Chapter Text
Jason recognizes the kid on the news, he realizes, when he idly glances up from his book to the TV playing silently in front of him.
That’s not unusual, per say.
Kids from Crime Alley, from the Narrows? They make the news all the time, and he knows, or knew, a lot of ‘em. They’re always warnings, tragic and broken, and even if they don’t use the kids’ names, he can usually recognize the faces the headlines are paired with.
They’re always heartbreaking stories designed to either drum up fear of the impoverished or raise awareness for some charity or another by describing kids OD’ing, getting shot by gang members, getting shot by cops for moving product, dying from the heat or the cold or the gas attacks or the gang wars, any of the horrible, awful things that Jason himself had expected to die from, before he’d stolen the tires off the Batmobile and gotten lucky enough to beat the system with the world’s most beneficial kidnapping possible.
But still. It’s not unusual for Jason to recognize a kid on the news, so he’s used to the angry, sad, helpless feeling in his stomach, but this time it’s different.
The kid’s alive, but he’s not going to juvie or being prosecuted as an adult for aiding a Rogue or being seen having skin darker than milk while wearing a hoodie at night.
Nope.
This kid’s a terrorist, apparently, and he used to live six doors down from Jason.
Quickly, he scrambles for the remote and unmutes the TV. Next to him, on the couch, B (dad?) looks up from the files he’s reading over.
“Something catch your eye, lad?”
Jason shushes him and turns the volume up, because he knows that kid in the blurry suspect photo.
The lady on the TV is saying, as dramatically as possible, “And if anyone has further information on these three terrorists, please contact the hotline below with your information. And now, to our reporter on the ground.”
The view changes, and another reporter is standing, shocked, in front of what Jason thinks is the St. Louis Arch. He’s glad they’d talked about westward expansion in history recently, because he wouldn’t have known what he was looking at otherwise.
It’s clearly on fire, with a massive hole blown in its side, and it’s creaking and swaying dangerously in the wind. Around him, cops have set up massive barricades, and groups of people are pressing up against them, holding phones and capturing images of the destroyed monument.
“Thank you Linda,” says the reporter. “This is Alan Carter, coming to you live from outside of the St. Louis Arch, in St. Louis, Missouri, after a horrific terrorist attack has been perpetrated. I am bringing the details to you as they develop, but here is what we know so far.”
The man takes a second to readjust his hair, which Jason highly suspects is a toupee. Bruce sits up, and his hand flies to his pocket, where Jason knows he keeps an emergency League communicator at basically all times.
On the TV, the man continues. “A group of three suspects entered the St. Louis Arch park area roughly an hour ago, according to the statement released by security. They were all unaccompanied minors, and two took the elevator to the top of the Arch. There was no cause for suspicion until the two began arguing with and eventually assaulted an elderly woman on top of the Arch. This escalated, and although security was called, they had somehow disabled the only elevator system. From there, one of the minors unleashed some sort of bomb, apparently concealed in a backpack, blowing a hole in one of our most beloved American monuments in an act of terrorism unseen since 9/11.”
The man takes a breath. “Luckily, nobody was hurt, as security was able to find the woman. She is currently receiving medical care, but our team will be reaching out for a statement as soon as we figure out what hospital she’s at, don’t worry. In the meantime, the full force of the US investigative team seems to be assembling to find these domestic terrorists and bring them to justice.”
He then pauses, hand going to his ear. “Oh, I’m now getting reports that Superman is on the scene, thank God.”
Sure enough, the camera refocused, zooming in on the top of the Arch, where Superman could be seen entering the still-smoking structure.
Jason turned to B, who was muttering into the comm.
“Does he see anything? How’d the terrorists escape?”
B shook his head. “He doesn’t see anything weird. In fact, he’s not seeing any bomb residue or shrapnel at all, and he’s saying the two main support structures were missed that would’ve brought the arch down completely.”
Then he was speaking back into the comms. “Take pictures of the scene, Clark.”
“Yes, of everything. Anything might be a clue. We need to be prepared if this activity spreads, or is related to something bigger we haven’t discovered yet. And you’re sure there’s no signs of the perpetrators?”
Clark must’ve said no, because B’s lips tightened into a flat, near-invisible line.
On the screen, the blurry images of the suspects flashes again, probably to help keep the viewer’s attention now that Superman doesn’t seem to be doing anything too interesting.
And there’s the face again, on the TV.
It’s Percy Jackson, from apartment number 213 in the derelict little building Jason had once lived in, back before he was on the streets, back before Mom died.
He hadn’t known the kid well, on account of the fact that his mom was always sending him far away to random live-in or prep schools. He hadn’t known how she had the money to do that, but he always remembered being jealous. To have the chance to go to schools like that?
To have a mom who cared enough to ensure he got the chance to go to schools like that?
That was practically unheard of, in Crime Alley, and Jason would’ve killed for the chance, back then.
And he didn’t want to dislike Mom, or resent her, because she was doing her best. She was always doing her best.
But her best just never happened to be as good as Sally Jackson’s best.
He remembered Sally, Percy’s mom. She was tired and quiet too, but she was always gone, always working. Sometimes, she’d bring back little candies or things from her job and give them out to the kids in the building.
They all knew they could trust her, and everyone liked her. Loved her, really, because she was kind, and there’s never really been that many kind people in the Alley.
But they all also knew what she lived with, because the walls were thin. They could hear it every night, and see it in the bruises she covered in drug-store makeup on her cheeks and arms.
Gabe Ugliano.
Willis Todd, Jason’s first and worst old man, liked Ugliano a whole lot.
And that said enough, really, about the kind of person Ugliano was. Also, just remembering the man made Jason’s nose scrunch. He really had smelled just as bad as his personality. At least Willis showered.
So Jason wasn’t too jealous of Percy, really, even though the kid kept seeming to blow all the fancy school opportunities his mom got for him like a complete idiot.
But he was always kinda worried for the kid, when he wasn’t so focused on just surviving to see the next day, or to take care of his mom.
Because whenever he’d get kicked out of his fancy schools and have to come back to the Alley, he’d end up with bruises and scratches on his arms and face, and probably elsewhere on his body, just like Jason did.
But Jason couldn’t really afford sympathy, back then.
He squinted at the picture on the TV, though, and tried to think of any indication that Percy would grow up to become a terrorist that bombed national monuments. He hadn’t known him that well, but he couldn’t think of any signs that would indicate anything of the sort.
Next to him, Dad hummed softly.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, lad?”
Jason frowned. “I know that kid.”
Maybe it wasn’t right to snitch. But if anyone could help figure out if the kid and his friends were being blackmailed or mind-controlled or some shit, it would be Batman, so maybe it was right to point B in the right direction.
Besides, it would help soothe the achy feeling in his gut to help the kid out, seeing as he was never able to before, back in the alley.
But before he can say anything, the camera moves again, this time refocusing on the reporter dude as a random man runs up to him, brandishing his phone wildly.
“Dude,” he calls, “Reporter dude!”
The man turns. “Did you see what happened?”
“Yeah,” says the guy, breathless. “I saw it all, and I think I got it on video. I was trying to send a video of the clouds but I think I got the explosion!”
“What’s your name?” asks the reporter.
“Kyle. Kyle Natten.”
The reporter cuts him off, turning to face the camera. “I’m here with eye-witness to the Arch Bombing, Kyle Natten, who’s here to give us the first-hand scoop on this rapidly unfolding terrorist event. Tell us, Kyle, what did you see here today?”
The dude took a deep breath, running his hand through his already wild hair.
“Okay, okay. So I was taking a video of the clouds, right, to send to my sister because she loves clouds, and then as I’m looking, I hear it, you know, like BLAM!”
He does a wild hand motion that’s supposed to represent the explosion.
“So I turn to look, and naturally my hands follow, and boom, there it is, the Arch is on fire and shaking all over the place, smoke pouring out of it like nothing I’ve ever seen. And you know, I’m frozen, but then I’m like looking around for alien spaceships and stuff, cursing a blue streak because this is Missouri, man! We don’t even have heroes running around here, we’re not supposed to get hit by that stuff, not like Metropolis or Central. But yeah, people are screaming and stuff and then I realize I’m still recording, so I go and watch the video, yeah?”
He takes a deep breath. “And that’s when I see it, dude, it’s crazy. Crazy! I didn’t get the explosion, but I got this.”
At this, he holds up his phone and shoves the video into the camera, zooming in really far. It’s blurry, and distorted, but there’s a black speck that falls out of the newly formed hole, falling and falling until it hits the river below the Arch, disappearing from view.
The dude pulls the phone back. “Did you see that? Someone legit fell out of the Arch, dude. They fell in the river!”
The reporter frowns, and then grabs the phone, obviously watching the video for himself.
And if it’s anything like Jason just saw on the TV, it’s a whole load of nothing. Sure, it’s kind of person shaped, but there had to be a ton of debris falling, so it’s probably just some rebar and concrete, or whatever the Arch is made of.
Besides, nothing would be able to survive a fall from that height, unless they’re a meta or something.
Dad seems to be having the same thought next to him, because his mouth is twisted into the “I’m in Detective Mode” shape and he’s drumming his fingers lightly on his thigh.
Jason has to tell him, now.
At least if it actually was Percy who fell, or one of his terrorist buddies, they’d be able to send an anonymous tip and get the body more quickly identified when it’s found downstream.
The reporter seems to have the same idea, because even as he shoos the observer away, apparently annoyed, he says, “There might’ve been a body, perhaps one of the terrorists themselves, that fell from the Arch during the explosion. We will let the authorities know so they can begin searching the river. In the meantime, stay tuned in to Channel 52, and we’ll keep bringing you updates as this story unfolds.”
Jason turns the TV off, and B turns to him, looking a little miffed.
“Come on,” he says, “you know they’re not going to find out anything more relevant than that.”
“Besides,” he says more seriously, “I know one of the suspects.”
Dad cocks his head at him, a silent invitation to explain more.
“The third suspect, with the dark hair? His name is Percy Jackson, I’m pretty sure. He used to live six doors down from me in my building in Crime Alley. I didn’t know him too well, but I don’t think he’d be capable of something like this. Besides, he’s like, younger than me. How do kids younger than me become domestic terrorists on this scale?”
Dad hums, but it’s clear he’s considering the question.
“I don’t know Jaylad, but I intend to find out.”
He stands, and Jason does too.
It’s time to head to the Cave. They have detective work to do, and Jason’s never been so glad it’s summer, because that means he can focus on this, and not any assignments other than the extra reading he’s been given for the summer, which is all easy and enjoyable enough anyways that he doesn’t really consider it work.
When they get to the Cave, B is quick to pull up a new file, which he dates and labels with his usual efficiency.
Jason has his own monitor to work at, and B tasks him with making sure the kid really is who he thinks he is, and to compile the kid’s background into the file.
It’s an easy enough task, but a good one, because he doesn’t want his hunch to be wrong.
It’s easy enough to grab the pictures of the suspects from the many news reports. He tries to pick the least-blurry ones available, but they’re all pretty rough, which is surprising, because the rest of the guest’s faces in the images, when he finds the non-cropped footage, seem pretty clear overall.
Hmm. Maybe some sort of masking tech? Maybe whoever was making them do this didn’t want them to be easily recognized.
Sure, that was jumping to conclusions a bit, and if he said that theory out loud Dad would just tell him to step back and consider all options equally before running with theory, but still.
He cues up the analysis program, and pairs the suspect picture of the kid with the school picture he finds from Percy’s most recent school, Yancy Academy. He’s kind of glaring in the photo, green eyes dark and stormy, but it doesn’t take long for the program to finish and announce that it’s a 96.8% match in facial features. And with the poor quality of the reference photo, that’s definitely within the acceptable range, so Jason continues on with his research, after calling out to let B know that the suspect is indeed Percy Jackson, who acknowledges him with a distracted grunt, probably already knee-deep in his own research.
He’ a bit surprised, though, even though he was almost certain he was right. Finding out that a shrimpy kid like Percy could commit this level of terrorism is really shocking. If he was a Victorian lady, he’d probably have to find a fainting couch to abscond to at the news. At least, that’s what he thinks until he starts looking deeper into Percy’s history.
It takes a while to track down all of the different schools he’s been to, but whoo boy is it a lot.
Six schools in six years, each one ending with an expulsion for increasingly ridiculous and implausible reasons.
Somehow, he’d not only dropped his fellow classmates into a shark tank during a field trip, been kicked out for telling too many lies about strange men who wanted to kidnap him, and been kicked out of several schools for being rude and disruptive, but to top it all, he’d somehow once been accused of firing a revolutionary war cannon at a school bus, causing it to be completely destroyed.
All of these incidents were available in the school files, which were pretty easy to hack, if Jason does say so himself. He’d really come a long way in his tech skills, he realized, smiling.
But what was also available in the records was Percy’s learning disabilities. The kid had both a severe case of ADHD and dyslexia. Jason winced. No wonder the kid was always bouncing off the walls and getting yelled at by the grouchy babushka in the corner apartment when he’d been back in Gotham. He literally couldn’t seem to sit still.
So there was the strange history of weird incidents involving Percy. All had eventually been ruled accidents, but because of their severity and impact on the school and other students, all of the schools had ended up expelling the poor kid.
Rough.
The most recent school, though, was in New York (blergh). It’s a fancy classical academy, and apparently Percy had received some sort of scholarship or aid fund for his disabilities there, at Yancy Academy.
Against the trend, Percy had actually seemed to make it through the year this time. Sure, there were lots of notes about disciplinary actions and behavioral issues in the file itself, but nothing crazy popped up this time.
But from there, the trail goes cold.
After the last day of school, Percy had been marked as “moved out,” but he had been requested to not return to Yancy, on account of his difficulty as a student.
Jason screwed up his face. That’s a rude thing to call a kid with learning disabilities.
But that’s as far as he can get with the school records. Now, he’s gonna have to figure out how to track where Percy’s been after he left the school, but there’s a good chance Dad’s already on that, so he finishes his part of the file and pushes off in his rolly-chair, flying across the cave floor to B’s side.
He’s deep at work, but sure enough, he has a satellite feed pulled up, the little date in the corner matching the day Percy would’ve been picked up from school.
“I’m done,” he announces, and B just nods.
He kicks his feet for a second when Dad doesn’t do anything else, and then spins in a circle.
He’ll give him two minutes to finish what he’s doing.
It’s thirty seconds later when he decides he’s bored enough to ask.
“So what’re you doing?”
B glances over.
“I’m trying to track his location down, but it’s. It’s difficult.”
Jason crows with laughter at that. “Oh, your poor old man eyes probably just need a break. And you call yourself the world’s greatest detective. Let me take a crack at it.”
Then he pushes B’s chair out of the way. He’s a great big heavy lug, so he has to really brace himself and shove, but he’s put on a lot of muscle mass since becoming Robin, so it’s much easier now than it was even just a few months ago. B lets him do it, his eyes a little fond as he gets shoved away, so Jason averts his own gaze.
He would've never dared to do something like this until recently. It feels bold, but also good as he slides up in front of the computer and takes in everything dad was just working on.
It’s expansive, but glancing at the car tracking system, it’s obvious he’s figured out which car Percy was picked up in.
It’s a black 1978 Camero, and it’s garish enough that Jason immediately knows it belongs to Ugliano, not Sally. Sally must’ve borrowed it to pick Percy up, though, because there’s no chance in hell that Ugliano would’ve ever done it.
Based on what B has pulled up, the regular tracking systems aren’t working to recreate the car’s path.
Hmm.
He’s gonna have to do this manually, which is always a bore and never particularly easy, but now he has something to prove.
Next to him, B is watching, and Jason just kinda wants to prove that all his training’s paid off, so he gets to work.
He tracks the car, slowly and painfully, through the boroughs of New York. It’s slow work, but he eventually finds the car on I-495, headed eastbound, towards Long Island.
The trail goes cold there, at least visually, but Jason refuses to let that stop him.
Quickly, he pivots to where B had compiled information about Sally.
Using “Long Island” as the keyword, he lets the computer’s system do its thing, before it spits out several results: a few bank statements at relatively regular intervals, especially from a few years ago, each paid out to a lodging company on the Long Island beaches.
He doesn’t say eureka, but it’s a close thing as he pulls up the website associated with the company.
Sure enough, they rent out cabins on the beach at extremely affordable prices.
He points it out to B. “I think they were going there. Probably to celebrate, because if you look over the info on my file, you’ll see that this is the kid’s first time completing a school year without being expelled basically ever in his life.”
B’s mouth quirks up, just a bit. “Kid?” He asks. “He’s just a year younger than you, Jason.”
Jason refuses to let his face go red, even if his ears heat just the tiniest bit. “Whatever. He’s younger than me and I remember him being tiny, so yeah, kid.”
B just smiles, all soft and proud and Jason feels warm inside. “Good work, Jaylad. Now we just have to figure out the timeline from this to the Arch.”
Jason lets B back in front of the computer, and moves back to his smaller chair to watch.
B’s fingers fly over the keyboard as he searches for security cameras or any sort of internal company messaging that tracks guests coming and going, but apparently, they’re not too fond of technology on Long Island, so that’s a bust.
Then the computer dings.
Apparently, the background check it’s been running on Sally Jackson in the background is done, and as Dad pulls it up, Jason’s jaw drops.
Because Sally Jackson is missing, presumed dead, and apparently, so is Percy Jackson.
And all they have to prove this are two things: one, a poorly-filled out police report from the Long Island law enforcement, and two, one short online article from the Gotham Gossip, a solely online rag newspaper that only exists to generate clicks and advertisement money.
The report is short but simple: the black Camero had been found along a beach side road, horribly mangled and dented beyond repair. In it was Sally Jackson’s purse, but nothing else. They had ruled it as some horrible accident, because that night there had been a terrible pop-up hurricane across Long Island. Although they didn’t know how the bodies had disappeared, or where’d they disappeared to, they'd ruled the case as closed anyways.
Jason ground his teeth. Typical cops, taking the easy way out so they can sit on their hands and pat themselves on the back for doing fuck-all.
But the other piece of evidence was more confusing.
It had hundreds of thousands of hits, many coming from across the country, but the story wasn’t reported anywhere else.
All the title said was: “Mother and Son Missing, Presumed Dead: Devoted Step-Father Devastated.”
It wasn’t even a written article, just a short video clip of an interview.
B clicked on the video. Immediately, Ugliano’s ugly, balding head filled the frame, the tail end of him snuffing out a cigarette in the apartment caught as the interviewer asked, “And what do you think happened to your wife and step-son?”
On screen, the man’s face twists up in what looks like sadness, but is clearly fake, if you know to look for the tells. And Jason knows Ugliano’s tells – Willis had joked about them often after poker nights at his apartment.
The man blubbers for a bit, and then chokes out, “Well, my delinquent step-son obviously did something awful! He took the things I care about most in this world.”
Gently, the interviewer prods for more, because Ugliano’s gone back to fake-crying. “What would those be?”
The man wipes his nose. There’s no snot there, so it doesn't make sense, but he does it anyway. “My Camaro! And my wife, of course, Sally. I’m just so worried for both of them! And I knew this was going to happen. Percy’s always being a brat, getting into dangerous or violent trouble. He probably just messed with the wrong people, this time, and got his mother, and my poor car, caught in the crossfire. He’s a monster! How could he have done this?”
The interview ends, then.
Bruce scowls, and then moves Ugliano’s name into the list of “suspects” in the case file, and then flips back to the Gossip page, to check out the comments.
There’s thousands. They’re divided, but most seem to be, somehow, agreeing with Gabe and saying how horrible Percy must be to have done something like this to his mother, and how brave Gabe is for showing such vulnerable emotions in such a hard time of his life.
Jason’s teeth grind at the sight. How are people so naive, so stupid? It’s disgusting.
But it’s weird.
So many comments, so many people talking about this, but he’s never heard of it. Neither has B, from the way he’s examining the evidence.
And it’s literally their job to know what’s going on in Gotham. So if two Gothamites go missing in such a high-profile and apparently talked about case, why haven’t they heard of it?
B types in the relevant details to Google.
Again, the only thing that comes up is the Gossip’s piece. And that’s odd. That feels like a media coverup, some sort of burying or buyout tactic, but that doesn’t make sense, because neither Gabe or Sally have the money to do something like that.
Hell, it’s hard enough for B to do something like that to this level, and he’s a freaking billionaire.
So it doesn’t make sense at all.
From there, the case goes fully cold, though.
The tracking systems are picking up nothing.
Not even Percy’s accomplices can be determined, although their facial features are just as clear as his from the suspect photos. But no matter what program they run it through, they get no matches. It’s kinda like they don’t exist, and that’s odd, because nobody doesn’t exist to Batman’s systems.
There’s also no suspicious money transfers, no odd communications or phone bills for anybody in the Jackson household, at least beyond the regular stuff any Alley citizen who works minor goon jobs on the side has, which it’s clear Ugliano has from the records.
Jason watches as B’s eyes shift to his suit, contemplative, and grins.
They’re gonna bust some heads tonight, and hopefully, Ugliano’s gonna be one of them.
.
.
.
It turns out to be a bust, though, which is a huge bummer.
Ugliano’s so scared shitless to see them he can’t see straight, and it’s immediately clear he doesn’t know anything about his step son or wife’s whereabouts.
It’s disappointing, but Jason sees B twist his wrist a bit harder than necessary and feels vindicated, just a tiny bit, as they’re standing in the old apartment.
B had tried to get him to stay out, to watch from the roof.
Jason knows why. There’s memories in these dilapidated walls, in the way Ugliano’s apartment is shaped exactly the same as the one he grew up in, just six doors down.
But he’s Robin right now, so he insists he come with.
The life and future of a Crime Alley kid is on the line, and Jason’ll be damned before Robin gives up on one of his own.
B doesn’t turn Ugliano in this time, but the warning when he leaves is good enough that Jason knows the man won’t take another job for a rogue for a long, long time.
He flinches when Jason smiles at him as they leave through the window, all teeth, and that feels good as well.
Then it’s time for regular patrol.
It’s not boring, really, because patrol is never that boring, but it’s also not anything crazy exciting either. All of the main rogues are still tucked away safely in Arkham, as far as they can tell, so all they have to fight are the petty muggers, the would-be rapists, and a few men working to strip a couple of cars out towards Crown Point.
Jason’s just glad B’s not there, because he lets them off pretty easily with just a warning, and then puts some of the tires back on himself.
Not everyone’s gonna have a Batman to turn their lives around when they’re boosting cars like he used to, but Robin can afford to be that magic for others.
When they’re done with patrol, heading back to the car, B pulls him tight to his side in the darkest shadows of the alley for a second and ruffles his hair, and Jason suddenly has a sneaking suspicion B had seen him let those guys go.
Whatever.
They weren’t doing anything too bad anyways, and they were all just teens.
Back at the cave, they do the usual clean up, stowing the suits and replenishing their belts before B turns to the file still pulled up on the computer.
Percy Jackson’s school photo glares back at them softly.
B’s fingers twitch like he’s going to try and keep working on the mystery, and Jason sort-of agrees because that’s an Alley Kid that needs help, but then Alfie clears his throat from behind them.
Jason jumps and barely avoids swearing out loud (he’s been practicing because the swear jar just keeps getting more expensive), and he’s pretty sure Dad’s fingers twitch in surprise as well, although he can’t prove it. How does Alfie move like that?
“Since patrol is done, young masters, do you not think it is time for bed?”
And that’s Alfie’s scary-polite way of telling them to go the fu-the freak to sleep.
Jason doesn’t need to be told twice at that tone, and darts up the stairs two at a time. He’s excited to hit the shower and get some sleep.
Surely he’ll be able to learn more about Percy tomorrow.
.
.
.
He doesn’t, in fact, learn anything new tomorrow.
Every lead is a dead end, and nobody knows who the kids Percy was traveling with are at all. Not even Dad’s satellites and programs can get a read on them from any security cam in the country, and they’d caught Deathstroke a couple of times on these things.
Hmm, actually. Maybe that is suspicious. But if the kids were better trained than Deathstroke, then surely they would’ve actually destroyed the whole Arch, not just blown a mostly-repairable hole into the side of it.
And nobody even died!
So if they’re terrorists, maybe they’re just really, really bad ones who happen to be able to avoid cameras better than the world’s best assassin for hire.
Yeah, right.
On the seventh day of zero leads, B marks the file as an active cold case so they can stop spending so much time on it.
It makes sense, like, logically, but Jason’s teeth grind at the flag, because that’s Percy, who’s probably being coerced or tricked or something into being a terrorist, and Jason at least kinda knew him, and he needs help. But they’re not getting anywhere, and so there's no use in dragging themselves down into oblivion like this in the what-ifs or maybes.
B even informs Superman to leave the terrorist case situation to the government, and the Justice League seems relieved, because apparently, they have bigger fish to fry. Lex Luthor’s been making some interesting moves lately in the political world, and they’re all on edge watching out for whatever’s going to go down.
So that means it’s just Jason and Alfie on the eighth day since the news report.
They’re in the kitchen, and Alfie’s showing him how to make pie crust for little quiches that they’re going to have tomorrow for breakfast.
It’s a fun task. He likes folding in the butter and crumbling it all up, gently, and getting to do the little ruffled edges on the pies?
Now that’s a treat just by itself. He’s always wondered how pies got the curvy little edges. When he was little he’d just thought they probably put it in a mold like a big ice cube tray.
But it’s fun to try to make them perfect, even if his are a little lopsided compared to Alfie’s so he’s deeply focused when the little radio, playing jauntily in the corner, changes from light jazz to a breaking news update.
And he only starts paying attention, hands coming to a stand still, when Percy Jackson’s name is mentioned once again.
“You heard it right folks – the missing child Percy Jackson has been found! Concerned beachgoers saw the child, along with his two unidentified companions, struggling with a large man on the beach in California. The two were engaged in a gunfight, and when officers were called to the scene, the man used projectiles of some sort to explode their cars, creating a wall of fire that trapped the boy inside with the man. They were pinned against the ocean until the large man fled on foot. Luckily, a medical team was able to–” Jason doesn’t wait to hear the rest on the radio.
Flour falls from his hands as he darts out, calling “Gotta see this Alfie one second bye!” as he sprints to the TV, turning it on and flipping to the news channel.
Sure enough, Channel 52 is covering the scene again. They have a lady in California, and she’s standing on a stormy, wind-swept beach as waves crash against the water. Her camera man is following her shakily as she presses through a crowd of people, swinging around her press badge with authority, before making it into the center, where three small kids are standing, wrapped in metallic shock blankets.
None of them really look like they’re in shock, but Jason can clearly see Percy’s eyes light up as he spots the camera.
He mutters something to his friends and then pushes forwards, out of the EMT’s reach, to meet the lady, who seems absolutely delighted to see him.
“Percy, it is Percy, isn’t it?”
The boy nods.
“Great! Please, the eyes of the nation are on you. Clearly, we were all wrong about you, as reports are pouring in from adults across the country who are remembering seeing you with that man who kidnapped you. Who was he? Are you okay? What did it take to survive?”
The barrage of questions makes Percy blink, but then he shrugs sheepishly. “Being kidnapped was kinda scary, sure, but I had my friends, and we made it out safe.”
Behind him, the blonde girl buries her face in her hands, and the other boy pats her back gently.
“And really, I don’t want to talk about all of my experiences.” He looks away, sheepish, and his eyes get all big and round, like the picture of the baby seal Jason had sent a few weeks ago when he’d been trying to convince Dickface to bring him Reeses the next time he visited the manor (he hadn’t. He’d brough Kit Kats, which were only half as good.).
“But I do have this to say.”
Percy cleared his throat and clasped his hands, all innocent and sweet. It looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and Jason narrowed his eyes, suspicious, because that’s what he looks like when he’s trying to get out of running extra suicides after disobeying on patrol or trying to get B to hide him after he’d dyed all of Dick’s white shirts neon yellow that one time.
“All I want... is to see my stepfather again. Every time he called me a delinquent punk, I knew there was hope. And I know he would want to offer everyone in this beautiful city of Los Angeles with a free major appliance. Here's the phone number.”
The boy links the Gotham number, and then honest-to-god smiles innocently into the camera before ducking out of the reporter’s grasp and moving back to his friends.
The blond girl punches him in the shoulder, and he staggers, pretending to be wounded.
The reporter lady then jumps back in front of the camera, cutting off the view of the apparently now rescued kidnapping victims.
“Aww, what a sweetie,” says the news lady. Jason snorts. There’s no way anyone was believing the kid’s bullshit, right?
Apparently she does, because she continues. “As you can see, Percy Jackson, once thought to have been a terrorist, is actually just a sweet kid who’s survived a horrifying kidnapping ordeal. Our hotline is already pulling in reports, like this caller. Hello, ma’am, can you hear me?”
“Yes, yes I can,” says the thick, Southern drawl of a lady who’s clearly smoked a pack or two in her day. “I work out in a diner just outside Vegas. I remember when these kids rolled through. I tried to call the police, seeing as how they were terrorists and all back then and we had the story playing on the TV, but now I am remembering this man sitting in their booth, all mean and quiet like. He’s the reason I didn’t call the 911 in time. Big spooky fella. Drove a big motorcycle, I recall. Glad the kids got away, Sarah from Channel 52!”
“Thank you, ma’am,” says Sarah, apparently. “So you’ve heard it here first, folks. I’m Sarah with Channel 52, bringing you only the freshest news on the hottest stories in our country. If you’re just tuning in, we are here with supposed child domestic terrorists that have really been revealed to be the kidnapping victims of an unidentified large man who was packing enough firepower to completely destroy three police cars.”
And boy, it really is a lot of destruction. The sand is charred and blackened around the husks of three cars, and the ring of ash forms a large semicircle that meets the ocean.
It’s an odd path for a blast radius, Jason notes idly. That doesn’t just usually happen on its own.
The woman waves the camera back in. “I’m going to see if we can get IDs on the other two children,” and then she starts pushing deeper into the crowd, until she bumps up against the police detail in front of the kids.
They don’t let her through, though, so she just starts repeating the same information about the stuff from earlier, but with more dramatics and suspense, probably to keep the viewers hooked, but Jason’s seen enough.
What does she mean by nation-wide manhunt and tip line?
The only info on Percy’s case came from Gotham.
But that’s not the case when he types the details into google.
Nope. Apparently there’s been national, and even some international, coverage on this case since the “terrorist attack.” There’s been news reports and theory videos and chat boards and Twitter threads.
All of which B’s state-of-the-art investigative computer and skills had somehow missed?
That’s impossible.
It has to be.
And that means there's something fishy going on. His detective senses are telling him so, and B is always saying to follow your gut when something feels wrong.
This feels Wrong, with the capital W.
He runs back to Alfie, who just looks at him mildly with a half-quirked brow. It’s not fully quirked, so Jason’s safe for now, but he rushes into an explanation anyways, tripping over his own words to explain what’s been happening.
Alfred seems intrigued, even as he tells Jason to wash up and finish the last pie.
“And you say that this boy was engaged in a gunfight on the beach against a fully grown man?”
“Apparently,” says Jason. “And that’s not the craziest thing, Alfie. It’s like everyone in the whole world suddenly knows about this, when like last week, only a few randos from Gotham knew. It’s like the whole world got brainwashed or something to know about Percy!”
Alfred frowns for a half a second. “That would indeed be strange, wouldn’t it. Well, right now, help me finish these quiches, and we’ll talk to Master Bruce when he’s back from socializing with his little club.”
Jason laughs, and tries to put the case out of his mind for now. Alfie’s hilarious when he wants to be, and he did promise he was going to help him make all of the quiches. He can’t abandon a promise to Alfie.
Unfortunately, Bruce’s little meeting with the League turns into a full-blown, six-day mission.
They get updates at least eight hours from B, confirming that he’s alive, but not much else other than what they can see on the TV.
Jason bounces in place as he watches it, anxious and itching to be out, wearing his suit. But he’s not allowed to, not without Bruce present.
The only thing he’s allowed to do is remote pilot the Batmobile through different areas of the city, which is a surprisingly effective deterrent for a lot of criminals.
It turns out when the average Joe sees a tricked out stealth tank doing a 100 in a one-way, they tend to go home for the night.
Jason has fun with that, but he also keeps track of the Percy case. For some reason, the collective consciousness seems to forget about the kidnapping and the suspected terrorism pretty quickly, and everyone seems to move on, at least online.
He compiles his evidence, but is stuck in a holding pattern, at least until a new article comes out online.
It’s from the Gotham Culture Guide, about the Gotham Museum of Art. Apparently, they’ve recently purchased a ground-breaking sculpture from one amateur artist, a recently-divorced Miss Sally Jackson.
He clicks immediately when he sees the name.
Apparently, her piece is a life-sized sculpture called “The Poker Player” that captures the raw ugliness of the city in a way that the critics are calling “a huge step forward in super-ugly realism.”
Jason wrinkles his nose. At least they won’t have to worry about Catwoman trying to steal this one (and at least he won’t have to watch his Dad flirt. Ugh, gag him.)
Then he scrolls down, and sees the picture, because there, in all of his nasty glory, is Gabe Ugliano, frozen in a sort of confused, fearful half-sneer, with a set of cards in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
It’s a sculpture of Gabe, but it’s uncanny.
Like uncanny valley uncanny, because it’s so human. It makes him shiver just to look at it.
Huh. He didn’t know Sally sculpted. Weird choice for a muse, but when he sees the check amount the museum gave her? Jason would never judge anyone for that.
Feeling guilty, he opens back up the file and hacks back into her finances.
He’s just looking for updates on Percy, and maybe some sort of plausible explanation to string all of these wild events together with, but he feels bad spying on such a nice lady.
She’s doing well for herself, though. The check has already been used for a couple of things.
Sally’s moved out of Crime Alley, towards Gotham Village, which is kind of one of the nicer, safer lower-class income neighborhoods in the city. It’s no hip urban Burnside by any means, and it’s definitely run down, but the apartment building she’s renting from has a pretty good reputation for Gotham, and is pretty safe, and it makes Jason’s heart clench up in some sort of pride and sadness when he sees the bills.
Also, she’s apparently enrolled at Gotham City University now, which wow, good for her. A quick peek into the college’s records shows that she’s going for an English degree, and Jason’s heart clenches again, but this time with jealousy and excitement. That’s so cool, going to college. He can’t believe he’s going to get to go, even, but Bruce had promised him after he’d had a breakdown about GA’s prices, and had told him that no matter where he wanted to go to school, no matter how expensive, he’d always make that happen for him.
He’d bawled like a baby after that, but Bruce had been cool and had just held him instead of saying anything mushy or something like that.
But still. Go Sally, getting her degree and getting divorced from ugly Ugliano.
Speaking of which, where’d he go, Jason wonders. The apartment the family had been in was listed as “available” now on the website, so maybe Gabe had skipped town when Sally had taken off.
Weird, but Jason wasn’t going to go looking for the creep. Better he stayed gone, in his opinion.
But that wasn’t the last thing Sally had paid for.
The last thing was a deposit at Gotham Academy for enrollment of one seventh grader for the coming year.
Jason’s face lit up.
This is perfect.
He’ll be at the same school as Percy, and this way, he can get to know the kid, and get to the bottom of whatever it is that’s going on with him.
Maybe he’ll finally learn the true story of what happened to him this summer.
He’s smiling when B finally gets back, exhausted and sore and only a little bit singed and still smoking from his League battle (it was robots. Lex is always building giant robots) but still able to hold him close when he darts in for a hug at his return.
He’s gonna figure this mystery of a kid out even if it kills him.