Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today was supposed to be a good day. Jason woke up five minutes before his morning alarm, he had a long, productive day of intimidating Star City goons into giving up details of a massive drug shipment he would be busting later that night, and he had a massage planned for the next day.

But, of course, the universe hates Jason Todd, so now he’s handcuffed to the table in one of the Justice League’s many interrogation rooms, because Oliver fucking Queen.

“I’m a Gotham crime lord,” Jason points out for the fifth time, teeth gritted. “I thought the agreement was to leave guys like me to Batman?”

Green Arrow and Green Lantern, who are in the middle conducting the world's worst interrogation Jason’s ever experienced to date, exchange an unreadable look. 

“Batman will understand.”

Jason can only stare at them in abject confusion, eyebrows pinched. “He will definitely not.”

Batman will not understand. Batman is a notorious hard-ass, even more so with what he thinks of other people dealing with his rogues. It’s not just Batman’s Super Inflexible Code of Justice, there’s also Batman’s Super Inflexible List of People Allowed to Deal with Gotham Rogues tacked right below that on the Batfridge.

And now, he completely understands why Bruce used to return from Justice League missions, collapse on the couch and bury his face in his hands. He’s the only sane, non-powered one on the entire satellite. Hell, Bruce doesn’t only have to fund these idiots in secret, he’s also keeping them in line.

It would be like herding toddlers.

The Flash disappears for a split second, door banging behind him, and suddenly he has an entire spread of fast food in front of him, which he is chowing down on at amazing speed. Jason knows that’s breaking at least six protocols.

Green Arrow doesn’t even blink, too busy manspreading, cross-armed and glaring at Jason. Green Lantern re-crosses his legs for the sixth time.

He changes his previous assumption.

They aren’t toddlers.

They’re concussed toddlers.

It’s just Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman co-parenting an entire satellite of superheroes, and none of them are present right now. He knows this because if any of them were here, this wouldn’t be happening and Jason would have someone sane to talk to. 

Underneath the heavy layer of annoyance and schadenfreude directed at Bruce, Jason might even be pitying him a little bit. Just a little bit.

“Well he’s not here right now, so you’re stuck with us.” Flash points out.

Yeah. That figures.

“Then call him. I have things to do.”

“This doesn’t have to be a long process.” Green Arrow says, leaning in. “Tell us your supplier, and we can end this for today.”

Wow. So convincing. Jason is so scared right now. Quaking in his boots.

The only way Oliver Queen could actually force him to speak is by annoying it out of him, and Jason has four siblings, so he’s well practised in that area. 

Rotating his shoulder, gently pulling on the restraints, his neck twinges pleasantly. Jason shifts on the seat, relaxing further against the backrest, kicking his feet out. He sighs. Looks like he’s in here for the long haul.

“Look,” Jason says, and they both subtly jerk to attention. 

Throughout this entire joke of an interrogation, this is the first time that he’s actually initiated a conversation, aside from the occasional Batman-approved grunt and scathing comment. “I know you guys aren't cops, but can I at least get a phone call?”

It’s been a few hours since they came through and busted his entire operation for tonight, and if he doesn’t get out soon, there’s more than a couple of people who are going to go sniffing in the entirely wrong direction. It’s not just a matter of getting word out of his location, it’s also to satisfy the petty little part of Jason’s heart that says ‘screw you’, and dearly wants to see Batman come down on their butts like a furry avenging angel in kevlar-weave.

Also, Batman is the supreme authority on the Watchtower and his adopted dad who he is on sorta decent terms with, so it makes perfect sense to call him.

Green Arrow, however, is making this unnecessarily hard.

“What, and let you alert all your friends that we’re onto you?” he scoffs, and Jason wants to punt him from this satellite. 

“Not gonna do that,” Jason says, so calmly, “I want to get out of here, preferably sometime this century.”

“Tell me your supplier and I’ll let you have that phone call.”

Jason fights the urge to slam his head against the table. Multiple times, in fact. This guy has the communication skills of an alarm clock.

No wonder why Roy dipped and went solo as soon as he did, Green Arrow is so irritating-

“Like I said, multiple times earlier, I am not associated with those idiots.” Jason grits out, cutting off his own increasingly hostile train of thought. “Just one call. Please.”

No Pit rage here, he needs to be agreeable (well, sorta agreeable) if he wants to get out of here scot-free. Look at him now, negotiating with a colossal asshole, temper still intact. He’s so proud of himself.

Said colossal asshole (Green Arrow) glares harder.

It’s a standoff for a good thirty seconds of mutual exasperated glaring before Green Lantern evidently gets sick of how nothing is happening. To be honest, he shouldn’t even be here. Jason’s pretty sure he and the Flash, being adrenaline junkies, are the worst possible choice for interrogations, which are predominately, long and very boring.

He leans over to Green Arrow, whispers, “We could use it as an opportunity to learn more.” Subtle. A shame Jason’s helmet speakers have an amplification setting.

The Flash completely misses that they’re trying to keep this on the down low.

“Excellent idea!” He says loudly. “I’ll go get the phone!”

Another bang of the door , and the Flash disappears and reappears between blinks, holding a Justice-League approved phone.

He leaves all the food wrappers open on the table.

Jason also gets an eyeful of all the crumbs the Flash left on the pristine floor of the interrogation room, and calms himself with the thought of Batman making him vacuum the entire block.

“Fine,” Green Arrow bites out, ignoring that the Flash had just undermined any sort of upper hand he had held at any point.

These guys needed to leave this sorta thing to Batman. Seriously. They’re genuinely horrible at it. 

“One phone call,” he continues, “but it will be monitored.”

Yeah, no shit Sherlock.

The phone gets placed on Jason’s upturned palm. 

A little bit of fiddling with his handcuff positioning, but eventually he manages to hold the phone in a more accessible position. The number he types in belongs to one of Bruce's many burner phones, specifically, one of the ones related to the Red Hood. 

Of course, he could have called Batman’s main number, just to watch their faces as the Red Hood calls their boss in front of them, but he’s not. The level of petty Jason’s doing is to first make them attempt to de-scramble a Batcomputer encoded connection (which they won’t be able to) and then enjoy the fallout when Batman arrives and Jason narcs on them with all the experience of a middle child.

He almost sighs in anticipation. 

It’s going to be glorious.

The number goes through, ringtone sounding in the palm of his hand.

“On speaker.” Green Arrow orders.

Jason complies, making his exasperation entirely visible through his body language. They can’t see the deadpan expression through his helmet, so he’s had to make do with other ways.

The ringtone echoes in the room twice more, before connecting with a click.

As per Bat protocol, the one who is called does not respond until the caller confirms their identity, and alerts the other party what identity they should use, whether the conversation is hero to hero, hero to civilian, or civilian to civilian.

Here though, Jason needs Batman. 

“Hey B,” he starts, “this is Hood. Got nabbed by your JL buddies while busting a shipment travelling through Star City, and I need a bail. I know I don’t ask you for things often, but now is the time.”

Silence.

“Don’t worry Jaylad!” Bruce says cheerily through the receiver. “Fear not!”

Jason freezes. 

That voice. One burned into his nightmares. The humiliation associated with it. 

Of that voice at galas, standing red-faced to the side, dealing with the aftermath of Bruce fake-falling into fountains and walking into glass doors. Two years of pretending he didn’t know that voice in public areas, wasn’t in any way associated with the man attached to it.

That doesn’t sound like Bruce.

That sounds like Brucie .

“Never mind!” Jason says, suddenly breathless, “Please don’t come. Ever. I’m fine. Perfectly fine, in fact.”

“Aw, chum-”

Jason cuts him off. “I’m calling Roy.”

“No, no, no, son,” Bruce says. His voice turns ominous. “I insist.”

He hangs up, leaving Jason to stare at the phone in mild horror, words hanging in the air.

What has he just done?

“Who was that?” Green Arrow asks. If Jason wasn’t already catastrophizing, he’d notice the teeny bit of panic present in Green Arrow’s voice. Evidently, they couldn’t trace the call. Not when it was routed through something as powerful as the Batcomputer. “Red Hood, who was that?”

He cuts through the angry questioning. “Can I get a second phone call?”

The answer is a very passionate NO.

Has Jason done anything recently to piss Bruce off? Other than the general disregard of his No. #1 rule, the beating up Robin thing a while back, the crime empire and the entire selling drugs shtick, is there anything else? He’s been better lately!

And then it hits him.

Three weeks ago, he’d blown up a set of warehouses Batman had told him very specifically to not blow up. Out of spite, of course. There’d been no people inside, and the only people near had been himself and Robin. Jason had thought it was a meth or arms shipment.

He was wrong.

Jason had burnt at least three metric shittonnes of weed, and he’d accidentally gotten Robin higher than a kite. He’d panicked, dumped the kid back at the manor in Alfie’s disapproving arms, and promptly scarpered for his life.

Bruce had been so mad he’d looked more constipated than usual, and Jason had ditched Gotham with Roy and Kori the next day. Which, namely, was what had originally inspired him to hunt down the distributor ring selling to Gotham in Star City in the first place. Which was to avoid Batman.

Jason looks down at the phone in Green Arrow’s hand like it’s a live bomb.

He’s doomed.

He’s so fucking doomed.

He slumps over the table as dramatically as he can while handcuffed, and buries his face in his hands.

“Hey!” Green Lantern snaps his fingers in front of Jason’s helmet lenses. “Who is this ‘B’ person? And why was that call so ominous?”

Jason doesn’t respond immediately. He’s currently in the middle of planning the execution of a violent prison break, and given the odds, he needs every last brain cell to figure out how the hell he’s supposed to get out of here. Three seconds of alone time and he can break out of the handcuffs easily, and if he finds a way to disable the Flash, he can handle Green Arrow and Green Lantern then his chances of escaping increase to a solid 4.5%.

All in all, he’s still doomed.

Maybe if he managed to get out of this room and closer to his escape route: the Zeta Tube, his chances might increase.

So he needs to cooperate.

“B is my dad,” Jason says. It’s like pulling teeth. “And it looks like he’s about to bail me out, so a walk over to the teleporters would be really great, thanks.”

Green Arrow glares harder. “We’re not cops,” he snaps. “You can't just post bail and get out. Secondly, we are in a space station. In space. How would he get up here in the first place?”

So that’s a clear no.

Jason is so done, with everything. With life. 

Brucie Wayne is about to descend onto these poor bastards like a drunk avenging angel with two left feet and less intelligence than common sense. He drops his head into his hands again, ignoring the pull of the handcuffs against his under-armour.

His breakout plan is toast. 

Eventually, when the depression stage of grief has passed and Jason has fully internalised how screwed he is, the only thing he can really do is ask for Superman or Wonder Woman. 

Wonder Woman, because she has a truth-telling lasso so he can prove his innocence because while yes, he does sell drugs, he wasn’t trying to sell these drugs in particular, or Superman, because he’s currently the only cape in the know about the Bats’ identities and maybe, just maybe, could put that superspeed to good use and use it to bust Jason out of here before Bruce arrives.

It’s time for Plan C.

“Please,” he’s going to have to resort to begging at some point, and now is that time. “Just call Superman, for the love of god.”

They call Superman.

When the interrogation room doors swing open to reveal the Man of Steel, Jason nearly sheds a tear under his helmet. 

He’s here, he knows who Jason is and above all, outranks these idiots so can set him free before Bruce arrives and shreds his hard-earned scary reputation into teeny little pieces.  Jason just needs to GTFO in the next fifteen minutes, and he’ll manage to completely skip the dramatic and totally unnecessary family reunion that he just knows that Bruce is planning. He can still save his reputation as a feared crime lord.

Unfortunately, they’re too late.

“Bail’s been paid.” Superman says as he enters, crushing his hopes and dreams underfoot.   Jason nearly sheds a tear under his helmet, and for a completely different reason than earlier. “Get him over to the Zeta, pickup’s arriving soon.”

Jason is never going to forgive this betrayal. Where was the justice? Where was the humanity?

Green Arrow blinks. “Pickup for who?”

“For Hood.”

“We have a bail system?” The Flash whispers loudly. 

“Extraneous circumstances.” Superman confirms. “Batman is usually the one to deal with cases like these, for good reason. Let’s get him up and over to the entrance hall.”

With that, the handcuffs are disconnected from the table, and with a flick of the wrist, off his hands. Jason uses the first chance he gets to itch that one spot his helmet digs into his neck. He stands, appreciating the increased range of motion, cracking a couple of times and sighing at the release in pressure. 

“Arrived here, on the Watchtower? Is that protocol?” Flash asks, still watching Jason with a wary eye.

Superman raises an eyebrow. “It’s about as protocol as holding and interrogating a Gotham rogue without Batman’s knowledge and eating-,” Superman shoots the Flash an exasperated look, “-in the interrogation wing.”

“He did it,” Flash points at Green Lantern.

“I didn’t!”

Jason silently despairs for the state of Earth’s primary line of defence.

They make it to the entrance hall of the Watchtower before Jason has the chance to pull Superman to the side. Green Lantern and the Flash have gone over to the Zetas to escort the mystery man Hood called over the phone, leaving Jason in the fine company of Superman and Green Arrow.

They’re about to face Brucie. This is his last chance to get out of here, and if he can get Clark on his side, they might stand a chance.

“It’s not Bruce who’s coming,” he hisses under his breath, knowing Superman will hear him. “It’s Brucie. We gotta run while we can, I’m dead serious.”

“I don’t know about that.” Superman whispers back. “Personally, I think B would love to get back at those three, especially after they messed with one of his rogues.”

“Supes, I swear to fucking god, don’t do this to me.”

Superman smiles back at Jason, close-eyed and unfriendly. It’s kind of terrifying.

“I saw Robin a few weeks ago,” he says conversationally. Jason freezes. “He had the munchies. He also cried for five hours, had three separate mental breakdowns, and spent a further twelve hours acting like he got hit by cuddle pollen. Bruce spent the entire time pretending he wasn’t panicking as hard as Dick was. Do you have anything to say about that?”

Well, shit.

“Oops?” Jason says, sweating metaphorical and literal buckets. He’s so doomed.

Superman smiles harder. “So you understand that it’s not only Ollie, Barry and Hal that B wants a little payback on.”

“But you don’t have to help him!” Jason hisses frantically.

His hopes for a Superman-themed rescue have been flushed down the toilet so hard they’re already hanging out with Killer Croc in the sewers. 

“I know,” Superman says. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

Wonder Woman is now his favourite hero. Of course, she was already his favourite hero in the first place, but Superman really had a chance to climb up the ladder. He’s now hanging out at the bottom. Next to Oliver Queen. It’s not a high bar, believe him.

“Why.” Jason’s gone through nearly all the stages of grief in the past hour or so. He’s in acceptance right now.

“Because I want to.” Superman says. “Because I can. Because it’s funny. Pick one.”

Jason stares at him, numbness and growing horror warring in his chest. “You’re evil,” he mutters. “No wonder why B has so many contingency plans against you.”

Superman shrugs. “I know. No one will ever believe you.”

Minutes later, Brucie Wayne walks in with an entire group of heroes trailing behind him, trying to explain why he cannot be at the Watchtower.

Jason accepts his fate.

Chapter Text

As you do with someone like Jason’s adoptive father, you often hear him coming before he actually arrives. 

It’s the cameras, the paparazzi, the fans, the simpering elite, or in this case, the group of superheroes trying to fruitlessly explain that he can’t actually be here, yes, you might be the top donor, but you can’t just do that, there are protocols, do any of the leaders actually know what he’s doing here, why are you here, please, for the love of god stop, listen to me, why on Earth do you have a zeta code.

When Brucie Wayne enters the main hall of the Watchtower, it’s with a strut and the confidence of someone without enough shame or common sense to realise that maybe he shouldn't be walking through here like he owns the place.

Jokes on them, because Jason knows he does in fact, own the place.

Brucie Wayne, in his full glory, dressed in one of his immaculate ‘business casual suits’ immediately spots him on the other side of the hall, and hightails it towards them. 

Jason, on the other hand, is shoving down his fight or flight instincts so hard he deserves an Oscar. This is about to go terribly, horribly wrong for him in particular (and everyone else too, if he’s being totally honest) and for someone who likes classic literature, Jason can’t find the words to express exactly how much he very, very much doesn’t want to be here, right now, or ever.

“Hi!” Bruce says exuberantly, waving a hand at their group as he approaches. There’s not a thought visible behind those eyes.

From years of watching him at galas and in public settings, Jason doesn’t need the physical tells to know that Bruce is about to have the time of his life. This is the man who named the Batmobile, the Batcave, and the Batcomputer. This is the man who takes great amusement in pretending to be an idiot. This is the man who created a fake alter ego for the sole purpose of donating exactly one dollar more than Lex Luthor on every single philanthropic contribution. 

Bruce might be an emotional brick wall and a hard-ass when you get to see below the very, very fake shell, but he definitely has a sense of humour. A sense of humour that is subtle, childish and incredibly petty.

He just needs an opportunity, and these idiots have just served him one on a damn platter.

Green Arrow seemingly takes in the group of heroes trying (and failing) to stop him, then at the man himself, and does a double take.

Brucie just smiles harder, and oh.   Bruce personally knows Oliver Queen. Oliver Queen doesn’t know Bruce is Batman. Oliver Queen, who has just broken both protocol (multiple times), and put Jason of all people in cuffs on the Watchtower, without telling Batman a thing. 

Oh dear. It’s not just Jason who’s about to have a hard time of it.

Although he’s not religious, Jason still sends a prayer of mercy out in case anyone’s listening, because divine intervention is the only thing that can get him out of this unscathed now.

While Green Arrow’s brain is rebooting at the sight of his childhood friend, Bruce Wayne, himbo extraordinaire, on the Watchtower of all places - Jason does have to admit, it’s a completely incongruous sight - it’s the Flash who asks the first question.

“How are you here?!”

Aaaand off they go. 

“Buddy,” Bruce lays a sympathetic hand on the Flash’s shoulder. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you yet, but I funded this entire station for you heroes! Of course I have zeta access! Besides,” he leans in conspiratorially, winking at him, “the massage chairs in the breakroom are simply incomparable to any of those boring ones on Earth.”

“The massage chairs,” Green Lantern says slowly, still trying to process the massive crossover life event happening in front of him.

Brucie nods enthusiastically. “The massage chairs. Heaven-sent, I tell you. They rearrange my lumbar vertebrae each and every single time, and I am here for it.”

“Does anyone else think this is potentially a massive security breach, or is it just me?”

“No,” Flash interrupts firmly. “He’s completely right. If I wasn’t a member of the Justice League, I would be breaking into the Watchtower on a daily basis to use those chairs. They’re just-” He makes a weird flailing motion with his hands, like he does whenever he gets ramen from that one tiny little sushi place somewhere in the depths of Okinawa that he describes as ‘a life-changing experience’.

Ignoring the dumbfounded looks, Bruce bursts into a megawatt grin. “I know exactly what you mean,” he gushes, “It does the rolling thing and I see universes behind my eyelids. What’s your favourite chair setting?”

“You mean I have to choose between ‘Ultraduper Spine-Realign Time’ and ‘Skeletomuscular Symphony’?”

Bruce, looking moved, just places both of his hands on the Flash’s shoulders. “I should have known,” he says thickly, “That someone else would have just as amazing taste as I do.”

“I feel like I’ve met a fellow lonely soul,” the Flash says emotionally. There’s a tear in his eye.

Jason (and probably everyone else) looks on in abject disgust.

“Hey,” Green Arrow interrupts. “Focus.”

The Flash steps back. “Yep, sorry man. So you’re here for the massage chairs?”

“Nope,” Bruce says cheerfully.

They wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.

“Then please allow me to escort you off the premises,” Green Arrow says, stiltedly. It’s not an offer. Hell, if Jason was in his position, he'd want Bruce Wayne off the space station as soon as physically possible.

Bruce smiles impossibly harder. There’s a barely hidden glint in his eyes, and Jason curses internally. 

Someone’s about to receive a lot of emotional damage. 

Like the time Bruce told Lex Luthor to ‘hold still’ so he could use his reflection in Lex’s shiny bald head to get some spinach out from in between his teeth. Or that time he fake-tripped down the stairs at a gala and ‘accidentally’ pantsed the Penguin. Or that time he told Ra’s Al Ghul that his hairline was receding and his fashion sense was ten years out of date, all the while dressing it as a compliment. 

“Oh. My. God.” Brucie gasps, as if coming to a sudden, unpleasant realisation. He squints at Green Arrow in mild confusion, “Ollie?”

“Uh,” Green Lantern says.

The Flash gasps.

“No.” Green Arrow shuts it down immediately. “I’m not associated with that guy. Definitely not.”

“No no no,” Bruce says patiently, like he’s explaining an extremely simple concept to a group of preschoolers. “There’s only one person I know with a teeny tiny moustache that dumb.” He spins, making strong eye contact with the man in question. “Ollie,” he says, like an accusation and an identification all in one.

Green Arrow flounders. It’s beautiful.

Jason would have been thankful for the privilege of seeing this happen in person, if he knew he wasn’t next.

Green Lantern and the Flash snicker off to the side, “Teeny tiny dumb moustache,” the Flash chokes under his breath. Green Lantern slaps a hand against his mouth, trying to stifle inappropriate giggles. 

“I’m sorry, Ollie, but I’ve been telling you to shave it off since college.” Bruce pats Green Arrow’s shoulder, commiserating. He sighs like it’s a great tragedy. “There’s no way I wouldn’t recognise your personal brand of chin butt-fluff, green onesie cosplay or not. It's super duper iconic, but like, in a sad way.”

Green Lantern and Flash are still desperately trying to hold in the laughter.

 It’s not going well. 

“Green onesie cosplay,” Hal is struggling to breathe at this point. Jason is close to joining them. Even Superman is visibly suppressing a grin.

Green Lantern has nearly recovered from his earlier laughing fit when Flash leans in close to his ear, and says, in a fake Batman growl, “Chin butt-fluff.”

A pause.

The dam breaks. They collapse into gasping laughter, bowed over and wheezing while partially sheltering behind Jason’s bulk. Jason is also struggling to keep it in. His dignity is at stake here. Whatever is still left of it, that is. 

Green Arrow fixes them all with the kind of poisonous glare he reserves for his arch-enemies.

If looks could kill, they’d both be in a grave.

But it does nothing, because Flash and Green Lantern are already in the process of killing themselves via laughter-induced aneurysms.

”I,” Green Arrow takes a deep, calming breath, “Am not that guy. You two,” he turns to Green Lantern and the Flash, “Shut it. Now.” Once they’ve finished busting a lung and are once again semi-presentable heroes of the planet like they’re supposed to be, he fixes his gaze on Bruce again. “Why are you here.”

“My son, of course, silly.” With that, he turns straight to Jason. “ Hi sweetie! I paid your bail!”

Jason breathes in through his nose, and out through his mouth. He is not associated with this man. If he believes it hard enough, maybe some deity will pity him enough to get him the hell out of here. He doesn’t acknowledge, staring at a spot behind Bruce’s left shoulder. Maybe if he ignores him, he’ll go away. Jason can break himself out. 4.5% chance of an escape is more than enough, Jason’s done more with less in worse situations.

“I’m still ninety percent sure we don’t have a bail system,” Flash loudly whispers to Superman. “Where’d that money even go?”

Superman, who has been silent up until now, quirks the corner of his mouth up. “New massage chair in the breakroom.”

“Best celebrity ever,” Flash says, vehemently. “The one good thing to come out of capitalism.”

Green Arrow, however. His brain appears to be reloading, for the second time that day. He looks at Hood in disbelief.

“Richard?” he sputters, “I thought you were a cop!”

For once, both Bruce and Jason are wrongfooted. Bruce blinks in slow, mounting glee, and Jason decides he’s got to step in and nip this in the bud.

“In what world do I look like him? Are you blind, or just stupid?” Hood snaps at him, half offended, half aghast. 

Dick and Jason look nothing alike to say the least, and that’s just the start of the differences between them. First of all, Jason is tall, and built incredibly solidly. If he tried to do gymnastics the way Dick does, he’d break his neck or his back. Or both.

The Flash gasps, pointing at him. “You’re Tim!”

Tim. They think he’s Tim, of all people.

Jason doesn’t think he’s ever been so offended in his entire life. Now that’s an insult.

The look Jason sends him could cut through steel, but none of them can see it because he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire face. He’s not sure his supremely offended disbelief translates through his helmet, but he gets enough through for the Flash to falter slightly. As he should.

“Damian?” 

“Damian is eleven, I think.“ Green Lantern interrupts, before Jason’s self control slips and he throttles a member of the Justice League. Thankfully someone has some sense around here.

Flash just shrugs. “Marvel’s younger than he looks. Worth a try.”

From the sidelines, Bruce is looking at his co-workers like he’s never seen them properly before. As they watch, they bring up Cass, Steph and Duke, who are noticeably less built compared to him, or female.

“Are they stupid,” Jason says in awe, partly to himself, partly to Superman, whose lip quirks up, near imperceptibly. “They can’t actually be serious.”

They are serious.

They’re in the middle of debating how much body armour Cass would have to be wearing to pull off Jason's stature, or whether Bruce adopted a new one when they weren't looking when Bruce finally grows tired of watching them fail to connect the dots.

“Come on guys,” Bruce says, the level of disbelief in his voice one part fake and the rest completely honest, “Surely you recognise my Jaylad!”

Jason waves at them like this is an obvious and rational conclusion to come to. 

It might have been, if not for the added foot of growth as well as a hundred and fifty pounds of heavy muscle, the thick body armour and full face covering. Also, the decapitations and crime lord stuff.  A foregone conclusion, obviously.

“Oh,” Green Lantern breathes, bringing a fist down on his open palm in realisation, “The dead one! Jay-something.”

“Jason. Jason Todd.” Green Arrow says disbelievingly. “You’re telling me that he-,” Here Jason gives him a mocking little wave, “-Is your baby boy. Jason Todd. Perfect child Jason Todd. Well behaved, school-loving, student activist Jason Todd. Who died.”

“Yup,” Jason says, dying inside. “That’s me. His baby boy.”

“Who died.”

“It was a temporary kind of thing.” Jason deadpans, mentally bidding his street cred amongst the Justice League a fond farewell. He’s never recovering from this.

“You were a student activist!”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “Great experience for becoming a crime lord, lemme tell you.” His reputation. Gone with the wind.

“Oh my god Bruce, your straight-A student has become a crime lord. Who does drugs.”

Jason scrunches his face under his helmet involuntarily. “I don’t do drugs. You make more money if you sell ‘em.”

“That’s even worse.”

Bruce just laughs at them. 

Chapter Text

Now, Jason would wager that extended exposure to Brucie Wayne would leave even the most stalwart minds with some serious childhood PTSD, his own included. 

Dick clearly suffered from long-term exposure and it showed in his sense of humour and early costuming. Discowing is something dredged out of hell designed purely to traumatize henchmen. Jason would never tout his death as something fortunate, but he definitely dodged a metaphorical crowbar there. 

Either way, Brucie Wayne’s larger-than-life reputation means that he has indeed left his mark in public memory. As someone who used to be privy to the behind-the-scenes of Gotham’s himbo prince, Jason is well aware that this persona is characterised by two idiotic core tenets. 

One, getting himself into ridiculously stupid situations, and two, masterfully bullshitting his way back out unscathed.

This situation definitely counts as one of those.

All Bruce had to do was dress as Batman, sweep in all emo-like, grunt a couple times and everything would have gone smoothly. In and out in twenty seconds, no fuss, no talking. No one would have suspected anything, Jason’s cover would still be intact, and judging by the angulation of the security cameras in the Watchtower, Babs wouldn’t be recording every frustrated twitch of his in 8k 300FPS resolution.

Jason is kind of just standing at the side, watching this all happen like a ping-pong match. He doesn’t like obeying Bruce on principle, but he’s been promised freedom so he’s going to follow the rules for now.

“-Can’t just let Wayne take him! He’s on the FBI wanted list!”

“There are extraneous circumstances involved,” Superman says firmly, “It’s fine. Trust me on this. There’s a reason why we let Batman deal with Gotham villains and villain-adjacent figures.”

“Well, he is only on the list because because he kept on killing the guys who ranked above him, but still-”

“Not helping, Flash-”

“Batman will explain later. Now is not the time for-”

Alas, Bruce is a drama queen at heart, and thanks to him, this is not going smoothly. The proceedings that Jason is now being forced to watch has the approximate consistency of crunchy peanut butter. 

Without Batman present to sign off on Jason’s release, the heroes present are (rightfully) suspicious of some rich guy just showing up on a highly secure satellite facility and trying to free a prisoner with the power of uber-nepotism. Superman’s entire ‘trust me bro’ schtick isn’t really helping, not when the man is being this tight-lipped about why he’s helping a previously-secured crime lord free into the wild again.

It is moving along though. At a snail's pace.

With the power of Superman and Bruce (sort of) on his side, so long as he maintains an IQ of over 25 he should get through this relatively unscathed.

Mostly unscathed.

A little scathed, at worst.

He can see the light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel. He’s so close to getting out of here. The cuffs are off, he’s been cleared of (some) crimes, and the only thing extending his current agony is the way Bruce is dragging his feet, Brucie-style, extending this purgatory of his.

“I really don’t see the problem here,” Bruce is saying patiently. “Are you sure you don’t have a concussion? I see TV heroes getting knocked around all the time, so some brain damage is probably warranted at this point.”

Green Arrow, whose saint-like patience is probably rivalling Jason’s at this point in time, pinches the bridge of his nose once again and breathes deeply and rhythmically like he’s reciting a ‘finding inner peace’ mantra he found online somewhere. 

“Bruce, I hate to break it to you, but-” Green Lantern pauses like he’s about to break some incredibly sad news, “-he decapitated, like, ten people. We can’t just let him go.”

“Get over it,” Jason says. Honestly, they seem to be really hung up on that point. Besides, they have no definitive proof. There’s no evidence anymore, as Jason bribed enough people in law enforcement to look the other way or otherwise ‘mishandle’ any residual traces. The only thing that’s left is nearly everyone in Gotham’s underworld who knows otherwise, but they won’t be saying anything anytime soon.

Ergo, they only have hearsay, and they all know it. 

Everyone, except for Brucie, apparently.

“Come on,” he waves a dismissive hand around, scrunching his nose in disgust, “Everyone knows the Red Hood is an urban myth. Jason's just going through a cosplay phase. Kids these days and all that jazz.”

Silence.

Green Arrow's eyebrow twitches, to Jason’s great schadenfreude. Slowly, haltingly, he turns to the Flash, who is pulling a face that could best be described as ‘dibs not’. Green Lanterns tries to subtly shelter behind Superman, who is desperately trying to keep a straight face, which would have been believable to anyone who didn’t know him. Given that every single person in the room does, in fact, know him, it’s not very effective at all. 

Nevermind, this is the best. Brucie for the win, truly top tier comedy.

“Yeah,” Jason’s voice nearly shakes with repressed humour. He’s never been more thankful that he has a voice modulator. Using advanced psychological tactics called ‘going along with it’, Jason decides to put in his two cents, as unhelpful as they may be. “I’m a cosplayer. You got me.”

The sheer number of incredulous looks he gets is truly glorious. 

Is this why Bruce does it? Is the true meaning of life found in being irredeemably annoying? 

No. It can’t be that simple. If it was, then the Replacement would have reached enlightenment by now, but he’s still beating up petty criminals with the rest of the Bats, so it’s clearly something else.

Either way, one must remember that Jason was still Robin for a decent period of time. That meant a long period of exposure to Bruce’s particular eccentricities. Such as the Brucie Wayne persona, his penchant for naming (and officially trademarking) revolutionary technology with a Bat- prefix no matter how stupid it sounded, the constant, subtle deadpan jokes, the irony of his brand, etcetera, etcetera.

Bruce might have been a depressed, emotionally constipated asshole most of the time, but none who truly knew him would deny that he definitely had a subtle yet very effective sense of humour.

Jason spent a portion of his most malleable childhood years next to this man. He’s not going to deny that a little, a bit, a teensy part of his humour might have been influenced as a result.

That’s the only reason why.

“Like that Batman guy,” Jason says, dead serious, “Everyone knows he’s totally fake too.”

A beat of disbelieving silence.

Sparing a glance over at Bruce, he recoils when he notices the nearly imperceptible glint in Bruce’s eye looks suspiciously like pride. He’s not dealing with that now. Not here.

“Alright,” Green Lantern says slowly, “I will admit that is objectively hilarious and I will be telling him all about this later, but, you have to be joking. You can’t seriously live in Gotham and actually believe that Batman and the others don’t exist-”  

Simultaneously, Flash turns to Green Arrow, hands in his hair, “Are you sure you didn’t give him brain damage when arresting him or something?” He is completely ignored.

“Batman exists and we work with him.” 

“No you don't.” Bruce's answer is matter-of-fact, self-assured in the most annoying way possible. “I've been kidnapped and ransomed so. Many. Times ,” he enunciates, eyes wide. “He would have rescued me, wouldn't you think? At least once.”

“Have you considered that maybe he doesn’t wanna deal with you,” Flash mutters under his breath. Hal shoots him a commiserating, sympathetic look. Jason agrees with them both wholeheartedly.

“What was that?” Bruce asks, head tilted. Ohohoho. He totally heard what they said. Somebody’s about to suffer.

“Haha,” Bruce’s next victim laughs, “Nothing really important.”

“Everything you say is important. To me. Because I fund you.”

Jason enjoys watching Flash struggle to answer that one.

“Just that,” he casts a desperate glance over to the other heroes, practically begging for assistance. They do nothing except for nodding encouragingly, which is the equivalent of high-fiving a person who is currently drowning, and then leaving them to suffocate under the surf with a thumbs-up. “I just can’t believe you don’t think Batman exists. Isn’t he like, kind of important to you Gothamites?”

“Yeah,” Bruce says, sticking his nose up, “Like an imaginary mascot animal. That doesn’t mean he’s real though.”

“If you don’t think he exists,” Flash’s voice is steadily creeping up in pitch, “then why are you funding us in the first place?”

“Because aliens.”

“Because you think they’re a threat?”

“No,” Bruce says confidently. “Because I think they’re hot.”

With that, he saucily winks at Superman, complete with double finger guns, and Jason mentally bleaches his brain. He kind of really wants to be anywhere but here, please and thank you. That is not something he wants to be aware of, ever.

With the sheer mental fortitude of someone who not only grew up with Bruce but has suffered through regular exposure since entering society, Green Arrow does everyone a favour and rapidly course-corrects the conversation back into somewhat safer waters, namely, the entire ‘Batman doesn’t exist’ topic.

“So,” he says. “You believe wholeheartedly in aliens, but refuse to believe that your city has a vigilante protector.”

“No vigilante in my city would be insane enough to theme themselves after bats. That’s kind of peak cringe. We have the rogues for that, and at least they’re fun about it. He’s just kind of lame.”

“What about the Batsignal? That exists.” Green Lantern adds. 

“Tourist attraction,” Bruce says, like this explains anything at all. 

No less than three separate people pull faces at that.

“Hmm,” Green Arrow strokes his little goatee, “I wasn’t aware that Gotham had tourists.”

Which. Honestly, super valid. The city has a well established reputation as a glorified death trap. Someone ran the numbers, only to find out that active warzones are statistically safer for civilians than Gotham. The media had a field day with the discovery.

“He’s joking, right?” Flash whispers to Superman. When he isn’t afforded a response, his face falls further. “I knew rich people were out of touch, but… this. This is next level delusional behaviour.”

Superman laughs softly, “Look, Bruce is a… character, but he means well. There are variables at play Batman hasn’t shared with you yet-” Green Arrow quietly huffs an of course under his breath, which Superman pays no attention to. “All I can say at the moment is that I have it handled, and bringing them both back to Gotham, alleged crimes or no, is the best course of action here.”

“I can’t,” Green Arrow says flatly. He turns to Superman and sighs. “Look, I understand where you’re coming from, but the fact remains that we found him dealing in Star City, my city, so we’ll be keeping him here until we’ve either got some answers or Batman himself comes to take him off our hands.”

“Batman is unavailable right now,” Superman blatantly lies, standing less than two meters away from Batman’s very available civilian identity, “so we will have to find an alternative arrangement.”

Batman is very available right now, Jason wants to yell. Batman is standing next to you and is having the time of his life fucking with you all. 

He turns to Bruce, takes a deep, calming breath, and barely manages to dredge up that inch of patience he previously gathered to refrain from throttling Bruce here and now. Just a little strangulation would be so satisfying, just to shut him up. But that would be entirely counterintuitive to getting off this fucking satellite, so Jason takes his time to beat back the embers of that idea before paying attention to the conversation again.

“-arriving in a minute, if a third opinion is necessary for this process.”

“Fine, that’s acceptable.”

They’ve found some sort of accord, finally. Took them long enough. 

Seriously, one would think a tag-team of Superman and Batman (even disguised as Brucie Wayne) would make getting out of here a cake-walk. If Jason was in either one of their places he could have talked his way out of here nearly half an hour ago.

But alas, neither of them are helpful. In fact, they're being borderline useless. No wonder why it’s taking so long to get out of here.

It’s almost like they’re purposefully trying to drag this out. Like they’re stalling for something.

Jason’s blood goes cold. 

They’re stalling.

“I heard there was an issue?”

That voice.

No.

Jason’s blood pressure ratchets up to a solid 210/170 in half a millisecond, and his heart rate accelerates to dangerous levels faster than a damn NASCAR driver. 

No.

“Wonder Woman!” Bruce’s cheery voice grates at his ears, and Jason wonders the possibility of smashing through the nearest window and taking his chances with the freezing vacuum of outer space. “How wonderful to see you! My darling baby boy is such a fan! Might I hope to get an autograph?

NO.

Every finger on his metaphorical monkey paw has curled, all except for the one in the middle. Who needs enemies when you can have parents like this?

Jason, not for the first time today, debates the merits of renting out a warehouse, squeezing into one of his old Robin costumes and sending his location data to the Joker.