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Jason first and foremost was a street kid.
That was a fact of life.
You can take the kid from the street, but you can’t take the street out of the kid.
He’d always have certain mannerisms that stuck with him, even after he’d left, even after he’d been revived. It was the softer parts of him, the few good things that he refused to forget, refused to let go of, even when anger had filled his entire being.
Sometimes he’d end up hoarding food, mentally calculating in his head how long it would last, trying to ration it out as long as possible.
He’d find himself leaning back on his tough persona when he’d be cornered, not wanting to show any weaknesses. Some street kids might stick together, but they were territorial and possessive over their things. They had to be, lest some jerk decided to take it all because you showed you were soft.
There was even a particular accent you developed there. One more gruff and such. If he listened to himself carefully, he could almost hear it.
It came out more when he’d be speaking to other street kids like him. It was, in a way, an identification test. If you were one of them.
Most of them had nicknames anyway. Either they didn’t remember, or it was all for safety. For privacy. Connections meant jackshit, but rich kids becoming one of them didn’t necessarily garner that much sympathy because they’d usually be snot-nosed brats. Nicknames were easier to remember.
It was really all an elaborate system.
He’d become a part of it too, once he’d become older.
The Red Hood. They clicked immediately. Like meets like, after all.
Jason let them be ruthless, they formed, well, a ‘gang’, many kids going to join him in his territory. The Red Hood’s territory.
Because he knew things, and he’d be damned if he let some asshole get away with touching one of his, one of his people, in his territory. (He and the pit often co-existed in that sense, coming out as the ‘monster’ that terrified many.)
It was better for them, but it was also a careful system of ‘not too much’, and ‘not too little’.
Give too much and they’d be targets. Accused of stealing if he gave too much money. Same thing if they had too much food, too good of clothing, because people believed there was no way someone like ‘them’ could ever get such nice things.
Even if there were people such as ‘good samaritans’, it was more likely than not that any aid they provided, the person would only end up more bruised for having ‘committed a crime’.
It sucked.
It worked vice versa as well. If he gave too little, then they could starve, or grow cold, or just die .
It was all a careful act of balancing.
Not to mention that even if it was his territory, people still did shit things. If he came out with this safe spot then some dumbass would go and poison the storage, someone would leak it and it would all go to hell.
Wasn’t fun when a random guy comes over, acts like he has some food for you, and then turns out it’s either gross, poisoned, or fucking garbage ( not fun. Seriously! Who gets off on that shit?! Actually, fucking gross imagery).
So it wasn’t like he could just have someone else fill in. Well, he had the Outlaws. He could trust them to take over, it’s just.
He was also, as Roy dubbed him, a ‘mother hen’.
Look, he cared for each and every one of them deeply, with a kindness he hadn’t been afforded much in the past.
If he could, he’d scoop them all up, wrap them in bubble wrap, and give them the life of their dreams.
The problem was that people would always be left on the streets, and he couldn’t take them all in. He’d never be able to care for them as closely as he’d wish to, as much as he’d wish to act as a father-figure. Not to mention he didn’t take care of himself that well.
He was a monster, and he feared that one day the kids would be afraid of him.
..Not to mention they’d probably stab him for even considering putting them in homes (they sucked. Dickiebird had apparently ended up in juvie after his parents died, what the hell?).
They were strong, and didn’t like to be considered weaker just because of their age, or any dumb shit like that. They could care for themselves, but a guy could worry.
The whole reason he even brought this up is because everyone was busy, and he needed to be pulled into an undercover case that could last for who knows how long.
Not to mention Jason had been declared legally dead, while everyone else does have their own lives. They’re recognizable (well maybe not so much outside of Gotham and their own cities, but huge risk).
It sucked, but he also understood, reluctantly.
It was boring.
He supposed it was a little fun not having to deal with so much as he had before, but fucking hell, his kids . ( ..Roy and Kory would video-call him often. …very often.)
Really though. It all came to a head eventually, because of course it would.
One of his kids had been used in some guy’s scheme ( where the hell was the Organized Crime branch? ) and..
He’d honestly seen green .
It felt like everything had stilled, the Earth holding its breath.
Like his heart had stopped. Fuck, it was.
His heart had been shot.
The unsub (it was a fucking Richard .) likely hadn’t even meant to. But funny how guns work, huh?
And people were feeling sympathy.
“Well at least no one important got hurt.” Some dumb, unknown fucking BITCH (no offense to female dogs, they’re superior, except for his kids) commented, and Jason sucked in a breath–
–and before he knew it he’d slammed his hand onto the wall, making a dent.
The sound echoed across the room, and Jason growled at them. “ Really? Say ‘at to my dead. Fuckin. Kid! ‘n it all could’a been prevented if you didn’t provoke the unsub!”
Peter, a godsend, didn’t bother him (‘like Bruce’ went unsaid), and instead glared at everyone, effectively shutting them up, and dragged him away to his office for privacy.
Jason groaned, burying his head in his hands. “So stupid . ‘ruin everything..”
“..That’s not true, Neal. She looked at you as if you hung the moon and stars. She adored you, and you adored her. I could see the fondness in your eyes. There was nothing you could’ve done.”
“..God, guns are so stupid . It’s so fuckin’ easy to just kill someone! It never would’a happened if people who weren’t prepared to take a life, didn’t have them! To never point unless they’re willing to shoot. But fuck. Peter. All it takes is maybe a jerk, a flinch and they press too hard, or their finger accidentally moves– ‘n then some poor soul gets shot. How’s ‘at fair!? It’s so fucking dumb! ”
Tears of frustration started to spill, and his heart absolutely ached.
Peter didn’t comment on that. “I’m not gonna ask. Just.. You know you can always come to me and El, right? You aren’t alone. I don’t want to assume, but I can only imagine the grief you’re feeling, and how it can push people, so… Don’t kill him. I know you might want to, might want to avenge her, but it won’t do anything. Don’t cross that line and make me have to force you behind bars. Please. I’m not asking you as an agent, or your handler, or whatever– I’m asking you as a friend.”
He sucked in a breath, laughing dryly and shaking his head as he slowly put back the mask that was Neal Caffrey. (Oh, he was going to ruin everyone that said anything wrong, alright. He didn’t care about himself, but his kids were absolutely off limits. No one would be able to prove a thing.)
“Would I ever do anything against the law?”
Jason felt like shit, but he’d be damned if he let anything stop him from serving justice.