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rubydubydoo122 · 16 days

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In every universe Jason Peter Todd dies young. It’s a fate sealed across the multiverse. Maybe he could hope that there’s one universe where he doesn’t. aka, Jason, Dick, and Bruce go multiverse hopping, and are not having a fun time. (Ps, when I started writing this fic I hced Jason as Latino, but I don't really believe in that hc anymore, so just a heads up if you don't like that hc)

TRIGGER WARNING -> Child Death (it's Jason)

A child was gone. A child was gone. A child was gone. A child was gone. A child was gone. A child was gone. A child was gone.

Seven children were gone. And another one was about to die. And another one and another one, with every new reality they went to, because that was the pattern.

It wasn’t just Jason dying. It was Jason dying as a kid, unable to grow old. None of his counterparts would grow old.

None of them spoke. It was like they were frozen in time. Except he knew they weren’t frozen because his knees were trembling and he had to clench his fists to keep them steady. Before he could tell what he was doing, Jason was moving.

He could tell who was comforting who. If he was clinging to Dick to keep himself from floating away or if Dick’s vice-like hug was to make sure he wouldn’t turn into smoke right in his arms.

Finally, it was Bruce who broke the silence, “We should find somewhere to rest. Maybe sit this universe out.”

And honestly, Dick and Jason were too worn out to realize it wasn’t a very Batman thing to say. In fact, it felt a lot like the Bruce they both knew in their childhood. The man that didn’t have Batman bleeding into the person he truly was– Bruce.

Though now that they were relatively back to their senses, he took his time to look around. The magic was strong in this universe. Specifically soul magic.

The sould didn’t feel like they were on a separate plane, like how he learned with Ducra. It felt like each and every soul had the ability to pass through the veil and take on a form in the physical world. Like if everyone had the ability to summon their own version of the All Blades.

They were in some sort of museum. Except, It didn’t feature dinosaurs or WWII artifacts. No. It seemed to feature winged skeletons, but attached to humans. Except they weren’t really attached. As far as Jason could tell, the anatomy didn’t really line up for the back of the ribs to connect with the wings. Though Jason could feel the connection between the wings and the skeleton that ran soul deep.

Bruce smoothed out Jason’s hair, “Come on, lets go.”

As soon as they got outside, they realized what was different about this universe. There were people with wings. From the shape of a falcon to a songbird, from the wing of a dove to a vulture. He could tell that each and every set of wings was a reflection of that person’s soul. It was their soul.

He thought about Bruce. Maybe his wings would be some sort of Eagle. Strong, sharp, intelligent. Though, those are more qualities of a person, not a soul. And an Eagle didn’t really seem to fit Bruce. You can’t really describe a soul with words. It’s just an energy, a vibe.

What would Dick’s look like? Dick, a man who was born to fly. Him having Robin wings felt a little too on the nose. He had to have giant wings that drew eyes and signaled comfort. Jason couldn’t really think of a specific wing that would portray that. Unless his wings were unique, and unlike anything anyone has seen.

He wondered what his wings would look like. Would his soul, a soul strong enough to wield the All-Blades, have giant wings that were majestic? Or was he too broken? Would his wings only manifest as a few measly feathers.

They got to a motel, and the receptionist noticed them immediately, “Oh! Mr. Wayne! I didn’t expect anyone of your status to ever stay somewhere here.”

Bruce gave her one of his signature Brucie Wayne smiles, “It was the closest place.”

She looked from Dick to Jason and gave him a soft smile back, “Rough night out?”

“You could say that.”

She handed them a key, “The room’s on the house. After all you and your sons do for the city, it’s the least we could do.”

Bruce looked a little confused, “Are you sure? I have enough money–”

“Yes, yes, please. I insist. You and your family are the Guardian Angels of Gotham. My boss would throw a fit if he realized I made you pay. Now go! Rest! It’s the least you could do.”

“Oh.” Bruce took the key, “Thank you.”

As soon as they got to the room, Dick face planted onto the colossal bed (For the wings? But sleeping with those seemed like work). Then he rolled over and started pushing all the sheets to the middle. Like he used to do when Jason was visiting the Titans.

Dick was the type of person who didn’t sleep with any blankets, whereas Jason bundled himself like a burrito. Jason could sleep without them– his time on the streets and in the league made that a necessity– but when given the choice, he’d take the protection and safety blankets provided.

Of course he knew he could trust Dick to catch him when he fell, or to protect his back, but it took a while for Jason to trust Dick like that . He remembers, way back in the beginning, he used to sleep on the giant couch in Titan’s tower, which slowly turned into sleeping on the ground in Dick’s room. Then to the opposite end of the bed with a pillow wall separating them.

There was that time, it was a couple nights before Dick left for space. Jason had went to Titan’s Tower after Gloria Stanson died and the whole situation with Fellipe Garzonas. And Dick, he just held him in his arms. Leaning his cheek on top of Jason’s curls. Not saying anything, and just holding him. He didn’t ask any questions. He just gave him comfort.

It was hard for Jason to trust people like that. Trust people enough to be vulnerable around them. Though once Jason trusted someone, nothing they did could break that trust. Sure, they could disappoint him, like Bruce and Sheila, or even in some ways Talia, but he still trusted them with his whole being. Even if he knew Dick didn’t trust him. He probably didn’t see Jason as anything more than a… coworker, or a person who took the face of a kid he maybe used to care about, Jason trusted Dick more than anyone else in the world. He was his big brother.

Jason rolled himself up in the blankets and scooted until his forehead was slightly touching Dick’s shoulder. Dick immediately melted relaxed That couldn’t be right. Maybe he was just really tired.

Soon he could hear Dick’s breathing even out and knew he was asleep.

He thought about how Jay from the Alley, and Baby Jay would never get that big brother. How the Robin Jays barely got close enough to really know Dick as a brother before they died. Even he didn’t really have the rights to call Dick his brother. Not as much as Tim or Damian, or even Duke. Quality over quantity, and by the time Jason truly opened up he died. They all died.

Jason knew there were infinite realities. He knew there were many realities where he lived, but there had to be equally as many where he died. Maybe even more.

Maybe by coming back to life, he caused one of these many Jasons to die. Maybe that’s why they were on this multiversal adventure. The transporter device is trying to find a reality where his soul fits. Maybe it doesn’t fit anywhere anymore.

“Can’t sleep?”

He shrugged. Jason knew Bruce would notice he wasn’t really asleep. He was Bruce, he couldn’t not notice. He was somehow simultaneously the most observant and the most obtuse person he knew.

They sat in the silence that always felt so loud between the two of them. Sometimes, Jason felt like they were the tides and the moon. He knew Bruce was always trying to reach out to him, but in the end, the gravity of Gotham will always be greater than Jason’s.

He heard Bruce shift in his seat, “Do you… do you remember those nights we’d stayed up all night in the library reading poems?”

Jason nodded. Of course he remembers. Most of the poems he’d been telling all the versions of himself had been from those nights.

He also remembered the reason they were up all night. Most of the time it was because they had run into someone he used to work for. He could never sleep after being so starkly reminded of his past. And it was near impossible to build up the guts to get in a bed those nights.

He remembers sitting in the papasan chair in the library feeling like a bird. He remembers Bruce sitting on the far end of the couch, because even then, he knew. Of course he knew.

He remembers them going back and forth reading poems they thought the other would like. He remembers watching Bruce’s eyelid get heavier and heavier with each blink, but he still stayed up with him. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke up, the poetry books they’d been skimming through were left on the coffee table with green flags marking the poems Jason had liked and orange ones marking the ones Bruce did. Though the only ones Jason ended up memorizing were the pink ones, which both of them enjoyed.

“I never told you, but I used to do that with my mother. Not staying up late, but we used to sit in the Library after I had come home from school, and we’d– we did that too.”

Jason didn’t really know what to say to that. ‘ Was anything we did original to us?’ or ‘ I special enough to you to the point where you let me share what you once had with your mother?’.

In the end Jason didn’t say anything, because Bruce continued, “Remember the poem ‘Still I Rise’ , by Maya Angelou?”

He nodded. It used to be his favorite. He remembered finding it the first poetry night he and Bruce spent together. Jason had read it first. And almost every poetry night they had they would come back to that one. They both had it memorized.

“It used to be my mother’s favorite too.”

Jason could never forget the way Bruce read the poem to him. The way he seemed to not just read the poem, but express it.

He always found it interesting that Bruce, a white man, could resonate with that poem. Though now that he thought of it, Bruce always read it like he was recalling a memory. So maybe Martha Wayne, a Jewish woman, helped him understand.

“Though, after the first time you read it out loud to me, I could only think of that poem being yours.” Bruce paused like he was debating saying something, and seemed to ultimately decide against it.

Jason didn’t know what to say. He had too much to say. Too many thoughts and feelings and actions that float around in his mind but never make it past the layers upon layers of thorns he uses to hurt people. The thornes he uses to protect himself.

He wanted to tell Bruce to stop playing with his feelings, but he also wanted Bruce to hold him like he held the boy who was long dead. He wanted Bruce to stop using old memories like a carrot on a string just out of reach. He wanted to tell him of the nights he yearned for Bruce’s voice to lull him to sleep through the pattern of the stanzas. He wants to smack Bruce upside the head and tell him that he’s no longer the boy who died and that he’s still the same person. He wanted to scream that he was here and that he hates the person he’s become. Except he wasn’t sure if he hates Bruce or himself.

He couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. He missed him even though he was two feet away. He hated him because he loved him and that love would never be enough. He just wanted to call him Dad, and not worry about Batman taking that away.

In the end all Jason could say was, “‘s our poem.”

He heard Bruce shift, “Is…is it still our poem?”

Jason nodded, Now more than ever. There were nights, he remembered, during the league, during his early Red Hood days, even now, when the only way he can fall asleep is by reciting poems. Bruce’s voice almost lucid in his head. So when Bruce started speaking he had to remind himself that Bruce was really there. Reciting the poem for him.

“You may write me down in history; With your bitter, twisted lies; You may trod me in the very dirt; But still, like dust, I'll rise; Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells; Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns; With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise.

“Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries?Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard; ’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines; Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

“Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise; That I dance like I've got diamonds; At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame; I rise; Up from a past that’s rooted in pain; I rise; I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear; I rise; Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear; I rise; Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave; I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

“I rise. I rise. I rise.”

Jason didn’t remember falling asleep, but he certainly remembers waking up. Because it felt like his soul was being– he couldn’t even describe it. It just felt like his soul was in trouble, but not his soul. It was like it was being ripped out of Jason’s body–

The Jason of this Universe.

He sat up, and realized he was seeing double. Nope not double, there were two Bruces and two Dicks. And an ten/eleven year old Tim, and Stephanie.

So the stalker probably stumbled across them, and their Jay must’ve gone missing, so they came to them for help. Except their Jay couldn’t be dead because Bruce Dick and Jason were still in this universe.

Tim, tilted his head like a bird, “Is your arm glowing a normal thing for you?”

Jason looked down. His soul marks. Except Jason didn’t feel any evil entity near him . Was… was Jay being hunted by an Untitled?

Dick, the older one, replied “No.” At the same time Bruce replied with, “Yes.”

Jason closed his eyes. He’s never been the best at astral projecting, but hopefully trying to track his own soul would make it easier.

The museum.

He made eye contact with Steph who looked bewildered, and spooked all at the same time. So she was probably their witness,

He stood and headed towards the door, making a motion for everyone to follow, “What’s happenin’, Blonde?”

“They- They took Jason and it’s all my fault.”

Jason snapped his head back because usually Steph was not one to be so open while being self loathing, “Oi, cut the guilt. Knowing myself, Jay probably chose to get taken rather than you. So tell me what’s goin’ on. And I want a story, no self loathing.”

Steph stepped into pace with Jason, and took a deep breath, “I was helping this kid, she needed help, but she wasn’t trusting me enough to help her. So…so I showed her my wings.” She said it like it was a bad thing.

He guessed it could be, showing your soul to a stranger, but people flew around with their wings on full display, as far as Jason could tell, it was fine.

“Hm, I dunno if my Bruce has told you this yet, but we’re from a different Universe. One where only birds and bats have wings. I don’t really know the Socio-political climate here. What’s… why was it wrong to show this kid your wings?”

Tim ran up to Jason’s other side, “Wings are a physical manifestation of your soul. There are certain wing types that are super rare. And because they’re so rare, they’re made to be… a spectacle. People who have mythical creature wings, like, Dick, are you ok with me using your parents as an example?”

Dick, the younger one, gave a wistful smile.

“Mr. Grayson had these huge dragon wings, and- and Mrs. Grayson’s wings were absolutely beautiful! They were Psyche’s wings. Do you guys have the myths of Dragons and Psyche in your world– Nope, I’m getting off topic. The more… I wouldn’t say pure or good, because you can’t really describe a soul with words, but usually your wings mirror your soul, and if you have more mythological wings, the more… magic your soul has. Though, if you’re not careful about who you show your wings to, you’ll probably get trafficked if you have pretty ones. That’s what Jason told me.”

Jason nodded. Then stopped in his tracks as the realization hit like a bus, and spun around, “The receptionist called you,” he pointed at Bruce, “And you,” he pointed to Dick, “the ‘ Guardian Angels of Gotham’ . Does that mean you’re really… ”

They nodded. “I have Powers Wings and Dick has Virtues.”

They were angels . He was literally standing in front of angels .

Jason turned around and continued walking while whispering “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. ” under his breath. He touched his forehead, his chest, his left and right shoulders and then brought his hands together, “Amen.”

That also meant they didn’t have secret identities, but he was in the presence of angels.

Dick– not the angel one– cleared his throat. “So, you… also have angel wings, Steph?”

She nodded, lip wobbling, “But I didn’t notice there were other people in the alley, and like Tim said Jason said, when you have special wings you get taken and– and before I knew it, Jason was jumping down into the Alley, spreading his wings and telling me to run, and- and he got taken.”

Bruce, the literal angel, face looked conflicted between proud and worried, “He spread his wings? He doesn’t show them to anyone .”

Angel Dick made a pinched face, which meant Dick The Angel knew what wings Jay had. God, he was probably– he probably had songbird wings or something. If he had any other wings, he probably would have a mental breakdown.

They walked through the doors of the museum, as Tim tugged at Jason’s sleeve, “Why are your hands glowing?”

The feeling of his soul being chiseled out chip by chip became almost overbearing. “Kinda… kinda like your wings, but I got swords instead.” He placed his hand to his heart, to keep it from bursting out of his chest, but it wasn’t working. “Timbo… do you also have Angel wings?”

He nodded, “I have Dominion wings. They’re not as cool as Jason’s though.”

Tim was a literal angel too. And… if these traffickers targeted people with special wings, he couldn’t let Tim and Steph wherever those traffickers were. He couldn’t let another Tim watch his brother die “Alright, I have a really important task for you and Steph.” Jason crouched down so he could be face to face with them. “Whenever I use my soul sword, it takes a lot of energy out of me, cus it’s ya know, a sword that comes from my soul. Do you guys have gatorade here? Specifically lime green.” they both nodded, “Do you also have Arizona Iced Tea, Space Rocks– not pop rocks, there’s a difference– Sour gummy worms, but they have to be the Candy Works Brand, and those strawberry hard candies that grandmas always have–”

“The ones with the gooey center?”

“Yes! Those! Along with the butterscotches they usually have on them too. I need you two to find all of those things. Then I need you to mix the drinks and the gummy worms together, but not the Space Rocks or the old lady candy. Then, I need you to put an old lady candy in your mouth and chant ‘Acres of All, give All strength.’ Keep chanting until you’ve dissolved three candies each , ok? It has to be three strawberries, three butterscotches.” They nodded again, “And then, once you’re done with the old lady candies, you have to throw the pop rocks into the gummy worm drink, and say, ‘ soul replenisher’ until all the bubbles from the Space Rocks fizzle out. Make sure to take your time. If you rush it, my soul will become very weak.”

Steph and Tim nodded solemnly, “We won’t let you down, Giant Jason.” and they ran off to go find the ingredients.

Jason stood up and walked deeper into the museum, where his astral projection went, but all it led him to was the center of the museum. He could feel his own soul. He could feel the evil presence nearby. They were close enough to where he could summon the All Blades, but he kept them away. Not yet. There had to be a hidden door somewhere.

He paused in the middle of the room. There were wings with feathers preserved in resin.

Seraphim Wings.

All three sets of wings were open wide, they weren’t curled in to veil the angel like they were supposed to. They were spread open. They looked wrong . Then he saw the plaque.

The wings of Thomas Wayne. The first Seraphim in centuries. Seraphim feathers hold special healing qualities that are even rumored to be able to heal fatal wounds. These feathers lose their healing ability after the Seraphim dies.

Jason felt his blood run cold. This… this was worse than the case that held the suit he died in. This was a dead soul on display– no. This was a trapped soul. Never to be set free. Never to be at rest.

Dick frowned, confusion slowly making way for horror, “But, Tim said that… your wings are your souls.”

Jason grabbed his Bruce by the elbow before he could fall to the ground.

“Bruce–” He wasn’t sure which Dick said it to which Bruce, but Angel Bruce cut him off.

“I had no say in it. I can never forgive Alfred for it, but this Gotham, this world , it isn’t just magic. It’s also cursed and corrupt. It was the only way he could keep me from living a life in a fighting pit or a cage.”

Angel Dick’s eyebrows scrunched up in worry, “ Br –”

“What about…” Bruce peeled his eyes away from the taxidermy of his father, “What about Mom?”

Angel Bruce looked away.

Jason could hear his Bruce’s jaw click shut, “You’re a grown man now, capable of protecting yourself. Why won’t you–”

“Don’t you think I tried ?! They came after Dick! I’m trying my best here! And I know my parents would rather have their grandkids safe than their memories honored. I have to pick and choose my battles. It’s not just about doing the right thing, it’s a war against evil . And my parents not being put to rest is a small loss compared to what’s necessary for my kids, and maybe even grandkids, to live in a safer Gotham.” Angel Bruce was looking at Bruce firmly. Eyes narrowed in that way that left no room for argument.

This Bruce was a Protector's Angel. This Bruce fought true evil. And Jason could feel all the Untitled-Like beings crawling around nearby. There was no hoping for redemption when it came to them. This Bruce killed, but it was nessasary. These evil beings would stop at nothing to get what they want.

Jason shifted and walked over to a patch where the stone floor looked off. He lodged his foot into an odd looking cobblestone, and suddenly the ground under him disappeared.

No stairs. Just free falling. Which was good for people with wings, but Jason didn’t really have those.

He summoned one of his All Blades and stuck it into the wall to stop his fall.

Angel Dick came diving down, before catching sight of Jason hanging and stopped. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Jason almost slipped off his sword, because, holy mother of Christ, Angel Dick had his Angel wings out.

Jason regained his grip, and positioned himself so he was sitting on the blade like a seat.

There was the sound of grapples and suddenly Bruce and Dick were hanging next to him. Followed by Angel Bruce floating next to Angel Dick.

Bruce frowned at him, “Didn’t you say the Blades burned up your soul?”

“Only when I stab truly evil things.” He gestured downwards.

Angel Bruce’s expression darkened, “I’m going to head down, and do some recon, you four, wait for me to come back.” And he dove down.

Dick anchored his foot into his grapple, so he was no longer hanging by his arms, and gave a questioning glance to Jason, “Magical soul swords, huh?”

Jason, instead of answering to Dick’s passive aggressive question, shifted on his makeshift seat and rested his head in his hands. He felt like his intestines were entangling within themselves forming a tapestry that read the words, ‘Something was wrong. ’ Something was really really wrong. And he could feel how close Jay was. It was like if he reached his hand through the wall he would be able to grab his hand. Except, Jason couldn’t do that.

Angel Bruce came back up, “I couldn’t see Jason, but there are cages filled with children lining the perimeter of the substructure. There seems to be bidding going on. ART Dick and Bruce, you two sneak around and open the cages while Dick and I will guide them to safety, there are three more exits to the North, East, and West. We are currently in the South exit. Jason…just, try to find my son.”

Jason nodded. He just didn’t know if it’d be in time. With each second he felt like more and more of his soul was being plucked away until he was left raw and pink.

Bruce gave him a nod before grappling the rest of the way down. Dick squeezed Jason’s ankle and followed Bruce’s lead.

Which left him with the Angels.

Angel Bruce looked at Jason, “Thank you, for making sure Tim and Stephanie were safe. I know you don’t actually need the gatorade-tea-candy potion.”

Jason looked at the knee of his pants. They had rust color stains. Blood. Of different Jasons. That were on him because he was too late to save himself. “I just didn’t want them seeing anything they shouldn’t”

Angel Dick floated closer to Jason and cupped his face, “I don’t know what you’ve been through these past couple days, or months, or maybe even years, but just know that you are the most resilient person I’ve ever known. And that I care about you so much.”

Something about that tightened the knots in his stomach. “I’m not the kid you want to say that to.”

Angel Dick smiled, and shook his head, “It’s something I know holds true throughout each and every Universe. You’re my little brother. And nothing can change that.”

And with that, the Angels dove down.

Jason shook his head. He’s not the Dick he wants to hear those words from. He knows those words will never come out of his brother’s mouth.

Well, he wasn’t getting any more info by astral projection. Time for the good old fashion way.

If Jason Todd in this Universe was a son of Bruce Wayne, known to be the Guardian Angel of Gotham, he was probably being kept somewhere secure. Not with any of the rest of the kids who were being trafficked. He would also be up for a secret bid. One that only people with jets filled with money and power could participate in.

He scaled down the wall and lowered himself to the ground in a relatively bold way. Bold enough to catch eyes, but with enough menace to avoid weapons. Just like old times.

He scanned the crowd. A crowd reeking of Untitled energy– it wasn’t everyone, but a solid amount.

Though there was one who stood out the most.

Jason kept his hands in his pockets as he strode forwards. Hands in his pockets meant he had something to hide. Striding forwards with his chin slightly down, but his eyes fixed on one person, meant he had prey.

He loomed over the man. Close enough for him to feel Jason’s presence, but not to the point where they were touching. He spoke low, “Rumor has it you have some of the best Wings Gotham has to offer. Most of what I’m seeing here, I could find in Metropolis or New York.”

The monster of a man didn’t flinch, but he did shift and turn his head to Jason. Good. “What typa wings ya got?”

Jason smirked, in a way that didn’t reach his eyes and tilted his head while he stared through the man, “What makes you think I have any?”

“Whadarya, a cop? Everyone has wings, and I swear if–”

“What if, I told you mine were ripped away slowly. Feather by feather. Skin from bone. Bone from my very being until I was left nothing but a husk of who I used to be. Go ahead. Try to kill me. Though, believe me, you’ve never fought a man who’s already dead.”

The man’s eyebrows deepened, “Stay for the real show. It starts in thirty minutes, after all the wannabes leave.”

Jason slipped back into the shadows without a word. He tracked Bruce and Dick opening cages, and the Angels fly into and out of the shadows. It was a slow process to make sure no one noticed, though they were making good progress. To the point where there were only three cages they hadn’t gotten to by the time the 30 minutes were up.

There was the sound of gunshots as the man he was talking to earlier held a gun to the air and stalked to the center of the room, withering vulture wings visible. “Scram! Or the ceiling won’t be the only thing with bulletholes in it.” Just to prove his point, vulture wings grabbed the nearest person and shot them in the head.

There was the sound of wings rustling the air as the uninvited guests left. Followed by a couple more gunshots.

Vulture Wings turned back to the remaining crowd, “Well well well, my friends, you’ve just made it to the afterparty, and should I tell you, you’re in for a real treat tonight.” the room erupted into cheers, but died down as soon as Vulture Wings put his hand up. “Now, Now. Before I show you the Good I’ve got stalked up, I’ll be giving you a disclaimer. This one, is not for sale.” a rumble of Boos chimed throughout the basement, “Hold on! Hold on! You’ll all get something out of this. Donny! Bring out the feathers! And Tony! You know your que.” Donny brought four bags to Vulture Man, “Now, we all know our dear Guardian Angels of Gotham. Of Bruce Wayne and his Protectors Wings. And of Dick Grayson and his Virtues Wings. Though, there’s another Guardian Angel. One who’s wings we’ve never seen. There are certain people who theorize that the little one is just a late bloomer, or that he’s not an Angel so to stick with branding he keeps his wings hidden.” Vulture Wings let out a laugh and unzipped one of the duffles, pulling out a singular, pristine white feather. One that seemed to have an ethereal glow to it. “Boy were they wrong.”

There was the screeching of old hinges being unlocked above them. Something– someone was being lowered from the loft.

A Seraphim.

Angel Jason.

He was hanging by his arms, and his legs were bare. All broken and bruised. His wings were next to bare. Most of The feathers had been plucked off, leaving a spare few that were stained red with blood. Two sets of the broken bare wings were curled in to shield his body and face. The last set were hanging at a painfully unnatural angle.

“No. No! ” He couldn’t pin down the emotion in Angel Dick’s cry. Rage? Fear? Grief? Vengance ?

Doesn’t matter, because either way, all hell broke loose.

All the Tainted Wings started lunging for the duffle bags filled with feathers, taking down anyone who got in their way.

Angel Bruce was busy trying to make sure the duffles didn’t end up in the wrong hands, while Angel Dick was trying to make it to Angel Jason, but kept getting pulled back anyone with Tainted wings who were also trying to get to the Seraphim.

Jason had to get to him. He-he promised Angel Bruce, He he couldn’t let an Angel die.

Jason summoned his All-Blades, and began slashing and stabbing, with only one thing in mind.

How could they have seen something so holy and defiled it?

He could feel his soul burn up with every Tainted Wing he banished, like a fire that was slowly simmering out, but he couldn’t make himself care. If he had to lose his soul in order to save an Angel , someone who’s soul was probably worth trillions of his, he would do it. He would do it in a heartbeat.

Suddenly, Angel Jason jerked down.

The rope he was hanging from was fraying.

Jason’s eyes snapped to Dick, who already had his grapple out and was flinging himself towards the Angel. But he was bodyslammed off of his trajectory. Angel Dick was surrounded by Tainted Wings, desparately trying to shake them loose so he could save his brother. And both Bruces were occupied too.

And Jason… Jason wouldn’t make it to him in time.

He watched as the rope snapped. He watched as the Seraphim fell, seemingly in slow motion. He heard a shout come from Dick, though he wasn’t sure which one.

He was sure everything had frozen when Jay made contact with the ground.

An Angel had fallen.

Something had slammed into Jason’s head hard, and for a second, he didn’t see the broken wings of an angel. He saw the tattered yellow cape of a Robin. He saw a face that was tinged blue with Hypothermia. A mouth filling with blood from a punctured rib. A neck bleeding out. A Lamb to the slaughter curling in on himself. A doll.

Jason thrusted his Blade into a stomach, as he got back onto his shaky legs.

A fallen Angel.

Angel Dick rushed to the Seraphim. Mercilessly taking out anyone who was in his way. Jason took out anyone who got too close to the pair.

Angel Dick cradled Angel Jason in his arms. “Jason… Jason, can you, can you stay awake for me? Please?” Jason knew he was gone, deep in his being, but Angel Dick continued, “Please, Jason. You can… just rant to me about that one story? Like you always do. The one… what was his name, Icarus? It was Icarus right? And spring? It was spring when he fell. It’s not spring right now. And you don’t have– why would anyone have wings made of wax, that’s just stupid. And whoever wrote that story was dumb, because obviously the higher up you go, the colder it gets, so the wax wouldn’t melt, it would’ve frozen and gotten hard. Jason.” Dick shook him and one of his wings stopped veiling his face, “Jason. It’s not spring. You don’t have wings of wax, your–your wings are mine, and- and my wings are yours. You’re my wings. And you can’t– Jason! You asshole, wake up!” Dick smacked his face but it didn’t do anything, “You promised. You promised we could fly together after– after you told Bruce. You promised we’d fly together, and I promised I would teach you. If you can’t fly then I can’t. I can’t. If you’re not next to me, I’m not going to fly. I can’t fly. Don’t you understand? You’re my wings. I can’t fly without my wings.”

Jason realized no one was attacking them anymore. Which was a good thing because he was pretty sure if he stabbed one more Tainted Wing, his soul would completely disappear.

He felt his knees go limp and his head spin.

Dick Grayson, the last Flying Grayson, a man who’s feet were probably in the air more often than they were on the ground– something that had to be true across the multiverse, because if it wasn’t that wasn’t Dick Grayson– couldn’t fly because his brother couldn’t. Because it wasn’t Dick’s wing’s that were his soul, it was his family. His family was his soul. His family was his wings. And he couldn’t fly without his wings.

A pair of hands grabbed his face and it took him a moment to piece together that they belonged to Dick. His brother. He immediately rested his forehead into the crook of his kneck, trust be damned. Or whatever complicated feelings that ranged between them, be damned.

Everthing turned white around them, and he was pretty sure he had passed out, until a voice spoke.

A very familiar voice.

“You have mastered the All-Blades?”

Jason could feel the very blades in question retract back into his soul as he turned his head so he could confirm who he was speaking with, with his eyes, “Oh. Hi Talia. Yes.”

And then he passed out.

#jason todd #batman #batfam #dc comics #red hood #dick grayson #tim drake #stephanie brown #wings au #robin jason todd #alternate universe #dimensional travel

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redjaybathood · 12 hours

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Beacon Hills was a sleepy Californian town where nothing ever happened, complete opposite to Gotham - and that's why Jason chose it for his new place of residence. Talia didn't get it.

"You have spent a year with the All Caste, trained with swords and mysterious arts that are forgotten everywhere else on Earth..."

He refrained from reminding that he was kicked out by the cult she put him in when she just restored his higher brain function. For reasons such as prophecies foretelling the doom of said cult.

"And I can give you resources, contacts, everything you need to get revenge..."

He put his hand up.

"I don't want revenge, I never did. I wanted justice, and I see that it's a futile pursuit. Now, all I want - I want just some peace and quiet."

"So just like that, you changed your mind." She looked at him not quite with judgment or dissatisfaction - more like she really didn't get that he wanted to stop.

He shrugged, warming his hands on the coffee cup.

"Look, All Caste? You know what sort of place it is. You were taught by Ducra. You had Trials of your own. You saw it, didn't you? Every variation of you, in 52 Universes. Was either of them happy?"

"I'm not in the League for happiness," she said, almost scandalized.

"Well, why are you in the League at all? I was pondering that, all the year I was in All Acres, a doorway from any point in my life. I could go right through and warn myself, I could go kill Joker before Joker even existed. And it never helped. Gotham's cursed. Batman is its white knight in shiny armour. I'm just..."

He shrugged.

"Poor boy," Talia sighed, cupping his face.

"Don't. I don't need your sympathy," he put his hands over hers, but didn't remove them from where she was touching his skin. "I could use your company, though. I'm serious - why are you even doing all this? Just... Go with me. Take him, and let's settle down where nobody knows us, nobody will..."

Talia froze, then took her cup in both hands.

"I will not ask how do you know about him, even as your father does not. How fast, do you think, it will take Ra's to find us? With our edges dulled, our blades rusty, how fast will he end our lives - and take him?"

Jason shook his head.

"If you want me to believe Damian is the reason you're still in the League..."

Talia put the cup down with a clunk.

"Don't. Ever. Say his name. Even if you think we're alone, if you think nobody is listening in. I will not risk him."

"You already are. You do. He is at risk, and will be until one of two things happen - and maybe even then..."

"I'm aware," Talia said dryly, standing up. "This conversation is over. Do with your life whatever you will. You will find me if you change your mind."

"You too," he said, but the room was empty already. "Jeez."

In one of these 52 Universes, they got together. Jason didn't cultivate with mystical immortals in that universe. He had taken something like a gap year, traveling, mostly Europe, and learning from the specialists League of Assassins sometimes employed. Killed most of them - for good reasons. Reasons he supplied anonymously to Interpol and Checkmate, in this universe.

Because in that world, no matter how many people Jason saved by killing "animals", "monsters", he left behind a piece of himself. At least, with the Soul Swords, he knew what was fueling them, what he was spending.

The story of him and Talia wasn't a happy one. Or even particularly romantic. Both of them were hurting, Bruce-shaped wound in their hearts, but also what was done upon them, what they were made to do, what they thought they should do. Their hearts were more sieves than anything else. One night, they had to each other, and then they never talked face to face ever again.

He didn't want that. He very much hoped, knowing it was futile, that Talia just - went with him, to a sleepy Californian town where nothing ever happened. They would raise her kid - maybe he could be her partner, maybe her son's brother, he would take it any way she could give.

But he couldn't stay for her, and she wouldn't leave for him.

So, he went alone.

***

He had fake documents, keeping the first name and changing the last, using the same day and month of birth and making himself a year younger. Only fair, seeing how he was dead for six months, and catatonic for another six. He put down a local attorney's phone number for his contact information on the school application. That same attorney, Whittermore, had helped him with emancipation, seeing how he was only 17, still, and would need to find someone to pretend to be his parents, or go into foster care, otherwise.

Enrollment in the school was easy. Finding a place to live as well - there was a lot of property built during a dot com bubble era that still was sitting empty. Rent was cheap, compared to Gotham. But without League's backing, he needed income. So he started to check jobs.

There was not a lot vacancies that could be filled with a teenager who was still in school. Waiting tables, washing dishes, making coffee, retail - that was about it. Gabby, his friend from another life - life before Bruce, even - was a waitress. So that's what he applied to. There was no real training, but he had the skills he needed already. Good memory, from the time he used to devour dossiers on criminal individuals and organizations. Coordination, from his movement training. Cheerful smile and small talk, from all the times, infrequent as they were, that he had to follow Bruce to some event or another. He didn't like them then - now, he was just grateful for experience, because life in Himalayas didn't nurture his social skills, to say the least. And good thing Bruce never allowed his picture to be taken, unlike how it was with Dick. At the time Jason was self-conscious, thought Bruce might have been - finding him lacking in some way. Not fit for the public to see, regardless of the new suits he ordered from his tailors for him, or haircuts Alfred gave him. Who knew, maybe Bruce indeed didn't want him to be recognized by anyone from Jason's past who would come knocking. Still, it let Jason feel free in his new life. Nobody will see his tag and his face and put it all together as American most eligible millionaire's dead son.

Beacon Hills was so small a town, Jason had learned the names and occupations of the regulars in his first week on the job. One of them, the local Sheriff, asked a few questions about where he moved from and how old he was. After finding out that in a few weeks he was starting as sophomore at high school ("I was held back a year, sir, after a car accident"), Sheriff asked him not to tell to his son, Stiles, that he's eating his lunches here.

"He's making me those low salt, low cholesterol lunches," the Sheriff chuckled. "His heart is in the right place, I can't bring myself to tell him that it all tastes like a wet cardboard."

"I can tactfully suggest a few recipes to him," Jason offered. "There are nutritious and healthy options that are quite tasty. There's so much you can do with chickpeas."

"What, and leave Robby without steady income? I couldn't do that, not until he sees his daughter through college. Who taught you to cook, by the way?"

"My grandfather."

It took a lot of Jason to keep the smile on his face. But it might have been a wrong choice.

"Well, pass along my greetings. There's not a lot of teenagers nowadays who have the skill."

"He... I'm alone now, after the accident." Jason didn't like to lie about anyone dying, it seemed like he was cursing them in this way, so he picked his words carefully.

"I'm so sorry, there's a foot in my mouth, I swear it's a family trait," Sheriff rummaged in his pocket, and then thrusted a card to him. "Here. If you need anything, you can reach me on a cell, it's written on the back."

Jason briefly considered - he had some cards with his personal number on it on him. Always ready to offer assistance to the needy? Or... Noah Stilinsky seemed like a good guy, and Jason, pocketing his card, hoped as hell that he was.

Because there's another kind of explanation why nothing big came up when he researched Beacon Hills. All sorts of things can be covered up and never see the light of the day when it's the police doing the covering.

He will call, he decided, as soon as he can find a suitable reason. He needed to know if the Sheriff and this town was what they seemed.

***

Before the school started, though, Jason couldn't find the time. He was a freshman when he died, and he had no access to schooling after his resurrection. Even with all the knowledge learned under the tutelage of a former Batgirl, there was a lot of ground to cover, to catch up with the rest of the class. It wasn't his first rodeo, and arguably it was way easier now than when he also had Robin training. But he had a job, now, working as long the hours as the diner's owner would allow him before the school started. Besides that, he took up running in the Preserve, as much to familiarize himself with his new habitat as to stay in shape. It also replaced the meditations, in part - he cut them down from the recommend by Ducra two hours per day, to half an hour, before going to sleep.

He met some people in that way, too. His new classmates, actually: Jackson Whittermore, son of Mr. Whittermore whose services he employed - finding that out, Jackson toned down his smirk and offered a handshake. He was running with his friend, Danny Mahealani. Both of them were on the school's lacrosse team, and invited him to the tryouts that would happen before the Spring.

"Maybe," Jason said. "I don't know much about lacrosse, though. And never played any team sport at all."

"Really? Not even football?" Danny gave him a once-over. "Seems like a waste."

"Believe it or not, I was a tiny, skinny kid up until recently." Jason shrugged.

Jackson asked him about his regimen. Jason couldn't explain that it was a magical fountain of youth and cure-all that fixed his stunted by malnutrition and smoking growth. He wasn't even sure that was it. Maybe years with Bruce, and then the time spent in cultivation, changed his body as well as his mind and spirit. He didn't need to eat that much now, although he didn't progress to inedia. So he bullshitted, recalling the diet Bruce was on.

It actually inspired him to start a side hustle. Food blog for teenagers who wanted to bulk up. He always loved writing, and he had some expertise on the topic, although he ended up posting more about training and exercises, than food. Every recipe required pictures, so he had to make everything from scratch, and sometimes redo the whole thing because his cell phone photos were simply shit, videos (face always out of the frame) not much better.

He looked up Donna's work, one of those times. But in the end, Jackson introduced him to Matt Dalaher, whose hobby was photography. Matt's advice and explanations were shit, and he was all too glad to tall about girls, topic Jason could offer nothing on.

"Come on, there's don't kiss and tell, and there's me starting to suspect where's nothing for you to say," Matt joked one time.

"That's exactly it," Jason smiled back, not even particularly trying to hide the edge anymore. "I'm saving myself for the marriage."

"What does Whittermore see in you? This, and the cooking shit..."

"I have amazing thighs, I was told," Jason spread them to empathize the point. "One of my best features."

"Oh, so it's like that, huh? He's trying to set you up with Danny? Damn, he did the same thing with me, he gotta give it a rest."

Jason wasn't aware Danny played for the home team, and wasn't particularly trilled to find out like it was a butt of the joke. He still smirked.

"Do I have a chance, you think?"

Matt sputtered, apparently not expecting him to, Jason didn't even know, freak out because of the gay cooties. That was the last time they really spoke. It was fine, though - Matt's speciality was more portraits than still life, anyway.

***

Before the school started, Jason was invited to a party at Jackson's girlfriend house. He had work that day, but his shift ended at seven, so he could, in theory, make it.

"Come on, man, the whole school will be there," Jackson said, running along him. Danny was a few feet ahead of them.

"I don't know anyone from school, except you and Danny," Jason pointed out.

"And Matt," Danny called over his shoulder.

"Matt isn't worth knowing!" he called back.

Danny laughed. Jason smiled to himself. He liked that sound.

He didn't know whether he liked boys, to be honest - he didn't even know if he liked anyone. Things with Talia were circumstantial - and not even in this universe. Before his death, he certainly flirted with girls - older, cooler, the ones he would have no chance in hell with, like Babs, like Koriand'r (and oh, here's another trait they shared: Dick's ex/girlfriends). But the only time he approached dating was with Rena. And they went out only twice: when she thought he could score her some drugs, and when he ditched her for Bruce. For a case, he meant - but essentially, for Bruce.

It was all kinds of fucked up, Jason was starting to realize, how Bruce was all over his life. His father, his boss, his teacher, the only friend he managed to keep - up until he wasn't anything, anymore. It left Jason unmoored, swayable to the winds. They blew, and here he was in Northern Africa, on the quest to find a woman who didn't want to be found. Here he was, letting her know a secret that cost him his life, when he didn't even manage to save hers.

He wanted someone, anyone, in his life. It made him blind to the red flags. He might be better off without feeling this way ever again - but with his new life finding its rhythm, he started feeling those pangs of loneliness again. Thinking of people he left behind. Meditation became more difficult again.

He needed to prevent that, he realized. He couldn't just will and discipline himself not to need people. So the only way was to... Find new ones.

It wouldn't be the same, of course. Nothing like life or dead situations forging a bond between two persons. But it would, should be enough.

"You know what?" He said, looking briefly at Jackson and then back at Danny's back. "I'm game. I will be there."

And then he sped up, to run along with Danny.

***

The party itself was everything that the early 2000s romcoms warned him about. If you were Jason, first time in this sort of environment, sober (he didn't know how he will react to alcohol, and wasn't about to experiment in this sort of environment), knowing no one - he didn't manage to find neither Danny nor Jackson yet - it was awkward and boring.

He knew how to talk to people if you wanted them to open up to you, but it was when he had a mask on his face. He tried very hard that his new life didn't become a new sort of costume, so he didn't want to construct a persona around his future classmates.

He found a relatively quiet corner where only two people were sitting, and sat down with his half full beer cup (poor rhododendron, but he wasn't drinking this shit for real, and an empty cup would attract a refill, and full - askance glances to why wasn't he drinking). He nodded and smiled at them. They stopped talking, although the one with darker, longer hair smiled back and nodded.

"Hey, I don't know you," the other guy said.

He had a shaved head and a graphic T-shirt, like the one Eddie wore. Eddie, flashed in Jason's mind - last time they were in touch, he lived in California, too, although way closer to Hollywood. But getting in touch with anyone from his old life was dangerous, so he didn't. Now, he kinda felt a short pang of regret.

Jason shook his head to ward away this dangerous feeling.

"Yeah, I don't know you either. But then again, I don't know anyone here, except Jackson and Danny. I'm Jason."

He offered a handshake to both of them. The dark-haired one responded first, albeit slightly awkward in the movement.

"Scott," he said.

"Nice to meet you," Jason nodded.

"Uh, you too?"

Shit, don't people say that anymore?

"I'm Stiles," the shaved-headed one said, shaking his hand, with the emphasis on "shake". "Though I don't know how nice it is to meet you if you're friends with Jackson Whittermore."

"Stiles," Jason remembered. "I heard about you."

"Definitely not nice, then."

And yet, he was still shaking Jason's hand.

"Don't worry, it was only complimentary. Well, almost."

His cooking was shitty, Jason recalled. Everytime the Sheriff took his lunch at the diner, Jason made a point to ask what his son prepared for him that day. Even texted his blog's URL to the Sheriff, so he could pass it along. Some of Stiles' attempts at his recipes were a success, it seemed, because as the Summer progressed to the end, Sheriff patronized the diner less and less.

Stiles scrunched his face.

"No way in hell would Jackson say anything positive about me."

"He isn't my sole source of information," Jason smirked.

Stiles looked at him for a second or two, and then snapped his fingers.

"Jason! From the Robby's!" He elbowed his friend in the side. "The dude who runs that fitness blog? We're, uh, we started some protocols you describe, to enhance our physic and all."

"Yeah, but I'm afraid it's not gonna help us, come Spring," Scott smiled sheepishly. "I really can't do some of it without wanting to cough up my lungs afterwards."

"That's, uh, that's not supposed to happen," Jason said carefully.

"It's fine," Scott said. "I have asthma, I'm used to it."

"Even more, then. I was basically describing some of what I was doing, when I had started to," train as a vigilante, to kick ass and take names. "Bulk up. But I had no underlying conditions except I was somewhat... Thinner than other kids my age. Look, it's important to talk to your doctor, but if there's, you know, issues with that - you should always start small. Steady wins the race, yeah?"

Jason shared some tips, and then the topic switched to lacrosse - Jason still had only the vaguest idea of what this sport entailed, or how expensive it was. That topic - the money - wasn't the one he wanted to broach with Jackson or Danny. They were under impression he has it - from him being able to afford Whittermore's law firm fees - and worked at the diner basically for shit and giggles, because he was sad son of the bitch who knew almost no one in town. He didn't dissuade them, not because he thought they're gonna be assholes about it, but... He didn't want to chance it either. He knew how some things about you that were quirky if you had the money, like reading newspapers during breaks between classes - they added to the character. Weird, but a character. But if you didn't have the money, reading newspapers was just another proof of it. A sign that you can't afford any other entertainment, like a cell phone.

Scott was just telling him where to find used gear and armor when someone walked up behind Jason's back. He managed to keep himself relaxed, so even when the hand lowered at his shoulder - and Stiles and Scott's faces tensed - he didn't lost his cool.

"Hey," Jason said, turning to see Jackson behind him.

"Why are you here with the loser brigade?" Jackson scrunched up his face. "We were waiting for you."

"I was lost, and I found myself some company. Jealous? Should have responded to my text twenty minutes ago."

"Ugh, come on, come on, I will introduce you to Lydia."

"Now's my turn to be jealous," Jason said, getting up.

He didn't quite know what to say, so he said everything that came to mind. Jackson was kind of used to it, from their weeks of running together. Stiles and Scott, though, gaped.

Jason hoped they weren't like Matt. He waved at them on the chance they weren't, and Scott waved back. Though, not Stiles.

Jackson noticed his sigh.

"What?" He looked back and scowled. "Stilinsky said something funny to you?"

Jason shrugged.

"I mean, he seemed pretty chill. But might have disliked my jokes about jealousy. And I don't know him enough to know if it's the gay thing as in, me treating homosexuality as a joke, or gay thing as in, he is going to stay away from the gay guy thing."

"Don't worry, Stilinsky is an asshole, but he's not that kind of asshole. If he was, I would kick his ass to the next Tuesday. But, uh, you're gay?"

Jason shrugged.

"I dunno. I don't know if I'm anything, if that makes sense. My father... Was pretty strict. I didn't have much friends, and. I dunno, it's just never came up. But," he stopped Jackson with the hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes. "I really was joking about jealousy. You're not my type."

Jackson punched him in the shoulder, and they both laughed.

"So what's your type? I know you said it never came up, but, the best you figure."

Jason glanced at Jackson, who was trying for nonchalant but missing a beat. Maybe Matt wasn't far off when he suggested that Jackson was playing a wingman for Danny.

He smiled to himself, feeling a bit nervous. He didn't really know how to answer the question best.

"I really have no idea. It's not about the looks, for sure. I grew up around professional model-looking types. Nobody really rang a bell for me. I like chill people though. People with a nice smile. Or a mean smile, maybe. A genuine one."

Not like the one he himself wore, most of the time.

He shrugged again. He did like that, but he wouldn't call it attraction.

"Alright," Jackson said, and clapped him on his back. "You will figure it out."

***

Jason might have been mistaken in thinking that Jackson wanted to set him up with Danny. Or maybe his answers were unsatisfactory, and he changed his mind. Over the course of the night, Jackson introduced him to a shit ton of people. Presumably, to help him "figure it out".

It wasn't hard for Jason to remember their faces, names, and basic facts they shared about themselves, but it was hard to come up with the topics of conversation. Jason didn't follow sports, or celebrities, knew nothing of local gossip, wasn't even into online gaming. He talked a bit about his blog, but in the end, the topic bored him before it could bore the new people, so he just shared a link when they asked.

When Jason noticed Danny, he wanted to make his way other, but noticed a guy who struck up a conversation with him. Danny had a nice smile. Damn.

He didn't feel particularly crushed. Maybe it answered the question, maybe it didn't. He was a bit overwhelmed, and went to catch a breath outside.

There were people by the pool, but not further into the backyard, where the garden started. He almost bummed a cigarette from a random guy, just so he wouldn't feel out of place, but then he thought, fuck it. He was out of place. He wasn't relapsing his smoking habit because standing alone in the middle of a crowd of unfamiliar teenagers was unsettling. Because if he did, he would smoke all two years of high school that were left, and then he simply wasn't stopping.

It was a short lived relief, being alone in the garden, because very soon he was not alone so much. There was Stiles, and a girl with a small designer dog.

"Uh, how did your summer..."

"What do you want, Stiles."

"Nothing! Just saying hello. It's your party, after all, would be rude if I didn't even say a word to you."

"And this is why you followed me when I took Gucci for a walk. Sure. Because I'd talk to all three hundred of guests currently in my house. Otherwise it's rude."

Jason tensed. So that was Lydia. And Stiles was... Stalking her a bit?

"No, not you-rude, me-rude. Sorry. I can leave if you want."

"Oh, wouldn't it be rude of me if I sent you away."

"Not that it stopped you ever before. Like when you publicaly ignore my existence."

"And you don't think I have a reason for that?"

"Sure. Your boyfriend thinks I'm a loser, ergo, you feel I'm a loser."

"Oh, Stiles, it's not that - it's that I have a boyfriend at all, and your puppy crush is obvious from space. I don't need the drama. And FYI? That's not how you use 'ergo', unless you think I have no mind of my own."

She picked up the dog and went back. Stiles stayed, sighing frustratedly.

Jason thought for a second, whether to disappear or come out. In the end, he whistled, before Stiles turned to head back.

Stiles immediately turned around, but it took him a moment to find where Jason was standing.

"Enjoyed the show, Greenberg?" He asked, harshly.

"Not particularly, no," Jason said honestly. "I really don't like when guys don't get the hint."

"You friends with Jackson for a month and now you're going to be teaching me a lesson on his behalf?" Stiles squeezed his fists.

Jason could see that he wasn't scared, but he was expecting an attack. And that wasn't who Jason was - not now, and not ever.

He put his hands in the air, placatingly.

"You keep your hands to yourself, I keep mine."

Stiles was taken aback.

"You think I would?.. I wouldn't!"

Jason waved his hand dismissedly.

"If I got a penny every time I heard "I would never" when a guy, in fact, would or had - I'm not saying I would be a Lex Luthor, but I might have no need for a waiter job."

"I know, I'm the son of the Sheriff, you don't need to..."

"Even if you were a Sheriff yourself, I don't care," Jason cut him off. "Okay?"

Stiles huffed, and then went back to the house.

Jason, though, he decided to call it a night and went back to the place he rented.

#jason todd #dc comics x teen wolf #crossover #my fics #wip #red hood and teen wolf i swear i don't understand why there's no more crossovers #because red riding hood get it? get it?#anyway #au for jason past his training with all caste #pre season 1 teen wolf

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