goodwill toward humanity to think she probably wouldn't kill them, she wanted to. It'd be a permanent solution to some of her individual attackers. Her patience, always finite, couldn't last.
Never a good idea to go into a fight with her emotional regulation already shot.
That gave Nightwing pause. He wasn't providing the threat, but it was still there. "I mean…"
"It's fine. I'm still recovering from…a bad month." Kei glanced at the landline. She didn't really think those had been the most-used phones in the average home since the turn of the millennium. Still, it theoretically worked. "Just call me if you need something. Or swing by. I promise not to go anywhere for at least another couple of days."
Some tension in Nightwing's shoulders eased. "Okay. I'll hold you to that."
The fewer people trying to set Gotham on fire for a little while, the better.
In the end, Nightwing accepted a travel mug of reheated coffee and his mask back before he left, which made Kei feel like slightly less of a failure at being a host. Still, Kei ended up staring mournfully at the six-cup pot, sighing, and sticking the remainder in the fridge. If she didn't remember to drink it when she woke up, then she'd dump it down a drain.
And Kei slept for another fourteen hours.
Jason tried to put everything to do with Black Mask as far on the backburner as it would go, which turned out not to be that far. By this point, his own gang had mostly adapted to the new management style—or died—and only needed specific direction every few days. Or if someone fucked up and needed a body bag. He'd retained enough useful people that running around at night to enforce policy decisions was reasonable instead of reckless. Micromanaging Vitaliy and the others would only hurt his operation. Some things could lie. It should've been fine.
Only, as usual, there were new problems.
Putting aside the fact that Hayate could clearly be a little lying brat when it suited him—as proven by his nighttime wanderings—the kid seemed genuinely worried when he explained his situation.
Or, to be more accurate, his sister's situation. And Gotham's by extension.
"My sister is a jinchūriki."
There…what the hell was that word. "Could you write that out for me?"
Hayate did so, using a pen on a napkin. The first character was "person," and then the next character… Jason had to break out the dictionary for those. After about a minute, Jason and Hayate's efforts stitched together a term that didn't exist in the Japanese language as Jason knew it. It wasn't as modular as German, so Jason set his character-by-character breakdown to the side with a frown.
"The 'power of human sacrifice,' huh?" Jason rubbed his chin slowly. Yeah, there was no way to make that sound like a good idea. It was actually worse than "the Lazarus Pit," which was the last ominous title and its owner that he had first-hand experience with. Jason hadn't dealt with human sacrifice cults specifically for a few years, and the last one had disintegrated about five seconds after the enraged mob ripped the leader to pieces. "And that means…?"
"It means that when she came home, she was carrying a bijū inside of her." Like a baby? Or like a chestburster? Not that Hayate knew that reference. "That's the word we use for these…huge, intelligent monsters that can level cities. A long time ago, the nine of them were distributed like trophies and sealed inside of humans, and then the humans could use their power."
Jason rested his hand on Hayate's shoulder. When the kid looked at him curiously, he simply asked, "Why?"
"Everyone thinks they're just disasters with brains." Hayate looked at his knees. "So, you have to control them. And if you use a person as the prison, you might as well get something out of it."
Jason leaned back against the couch, tilting his head toward the ceiling as he thought. Pandora's Box wasn't an unfamiliar concept. It was just that most of the overkill prisons he could think of—the Phantom Zone, for one—didn't use the inmates as a power source. And the jail didn't wander around getting into trouble.
"If she's that strong," —which was a bit of an assumption, but Jason decided to roll with it when Hayate nodded along— "what are you the most worried about?"
"I…" Hayate pressed his hand against the center of his chest, as though it hurt. "Being the jailer for something that powerful makes you a target. I wasn't sure until a bit ago, with the spies, but I think someone's watching for people like me. And my sister carries one of the bijū who could sink a coastal city."
So, there was maybe a human nuclear bomb running around Gotham, unprotected. And no one but this kid and the ninja murder-cult had any idea. And that explained why Jason first met Spike while she was fighting off Ra's al Ghul's ninjas. Which meant that the ecoterrorist cult leader who wanted to wipe out half of humanity was gunning for an option even worse than his usual orbital leaser cannons. Yet another reason to put a bullet in that bastard's head before his next dip in the Pit.
Fucking hell.
"That's a little out of our usual weight class here," Jason admitted, when Hayate looked askance at him for the long, thoughtful silence. Or maybe the kid didn't know boxing terms. Not important. Hayate had priority. "What do you want me to if I run into her again?"
Jason did have a few options if it came to a fight. It was pretty clear that Spike was getting worn down by the plague of ninjas, so supernatural stamina wasn't a factor.
Hayate didn't seem afraid, though. Either Hayate had a lot more faith in his sister than Jason did, or there was something else going on. The kid made a toneless sort of humming noise as he thought. Then: "I think the bad guys want her as a weapon. Probably with me being used as her living leash." Hayate turned his surprisingly earnest gaze toward Jason. "We can't let that happen."
"No pressure, right?" God, this kid. Absolutely sent along by karma or whatever to make sure Jason developed chronic stress ulcers before he could legally rent a fucking car.
Jason's to-do list was absolutely untenable. Just gotta run a criminal empire while looking after a superpowered ninja brat and also making sure the kid's grown-ass sister didn't kill literally a million people while being harassed by Ra's al Ghul's lackeys. While also being targeted by ninjas, because Jason's life was like that. Save the city and establish control over the mobs at the same time. Easy. So easy that Jason was absolutely sure Batman would have called the Justice League to Gotham to handle at least half of the requirements.
"Absolute tons of pressure," Hayate corrected, but he was smiling a little as he did it. "But I'll help."
"Fuck that. You're staying safe by staying the hell out of it."
Jason felt Hayate's shrug more than he saw it. "I can handle myself. It's why I got promoted to chūnin."
Which was… Okay, that translation was "middle ninja." Literally. A military hierarchy with three implied tiers was going on there and already making Jason's head hurt. And Jason suddenly had yet another bone to pick with Hayate's upbringing. Soon enough he'd have assembled an entire skeleton. He'd stick it in the Gotham Museum of Natural History and sell tickets.
Jason sighed and ruffled Hayate's hair, above the kid's protests. Hopefully, I have enough time.
So, understandably, Jason went out and started searching when he could. An hour a night, every night, for the next three.
Someone had left an unstable metahuman roaming the city. From a certain point of view, Jason had left that same living nuke in reach of both the Bats' and the League of Assassins' ideas of recruitment pitches. Even if it turned out Spike had ducked both of those influences somehow, it didn't change the fact that Jason had her baby brother in his goddamn apartment for nearly a whole month. The kid was routinely making him post-patrol snacks, for fuck's sake.
Jason would never bring a kid hostage into his tangled nightmare life. Not on purpose. And there was absolutely no way for Spike to know that based off their sparse conversation. From the way Hayate talked around his sister's temper, even the suggestion might set her off and scour part of the city to the bedrock.
Not on his watch.
Only finding Spike that first time had been luck and coincidence. In the days since, she'd vanished. And so had her stalkers, partially out of confusion and partially because ninjas who wandered into Red Hood's territory and didn't answer polite inquiries got dropped headfirst off buildings.
Jason wasn't sorry. He knew exactly how the League operated.
And, thanks to certain deductions and a long explanation of what the League of Shadows was, so did Hayate. At least it meant Hayate was taking some of Jason's warnings more seriously. Sometimes. The kid having already gone after and defeated a handful of rival ninjas gave him slightly too much confidence for Jason's mental health.
His suggestions for "making contact" were all unhelpful, too. Sure, Jason could fake an injury for sympathy from the human weapon he'd already annoyed, in the hopes that her medical training would take over. Except that Hayate didn't know what a Hippocratic Oath was, which boded ill, and Jason could not afford to actually get into a fight with someone like that without preparation and probably as much stealth as he could manage. His primary plan for dealing with being outnumbered by goons was a blitz attack. For the Bats? As many high explosive charges as he could carry. For a disaster-tier metahuman whose biggest trigger was her baby brother? Pulling a possum play wasn't ideal at all. When playing with people that powerful, pretending to be at their mercy was walking a very fine line.
Jason wasn't interested in tap-dancing on the edge of a fucking cliff, but here he was.
Thankfully, Crime Alley was clear of unauthorized shitheads for the time being. Hundreds of eyes—Crime Alley's very own neighborhood watch—offered more viewpoints than Jason's gang alone, and reported what they saw through a quiet network of halfway-trustworthy middlemen and enforcers until there was nothing Jason didn't know. Or, failing that, nothing he couldn't find. Rooting out the ninja nests (other than his apartment) went quickly with that intelligence bolstering.
Which meant that nobody, under duress or not, had seen Spike in Jason's territory.
Incidentally, the hacksaw method was no longer on just this side of acceptable, just in case Hayate followed him into another cleanup job.
And on top of everything else, the weapons shipment he'd wanted Spike to distract the Bats from had gotten thrown into Gotham Harbor. It cost Jason three men (and three bullets) and half his stockpile of explosives to cut his losses and shake Batman and Nightwing. Not a clean op. Aside from the GCPD or Batman, no one really had the recovery tools for the job, so that shipment would stay at the bottom of the river until long after Black Mask's tantrum was done.
The ACE Chemicals facility was gone, though, so there was a vague hope some of its immediate vicinity might recover once all the fires were out. Silver linings on a very dark stormcloud. Not Jason's problem at this point.
The meetup was. Held in an abandoned pharmacy's stockroom, it wasn't the most secure operation. However, Jason had no real need to move the previous management's bookkeeping resources if this was one of about eight locations. Centralization increased the chance that a single raid could spell disaster. Decentralization increased breadcrumb count for Bats.
Jason's backup plan for discovery was arson. He hadn't told any of his men that so far.
"If Black Mask doesn't put a hit on you, boss," said Vitaliy, looking deeply unimpressed, "I'd question his judgment."
Jason looked up from the paperwork stacked in meticulously neat piles across the conference table. While he could run this end of the operation out of some random Crime Alley basement if he so chose, it made the remainder of his gang slightly less governable. Being able to vanish at the drop of a hat did wonders for mystique, and jack shit for organizational coherence. It was yet another balancing act.
Vitaliy was one of those adaptable career henchmen who'd survived enough employee turnover to get promoted by default. And unlike Phil, Carlos, and Gary, he hadn't kept the Joker on his unofficial goon CV. No, he was Penguin and Riddler stock, and therefore less reprehensible.
Jason didn't like him, but he didn't hate him either. So he humored his minion with, "Wow, it took you that long?"
"We just cost him almost half a million dollars," Vitaliy said without budging. Someone had surgically removed his sense of humor years ago, he'd claimed, and Jason still wasn't sure if he meant that literally. Gotham was special like that. "The fact that he hasn't tried to rip us out of this territory by the root was already a bad call, but now he'll do the thing."
"The thing?" said Craig, who was a Metropolis transplant by his own admittance. And the lack of Batarang scars.
Vitaliy glanced at Jason for some kind of permission. When he got a dismissive wave, the beanpole of a Ukrainian said, "Escalation. In this town, it can always get worse."
Jason counted on it.
Craig looked a little ill, either from nerves or the kind of twitchiness that might require Jason to shoot him later. While he'd been picking out moles where he could, every once in a while someone decided to turn. Jason hadn't even had to track down the last two after the first demonstration. Their own friends dragged them to Jason's attention and threw them quite thoroughly under the bus. Practically fed them to the beast, really.
"Lay off the Bowery for the next few days," Jason told Craig, who apparently needed another task to occupy his time. "Tell the others the Bats are active. If you don't lay low, and cause me more problems, you'll wish they caught you."
Craig's head bobbed and he practically dashed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. There was shouting past the door. Jason ignored it.
There was still plenty of space, here and there throughout the Alley, in case they needed to move product into hiding. That got more and more likely as vigilantes and Black Mask got more and more antsy. They just weren't quite upset enough to make it worth Jason's while to waste time tangling with them tonight.
"You're going to have to shoot him," muttered Vitaliy. He adjusted his glasses and sighed, looking older than usual in the harsh fluorescent lighting.
"It's not a test for him," Jason said coldly. Craig wasn't that popular.
There was a sound from the ceiling, a little like a knock against the material as dust gently streamed down.
Vitaliy immediately drew his gun and pointed upward—a good reflex for a town with Bats in it, but Jason wasn't fooled. Half the reason he'd allowed this building to remain was the lack of structural support between the tiles and the actual frame of the building, reducing the chance of an air vent infiltration or other signature Bat tactics. Sure, a raccoon's weight couldn't have been supported by the gypsum tiles, but Jason needed to cut all risks down to size.
And he'd seen Hayate pull this shit before.
Raising one finger, Jason crossed the room and kicked the swing doors to the retail floor open with a growl.
Hayate stood there, utterly shameless.
"What," Jason said with forced calm, "are you doing here."
"We have a problem."
Of course we fucking do, Jason thought. He held the door open so Hayate would pass him and trot into the stockroom. Anything to keep him from being seen by a potential threat.
Part of him was flabbergasted by the sheer audacity of this baby ninja. Another part of him was furious that Hayate had gone so far as to waltz right into one of Jason's lieutenant meetings like it was nothing. And the last part was genuinely worried, because thus far this hadn't happened.
Oh, some of Jason's informants noticed the Asian kid in red-and-gray wandering the neighborhood, but with way less alarm than they had noted the purple-wearing vigilante who sometimes ran with—Jason's thoughts rattled momentarily—with Robin. But they weren't frequent sightings, and Hayate just waved to people. Jason's rules were enforced, so red and gray weren't going to get anyone killed unless someone like Sionis started shit. Hayate hadn't gotten into a single altercation that Jason knew of.
…Which meant nothing in hindsight. And never had.
"Is that a child?" Vitaliy asked, peering around the corner.
Hayate bowed to him, just slightly. Tonight, the kid had apparently stolen a pair of Jason's night vision goggles—the ones with the red lenses—to go over a metal half-mask. He'd ditched the scarf and pulled his hood up, covering his hair, which made him look even more like Jason had gone recruiting at a fucking middle school.
And he was—holding out the phone Jason had given him as a safety precaution, because this kid was a menace down to his bones. Jason intended for the Hayate to entertain himself with the internet, since Jason couldn't always be there to keep him out of trouble or find the time to get him books, and to call if there was some kind of emergency. It was a half-measure as Jason kept not finding Spike in the city, an attempt to keep the kid distracted so he might actually keep out of trouble.
So much for that.
Jason took it automatically. Shoved the scolding aside for later. "What did you find?"
"Here." Hayate leaned in over his arm and unlocked the phone with a quick swipe of his hand, bringing up the camera app. Jason hadn't taught the kid how to use that. He'd actually deleted it, for all the good that did.
There was a picture of Hayate's hand, holding what looked like pumice or some other kind of strange, pitted rock. The light made it hard to tell what color it was. Same thing for the moth standing on the rock. In the background of the shot was that distinct Crime Alley atmosphere: a couple of half-naked guys on the ground with his wrists and ankles and elbows duct-taped together, sprinkles of blood everywhere, a knocked-out tooth, and various pieces of trash for the atmosphere. A black blur took up the top left corner, like someone had forgotten thumbs existed.
"So, were you after a rock?" It wasn't a serious question. There was a method to this kid's brand of bullshit. The stooges on the ground were probably another round of assassins, for all the good that it had done them against a meta with stun guns for hands.
Hayate took his phone back. Entirely unashamed. Jason watched him switch over to an audio-based translation app and wanted to sigh. "I was tracking this, and he had it. He had a bunch of them. Since he was going after someone else who had one, it's his fault he ended up like that."
"That isn't a no."
Hayate groaned. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it. Also, if the rock's so important, why didn't you bring it with you?"
"First of all, it's not a rock, it's coral. Second, these things are one of my sister's signature tricks, but most of them have broken corners and aren't actively leaking…" Hayate clearly paused, flipped through the translation app a couple of times, and then shoved the character for "spiritual energy" in Jason's face. The hair on the back of Jason's neck did its best to stand up, but was compressed by his high, armored collar and his helmet. Hayate went on, "And third, I had to destroy that one and five others because they attract those creeps." He turned his phone over in his hands, poking at something. "If they're tracking her through the Three-Tails's power, she had to do something to shake them. I just wish it didn't come down to 'making a bunch of fake signals.'"
"Which means these ninja-magnets are all over my territory?" Jason demanded.
"Not anymore. I only found one before he got there. The other shards might have been anywhere, and that guy just collected them." Hayate's eyes were hidden, but Jason somehow got the impression that he was trying for a plaintive look. "If any of your men see them, they have to stay clear."
"And if you do?" There was no way Hayate was going to stay home at this rate. Ever again. God dammit.
"I'll just destroy them. You should too. But I don't think he," and here, Hayate nodded at Vitaliy, "and the others are ready to deal with that."
Said the fourteen-year-old about a grown-ass man and a bunch of his fellow career criminals. The League of Assassins might've been a bunch of elitist pricks, but they were definitely willing to go through anybody to get their way. It was practically in their code.
Speaking of, Vitaliy was still here.
"Is this your child?" Vitaliy asked, sizing up Hayate like an actual threat. Which was good, because while Jason hadn't planned to ask the kid if he was willing to cut someone's hand off if they pointed a gun in his face, it was implied.
"No." Jason's modulator was at its flattest possible setting.
"I thought you said there was no involving them now," said Vitaliy, though the man's shoulders hunched. He knew the price of annoying his new boss. He'd been two rungs below one of the guys Jason had already introduced to a chainsaw.
"There isn't," because what the fuck was this all for if the local brats kept involving themselves? Jason had his left pistol up and pointed at Vitaliy's face in an instant. An inch closer and the man would've been forced to kiss the barrel.
Vitaliy's eyes were too busy crossing to look at it when Hayate finally moved again.
Hayate had been messing with the phone for a while, probably with the translation app again. Then, as he crossed the room, he told it, "If Aniki lost men to my problems, it would be unforgivable. So, cheer up!" And he shoved the phone closer to Vitaliy's face so he could read it.
That fucking translation app definitely translated "Aniki" as "brother." Just based on Vitaliy's sudden change in expression from terror to understanding, Jason knew.
And depending on the response, Vitaliy's skull wouldn't remain in the shape to know a damn thing.
"I don't want to kill you," Hayate added after clearing his screen, which immediately filled it with text again. "But if Aniki needs to because someone got bright ideas about trying to get one over on him, that's suicide." Hayate hadn't drawn his weapons at all. The kid's uncanny cheer was filling the gap.
Vitaliy's eyes narrowed as he read this set of sentences. Then he sighed like his night gig wasn't worse than bartending and only leaned slightly away from Jason's impending headshot. "Okay, I get it."
Finally, Jason withdrew his pistol and holstered it. He hadn't gotten to the point of putting his finger on the trigger, but the margin was visible. It was just that he didn't want to ruin the room. "The rule didn't change."
"Just got more intense." Vitaliy backed down before Jason had to rethink his decision, both hands up in surrender.
"Wrong," Jason said flatly, and didn't elaborate.
After a brief staredown that his goon lost, Jason made a dismissive noise, and Vitaliy took the hint. He didn't quite run out of the room when Jason dismissed him, but he did move awful quick for a guy with an ankle brace.
Hayate tucked his phone away. "That went well."
Jason did not put his face in his hands. There was a helmet in the way and it would look pathetic, but he was tempted. "Hayate, what the fuck."
"It's not like there's anyone else I can go to about these problems," Hayate pointed out. Innocently. Like he hadn't just exposed his connection to Red Hood in front of a career gangster.
The kid was definitely one of a kind. The world couldn't handle two.
"Timing! Timing is key to half of how you get anything done around here, and doubly so when you're dealing with gangs." Especially gangs full of people Jason didn't trust as far as he could throw them. Significantly less, actually. He tried to take a calming breath. "We could have handled this later."
"Not everything can have a 'later.' You can't be everywhere at once, Aniki," Hayate said, crossing his arms. He didn't even flinch from Jason's anger. The kid's threat assessment abilities were three-quarters useless and one quarter just suppressed. "If you're this busy, then I have to pitch in to solve my own problems. It's unfair to put that on you just because I can't delegate to anyone else."
"I'm not going to let you get yourself captured or killed just because you feel 'responsible' for whatever shitshow you tripped into." Jason didn't have time for this. Black Mask was probably going to throw his money at anybody who looked like they could kill Red Hood. Boxing Sionis in was half of Jason's strategy, but cornered rats bit back. If ninjas were going to become an active force on the playing field because Hayate decided to come out of hiding, the game changed again. "Leave it."
Hayate stared back at him for a long moment. Too long. The kid was plotting.
But what he said was, "Fine. For now."
Oh, good. They were going to have an actual screaming match when Jason called it a night, apparently. When he jerked a hand in a dismissive gesture, Hayate was gone before his arm even came to rest. Just blurred and dissolved, like dealing with a speedster.
Jason went back to staring at schematics and shipment manifests for the next twenty minutes, and felt like he processed none of them.
Notes:
1. Kei doesn't know there's one comic storyline where, while thinking Tim is dead, Nightwing beat the Joker to death with his bare hands in retribution. Batman resuscitated him. (This was half for Dick's mental health, and half for the No-Kill rule reasons. Which loops back into the first thing.) Jason was busy being dead at the time, but otherwise you can be sure he'd have Things To Say About That.
2. In the movie version of events, the weapons shipment Jason's minions swipe from Black Mask is actually an Amazo android, which can copy superpowers. We're skipping that because there's already quite a lot going on.
3. I used to have a cleric named Vitaliy for a D&D game I never actually ran, so this guy shows up occasionally as a random bit-part OC in some of my stories. He's a half-decent guy, but probably would be better off as a paramedic than what he's up to here.
Next time, we'll see what Hayate was up to. Suffice to say, he doesn't tell Jason all that much more than Jason tells him.