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Jason sat in a chair, his eyes darting from person to person, examining everyone in the room. He'd visited the Justice League's base of operations once or twice in his youth, back when he was Robin. This was a far different experience for him, one he really wished he could have avoided at all costs. Having to come home was bad enough, but needing to face the Justice League, the 'heroes' he used to idolize, was just too damn ridiculous.
"This won't hurt you," Diana told him, gently wrapping her golden lasso around his wrists. "As long as you tell us the truth."
Jason felt a twinge of discomfort as the golden lasso snugly encircled his wrists. Memories of previous encounters with Wonder Woman flooded his mind, but this time, the stakes were different. She wasn't fighting with him or for him; she thought he was the enemy. Maybe he was. She used to be his favorite hero, but a lot had changed since the days where he idolized her.
"I know how it works, Diana," he responded honestly and wearily. "You've used it on me before."
She looked taken aback by his comment, his use of her real name. "What did you just call me?" she asked.
"Diana Prince," Jason repeated, looking her dead in the eyes. "That's your real name, and I don't really do code names these days, so what else would I call you?"
"How do you know that?" she asked, her eyes wide in surprise, immediately assuming someone must have told him.
"You told me," he grunted in pain as he tried to fight the lasso to no avail. His gaze wandered, catching glimpses of familiar faces – The Flash, Green Lantern, and Superman.
"I would never," Diana responded firmly.
Jason laughed lightly in amusement. "You did," he replied. "And I'd be happy to pretend like I have no clue who any of you are, but first, you have to take this damn lasso of truth off of me."
Diana exchanged a perplexed glance with her fellow Justice League members, unsure how the Red Hood possessed such knowledge of their identities or of her lasso. She truly debated it for a moment, releasing him, at least of the lasso. But Clark had shaken his head no, clearly against the idea, so she left it in place.
"Who are you working for?" she asked, determined to know what brought him back to Gotham after he fled, leaving the city burning. He had spent months away, being spotted in every region of the world, supposedly working for every big-name criminal or villain in the business.
"Currently?" he asked, clarifying the question to trick the lasso. "No one."
"Who are you working with?" Clark then asked, trying to get him to say something, anything that could be useful.
"Honestly? People I'd really rather not be around most of the time," Jason admitted, his voice tinged with amusement at his own answer. "But frankly, they're not all that bad. Not once you get to know them."
Over and over, they asked him about himself, and over and over, he evaded, dodging as many questions as he possibly could.
That had been a trick Bruce taught him, that small loopholes like the one he was using existed. By answering the root of the question as vaguely as he could, the lasso would usually count it or if he truly believed his lies were the truth, the lasso wouldn't be able to tell. Speaking of Bruce, Jason was beginning to wonder where he was. He'd been here for a while, an hour at the least. He should have shown up by now. Don't get him wrong, Jason definitely wasn't looking forward to the reunion, but it sure beat playing 'outsmart the Justice League' all day.
"Why did you come back to the city?" Barry asked him, sitting in a chair, his voice containing an equal level of exhaustion at how long and tedious this interrogation was proving to be.
That would be trickier for him to answer. Dick had called, practically begged him to come home for Damian's birthday party. It was apparently his only birthday wish—to have his big brother back.
"I came back..." he groaned in pain as he thought of a way around the question. "... because I was asked to."
"Asked by who?" Clark questioned, his arms crossed as he paced back and forth, more frustrated than exhausted from how long they'd been at this.
Jason sighed, tired of the questions. "Asked by my brother," he told them.
"And who is your brother?" Barry prompted him to answer with a dramatic gesture with his hands.
Jason bit his tongue, hard, trying to buy himself a bit of time to think of a way to not say Dick's name or Nightwing's either. "It's... it's..." He racked his brain thinking of a way not to admit anything. "It's none of your business," he finally managed to say. And truly, it wasn't. The lasso accepted his answer based purely on how badly he believed his answer to be the truth. That made the Justice League amusingly upset with him.
"God, how is he doing that?" Oliver asked in frustration.
"I don't know," Diana responded, still holding the rope around his wrists. "What's your game, Red Hood?"
Jason leaned back in the chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Game?" he repeated in disbelief. "You kidnapped me, remember?"
"You were caught in a physical and violent altercation with-"
"I was beating up a rapist!" he exclaimed in awe. "I do that sometimes when I'm frustrated or scared. It helps take the edge off, and it's better for me than smoking."
He knew it was a bad habit, the smoking, not the beating up rapists, that he'd continue to do, but he couldn't help but light one every once in a while when he was stressed. Well, he was stressed a lot, so maybe he lit them a lot.
"You were scared?" Barry questioned, his interest piqued. "About what?"
Jason sighed, exhausted by the strain of finding new ways to outsmart the lasso. He kept quiet, letting it burn his wrists for as long as he could before caving. "Scared of seeing... of talking to..." His attention was pulled, and he watched the doors open. "... Bruce."
The pain in his wrists subsided, and Jason felt the wind get knocked out of him within a single moment. He suddenly felt very small and very weak. And not just because he was tied up, but because it was his father, the one who raised him, taught him right from wrong, and then let him die, standing there.
They locked eyes for the first time in what felt like an eternity, both refusing to be the first to speak. The silence that ensued because of that was deafening, the kind of quiet that made Jason want to crawl inside his own head and wither inside of it, surrounded by his thoughts of doubt and self-hatred.
He approached Jason with a measured pace. He was in his suit, but his cowl had been pulled back, and Jason couldn't help but wonder if it was because he thought it would be easier for him to see him as Bruce than as Batman. Both made him sick to lay eyes on.
"You're here," Bruce stated, his voice stoic, giving away nothing of the emotional turmoil beneath the surface.
Jason nodded, a mix of defiance and disbelief in his eyes. "Took you long enough," he grumbled as casually as he could, motioning to the ropes around his wrist. "Wanna get these off me?"
Bruce stared at the lasso wrapped around his skin. A part of him wanted to ask him a question, to hear the truth. But if there was anything he knew about Jason, it was that no one and nothing, not even the lasso of truth, could get him to say something he didn't want to. And he didn't need a magical rope to admit the truth. All Bruce needed to do was ask, and Jason would happily inflict the wrath of his painful honesty straight to his face.
"Take them off," Bruce told Diana sternly after deliberating for a moment.
She tilted her head in confusion, not complying. "Bruce, we can't-"
"Take them off," he repeated again, his voice lower, angrier. The voice he used when he wasn't messing around. "Now."
Diana hesitated, glancing between Bruce and the Red Hood for a moment before she reluctantly reached to remove the golden lasso from his wrists. "Fine," she conceded, "but we can't just let him go. Even if you vouch for him, he's still a threat."
"I can take care of him," Bruce responded.
"Yeah. I've heard that one before," Jason scoffed, rubbing his wrists as he stood up, meeting Bruce's eyes. "Care to explain why the hell I spent the last hour here?" He asked accusatorily, waiting for an answer. "What, were you too busy? Oh, let me guess... you forgot?"
"I was in a meeting," Bruce replied simply.
"You really haven't changed at all, have you?" he muttered, giving him a disappointed look, while shaking his head. "I guess that's what I get right? I mean, I get you not giving a shit about me; you've made it clear you want nothing to do with me. But I thought you'd at least care about your secrets. We both know how much you love those."
Bruce clenched his jaw, holding the tension he felt in his bundled fists. He did care about his secrets, but not nearly as much as he cared about his son. He cared more than Jason would ever know or believe.
"Why are you here, Hood?" He asked him coldly, too afraid of what he might do if he heard even the smallest hint of vulnerability in his voice.
Jason sighed, hearing the detachment in his voice and immediately assuming Bruce wanted him gone, which was fine because he really wanted to be gone. Damn his brother for being so good at convincing him to do things he didn't want to do.
"I'm here for the demon spawn's birthday," Jason confessed, crossing his arms. "But don't worry, after that, you won't see me until Christmas. I can still come to that, right? I won't be kidnapped and thrown in a red sack?"
Ignoring the quip, Bruce narrowed his eyes, trying to read his son's tone from under his helmet, which was almost as thick as his head. "Really?" He asked skeptically. "That the only reason you're here?"
He shrugged. "What can I say? I cherish my family," he deadpanned, staring him down, as if challenging Bruce's own love for his family.
Bruce blinked, holding his gaze for a few seconds before caving and looking. "Okay," he conceded easily, unable to argue or even look at his child. "Just uh, stay out of trouble while you're here."
There was a clear plain lacing his voice, a rarity that took the other leaguers by surprise, but Jason had heard it before a few times, usually followed by some bullshit about Bruce caring about him. Jason hated him so much it hurt. Looking at him, hearing his voice, being near him, physically hurt. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to believe, even for a second, that his feelings were anything other than an act.
He scoffed. "Really? Eight months and that's the best you can do? C'mon, where's your fire?" He asked, expecting at least some sort of pushback from him. "Where's the Bruce Wayne who threw me to the wolves with no remorse?" He asked. "Where's the Bruce Wayne who took joy in letting me believe I was disposable?"
Bruce swallowed, looking up to meet his gaze, his eyes filled with remorse. "How could you think that?" He asked, heartbroken by the thought. "That I thought you were disposable?"
Bruce had always tried to be the epitome of strength, for his city, his family, for himself. He needed to be to avoid feeling the pain that clung to his soul. He never meant to become cold or detached; it just happened, a side effect of his methods. But once he was alone, it was hard to let people back in again. He should have tried harder.
"Because pawns always are," Jason replied. "That's what I was; a pawn in your game. One you were willing to sacrifice, just like you'll sacrifice anyone else to maintain your precious moral code." He paused, taking a step closer to his father, looking at the weary bags under his eyes from the sleepless nights. "Better to be killed than to kill, right?"
He shook his head in disagreement. "No," he said. "You weren't a pawn; you weren't expendable, you-"
"Save it, Bruce," Jason suggested, turning to the Justice League, who stood silently, observing their conversation with an equal amount of confusion and concern. "He'll abandon you too," he told them crassly. "He'll always choose his mission over everything and everyone else. It's just who he is."
At first, that mission was Jason's dream. To be a hero, to help save his city. But his city couldn't be saved; it was too far gone for that. No caped crusade would ever rid it of violence, not while using non-lethal weapons.
"You're the one who chooses to stay away," Bruce reminded him, feeling a small swell of frustration that Jason kept pinning the blame entirely on him for their fractured relationship. "I never asked you to. I never wanted you to."
"You expect me to believe that?" Jason scoffed in disbelief. "You don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to honesty."
It was killing his father to hear his son say that. "Hood-" he tried to defend himself, but honestly, he didn't know if he even could.
"You said you'd save me, but instead, you got me killed. You said you'd catch me if I fell, but you didn't even scrape my body off the damn pavement!" his words were laced in venom, and it's clear that his resentment had been building for a long time. "Did you even care that I died?" He asked, wondering how long it took for him to move on.
He adopted Tim before Jason's body was even cold, or before it would have been had he actually been dead. He didn't resent Tim by any means, maybe at first, he had been a little jealous, but he'd gotten over it. Jason had no quarrel with his brothers, not even Damian. It was Bruce he hated.
"Of course I did," Bruce exclaimed, hurt that he could ever think otherwise. "I mourned you."
"You mean you mourned Robin?" Jason asked bitterly. "But not for long, right? You just got another. You're good at that, aren't you?"
"No, I mean I mourned you!" he shouted, taking everyone, especially his son, by surprise. "I mourned my son's death for months, and I'm still mourning you after all this time because alive or not, the child I raised is still dead!"
The league suddenly exchanged glances, unsure how to react. Everyone knew Bruce lost a child; some of them had even attended the funeral for the boy. Could it truly be possible that he was alive?
Jason was stunned for a moment, then began to chuckle. "Oh, this is too good," he said, finally taking his helmet off, revealing himself. "All that talk about protecting our identities, and you're the one who gave it away. Guess the rules don't apply to you, do they?"
The league just stared, suddenly realizing why he had known so much about them and been able to avoid their questions so deftly.
"I don't care anymore," Bruce admitted weakly with a pathetic shrug. "You've made it clear that you want nothing to do with me, so I don't need to protect you."
"Let's get one thing straight; you never protected me," he stated, his voice filled with hatred. "You are the reason I'm so messed up."
He tried his best to keep his voice firm so Bruce would think his hate was the angry kind, not the sad, pathetic kind.
Bruce nodded, actually agreeing with him. "I know," he admitted. "It's all my fault, isn't it? Every crappy thing that's happened to you."
"At least you finally admit it," Jason grumbled. "Only took me dying for you to realize it."
"You think I'm invincible, unmarked by death, unable to feel or to love. But you have no idea how much I love you and your brothers," Bruce told him. "How much I worry about you even when you're off, God knows where for months. You are my child, and you always will be, and no matter how far you stray, no matter how much you may hate me, I will be here. Nothing you do will ever change that."
Jason paused, taking his words into careful consideration. It almost seemed like he was genuinely listening to him for a moment. But his facade quickly faded when he tucked his helmet under his arm, his expression going stone-cold once more.
He took a step closer to his father, whispering. "Keep that in mind when I finally kill Joker."
"What?" Bruce asked softly, his eyes widening. He had thought they were past that.
He knew what kind of grudge his son held, but the family had talked him down from that ledge so many times before. Jason had been gone for so many months that Bruce had actually started to believe he'd finally let go of his thirst for vengeance.
Jason just smirked. "You didn't really think I came back just for little D, did you?" He asked, shaking his head in disappointment. "You know me, Bruce. I always have a backup plan."
Suddenly, he put his helmet back on and grabbed something off of his father's utility belt, unhooking an anesthetic bomb and throwing it over his shoulder.
Jason may have problems with the way his father chose to enforce the law, but he had to give it to him; the man knew how to make an effective sleeping gas. The kind that could knock out even a Kryptonian. Within a matter of seconds, the anesthetic had overtaken the room, putting them all into a deep sleep.
He took his father's Justice League ID so he could unlock the doors and leave. "Sweet dreams," Jason muttered, a small smile playing on his lips as he walked out.
Jason stopped by the manor, as he'd promised, wished Damian a happy birthday, grabbed a slice of cake, then be on his way to kill Joker. The day may have started out rough, but it would end on a high note.