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Jason was trying to cut back on smoking, he really was, but this night called for it. Dark and gloomy, like Gotham nights usually were, regardless of the season, familiar and comforting despite it.
He inhaled deep, his free hand tight in a fist by his side. Despite her constant horrors, Gotham had the nerve to be beautiful at night, the top of the buildings bright in the wealthiest districts, and the smog low enough to almost touch.
Patrol was finished for the night and Jason was standing on a rooftop overlooking the city that he could never really escape, trying to find answers to questions he never even knew he needed to ask.
Feet landed behind him and he bit back a sigh, throwing his almost gone cigarette down, snuffing it with his boot.
“You know,” Tim started conversationally, “I never intended for my question to cause so much chaos.”
“I think,” Jason said back, trying to keep his voice even and yet knowing that the bitterness had seeped through anyway, “that you totally knew what you were doing, you little shit.”
A huff, followed by a sigh, followed by footsteps until Tim was standing next to him, shoulders not quite touching. They both looked down at the sprawling city, lights flickering, awake and not.
“You know I don’t do well with unknowns.”
A mutter. A reason and an apology in one. The thing was, Jason knew because he was the same. They all were. He grunted, acceptance and understanding. Forgiveness if you squinted.
“Come to the manor?”
Jason shook his head. “Not tonight,” he said.
Tim nodded, knocked their shoulders together softly, and then he was off into the night, his grapple gun becoming a background noise.
Jason stayed on the rooftop for a handful more minutes before he too started his brief trip to his safe house, undoing all the security before slipping inside and then securing the place back up.
His helmet was the first to go and Jason held it in his hands for a bit too long before he finally put it down, starting to undo the various buckles that held his armor together until he was finally down to his underwear and his thin, thermal shirt.
He was debating going to shower or falling to his very inviting bed when a message came through on his phone and he picked it up with a sigh.
Menace with a D
Constantine will be at the cave tomorrow at four
Jason groaned and threw his phone at his nightstand, throwing himself on his bed afterwards, letting his body bounce on the mattress before settling down. Dick knew he had read the message so he didn’t need to reply, not that he knew what to say.
They always did move fast when the matter of his resurrection was in question.
Jason didn’t know what Bruce had told Constantine to make him meet them so fast, but for what Jason understood to be the first time, Constantine was early.
They were all gathered in the cave, huddled all together except Jason. He couldn’t deal with the thought of someone touching him right now and for once, the others were respecting it.
A well timed cough from Alfred stopped Constantine from lighting up the cigarette in his hand, and the man huffed before he put it behind his ear for presumably later.
“Wanna tell me why I’m here?” he asked, his arms now crossed, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against his bicep. Perhaps the cigarette wasn’t just for show. Jason would know. “Place gives me the creeps.”
“Didn’t know you were afraid of bats,” Tim said, looking very much like he was cataloging that piece of information for future use.
Constantine rolled his eyes. “Afraid of bats, he says. Nah, kid, it’s Gotham that gives me the creeps.” He looked at them like they understood. “She’s not kind to those she doesn’t claim as hers.”
Immediately, more than one voice rose, a cacophony of questions and demands that were getting louder the longer Constantine stayed silent, his eyebrow raised in barely contained amusement.
Jason’s fingers itched for more than a cigarette.
A sharp clap stopped everything in an instance and they all turned to look at Alfred. He had his disapproving frown on. “I’m sure that if we actually allow Mister Constantine to hear your questions, he’ll have an easier time answering them.” He sent them all a look, excluding Jason, though he did feel Alfred’s eyes on him at the end.
Bruce grunted and straightened up. “Tim brought up something yesterday that we hadn’t considered before.” He paused, because this was basically Bruce asking for help and that was one of his least favorite things to do. A sigh, a breath, both to steady and to buy time for words to put themselves in some resemblance of order. “We do not know how or why Jason was brought back to life.”
A nervous energy filled the cave at the words finally being out, and Jason felt more than one pair of eyes on him. He was sure that almost no one had managed to sleep last night, Tim even looked like it, but there’s not a lot to research when you don’t know what you’re supposed to look for.
The eyes on him felt like they were physical weights, and he gritted his teeth, his nails digging into the skin of his biceps from where he was tightly crossing his arms.
Constantine laughed.
“Blimey, Bats! I thought you knew already!” He kept laughing, his head thrown back, the sound of his laughter echoing around the cave in a way that was almost nauseating. “Greatest detective my arse.”
“Constantine,” Bruce growled, “explain.”
There was still mirth inside Constantine’s voice but he was no longer laughing. “Gotham brought him back,” he said like it was obvious, like his words hadn’t just stolen the breath from Jason’s lungs.
“How can a city do that?” Damian demanded. “Explain yourself, sorcerer!”
Constantine put his hand in front of his mouth, his fingers curling inwards like he was physically trying to stop his lips from splitting into a smile. He looked at them all then, his eyes serious, as if his laughter wasn’t still reverberating in the corners of the cave. “How many times would you have died if Gotham hadn’t saved you?” he asked, tilting his head.
Jason swallowed, his mouth dry. “I died,” he said, voice loud in the silence Constantine’s question had left them in.
“You weren’t in Gotham when you were murdered,” he said, ignoring the multiple flinches at his last word. “Why do you think she took so long to bring you back?”
“You talk of Gotham like it’s sentient,” Dick said. He had moved closer to Jason somewhere between Constantine’s laughter and now, but there were still a few feet of distance between them. Good. Jason felt too big for his skin, he didn’t know what he would do if someone even just breathed in his direction.
“You must have known already,” Constantine said, frowning. He was starting to sound a bit unsure.
Tim pursed his lips. “Moving forward, assume that we know absolutely nothing and start explaining. Please,” he added, hastily.
Constantine blew a breath. “Bloody Hell,” he said, his head hanging low for a moment before he lifted it up with newfound energy. He clapped his hands once and Jason barely managed not to startle. “Okay, we’re going back to the basics, it seems.” An inhale, a hand through already messy hair, an exhale. “The base of every magic system out there is Belief.”
Damian clicked his tongue. “We do not need this useless lesson on magic, give us our answers or leave!”
“I’m getting to it, brat!” Constantine snapped, “But I’m assuming that you know nothing about this so shut your mouth and bloody listen, aye?”
Bruce’s hand on his shoulder was the only thing holding Damian back, and after another inhale, Constantine continued.
“Knowing how to do the spell is important, obviously, but Belief is half the work and usually where it all crashes down.” He shrugged, his hand going for the cigarette still behind his ear before remembering where he was and he shoved his hand in his pocket with a muttered curse.
“Magic is everywhere. Belief is everywhere. There is Power in a name.” He waved a hand, at them, at the cave around them. “Gotham is a hellhole and she had been one since she got her name. People made her a hellhole and so now people believe she is one and so she becomes one. Do you get it?”
There was silence after his question but Constantine didn’t look like he was looking for an answer.
“Outsiders don’t last in Gotham, why do you think you get tourists only during the day?” An amusing fact any other time, but the more words that came out of Constantine’s mouth, the less Jason could breathe.
“This does not explain why Jason was resurrected,” Bruce said, and Jason’s nails broke skin.
Constantine smirked. “Oh, but it does, doesn’t it Batsy? You just hate the explanation.” He nodded towards the glass cases where they kept their uniforms, everyone except Jason. “Gotham protects what belongs to her and you were hers the moment you decided to put on the cowl. Every one of you.”
“This protection,” Bruce said after a moment, “can it be undone?” He held up a hand before anyone could interfere, his eyes on the sorcerer.
Constantine shrugged. “Sure it can,” he said, “But you’ll probably die afterwards.” Another shrug, a sigh, Constantine’s shoulders coming down and staying there. “Batsy, this protection isn’t something you can just turn on and off, yeah? It’s so deeply nested in you that even attempting to break it will be the worst pain you’ve ever felt. Why do you think you get so restless the longer you are away from Gotham?”
He let them stew on that for a bit. “Robin is the most protected,” Constantine said next, nodding at Dick instead of Damian or Tim, who still held the mantle. “It runs too deep, nothing can harm them for long.”
They were looking at him. Jason’s tongue felt like lead. “I was Robin when I died,” he said, his words ringing true and yet he felt them lacking, incomplete. A ‘yes, and’ inside his head that he had no words to add to.
“Were you?” Constantine asked, ignoring the outrage those two words left in their wake, his eyes boring into Jason’s, already knowing the answer and merely waiting for Jason to reach the same conclusion.
Jason felt dizzy.
Constantine shrugged at whatever he saw. “You weren’t in Gotham,” he reminded him. He reached for his cigarette. “We’re done here,” he said, starting to walk towards the steps that lead up to the manor, Alfred falling into step with him, already offering him tea.
“Little Wing,” Dick started to say, his hand falling on Jason’s shoulder and feeling like a brand that he quickly and almost viciously shook off, going straight to his bike.
“I need some air,” he said not caring if they heard it, his helmet already muffling their voices.
He was out in the street in barely a minute.
It was still too early to start patrol, even though winter had already turned Gotham into the nightmare she was known for.
Jason stashed his bike in his safe house and then continued on foot towards the apartment building he owned. He needed to not think for a while and he had promised old-man-Tom to change the lightbulbs on the third floor hallway. Nothing emptied his mind like manual labor, and the building had a lot of things that needed fixing.
The elevator was the first thing he fixed as soon as he had bought the building, because the top floors were the most populated and he didn’t know how the family on fifth with the three toddlers had managed before him, but he admired them a little too much.
Sometimes, when his exhaustion was louder than his claustrophobia, he used the elevator himself. It was almost worth the nightmares later.
Jason climbed the stairs to the third floor and found Miss Jenna’s door half opened. He sighed and invited himself in, closing and locking the door behind him. There was cheerful chatter coming from the kitchen and he kicked his shoes off before making his way there.
“I’ve told you so many times to close and lock the door,” Jason said in lieu of a greeting, rolling his eyes with a huff at the two grins he got in response. “You’re asking to get robbed.”
“Oh, but you’re here to protect us, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Jenna said, reaching up to pat his arm. She was an older woman, probably as old as the building itself if not older. She was on a wheelchair, which was why her door was almost always open. Her daughter lived on the fourth floor with her husband, and her granddaughter lived across the hall with her fiancé and their two kids. Between the six of them, and the tenants from the rest of the building, they took care of her as well as they could.
“Won’t always be here,” Jason said, ignoring how the words made his skin itch something awful.
Old-man-Tom laughed, a kind sound that dissolved with a cough, betraying a lifetime of abusing cigarettes. “You’re here when it counts,” he said, waving a hand. He wasn’t as old as his nickname made it seem, but rumor had it that he had been complaining about his bad back since his twenties. Nicknames had been given for less.
Jason didn’t reply. He filled the electric kettle with water and turned it on, reaching inside the cupboard and pulling out mugs and teabags. He stopped, hand hesitating over the plastic cups. “The kids?” he asked.
Jenna shook her head fondly. “Showering,” she said. “They were playing Red Hood with a bunch of other kids after school and fell in a puddle.”
The kettle whistled and Jason busied himself with making their tea, taking a seat next to Jenna when he was done. He took a sip, way too fast, burning his tongue. He didn’t show it. “I used to play Red Hood,” he said, the words leaving his mouth without his say so.
“Me, too,” Tom said, sipping at his tea, burning his tongue and showing it, over-exaggerating his grimaces.
“Didn’t know it was that old,” Jason said, teasing, but the undertone was honest. There were a lot of things he didn’t know apparently.
“Can’t be that old,” Tom reasoned, hiding his grin behind his mug. “You have more white hair than me.” Even in his mid-sixties, old-man-Tom’s hair was as black as it must have been decades ago. Jason knew there was a building wide bet on whether he was dying it or not.
Jenna ignored them both, taking a measured sip of her tea, humming happily. “My granddaddy told me how to play,” she said. She had a faraway look in her eyes that Jason hated to chase away but his tea was almost gone and he needed to know.
“Do you know how it came to be?” He swallowed. “The game?”
He knew why he had played the game when he was younger, running around with the other Crime Alley kids. Then, it was a game designed to make them feel brave, powerful. It took courage to stand up to the Red Hood, pretend or not, and it took courage to be the Red Hood, sticks acting as guns shoved in too small pockets.
“Probably by a parent wanting to teach their kids how to be safe around the bad areas,” Tom said, draining his own tea. He picked up a napkin and started to slowly shred it. Jason knew that he was trying to cut back on smoking.
“Red Hood is old,” Jason said, trailing off. It must have been, if the game was as old as Jenna was saying. He wished for more tea. He kind of wanted to punch something.
“As old as Gotham,” Jenna said, “Older, if the believed origins are true.”
“What origins?”
“Robin Hood, of course!” Tom said, reaching for another napkin to turn into confetti, uncaring of the way Jason had almost broken the mug, or maybe just not noticing.
Jenna nodded, continuing the tale. “Gotham was born corrupted,” she explained, her words gentle, almost apologetic. Jason wondered if Gotham understood the apology was for her. “Robin Hood had been established in Europe for generations beforehand so when the legend came over, people already knew of him.” She patted Jason’s arm like she had done before, giving him a gummy smile. “Easier to trust and all.”
“Now,” Tom added, focused on the torn napkins, “no one really knows when Robin Hood became Red Hood, but.” He shrugged. “Nothing can stay bloodless in Gotham for long.”
Jason had to swallow twice before he could trust his voice. “And do you believe that?” He stood up and gathered their empty mugs, giving them a quick rinse and letting them dry by the sink. He tried not to think about the look Jenna exchanged with Tom.
“Well,” Tom started, his eyes careful on Jason, “In Crime Alley, we call Hood’s gang his Band of Merry Men.”
Jason had to smile at that. “It’s better than calling them ‘goons’.”
He watched as they relaxed back on their seats and thought about how he maybe hadn’t been as careful as he should have been with keeping his nightlife a secret. He couldn’t find it in himself to truly care, though.
He clapped his hands once, pushing away from the sink. “Right. We have some lightbulbs to change.” Tom nodded and gathered the torn napkins to throw away.
“Come back tomorrow for tea,” Jenna told them, following them to the door. “I’ll have a pound cake ready.”
Jason sent her a grin as he leaned down to put his shows on. “I’m leaving the door open only because I’ll be right outside.”
She laughed, a cheery sound. “Of course, sweetheart.”
The warehouse was a sea of activity when Jason walked in. Most of his men just paused what they were doing to give him a passing nod, but Jason preferred it that way.
Tot was already coming his way and Jason let himself be followed into his office at the far end of the warehouse, the door closing and getting locked with practiced and unhurried movies. Good, that meant there wasn’t anything time sensitive going on.
It had taken some time for Jason to be comfortable entering a warehouse without fear of having a panic attack, and they always kept their C4 in different, smaller, locations.
Jason took a seat and watched as Tot stayed standing, focused on the papers in his hands.
“There was some trouble with an unfamiliar John last night but Martinez and Dave had a lil’ chat with him and he won’t be coming back,” Tot started. “Yes, they stayed there until every working girl was home.” He bunched up the first paper and dropped it in the waiting bowl on Jason’s desk. “All safe houses are full with up to date antidotes for all known toxins, clown, scarecrow and ivy, and both shelters got their monthly delivery of blankets this morning.” Another paper in the bowl. “Soup kitchen up on 4th is running low on flour but Maria said they’ll hold till the end of the week.”
As Tot dropped the final paper in the bowl, he took out his lighter and lit them up, exhaling, and looking at Jason over the flames. “As always,” he said dryly, “this could have been an email.”
“Aw, but then I wouldn’t get to listen to your voice,” Jason said, smirking. Tot couldn’t see it under the helmet but Jason was sure the other man knew.
Tot rolled his eyes, his gaze not leaving the still burning paper.
Jason studied him in return. Tot, real name Eliot, had been the first person Jason had recruited when he had made his way to Gotham for the first time after his death. It wasn’t talked about but everyone knew that if someone got a lucky shot, everything would go to Tot. He wouldn’t even need a red helmet to make it work.
What few people knew was that Jason and Eliot were Alley Kids, and had been friends since before everything. Jason would visit the Alley as much as he could as Robin, and Eliot was always his first stop.
“What do you think about names, Tot?” Jason asked, after the flames had died down and the ash had settled.
Tot frowned in confusion. “Everyone deserves one,” he said. When Jason didn’t say anything else, Tot leaned slightly forward. “Everything alright, Boss?”
Jason waved a hand, knowing that Eliot wasn’t buying it. “Just some information I wasn’t prepared for is all,” he said, more honest that he expected to be. “Say, you’ve ever played Red Hood?” It was out of his mouth before he truly thought the words over.
Tot eyed him carefully. “You know, I’ve played.”
Of course Jason knew. They’ve played Red Hood together so many times he had lost count.
He sighed. “Are we doing this?”
Tot shrugged. The smoke from the fire was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of pen ink and paper. “Your call, Boss. It doesn’t change anything.”
Of course it didn’t change anything. Tot already knew.
Jason took off his helmet. He hadn’t worn a domino mask underneath, as if he knew somehow that it would end up like this. He placed the helmet on the desk and waited.
Eliot didn’t stay silent for long. “Life looks good on you, Jay,” he said, voice almost unbearably gentle but Jason swallowed through it.
“Just life?” he tried to joke, knowing it fell flat.
Tot grinned, the scar on his cheek pulling tight. “Can’t give you more compliments or else the helmet won’t fit.”
“And here I thought you were my favorite.”
“Maria’s your favorite. Everyone knows that.”
Jason didn’t try to defend it. “Her tamales are a godsend.”
He picked up the helmet once more but didn’t put it on. There was a small crack by the left eye, barely visible. Maybe he’ll ask Roy to fix it when he came by.
“When Gotham was founded,” Jason said, feeling Eliot’s eyes on him, “they brought over Robin Hood.” They both ignored how Jason’s voice broke slightly. “That’s the origin of Red Hood.”
Eliot’s exhale turned into soft laugher. “You tell your archer that?” he asked. Ignoring Jason’s wide eyes, he continued, his grin growing, showing teeth. “Arsenal’s his name, right?”
“He’s not my archer,” Jason muttered.
Tot was smart. He changed topics but his eyes were knowing. “The Alley calls us your Merry Men,” he said, seemingly unbothered, but Jason could hear the pride underneath.
“So I’ve heard.”
“It ain’t bad,” Tot said, “Makes us different from any other goon out there.”
Jason thought about the Red Hood name and his Merry Men and he wondered if Gotham was keeping them safe, too.
He looked at Eliot. “Ever thought it’d end up like this?” he asked. No reason to explain what it meant.
Eliot was silent for a moment. “Well,” he started, drawing out the word, “I’ve always thought I’d end up by your side. Wasn’t sure on the dead or alive part but.” A shrug, a wry smile. “Gotham’s kept me alive and you’ve kept me fed and clothed. Can’t ask for more.”
People like them, Jason knew, weren’t allowed to ask for more. The Alley had a way of killing the wish before you even spoke it.
But Jason was brought back for a reason. “I’ll make it so one day you can,” he promised, vowed.
Eliot’s smile was small, brittle, and Jason copied it.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Jason decided to enter the manor proper instead of from the cave, and with the way Alfred’s expression had brightened when he opened the front door, he was going to start doing it more often.
“Your brothers are in the den,” Alfred said, taking Jason’s leather jacket and hanging out by the door.
“Is B in?” Jason asked, taking off his shoes and putting them next to the several other pairs. He placed his helmet on the small table underneath all the coats, on top of a couple car keys.
Alfred’s sigh was all movement and no sound. “Master Bruce is conducting his own research to confirm Mister Constantine’s sayings.”
Jason huffed, swallowing his unease. “Of course he is,” he said. He hesitated, wanting to know what Alfred was thinking about the whole thing, but scared to ask it. “What do you think?”
Alfred’s gaze was all knowing and gentle as it settled on Jason’s shoulders, and he let the older man gather his words as they made their way over to the den.
A handful of steps away from the ajar door, Alfred cleared his throat. “I think,” he started, sounded sure of whatever conclusion he had come to, “that if what Mister Constantine has said about Gotham is true, then I have many a things to thank her for.”
There was an ache in Jason’s chest, travelling down his front like it was following a laid path. “Yeah.”
Alfred’s eyes said a million things. He smiled. “Be sure to stay for dinner, Master Jason,” he said, turning around and leaving Jason alone in the hallway.
He took in a deep breath and pushed open the door, entering the room.
Tim was sitting on the loveseat, focused on his laptop, with his fingers moving fast enough to blur. Damian and Dick were sharing a couch, the latter focused on his phone while Damian was doing an almost acceptable job at pretending he hadn’t noticed Jason, continuing to calmly sketch away.
Dick looked up from his phone, his smile instant and blinding. “Little Wing! I didn’t know you were coming at the manor!”
“Yeah, ‘cause I didn’t tell you I was going to,” Jason said, choosing to sit at the chair the farthest from them all.
Dick’s smile didn’t dim in the slightest. “I’ll text B to come to the manor for dinner,” he said, fingers already moving on his phone screen. “You know how he gets when he needs answers.”
Of course Jason knew. That was all of them.
Damian clicked his tongue. “I do not understand why Father insists on looking for answers at the Watchtower when the sorcerer made it crystal clear that he would not find them outside of Gotham.”
Tim scoffed, his fingers not pausing on his keyboard. “Telling B he can’t do something basically tells him to try anyway,” he said.
Jason wasn’t sure if Tim understood how that was exactly him, too, but the exasperated look he shared with Dick confirmed his suspicions.
“You left in a hurry yesterday,” Dick said, putting his phone down. His concern was a tangible thing. “Everything okay?”
Jason nodded and shifted on the chair, suddenly restless. “Had some business in Crime Alley,” he said, honest, knowing it didn’t really matter when he had more truth choking him.
Damian had stopped all pretense at being focused on his sketch, and he sat still on the couch, frowning down at the floor.
No one in this family liked unknowns and it was a weird feeling being the one to have the majority of the answers.
“I did some research,” Tim said, clicking on his laptop for a moment until it was connected with the huge TV across from them. “Constantine said just enough for me to know where to begin.” He nodded at the TV, and at a very blurry photo of Batman and Dick as Robin.
Tim didn’t stay on it for long, moving through a handful of photos of Dick before they changed into Jason, moved to Tim and Steph, and finally settling on Damian. All of them were blurry.
“What do some blurry photos have to do with what the sorcerer told us?” Damian asked, crossing his arms.
“All of them were taken by civilians,” Tim explained. “It’s kind of a game in social media, who can take the clearest shot of us.”
“You think Gotham is protecting us by blurring our photos?” Dick asked, tilting his head like he didn’t quite believe Tim yet but was open to hearing more.
“I think it’s very possible, because these are the photos I took,” Tim said. A click and more photos filled the TV screen, the first few of them being of Batman, and then moving on to Jason as Robin. All of them were clear and focused, getting better each time, Tim learning how to use his camera as time went on.
“That’s freaky,” Dick said, and Jason disagreed but he didn’t have the words for it, yet.
Tim shrugged. “Not really. I suppose this is Gotham’s way of keeping our identities safe. Only photos by me are clear, and even security camera footage is blurry until O downloads it.”
Jason watched as Dick grew more unsettled by the second. He frowned. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Isn’t this supposed to be good news?”
“How are you okay with it?” Dick asked back. “Am I supposed to be fine with the knowledge that it all started with me when I never had a clue?” His breaths were heavy by the end, his eyes wide.
“Robin is magic,” Jason said, half desperate and fully snapping. “You’re the one that taught me that. Robin gives you magic, and maybe it’s in the mantle or maybe it started the moment your parents died.”
Dick’s flinch was small but Jason still felt it like it was his own.
“You think my parents did this?” There was no accusation in his voice, only hope and something that sounded a bit like wonder, and it had Jason swallowing down ash and blood.
Boy wonder, indeed.
Tim’s words were slow, careful. “It’s possible that as your parents were falling, they wished for you to live, and you were already Robin and so you did.” He paused. “And so we did.”
Damian had allowed Dick to pull his closer, basically in the elder’s lap. “Todd still died,” he said, “So did Brown.”
“I wasn’t Robin when I died,” Jason automatically said, “And Steph was resurrected on scene.”
“What do you mean by that?” Dick asked, voice heartbreakingly patient.
Jason mulled over his words. “Names have power, right? Constantine said it. Robin grows more powerful with every new person that takes the mantle, and the more people that speak of Robin, the more power there is.”
“A feedback loop,” Tim said, and Jason nodded at him, thankful that his rambling was making sense.
“Constantine said the same about Gotham,” he reminded them. “She was born corrupted so people believe she is and so she becomes it.”
“People believe Robin is magic so it becomes it,” Damian said, and Dick’s arms tightened around his middle.
Tim was looking at Jason, his gaze analyzing. “If you weren’t Robin when you died, who were you?” He asked the question like he already knew the answer and Jason wasn’t surprised.
He exhaled and settled more in his chair. “There’s this game every kid in Crime Alley grows up playing, called the Red Hood. I grew up playing it, my father probably grew up playing it.” He paused, swallowed. “It’s part of us,” he said, feeling like he had just bared his very soul with those four words.
“I was already outgrowing Robin before I went to Ethiopia and I was planning on telling B I wanted to change my name when I came back.” A shrug, trying to appear unbothered and knowing he wasn’t succeeding. “It was never about the clown, but I won’t pretend I didn’t want to take the name back.”
He smiled at them, ruefully. “Crime Alley remembers and the Red Hood is very old. Older than Gotham, apparently.”
“Older than Gotham?” Damian asked, “How can that be?”
“When the Europeans came over and founded Gotham, they brought their folklore with them.” Jason smiled with a childlike glee as his brothers got it, one by one.
Tim snorted. “That’s hilarious.”
Dick was hiding his laughing face in Damian’s back, shaking the boy.
“I find it very fitting,” Damian said, “Todd is the most honorable of us and the way he acts in Crime Alley is very reminiscing of the way Robin Hood protected his people.”
Jason felt oddly touched. “Thanks, habibi.”
Damian’s smile was small but pleased.
Dick was still chuckling. “The implications of Red Hood being so tightly connected with archery aren’t lost on me.”
Jason felt himself blush. “Shut up,” he grumbled. The phone in his pocket was suddenly hot like a brand, burning him through his jeans, the memory of Roy’s messages about coming to Gotham with Lian crystal clear.
Dick’s eyes were all knowing but he dropped the subject. “I’m glad you’re alive, Jay,” he said, his words too honest for Jason to make a joke.
He swallowed, and found that the words came easy. “Me, too.”
Jason stood on top of the old bank, overlooking the city that he hated to love.
There was a gargoyle on his side, an ugly thing with a wide snarling mouth that used to sprout water decades ago on a fountain, but after one too many mothers had complained about it, they had moved it to the roof of the bank, away from wandering eyes. It was Jason’s favorite, the underside of its wings the most likely place for Batman to find him napping on slow nights when he was Robin, and even as Red Hood, he still fit.
He shoved himself under the wings once more, deciding not to think about how they felt like they were settling over his shoulders like stony arms.
He took in a breath. “Thank you,” he said, feeling only slightly awkward. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, wanting to be sure the others wouldn’t overhear. “For bringing me back. Protecting me, and the others.”
Jason thought of two acrobats falling to their deaths, locking eyes in midair and wishing for their son’s continued survival, wishing for their Robin to keep flying. He thought of their blood painting the ground in the middle of a circus tent, and Gotham answering, ‘yes, of course, always’.
He shivered. The wings around his shoulders grew closer.
He thought of the texts in his phone, sent hours ago, received and read and answered. “I have something to ask,” he said, squaring up his shoulders, as much as he could in his confines. “Someone very dear to me will be spending a lot of time in Gotham with his daughter and I need you to be kind to them.” He licked his lips, feeling his cheeks blush. A pigeon landed next to him, looked at him, and cooed.
“Funny,” he scoffed, but a smile was trying to break free regardless. Laughter sounded from the alley next to the bank, far away enough that he shouldn’t be able to hear it. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I get it.” Then, as an afterthought, he said, “He’s an archer, you know.”
Immediately, a breeze appeared out of nowhere, ruffling his hair and caressing his naked face, and he laughed, raising his hands as if to bat it away. “Yeah, I knew you’d like that, huh.”
He pushed away from the gargoyle, noticing how the wings moved back to allow him to get on his feet. He felt brave enough to pat its head. “Thank you,” he said again, picking up his helmet and putting it on.
Jason didn’t hear the words but he felt them deep inside his chest, travelling down his front as if following a long since healed scar. He knew them to be true.
Yes, of course, always.