Chapter 10 of What's Up, Danger?: Young Adult Friction
10:50 AM, Tuesday
In the elevator, Sabine's eyes focused on her phone screen with a cheery smile on her face as she scrolled through an album full of photos of CEO. In some pictures, he napped in a beam of sunlight on her blue and white patterned rug, in others he sniffed and licked her fingers as she handed him treats.
In one weekend and a day, she took almost fifty pictures—not including videos—of the cat in her apartment. She knew it was against her rental agreement to keep a pet in the apartment, but she conceded she would cross that bridge with her landlord if and when he found out.
Jason couldn't help himself and peeked over her shoulder, wondering what was making her grin like a dork. When he saw her thumb sliding through a photo album of the cat on her phone, he smirked, satisfied. He didn't get her attachment to the former stray, but it was nice to see her not be a worried bundle of nerves. She looked like she had actually gotten some sleep as well.
Sabine caught him staring from the edges of her vision and angled her head up. "You like cats?"
He scoffed. "Not really." He noticed her pout and rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, they're all right?"
She scrunched her nose as the elevator came to a stop and the doors squealed as they peeled open.
"More of a dog guy, eh?" She teased, stepping out into the lobby.
Jason's mind drifted to Haly and Ace, he liked them both well enough. He then remembered Sparky. They would hide together under the kitchen table whenever his parents argued when he was a child. Before things changed. Before Bruce. Those dwindling memories seemed so far away now, he'd almost forgotten them.
"You could say that," Jason answered, a sudden wave of sad nostalgia washing over him. Despite that, he forced himself to give her a toothy grin.
Sabine studied his expression, not believing it for a second, but didn't question it.
"Maybe you just haven't met the right cat yet," she reasoned, trying to lighten the mood.
"Maybe," Jason indulged her, reminiscing on his escapades a few nights ago when he had found CEO.
His leg felt better after Alfred had cleaned it and properly stitched it. It still throbbed when he put too much weight on it when he walked.
Outside the building, it lightly drizzled. Not enough to warrant taking out an umbrella or pulling up their hoods, but enough to feel the moisture in the air and small sprinkles of water on their faces. Enough to make the end of Jason's hair curl.
They stood at the bottom of the steps to the office building. Goodbyes were always awkward.
There was concern in Jason's voice when he asked, "You good to walk from here?"
She knew if she said 'yes' he would go with her because Jason, despite appearances and his sometimes self-deprecating attitude, was kind. Although he would insist otherwise.
Sabine rocked on her feet. "I think so."
Jason made a face and dropped his shoulders like it wasn't the answer he was expecting, but he respected her autonomy. He wanted her to feel comfortable in the city despite its notoriety. He told himself it was a good thing that she felt confident to walk to Gotham University without him, it was like taking the training wheels off of a bicycle.
"Well, maybe…" Sabine's voice petered, her phone still in hand, "…you can give me your number? That way I can let you know I got to school safely."
Jason blinked, face blank. Did she just ask for his number?
He lifted his eyebrows, common sense already thrown out the window. "Uh, sure."
She tapped at her phone screen, typing his name in the add new contact section. "So, what's your last name?"
His throat tightened. "It's just Jason."
Three minutes later, after exchanging numbers and her playfully chiding him for refusing to tell her his last name (because of reasons), she was at the other end of the block. His eyes followed her grey peacoat until she disappeared from view.
Jason looked down at her contact information on his phone. What the hell happened to his resolve to create distance between them?
An hour later, Jason was home, assembling a sandwich for lunch with his clothes in the dryer. The sound of fabric tumbling inside the machine was soothing as gentle rain dashed against the windows, leaving tiny watermarks.
On the counter, his phone dinged.
The banner at the top of the screen displayed a message notification—
Sabine: Got to school safely! :-)
Jason stared at the words on the screen, partly in relief. The other part of him felt overwhelmed because he hadn't expected her to text him even though she said she would. After washing his hands and a moment of consideration, he sent back a thumbs up. Because that was a safe reply, right?
8:30 PM, Friday
Jason hummed as he wiped down his handguns with a cloth, making the metal shine. It was almost a daily ritual for him; taking them apart, cleaning any residue or built-up sediments inside, lubricating the barrel, then wiping them down to ensure they kept functioning effectively and avoid any equipment malfunctions. The last thing he wanted was a firing mishap in the field (because how embarrassing would that be?).
The regular upkeep of his weapons was meditative as well, calming. And, most importantly, it allowed him to pretend that Damian's intrusive presence wasn't in the same room as him.
Sometimes he would come home and find the demon spawn sitting cross-legged and stooped over on his couch, a book in his hands. Sometimes he would find him examining the numerous books on the shelves, deciding what to read next. Jason would confer a suggestion or two, to which Damian would respond with an irritated "Tt—" before finding the aforementioned literature and sliding it off the shelf.
Jason allowed and tolerated the teenager's presence in his safe house (it was almost impossible to keep him out anyway despite installing deterrents and alarms), so long as he read silently and didn't dare to bend the upper corners of the pages to keep his place in the books.
Occasionally, Damian would offer an unprompted scathing comment about the characters or plot, or voice his speculations. As long as the topic stayed on books, Jason found hi, tolerable in small doses, which was the nicest way to put it.
He didn't know what to think of Damian's almost once-a-week visits. The extensive library at Wayne Manor had hundreds, if not thousands, more books and was more spacious, more comfortable. Perhaps Damian just preferred to read surrounded by dozens of displayed weapons?
His feelings towards Damian were complicated and muddled (this seemed to be a reoccurring dilemma for him towards most members of his 'family'). One thing he knew for sure though was that it was utterly annoying that Damian thought he could invade his space like this. But maybe the demon spawn needed time away from the manor as well.
For how big the mansion was, it could feel suffocating and claustrophobic. The weight of Bruce's mission, his legacy and ghosts, seeped into every corner, every crevice, penetrated the walls and consumed everything they touched.
He wondered if the others ever felt that there—the heaviness. He remembered what it was like living there when he was younger, under Bruce's strict-but-caring tutelage and Alfred's kindness; those were some of the best years of his life, but even then he couldn't escape the memories that lived in those halls and Bruce's shadow.
Tonight, Damian was hunched over a large volume that was a compilation of all of Shakespeare's work, reading Macbeth. He had been working his way through the thick tome with onion skin pages for several months.
"I like Lady Macbeth," Damian stated tersely without glancing up. "She's ambitious, ruthless."
It sounded like he admired her. Oh boy.
Jason tossed his head back and snorted. "Does she remind you of anyone in particular?"
Damian wrinkled his forehead and hmphed, irritated with Jason's insinuation.
Jason chuckled wryly in response. The temptation to spoil the rest of the play lingered on his tongue but then Damian might swing a sword at him in retaliation.
Instead, he opted for a safer response as he surveyed his distorted reflection in the shine of the gun.
"Just wait until act three," Jason told him before he resumed humming.
The teenager glowered at the back of Jason's head before ducking his head back down and picking up where he left off.
On the table, next to a bottle of cleaning solvent, Jason's phone buzzed. The short ringtone penetrated the quietness of the room.
He ignored it, thinking it was Roy. Who else would text him? Certainly not Artemis or Bizarro, he didn't even know what the two of them were up to any more these days. He missed them, but he wouldn't tell them that. Or maybe it was the "Bat-family" group chat? Although, he was sure he had muted notifications for that chat a long, long time ago.
Then it buzzed again. And again.
After the fourth time, Damian looked up from the book, perturbed that the noise had disrupted the soliloquy he was engrossed in.
Damian clicked his tongue, annoyed. "Are you going to silence that thing or not, Todd?"
Jason stopped what he was doing and twisted his body around in his chair, shooting a warning glare at Damian. "What's the first rule of book club?"
"We do not talk about it," Damian replied sternly, straightening himself. "To anyone."
"And the second?" Jason pressed.
"We do not explicitly have a second rule," Damian said with a scowl matching the intensity of Jason's, "but if I had to guess it would be silence."
Jason gave him a sour look, nodded, and turned away. He reached for his phone and cradled it listlessly in his hand as he punched in his passcode with his thumb.
His eyebrows raised when he saw that the notifications were from Sabine.
Jason didn't smile, but he didn't frown either. Instead, his lips twitched. He had trouble deciding how to feel. He had given her his number on impulse and against his better judgment.
Opening up the messages app, he viewed the cat photos she sent. The cat had caused him a lot of trouble, but at least it seemed to cheer Sabine up to have him. He scrolled through the photos, the cat was cute when he wasn't being a menace.
Ultimately, he decided not to reply. He had said he wasn't a cat person.
And then there was the mission. His mission.
Jason stood up and stretched his arms overhead. He jerked his head towards Damian. "Okay, time for you to scram. I need to run some errands."
"Errands?" Damian mocked icily as he shut the book, knowing full well that "errands" was a euphemism. "What is it tonight, Todd? Taking over the Iceberg Lounge, again? Encroaching on Black Mask's territory?"
Jason grimaced, fighting the urge to swat Damian on the back of the head. Try to be a crime lord once, and no one lets you forget it.
He grabbed his brown jacket and helmet from the armory. "Has anyone ever told you how delightful you are?—a real sweet potato pie?"
The corners of Damian's mouth twitched, peeved. "Sarcasm is low brow humor."
"Yet you seem to have it in spades," Jason sniped back.
Jason waited impatiently as Damian put the book back on the shelf and made a shoo-ing motion with his hands, ushering the teenager out through the window like he was an unwanted vermin.
Happy that Damian was gone and that he was alone, Jason stripped off his shirt and jeans and changed into his uniform. He glanced at the guns on the table, clean and ready to go. Instead of putting them in his thigh holsters, he placed them on the mounted wall rack.
He slipped on his helmet, the mechanism in the back clicked as it locked in place. Time to run some "errands".
10:40 PM, Friday
Sabine heard the loud click of her electric kettle, signaling that the water had boiled and was ready to be poured into a mug in a few minutes. She closed her laptop and pushed her chair away from the table.
She made her way over to the kitchen cabinets and opened one above the kettle. Inside, her collection of mugs greeted her, chaotically stacked on top of one another in precarious positions. She chose a black one with a bright yellow bat signal encircled on it. It was a joke gift from her half-brother when she left home for Gotham University several years ago and she was fond of it.
Her fingers carded through the various small packages of tea bags in the flat container beside her electric kettle, thinking about what she was in the mood for; peach honey, raspberry hibiscus, green tea, chai, and orange spice.
She tore open a package of peach honey and added the tea bag to the hot water, letting it steep as she busied herself with putting away her notes and textbooks.
She stole glimpses at her phone on the table next to her computer as the tea bag steeped. It had been a few hours since she texted Jason and he hadn't responded, not that she honestly expected him to. Sabine didn't even know what prompted her to send him a handful of cat photos. Just to start a conversation?
Sabine stewed over it for another minute. Why did she care that he wasn't responding? Was it because she thought he was kind of cute despite the unruly hair and scars? His lack of reply, whether it be sending a reaction gif or a silly little emoji, hurt a smidge.
It's only been two hours, she tartly reminded herself, and it's a Friday—he's probably busy.
But even that didn't settle her jitters. She wrung her hands and shook her head. She had even quadruple-texted him like an idiot!
Calming down and pushing the thoughts out of her mind, she removed the tea bag and threw it away before picking up the mug.
As she turned on her heel to walk over to the couch, CEO dashed through her legs, startling her. The mug slipped from her hand, loudly crashing onto the hardwood flooring.
"Shit!" she hissed through her teeth.
It shattered into several pieces as it hit the floor and the hot water splashed onto her lounge pants. She cursed again and dragged a hand over her face in exasperation before glaring at the cat, who had jumped up onto the couch and was staring at her with wide, innocent eyes.
Sabine exhaled and drooped her shoulders in resignation. She couldn't be mad at the cat for being, well, a cat. Still, the annoyance on her face was plain as day.
She edged carefully around the ceramic carnage and tea puddles. Opening the closet by her door, she grabbed a small broom and dustpan to sweep up the larger pieces, and her hand vacuum for the tiny troublesome ones.
When she spun around to clean up the mess, her body stiffened. There was nothing on the floor where the mishap happened.
She blinked several times, stunned. Her gaze trailed over to the counter where her electric kettle and tea container were placed.
The mug sat on the counter, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Spectral curls of steam from its hot contents rose above the rim.
The broom and hand vacuum slipped from her hands, falling to the floor with a noisy clatter that echoed off of the tiny studio's walls.
Her head tilted to the side in confusion as she cautiously stepped up to the countertop.
She extended her hand, her index finger hesitantly pointing outward, and gingerly poked the ceramic cup. She flinched as her finger connected with it, expecting something to happen. Once. Twice. She poked it a third time before wrapping her fingers around its surface. The heat from the tea radiated against her palm, warming her hand.
She rotated it curiously and examined it. The mug was in near-mint condition, save for a few chips on the bottom. There were no signs or evidence that just moments ago it had been smashed into pieces beyond repair. Yet, here it was in front of her—perfectly whole with piping hot tea inside of it.
Her brows furrowed, not knowing what to make of the situation. She looked down at her pants; there were no brown splatters on them anymore. It was as if the cup had never been dropped.
It was a record scratch moment in her brain—this didn't make sense. And the more she tried to make sense of what she thought had happened and what was in front of her, the more bewildered she felt.
Had she imagined accidentally dropping it? She recalled the feeling of the ceramic slipping from her hand, the sound of it hitting the floor, the sensation of hot water seeping through her pants, stepping away from the jagged pieces…
I think I'm going crazy? Which was not a comforting thought.
She turned her head towards CEO, who yawned and stretched before settling into a ball on a couch cushion.
A harsh and repetitive rapt on her window shifted her attention.
Sabine let out a tired noise from her mouth. Only one person was brazen enough to climb the fire escape up to her floor and knock on her window.
Red Hood twiddled his fingers at her through the glass in a friendly greeting. His red helmet glinted in the light from the lamp in her living room.
Oh, great, him.
"I'm kind of dealing with something right now," she protested after she slid up the frame. The cold night air stung her bone-weary face.
"Nice to see you too." He noticed her shoulders shiver. "Put on a jacket and boots. Meet me on the roof."
Sabine skewed her mouth to the side, defiant. "Why?"
"Because it's cold and I don't want you freezing to death," Red Hood huffed.
Sabine pursed her lips and gave him a hard stare. "I mean, why meet you on the roof? You could just, I don't know…" she gestured to her living room with a sweeping hand and arm gesture, "…come inside? Where it's not cold."
He stared at her for a few seconds, considering the offer. He didn't want to intrude, but hey, if she was offering.
Red Hood crouched on the fire escape until he was at eye level with her. Even doubled-over, his frame was large, muscular, and imposing.
"You inviting me in, Donuts?"
Sabine chewed on her inner cheek as she stared into the slits of his red helmet only a few inches away from her face, wondering if she should regret extending the invitation. Her night was already strange, so why even try to push back against it? Might as well let it get full-on bizarre and let a vigilante into her home.
"Sure, why not? It's not like you respect boundaries anyway," she fgrumbled and waved a hand in the air dismissively. She arched a brow at him suspiciously. "You're…not a vampire or something are you?"
He had a bat on his chest and appeared to be nocturnal, after all. Or maybe she had spent too much time on a shitty tabloid website that had several articles dedicated to explaining possible connections between Batman and Dracula when she should have been rereading her lecture notes.
He responded with a half-shrug, amused. "What if I am?"
Sabine shrugged back at him in a more exaggerated manner, her forearms raised at her sides and palms facing up. "Then I rescind my invitation."
Red Hood held back a laugh as he grabbed the window frame and lowered his head under it. She took several steps back to give him space to climb inside.
CEO lazily lifted his head and looked up at the intruding vigilante before curling himself up into an even tighter ball, covering his eyes with his paws. At least the troublesome fuzzball felt comfortable in his new home.
"Look at that," Red Hood said smugly as he planted his boots on the wooden floor inside of her studio and slinked the rest of his hulking body inside, "not a vampire."
Sabine didn't look impressed as her nose caught a whiff of two mingling scents: leather and gunpowder. She peeked at his thigh holsters and noticed that he had come to her unarmed again. Not that he needed guns to be intimidating.
He closed the window behind him and shuttered the blinds. His eyes quickly scanned her apartment to glean any new information about her that was absent from the file put together by Babs.
He found there was only one way to describe Sabine's place; it was an organized mess. Everything was in piles: books, mail, notebooks, clothes. And for some inexplicable reason, there was a broom and hand vacuum on the floor. It looked like she had earnestly attempted to straighten out the mayhem, but maybe got distracted or stopped part-way through.
Red Hood paused when he spotted her tall bookshelf, intrigued. Skimming the titles, he realized that he hadn't heard of most of the books present: Skyward, A Deadly Education, The Book Thief…on the bottom shelf were a handful of titles he recognized by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Judging from their worn-out spines, the books had been well-loved and reread many times. Next to a collection of Fitzgerald's works was a space. The lack of dust on the shelf told Jason that there were books there, but that they had been moved somewhere else.
Sabine sighed wistfully. She had wanted a quiet Friday night in. She even passed up an invitation from her classmates to go bar hopping to catch up on reading and homework. She began to wonder if she was cursed.
She wandered back over to the small kitchenette and to her cup of tea, fully aware that Red Hood was watching her every move. It was unnerving being in his presence, no matter what jokes he cracked or how casual he acted with her.
His eyes narrowed when he saw the bat symbol on the mug and a strange pressure encased his ribcage.
Sabine noticed where his line of sight fell and crossed her arms.
"It's not like the Gotham gift shops have Red Hood mugs," she explained.
"Hmm, well maybe they should," he scoffed. Through the voice scrambler, Sabine could hear a bitter-but-sardonic tone seep through.
Was he really going to be acrimonious over something as harmless as a mug?
She tapped her fingers against the countertop, restless. Finally, she brought the mug to her lips and took a sip of tea, her eyes still focused on the vigilante in her apartment.
"So," she held the mug by its handle and placed her other hand on her hip. She shifted her weight to her right leg and asked, "why are you here?"
Red Hood leaned his back against the wall opposite her, giving her some space, and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. "Just wanted to talk about a few things, but you seem to avoid conversation."
Her gaze shifted down to her feet. "No, I like talking. I just, well…don't take this the wrong way," she fidgeted, "…you're kind of scary."
He exhaled out of his nose in amusement. "That's kind of the point."
She heard the urban legends of Red Hood working with Batman and saving people, but she had also heard stories of how violent and unpredictable he could be. Living in Gotham, it was next to impossible not to hear about him and his reputation.
But he had gone out of his way to find the cat for her and cover the initial veterinary care, she gathered that much from the file of paperwork he left inside CEO's carrier (although all the payment info was redacted with thick black lines). She couldn't even begin to fathom why he would do something like that for her, of all people. It had been surprising and kind. Still, she was a long way away from completely trusting him, or wanting him in her apartment.
Sabine rolled her eyes. "Look, I'm super grateful that you found CEO, but I don't know how I can help you. I don't know much about this thing or whatever it is that you're looking for."
He shifted his posture. "Tell me what you do know then."
She swallowed and the words came out easier than she anticipated, "If you're here then I'm guessing you know about my mom. And how she died. It was similar to Professor Storrison's death from your account."
Red Hood nodded slowly in confirmation.
"I don't really know what else to say," she stammered. "That's all?"
"You must have an idea why it happened?"
Sabine looked away.
"My mom was into some…dark stuff," she frowned, then added, "like occult stuff."
It was weird to talk about, it was something she had buried deep inside her mind.
Red Hood mulled over her words as she avoided eye contact with him. He didn't want to drag up painful memories—hell, he had more than enough of those of his own—but his instinct had been right on the mark.
"I do have some of her old books," Sabine offered, voice low, "if you wanna look at them. I'm not sure how I can help beyond that."
"You didn't read them?" He sounded surprised.
"I've flipped through them a few times," she admitted, putting down the mug and walking towards the closet where she kept them, "but I couldn't make heads or tails of the stuff."
Sabine rummaged around in the closet before pulling over a medium-sized cardboard box. She set it on the floor between them, knelt, and peeled back the flaps, revealing several strange-looking tomes. "These are kind of all I have left of her…so, uh, bring them back? Please?"
He joined her on the floor and appraised the contents of the box. He didn't need to have a lick of magical ability to deduce that these books gave off bad vibes; they were all bound in black leather (or what he hoped was leather) and covered in symbols. Large metal clasps sealed the contents of the pages.
These must be the missing books from the shelf, he realized.
He held his chin in his hand, thinking. He didn't particularly feel like carrying a box full of creepy shit back to his place.
"Where did she get these?" he pried.
"I'm not really sure," Sabine said quietly, looking into the abyss of the box. "She disappeared for like a week when I was five, dropped me off at a friend's place, said she had some family stuff to take care of, and when she came back…she was like a different person. She was obsessed with this stuff and started collecting it."
It felt like she had lost her mother twice, but she didn't say the last part out loud, preferring to keep that sentiment private.
Red Hood raised a hand, reaching out to pat her on the shoulder, but when she detected his movement she recoiled.
Remorse clawed at his insides. This was precisely why he didn't want to get too involved or too attached to a civilian. He felt sympathy for her and the parts of her history that reminded him of his own.
He picked up one of the smaller books, feeling the weight of it. He tucked it into a large inner pocket in his jacket lining where he usually kept hidden explosives.
"I'll borrow just the one," he said, his voice hoarse as he tried not to let her blanch get to him.
Sabine refolded the cardboard flaps, closed the top, and nodded. Her expression was distant when she acknowledged him, "That's fine."
Red Hood moved upright, observing her as she tucked the box away back inside the closet and closed the door. There was more to the story about her mother, he could tell. And he wasn't going to be able to find that information in any file.
He didn't need to be schooled in reading micro-facial expressions or body language to know that Sabine was hiding another secret. But it was getting late, and what was unearthed tonight was enough. For now.
Mentally, he ran through a list of names of people he could consult. He didn't have the connections to swing a meeting with one of the magic users in the Justice League, a drawback to being dead for several years, but maybe Babs could arrange something for him.
There was no way to leave that wasn't awkward as hell as uneasy silence enveloped the room.
"Well," he walked backward, towards the window, "I should go."
Her eyes snapped in his direction and she murmured in agreement.
His back bumped into the window sill, unsure of how to salvage the end of this encounter. Red Hood tugged at the string next to the window, lifting the blinds out of his way before pushing it open.
One of his legs swung over the edge and rested on the fire escape, the other was still in her apartment. His body stiffened, half-in and half-out of her window. A garbled noise escaped from the back of his throat, it sounded like a fake cough to get her attention.
"Thanks for the help," he uttered.
Sabine gave him a half-hearted wave. "No problem."
She watched him leave, the window rattled as he closed it behind him and his shadow disappeared from view. She saw her reflection in the glass and ran her fingers through the front of her hair, inspecting its length. She knew the stress was getting to her because she pondered cutting her bangs and dying her hair bright blue.
After closing the blinds, Sabine sank into the couch cushions and placed the mug of tea on the coffee table in front of her. CEO got up and flopped down in her lap. For an outdoor cat, he had seamlessly adjusted to his new living arrangements.
"Maybe I should dye my hair," she said to the cat, running her hand through his fur. "You think that's a good idea?"
CEO's body softly rumbled in response as he purred.
Sabine rested her head back against the cushions. She was certain a bright blue hair streak would annoy the Red Hood and that thought made it seem worth it to her.
A/N: *casually sprinkles in Harley Quinn show references*
Not super happy with how this chapter turned out, but you can't win 'em all. But also, Jason bby plz let someone be your friend
And the Jason and Damian scene was heavily inspired by Wayne Family Adventures. I think a love for reading is something that they would both have in common.
Thank you for reading!—and thank you for the reviews/comments, bookmarks, and kudos!