Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For the fourth time during the short drive from Bristol to Crime Alley, Bruce Wayne has to smack the radio when it shorts out and starts crooning some random country station. It’s an old, beat up thing, with more rust than paint at this point. Hopefully just the kind of vehicle Matches Malone would drive if he was down on his luck and in Gotham and looking for work.

Looking in the permanently crooked rear-view mirror as he pulls into a spot near his personas’ new apartment, Bruce double checks that his mustache remains secure and grabs the briefcase on the seat next to him. The apartment, he has been assured by an overly amused Nightwing when their paths crossed that morning, has been set up and made ready. Bruce is afraid to see what choices Nightwing made for Matches to wear, and hopes he stuck to the theme and style Bruce had outlined with at least a few choices.

While Nightwing and Alfred may have raised questioning eyebrows at so drastic a decision to find more on the budding crime lord with this method, Bruce couldn’t shake his encounter with the man as ‘Brucie’ Wayne. He needed to see the man outside the element of crime lord/vigilant again. Luckily it hadn’t taken too long to gain at least reluctance support, because despite being new to town Red Hood was already a troubling development since his arrival. Though, Bruce suspects it is partly because Alfred had been insisting on deep cleaning the cave and knew it would be easier with Bruce away for a few days.

At first the alarm bells rang loud due to the name that the crime lord had chosen. Any time the Joker was involved with anything, even by name alone, was enough to need a trip to the dentist for Bruce to check his molars. Nightwing had nearly been suspended from his job the last time Joker had escaped, leaving mid-shift to meet the clown with viciousness that would have worried Batman had he been bothering to pull his own punches. All he could think at the time, was that the last thing Jason had likely heard was that manic laughter. Even now, Bruce fears that the only thing that saved the Joker last time was that the shifting of his broken bones beneath Batman had reminded him of carrying Jason that final time, leaving him stumbling away abruptly while Nightwing cuffed him.

However, news had spread early that trying to equate this new iteration of Red Hood as an associate of the Joker was met with brutal violence. As a result, that particular rumor had quickly died down, muffled by the wired jaws that had attempted to spread it in the first place. So, Bruce had also written off that angle, the guy obviously held nothing but animosity for the Joker. Maybe taking his name was meant as an insult? Perhaps he was a victim of the Joker?

For awhile after the association to the Clown had been ruled out, the new fledgling of the seedy Gotham underworld had been pushed down the list of people for Batman to worry about. His methods were brutal, and his blatant and nearly gleeful use of firearms and explosives were worrisome, but his targets were only other criminals so far. There had been zero reports of civilian injuries caused by the crime lord, and Leslie Thompkins had even said he had personally brought in victims of other crimes a few times. So despite the reported killings by Red Hood’s hands, there were too many other criminals that did not share the same regard for civilian lives. So it was deemed that if Batman or Nightwing came across an opportunity to take him down, they would, but to actively search Red Hood out would hurt other cases, such as the new toxin being rumored to be in development by Scarecrow.

Then came the masquerade themed gala, a set-up by the Justice League involving Lex Luthor, and when Bruce and Clark had been playing their parts and trying to bait Luthor they’d instead reeled in Red Hood. Sort of, at least. Their ruse of openly ‘drugging’ Brucie Wayne had been noticed, just not as the pair had planned for. This was made obvious when Red Hood had shot Clark, who had been in disguise, from behind with no hesitation. Not the expected outcome for their mission, Bruce had needed to hiss in Clark’s ear he should be deadbefore the Kryptonian actually went boneless and played the part. Theninstead of killing Bruce Wayne,or kidnapping him for his own purposes, Red Hood had … gotten him to safety.

It was perplexing, and it didn’t help when Clark had teased him after regarding his newest Rogue. Clark wasn’t wrong though, when he had said that perhaps Red Hood was not all bad. Surely there was some goal nefarious goal Red Hood had in mind when he had shown up to the party in a red domino mask and wrinkled suit. Whatever it had been though, the crime lord had given it up to help someone else he had perceived to be in danger. Then after Red Hood had done his good deed, he’d simply left, nothing asked in return from the billionaire.

It had Bruce looking at Red Hood’s activities with a new light, but there was still the most pressing concern.

Red Hood had deliberately gone for and pressed the emergency beacon hidden on Bruce’s belt. It could simply be that Red Hood had observed one of them using it while they were patrolling, or learned of the device because of a few others who had one issued to be carried on their persons – hopefully at all times – such as Commissioner Gordon, Dick, and Alfred. After Jason, Bruce refuses to be too late ever again.

Bruce would love to think that Red Hood had learned of this, and the newest criminal to Gotham simplyguessed that Bruce Wayne would have one, that Batman was partial to the billionaire as some rumors suggested. Instead, Bruce worried there was more to it. That perhaps Red Hood new Bruce Wayne’s secret.

It has led to Nightwing returning to Gotham for an extended stay, and Matches Malone getting dusted off. Thankfully, Red Hood is apparently hiring and Bruce has already managed to make contact with some of Red Hood’s men looking for a position. They had been surprisingly thorough in vetting who would amount to a ‘goon’ that Bruce had been worried they’d ask for references.

Dragging the coffee table closer to the couch, Bruce settles down and pulls out what they have so far on Red Hood’s operation, studying up before the meeting tomorrow. Bruce’s first day in his ‘new job’.

>>><<<

Jason gapes from beneath the helmet when he sees the line-up of the newest recruits. One of his most loyal and level-headed men that had the misfortune to go by, Bob (still, better than Dick),has so far done a pretty decent job at picking them out. Their aim is to find those who don’t mind getting their hands dirty but aren’t sadists, who wouldn’t be trigger happy and get the wrong people killed. It a slow process, but admittedly it’s also a hard niche to fill in Gotham but so far, and Bob has pulled through admirably.

Until Bob went and pulled in Bruce fucking Wayne … oh, sorry, Matches Malone. Should he fire Bob? Is this a fire-able offense? Except now Jason kinda relies on Bob a little too much, gets more time to read by him around.

Fuc k.

Jason thinks back to the gala and curses internally, then reflexively apologizes to Alfred internally as well. The only way this, and Bruce’s curious fucking face, makes any sense is that he knows. Bruce had obviously somehow figured out from their encounter at the gala who Red Hood really is, and has decided to… what? Taunt him? Anger flaring, Jason refuses to react to the persona that Jason himself had once helped Bruce to dress up as. Whatever this is, if Bruce wants to play dress up and look like a fool, who is Jason to stop him.

If that is the case, then what is even the point of all this? Jason should have left Bruce to be groped by Clark, not that he knew that was who had ‘roofied’ dear old dad at the time. Now Jason has spent these last few weeks building up his men, ammunition, cash, and a huge sleep deficit for it all to mean nothing now. At least where his big reveal and plan as far as his plans for Bruce.

If Jason is honest with himself, he has let himself get slightly distracted with the actual running of Crime Alley and getting his forces built up, chipping away at the territories of assholes like Black Mask. He would be further along in his plans for Joker and Batman if he hadn’t started giving some of that cash they steal to the local shelters in Crime Alley. If Jason didn’t spare some of his men to keep an eye on the working girls who used to give him cigarettes and showed him how to use concealer after Jason had gotten in the way of Willis’s fist. They knew a group home could be worse then a black eye, but the school wouldn’t care about that. It would probably have helped things too, if Jason didn’t hire the street kids for unnecessary tasks like food runs when he could just order delivery, or taking non-urgent messages across town that really could have been a text message.

Even if Bruce has ruined everything by showing up in the ridiculous hat and worse mustache, he can’t take away what Red Hood has accomplished so far in Crime Alley. Batman can glower at he wants at Jason from behind the cowl later, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jason gets results. Crime is down, the junkies have an actual needle exchange program instead of the one that is just a front for – who would have guessed – selling drugs outside rehabs. Even the shelters are better stocked with food than before Jason came back. People are already learning that if they call for Red Hood, word will get to at least some of his men if not Jason himself.

The room seems to sense the tension that radiates off of Jason, if not the actual cause, with the audible sound of shuffling feet and the rustle of fabric making it obvious that the side-chatter had died off. At least the helmet kept it from being obvious where he is looking. Bruce was subtly studying him, not quite like a detective eyeing down but genuine fucking curiosity. At what? Is the old man trying to bait him? Jason takes on a persona to hide who he is, Bruce finds out somehow, then shows up in the one he has had since Dickie’s days as Robin? Or did he think Jason’s brain so addled by that crowbar that he wouldn’t immediately recognize Bruce?

Unable to contain himself any longer Jason marches up to Bruce, who seems to genuinely startle at the sudden and openly hostile approach. The outfit and makeup are good, the only thing giving him away are his eyes. Blue, almost the same shade Jason’s used to be before the pit, before green creeped into the edges. The rest of Bruce is distorted by thickprosthetic pieces and that ridiculous chin, hell, he is even standing different. Not a hint ‘Brucie’s’ cocky swagger or Batman’s looming presence.

“You think this is a joke?” Jason growls, the modulator only aiding the effect, then side eyes the other men around them. Some of the more daring or stupid openly staring, and Jason clenches his fists. Control. Their boss is tactical, doesn’t blow up on his own men. Breathe, he tells himself, breathe. Jason knows, Bruce knows, but he’ll be damned if he lets the rest know he used to be a Bat before it all blew up in his face. “You think I wouldn’t recognize you, Matches?”

“Wh- what are you on about, boss?” Bruce’s New Jersey drawl is perfect and nasally, any hint of his Bristol accent erased. Jason’s laugh is mechanical through the helmet, and the men have been around for awhile tense. They know what his actual laugh sounds like, have seen him with the kids. Jason has more than half a mind to toss him in the Gotham harbor, and Bruce will have to let him or blow his cover.

“Right. So, you think I’m an idiot then. That I don’t recognize my own fucking fa -” Jason pauses, feeling the heavy gaze of every eye in the room was on them. Whatever. Let the rest be confused, wouldn’t be the weirdest thing their boss has done. Hell, they were planning on whose heads to take for a grand and official entrance into the big boy scene only three hours ago. So far, Jason has only worked within Crime Alley and no one, not even the known crime lords, give any real shit about the place. About Jason’s first home.

“You walk in here, after all these years of obviously not giving a shit about me, and what? What do you expect to happen here? What do you want?” Jason feels the fabric in his hands before he even knows what he is doing, dragging Bruce close. Bruce’s eyes go wide and Jason wants to poke them out of his skull, because if he had only put half as much effort into being a fucking dad that he did this acting, then maybe…

“Oh god.” Bruce breathes, and Jason’s stomach clenches at the sound of Bruce’s voice, at the unknown emotion there. Cause whatever it is, it almost looks like guilt. “I-I’m sorry, uh, son. I didn’t … I had to know it was you, before I ...”

Jason shoves away, sending Bruce stumbling backwards. What the fuck. Bob moves in then, and grips Matches Malone by the biceps while one of his other men takes the other side. Both look confused, but eye ‘Matches’ dangerously and Jason is glad for the mask then. He also decides to forgive Bob. ‘Cause they don’t know what is happening, but they look worried for their boss. That is the same look Bob gives the assholes they find beating on their wives, like he knows he wants to bash the guys head in, but maybe not in front of their spouse. That can get tricky, sometimes. The men look protective, and Jason pushes away the swelling emotion that brings and instead replaces it with the realization that throwing Bruce in the harbor looks even more feasible now, even if Bruce decided to fight back.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce whispers, and fuck it all that almost sounds real. “I didn’t know. I would have… I would have done something sooner. You shouldn’t have been alone for all this time.”

Jason makes a low, pained noise that luckily doesn’t make it through the helmet’s voice modulator.

“Want us to get rid of him, boss?” Bob’s voice is level, no hint of his normally pretty relaxed personality. Jason tries to take deep breaths without being too obvious, mind spinning. What angle is Batman pulling here, what ruse? ‘Matches’ looks genuinely concerned, and normally the only role he is good at playing is the bumbling billionaire playboy.

This couldn’t be… was Bruce actually reaching out? Meeting Jason on his own turf, giving up many of Batman’s normal advantages? Squinting from behind the mask like it would reveal anything different, Jason looks for the disgust he expected on Bruce’s face. Studying Bruce, Jason tries to find the apathy that was surely there after Jason was so easily replaced, with Joker alive and not rotting in an unmarked grave. Jason hasn’t done his head trick yet, but he hasn’t exactly been tidy in how he handles the criminals in Crime Alley. So add breaking Batman’s Golden Rule to the list of offenses.

Jason still only sees concern, and without thinking waves his hand dismissively, decision made.

“Whatever. Let him go, we have shit to plan. He wants to be here for it? Get his hands dirty? Fine, let’s see how long till you get sick of me this time.”

Chapter Text

Matches Malone has a child.

A son who had thought he had been abandoned by his dad, when the truth was Batman himself had gotten him killed. A son whose dad had been sighted around Gotham for years after the real man’s death, further cementing to the child the idea that he had been cast aside.

Bruce’s mind is still reeling as he returns to the run down apartment towards the heart of Crime alley, all but collapsing on the stained and creaking couch. Dick has certainly gone method with his choices in décor for this case.

Tracing the pattern in the fabric idly, Bruce’s mind replays the rest of the meeting after the Red Hood’s revealing confrontation. The masked man had appeared to ignore him, but Bruce could feel his stare boring into him from under the helmet.

The attention had only become blatantly obvious to the others whenever Red Hood had mentioned some of the more violent things on the to-do list for the week. Hood is an impressive height, only a few inches short of Batman. That is made up for with the width of his shoulders and in the way his armor only added to the bulk of him.

Crossing his arms, and squaring up from across the table, Hood had outlined the retribution for various violations within Crime alley that were against the Red Hood’s code that Bruce was still trying to piece together. Nothing that would result in a loss of life, so Bruce refrained from contacting Dick for back-up.

Using fear as a tactic, something Batman is known for, another plan is outlined to spring a show of force on a drug dealers main location later in the week. Thankfully, the Hood had wanted a flashy approach, so he needs the rival criminals to be able to ‘at least crawl away’ from the encounter to spread the word that Red Hood’s territory is well defended. Despite the brutality, Bruce doesn’t miss how everything is planned in a way that at least tries to preserve life. Prior to all this, Batman would have expected something more straight forward and bloody from the Red Hood.

Bruce can hear Alfred, a matter of perspective.

It had dug under Bruce’s ribs knowing the attention and aggressive display for what it was. A hurt child trying not to show the worry over how their parent was going to react to their behavior. Jason had been similar, especially in the early days, when rejection had not been an ‘if’ but a ‘when’ in the child’s eyes.

Jason had started out strong, pushing boundaries just to see what it took for Bruce to react within Jason’s expectations of the world he had been brought up in. Dick had not been dissimilar, but he had grown up in a loving environment and it had been easier for him accept the affection and care over time as genuine. He had been raised where family had never been about just blood and obligations, his fellow performers only proving it further when they had rallied around the young boy after the elder Graysons’ deaths. It had taken weeks before Jason had finally started to let his guard down.

He’d puff up, all four feet of him, crossing all too skinny arms as if daring Bruce to strike him. It had been obvious then as well, and Bruce had tried to account for that in how he reacted. Would try his best to walk away when Jason pressed the wrong button and Bruce would need a minute. He’d had seen the police reports for domestic violence and later the medical reports after Bruce that had become his father, that outlined a harsh and cruel start at life for young Jason Todd. Bruce and Alfred had been determined to ensure the Wayne Manor was a safe haven for Jason, just as Bruce had tried for Dick.

Jason had grown up in contrast to Dick, always expecting the worst, and being shown over and over why he was right to do so. Bruce has had years to relive how he had only proven Jason’s fears valid. Jason had seen what happened with the diplomat and his son, with it seeming as if Bruce was taking away Robin, as the other shoe finally dropping. He had given his own son the nudge on the path towards Ethiopia and the Joker.

Bruce lets his mind wander back to his oldest son instead of letting those thoughts linger too long. He should call Dick in on this, the evidence that Bruce is emotionally compromised is clear. Doing so means relinquishing some of the control over this case, and what if that closes doors on the options for the situation with Red Hood.

There has to be a way to help Hood, maybe even to bring him in. Not as a prisoner, but as someone else who sees what is happening to the people just trying to live each day, who sees those lost in the cracks, and wants to help. Needs to help. His codes, the rules that Hood lays down for his men, they aren’t the sign of a sadistic and power hungry man. Bruce has been plenty of those. No. That’s someone snapping their jaws in dominance, looking to establish some kind of order among those who know only violence.

Maybe there is an ending here where Batman could bring Red Hood in under his guidance, offer stability and reliable allies who wouldn’t sell him out for the right price. Try to be an example, show Hood another way that doesn’t end with bodies dropping. Perhaps the truth really is the best option, but that path, to reveal what hand Batman played in everything?

For Hood to get any kind of closure,  there is a decent chance that the truth of who is behind the cowl will come out when Bruce has to explain how he stole the identity of Red Hood's father. For a moment the realization has Bruce picturing being able to welcome Hood to one of Alfred’s Sunday dinners.

Let Red Hood enjoy a warm house and good food, Bruce unable to avoid picturing the worst of what Hood could had endured after Matches died. Jason had ended up homeless, had Matches's son endured that as well?

Besides, if Red Hood ends up patrolling with them, or assisting on joint cases, it wouldn’t be amiss to have a room made up for him in the Manor. Bruce may not actually be Red Hood's father, but surely he can offer the warmth of his own home to help heal the loss inside Red Hood. A wound Bruce had helped inflict, had left to fester inside a lost child.

One of Bruce’s concerns, however, is the growing body count in the morgue. Red Hood and his men may show restraint, but some crimes Hood's men step in for are punishable by death under Hood’s regime. The gang bypassing the GCPD and skipping to straight to sentencing. That is something that Bruce can not let continue, regardless of who is under the hood. There can’t be any further executions, but Bruce isn’t sure how to reach the young man. He is so angry. Lost.

Bruce doesn’t have enough of a read on Hood to know how he will react to any kind of reveal regarding the real fate of his father. Bruce knows there has to be a way to fix this, a path that wouldn’t hurt Hood more than he already has been. The simple option that comes to mind is not one Bruce is willing to take. Matches could die, a faked story, and then Bruce could try approaching Red Hood as Batman and attempt reach an understanding. Except, Red Hood had grown up since Matches’ death thinking he was abandoned, and faking the persona’s death now as a quick way to end this feels too cruel. Too easy a way out from the problem Bruce created and one that would likely leave Malone’s son without any true closure. Just more questions, more to fester.

Bruce circles back to the other simple option, the story that will be the hardest to tell – the truth. Except there is no telling what the crime lord’s response will be, and would it not be crueler to admit Matches had essentially been a skin Bruce wore after the death of his father? A death, Bruce reminds himself, Batman had caused.

Bruce has swallowed down his instinct to call in the assault Hood has planned – people would still get hurt – to Nightwing, to run interference as he would have before the heartbreaking revelation. Before Bruce let guilt over past choices and echoes of the small boy he had failed cloud his judgment. Though, had Bruce not learned from his mistake with Jason? Just putting his foot down won’t work, jumping right into a course of action without actually trying communication, it won’t work. Jason and Hood are enough alike that Bruce knows he can’t come at this like Batman, not directly. He owes Matches that much, if nothing else.

Leaning his head against the back of the couch, Bruce stares up at the yellowed ceiling, years of nicotine taking its toll. How is this going to work when Bruce doesn’t even know the name of Matches’ son? He may be able to get by for a while at least, seeing as everyone calls him Red Hood, Hood, or Red among his men. Bruce risks getting caught if he tries digging further for that answer by looking around their main base of operations, not now that Red Hood’s men seem extra cautious of Matches Malone after that encounter. Bruce will have to try other avenues on that front, he still needs to learn about Red Hood as a child and the missing time after Malone’s death.

The real Matches Malone had been on Bruce’s radar ever since his first fiery entrance into Gotham with his late brother, Carver. It hadn’t been hard to connect the recent sting of arson cases to the arrival of a man who carried a match stick in his teeth and had long ago adopted the moniker ‘Matches’. It had been insurance fraud with no injuries against civilians, and the straight forward case had been a nice respite at the time with all things considered.

Not long after that however, Carver had died, with Matches the main suspect, but nothing had stuck. Batman had not found anything concrete either, so he just kept an eye on Matches Malone’s activities after that. With both Matches and Carver dead, Bruce also notes, that’s the only known family for Malone’s son gone right there. The brothers had been orphans themselves.

While Batman kept a watchful eye on Matches over the years, the more he had wondered what really had happened to Carver. Bruce had seen Matches diffuse and avert gang wars, had seen how the man was ‘soft’ on others in a hard place. Time had eventually settled the nagging suspicion that Matches had been involved in Carver’s death, and when Batman found he needed an ally in the underground he had approached Matches. The reaction to Batman had been a strong one, not something Batman had accounted for. Taken by fear, and Matches had taken a warning shot, and to Batman’s horror he could only stand by and watch as it had ricocheted and killed him.

Then to make it worse, Bruce had covered it up. He had buried Matches next to his brother and adopted the dead man’s persona so he could finish the case. On the surface there had been no signs of any real ties to anyone, but Bruce should have known better and looked deeper. Matches Malone was a veteran of Gotham’s underbelly, of course he knew some tricks. As a result of being so mission driven, Bruce had left a little boy out there thinking his dad had just left him, that he didn’t care.

Had Matches been a kind father? The memory of how Matches had treated others when it really mattered, criminal or not, pained Bruce because he knew the man likely had been. He hadn't been a cruel man, or one of the men Batman met who liked the violence. No, Bruce thinks Matches had been a good dad, or at least had been trying. Had Matches made his child giggle and stop fighting bed time the way he would have Penguin rolling his eyes in hidden amusement and actually agreeing on a compromise without violence?

The path that Red Hood is on likely started in the kitchen of the restaurant Batman had found Matches at, with his father’s blood pooling on the tile, mixing with the grease long packed into the grout. Bruce leans forward, ignoring the crick in his neck, and lets his head fall in his hands.

Batman had made a child an orphan.

Bruce had made a child an orphan.

On top of that he had left the boy with no closure, he hasn’t even known that he should have been mourning this entire time.

Now as a result there is a new and emerging crime lord who has sprung up in Crime Alley, and that twists something in Bruce’s heart. Because he can’t deny the hand he undoubtedly played in this. Had that fateful and cursed night on the streets of Park Row all those years ago not put Bruce on an adjacent path? Except he had his parent’s wealth and Alfred to fall back on, a soft place to land in his grief and anger. What had this kid had as support after Matches died? Operating out of Crime Alley with a familiarity that likely means he was raised there, Bruce can guess. He still doesn’t know everything that had happened to Jason when he had been living on those same streets, but he knows enough for his stomach to churn, and Bruce knows Red Hood may have been left to the same fate.

Bruce had heard it in his voice that night at the party, how young Red Hood is, even if he is built like a linebacker and nearly as tall as Bruce. Red Hood had on only a masquerade mask and no voice modulator for that encounter, a young man at most, with the remaining hint of baby fat in his face but the promise of a strong jaw. Before that Batman and Nightwing’s work had only focused on Red Hood’s crimes, the scuffles, tracked the bodies that trailed behind him. This only reaffirms he can’t bring in Nightwing yet. He still needs to learn more, needs to learn about the boy behind the mask first.

Scooting forward, Bruce leans over the laptop and links to the Batcomputer, standing to stretch sore muscles before going to the fridge as it goes through the automated program to secure the link. He shakes his head in amused wonder when he sees the contents. Bruce had requested it be stocked with ready-made meals and had figured there would be frozen dinners in dinged cardboard packaging to fit the part. However, it seems Alfred had other ideas.

Letting the food distract him, Bruce rifles through the options till he finds a lasagna with a side of asparagus. Digging through the cabinets he finds the least gaudy of the unmatched plates and is thankful for the bottled water when he turns on the tap to wash his hands and has to wait to let the rust clear out first.

The computer is ready when he returns, and Bruce sets the dish off to the side to cool. He’d microwaved it despite the oven instructions taped to the container and of course now it is way too hot. Waving at it in a wasted attempt to cool it off sooner, Bruce pulls up the Red Hood files. The investigation into Red Hood had focused on this whole thing as Batman, focusing on the man – practically a boy, turns out – as nothing more than yet another criminal trying to make a name for themselves.

Then after the gala Bruce had been torn, Clark’s words ringing a bell that hadn’t stopped since. Now, Bruce feels like he’d been sucker punched at the gala, and then at the meeting as an added insult someone had yanked the rug from under him. Bruce needs to re-focus and re-prioritize, and he can’t let himself think about how guilt is obviously playing a part in the planning at the moment. He can manage this despite that., push it down.

Facts. It helps to focus on the facts.

Batman had gotten a mostly decent man killed. This man had apparently been a father, and the child had been left alone to face an unknown fate after the man’s death. Bruce knew from his observations that the only woman Matches Malone had ever really been involved with had passed and with no record of having birthed a child that Bruce can find without involving anyone else. Maybe he can locate a living relative to get a DNA sample from to confirm any parentage, he’ll need one from Red Hood as well. That will likely be the easier sample to acquire at the moment, given the violent nature of Hood’s work.


Scrubbing at his face Bruce can still feel the ghost of Red Hood’s hands clenching in his shirt, the strength when Bruce was yanked forward and off balance to stare into the blank white eyes of the helmet. Even the modulator couldn’t filter out the pain and confusion in Hood’s voice completely.

So, next fact, and a confirmation of an earlier assumption: Red Hood is hurting from the disappearance of his father from his life.

Pulling up the reports on Red Hood since his appearance, Bruce dives deeper, trying to read between the lines. He stops paying attention to this as a pattern, as something to be studied and analyzed for the future plan of taking down Red Hood. Instead he tries to look at Red Hood’s actions, and the lingering aftermath with a fresh perspective.

Bruce can’t help it, though, and he starts with the body count. As he reads over the rap sheets of Hood’s victim’s, his lips draw into a tight, unhappy line. A few child traffickers. Another who had recently had nearly beaten his wife to death, and it wasn’t the first time she had needed medical attention. Others who died in gunfights with Hood or his men in the more bloody skirmishes. All life is important, but Bruce can’t bring himself to mourn a few of these men’s lives.

The deceased wife beater draws Bruce’s attention again. There were over half a dozen police reports, but nothing had been done. Not enough evidence, according the GCPD, and Bruce clenches his teeth. Before Bruce can reel the thought back in, the case brings Jason to mind, and his stomach churns. Jason had a dislike for child and sex traffickers, for these very scum, that had been strong enough Bruce had worried about what Jason never told him about his time on the streets. Or, Bruce thinks, what is was really like having a brutal thug for a father, and a mother losing herself to addiction as he watched helplessly.

Pushing away again from thoughts of Jason, he focuses on reviewing what he currently knows of Red Hood. There are the clear outlines of a code in his work, Bruce notes, with drug runners or general thugs getting only a harsh beating. Some end up in casts, a few of which found near schools will be on a liquid diet for a while – but only the most vile seem to meet a fatal end when facing Red Hood.

Finally turning back to his meal when his stomach rumbles, Bruce chews slowly but barely tastes it as he looks over the more recent police reports to see if anything else can be connected to Red Hood and his gang, any puzzle pieces being left out that would explain Hood’s presence and actions at the masquerade.

Bruce’s goal here may have shifted, grown, but he still needs to learn how Red Hood knew about the beacon and that ‘Brucie’ Wayne has one. Maybe it was as simple as assuming the billionaire had one due to the connections in the past with Batman. It could also be a sensor built in the helmet picked it up, who knows if Red Hood had been watching those who were going to attend that gala. Still, Bruce’s instincts says it is more than that. Besides, Hood has proven calculating, deadly, and capable. It would not do well to underestimate him, especially if he has linked Bruce and Batman as more than just rumored acquaintances.

Frowning in thought, Bruce reads over the compiled statistics three times to confirm the results before sitting back and just staring at the screen. Ignoring the spring pushing into his back, Bruce reviews the report showing that crime rates have dropped across the board in Crime Alley since Red Hood moved in, or came out of wherever he had been hiding. Not to any drastic degree, but the trend is there. There have even been some of Hood’s known lackeys hanging out around shelters, and even the sex workers, doing nothing more than keeping the peace. The meeting Bruce had attended confirmed this practice.

Rubbing his hand along his face, Bruce is unpleasantly reminded of the prosthetic pieces as the glue tugs uncomfortably at his skin. Shower first, then he can figure out the next step.

Chapter Text

It’s been two days since Bruce showed up dressed as a blast from the past, with another sighting bound to occur at the meeting tonight. It was a risk not to cancel it knowing Matches was attending. The most obvious threat to Jason is that Batman could use the meeting to attempt to take down Red Hood and as many of his lieutenants and others as possible.

Regardless of how that fight between them went, Jason would lose some of his people. There are also some that are a little too pivotal to the efficiency of this group that will be in attendance, and it had left Jason antsy the law few days. If that is the play though, why show himself before just dropping in on this one or another in full force? What is to stop Jason from simply moving his operations to the secondary location, closing ranks for a bit? Jason has to re-plan everything now anyways, there will be a set back either way.

The meeting Bruce had crashed had been for the newbies, for Jason and more of the seasoned men to get a look at any potentials. Some of these people have survived by floating around whatever roster of Arkham rejects were taking a vacation from the place, like Jason’s dad used to. With that kind of rotation and exposure in Gotham, word of mouth can act as a resume and help Jason avoid the sadists, snitches, and potential undercovers. The one tonight is an actual meeting, with one of their larger outings of the week.

Jason had been tempted to go spy on ‘Matches’ apartment, but the idea of coming face to face with Batman, especially in an area he had likely learned like the back of his hand ahead of time, unsettles Jason. It also pisses him off, because Crime Alley is his, not Batman’s. He didn’t care about it before, apparently neglected it during Jason’s death, and now he just walks in and decides to carve a small piece out for himself? This place was – is – Jason’s home. Sometimes he wonders if the reason he came back at all is because only Crime Alley has the right to claim his life.

Since Jason has decided to avoid Bruce’s place, he isn’t sure if Bruce is laying low or still going out as Batman. So Jason had spent the last two nights patrolling for any signs of increased Bat activity, sometimes tailing some of the men he has patrolling known hot spots. The roaming patrols are a show of force, meant to actually deter some of the idiots out there in Crime Alley as well as reinforcing the message to not fuck with Red Hood’s territory. Nightwing has been spotted in Gotham main, but no reliable word on Batman.

Unable to relax, Jason had gotten here early and curled up in the rafters, dozing among the collection of books he has hoarded up there. As they started to trickle in Red Hood had dropped down to greet them for a bit, some who had more pressing news would often come early and get it out of the way. Jason knows now, it was all these distractions that likely led to Batman finding him out before Jason had been ready. If he had focused on the confrontation with Batman and Joker, Jason could have avoided all this, but he’s made real change. Not as many street kids go hungry.

The men and women around him now talk in hushed voices, some about the mundane and some about Hood related projects. The overhead lights, powered by generators and dangling throughout the building from the beams, casts the giant space with a soft lighting. The warehouse itself has a few dozen people milling about, those not needed for the meeting itself sit in assorted couches or around other tables. There is even a makeshift kitchen area, one of the guys who works construction had brought over a few appliances from places scheduled for demolition. The ‘countertop’ was some stacked and sun-bleached milk crates and a slab on plywood on top. Someone had covered it with one of the waxy table coverings at some point. The shiny white covering with bright blue flowers practically glowed in this place.

The lights don’t quite reach the far corners, or the ceiling above. This makes the place more vulnerable, but for Jason’s needs it is an advantage. There are spots along the walls that have a few panels that easy shift away to give people a way to scatter if the worse happens and they get overrun. The shadows also give them more cover to do so safely, and Jason had decided the risks were worth it.

Instead of the small scrap of safety Jason can usually find among his men, the back of his neck has been itching this last week. Jason doesn’t trust this, doesn’t trust Bruce’s odd behavior earlier, doesn’t like that he doesn’t know what the old man is planning. Jason had waited for Bruce to make his move the entire meeting as he spoke to the others under ‘Malone’s’ watchful eye. Tense, ready for Bruce to call an end to Red Hood’s reign and try and throw him in Arkham after the meeting had adjoined. Then Bruce had just simply driven off in a beat-up car spitting white smoke out of the tailpipe.

Jason had realized too late that even with the helmet, Jason’s body language screamed he was watching ‘Matches’ drive away. Groaning internally at the bullshit that was going to stir up, Jason had pushed past the men that had trailed behind him. Bob had tried to catch his eye, and Jason feigned ignorance. Taking one of those pre-planned exits to avoid any other alarmingly concerned looks a few of his men were throwing his way, Jason had bolted. After that, the rest of Jason’s evening had been relatively quiet as he patrolled Crime Alley and kept a protective eye over his men. He wanted to give them the best chance at a head start if Batman made a move while in his territory.

Nerves already frayed, Jason had felt it the moment Bruce had shown up to this meeting, fifteen minutes before the official start. Jason doesn’t doubt that he had been there a lot longer, just watching – the control freak. Jason’s sweep earlier hadn’t revealed anything but, well, this is fucking Batman.

Now, Jason is scowling from under his helmet at ‘Matches’ as they dutifully pour over the available roster and where the men were going to patrol. Jason wonders how badly it hurts to contain his opinions on Jason’s plans. He pointedly ignores Bob’s curious glances in his direction during the meetings, but Jason doesn’t miss when the man is staring down Batman and not even flinching. Some of the tension eases out of Jason’s shoulders. This is his world, and he knows how to work among it in way Batman never will. So fuck Bruce and any of his mind games, there is shit to get done.

Jason can’t figure out Bruce’s angle as Bruce takes in the maps showing the routes they patrol through Crime Alley, and then he groans internally. It’ll take ages to map new ones when whatever this whole thing is Bruce is up to is over. Luckily the beginning of the meeting had mostly been reports that were being jotted down anyways, and no ones tone had indicated any real alarm. So Jason let their voices wash over him, they were used to him being quiet, and focused on Bruce.

‘Matches’ was in a worn blazer with slightly off colored pants to match. It was respectful, but worn, and matched some of the older Gothamite’s attire on the roster, not coming off as anything but a ‘regular ole’ henchman’ who've been around a few times. The make-up around Bruce’s eyes wasn’t so heavy that Jason couldn’t make out the new lines around his eyes. The years between them carved into their skin in different ways, and the ache in Jason’s chest forces his eyes back to the task at hand.

“Rodriguez, I want you to take two and go make sure the girls are taken care of. It’s getting cold out, so grab the extra coats at the shelter on your way. Peterson can tag along, he’ll be stationed there again tonight.” Jason tried not to squirm under Bruce’s sharp gaze as he laid out the night’s main changes or updates. Even without the prosthetics it was hard to read Bruce, and that hadn’t changed with time.

Peterson shifts where he is standing at the table, looking pained, and Jason pauses his study of Bruce to stare the man down. It only makes the guy’s squirming worse and Jason huffs inside the mask.

“Spit it out Peterson.” Jason finally groans, the words coming out a growl through the modulator. Peterson is sat further away from where Bruce is standing, and it makes his skin itch as Bruce’s form becomes a dark spot in his periphery with Jason’s attention torn to Peterson.

“I, uh, it’s just that I’ve been there for a few weeks already, and I…” Peterson falters, and Jason forcibly tries to relax his posture. Jason has been a little snappy the last few days with his plans upended by Bruce’s appearance, and it has unfairly put his men on edge. They are decent people, and he doesn’t need to be a bully.

Peterson seems to take the visual cue, whether unconsciously or otherwise, and finally continues. “I just… I used to cycle through rotations like the others, did I – did I do something wrong, boss?”

Normally giving them some validation, especially the young ones, is something Jason does easily enough. Personally, Jason likes to see the younger ones puff up with pride when he acknowledges something in front of the group, the more experienced ones like Bob shaking their head in amusement as well. It helps keep the peace too, a little positive reinforcement among the ranks. Now with Bruce watching, judging, Jason fight to not let his unease show. Would he see it as weak, as coddling? It feels like half the time they had gone out together on patrol Jason had mostly received an acknowledging grunt.

“It’s cause you aren’t a fuck up.” Jason crosses his arms makes sure his voice comes out even, trying not to second guess himself just because Bruce is standing right fucking there. Biting back the following sigh, Jason gives in fully to the verbal head pat even as Bruce’s eyes bore into the side of his head, and continues. “It’s cause the kids trust you there, and Sarah who runs the place says you’re good at deescalating. This a problem? It’s a compliment, Pete. You looking for an Employee of the Month plaque?”

Peterson’s face turns pink and he ducks his head, shaking it fervently a few times. Jason sees the pleased expression, however, before Peterson hides it. It is a balance Jason tries and sometimes succeeds to walk. Sometimes, Jason wonders if his dad hadn’t had the added stress of working with a hot headed psychopath, as well as against the law, if things could have been different. So the balance is not having his men getting soft, expecting compliments, and word getting out he’s weak. While accomplishing that, Jason also wants to be seen as the less violent option offering employment to those who have hit the bottom. Still, he is a fucking emerging crime lord, not a camp counselor.

“Everyone else, get in groups of at least three.” Jason shifts to address the bulk of those gathered, bringing Bruce back into clear view. So far the old man is behaving. It’s unnerving. “No one new on their own.Take the usual routes, so people can find you if they need you.” Routes, Jason reminds himself, he’ll have to rework now. “You newbies need to get the lay of the land, and we need to know if you’re worth the trouble.”

Some of them break off to their tasks, and Jason takes the time to turn the map to scrutinize where he should focus his own work later this evening now that it’s marked where the most coverage will be. He can’t help but glance towards Bruce, part of his strategy had been to avoid Batman tracking him down before Jason had been ready. Well, dear dad had managed to ruin the big reveal anyways.Now that it’s out there, what will happen when they meet again as Red Hood and Batman? Jason doesn’t like to admit he feels off-footed now, but it is the truth.

“Bob, Ricky, and Matches will be with me.” Jason says to those still gathered around, and he spots one of the other newbies. “You, too…?”

“...Victor.”

Right. He’s actually one of Bob’s, who’d personally vouched for the guy so he could get some work sooner. Good, they should work together at least half-way decent then. Ricky is solid. So that leaves Jason free to focus on Bruce.

“Well, Victor, some asshole decided to set up shop near the Bowery.” Jason growls, waving at the general location. It’s in a greyed section of the map that isn’t regularly patrolled. Jason doesn’t have the manpower yet, and the area doesn’t have a lot of residents. A weakness someone had exploited. “So we are going tonight to merely confirm it is who I think it is, but don’t be shy with the firepower.”

“So, uh, Mr. Hood?” Victor is young, sounds younger. Kids don’t work for Jason as enforcers, but this one he knows is not long out of high school. Which almost makes Jason laugh, cause if he had lived, had a different life, that might have been him. Young, tested by circumstances, but still naive. Just trying to survive in Crime Alley without turning tricks.

Uncomfortably, worry begins to gnaw at Jason as he wonders if there is some kind of familiar connection for Bob to have suggested the kid for work. They did have similar brow lines. Jason had brought him in, if only because of Bob, but he’ll need to have a chat later with his right hand to see whats going on there. Victor could always help at the shelter instead of going out, tucked away safe. It is getting more crowded as people learn to trust the place again, and it would do the have regulars stationed there. Maybe it’ll even help give Victor a life skill, the kid can help manage the food pantry there. It is somewhat legit, could even be thrown on a resume probably.

“What is it?” Jason asks absently as he decides next time that is what he’ll do. It would be odd to shift him now, and tonight is just a quick peek.

“You think we will need to, uh, shoot anyone?” Victor’s voice is small, uncertain. It snaps Jason’s focus back to him and he studies him silently for a few heartbeats.

Okay. Yep. The kid is going to guard the shelter from now on.

“Someone tries to kill you? Sure, go for it. You’re gonna be our lookout though, watching our six.” Jason is going to plant him two blocks away on an old hotel, right in the path of another patrol of his. Nicely out of the way. “So likely if anyone is doing the shooting tonight it’ll be one of us three, not you.”

Jason looks back towards Bruce and this time ‘Matches’ is openly staring. Maybe it was the years of trading looks between them with masks, but Jason swears Bruce is meeting his eyes under the helmet, that somehow he is reading something there. It’s unnerving, and Jason hates how he can’t read Bruce’s expression in return. Honestly, it’s pissing him off.

“Right, Matches?” Jason meets Bruce’s gaze and isn’t quite sure the modulator hides the sarcastic cheer. No way Batman shoots anyone, but to not stand out he’ll have to gear up with the rest of them. Carry a gun or two.

Bruce looks over at Victor, tearing away from his study of Jason. Here it is, the perfect set-up for a lecture. Practically an open invitation to remind Jason of the rule and how he has already failed it. Failed Batman, failed Bruce. And he even gets to do it as one of Jason’s own men, a chance to undermine his authority as a whole.

As the silence gets borderline awkward, Jason tenses and prepares for the tirade. For ‘I always knew you were too violent - my biggest mistake - replacing you was a relief’. Jason had seen the doubt in Bruce’s eyes back then. Had seen how he didn’t believe Jason, had seen how Bruce had laid Garzonas’s death at his feet, and then those of the diplomat father and his men. What had happened to not being responsible for the actions of criminals? Isn’t that how Bruce slept while Arkham remains a revolving door for those like Joker?

“Right. Between Hood and us, we have it covered.” Bruce nods briskly, gesturing towards Ricky. Jason blinks at him from under the helmet, but Bruce is is now following Bob towards the table lined with extra guns and ammunition. Jason doesn’t know if he wants to laugh, or scream, or tear Bruce’s head off because that’s it?

Jason still doesn’t miss it, and knows Bruce doesn’t either, when the tension leaves the kid’s shoulders and finally Bruce looks to Jason again, brows furrowed not in disappointment or anger, but something indiscernible. Or maybe that was just the prosthetic affecting his expressions and he was trying to glower. Who fucking knows, and Jason already feels unbalanced, and he looks away from those searching eyes first to dismiss the group.

Well if the fucker wants to insist on this charade than that means playing the part of one of Jason’s men, one of the lowlifes Batman puts down nightly. Though Bruce better not think for one fucking moment he is actually getting paid.

Always armed with his own personalized guns and well-cared for favorites, Jason’s clothing is outfitted with various knifes tucked away. He had always been proficient with a Batarang, but the Weapons Master that Talia had sent him to had garnered an appreciation for knives as well. The one from Talia remains concealed inside his jacket, as Bruce is sure to recognize League weapons. Eyeing the selection he gets Victor a 9mm and two extra magazines. He’ll be keeping Victor away from any real threats, but extra ammo can be soothing to the nerves.

Jason is not sure how much Bruce knows of Jason’s return, and maybe that is playing in to how he approaching this. That is part of the confusing facade of Bruce’s, how much is a show, and who is it for? Is he trying reach out, like a traitorous part of Jason wants? Or is he trying to gather more intel on his criminal son and the best way to take him down. This could all be a mind game. If all this is a ploy to find out more, Jason refuses to make this easy. The more cards Jason can keep face down, the better his odds when Batman finally takes action.

Jason’s head hurts, and he is starting to get cranky. Why can’t Bruce ever just be fucking straight forward. Fight, or don’t fight? Does he want to drag Jason off to Arkham or not? ‘Cause that is not fucking happening till the Joker is dead. Or does Bruce actually want to talk it out, is that why he is here? He is more vulnerable here, and if Bruce is doing that so Jason will listen… why is nothing is ever easy?

Chest tight, Jason helps the others finish loading up one of the industrial vans, his and another group are getting ferried to their destinations, a little further than the others from their current mainstay. Two other vehicles have already pulled away, heading the opposite direction. The others have patrols that they can walk to, taking care of any issues along the way. It wouldn’t do to look weak so close to home, semi-secret or no.

While Bob and Victor clamber in, Bruce moves to follow them up, but Jason grabs his bicep and halts him. The muscle under his grip tightens as Bruce tenses. Jason’s adrenaline spikes in answer, his nerves singing at an impending fight. If Batman wants to throw down as Matches, Red Hood is going to make it hell for him. He’s learned a few things since the Batman and Boy Wonder days, and from some of the best. Jason does notintend to lose.

Instead, Bruce relaxes and lets Jason push him back a few steps where they would be hidden by the open back door. Hackles already raised, Jason pushes closer to Bruce, backing him into the side of the van. He keeps the grip on Bruce’s bicep, staring Bruce down from inches away.

Again, Jason feels like Bruce can see under the helmet, but that itchy feeling is pushed aside as it really hits him. He hadn’t truly noticed, even at the gala when dragging the asshole ‘out of danger’, in the other way their bodies had marked the time between them. Bruce was still taller, sure, but only by about two inches or so. While Bruce was broader in the shoulders, Jason had thicker, more powerful thighs. Knowing Dick’s build next to Bruce, Jason doesn’t know what to do with the next awakening that Jason is bigger than Dick.

Bruce is leaning back into the van, and he makes no attempt to reclaim his arm. He’s gone Batman-quiet, just watching Jason, studying. Waiting. This is going to drive Jason insane, well, more insane. Maybe that’s the play, get Jason to just check into Arkham himself and be done with this.

If Jason is facing-off against Batman, then he is giving him more time and information to work with every moment that passes. Even now, Batman would be working on a way to chisel through Jason’s armor to get what he wants. Jason also isn’t sure if Batman giving up several advantages, such as letting Jason this close, should be viewed as an insult. More likely, it is telling that Batman may know who Red Hood is, but he doesn’t have all of the who, what, where, and whens’ from those super fun in-between times.

Except, what if this is Bruce, reaching out in typical dramatic Bat-behavior? When Bruce wasn’t busy being Batman or Brucie Wayne, he’d been a surprisingly good father. Attentive and detail-oriented, Bruce would catch when Jason was upset or distracted. Weird detours on patrol to see the newest graffiti from an artist Jason had taken a liking to when he’d been worried about school. A night in from patrol, sat on the sofas and eating caramel popcorn handmade by Alfred, when a case hadn’t ended well for the victims.

Bruce had tried, when he wasn’t buried in the cave. At least he did before the end, before they had slipped further and further into the role of Robin and Batman, and less like Jason and Bruce. Then after Garzonas, everything had spiraled, and Jason had faced the beginning of the end.

So what would Bruce Wayne want with Jason now, after what he’s has done? Why now, when with a shiny replacement there is no longer a need for Jason in Bruce’s life?

“What’s your play here, old man?” Jason can’t do this anymore, can’t play this game. He just needs to know. Keeping his grip on Bruce, he pushes away how unsettling it is the have the familiar strength right there in front of him. When he’d been five foot nothin’, when Jason had worn the red, green, and yellow, his dad’s solid strength had always been a comfort. Now the closeness leaves Jason reeling, part of him wanting to lean into that familiarity while another wants to recoil. Bruce has left Jason’s killer alive to make new victims, he reminds himself, has replaced him. Bruce was supposed to have been his father, but he had moved on after like Jason had been nothing but a brief distraction in his time as a Wayne. There should be no comfort here.

“There isn’t one. Not anymore. I’m not here to fight you, son, I just want to help you.” Bruce’s body stands loose now, unchallenging. He almost sounds earnest, and Jason bites back a scoff. Right. “And what does your help look like? You, part time with Red Hood, walking the slums, and then what? Slip away to your shiny other life, content you did your good deed?”

Bruce’s help doesn’t have the best track record, not in Jason’s last memories of before, but he also has to admit he doesn’t blame Bruce for him dying. He knows the choice was the right one. All that Joker toxin and countless potential victims, or one gutter kid and his mother? No, Jason can’t fault Batman for saving as many as he could. The mission always came first. He can’t get over, however, that the monster who took him from Bruce, from his dad, is still alive.

Jason just hates how easy it was for Bruce and the others to move on, like he truly never had any worth.

“That what this always was? Charity?” Jason presses, eyes stinging. Blinking to keep his vision clear, Jason glares through the face piece, wishing he could rip off the ridiculous fake nose. He needs to see Bruce.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you think that, that I let you.” Bruce lays a hand gently, slowly, on the back of Jason’s wrist. It’s still bunched into the fabric of Bruce’s long sleeve shirt, and Jason can feel his fingers dig into the thicker material of body armor beneath. Jason seizes, feeling the soft pressure as Bruce gives him a gentle squeeze. “I may not agree with all your methods, but I can see how determined you are to change things – you have a good heart, and that is what matters. I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what you have overcome, I know that I haven’t been there for you in a long time, and there… there is no excuse for that, but please have no doubt… your father loves you.”

“Bullshit!” Jason hisses, the helmet pitching it almost into static. He feels like Batman has tazed him, his thoughts stuttering. This is a mind game, Bruce is – he’s fucking with him. Batman doesn’t apologize, he doesn’t lov... - Bruce can’t be okay with what Jason has done so far. “What do you really want?”

“It’s dangerous, the work you do - that we do.” Bruce’s eyes flit to the holsters on Jason’s shoulders briefly. “Black Mask is possibly turning his sights on you. That man is a sadistic monster, who will want to make an example out of you. So right now, at least believe this, that right now all I want is to watch your back. The rest of it doesn’t - ”

“Why?” Jason demands, the helmet warping the question into a mechanized snarl. Bruce looks like Jason has sucker punched him.

“I’m… because a father can’t just leave his son in danger. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“You’re a fucking liar.” Jason snaps, and pushes away from Bruce, head spinning. This… if Bruce means it then… could Jason come home? Even now? That can’t be true though, and Jason knows it.

“I’ve killed. Might even tonight kill again, depending on what happens. I don’t like it, I don’t want to, but I’m done pulling my punches. I won’t be helpless again, won’t leave someone else to that fate later. None of of the monsters I face will get back up to hurt anyone I care about.”

Bruce faces flickers from a tight, pained look to determined as he stares at the helmet’s blank, reflective surface. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, a father’s love is not conditional. It shouldn’t be, anyways. Another thing I have failed at showing in the past.”

Jason’s eyes prickle, an odd almost painful sensation gathering in his chest that he refuses to admit is hope makes it hard to swallow. He can almost smell the manor, the earthy pine of the boards Alfred had used to build his book case. Fresh bread baking in the kitchen. The shampoo he preferred, the one that smelled of strawberries. He pictures odd detours and random nights in, and his chest tightens.

“We’ll see what you say by the end of the night.” Jason growls, throat constricted, and nods towards the vehicle. In no universe is Batman just going to move past what Jason has done, he just needs a reminder that his son is a crime lord. There is no point in letting himself hope for something when Jason has the ability to just prove it’s all bullshit. “Get in the van.”

The ride is spent in silence after that, and Jason spends it very clearly not thinking of Bruce sitting next to him, and instead is re-thinking the employee of the month idea. The way Bob has been eyeing ‘Matches’, he has obviously caught on that something is going on, had already clocked it the first time ‘Matches’ showed up. Jason can tell he has been dying to ask, but is giving his boss space. That kind of situational awareness is priceless. The loyalty even more so.

It’s quiet after they unload from the van and it pulls away, just a few blocks from their destination, and as they approach the derelict diner that the small hostile group is working out of, Jason sends Victor off with a radio to sit on a building almost out of sight. The kid doesn’t complain though, and hustles out of there. Jason is happier for it when he sees Bob relax. He’ll need to have a talk with the guy, cause honestly if anyone has earned a few favors it’s him.

Luckily, Victor is well on his way when they get within range of the diner, because of course that is when it all goes to shit.

Chapter Text

Nothing about the diner gave any hint that it wasn’t anything other than what it appeared to be - another dilapidated, run down piece of Gotham. A more recent casualty of the festering infection that is the Rogues, this one is a result of one the Riddler’s games if Jason remembers correctly. The buildings around it were fairing a little better, though half the businesses remain closed. The closest cluster of civilians now is an apartment building a block over.

The dark building’s occupants would have remained unnoticed for who knows how long if one of the patrols hadn’t caught sight of a delivery truck in the alley behind it. That was a week ago now, and after two days of scoping it out they had narrowed down the purpose of the place. It’s where the new influx of drugs was coming from on this side of Crime Alley, Black Mask’s men trying to crawl back into the space Red Hood had claimed as his own.

When they get within sight of the front windows, sticking to the shadows at the edge of the buildings, the relatively quiet night explodes. So does the wall and ground around them, rounds chipping at the brick and others slinging across the pavement and scattering dangerously. Jason’s group are experienced enough they dive from where they are hugging the buildings for the nearest cover.

Jason curses as he unholsters his guns, pressing tight against the fender on the nearest vehicle. They’d been on the sidewalk, so at least now the angle from the diner is less ideal for the trigger-happy assholes inside. Figures Jason gets in a gunfight essentially already down two men. The kid he’d sent away, and the able-bodied person that could be filling Batman’s useless loafers because Bruce won’t even use fucking guns. Not like this, where he could kill someone with a wild shot.

“Fucking Mask!” Jason snarls, ducking down as a round pings next to his head. Bruce is pressed in next to him. Bob and Ricky huddle against another wheel well one vehicle back. Something had given them away, infrared, maybe? Had they missed someone on the roofs? At least the assholes weren’t smart enough to wait till Jason and the rest had gotten closer and they’d had a better bead on them.

“The guy is such a fuckin’ headache!”

“Black Mask, you’ve been picking at him for a few weeks now, right as you first showed up. Stealing scraps of his territory, that the way you announce yourself, that it? A show of force to the others?” Bruce asks, and at the very least he does fire back, just too high, impacting masonry and not flesh. At least it helps keep the assholes behind cover. “Kinda feels like there were less rabid choices of crime lords to poke at.”

“Like who? Two Face? Nah, ‘sides Mask is kinda part of… well, he was part of a bigger plan. Needed him riled up.” Jason shrugs, but then pauses, grinning under the helmet at the bright side of all this. “Though, with all that gone to shit, I guess now I can just blow him up with a rocket launcher.”

“Why a rocket launcher?” Ricky asks, staying low, unable to get a clear shot between the way the vehicle sits and with Bob huddled behind the same car.

“’Cause I stole one, and I haven’t gotten to use it yet.” Hood shouts over the next volley, Bob returning fire. They need to move. Ricky barks out a laugh and reloads.

“Hood.” The exasperated huff from Bruce has no heat behind it, nearly inaudible, and Jason recognizes the sound with an old glee. It draws an instinctive, shit eating grin from Jason.

Distracted, Jason is almost too slow ducking back down after pausing to get a better shot on one of them, cursing as a bullet pings off the hood of the car right next to him. He slides away from Bruce, around to the building of assholes’ blind spot, and manages to make it two cars closer to the building before Mask’s men notice and release another volley at his new location. While they are busy, he sees Bob and Ricky move up as well and Jason sends a few wild shots the sheltered goons' way to keep the attention on him.

Bruce is by his side a moment later, and Jason considers just taking the gun ‘Matches’ had been assigned for himself. It’s not like the asshole is going to use it, and Jason is actually getting a little worried he might run out of ammo. Recon or not, Jason really should have packed how he had for Victor and brought excess. Jason doesn’t admit it is because he could feel Bruce’s eyes on him as he had started to tuck away the small arsenal he tended to carry.

If Jason can breach the front door, and Bob covers the back to keep them inside while Jason handles it, Bruce can… well maybe he can at least pistol whip them. Maybe throw the gun really, really hard.

Jason motions to Bob, making sure he caught his eye, to plan for just that. It seems to be the same five guns, the same five people shooting, and Jason doesn’t dislike his own personal odds there.

“Uncle!”

Jason whips his head around, blanching when he sees Victor running up the sidewalk with no cover. He looks frantic. Uncle? Oh, Jason might fire Bob after all, ‘cause that feels like something he should have been told.

“God dammit!” Jason curses, shoving off from behind the car even as the men in the building are still firing at his cover. They would want Red Hood dead before some lackey, so the hope is they keep on him. Kneeling near the center of the street so he is a smaller target, he fires into the windows, at any shadow he can make out. If Jason plays whack-a-goon well enough then the others can pull Victor, Bob’s fucking nephew, to safety.

When one gun clicks empty, Jason winches at a sharp pain flaring on his right-hand side as one of them manages to get a shot off. Then another hot slice on his left bicep from another and he stumbles up, too slowly, to run when there is a pause in the gunfire.

Hands grab Jason roughly, dragging him bodily towards the opposite side of the street they had been on. Bruce, Jason recognizes, has a hold of him. Victor’s forearms are scrapped up, and Bruce has matching road burn, and he realizes Bruce must have taken the opening when Jason had left cover, then must have tackled the kid. Teamwork, Jason thinks bitterly, just like old times ... Oh. It hits Jason like a physical blow. Bruce had trusted him.

Leaning against the cool bricks in the alley and letting them ground him, Jason fumbles to pull out his burner. His hand is slick with blood, and he almost drops it, settling for putting it on his thigh as he texts the neatest patrol to steer clear, and for one with a van to meet them a few blocks down. Jason will come back, and he’ll level the fucking building next time he does.

“Son, how bad are you hit?” Bruce’s voice is edging towards Batman, his hands – are Bruce’s hands shaking? – patting Jason down, and he knows from experience that Bruce is noting the areas where the fabric is torn and where most of the blood is saturating the clothing. Echoes of ‘Robin, report!’ joins the ringing in his head. Except this Bruce lost any right to act concerned when he left the man who beat Jason to death alive, when he ran out and replaced Jason so easily.

‘You are not avenged’.

“Stop your fussin’ dad, just go get Bob.” Jason grumbles, trying to fight a shudder of pain as it lances through his right side. Then he realizes Bruce had stopped moving and Jason curses that he is going to lose his momentum. His side really hurts and now... then it dawns on Jason what he’d just said. He curses himself that he let that slip, that he’d let himself get lost in the past. It didn’t mean anything.

Really, it doesn’t mean anything. Jason doesn’t need Bruce thinking it does, ‘cause if Bruce actually saw himself as Jason’s father than Joker would be dead. Jason certainly would have left Joker’s head on a pike at the gates of Arkham had the monster taken his fath – Bruce. Jason is just disoriented, he decides, from the kinda concerning blood loss. And from working so closely with Bruce for the first time since – oh wow. Jason blinks rapidly beneath the helmet, eyes stinging.

Bruce finally moves away stiffly, nearly robotic, and follows the direction Bob had gone when Jason notices Victor is shaking next to him. Bullets still hit the bricks across from them periodically, and Jason lets his helmet thunk against the wall behind him. It is an unwelcome distraction, but it is easier to latch onto someone else’s freak out than admit he might be on the cusp of his own.

“I’m s-sorry, Hood. Please, I just got worried when I heard the gunfire, I… just please don’t take it out on my uncle. It was my mistake, I’m the reason you got hurt.”

“Give me your gun.” Jason sighs, holding out his hand. Victor goes white and Jason just wants a long nap as the kid hands it over, trembling. Then his coat shifts, and Jason feels a flicker of glee right alongside a nice buzz of adrenaline. Right on their heels is the growing horror that ‘Shakey McGee’ here has a fucking grenade. Whoever is in charge of their armory this week is getting Jason’s boot up their ass. Who lets a newbie play with a grenade? Not trusting Victor’s hand and eye coordination at the moment, Jason just leans over and un-clips the explosive from the kid’s belt. It doesn’t help Victor’s nerves, or his pallor, as Jason invades his space.

“You any good with numbers?” Jason tries to get his mind off of this disaster while Bruce gets the others, wondering if the food shelter needs an accountant of sorts. They would, right, for donations and bills?

“What – uh, sir, I mean, Mr. Hood?”

“Never mind. Listen, when we get back, you report to Peterson at the shelter from now on.” Jason winces as he shifts to peek out the alley and the brick next to his head explodes. Fuckers. Peterson can figure out what to do with him.

Bob’s not a small guy, so Jason hears him before he turns the corner and skids to a stop next to Victor, frantic. They’d come up the alley, so they must have retreated and circled back around. Bruce follows behind, quiet as a mouse. ‘Cause of course he does. None of it matters anyways though, with the remaining guys in the diner still taking shots in their direction.

“Shit, boss, you okay? What the fuck happened?” Bob gives Jason a once over and frowns, then turns to check on his apparent nephew. “Vic, I thought you were supposed to be on the Franklin building?” Bob edges Victor further from the mouth of the alley.

“I’m sorry uncle.” Victor’s voice is thick, his head cast down. “I heard the shooting, and I got worried.”

“Red Hood saved Victor’s life.” Bruce chimes in, unnecessarily. He has knelt down, thankfully a few feet off, and is eyeing the blood dripping from Jason’s left fingers onto the sidewalk. Jason can bind it, and it can be a problem for later. For now, Jason uses his good hand to get a better grip on the grenade and he sees Bruce stiffen at the sight.

Rolling his eyes, Jason heaves a sigh he hopes does translate through the filters.

“Fire in the hole, asshats!” Jason calls, waiting a few heartbeats to play fair for Bruce’s sake, then he pulls the pin and chucks it through the diner window. A few heartbeats later there is an explosion, and the remaining glass shatters out. Well, at least the message will be sent, and they’ll have to set up another base of operations.

“Alright, let’s get the fuck out of here.” Jason calls it after everything remains quiet, and they hear a vehicle less than a block over peel away. Jason shifts to use the wall behind him to stand, shifting, when Bruce’s calloused hand reaches out, palm up. Jason’s instinct is to slap it away, but he pauses. Bruce has met him on his turf, isn’t lecturing him, didn’t just snatch the grenade out of his hand and scold Jason like a wayward teenager. A spark of something that worryingly feels like that budding hope from before flickers in his chest.

Maybe Jason can meet the old man halfway, for now. At least until whatever trap this is inevitably springs shut, the more rational and League trained part of his mind reminds him.

Jason grasps the offered hand and lets himself be hauled up, gently.

>>><<<

By the time they make it back to the warehouse, Jason slumps down on one of the tattered pleather couches. Lumpy, but easier to clean blood and grime from, Jason tries to get comfortable as he watches Bob leads Victor away. Bob will assure the kid – and his brain reminds him again they could be classmates in school if their lives had been different – that he isn’t going to get taken out by his grumpy crime lord boss.

Bruce sits down on the chair next to the couch with a first aid kit already in hand. There are a few scattered around for easy access in case something goes down on a patrol. There are also more extensive kits if it’s more serious. Jason is fairly sure he doesn’t warrant the latter, his side is already less aggravating.

As Bruce pulls out disinfectant, a suture kit, and gauze – Jason eyes the liquid painkiller on the table. It’s cheap whiskey, but Jason refuses anything else other then what is found over the counter to dull any pain. Reaching up behind his head, Jason begins to press in the releases needed to unlock the helmet, and there is a soft hiss as it releases. Jason is suddenly aware of Bruce’s intense, as well as full and undivided attention, as he works to remove the helmet. Oh yeah, Bruce hasn’t actually seen him. Jason smirks. Well, fair is fair, since Jason has only caught sight of Matches’ ugly mug this whole time.

The cocky grin is real and already in place as Jason pulls the helmet away and meets Bruce’s gaze. From behind his matching, deep red domino mask. Jason had spent time living and training with Batman after all, better safe than sorry. A flurry of emotions crosses Bruce’s face, none of which seems to appreciate the humor, before Bruce returns to a more neutral expression. It is missing the hard edges of Batman, and this disturbs Jason.

Placing the helmet on the table, Jason doesn’t think Bruce’s eyes leave him as he settles back in his seat and uncaps the bottle. Without the visual barrier between them it is quickly starting to feel like too much. Jason takes a long swig, feeling the warm burn, and lets his head fall to rest on the back of the couch. He watches Bruce from the corner of his eye.

“It blows up, if you tamper with it, so best not to touch it.” Jason offers. Bruce’s eyes had begun to tear away from Jason and move to the helmet, so Jason feels obligated. Bruce’s neutrality shifts to alarm for a brief instance, and he opens his mouth as if to say something. Thankfully, Bruce closes it, and just frowns. The expression makes the over-sized brows scrunch, almost touching. To his credit, Bruce goes back to his task at hand, setting out the needles, and even grunts his thanks someone when they bring some clean rags and a bowl of water.

“Pretty sure you aren’t old enough to drink.” Bruce starts, then clamps his mouth shut right after. At least Bruce isn’t the only one of them to regret the absurdity of that random statement. Though considering everything else his dear old dad could latch onto, this feels pretty mild.

Jason side eyes Bruce, and he wants to laugh, but instead he actually gives it some thought. He isn’t old enough to drink, but how old is he? Jason isn’t sure how it all counts – the whole being dead, and then missing time, but he is pretty sure he is nineteen? Twenty? He was fifteen when he died but, well, he died. Jason isn’t sure how much time he had been dead for, Talia never told him if she ever found out exactly how long he was in the ground before he… wasn’t anymore. Those early days were too muddled, what with the lingering brain damage and asphyxiation.

At least Bruce isn’t being a judgmental asshole about it and taking the bottle. Actually, he isn’t really being an asshole at all, which goes against what Jason would have expected. Hell, Bruce hasn’t even told him a single thing he had done wrong tonight that contributed to his injuries.

“Why?” Jason shrugs. “You gonna narc that I drink underage, Matches? ‘Cause I think that should go to the bottom of the list of my ‘charges’.”

Bruce winces, then tries to minimize the reaction by reaching for the rag and dipping it in the water. Apparently letting the underage drinking go for now – gosh, thanks – Jason freezes as Bruce instead moves to sit next to him, slower than needed and with his movements open. It should annoy Jason, but instead he is forcing his breathing to remain unchanged at the quiet proximity, his heart reacting like he is sprinting across roofs. Jason watches as Bruce’s calloused hands – too rough for a billionaire CEO – takes Jason’s wrist gently.

Jason’s breath hitches in his throat as Bruce gingerly extends his injured arm enough to begin wiping the dried blood off. Jason had shrugged out of the excess gear on his upper body and injured leg already, to just what he wears under the armor. As Bruce works, it’s too gentle, and Jason wants to wrench his arm free. He wants to hit Bruce, wants to scream at him, wants to key the fucking Batmobile. It’s all too soft, and Jason is reminded of when Bruce first began teaching him to grapple. How he’d blown on Jason’s knee, brushing away the gravel from the rooftop, sitting with Jason till he was ready to try again.

“Just sit still for me, son. Let me take care of this.” Bruce murmurs, and he dips the rag again, the water clouding. He makes another pass, the rag a little too wet so it can soften the dried blood tugging at the hairs on Jason’s arms. Bruce’s eyes are soft as he concentrates, and Jason doesn’t think he could move if he wanted.

Jason wishes for the helmet back. His eyes sting behind the domino mask as the now clean patches reveal older scars, as well as a few deeper gouges from his training with the League. It wasn’t a small amount, the ones that came from the people Talia set up for Jason to train with. All his wounds over the last few years had been scrubbed clean, harsh astringents used to wash the site. Efficient, quick, no thought given to comfort.

Bruce moves to begin cleaning the area directly around the graze wound on Jason’s arm. The blood had stopped flowing from his bicep, and Jason’s shirt is stiff now from the blood, so his side likely stopped some time ago as well.

“How… I was sure this would need stitches.” Bruce looks up quizzically at Jason, and their eyes meet for the briefest of moments before Jason breaks the gaze by leaning forward to grab the bottle of liquor again, in the process pulling his arm away.

Jason definitely can’t have that conversation, not now.

“That’s a story for another time, old man, I already have a headache.” Jason taps rhythmically against the bottle, resting it on his knee. It is true, his head is beginning to ache, but it is a Bruce induced headache.

What is all this? What is the point?

Jason circles back to the same frustrating concerns. So Bruce learns he is Red Hood, somehow, and decides he wants a closer look. Okay. Why dress as Matches? Why not corner him as Batman? Also, and most importantly, why isn’t he being hauled offto Arkham?

The events of what happened that night can’t be ignored, either. Bruce had said that at the very least he wantsis to watch Jason’s back for this Black Mask thing.

“We aren’t done.” Bruce waves at his side, apparently wanting to check it as well, and Jason groans as he tugs at the hem of his ruined shirt. Lifting it, Jason can see the now scabbing injury to his side. Thank fuck, at least there won’t be any need for the damn needles.

“So, uh…” Bruce starts, then pauses before trying again, as his hands squeeze the rag over the bowl with a little more force than Jason feels is necessary. “How have you, uh, been?”

Jason rolls his head on the couch so he can look clearly at Bruce, and hopes the what the fuck kind of question is that look translates even with the domino mask. Though, just in case, ‘cause Bruce can be thick when it comes to subtlety.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

Bruce at least has the decency to turn away first this time, dropping the rag in the water and grabbing the disinfectant and gauze.

“You know what, I’ll allow it. Lets see... I guess we can start with the most recent development, which would be dear old, controlling dad crashing back into... actually, no. It would be him showing up and being nice while I shoot at people and toss grenades around like it’s just a normal Tuesday for us.”

Bruce tears open the box of fresh box of bandages, then a packet of anti-bacterial gel. Jason should snatch it away, do this himself, but he can’t seem to stop the only gentle treatment he has known since the last time Alfred patched him up. That had been after the junkyard, after Garzonas.

Jason wonders if Alfred was the one to clean his body, or if he’d even been taken back to the Batcave. Probably not, right? The ropey ‘Y’ shaped scar on his chest means he’d likely been handled by strangers after. ‘Cause Jason Todd was the one who died in Ethiopia, the Robin mantle kept safe and alive for the next warm body. For Jason’s replacement, who is apparently over with the Titans at the moment from what Jason has learned.

“It’s not what a father would want – not what I would have wanted for my child. I also know I have to remember I wasn’t there for you, haven’t gotten to know the young man you’ve grown into. I had come into this with assumptions, but these last few days… I’m finding I can’t sit here and judge you without offering to understand what I’ve missed. How I can actually help you.” Bruce wipes the gel over the wound in Jason’s bicep, the substance cool against Jason’s skin. It grounds him slightly, as Jason’s head buzzes with Bruce’s words. It also buzzes with a question he shoves away, that pesters and pushes at Jason, could Bruce actually want him back?

The faint scent of earthy pine teases Jason’s nose, and he just watches numbly as Bruce grabs one of the self-adhesive gauzes, holding it in the package next to his arm to gauge what size is needed. The spark in Jason’s chest sputters brighter, and it makes him feel sick with himself. It has been several years since Ethiopia. In that time Jason had been flippantly replaced with an upgrade. The Joker has been in and out of Arkham three times, with more graves added to the cemetery after each occasion.

“Since I lost yo- since the last time you saw me, I’ve gotten better at actually listening, or so I’ve been reassured. Was pushed to, really, but it was too late for it to do us any good. I’ll never forgive myself for that.” Bruce digs through the bandages, voice thick. "I don’t think I have the right to be upset about the choices you’ve made. I’m a father. How can I be? Not when I don’t yet understand why you made those choices. Not when I am the one who failed you in the first place and put you in that position.”

Jason’s brain stutters and he stares openly at Bruce, at his dad, knowing he looks like a fish out of water. Could Bruce really mean what he has been implying, that they could find a way to still work together? Move forward, at least as colleagues of a sort? He wants to believe that, wants to uncage that little flutter of hope in his chest. Bruce came here as Matches to meet him on his own turf after all, gave up most of his known advantages for this.

Jason is not who he was when he wore the colors by Batman’s side. Before Ethiopia, before he had to crawl out of his own grave. All Bruce would know of him nowis violence, surely. Yet, Bruce came here anyways, where for all he knew Jason could have greeted him with a bullet between his eyes.

“What do you want from me?” Jason’s voice is barely a broken whisper, passing his lips before he can clamp down on the desperate words. Hopefully they are likely drowned out by those chattering in their vicinity or by the loud card game in the corner. Bruce hears of course, pausing in his work.

“I want… I just want to help you, son. I want to try and be here for you. I see the good you’re doing, the things you prioritize. You saved that boy, tonight. You’ve saved before, as well, when there was no reason to step in other then no one else was going to.” Bruce has found a bandage that fits, adhering it carefully to Jason’s bicep.

“I think we can work through this, find a path forward that doesn’t lead to people like Black Mask calling for your head.” Bruce’s voice is quiet, earnest. How, though, how is this supposed to work, for them to move forward? Jason has already shed blood, has already taken the lives of some of the worst in Crime Alley.

Jason doesn’t feel bad about it either, not when he knows what those men had done. What they would have tried again given the chance. Jason also can’t say he won’t do end one of those monsters again, fuck, he had already planned to. Soon, if things had gone as scheduled, Jason would have been going to drop some heads off, personally.

Even if those future plans change, what is done is done. How can Batman be okay with that?

Jason can’t do this, not with his men around, not blindsided like this. Just a week ago thing were simple. Jason was going to rile up Black Mask, get him to break out the fucking Joker, likely kill some more fuckers in-between. Then he could have gotten the answers he needed from Bruce, the truth. Plus a dead Joker. Now… now Jason just feels lost with his anger.

Getting up, stiffly, Jason’s head swims either from the blood loss or the alcohol. Probably both. Bruce is speaking behind him, but Jason can’t hear him over the rushing sound of his heart trying to beat out of his chest. He staggers slightly as he moves towards the back rooms where his office is, not missing when several eyes follow him. Bob tries to get his attention as he passes, but Jason ignores him too.

Reaching his office, Jason slams the door and sinks down with his back against it, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his eyes. It digs the mask in painfully, but it isn’t enough to stop the tears.

Chapter Text

Scrubbing at his face, Bruce feels at a loss after Red Hood had abruptly left. It is never a comfortable feeling and having it while on a case is unsettling. He had a clear goal when he walked in here after having gotten an in with Red Hood’s second in charge, Bob, though the man clearly regrets that now. It had started simple, find out what Red Hood may know about Bruce Wayne’s connection to Batman, and to learn more about his operations and future plans. Bruce had even been wondering about any containment modifications Arkham might need for his cell when they inevitably brought in Red Hood.

For when Batman possibly locked up the child using his dead father’s face.

Bruce can’t push the truth aside anymore; he knows he is compromised. Bruce should have brought in Dick the moment he realized the familiar connection between his persona and Red Hood. Now it is too late to introduce Dick, to have him come in as someone new to infiltrate the group so Matches can…. what? Step out on his son again? This will only end in more grief for Red Hood, and there is no telling how he will respond. No, this is a tragedy that Bruce lit the kindling to, and he has to see it through.

It is a struggle to find any kind of balance, as there is also the pressing issue that Bruce’s family could be in danger. They still need to know how Red Hood is aware of the emergency beacon. If Red Hood has learned who Batman is the rest of their identities would not be hard to figure out. A nagging thought pushes back against Bruce’s protective instincts, that if Red Hood does know more than he should about Batman, he has yet to act on it. When there had been the opportunity to take out Brucie Wayne, Hood had instead protected him. Then there is the matter that despite the methods, both Batman and Red Hood share the same goal of protecting Gotham’s citizens.

As Bruce registers others approaching the table, it takes a moment for the buzzing around him to turn back into speech.

“...heard the psycho is gunnin’ for the boss.” Ricky tosses the cap of his beer into the plastic bucket on the table as he takes the vacant seat where Hood had just been sitting. “Bob has been fretting over it ever since we got word, has him grumpier than normal.”

“Can you blame him? Guy used to work for Penguin, no one wants to go back to that. Working for Red ain’t bad though, I hope the boss finds a way to take Mask out first. Plus, I head he got hurt helping his nephew.” The new speaker, likely in is early thirties, pushes aside the abandoned first aid supplies and stabs at a cup of noodles with a fork and stirs the flavoring into the under cooked noodles. “Dude was already protective of Red, now he’ll be insufferable.”

Mostly for a way to blend in, Bruce leans over to the next table and grabs one of the beers from the small cooler, barely reaches to tuck a five into the jar labeled with a bubbly written ‘Beer Fund’ next to it. The others track the movement, their eyes lingering as Bruce sees recognition register on their faces. Not sure if it is in regard to Matches, Batman, or Bruce himself he waits them out. All too aware he is in the middle of a warehouse of armed men and women, dressed in limited under armor but aren't lacking in weapons. Bruce forces himself to merely sit back in his chair.

“Fuck.” Ricky hisses, looking more guilty than aggressive, and Bruce loosens the grip around the beer bottle. “I didn’t see you there, man. I’m sure your, uh, kid… that the boss will be just fine. You saw that shit tonight, Red is tough as nails.”

The rest of Red Hood’s group finding out had been inevitable about the 'father' and 'son' relation and very public reunion, with Hood’s immediate circle and a few others witnessing it firsthand. At least it seems to have led to a somewhat easy acceptance of Matches, sparking the spread of whispers among themselves and sharing his persona's reputation. No one would ever think him to be a narc. No, the suspicion around his presence comes not from his credentials but his – Matches – relationship with a son that had been abandoned. Taking a sip of the beer, bitter and cheap, it settles uneasily in his stomach.

“Wait! That bullshit Boris was going on about is true? You’re Red’s old man?” The ramen is forgotten, the awed expression on the other man’s face softening his features. Bruce painfully has to adjust his prior guess, more likely to mid to late twenties. A rough two decades. He is saved from an answer by an irritated Ricky.

“Don’t mind him, Matches. He’s just a fan boy of the boss.” Ricky flicks the other man’s hand with his own fork, getting his attention off of Bruce. “Now go add some more water and nuke that for another minute or you’ll break a tooth.”

Grumbling, the young man obeys, sliding out of his chair and heading over to their makeshift kitchen where there is already three others waiting to use one of the few microwaves. It is odd, to see a hide-out from the inside like this. To see the life and lives of those who would follow a known criminal, a killer, those that Jason would sometimes point out to him on the more somber nights are just trying to get by. People like Willis Todd.

It is hard to look at Ricky taking care of the other kid and also knowing he has at least seven suspected deaths on his hands. Likely more that he’ll never get tied to. It was easier to remember Jason’s words here among men and women who weren’t slinging drugs on a corner as Batman looked down on them. Who went out and also helped their community. A community that Batman himself had written off.

Bruce wants to question them further, find out more about what they have heard about Black Mask’s movements, his plans for Red Hood, but they have already turned away to greet another newcomer to the table. Taking the moment to take a breath and audit the room. Among the curious glances he is getting from those at other tables, Bruce doesn’t miss the hostile ones.

The chatter continues for a few minutes before Bruce realizes he isn’t likely to get much by lingering when the conversation turns into an argument about the current line-up for the Gotham Blades, so Bruce leaves, taking his beer and offering the small group a stiff wave. His skin prickles as he goes, too many eyes watching Matches go. 

On the drive back to the apartment Bruce has too much time to think. After tonight Bruce feels like he has lost all stable ground, and he has already made promises to Red Hood as Matches that he can’t honor. Not as Hood’s father, at least. He doesn't know why that old and familiar tug of grief claws at his common sense around Red Hood, why Bruce can't help but purge the words he wished he could say, the ones he should have said before. After speaking with Hood the way Bruce has, actually falling into the role of his father, he doesn’t think Hood will be willing to work with Batman once he learns the truth. No. He is more likely to become violent than anything else. This isn’t a feeling Bruce enjoys, this lack of control, the lack of acceptable options.

Burying his head in his hands at the kitchen counter Bruce tries to work through a solution, but there are so many emotions tied to this. He can’t see any path forward that doesn’t end in breaking Hood’s heart with the face of his dead father, and who knows what that could set off. The boy is so angry. Yet, Bruce had seen with his own eyes how Hood had put his life on the line for Perez tonight with no hesitation. There is also the matter of Hood’s wounds, there is no way they could have healed that fast. Had Malone had a meta child? Maybe the mother is still alive then.

Then there is the issue, Bruce thinks, of how this is affecting his own thinking. For a moment when Hood had taken off the helmet to reveal the domino mask all Bruce could think of was Jason. They had the same raven hair, curled and plastered against Hood's forehead with sweat just like when Jason and him had sparred or patrolled as Batman and Robin. The grin had shredded his heart, another too familiar echo of another boy from Crime Alley. Bruce had half expected some quip or joke to spill out.

Red Hood was nearly as tall as Bruce though, and definitely taller than Dick. Hood is also skilled, and with his size, muscle, and obvious training Bruce knows he would be an interesting challenge for Batman. Jason’s old doctor, Leslie, had placed him on the smaller side of his age group due to the malnutrition growing up and his time spent on the streets. She had informed Bruce early on it would affect his development and that Jason would likely always be small for his age. Willis Todd has been a much bigger man and Bruce can’t help but picture Jason with a similar build to Hood had he not been deprived of basic needs as a child. Maybe Jason still would have had grown tall and full under Alfred’s care, if anyone could it would have been him. 

Getting up from the stool abruptly, trying to leave those thoughts behind, Bruce dials Dick and refocuses on one of the few things he can get done as he paces the small kitchen. As it rings, Bruce leans against the counter, forcing himself to relax or risk Dick picking up on something. Maybe he should make some tea. Would Alfred sense if he microwaved the water and didn’t use the kettle?

‘Hey B, everything good?’

“As well as it can be.” Bruce growls, covering up the tightness that had gripped his throat. It feels good to hear Dick’s voice. Grounding despite the isolation Bruce has found himself in. Honestly the smartest thing to do here would be to report to Dick everything that has happened since Bruce went undercover. After he has more to tell Dick. If he waits till then, at least Bruce could bring more answers to the table when he has to lay out the many mistakes that destroyed a young boy's life. Just a little longer. “Nightwing, I need you to swing down by the diner near Bowery.”

‘Which diner, B? There are a few in that area.’

“The one by the Franklin building. Trust me, it’ll be hard to miss. Gordan’s crews are likely already on scene.” Bruce had nearly ruined it all when Hood pulled out the grenades, ready to take him down regardless, Bruce couldn't just sit back and allow him blow up those men. Years of working with masks and teenagers in masks, Bruce swears Hood had rolled his eyes before calling out the warning. Still, the slight restraint had been promising. “The alley north of there, you’ll find some blood splatter. I need you to take samples and run it against GCPD’s database, put it through the other state and federal we have access to as well. Put a rush on it when you get back.”

‘On it. You're so welcome, B.’

Bruce sighs, more exhausted than he should be after the click, plugging his phone in to charge. This night had been a mere scuffle compared to the all-night patrols Batman normally makes but it certainly doesn't feel that way. Hopefully they will finally get some answers, and Bruce some rest, from the samples. Ideally Bruce can find Hood’s mother. Alive. And not also involved in crime. It doesn’t solve the Matches issue, but it could be a way to ease him out of this lie and into supportive arms. As crude and manipulative as it sounds in his head, Bruce’s best bet may be to reconcile the mother and son.

Moving to the living room Bruce slumps back onto the battered couch, not wanting to sleep in the other room with only the one exit. There had been limited options with the cover Bruce had chosen, a down on his luck Matches, and they had to go with this place or risk a money trail he couldn’t explain had Red Hood gone sniffing around for whatever reason.

It struck something deep in Bruce though, another ghost from the past. The last time he had been there for the reunion of a mother and son Bruce had failed Jason in the worst way. Allowed him to be tortured and killed by a monster of a man, and the background check only done after on Sheila Haywood had left questions, he will never have answered boiling under the surface. She had worked with Joker before, had been embezzling at the relief camp, and Bruce has always wondered if he had left Jason there with two monsters. What they could have avoided if Jason had felt like he could have come to Bruce for help with it.

‘All his problems and he still turned out good... he’s much better than I deserve...’

Sheila Haywood’s last words still echo on restless nights and even in the quiet moments when everything should be relatively calm. The only response he has for the dead woman now is that Jason had been much better than either of them had deserved. They had both wasted what they had, what Jason could have been. This time, if Hood's mother is alive, Bruce will leave nothing undisturbed in her life. He will learn every secret the woman has before Bruce even thinks about the two meeting. He will also not hesitate to cover up her existence if she is any risk at all to Hood. That is a secret, a lie, that Bruce can live with.

Too many if’s, so many things left to chance, and it still doesn’t help with one of the many complications that trouble Bruce. The most glaring of which is that Matches Malone’s son is a budding crime lord, and no matter the good he is doing on the side, Red Hood is still taking lives. He is still choosing who lives and who dies. Right now they are child traffickers, rapists, the worst of the bottom of the barrel, but what about later? These things escalate, it is why Bruce refuses to take a life, because where does it stop? When does the line get blurry? When does it start to shift too dangerously in the wrong direction?

When sleep finally finds him, Bruce dreams of Jason. For once it isn’t one of fire and digging to find a too small child, cold and broken. This time, Bruce isn’t too late.

>>><<<

When Bruce wakes he is disoriented and rapidly blinking away sleep in the unfamiliar environment before everything catches up. Sighing tiredly at the ceiling despite a somewhat restful sleep when he reminds himself he still has no solid solution, no real answers. He should bring Dick in on this, fill him in, but selfishly he reminds himself to wait until he can present some kind of solution. It can at least wait for the results from the tests and Bruce can go from there, hopefully having gained more insight into who exactly Red Hood is. Dick had texted him late last night to confirm with Bruce that he had the sample and had begun running it against the databases.

For now Bruce plans to head back over to the warehouse. With it being day time he is hoping to have less ears around. Perhaps Bruce can get more clues from a more private conversation with Hood, and if he isn’t there Bruce may have a chance to accomplish some of the original goal in infiltrating Red Hood’s group at least.

Bruce had memorized as much of the routes as possible, made note of their illegal operations – including the more charitable ones. So far Hood has been taking over the drug trade in that area and has strictly and brutally enforced that selling to kids is off limits, as well as making sure the product is clean. There is also now a needle exchange program, which had left Batman and Nightwing baffled when they’d seen it first hand. The dealers actually disposed of the used ones in a medical waste bin tucked in the alley and provided clean ones with the purchase. Attendance at the NA meetings have also increased at the Community Center, with men stationed near the building whose sole purpose seems to be to keep vulture drug dealers from targeting what they must see as an easy customer.

With the new information that things have escalated due to Red Hood trading blows with Black Mask’s operation, Bruce opens the laptop as the mug of water microwaves. Connecting with the Batcomputer again Bruce first checks to see the progress on the blood sample. He’ll have his answer by the end of the day it seems, based on how far the search has gotten. What is curious, when going through his back door into GCPD’s files to pass some time, is that some of the worst encounters with Black Mask seem to have been done without Hood’s men in tow. The fledgling crime lord is poking at a rabid bear and he isn’t even taking any support.

Now that Bruce has more information he can see that Red Hood is taking over Crime Alley with a violent and unforgiving version of a neighborhood watch. If it wasn’t for the killings and Hood’s alarmingly rapid growth and for the fact that he somehow knew about the beacon, Bruce isn’t sure he would have made Red Hood a priority. Not as is. It nags at Bruce as well that he can’t see what the long term goal is with Black Mask, someone who is known to take even the smallest slight lightly. Hood has to know that will not end well, so why do it? Why do it alone? So far other than his dealing with Black Mask, the only small relief is that currently Hood seems to stick inside the borders of Crime Alley. Shrinks the battle ground to a more manageable size, for now.  

The rapid growth also bothers Bruce. Red Hood is intelligent, a strategist, would it not be better to firmly establish his hold in Crime Alley before starting a war and attempting to branch out further? The accent Hood has is unmistakable to Bruce, so he knows Hood is a native to the area. That part makes sense, the desire to clean up his own backyard, to protect his own. So why the burning interest in Black Mask? Why now? What is Bruce missing?

Carrying the laptop to the kitchen to retrieve the boiling cup of water from the microwave Bruce taps against the counter. He is supposed to be Hood’s father, and the goal of being Malone in the first place was to infiltrate for answers. The quickest way to the answers, to finding a solution for all of this, is to go for the source. Leaving the water to cool, Bruce goes to take a shower and apply the prosthetic pieces.

>>><<<

When Bruce arrives at the warehouse he is let in by a burly, bored looking man and strides in like he belongs there. He is a ‘newbie’ but not a rookie, so hopefully he is left alone. Matches has a reputation that goes beyond Red Hood’s father to some of the old timers. Surveying the room confirms he was right in assuming there would be less people there. Those who are seem more relaxed then the night before. Not much to do during the day with most of Crime Alley’s activity happening when the sun is down.

Searching the room, Bruce sees no sign of Red Hood, but then he looks up into the beams overhead and spots an outline in the shadows. People rarely look up. Amused, Bruce looks for his own way into the rafters that won’t draw too much attention. Hauling himself onto the beam he tries to make it appear a struggle in case there are eyes on him, and then shuffles down the beam so he won’t startle Red Hood.

Bruce’s balance waivers when he gets closer to Red Hood, the amusement from just a few minutes before gone as quickly as it had come. With the helmet off but the domino mask on, Hood is leaned against one of the intersections with a supporting metal pillar and is reading a well worn book. It is a copy of ‘The Merchant of Venice’. There are several other books scattered around him on the cross section of the beams. A little reading nook.

It is like a physical punch to the gut, the air seizing in his chest as Bruce’s steps falter on the beam. All he can see in that moment is everything he lost. How often had Bruce found Jason tucked away, especially in those early days when he had been so wary of everything around him? Jason had been so certain it would be taken away until he had unreservedly grown to trust Bruce. However when the time came Bruce had not returned the favor. It had been the catalyst that ended in flames halfway across the world.

Hood glances up at him and raises an eyebrow, his eyes hidden by the domino, but he just casually returns to his book when Bruce doesn’t say anything. Settling on the beam beneath him only a few feet away from Red Hood, Bruce hopes the action hides how unsteady he feels.

Jason would have liked Hood and Bruce isn’t sure how he feels about that. But how could Jason have not? The crime lord is cleaning up Jason’s home, he is helping those afflicted by drug addiction and Bruce knows he hasn’t just been slinging drugs, but instead has been trying to keep the supply clean for those who aren’t ready for help. People like Catherine Todd, who Bruce had learned from her medical records had already been succumbing to hepatitis C long before her overdose. A slow death sentence for someone who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, get help for her addiction and illness.

Eyeing the titles Bruce can see from where he sits doesn’t help. ‘Persuasion’, by one of Jason’s favorite authors. ‘To the Lighthouse’ by Woolfe. Alfred had been reading that one with Jason before. Had they ever finished? It had been not long before Garzonas. Jason had been struggling a little with the writing style and it had been added to the pair’s unofficial book club. Hood’s bookmark is only a third of the way in, is it a difficult read for him as well? Would Alfred and Red Hood share the same passionate back and forth over these books as Alfred had with Jason?

Dick had never been one for school, working his way through life his own way, but Jason had loved it. The teachers at Gotham Academy had only let him attend because of the Wayne name, because of Wayne money. They never had faith that a third grade drop out from Crime Alley would be able to keep up, and Jason had proved them wrong and then some. He had thrived despite them. The only struggle he had was math, and even then he managed to scrape by at his grade level. Bruce had often wondered if Jason would follow Dick’s path and embrace his nighttime persona or if he would have forged a different path. Of the two, Jason had more desire to just live life, he didn't see 'boring' in the mundane. He had always stuck closer to home, protected his own.

After Jason’s death Bruce had tried and failed to push thoughts of who Jason could have become aside. Another effect of a loss, one that had threatened Bruce's weak grasp on control at the time. Even now Bruce finds himself often standing before the glass case that encased the result of Bruce’s greatest failure, the reflection of his own eyes staring accusingly back at him. Though Jason’s room stayed the same, the door remained closed, and every other reminder had been tucked away in the attic or in the library. Alfred had outright refused to touch the shelf of books in the library though. Jason had begun curating his own little space, arranged in a way only Jason understood.

Now the ghost that is Jason’s absence isn't limited to the Manor, or to the shadows of the gargoyles that his second Robins still haunts, as Bruce takes in Red Hood as off-guard as he'll likely ever see him. The young man – boy? Bruce is still taken aback how Hood barely looks like he is out of high-school despite being almost as tall as Bruce himself. They had been eye to eye when he’d been pushed against the side of the van and the obvious strength of his build had left a solid bruise on Bruce’s arm. Again he has to remind himself that Jason’s childhood meant he would have never been able to meet Bruce evenly that way. It had been one of many possibilities stolen from Jason.

Jason had been angry like Hood as well, quick to act when faced with the same types of people Red Hood had no issues gunning down. quick to retreat to the emotion when he feels threatened. If Hood actually was his son, not Malone’s, how would Bruce help? What could he do to help take Red Hood off this destructive path? His wealth can help with the outreach centers, could set up true needle exchanges so there is less risk of with just handing them over on a street corner. Wayne Industries could set up outreach programs to re-enforce Red Hood’s foundation, fund them with money that wasn’t stained with blood.

Bruce should have been doing this anyways and the guilt of his inaction weighs heavily. Before, Bruce had kept out of Crime Alley unless it was dire because of his parents and the hopelessness of the place. It would have taken Batman away from the rest of Gotham, left the city as a whole vulnerable if he had tried to take it on. After Jason’s death, it was to avoid being reminded of his loss and how he failed his son. Wayne Industries still donates some to causes there, but Bruce himself hasn’t looked in on what roster of charities they support in a long time. It is Nightwing who patrols Crime Alley the most, adding it in when he is in town. Tim would pass through sometimes when he was patrolling Gotham and not with his team, and every time Bruce had been uneasy still he came out the other side. It would be a full time job to really make a change there though, yet that is exactly what Red Hood seems to have done. Violently. 

Batman could offer assistance, ensure Crime Alley is patrolled at least once every few nights. Show a united front that may deter others from trying to challenge Hood’s work, to keep things from getting bloodier. He can offer better equipment, such as non-lethal weapons for Hood and his men, better protection to try and make up for the vulnerability that would come with. He doubts he can convince them to completely give up guns, but giving more options for the times they don’t need to be a last resort could make a difference.

From Hood’s other side, previously hidden by his frame, the crime lord picks up= a white paper bag and extends it to Bruce. The bottom is wet with grease and Bruce worries for the integrity of the bag as he takes it. Looking inside, he sees the little covered boat containers that the chili dogs from a stand a few blocks down comes from.

“I got too many. See no point in wasting it, if your hungry.” Hood offers a shrugs and Bruce notes the half eaten one balanced on his thigh, and two empty cartons crumbled furthest from the books Hood could likely reach.

Bruce takes the offer even though he isn’t hungry and pulls one out. If this is an olive branch, he can’t mess this up. Then he opens the lid he nearly crushes it in the same movement. Heavy on the onions, light on banana peppers. A light coating of relish, something Dick used to turn his nose up on the rare occasions he visited back then. This had been Jason’s favorite. Bruce doesn’t trust his hands enough to try and take a bite, staring down at the the container in his hand.

“Lost in thought? Or are all the concussions finally getting to you?” Red Hood asks, and Bruce tears himself from his thoughts as Hood turns the page of the well worn book. Bruce studies him, knowing the man is well aware he is being openly watched. He really does look so much like Jason it hurts, the ‘what if’ of it all. A karmic punishment, being reminded of one sin while confronting another. Bruce can’t help but wonder what color his eyes are, if they are that same bright cerulean blue.

“A little of both.” Bruce manages, his voice steady only from years of practice. Hood just hums in agreement, one leg swinging idly where it hangs over as he turns the page. Jason could have fit easily on the beam.

“Anything useful actually churning up there, or are you just here to judge?” Hood continues, looking up from his book again, and Bruce wonders if there is more to the ire he feels from that stare than just the obvious abandonment. Bruce doesn’t even know the name of Malone’s son, how could he even begin to guess on what their relationship had been.

“I don’t have no room to judge.” Bruce says honestly, though his eyes drift to the holsters on Hood’s belt. He of course catches it, and closes the book, using a finger as a placeholder. Jason used to do that as well, rolling his eyes at the interruption from whatever he was reading and making it clear he planned to return to it soon. 

“So you are still sticking with that angle?” Hood challenges, his voice taking on an edge. Bruce snaps to full attention at the dangerous growl to his voice, instincts raging. “You really want to pretend you aren’t dying to give me a lecture about the people I’ve killed, how that goes against everything you taught me, yada yada. Sure you don’t want to tell me I came back broken, ruined? Though how the fuck you found out is beyond me.”

Bruce’s mind whirls, his heart racing. Matches hadn’t been unnecessarily violent in his work, just brutally efficient. Batman had never tied any death to him directly, and had long ago abandoned the belief he had killed his own brother. To hear he had a code of sorts that mirrored Bruce’s own pained him. If Matches hadn’t died, would this young man have escaped Crime Alley, escaped the cycle seen too often in a place where desperation weighed heavy on the citizens? What kind of man had Batman gotten killed?

“You fucking replaced me. Like I was nothing to you. You left that fucker alive!” Red Hood hisses, gripping his book tight enough now to bend the cover.

It’s another solid hit to Bruce’s gut at the intrusive thought of the Joker, of the madman left alive even after what he had done to Jason, still breathing while his son lies in the ground. What would Jason think if he knew? An old, complicated guilt chews at Bruce’s insides. Bruce knows the right choice was to not take justice in his own hands even if he had been prepared at first to kill Joker for what he did to his son. Bruce knows that had Superman not intervened, the man and mantle Jason had known would have died with them both.

It begs the question, who had Matches left alive and why did it anger his son to this degree? Matches had been hired muscle, sure, but he had been smarter than he put out there for others to see. Bruce recalls he had claimed to be a hitman at one point but when Bruce had looked into it, and it turned out to be posturing. A way for Matches to build protection around himself, to seem more threatening. Is this as simple as an unfinished job the man had pretended to take and whatever the consequences of that somehow falling in some way on Hood? He would have been a child when Matches had died. God, how many times can Bruce fail the children of this city?

It doesn’t feel like the right answer, too many pieces would have to be forced into the puzzle. What does make sudden sense is Black Mask. Bruce had wondered why he Red Hood was poking at a sadist like that. He had come to the tentative conclusion it was a power play of sorts. Pick on one of the biggest bullies in the yard first thing to establish himself, to try and show he is to be taken seriously. That means that Black Mask would have done whatever it was to hurt Red Hood when he had only been a child.

As for replacing him, Bruce doesn’t remember any partner other than Malone’s brother. After he died, Bruce hadn’t worked with or for anyone in particular as Matches enough to be considered a partner. He certainly hadn’t fathered any children as Matches. So there must be another misunderstanding there, some case Bruce worked that caused him to think this way. More damage dealt by Batman. To a child.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce knows it is empty, he doesn’t even know what sin he is apologizing for with Hood, or who the apology is even for as he stares at the young man in front of him still haunted by Jason. The sentiment is real, the guilt, he is sorry for taking Hood’s father and setting him on this path. He is sorry he failed Jason, then failed him once more by turning his back on Crime Alley yet again after he died.

“I’m so sorry, son. I… I failed you in every way.” Bruce feels the heat in his eyes and his throat tighten at the words. It doesn’t help that when unshed tears blur his vision Hood looks even more like Jason, the features that make him older softened.

“Then why the fuck is that insane freak still alive?” Jason… no, Hood, demands.

“I couldn’t go down that path. I wanted to, I tried to, for you.” Bruce has to force out the confession, voice thick. The words are true, only he is saying them to the wrong boy, to the ghost of a son he’ll never be able to apologize to. As for Matches, if Hood's reaction is this vehement, surely his father had cared for and loved his son. Or why would whatever betrayal had occurred make him so upset? It’s too much. The loss and guilt echo in his chest painfully thunderously with each beat of his heart as Bruce stands before this young man who is so much like his lost son. Compromised, he reminds himself. “But I had already failed you in every way that mattered when I was too late to realize how I was failing as a father, and then any chance to learn from my mistakes..."

"I didn't see how what I was doing as Ba - while I worked in this despondent patch of the city was only pushing you away as my son. I'm sorry." I'm sorry I was too late to save you. Bruce doesn’t wipe away the few tears that escape, doesn’t deserve to hide his shame. Doesn’t want to, for once. He doesn’t have to be a Wayne or Batman right now and tuck it all away, there is no one listening on comms. It's just him, an angry boy, and their shared grief for what was lost to them. 

“You tried.” Red Hood mocks, his shaky voice dripping with venom. Hood’s whole body is tense now, the paperback’s spine permanently warped by the tight grip that has turned the boy's knuckles white. Bruce remains where he is despite the possible danger and not missing how Hood's other hand is clenched right next to one of the guns. “Oh, so you tried to kill him. Fuck you. If you wanted to, he would be dead. If I meant anything to you, he would be dead!”

“Yes.” Bruce admits. Taking joker's, or anyone's life, wasn’t about skill. Not for either Batman or even the real Matches. It was too easy, Batman has seen it time and time again, violence and circumstance taking away someone’s potential. Sometimes it as was simple as wrong time, wrong place. Bruce had experienced it by mere chance as a boy. “I could have, after things had returned to the status quo. It would have been easy to let that rage take over, to hunt him and put him down. I wanted to. Some people can do that and come back from it, but I don’t think I can. Not with what I face on a nightly basis, with the choices I have to make. If I take that path, what happens then? What happens when I do it again? When the people I deem as a lost cause and too far gone to be save… aren’t? What happens when I decide men and women like those down there aren’t worth saving? Too many transgression, too many arrests to bother anymore with trying? Not many could stop me, and worse, too many might not even try. So then I would just be the same as the monsters I kill, but in an easier to swallow package.”

It would also mean Batman losing the faith and trust of Gotham, if he suddenly became their judge and executioner instead of their protector. Hood is quiet but his body vibrating, his breathing hard enough that the modulator picked it up. His lips part as if to speak only to close into a thin line as a glare burns through the mask. The escalation should put Bruce on guard but all he can see is the fear Hood is trying so hard to mask, a distressed boy falling into what he knows. 

“Fuck this.” Hood barks after a long silence, standing up quickly with the pillar behind him as an anchor. Bruce was stilled by the wave of mortification as he finally wipes at his face, grounded back to the moment by the harsh tone. “Fuck you.”

Sliding on his helmet with practiced ease and grabbing the beam, Red Hood tucks the book in his back pocket and swings over the side, quickly scaling down the support to land heavily on the ground. It startles the men lingering in the area as he storms off, but not before calling over his shoulder.

“I want everyone here tomorrow night!”

Bruce waits in the rafters, once again at a loss and left trying to calm himself in Red Hood's wake before finding a less conspicuous way down. Maybe he needs Batman in on this as well, approaching just as Malone feels more and more like he is just making this worse. It’s already a six foot hole Bruce isn’t sure how to dig himself out of.

Returning to the apartment doesn't improve his mood, Bruce checks the test to find it is done. He blinks at the results, surprised to find nothing. No hits against anything in the system. A dead end. Even if the DNA hadn’t yielded anything, Bruce is surprised there isn’t even a DMV hit for the fingerprints, no old background checks, no passport applications – nothing.

So Red Hood must have scrubbed it all somehow, or he really is a ghost from Bruce’s past, finally come home to roost on his growing pile of sins.

Chapter Text

The diner that Bruce had stopped in was a few blocks east of Red Hood’s warehouse with a faded sign out front that advertised a special on hash browns as apparently their breakfast is a staple throughout the day. As he shovels the next forkful of dinner the mustache tickles his upper lip and he frowns with disdain, chewing the over-cooked eggs and missing Alfred’s bacon.

If anyone asked Bruce would tell them the choice to eat dinner at the small corner diner was to keep his cover established and show himself out and around the community, not just as someone who pops up at meetings. The truth is that Bruce needed to get out of the small box of an apartment that reeks of stale cigarette smoke.

As the DNA sample and fingerprints had been useless, the latter taken from Red Hood’s spent casings, Bruce had felt restless. He was no closer to figuring out who Matches had replaced Hood with, unsure of the timeline and short on details. On top of that Bruce had been unable to shake the taunting laughter or the choking smell of acrid smoke that seemed to hang heavy in the air after meeting Hood in the rafters. It also didn’t help that Bruce’s conversation with Red Hood in the warehouse had echoed loudly in his mind stuck in the quiet apartment, the sounds of the neighbors making dinner and kids playing in the street below not enough to drown out the sense Bruce has missed something.

“If I meant anything to you, he would be dead!”

There is no question anymore that Bruce is compromised, and after the this he doesn’t have any other excuse that outweighs the need to bring in Nightwing on this case, a clearer mind.

A small sliver of solace is found with the familiar confidence that Batman's decision to not play executioner has never changed. Joker’s death would have only tainted everything Batman and Robin stood for.

Yet for Bruce it is torture knowing Jason’s murderer, the man who beat his son to death, still breathes. It is a turmoil that has rotted in his core ever since, turning sour as his actions grew more and more brutal. It is what brought a child out of the shadows with literal graphs before Batman could ruin it all and cross the line from sheer carelessness. After talking to Red Hood, that rot coils closer to the surface then it has in a long time.

Bruce will do it tonight. He’ll rope Dick in after the meeting. He just needs a few hours to get his head on straight, there is no telling how Dick will react to facing Batman’s unexpected ghost. Whatever Malone’s son has planned, Bruce can’t afford not to take the opportunity to discover more. 

Despite being distracted, Bruce manages to stifle his surprise when Bob slides his large bulk into the booth – he definitely needs to bring in Nightwing.

Robert ‘Bob’ Perez. Only a few years younger than Bruce and with a criminal record dating back to his teens. Yet he only spent a combined decade in prison. Bruce had chosen him as a way in because Bob was part of ‘Old Gotham’ and had been operating since the early days of Batman.

The weathered thug for hire had worked for the Falcone’s for years until the rogues and newer crime lords like Sionis had begun claiming bits of their territory and building their own militia. Once the map was redrawn and with Batman and Gordan fighting corruption, the henchmen working for the mob had begun flitting around the groups to find work when their current bosses got locked up. Bob had been most likely to recognize the name ‘Matches’ and he hadn’t disappointed when after only a week he’d had agreed to give Matches Malone some work and invited him to a meeting.

The other reason why Bruce had chosen Bob now has him on edge. Bruce had learned that not only was he essentially Red Hood’s right hand but that he was truly loyal to Hood. He had seen it for himself in the looks Bob gave Matches once he realized there was a familiar relationship between his newest recruit and his boss, a strained one at that. That first night if Hood had ordered Matches thrown in the Gotham harbor, weighed down by lead, Bob would have done it and slept fine that evening. From the outside, Bruce knows what this looks like. A dead-beat father returning only when his son began ‘coming up’ in the world. Even if Bruce could explain to Bob the misunderstanding, what really happened, it isn’t any better than this farce.

Bruce steadies his heart and spears a blackened sausage, biting into the hard, chewy casing. Not knowing the reason for the ambush Bruce wants Bob to lead the conversation, let the direction it goes tell Bruce what he needs to know. Hood’s possibly overprotective henchman is Bruce’s height with broad shoulders and weighing in at about two hundred and sixty pounds. The seemingly permanent scowl isn’t as intimidating not that Bruce had seen the concern for his nephew and the relief at seeing the boy unharmed. Bruce had also seen the police files that showcased some of the men Bob had faced laid up in a hospital bed with their eyes near swollen shut. At least this public encounter is with Matches and not Bruce Wayne, so defending himself is an option.

“Red Hood is a good kid.” Bob speaks into the space between them, not looking at Bruce but watching a nearby group sit down. Only after they settle does Bob turn his eyes to Bruce. “In the beginning he hit hard, coming out of nowhere, all rage, bravado, and spitfire. Then Hood stopped just swooping in, stealing whatever of their shit he could get out of there. The punk started using his funds to start recruiting, and from there started establishing territory in the areas he'd weakened and stole from in the beginning.”

“Is that when you fell in with him?” Bruce coaxes, his teeth hitting the tines as he takes another bite of the rubbery eggs, forcing his shoulders to remain relaxed. If he was going to be forced into this uncomfortable, confusing conversation, he would at least make it useful.

“Not at first. I was still convinced he’d get himself killed, and stuck with my crew.” Bob drums his fingers on the table, determined but uneasy. Bob doesn’t seem afraid of Bruce so the nerves must be about overstepping boundaries with his boss. How would Red Hood react to one of his men poking around his personal business, even his right hand? Hopefully Bob doesn’t want to find out and this remains tense but peaceful.

The waitress, a middle-aged woman, begins to walk over with a crumpled notepad but Bob waves her away. She doesn’t hesitate and changes course to another booth. Good instincts, Bruce notes. He knows the image they must project. Two large, tense men squeezed into a booth likely and likely screaming trouble through their body language. As she takes the other group’s order Bruce can hear the Crime Alley accent and isn’t surprised she is a native.

“What changed?” Bruce prompts, not wanting them to lose momentum. Bob shifts in his seat as much as the booth allows and studying Bruce for a moment before continuing.

“I started to care if he got taken down or not. My wife could walk home from work without as much hassle and a lot less fear. Ms. Chekov at the corner store down the street? If Hood hadn’t been there those twitchy thugs would have killed her in front of her grandchild. A lot of people ‘round here have stories like that.”

Bob doesn’t react to Bruce's flinch at the shop keeper's name, his attention divided among the diner. When Bruce had first taken Jason in, his son had insisted on returning to the alley as a civilian. Ms. Chekov was one of the reasons his son had survived long enough to attempt grand larceny, and Bruce had watched from outside the store’s smudged glass as she had given him a tearful hug at the news he had a home now. Guilt gnaws at Bruce as he realizes she would have learned from the newspaper of Jason’s death and Bruce’s failure. Then he feels nauseous as he wonders if she ever visited his son’s grave, had mourned the small boy she used to give food to.

“So, when Red Hood raided the shipment we were guarding, I just… stood back. When he was done, he grabbed a crate and told me to get my ass moving. I’ve been with him since. You get to know a guy, with enough time, no matter how guarded they are. Want to know one of the first things I learned, Malone?”

Bruce grunts, not trusting his voice.

“Hood values loyalty. Those who offer it in return, he takes care of fiercely. So, when his dear old dad shows up out of the blue and rattles him, it worries some of us, yeah?” Bob doesn’t waver as Bruce’s abandoned eggs grow colder. “What your kid is planning is big, and reckless, and I have no doubt the escalation has to do with your arrival. He can be… emotional, sometimes. There isn’t anything I can do about it now, but I need to know you at least have his back.”

“I won’t let him get hurt.” Bruce promises it easily, almost desperately, but it feels hollow at the moment. He means it, but he hadn’t even been able to protect his own child.

Bob studies Bruce warily before sighing as he straightens to leave as suddenly as he had come, and Bruce can see Bob’s face has become harder.

“Your son needs more than that from you, Matches. If you're going to be in his life, don’t do it in half-measures.”

Bruce watches him leave and only after Bob turns the corner of the diner does the waitress drop off the check without refilling his coffee.

>>><<<

The streets closest to the warehouse that serve as Hood’s unofficial headquarters were more lively then the blocks around it as the evening approached. There were more children in the street and scattered adults sitting on a few of the stoops leading to the apartment buildings. They look tired, too thin, but relaxed in their posture as they leaned against the railings. Right now there was a group of eight or so kids, ranging from what appeared to be ten to early teens playing with a somewhat deflated soccer ball, a few of the hexagon panels peeling away to show the mesh lining beneath.

Bruce feels eyes on him as he passes the group of children and when he subtly looks up he sees a woman sitting on the roof, legs dangling over the side. She was wearing a red shirt and faded jeans whose torn knees were likely not a fashion choice. To her side stood a short, stockier man with light hair that caught the fading rays of the sun. He too was sporting a deep red to indicate his allegiance, a bandanna wound around his bicep.

These are still the most dangerous streets in Gotham, but here in the area where Red Hood’s men gather seems to be a small safe zone. Some of the businesses in this nook of Crime Alley that would normally keep their doors shut even on a day with a nice breeze, better to dissuade any riffraff or Rogues, had them propped open to enjoy the cooling weather. It is a surreal sight for Bruce. After the gala Batman had come through in search of Red Hood prior to resulting to subtly and the Matches Malone persona. It had been late and the streets had been mostly deserted of civilians, but despite Red Hood’s protection, these people are Gothamites. Those who can will still go inside when darkness falls over the city.

As Bruce turns the corner towards the warehouse, he wonders how many of those children don’t have a matching adult watching from the steps. Jason hadn’t spoken much about his time on the streets before meeting Bruce, stemming from a shame the boy should have never felt. He had thought of himself as a criminal, little better than his biological dad. Bruce had only seen a survivor. It had taken a heartbreaking amount of time to dissuade Jason that he wasn’t anything like Willis Todd.

An area like this would be a beacon for homeless kids, the shelter not far from here at least assuring one meal a day and warm blankets for the long nights. While others would report unaccompanied minors, Bruce wryly thinks that the one two blocks over likely don't even ask for names.

If only Red Hood’s methods weren’t so deadly, it wouldn’t be hard to see all this and find a way for him to work with Batman. Except Hood had announced himself by carving a bloody and bullet ridden path through Crime Alley’s under belly. In the first two weeks alone there had been half a dozen bodies, some of the worst offenders in the area taken down early. As Bob had said, Hood funded the operation with drug money and weapon deals from the ‘confiscated’ caches of the groups Red Hood had already taken out of the running. Those smaller groups were targeted first, Bruce had learned, and had crumbled quickly after the leaders were gunned down. Their territory had then been absorbed and the men from the prior gang who had joined Red Hood allowed the budding crime lord to take on the next, then the next after that. In two months the place had been his, and around the time of the gala is when Red Hood had begun poking at Black Mask.

Whatever Red Hood is planning tonight surely revolves around Black Mask, and Bruce worries he is running out of time to prevent an all-out war between the two crime lords. Even if Red Hood succeeds, all it will do is paint a target on his back with those like Penguin and Two Face. It wouldn’t be surprising if they joined up to take down the outsider and make an example of Hood. If one of them was going to fall, their egos wouldn’t let it be by some overzealous newcomer.

Bruce pulls his jacket tighter against the growing chill as he runs through how things will likely escalate if Red Hood succeeds over Black Mask, then runs the results through to the various conclusions. If the moniker the young man had adopted hadn’t already turned Joker’s head, the mass power grab certainly would. Right now the madman was in Arkham and had been for over a year. Gritting his teeth, Bruce recalls the last time he had managed to escape. Two weeks out and seven dead. Before that, a month and a half on the loose and twenty-seven, including henchmen, dead. That one had been following his longest stay behind walls after he had brought Bruce’s world burning down around him.

There is enough time between now and the meeting to bring Nightwing up to speed and Bruce is beginning to think that may be the better plan. It isn’t an encounter Bruce is looking forward to. There are a lot of things Bruce isn’t proud of as a father, as Bruce Wayne, as Batman. Learning there had been this ticking bomb out there this whole time born from one of Batman’s mistakes weighs heavily.

To avoid grappling through Crime Alley and risking it getting back to Red Hood before Batman can get a good look around, Bruce had hidden a suit under a water tank on a roof near Hood’s headquarters at the edge of his territory, not too far from the apartment they had rented for Matches. By the time Bruce reaches the spot the rose-colored twilight has given way to night. In its place are the shadows Bruce knows too well.

Once Bruce had suited up and adjusted his belt he patched into Nightwing’s channel, flexing his wrists before pulling out the grappling gun.

“Nightwing, meet me at the bell tower on Bowery.”

“Give me thirty.” Nighting’s voice is tight, and he can hear the solid hit of an escrima stick impacting flesh and a sharp electric crackle. He doesn’t sound winded though, or injured, just focused. So just something that needs all his attention but likely not a problem.

Bruce is left in silence as Nightwing goes back to the fight, switching away from the channel to avoid distracting his son. He’d chosen a roof a few over from his cache to actually change on, the streetlights around it broken and leaving the building in deeper shadow under the foggy, dense sky.

Stepping to the ledge Batman launches into the air, swinging on an indirect course to the Bowery.

>>><<<

Jason pulls at his hair as he paces a roof near the border between Crime Alley and Bowery. The wild tuff of white sticks up slightly from the constant worrying since his last talk with Bruce. He had almost gone to his gargoyle, a habit after fights with Bruce in the past, before he remembered how far gone that past is. Was. Fuck. Now is not the time for Bruce to come in and actually emote for once, and Jason feels adrift at the feeling and near surety it wasn’t an act. Jason had never seen him like that before. Not as Robin or his ‘son’.

“What is he doing?”

The only answer he receives is the distant sounds of cars below and the faint horn of a barge passing through the river. Jason's return to Gotham hasn't gone anything like Jason had planned and its left him unbalanced. Before ‘Matches’ had shown up, before that ill-fated masquerade gala, Jason had mapped out plenty of contingencies to avoid all his work coming undone. He knew the dance, and ways to improvise if needed, but Bruce had still managed to take a flame to all of it at once.

Ever since Bruce had crashed that first meeting Jason had been waiting for the inevitability of Batman crashing in and toss him in Arkham’s first available padded cell. Jason had actually broken Bruce’s rule this time, several times over already. He knew it was madness, this desperation of steering everything and everyone around him towards an answer. Joker, his debilitating rule? Or his son? An aching, mangled part of Jason needs to know, for sure, that the fifteen old boy really had lost his father half a world away. That like then, Bruce still wouldn’t choose Jason.

Jason feels a headache coming on, a sharp throbbing ache behind his eyes. There is still time to kill before the meeting and the attack after. He can’t concentrate on his book, nor does he feel like mingling with his men either. A quick patrol before could do him some good on multiple fronts, use up some of this nervous energy and clear his head. That and if all looks business as usual in the Alley than any reports on Red Hood’s movements that Black Mask receives will hopefully help things go smoother later tonight. An advertisement that Red Hood is sticking close to home.

The evening is still early enough that there isn’t much more going on as the last stragglers make their way home from their day jobs and the other half of society ventures out. A kind of changing of the shifts creating a small pocket of peace before criminals wipe the crust from their eyes and pick an area and begin looking for victims. Mob run places turn the ‘Open’ sign over and count the till down from the day’s legitimate business.

It doesn’t help Jason's nerves that of all the possible interactions Jason had been expecting, Bruce giving a pained apology of sorts and weak explanation was not one of them. Does any of Bruce’s tears even matter with the Joker still alive? How simple and short the 'grief' had been with how quickly Bruce threw another warm body into Robin color. Jason is lying when he tells himself that he hadn’t been kept awake at the memory of Bruce’s strained words. Like he actually fucking cared, like Jason was anything other than a replacement himself for a role that had always set him up for failure. Jason had never been good enough, never as good as Dick Grayson, and Bruce as well as plenty of others had made that clear if Jason had ever begun to doubt it.

Some of what Bruce said hadn’t been wrong though, and that's what leaves Jason's thoughts twisting on themselves. If Bruce did go on a killing spree, killing the likes of Joker and Zsasz... no one would care. Plenty of the cops both crooked and straight wouldn’t try very hard to bring him in, even if they stood a chance. Batman would lose the support of Commissioner Gordon however, along with the delicate way they toed the line in working together to prevent death and chaos. The citizens certainly wouldn’t care, not really. Sure, some politicians might make noise about vigilantes and stand on one moral soapbox or another, but who could actually bring down the Bat?

What if Batman killed Harley Quinn or Two Face? Those two garnered more public sympathies than some of the others. The thought makes Jason scoff as he jumps over to the next building more for something to do than anything else as he watches a pair of guys walking along the street below. If anyone would have a prepared list and be overly cautious on pulling the trigger, l it would be Batman.

Except Bruce can chide Jason all he wants over the present and past brutality when dealing with a criminal, but Batman isn’t exactly innocent. He's seen when the hospitals fill as the injuries to muggers and other petty criminals increased around a certain anniversary. Jason had also seen the rage that could be unleashed when Batman was under the influence of Scarecrow’s fear toxin, Bruce’s fears swirling and tearing at Batman’s normal restraint. Whenever Bruce bled over into Batman too much, it never ended well for others.

If Batman did cross that line he’d be near unstoppable. Jason is loath to admit Alfred was right when he said Bruce and him have a lot in common. Both are certainly driven by a simmering rage just below the surface. Too much injustice at too young an age maybe, with no healthy way to cope. Jason’s anger had become further honed, sharpened by his time under Willis Todd’s thumb, his mom’s death, and the streets of Crime Alley. Then later in the League after the Pit he was only worked over fruther. For Jason the rage became reserved for the mirrors in his life, for the reflections of the worse he had experienced. A weapon to be aimed and unleashed when needed. Which, because life has been oh so kind to Jason, tended to mean dealing with some of nastiest humanity had to offer.

Bruce Wayne’s rage had become a blunt weapon, forged quick and brittle by a masked and anonymous criminal, suppressed and pushed down till it exploded in his face and those around him like faulty C-4 triggers.

Launching his grappling hook, Jason leaps from the roof and feels gravity catch him, slinging another hook and dislodging the first with a practiced flourish. The tug at his shoulder as the second one caught, the wind not helping the state of Jason’s hair, serves to pull him from the well of thoughts he had fallen into. The city lights have a twinkle to them as they cut through the choked Gotham air. He repeats this for a few blocks before swinging to a higher viewpoint, boots skidding momentarily on the pebbled rooftop. He un-clips the bulky helmet from his belt and tucks it under an arm as he walks to the edge of the taller roof. The little pulse of adrenaline had at least helped sooth the uneasy itch under his skin.

None of the confusion regarding Batman and him matters right now. Jason may have had his original homecoming plan derailed, but that doesn’t change the immediate issues at hand – such as a pissed off Black Mask. That was a can of worms Jason can’t just put the lid on again and tuck back onto a shelf.

What Jason can do, however, is eliminate the sadistic bastard altogether. After tonight there would be one less problem on his plate. Sionis has been dipping his toes into Crime Alley and testing Jason’s responses recently – it wouldn’t be long before an all-out attack of some kind. Before Bruce barged into his life again Jason had planned to use Mask’s ire and his new position and men to poke and provoke Mask to get what he wanted. To get Joker where he needed him.

The other night had painfully reminded Jason of just who those people are that would be little more than cannon fodder in his own drama. They didn’t care about Jason’s over-all goal or his vendetta against Bruce, just the side effects on Crime Alley as Red Hood’s reach and the power behind that name grew. He paid well and on time, didn't randomly beat or kill them, and let them be unless they were being reckless. Jason isn’t an idiot. People didn’t aspire to be Red Hood’s ‘goon’, they settled for it. Best worst option.

That is why tonight needs to happen. The longer Black Mask is left alive, the more risk there is for those who have thrown their lot in with Red Hood. Making the first move will serve Jason here, and surface level intel puts Black Mask at his penthouse. Jason had managed to plant a few moles in the last few weeks, so he learned two days ago that Mask will actually be at his office working on some oversea deal. Since ‘Matches’ will be at the meeting tonight, Jason can even set up Batman as a further distraction.

The group's plan won’t deviate, but Jason’s will. They will think he plans to hit the penthouse with them, heading straight for Black Mask. ‘Matches’ will be assigned to the main group to keep him out of the way of what needs to be done, Batman won't leave them if there is a risk they'll be overrun. If Bruce does decides to abandon that role or wises up than Batman will drop in on the office and Jason can work it in as another distraction while Jason takes out Black Mask. Threat over, cost of one dead sadist.

The distant sound of a grappling line hissing, catching, then repeating drifts through the smog and Jason stiffens, sliding on his helmet and resigning himself to waiting. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

It raises the exhausting question. Where can Jason even go to ground now if he did run? ‘Matches’ had gotten a good look at Jason’s operation and Batman now knows who Red Hood is. There isn't a rock anywhere worth going in Gotham that Batman wouldn't find him. Might as well face this head on and see what the old man had to say, assuming this didn’t go straight into a fight.

The hiss gets closer and Jason imagines he can hear the flutter of the cape. Despite having encountered Bruce several times now in that ridiculous persona and make-up, this is the first time he’ll be seeing Batman up close since Ethiopia. When it goes quiet again and the night seems to settle Jason knows that Batman is on the roof. Red Hood turns coolly to face him.

“What’s up old man, got tired of slumming it?” Hood drawls, the voice mechanized through the filter. Batman steps from the shadows but thankfully keeps to his side for now. Jason isn’t sure his legs will respond in any useful fashion as he faces his old mentor. The suit has been upgraded since he last saw it up close and he's pretty sure it is an even darker shade of grey now. It looks lighter but Jason doubts it lacks any of the prior stopping power. Likely some still hush-hush Wayne tech Jason needs to get his hands on. The grappling gun is sleeker as well but kept with the thicker grip.

“I know you're planning something big, that it has to do with Black Mask.”

“Well, no shit. Shucks, with those skills I guess you get to keep the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ mug.” Jason snorts, distractedly wondering if he still had it. Dick had helped Jason pick it out when he’d been panicking over what to get Bruce for his birthday. It had been plain white aside from the writing and had came with paint so it could be customized. They’d coated it in Robin colors, with a crudely drawn Batman that was mostly a black blob. It had been the most used in Bruce’s rotation, before.

“You’re not the only one keeping an eye on Sionis. He has been increasing his own firepower and numbers since you began targeting him. This feud between the pair of you is going to end with bodies.” Batman presses on, almost pleading. “Some of your people are young, untested – ”

“Are you fucking serious? I’m not you, I’m not going to throw kids out there in the streets to fight.” Jason snarls even as he cringes internally because yes – it had been a very near possibility with Victor the other night. Steading himself Jason serves the 'villain's master plan monologue' with a few creative choices. “My people will serve as a distraction, hitting a smaller operation en force. Black Mask will think it is the next attack on him. It’ll draw away some of Black Mask’s support, but by the time they get there my people will have scattered. In the meantime, I’ll find and handle Mask in his exposed penthouse. After that, Black Mask's men will scatter like roaches.”

“Handle?”

“What do you think, B? I’m going to put one between his eyes, and two in his chest. I’m going to make sure his sadistic ass doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

At least this encounter won’t be for nothing, assuming Jason can get out of it clean of injuries. He’s already planted the seed that might keep Batman occupied long enough Jason can get the job done.

“Please don’t force my hand, Hood. I can’t just stand around while you go around Gotham killing anyone you deem worthy of it. Don’t let your luck run out. Eventually you will make a mistake and you’ll kill an innocent.” Batman’s tone is bordering on the one he’d heard him use for injured victims and children. It agitates Jason's already buzzing nerves and he almost misses the commanding growl Batman would use on his unruly Robin. That he knew. 

“Oh, right. ‘Cause someone like Mask is so innocent. Or Joker. At least I’ll make it quick, not like I’m gonna beat him near to death and then drop a warehouse on him.” Jason lashes out, focusing on the part of Batman’s point he can actually process at the moment. Seeing Victor the other day, terrified and carrying a fucking grenade, he’s not stupid. Eventually Jason’s more violent ways will invite the like and some of his people won’t walk away. A few already haven't. That it could have been then, with the blood of Bob’s nephew feeding the hungry streets of Gotham, is why Jason has barely been able to meet Bob’s gaze since.

Jason almost misses it when Batman twitches in front of him, too lost in his own guilt. It is barely a flicker, too quick to read into, but Jason spent too may years needing to see the small switches in people. Jason responds with shifting his weight to one foot, ready to run if Batman is about to make his move. He can’t afford this fight right now. It’ll already be tight taking down Black Mask and Jason doesn’t need a tweaked ankle or bruised ribs slowing him down.

Gotham's sickly, steady beat hangs between them. The sounds of people calling for taxi's drifts up from the street, horns and tires on the wet road accompanying distant sirens. Nowhere near where any of his people should be. Maybe there will be some kind of choice after all. Just as Jason is sure this is about to turn into an arrest, that he is just being sized up for the most effective way to bring Red Hood in, Batman breaks Gotham's chaotic ambiance. 

“I don’t know everything that has happened to you, Hood, but I do know about pain and loss. How it can root inside you and twist everything around. I let it drive so many wedges between me and those I love over the years. In my fear of losing them as well, I smother or don’t see what they need until it is too late. In the end, I lose them anyways.” Batman’s raw admission pairs with a tentative step forward that Jason matches too hastily in the opposite direction, the gravel crunching beneath their boots in tandem. Thankfully Batman doesn’t take another. “You’re holding on too tight to what happened, to the pain that gives you a direction. I know something about that too. It’s having you make choices I don’t think always sit right after.”

Jason snarls beneath the helmet, grateful it is filtered out as he resists the urge to pace. What he's doing, this 'direction', is helping some of the most neglected. People are getting help, being pointed at the possibility of a better future. The hard choices, Jason can deliver the results of those himself. Bruce had been there though, had seen Victor nearly die, gunned down. A short life not even valued enough for a footnote in the newspaper. What is the point of all this? Cornering Jason and trying to get inside his head? It isn’t pain and loss that drives his actions, it’s the fact that the Joker is alive that eats at him. Knowing he hadn’t been the last life the maniac took. It is the fact that the worms hadn’t even finished the main course before Bruce stuffed another kid into the Robin suit, that Jason had barely been a hiccup to Batman. after he gotten a miraculous second chance at a family. Jason had shoved aside the pain and loss of coming out of that Pit and knowing Bruce had never cared in the first place, that Batman had just needed a Robin after Dick left.

“I also don’t think anyone is beyond help or redemption. Work with me and between the two of us we can build on the good you’ve done without taking anymore lives. There are other ways to stop people like Black Mask, ways that help other victims get justice as well. Whatever Mask did to hurt you – ”

“You think this is about that nutcase? You finally get too many hits to the head?” Jason interrupts, seething, using that anger to tear himself out of the whirling pool of hope that had threatened to unmoor him. Was Bruce so blinded by the mission at hand that he can really just compartmentalize everything that had happened to him, all that Jason – that they had lost – to the side? To tuck away in the corner of his mind the brutal murder of someone he had once claimed was his son? “You may be able to fucking forget and move on after what Joker did to me, but I sure the fuck won’t leave monsters out there roaming around to hurt those I care... those around me. Fuck off back to your castle and guard those you deem worthy and leave us to our own in Crime Alley.”

It’s what Batman should have done that first night they met. Bruce should have gotten that meal to go, put it in Jason’s small hands and just turned and walked away. He should have left the streets of Crime Alley to sort out its own kind. The outcome of never making it to adulthood would have likely been the same but Jason would never have had to suffer the loss of knowing there was more out there and it would never be his. That there were soft beds and endless meals, that there could be love seemingly without any cost and the soft warm glow of security and affection.

So Jason would have succumbed to the streets one way or the other. There hadn’t been any room for the weak back then, for kids like Jason, for people like his mom. Even for those like Willis, who had been trapped in a cycle with no way to really claw out of it. Now at least as Red Hood he can offer a sliver of what he’s lost, with mostly decent beds and at least one warm meal a day. A semblance of security that people like Penguin or Joker wouldn’t take over their streets again. 

Predictably, Batman makes no move to leave so Jason takes what is likely his last opportunity to speak without bars, bullets, or batarangs between them. The knowledge threatens to buckle Jason's already dicey control on focusing on what's at hand. 

“When will you learn some people are just monsters. I’m not talking about Dent, or that even that bona-fide mental case Crane, or Ivy with her ecoterrorism. I’m talking about things like those two freaks who take a sick joy in hurting people.” Jason throws an arm out, gesturing at the city around them. The lights reflect off the low cloud cover and give the rooftops a washed-out glow. “How many families have to be destroyed for you to fucking understand that? Maybe some of them can be helped, but the likes of those two are well beyond that. Joker alone should have been dead years ago! That freak should have died with me.”

Batman had gone unnaturally still as he spoke, even for him. Jason eyes him warily as he feels the familiar flood of adrenaline, forcing his muscles to remain still as his hind brain demands he run before he loses the chance. Jason nearly bolts like a startled squirrel when Batman makes a choppy movement, as if to move towards Jason again before pulling back in on himself. Jason has accomplished too much to be taken down now, and he still isn’t sure how to salvage what he had come back to Gotham to do.

“Joker hurt you.”

“On second thought, I’m going to break that ugly mug over your head.” Jason bristles, his hands flexing near his holsters and missing their comforting weight in his grip. There is another long silence that Jason lets simmer as he fumes – Batman came to him after all – where he contemplates the best spot to shoot him in the leg that would give Jason a decent head start but not actually pierce the armor. Or maybe he should, take him down a peg or two.


“Why target Black Mask then? What are you planning?” Batman ignores Jason’s comment and the familiarity of the action has him grinding his teeth. His voice has gone full blown Bat, clinical and distant. Almost distracted. Bruce must be working overtime up there in that thick skull of his.

“Until you barreled in and made a mess of things, Sionis was the plan. Now I’m improvising.” Jason growls at the reminder of how much simpler things had seemed not even two weeks ago. It also reminds him of the rather strict schedule this evening is going to need to follow. They both turn their heads slightly to the sound of a distant siren, and when they turn back Batman seems to have rebooted, falls to routine of a report.

“You don’t just run drugs, you make sure the supply is clean. You keep it away from those most vulnerable but recognize you can’t just take the source.” As he speaks the low growl of Batman is abandoned and it’s Bruce speaking. Bruce always gave Matches more of a nasally Jersey accent. The sudden switch leaves Jason reeling as he realizes he hadn’t heard his father’s voice, not really, since coming back. It breaks something inside him. Even at the gala Jason had faced a ‘drugged’ Brucie Wayne. Suddenly he longs for Bruce to lower the cowl, just once. Just for a moment. Jason just really wants to see his dad. “The streets kids all seems to have cleaner clothes. Your known victims, if exposed, would have spent the rest of their lives in cells. You aren’t just taking over Crime Alley. You're protecting it.”

This time the silence is entirely on Jason. Even when Bruce takes a half step forward Jason doesn’t react, can’t react. At least Jason doesn’t seem to be the only one thrown off their game by this encounter, but he knows he can’t count on Bruce being this off the next time or Jason will find himself in a padded cell for his nostalgic absentmindedness.

“Improvising and Black Mask will end bloody.” Bruce presses, and Jason studies him from under the hood. This isn't an arrest, and Bruce almost sounds... worried. “If you insist on taking down Black Mask, I won’t… I can’t let you do it alone, and it has to be non-lethal. Regardless of the reason, killing Black Mask... or Joker, that isn’t justice.”

“No? Then put it under preventative measures.” Jason grinds out, thankful again for the way the modulator evens out the shakiness in his tone.

“It’s violent revenge. An act that brings you down to their level, something that can't be undone.”

Jason laughs, the sound harsh through the helmet. Bitter. Is that what he thought when he took Robin away? When he replaced Jason with the newer, shinier model? That Jason was no better than some sick murderer? Jason tugs at the familiar anger flare of anger and uses it to steady his resolve. "What do you really want, B? You here to take me in, wanna toss me in Blackgate? Maybe just scare off my people, or sick GCPD on 'em? Or were you thinking of throwing me in with the clown in Arkham, see if the clown and I can hug out our conflict?”

“No.” Batman almost shouts the word, jerking like Jason struck him before composing himself in true Bruce Wayne fashion and straightening. It reflected the very real panic Jason himself felt at the idea even as the words had snapped out of him. "The violence these last few months since you began all this... that is never who you’ve been.”

Batman pauses and Jason can feel his skin itching again as he studies Jason intensely from behind the cowl like he might have missed something the first time. Batman’s eyes linger at his sides before falling back onto the red chrome helmet and somehow meeting Jason’s eyes despite it. The next sentence is almost breathless. “I know you, and this brutality can’t be something you sleep easy with. I also know you have always been willing to do anything for those you care for, that you can’t stand to see someone in need and know there is something you can do to help. You let that turn into killing as a way to reach that goal, but how long till you’re whispered about in the same way as Two Face or the Falcones? How long till you become the monster to even these streets?”

Batman takes a visible breath as if steadying himself and that feeling of something being wrong, something off, screams in the back of Jason’s mind again. “You can’t want that. Look at what you’ve focused on, what you’ve accomplished, and it’s clear you aren’t in this for the power and ego. That was never you. If you keep along this path however, leaving bodies in your wake, the day will come when you will cross that line. What happens then? To Crime Alley? To those who you’ve taken it upon yourself to protect? What happens if you fail tonight and Black Mask targets those who helped you as a warning to others?”

Jason finds himself frozen to the spot at words that reflect some of his own worries. The treacherous swirl of hopes tugs at his balance again, threatening, and he resists the urge to physically shake his head at the words as if to deflect the truth in them. Where was this tentative understanding years ago when his hands were actually clean?

The truth of some of Batman’s out pour eats at Jason but he has no plans to fail tonight, and losing focus is how that will happen. Black Mask won’t see dawn but Jason is running out of time before the meeting – which will now take place on the move if he manages to shake Batman.

He’d already gotten the layout of Black Mask’s office and knows he can gain entrance two floors above Sionis and work his way down through security. Though there was a heavy concentration of armed men on the roof, the floors between were sparse. The bulk of those remaining had been placed between the ground floor and Sionis’s personal office. As long as he works quick there won’t be a problem. Jason doesn’t intend to monologue.

“Black Mask is dangerous, Hood. Together we – ”

“Right.” Jason interrupts harshly. “Your partnership didn’t work out too well the last time, so that’s a hard pass. If you really want to help, you can stay out of my way. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s my turn to bring the donuts.” With a flick of his wrist Jason throws out two smoke bombs while launching a grappling hook at a corner building.

This time the wind and tug of gravity does nothing to free Jason of his thoughts.

Chapter Text

The screen glares brightly, judging, in the dim cave as the computer exits sleep mode. Bruce hadn’t bothered to turn on the main lights once he pulled in and had gone straight to where he might finally get answers. Where he can confirm or disprove the impossible. This couldn’t be him, that isn’t how things go in Bruce’s life. He doesn’t get second chances. It is more probable that this is a delusion and a sign that Bruce is finally truly losing it.

Bruce is all too aware of where Jason should be right now. Every time he changes the month on the calendar, the medically trained part of his brain shares with Bruce what stage of decay his son is at. He’d been buried in a wooden coffin and though there had been an autopsy required due to the nature of his death – a supposed terrorist attack – Bruce hadn’t had him embalmed. With the rain Gotham gets, his little boy would be nearly nothing but bones by now.

Standing on that roof Bruce had felt like he was being split in two with both the boy he misses more than anything and a crime lord standing before him occupying the same space. Both with the same raw desperate emotion radiating off of them, that same nervous blend of inflated cockiness and ingrained self-protective instincts that Bruce doesn’t think even years of therapy could ever truly ease.

Ever since that first meeting Bruce had felt it, felt Jason like a ghost trying to inhabit his space whenever he was around Red Hood. He hadn’t even considered the idea that they could be one and the same because it just wasn’t logical. People have come back before, although under much different conditions, and if there was enough  time maybe it would be helpful to go speak with Clark and Oliver.

Bruce had tried to follow after him but Ja – Hood had used a smoke bomb at the corner of the block to conceal if he’d gone left or right. Bruce hadn’t been willing to waste time chasing shadows with everything that was now hanging in the air. Bruce had needed to know for sure.

The missing and now glaringly obvious puzzle pieces that had plagued this case begins to slowly fit as Bruce pulled up what he needed on the computer and then moved to the med bay that also functions as a make-shift lab. The connections to Crime Alley and the drug scene. The choice of books and obvious passion for reading. The damn chili dog and all the conversations that felt deeper than what they had seemed when Bruce was just Matches Malone. It still didn’t explain Black Mask though, the immediate danger at the moment.

If under that mask Red Hood is his boy... why wouldn’t Jason have come home? The question had no sooner crossed his mind before Bruce could taste bile in the back of his throat. Because why would he? Bruce had failed him as a father, as his protector, as Robin’s Batman. His son had run halfway across the world looking for what should have been right in front of him.

With steady hands and despite Bruce’s racing heart he takes one of the samples collected at the site of the gunfight from the refrigerating unit. The medical bay and the area housing the computer in the center are the brightest areas of the cave when lit, and carefully tended by Alfred. It had expanded as time moved on and more equipment had been added to help with better antidotes and anti-toxins, which included top of the line equipment like the instrument that Bruce takes the sample to. He runs the DNA again himself, this time against Bruce’s personal database.

Almost as part of some initiation, any DNA profiles or fingerprints that a Robin may have on file is scrubbed from all known databases, with samples and readings for them kept only on the cave’s computer. Even Leslie destroys everything personally when a visit to her clinic was needed. It has been invaluable at keeping their identities safe from their enemies and the authorities.

The results chime from the computer before Bruce is even halfway back from the medical bay and his foot catches on the uneven stone floor. Bruce clenches and unclenches his fists to try and get rid of some of the numbness there as he walks more deliberately. There is a positive match.

Bruce sits heavily in the chair and stares at the photos lining the desk in front of the keyboard. There is one of him and his parents at his seventh birthday party, his dad caught mid-laugh. Another of Alfred and him, then of Bruce, Dick, and Alfred. The photo of Jason shows him and Bruce at the park getting ice cream. Alfred had taken it about four months after Jason had come into their lives. There were more upstairs but none of the four of them. Bruce had run Dick off and as a consequence he and Jason never truly got to know each other. Bruce knows Dick will never forgive either Bruce or himself for that.

Finally Bruce finds the will to look up at the results when the guilt of staring at the photo of Jason laughing becomes too much. Jason’s laugh hadn’t been heard in the Manor for weeks leading up to Ethiopia, some of that sparkle already dimmed. Bruce had thought it was because he hadn’t had a chance to really grieve his parents, to actually slow down for once and just live instead of surviving. He’d thought Robin had been a mistake so early on, taking it away to enforce a break. All Jason had actually needed was Bruce to be his dad instead of Batman.

The results feel so small on the screen, settled in among other open programs, but Bruce zeros in on them and feels the world slip away.

Jason. His boy is alive. And now Bruce might lose him again to a madman.

By the time Bruce had returned from the apartment after slapping on the makeup and effects the warehouse was nearly vacant. The only ones left were the very young or already injured. Bruce had ignored them all and went straight to the table to find out what Red Hood was planning. It was an all out attack on Sionis, all to take place at Black Mask’s penthouse. Red Hood had decided to make another example by targeting one of the most dangerous men in Gotham this time.

Soft steps and the quiet tinkle of glass alert Bruce to Alfred’s presence and he closes his eyes for a moment, blocking out this fever dream. He hadn’t even thought about how to tell Alfred, but now any chance to do it gently is gone.

“I wasn’t expecting you home this evening so I don’t have anything prepared. Master Dick ate before coming here. I can prepare a few sandwiches for you however.” Alfred sets up beside him and puts down the tray before stepping back to study the screens. “Does your return mean the Red Hood business is concluded?

Alfred's voice trails off at the end and his posture becomes stiff beside Bruce. After a heavy pause the next words almost make Bruce flinch.

“What is this, Master Bruce?”

“Please go tell Dick I need to talk to him, to both of you.” Bruce’s voice feels flat, hollow. He needs to tell them both what he's learned and he doesn’t know if he can get through this twice. That and if Bruce fails to tell Dick about Jason as soon as possible it would only create a greater rift between them.

“Right away Master Bruce.” Alfred doesn’t hesitate but his tone is sharp and his psuedo-father retreats with a rushed step very unlike himself. The waver in Alfred's voice had been audible, breaking through the normally impenetrable mask of civility and poise of his role. Bruce drops his head to his hands to avoid staring at the screen that holds only more questions.

It is only a few minutes later when Bruce hears the bats that had settles near the house entrance flutter off. it is clear Dick is in the lead as Bruce hears steps skip down the stairs. He’s never lost that abundant energy from his youth.

“What did you do that has Alfred all… not Alfred-like?”

Luckily Alfred is not fair behind him as Bruce turns the chair away from his computer to face Dick, seeing Alfred walking up behind his son.

“As you know I’ve been undercover as – ”

“The most embarrassing excuse for a disguise.”

“ – Matches Malone with Red Hood’s men.”

Dick drags a stool over, dramatically plopping down and making a show of settling in. Bruce can’t even find the amusement in it right now or appreciate Dick’s talent of trying to make a room more lighthearted while also conveying his annoyance. Especially not when Bruce knows it is a tell that Dick is uneasy, worried, in atmospheres as strained as this. 

“In that time I have been able to see how the operation is being run from the inside, to see what hasn't been making the news. Red Hood has also set up drug programs as well as a kind of neighborhood watch. Some of the men are even sent to aid the community center.”

“So Robin Hood then, cute.” Dick whistles at that and drops the feigned boredom. Alfred doesn’t waver behind Dick, his eyes never off of Bruce.

“Yes, he does a lot for the neighborhood.” Bruce goes on, selfishly needing to get this out so he isn’t alone with this revelation, this turmoil of two warring sides of him. Batman and father.  “During that time I also got close to Red Hood himself as Matches.”

Or so Bruce had thought. He's replayed every encounter countless times, aching at having had his son so close to him that whole time and not knowing. Any embrace or touch had been tied to violence. Restraining himself from rushing to Jason after realizing had shredded through nearly every last ounce of his will. Bruce needed to know for sure before anything more happened. To make sure this wasn't a trick, some kind of trap, or a dream. 

Jason though, he’d known the whole time Bruce was right there thinking he'd recognized him. What kind of father doesn't recognize his own boy? Where Bruce had the opportunity to take Jason in his arms, to finally take him home, instead there had only been Batman working a case. Just in a less intimidating get-up than usual but once again focusing on the wrong things and not on Jason. Even if Bruce has shattered any hope at having his son back, Alfred and Dick deserve their own chance.

“I’ll be blunt. Something happened this evening that led me to test the DNA that Dick gathered of Hood and run it against our personal database. Red Hood is Jason Todd.” Bruce has to pause as he creates another 'Before' and 'After' in their lives. “He’s our Jason.”

Dick is utterly still for once, legs hooked around the legs of the stool. He had already changed out of his Nightwing uniform when he returned home and is wearing sweats and a plain shirt. So his plans before bed had probably been to catch up on whatever show Tim had roped him into this time. Things have gotten better in the last few years between Bruce and Dick, painfully acknowledging the reality of how fragile they really are and both trying to do better with Tim.

Bruce studies his eldest son and Alfred with a certain level of trepidation as his last words faded into the tense silence. He thinks of all the mistakes that led him to this and everything it cost to both him and others. If this is Malone’s version of haunting him Bruce isn’t sure what kind of message the man is trying to send. Is it revenge, taking the opportunity to dangle one of Bruce’s biggest failures in his face? Or is it Matches just trying once again to be peacemaker? Bruce also has the missing time between Jason's funeral and Red Hood weighing heavily. 

“How... You’re sure it’s… him?” Dick’s words sound like they worked their way around glass to get out and Alfred remains frustratingly quiet. “That he’s actually Jason?

“The pieces I do have fit and the DNA and prints confirm it.” Bruce reports. “His connections to Crime Alley and Red Hood’s first act on the scene being the first steps to taking it over. Then Hood works to improve the conditions there despite expanding an empire instead spending his money on the usual side-hustle these types have. I did find something that will at least put us in the right direction for answers. There are anomalies in Jason's blood. The Lazarus Pit.”

“How?” Dick’s pitch is high now, the stillness shattered as his leg bounces furiously. “The Lazarus Pit doesn’t bring... it couldn't be what brought Jason back. It doesn't raise the dead. It also means the League had something to do with this. Fuck, if Ra's is involved...” Dick hops off the stool and begins pacing, biting at his thumb. An old habit. “That does explain some things about Jason’s homecoming.”

“Some of it, yes, but Jason has always had more… extreme views. It was something we were working on.” In all the wrong ways, Bruce reminds himself. He’d only made things harder for Jason. “I also saw indications that he has enhanced healing and also may have increased reaction time.”

“Bruce, you have to give me something more to work with here.” It comes out snappish but Bruce hears the plea from Dick. “So my dead little brother is alive some how and he's now a crime lord. Where has he even been? With the Al Ghul’s?"

“There isn't enough information to answer all that yet. I just know what I've told you, and that the Lazarus pit is involved. Jason's actions also demonstrates symptoms of its use.” The anger that has been simmering since Bruce discovered this connection himself begins to bleed through. “I haven’t had time to check the cemetery. They took Jason from where he’d been put to rest. Some of his fighting style Jason indicates he has been with them. That he underwent training in the League of Assassins.”

Bruce spent time in Nanda Parbat and seen 'training' that was too often indistinguishable from torture. He had seen how failure was punished and how even successes only made the trainers drive them harder, demanding more. Tearing them down and reshaping them into obedient weapons. 

“We can’t blame ourselves for not knowing, Master Bruce.” Alfred finally speaks, hands clasped behind his back. Like the others the results on the screen keep drawing his attention like a moth to the flame - checking to make sure this is real, that this won’t slip away from them. “We can only choose our path forward now. Despite what that vile family and those brain-washed cultists did to my grandson, Jason needs us right now. Needs to know he was never forgotten or unloved.”

‘Fuck off back to your castle, guard those you deem worthy and leave us to our own in Crime Alley.’

Jason’s voice rings in his ear. Once again Jason felt driven away, unwanted and alone, and now he was about to face another maniac alone.

“I missed it. We don’t even know how long it has been since Jason was taken.” Bruce struggles to remain passive and unaffected, he can’t let emotion get in the way with so much at stake right now. The information on the Lazarus Pit means everyone could be in danger. Talia used to whisper horror stories of its use on the unexperienced as her version of pillow talk. As much as it tears at Bruce he has to report even the worst case scenario, he can't afford not to and put more of his family at risk. “At least some of that time was under the League’s influence. Between that and Jason’s exposure to the Lazarus Pit we can't be sure of the motives behind the murders he has committed.”

“Are you serious? I read the reports. They were shitty people, Bruce, some of the worst. We know plenty of heroes who wouldn't have batted an eye at having to do the same. So don’t stand there and be a fucking hypocrite and then go rub elbows with Wonder Woman or Green Lantern.”

Diana and Bruce have spoken about it before. She had told him that each enemy felled is a failure all its own regardless of the outcome of the battle. It is not often Wonder Woman uses her sword to take a life but the toll Bruce sees it take on her smooths some of his concern whenever it surfaces. If the taking of a life still weighs heavy on the soul, then he has no choice but to trust her judgment if they are to work together. The Justice League is too vital to not allow for compromise in beliefs and opinions.

Before the rooftop with Red Hood things had been simpler. Bruce had wanted to help Red Hood find some kind of peace, to temper some of that anger, to reform enough to stop killing before it went too far. If Hood hadn’t, Batman would have done what was needed and taken Red Hood to Arkham or Blackgate himself. Now though, what happens if Jason continues this path? Red Hood doesn’t just resort to killing when it seems there is no other choice, he chooses to, seeks them out.

“Wonder Woman doesn’t kill to send a message.” This is the wrong thing to say the moment it tumbles from Bruce's stream of thoughts and out of his mouth. He doesn't need the disappointed press of Alfred's lips or Dick's fierce judgement to tell him that. 

“Oh for… stop .” Dick pulls at his hair and stops pacing to glare at Bruce with a too familiar anger burning behind sharp blue eyes. “Just… you’re doing it again !”

Dick storms forward and in two quick movements yanks off the cowl resting on Bruce's back. Alfred comes closer as Bruce stares up at Dick meeting the fierce gaze.

“This? Fuck this. Fuck Batman. You’re supposed to be his dad, you actually adopted him for fucks sake. So act like one for once.” Dick tosses the cowl down at the ground between them. “This is Jason, Jason on Lazarus juice, maybe, but also my brother.”

“We’ve had years to dwell on everything we did wrong, Master Bruce, and right now Jason needs the same thing we failed to give him before.” Alfred picks up the photo of Jason in the park, face smeared with ice cream, holding it gingerly by the frame. What Bruce has again failed to give him when he let himself get lost in the mission. "We can't waste this second chance."

Bruce stares at the cowl at his feet, the void behind it's eyes gaping back at him. Whether for having failed in the first place, or for putting Batman aside now, Bruce doesn't know. He stands and stoops to pick up the cowl, tossing it on the desk behind him. “Jason is planning something, but so is Black Mask. We need to intercept Jason on whatever he has planned tonight.”

“Are you fucking serious, I swear to god Bruce – ”

“Jason’s plan could get him killed by Black Mask. Jason has tactics and skill but Black Mask has a lot of men he can throw at him. A lot of people could die.” Such as Victor and those like him who simply needed some kind of opportunity. In other circles Bob's nephew would be dead within the first five months. Then there are those who only knew so many ways to try and protect those around them.

“So what are you proposing, Master Bruce?” Alfred cuts off Dick's next barrage.

“We use this to our advantage. Sionis has no reason to think Batman and Nightwing would be working with Red Hood. Jason has enough information from the last few months of poking at him that he could have Sionis put away already if Gordan had been looped in. Once Jason is safe, we bring him home.”