you only live twice.

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

oracleisonline​:

…

“Then you should know that I already have a few ideas brewing. Always working ahead, Hood.” It was certainly a little strange, having Red Hood on the other line. It was less strange considering she knew the man behind the mask, had worked with Jason Todd before as Robin and as Red Hood back in her Batgirl days, even if this was Oracle’s debut mission with the internationally wanted mercenary. There was no mistaking that their methodology did not always line up, that Oracle had an extensive case file on the Red Hood (and that Barbara certainly sighed a heavy ‘goddamnit, Jason’ every time she added to it). Despite all of that, it was nostalgic to be working together again - she could damn near feel the Gotham breeze and see the city night lights in her mind’s eye. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the Hobbit marathon or the dinner party.” No, this would be a third item added to their to-do list that seemed to be growing rapidly, and Barbara would be happy to continue to add to it. It’d been a long time since Jason and Barbara had collectively had something to look forward to, together. The last time would’ve been in her Burnside apartment back in Gotham, after his return and before the Joker had come knocking at her door. A small, sweet spot of happy, warm memories that Barbara had found herself revisiting often over the years like an old favorite book - bittersweet, full of the almost and what-ifs that they’d never had a chance to actualize. Well, not until now, maybe. ‘Yep, got it.” The software had started on her end as soon as he’d properly connected the drive, and Barbara was quick to get to work. As predicted, the easy fix didn’t work and Barbara sighed out a “damnit” at the block. “This is going to take a minute,” she said as she began plan two, working towards harvesting a usable image from the database of the biometric scanner to use as a way to trip the lock, hopefully without triggering the false read and bringing any unpleasantness that would come with Hydra’s security measures. She was hesitant to admit that this was proving to be much easier than Barbara had anticipated, which had her concerned and feeling a little on edge. The warehouse was clearly abandoned, likely gutted of anything incriminating or important and that could explain the lack of push back….but Barbara knew better than to expect anything but the unexpected and to stay on her guard. No shortcuts, had to make sure she did this the right way to prevent hellfire from raiing down on them later. Work smarter, even if it meant harder. Barbara smiled a little to herself as she continued to work, pushing forward into the image database. Not much to choose from, this site had definitely been out of commission for some time, but she could make it work. “I’m sure my consistent field agents would love to tell you that I’m usually more bossy than this, and that would probably be an understatement.” She could almost hear Helena and Dinah now. “You also got the tech hook-up.” And she could hear Helena even more clearly in the instances when Barbara had told her to smash something open with a rock or whatever else was handy. “Had to make sure we weren’t going in completely unprepared into the snake den.” Not with Hydra, even if the warehouse was abandoned. “So provided you can deal with Oracle getting bossy in your ear then we can probably push this past probationary. I did give you a comm link for a reason. Always happy to breach security systems.”  That should do, and Barbara was ready to move forward. “Alright, I’ve got an image that should work. I’ve used this fix before with no problems, but this is Hydra-level so be prepared for it to not. If that’s the case, I’ll work on a security fix on this end but to be on the safe side…be prepared to high-tail it out of there. I can’t imagine it’d be fun to be on the wrong end of Hydra’s security.” Always be prepared for the worst, even if she was expecting the best. “It’s a retina scanner - I have the scanner tripped to use an image from its database, so just lean on in and it should read the image as you. No idea what’s on the other side of that door, the schematics were basic at best, so be prepared for anything.”

Yeah, sounded like Batgirl. And Oracle. Like Babs, in general. “Always,” he grinned, only to roll his eyes, unseen, as the dinner thing came up again. Dinner with the Huntress. Crazy. “Yeah, yeah...” He’d promised. They’d do it. Eventually. When he wasn’t scraping Rose, mostly dead, off a floor somewhere, or taking point for Hawkeye, or, or, or... Sokovia had wound up busier than he’d ever expected. Definitely busier than he made it out to be, super vaguely, whenever Babs squinted his way as he slunk back into her apartment. She was worrying, he knew. Wondering. Not out loud, usually. As if she had to. He could tell. 

A minute? “I’ll time you,” Jason replied, keeping a keen, confident eye on the factory floor, the catwalks overhead, the industrial rafters above - all shaded in night vision green, then blaring into infrared indigos and purples and oranges. The electrical skeleton of the place was cold, less than latent. Shut off, as the closed-for-business look suggested. Up here, anyway... 

“You? Bossy?” Smirking something fierce, he did his best to sound shocked. Man, but it was nice to have her along for the ride. Felt some kind of right. The faint tip-tap of Beegee’s jackhammer typing ticked along in their shared background as he spun, paced. Spun again, paced back. Just waiting on that Oracle magic, humming with the thrill of a job going right. Weirdly right, maybe, for all the shit they’d expected. But he wasn’t about to jinx it by pointing that out. The superstitions of a sidekick. 

Yeah, he might’ve made a sort of sound at should work - but, all the same, he’d snapped into place, on track, listening intently as Barbara led him forward. A retinal scan; alright, the Hood had been built to allow for that. It’d been built for most things. The Bat didn’t workshop any other way, without every possible angle considered, accounted for. “That was fifty two seconds, by the way.” Lining up with that scanner, Jason lowered his chin, staring the beam down, a hot spot of white that splayed into a band, sweeping, whirring. He stayed still, shoulders clenched. Done. Good? That was a good beep, yeah? “Sweet. Let’s fuck around and find out,” he straightened up as the door began - in layers, he’d guess, from the one-after-another grind-drags - to open up. “Must be something good. You hear that? Heavy shit.” Blast resistant plating, a couple levels at least - that hadn’t been in those schematics. Blinking his dazzled eyes, Jason rocked on his heels. Impatient. Ready.

Or not. 

His landing, yards back and hard enough to skid and roll, uncontrolled, didn’t hurt half so much as the kick that’d sent him there. Two bootprints, right over his heart. Which he could feel, stuttering in his chest. Shit. The Red Hood heaved, too shattered to get a word through that precious comm link. Not that he didn’t try, rasping down the line in the half-moment before the next bone-crunching blow knocked what was left of his breath away. 

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

redplanetblueplanet​:​

Finding Jason hadn’t been difficult. He and his alive-but-not telepathic signature had popped back onto her psychic radar moments before she’d even touched down on the roof of the Mousehole. He was one of the first she’d meant to speak to. One she intended to seek out right away instead of waiting, but then… A week had passed. 

Truth be told, she felt quite guilty for abandoning him as she had so many others. She knew how hard it must have been for Jason to find her note. Written it in neat, loopy letters and put it on top of a hand-knit sweater, left it right on his pillow. She had prayed it wouldn’t give him a heart attack, but she’d been in a terrible rush. She’d only been able to say a formal goodbye to Diana. That had hurt her as much as anyone else. 

M’gann froze when he pointed the gun at her, froze and put her hands up. It wasn’t fully necessary, but she was trained to respond as a human would when walking around as a civilian. Plus, bullets could be hot. “Oh, it’s cool to see you, too,” M’gann said, taking a few extra seconds to put her hands back at her sides and take another silent step forward. “Space… Space was a lot.” It was. Three months of a lot. But this hardly seemed the time to tell him all about it. She spared another step closer and a quick, “I missed you,” before looking past him at the car he was quite obviously ransacking and whispering, “Whatcha doin’?”

A lot. A lot for M’gann M’orzz? Job-wise? Kinda terrifying, to contemplate. What couldn’t Miss Martian do? Or, or did she mean, just, you know - a lot in the gaping vastness of the universe sense? He’d nodded, either way. Space. Seemed like it would be a lot. Even for an alien. Maybe especially an alien who’d lost what’d been home, off among those stars and strange planets. 

She looked - well, though? But, M’gann could look like anything she wanted. So. Jason stowed his sidearm and took a lean against the roof of that Rimac, starting to smile. “Missed you too. Thanks for the note. And the stuff. Sweater’s great.” Especially back in the chill of that Sokovian winter, flash storms and all. The Red Hood tended to go tropical for the season. Why not, right? Sticking around to track through the slush and skidding around on sleek patches of ice - rooftop and street level - hadn’t done much to endear the place to him. But... like Gotham, everything did look better under fresh snow. Cold and quiet, all the edges softened. Taking it all in from Babs’ apartment window, her fairy lights glittering warmly on the glass, M’gann’s sweater on and a hot cup of that basically Batcave brand tea (Yorkshire Gold, Alfred’s kind) in hand, Jason had felt downright fucking home. Whatever that meant. 

As for tonight, though. Fair question. Complicated, but fair. “Nothing directly super fucked up.” He gave the car a pat, apologetic. “Besides totally disemboweling this thing. The owner’s making and moving some nasty shit. We’re talking next level arms manufacturing. Using Ultron salvage.” Elbows propped against the Rimac’s roof, he gave M’gann a careful sort of look. “You gonna have to go all hero on me about that, or...? Just saying, if you’ve got a lot to vent - nothing like a little smash therapy.” 

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

spoilingstephanie​:

…

“All I’m hearing are a lot of similarities and reminders that you stole my thunder before I even knew there was thunder to steal.” Banter always came surprisingly easy for Stephanie Brown (one of her strengths, or one of her most annoying qualities…sort of depended on who you asked and how much talking she’d done around them recently) and this was no exception: Stephanie Brown and Jason Todd may have been fucked up ships in the night or whatever when it came to actually meeting, but Stephanie somehow felt like she knew him despite all of that. She’d heard so much from Barbara, anecdotes of his time in the cave before the events he’d chronicled that had led to his death, starting bittersweet and ending with an ache that Stephanie could practically feel herself through the former Batgirl’s tone. They knew the same people, have worked out of the same cave, had worn the same damn fucking traffic-light-colored-uniform and bore the same name. “Not gonna win this one over on me. Fuck up, fired, dead-not-dead. We follow the same pattern. I’d be willing to accept a tie, but if you’re too good for that then I can further present my case. I’ll have you know, I’m one hell of an arguer.” The mention of Black Mask didn’t go unnoticed, and Stephanie went momentarily quiet, ate the damn peanut-flavored-things as instructed almost mindlessly. “I heard about that,” she began on the last chew of the mouthful she’d popped into her mouth, swallowing and reaching for the water he’d pushed her way for the pain medication. “The Black Mask thing. Babs told me, after I came back.” That was…complicated. It would never not be complicated, she figured.  Sionis was burning in hell like he deserved, living on through the fucked-up-legacy he’d left behind and eternally in Stephanie’s nightmares. “Thanks. I mean, I know it wasn’t for me, but thanks all the same. Wish I could’ve been there for it.” Blue eyes squinted in his direction as he spoke through the communication link to Barbara again, and she shook her head once. “Fuckin’ sneaky,” she mumbled. “She’ll be the first to tell you I don’t listen.” And she proved to be correct, Barbara’s voice coming over through the link to say just the same at almost the same exact moment as Stephanie. Stephanie rolled her eyes, reached with her uninjured arm for the link he held her way. “I’ll stay put, oh mighty and powerful Oracle.” She half-glared at the other Robin as she spoke, huffing out an absolutely unneccessary and over-dramatic sigh. “You had best expect a full range of questioning on this later, Oracle. I demand all details. Also, I’m going to remind Catsby of how much he loves me and spoil him rotten while I’m here. Be prepared for a cold shoulder when you get back.”

Man, she was stubborn. Which’d be pretty rich, coming from him. “Got the impression, yeah.” Of Steph Brown and how she’d argue. Usually for a good damn reason, or so he’d thought, hearing it from Barbara. Jason considered the offer - a tie, not his usual - and the not-kid, not-Robin in front of him. Every strength hard-earned, every scar hard-survived. “Sure. Tie. Double gold in the screw-up-olympics.” With that, and a flash of a smile, he hooked his heel into the handle of that first aid bag. Dragging the whole thing across the kitchen floor, he bent to dig for some shit to make a sling. Just to help keep her arm where it oughta be for a little longer. Catsby swatted at his suddenly busy-elsewhere hands, of course. Asshole. 

Of course she knew. Everyone in Gotham fucking knew Black Mask had bit it; been kinda hard to miss, the way the Red Hood went about the deed. Which was the idea. A real final ending. The kind that made an impression. In the sidewalk, on the city’s memory, saturated as that was in every order of violence. He glanced up from his search at the thanks, squinting in a sort of confusion as Steph I meaned and wished. He’d come back to that. Once Babs ironed this out. 

And there it was. Better. Jason smirked, then didn’t, shaking a triangular bandage from its sleeve. “It wasn’t not for you. Sionis was a shitstain, even by Gotham standards. He’d earned what he got, already. More than earned it. But then, then he went and - did what he did, to you.” Tortured a girl in a costume to death. His usual bluntness had fuzzed out, like a radio turning to static. “To a Robin. Even if you weren’t official, at the time, whatever. You were a Robin. And a kid. I just - I couldn’t let it go, like...”

Like Bruce let the Joker go. Like they all kept letting the fucking clown go. “Yeah.” Jason cut himself off, abruptly. And stood, just as sudden, twisting that bandage between his hands, letting it unfurl, twirling it over itself, and back. “’Kay, let’s get that arm slung. You know how this goes, right? Cave stuff.” It was cave stuff, the kind of first aid they’d got taught. That wouldn’t have changed, one Robin to the next. Not that much seemed to, honestly...

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

From the Red Hood cases, if those were a thing.

MAN’S BEST FRIEND

No file on the Red Hood is complete, obviously, if it doesn’t know that Jason Todd’s a dog person. Strategically vital, as info goes. 

Sure, he’s currently top of Catsby’s list of tolerable human beings - and Barbara Gordon’s ancient tabby, he’s pretty fucking choosy. But while Jason respects Catsby for, you know, surviving this long, and doesn’t mind his occasionally not-evil, always lawnmower-loud company, he’s got a softer spot for dogs. Just in general. And, in specific, for his childhood dog: Sparkplug. 

Yeah, he was always a gearhead. And six years old! Cut the kid some slack. 

The name definitely fit, though, when him and that wild puppy were tearing around Gotham together. Sparky was the kind of dog you got out of a box, whining for what was left of your lunch. Just some sorta something - Golden Retriever, Pitbull, who knows what else. A little crazy, a lot gentle. Which was exactly what Jason needed, back then. He was missing out on the whole making friends thing, what with slipping in and out of school to look after his mom as best he could. And for years - even after the old man bit it in Blackgate - there couldn’t be enough doors or deadbolts between him and his father. Sparky had fight in her, though; enough to keep even the realest monsters away. From those first bits of bodega sandwich, through the mean streets of Gotham, the two of them were inseparable. 

Until, inevitably, they were separated. But we don’t have to get into that. Suffice to say Sparkplug went out as she’d lived: loved, and between her boy and the bad things of Gotham. She’d been gone a while, already, when Batman found a sharp Crime Alley kid ripping off his tires. Even if moving in with Bruce Wayne meant he could’ve had just about anything, Jason couldn’t bring himself to even ask for another dog. Not in all those years he called the manor home. Just too soon. 

Maybe it’s still too soon. Maybe not. He definitely stops for every dog he doesn’t have a life or death reason to run past, and can be counted on to find something to feed them in his many pockets and ever-present bag of mostly crime-related paraphernalia. And dog treats. Somewhere in there...

[luna-las-deactivated20240527]

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

ravaging-rose​:

…

“Yeah, until you bite off more than you can chew and it pushes you right the fuck off.” It was said with a lazy smile as Rose settled up beside him. “Like the time I decide to actually tattoo something on your forehead and you’ve given me dealer’s choice power. That’s the day you walk around with a dick on your forehead for the rest of your life, Mr. Todd.” She wagged a single finger at him, bopping the tip of his noise as that grin stretched wider across her face. She snagged that cigarette he offered up her way, bringing it up to her lips for a final drag before stretching out and over towards the glass that had been repurposed as an ashtray, dropping it into the bottom. Rose re-situated herself beside him, sitting up higher on her knees. The fingers of her right hand gently traced over the spot on his neck she intended to tattoo, tucked beneath his ear, a direct mirror to her own. She pulled a pen out from behind her ear, using the sketch she’d drawn on the piece of paper in hand as a reference as she quickly and carefully mapped out the image on his skin. “Pretty sure we already match in both color schemes and leather. We never left the teenage dirtbag era behind us.” Rose tilted her head slightly to grin at him again, tossing the pen and paper aside once she’d finished her outline, reaching instead for the makeshift tattooing set-up she’d put together (she could’ve ordered the real deal, definitely, but blah blah blah something about recreating the experience they’d had all those years ago on a rooftop with a sewing needle and Bic pen ink; at least she’d gotten the right kind of needle and actual real tattoo ink this time). “We could get some patches. Preferably iron-on, I’m pretty shitty with sewing.” Rose was unable to fight the urge to press her lips just beside the outline she’d drawn, trailing up and under his jaw. She hummed against his skin as she contemplated his question, hesitant to pull away and begin the tattooing process for the moment. “Depends,” she began. “Are we adding to this misfit crew, or sticking to just the two of us? Got anyone in mind?” It went without question that she trusted his judgment, even if she didn’t always play nice with others. “Names depend on people involved, y’know. If it’s just us, I’m particularly fond of Dead or Alive but y’know I don’t think we often leave anyone alive often enough for that to be legit.”

Nope, he wasn’t going to pop off about how, all things considered, the rest of his life - sharpie dick-faced forever, even - probably wouldn’t be long, at least. Nah. That kinda shit would get him stabbed. More seriously than he’d planned on, today. “Call me crazy - but, bullshit. You’d think of something cooler. I’ve got absolute faith in your totally awesome taste.” Jason spread his fight-scarred hands, taking in all the sonofabitch Rose Wilson had acquired some kinda taste for, ages back. Super unquestionable. Yeah. Lucky him, staying on her menu so long. An old favourite. 

“True. And convenient. But patches - I could be down for that.” He kept super still, as Rose drew along his skin - mostly. Man, that he could hold his breath through all kinds of hell of on earth, not budge an inch, a centimeter - and get the shivers from a thing like this. She fucking tickled, though. In a warm, so-familiar way that sparkled right down his backbone. 

(Sent him off to Alfred’s kitchen, somehow. To the glint of sugarcubes melting away into one of the many, many cups they’d shared, him and Rose, sipping Yorkshire Gold like the old butler allowed on school nights. Before they snuck back upstairs to “study late” in his room, sweet-mouthed and hot-breathed.) 

Jason had folded his hands together as she worked, still smiling, tongue sneaking between his teeth, through a smile, across his lower lip. This could be some sorta meditation. Sure. He’d listened to all those lessons in the cave. Really. Pretty hard, actually. “I mean, it’d always be you and me. Even if we did get a whole, you know, team. Or something.” How many people made a team? Officially? Was there a minimum? Three was company, four’s a crowd? “Mm, point. Yeah. Cool, kinda classic. But false advertising.” Dead or Alive. Had a real bank robber vibe. Bonnie and Clyde. Cowboys, like the song. Like - “Got it. Okay, okay,” straightening up, he turned to look her in that bright, beautiful eye. “How about: the Outlaws.” He let that land, for effect. “Huh? C’mon.” 

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

If only he could’ve justified taking a souvenir from this gig. Just for a joyride, even. Craiova was a pretty city; couldn’t look worse from the driver’s seat of the Rimac he was digging through. But. Wouldn’t exactly be low profile. Besides, as much as it killed him... he was probably going to have to rip the poor thing apart. Wasn’t his colour, anyway. 

With a pained sigh, Jason slotted the stereo deck back in - clear in there, too. Shame. He’d already torn through the fucker’s (Goran Lučić, specifically; twenty-eight, Sokovian national, a dick to service staff) hotel suite, and pulled nothing. The car, though. That was Lučić’s. Not a rental. He’d modded the Rimac himself, plastered that much all over Instagram. (Social media. Made surveillance a hell of a lot easier.) And if Jason were some kinda hotshot engineering grad, screwing with Ultron wreckage on behalf of a wannabe-junta with deep, diamond-lined pockets... yeah, he’d be sure to keep their investments good and safe, and close to hand. With every non-invasive hiding spot checked out, empty, the only thing to do was start invading shit. 

Which he’d be doing, if a polite knock at the passenger side window didn’t send him startling out his door, drawing, Udav trained over the Rimac’s roof at - “M’gann?” The handgun dipped, and his shoulders followed, relieved. “Hey. Hey, I didn’t...” Jason stowed the Udav, not bothering to finish that. 

Duh, he hadn’t known it was her, or that she was back. Nevermind here. Which... they’d get to that. What they were both doing, here. For now, he’d just be as honestly glad as he was. Damn. How long had it been since he’d had a good surprise? “It’s cool, to see you. How, uh - how was space? Stuff, in space.” 

 @redplanetblueplanet​

[ravaging-rose]

you put me on and said i was your favorite.

@beendeaddonethat

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

From the Red Hood cases, if those were a thing. 

NIGHT(S) AT THE MUSEUM

Of all the things Jason Todd figured taking up the Robin mantle might mean, daytrips to the Louvre certainly weren’t on the list. But when you’re tagging along with Batman, you’re bound to meet Wonder Woman...

... and Diana blessed him with so many adventures, over the years. Like personal tours of the museums and galleries she loves best, scattered across the world. Places he’d never even imagined getting the chance to go, from back in Crime Alley; places he got to linger in, after hours, with Wonder Woman leading the way. Who’d have figured.  Of course, the Louvre, where Diana once curated, was the first and fondest stop. They could have - and did - spend days exploring, wandering through ages of art and history. Some of which Diana had been here, in Man’s World, to witness firsthand. Her favourite piece, the Nike of Samothrace - looming, wings spread, watching over the Daru staircase - easily became one of his, too. On amphorae and in patina-green bronze, she showed him through the Labours of Heracles, the not-quite myths of Athena and Zeus and, here and there, Amazons. As art remembered them, anyway. Diana’s voice, brimful and bright with love, spun legend and history into experiences Jason’s desperately glad he got to remember, again - once the last of the Lazarus Pit’s madness burned out of him, like a bad fever. 

But, back then, before that crowbar, before the Red Hood, before he could ever imagine an end to being Robin, there were times like this. Footsteps echoing off marble and parquet, past sprawling oils and gleaming brass and more, more, more; a blown-away boy asking every hushed question he could think of; a real goddess, kindhearted and strong, sharing tales of real heroes - and the work and wonder of cherishing what’s beautiful in life, through weariness and war alike. As only Diana Prince can, maybe. 

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

spoilingstephanie​:

…

Stephanie couldn’t help but laugh out loud, that smile wide and taking up so much of her face. “You won the fuck-up awards? Really? Should we like, actually sit down and hash this out? Because I think I win the blue ribbon here, Robin number two. Did you get whole ass fired from Robin? Did you then steal super secret plans from the super secret Bat computer and start a gang war?  Because I definitely checked all of those boxes in like, a two week span. I also hold the record for shortest Robin run, which….definitely sucked some major balls but like, I think it’s applicable in the fuck-up-award-contest.” Hadn’t even made it a year. Fucked that all the way up and down and back again. “Don’t even get me started on the comeback tour. That was…” Stephanie winced, shook her head once. “Bad. It was very bad.” Though from what she’d heard and gathered, his hadn’t been great either. The Red Hood’s return had been a different kind of bad, though. Heads-in-a-bag-bad, not just ‘wow, what the fuck Stephanie, you didn’t tell anyone you were alive?’ bad. “Five Robins,” Stephanie confirmed with a nod and a quick roll of the eyes. “Three through five was kind of a clusterfuck. Definitely had some weird overlap.” And she’d managed to squeeze her way in as the very-short-and-ill-fated number four as soon as Tim had been forced to call it quits. “Three, four, back to three, five. Five had some overlap with both of us. Definitely a weird time.” Stephanie was watching him as he moved around the apartment, left leg bouncing at a rapid pace and fingers drumming against the table. She had so much energy, excitement bubbling over and out of her as she sat up a bit more in that uncomfortable-as-hell-why-the-hell-did-you-buy-this-Barbara kitchen chair. Jason Todd, the only Robin she’d never met. The one she’d been compared to so many times that it had gotten a little fucking annoying back in her pre-legally-dead days.  “…Definitely wasn’t the plan. Oracle’ll tell you I’m supposed to be on patrol for like, another few hours.” But she’d also lost contact with Oracle when she’d broken that comm link, so y’know. Maybe she was done with patrol. “I was taking it easy until some low-life fucked up my shoulder and I fell off that fire escape. Par the course, though.”

Oh, awesome. And she was competitive. Yeah, okay. He’d heard there was a resemblance; maybe he could see it. Just a bit. Beyond the dying. Babs hadn’t told him all the ugly details of what’d killed the other dead Robin. There’d been a whole crashing crescendo of shit, he knew. Couldn’t bring himself to push Beegee for more than she’d given, not with how bad it cut her up. How it absolutely gutted her. Jason couldn’t say he’d ever seen or heard Babs so broken down, before or since. Not in her own hospital bed, on death’s fucking door, strung up with blood bags and morphine and whatever the hell else, the Joker’s laugh skittering around behind her harrowed eyes. No, talking about Steph, what happened to Steph, what’d been done, to Steph - that was worse, somehow. That, Babs had cracked for. 

And here she was, this not-kid. Ex-Robin. Tallying her mistakes up, with that dead-on defiance. Like she was proud to just be here, still trying to figure her shit out. After all that. 

She should be. Jason let her rant. Real patiently, for him. Sipping that vodka, not stepping on her moments, her string of messed up moments. Though he did frown, brow creasing in confusion as Steph charted the back and forth of who’d worn the red, green, and yellow. Wow. To think Dick and him had been the least messy legacy, Robin to Robin. Sure sounded that way. The bad blood had felt so fucking thick at the time, but...  

But what did he know, really, about how things’d been, in the cave? After him. Only what Babs had said. He’d tried not to ask about that, either. About them. Like he wasn’t sure he could, after everything. So he kept quiet, piecing all this together. Then, shifting in his chair - man, Steph was making him jitter, bouncing around like that, the over-energy familiar, like... so much of this - he took his turn. Because, apparently, they were doing this. 

“Okay, Robin number four. I was benched, not fired. Got me there.” Only there. “Then I ran away. Around the world. Into an active warzone. Or two?” Three? Busy week, anyway. “Got myself murdered. By a clown.” No need to get into that. “For the comeback, I went and committed a shitload of actual murder. And mayhem. Like restarting a gang war. Finishing it, too. For Black Mask, anyway...” he half-muttered, mostly into the bottom of his glass. Nature abhorred a vacuum, and so did Gotham. Some new sonofabitch, or a few, would’ve stepped in to fill Sionis’ Louboutins. There’d always be more. But he sure as shit didn’t need to tell Stephanie Brown that. “And: I grew up to be an internationally wanted criminal.” Jason busted into one of those bags of whatever-they-were - just to spare her arm, that’d been a decent dislocation - and handed it right over. Because Steph was staying put. Obviously. “So, nice try.” Maybe his lead in the shitted-the-sidekick-thing-up-lympics wasn’t quite so far as he figured, but. Come on. He’d been trying to give her bruised ego a boost. Or relate, or something. Whatever. “Concede the title, feel better about yourself, eat some peanut-things. And we’ll see what Oracle says.”

They sure would. Jason clicked the commlink on. “Hey.” Just to signal Babs, so - there, he’d heard the channel open. “Spoiler’s fixed up. Anterior dislocation of the right shoulder. Bruised ribs, almost definitely. No fractures, probably. The usual.” Bumps and scrapes. “She’s fine. Not enough to head back out. In my unprofessional opinion. You tell her, she might even listen.” Maybe. Holding out that link for Babs to have the last word, Jason knocked back his vodka. And petted the damn cat.  

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

oracleisonline​:

…

A laugh echoed over the comms - light, unexpected, breaking up the work talk and the banter. “Got paid for doing something like this once upon a time, but now I just get paid with an ever-growing workload and a pool of incompetence that I refuse to delegate to.” The last bit was sarcastic, jokingly mostly, even if it would be a cold day in hell when Barbara Gordon delegated anything Oracle related to absolutely anyone other than herself. “At least I have my team ready and available. Their competence makes up for the headaches caused by the others.” Having Helena and Dinah nearby and available certainly made Barbara feel more comfortable, and having several members of the Bat-umbrella was also convenient; it was much easier to trust those she’d trained and trained with when it came to fieldwork. “Volunteer hours my ass. I’ll find a way to pay it forward, don’t you worry.” There were already a few ideas brewing, ways to thank him for his help on this job; this was a reconnaissance mission she was looking to keep close to the vest, and his assistance was certainly appreciated. Plus, it was nice to almost be back out in the field again. “And…” she heard the confirming beep from his end of the line as she finished up on her end. “You’re in. Step one complete.” One of what was bound to be too goddamn many. “Leave the drive, it’ll keep the security system disabled and, fingers crossed, will let you out as easily as you got in.” That was always the goal. Smooth in, smooth out, few to no bumps in the middle. In theory, this job would be just that but Barbara wasn’t naive or inexperienced enough to put any actual optimism towards that. “Once you’ve confirmed the all clear, I need you to head towards the staricase.” They’d avoided the elevator on the way down, and Barbara figured that it would be best to continue that trend; less tech to hack, less problems to face, and the warehouse Jason was clearing was relatively small (loft office, three open floors, and the basement). “Going up will just have another keycard scanner, and the drive you plugged into already should cover all of those. Going down to Dexter’s lab has a biometric scanner, which brings us to the other drive I gave you. Install that one very carefully, take your time. Just like I showed you.” Biometric scanners were more finnicky, much more sensitive. “I’m going to try a software bypass, and if that doesn’t work then I’ll harvest an image from the databanks to trick the system. Might take a few minutes. Once the drive’s installed, why don’t you check out the rest of the floor?”

Ever-growing. As in, more and more heroes, or whatever, joining up with the whole... secret super-team? Even now? Still coming out of the woodwork, shit. Sokovia was only getting hotter, then. Jason filed that, and the fact - unspoken, maybe, but there, all the same - that he’d made Oracle’s team. In some kinda way, at least. He had a good, derisive snort at the thought of Beegee ordering whatever was left of the Justice League around, and a warm, silent smile as she swore to get him back. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” He did know. This was Babs. Babs had his back. Important distinction. Weren’t a lot of people he'd ever been able to say that about. Less, these days. 

For good reason. Reasons he was responsible for. He knew that, too. 

But he hadn’t hauled ass to Montenegro to dwell. That drive disappeared behind the re-installed security panel, no fresh scratch or dent or smear to be seen. If they’d had more time, he’d have rigged up a couple surprises; the nasty, lose a hand or more kind. Just to protect the getaway Babs had planned. The door hiss-chunked open as he turned the handle, and in he went. To what he might’ve called a killbox, if it wasn’t Babs on the line, listening. The next level was high, to make room for the belts and assembly stations. Meaning, forty feet over his head was a nest of piping and rail walkways, more stairs, and that loft office - all with a better line of sight than he could hope for, from here. But, thankfully: “Clear.” So far. Couldn’t check the closed portions: the office, some service corridors. At least he’d been able to check out the cover as he went, circling through the belts and bins, steps quick and quiet across the plant floor. Following the plan.

To the main staircase. And that service elevator they’d skipped - with the biometric access point. “Nice,” Jason muttered, taking a knee and emptying his other tac pocket for that second drive. “Just like you showed me,” he repeated, grinning, good to go, unrolling that break-in kit again. Seriously - not to jinx it, he’d never say this kinda crap out loud - but this? This’d been nothing, so far. He’d seen something, security-wise. They both had. Black Mask’s penthouse had more going on than this secret evil outpost. But, then again - Sionis was a paranoid sonofabitch, with more money than chill. An old school super-org of fascist shitheads might’ve slacked off, with time. Got complacent. And Jason had made a shitshow of Black Mask’s business the hard, messy way. Mostly on purpose. Without any help. 

“You’re in. Again. By the way.” He sealed that drive up, like the last, and left the way forward in Beegee’s crazy-capable hands. Bypassing software, harvesting database images. While he started another, slower turn around the ground level, eyeballing this and that. “So - is this what it’s like, getting shit done when Oracle’s taking point?” Laughing over his shoulder, the way she used to. Though, then, it was her shoulder she’d been laughing past; as she looked back, tearing through the night in her cape and cowl. Batgirl, always two steps and a leap ahead. “Cuz I’m down with it. You know, provided my probationary shift turns out alright. Competency wise.” Not that this dump was giving him much chance to demonstrate... 

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

ravaging-rose​:

…

“Risky move.” Rose didn’t complain when he snagged the cigarette away, idly still waving that transfer paper in her hand with the rose drawn on it as she considered her options. She had a few in mind, had been thinking on this since the idea had been brought to light. It was nice, having something to look forward to. That was a goddamn rarity nowadays with the state of things, and especially so considering she’d more-than-knocked on death’s door and had somehow found herself dragged back into the light.  Rose wasn’t used to having to take a back seat and sit on her hands, but even with her meta gene patching her back together piece by piece it was necessary; this was taking time, she’d never had to recover from injuries of this extent and truth be told, was quietly a little rattled from all of it. It was nice to feel a little lighter, a little more like herself and like she was finally coming through the other side. Happy to be in the middle, for the moment: through the worst of it, but not yet out of the tunnel and actively on the hunt to grind her oldest brother into dust for good this time. She hummed a little under her breath as she thought, idly biting at her lower lip and tilting her head as she weighed her options. “Forehead,” she said, decisively and with a nod, but she was unable to keep a straight face with a smile splitting wide. “Door number two sounds good. Matching it is,” she decided as she inched closer to where he’d settled. “C’mon, sit up a little.” Excitement was brewing under the surface, shining bright in the blue of her eye as she scooted right up next to him and shifted to sit up on her knees. 

Risky? By their standards? Yeah, maybe. “You know me. Living on the edge.” Jason blew a swirl of smoke up, over their heads, into the faint haze they’d started to collect after another afternoon of convalescing. Rose did look so much better. Which, usually, wouldn’t make too much of an impression. Of course she would, the way she healed. But this hadn’t been usual. And there’d been no of courses, suddenly. Rose Wilson’s seemingly absolute invincibility had up and vanished, after being a crazily comforting given for years. 

Here she was, though. Back in black. Metaphorically, right. In lime green, actually, sprawling in her sweats, fluttering that sketch as she eyed him up, considered the canvas, weighed the many, maybe too many, options he’d given her. And bullshitted, with that super-quick sense of humour he’d always fucking loved. Forehead. His laugh was big, a cackle that cut loose without any attempt at containment. Fuck that, man. They only got so much to laugh about. 

Asshole, he’d almost grinned, fondly. But - matching it is. Yeah, that got him. Right by the neck, surprisingly hard. Jason wavered, barely, that grin only hooking a little higher. Sentimental as shit. He took another drag, quick, and held the cigarette out for Rose to take as he rolled up, stretching his arms overhead. “Cute. You wanna get team jackets, next? Leather, not lettermans, obviously.” Jason settled in, cross-legged, giving her that matching side. “Mm, although - we never did figure out a name.” They’d talked about it, but. They talked about a lot. Over stitches, whetstones, Wayne (or Wilson) grade extravagant room service... over all the years they’d been what they were and would always, always be to each other, through hell and back. He glanced over, down his shoulder, as Rosie got ready. “I mean, we don’t need one. Just, you know. If we want a name. We could do it. That shortlist was pretty hot...” 

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

spoilingstephanie​:

…

Stephanie was grinning despite the pain in her shoulder (and the goddamn suspense of what was to come as his hands worked at the dislocation), clearly pleased with herself after putting together the pieces of the puzzle. He’d given her just enough that she’d been able to re-scatter and then group together the bits of information in ways that made sense, and then made a goddamn fuckin’ neon arrow pointing straight to him. Jason Todd, Robin number two, the one that she’d heard so much about though had never been able to meet. The infamous Robin that she’d spent a good deal of her early vigilante days being compared to; each and every the comparison came up in training or Stephanie heard his name in hushed tones, she swore she could see the pain in Barbara’s eyes, raw and real and still sharp despite the years that had passed, could hear the frustration and desperation in her tone that was awash with unsettled grief. The other Robin from the Alley that was so desperate to prove himself. Stephanie had brushed off the similarities then, had rolled her eyes and bounced along in true Stephanie Brown form, though she could see the likeness between them looking back. The other dead-but-not-dead-Robin. Another similarity, there. “Everyone always gets to tell my story before I do.” Stephanie was still grinning, shifting around to tuck a leg underneath her on the chair as the other stayed flat on the floor and bounced rapidly up and down, that excited energy finding an outlet quickly. “You kinda stole my thunder, y’know. Two times over. First the whole dead Robin thing,” she was allowed to joke about it, she decided, considering that their fates had been so similar, “and then the whole coming back to Gotham from the grave thing. Beat me to it both times. Made the whole homecoming business far less dramatic than I’d dreamed.” That last bit was clearly a tease, considering there was still drama surrounding her return. Not that he’d know that. Or, well, maybe he would; she wasn’t sure what he knew. She was caught a little off guard as he’d moved back to the task of relocating her shoulder, the slip-pop earning something of a yelp and a hissed out “fucking shit –” before she gingerly tested the mobility. Sore, but at least back where it should be. She’d been distracted, excited at the concept of meeting the man she’d heard so much about but had never been able to meet. It was strange - she felt like she knew him, with all that she’d heard, but she’d never seen his face outside of photographs littered around Barbara’s apartment. “Stephanie Brown. Robin number four.” She took the hand, shaking with the uninjured arm after deciding that’d be best. “Currently the Spoiler. Well, back to the Spoiler. Definitely got fired from Robin and things have been a little…” She clicked her tongue, tilting her head slightly to the right. “….Shitty. Tense. A work in progress on the Bat-side of things, if you will.” From what she’d heard, he’d understand. “Also, it’s currently Robin number five so there are definitely a few of us running around. Almost enough for a baseball team.”

Everyone always gets to tell my story before I do. Damn. Yeah. She was joking, mostly, but - yeah, he got it. A little, at least. Not that Jason liked to wonder how his story got told. His mouth had set in a tighter line, there, focusing on the work of putting her more or less back together. But when Steph skidded along - man, did she go a mile a minute, in true Gotham style - to how he’d stolen her thunder, that settled him down again, with a quick smirk and a low, dry snort. Right. “Uh-huh. Look at it this way: I took first place in the fuck up awards. You’re welcome.” Shit, if her comeback tour had been as messy as his... none of them deserved that. Not even Bruce.

(Especially not Bruce? Was that what he meant? Kinda torn, there. He’d leave it. That’d been the whole idea, when he’d put Gotham in his rearview: leaving what he meant about Bruce as unsettled as it was, twisting around in his head, unsaid, until - what? Honestly, Jason couldn’t say he’d ever had an until in mind.)

That was a good noise. Pretty sure, at least. The swearing, also promising. Probably. Steph did seem... real pleased about all this, given the near-stabbing and surprise. Jason, he’d take it. Better than brawling across Babs’ apartment. They had their handshake, making this weird peace of theirs super official, and Jason - sighed, and answered Catsby’s irritated natch, leaning down to pet the damn cat. So fucking neglected. For, like... minutes. He glanced up, though, as Steph titched and grimaced about the state of the cave-based union. Shitty. Tense. Tracked with everything Beegee had ever mentioned, over the years: all those difficulties, so familiar, between Stephanie Brown and Bruce Wayne. A work in progress. 

“When’s it not?” Jason got his other hand in there as Catsby grumbled, sneering even as he purred and wriggled for more. “Five Robins. Shit...” Unbelievable. Or was it, actually? Batman and Robin. Something uncomfortably sour sizzled up the back of his throat, and Jason toed Catsby off his feet - too furious protest - before sliding those half-frozen bags of whatever off the table and heading for that vodka he’d left out. And more makeshift icepacks. And a bag of... peanuts? Smokey peanut-flavoured snacks. And glasses, which he clacked to the table, assuming, and pouring for two. “I’ll update Babs, let her know you’re gonna call it a night, take it easy.” He’d dug that comm from his pocket as he joined her at the table again, vodka in hand, on its way. “Which is, obviously, your plan. Right?" Because she clearly wasn’t the kinda vigilante who’d launch herself right back into the action after taking a fall that bad. What Robin would be that dumb of ass? (Jason sure fucking knew.) 

[beendeaddonethat-archive]

oracleisonline​:

…

“That about sums it up, yeah.” Poor bastard. Poor kid, but that was even more complicated: for as young as Boyle was when Hydra had sunk their bloody talons into him and for as young as he still was, he was dangerous. More of a weapon than a kid, ready to be aimed at his next target. The situation was no doubt unfortunate, though the seriousness of just how much of a threat Boyle was didn’t change. Figuring out how to proceed was…complicated, just like the rest of it. A whole big mess of compliated. They couldn’t keep him under lock and key forever, and alternative solutions would violate the ethical beliefs of some of the Nomads. There was no pleasing everyone in this scenario. “Not sure what moving forward is going to look like for this. I’ve been collecting more intel,” which was one of the reasons why Jason found himself in Montenegro as Barbara’s chosen field agent, “and the goal is to find information regarding his training and conditioning so that we can work towards undoing some of that. See we shall, I guess. The decision making regarding his handling is above my pay grade. I’m just the file pusher.” Barbara rolled her eyes, smiling a little at Narrows tenements. “Yeah, I guess you could defiitely argue that the Narrows offered a solid training ground for this. The ones in Bludhaven were somehow worse.” But she’d been mostly retired by the time she’d briefly found herself in Bludhaven. Mostly. “Fire escape it is. Just like old times,” she echoed. A lifetime ago, carefully scaling broken down and rusting fire escapes and rooftops. As he made his choice, she began to get to work on the security measures that were already within technological reach - working ahead, as he always did, to ensure that this went as smoothly as possible. She’d only sent one agent, the job was supposed to be on the easier side, but staying at minimum a few steps ahead was never an option. “Loft office, three open floors, and the basement,” Barbara repeated back to him. “Also the shipment garage, but we bypassed that. Might be worth investigating once we’re on the inside, but I’ll trust your judgment on that.” She wouldn’t be surprised if the warehouse had been entirely gutted with no traces left behind, but it still had been worth looking into. “The basement is of the most interest, yes. I’m anticipating some sort of lab, based on schematics and based on what the location was used for. The office space is also of interest, if there are any server remnants. But, one step at a time. Need to get you inside first.” And she’d already been working on that. “Back to that drive with the green label I mentioned earlier. You’re going to need that - plug it in and I’ll get to work on my end. Shouldn’t take long.” Few minutes, tops. “Once you’re inside, there will likely be some of those biometric nightmares I had brought up, especially to get down into the basement. Those might take some time for me to crack, so maybe you can look into the loft office while I work on that remotely.”

Training and conditioning. Of little fucked up super-assassins. Gotham had seen some evil shit, back when they were running the rooftops - but it’d all felt more surreal than that. Several degrees removed, towards freeze rays and man-eating rocktrumpets and murderous ventriloquist’s dummies. Maybe that’d made it easier to cope with. How unbelievable it was. Or perhaps they’d just been younger. More invincible. (Six of one, as Alfred might’ve said. Shit, he missed that old man.) Yeah, fuck - this Winter Soldier stuff didn’t sit well in a whole other kinda way. They’d see, alright. 

“Do you even get paid?” He’d swerved the worst of the subject, shoving it aside as he did his best to descend that fire escape as quickly, and quietly, as possible. “Don’t worry. I'm not gonna send an invoice, or anything. This one’s pro bono or whatever. Call it my -” Jason froze, weight off his right foot and a rung so rusted out he’d felt it groan, ready to give way. Like Beegee’d said: the Narrows taught you to recognize that kinda thing. To pay attention. “Volunteer hours,” he finished, tight-backed but steady, hands clenched on the railings as his boot reached down, down, for better footing. There. Exhaling into a sudden snicker, Jason steadied up and raced on. He skipped another rung, and another, following along as Babs reviewed the layout, and - trusted his judgement. 

Man. 

Good thing she kept going, or he might’ve said something stupid about how much that meant. Anybody, trusting his judgement. Anybody from Gotham, especially.

Swallowing whatever the fuck that feeling was, Jason pulled in tight to the wall as the ladder came to a rusted-to-shit end, the last fifteen feet or so totally unusable. Not a hell of a lot of room to fuck up in, especially when gravity wasn’t on your side. But it’d be pretty hard to kill himself over again, from this height. Jason took a breath. Eyed those closed, locked up dumpsters. And kicked off, hard, flipping back, over, and down, to ricochet off the steel lid with - well, some noise. Dulled, as he’d hoped, by the heaps of factory trash left to gather dust in the tight little bay he’d landed in. 

Darting to that door, Jason scoped the access panel, then felt it out, gloved fingers finding nothing his eyes hadn’t caught. A quick disassembly job, and he was wiring that drive in, fast, easy, then sealing the panel up again. Just like Babs had shown him. “You’re set,” he nodded, stepping back, as if Batgirl was at his shoulder instead of in his ear, watching through his helmet. “We’ve got this. Biometric bullshit, fuck that...” And fuck Hydra. No match for Barbara Gordon, nevermind the pair of them. 

[beendeaddonethat-archive]