Part 13: Speed Dial
Fandom: DC Warnings: Depictions of Anxiety and Dissociation. Relationships: (eventual) JayDick Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson Tags: AU, Memory Loss, Talon!Dick, Priest!Jason Ch. Word-count: ~3k Synopsis: Jason Todd, an inner-city priest, discovers one of the Gotham City’s urban legends isn’t just a myth. Taking in the wounded Talon, Jason starts a strange living arrangement with one the city’s best hidden secrets. <<<PREVIOUS | BEGINNING | Next >>> MASTERPOST |DOWNLOADS
The whoosh of the shower head bled through the thin walls of his house. Looking away from his bathroom, Jason stared at the slowly dripping coffee machine. The brown fluid barely filled the bottom of the glass. Closing his eyes, Jason attempted to rub the sleep from his eyes. A close-up of Dick's face popped into his mind's eyes and Jason's eyes snapped open.
Was that real? Jason wondered as the distinct pressure of chapped lips ghosted his mouth.
Staring in forward, Jason watched the coffee tease him as it fell through the filter. Drip. Drip. Kneading his lips with a knuckle, he switched to running his fingers through his hair. Drip. Drip. He wasn't awake enough to think about this. Dick hadn't said anything so if it had happened, it didn't matter to Dick.
So it shouldn't matter to me, Jason concluded.
Stepping away from the counter, a new thought entered his mind, If it was a dream, then it doesn't mean anything.
Other than Dick's cute, his brain added, not-so-helpfully.
It wasn't a crime to think someone is attractive, tapping his fingers along the counter, he finished, It's not like I'm looking for something anyway. That, whatever it was, is meaningless.
Except being the busybody that he was, Jason's consciousness wouldn't stop there. A fraction of him rose up walking the perimeter of his conscious, gathering evidence. A defense attorney ready dismantle the opposition, a voice in his head listed off several points.
Even if it was a dream, why was it Dick? You said you wanted to get to know him better, was it in that way?
Jason stared at his coffee pot. He pretended he couldn't hear the argument his brain set up. He watched each drop with the intensify of an oracle foretelling the end of the world. Each drop of coffee seemed temporarily frozen in time as it teased Jason before joining the other drops in the bottom of the glass.
If you think you might be interest, shouldn't you tell him? You share a bed, after all.
Bed, he focused on that. Turning back time, Jason's mind conjured images of a trembling, breathless man with terror in his cloudy eyes. The half swallowed shouts and the curled in frame as if Dick was physically holding himself together as he badly hid his emotions.
Yanking the pot from the machine, Jason poured the hot liquid into a mug, his knuckles white where he griped the handle. He hastily blew on coffee. In the same breath, he angled the liquid into his mouth. He downed two mouthfuls nearly searing his tongue. The sudden caffeine hit his system like a truck, clearing up his thoughts.
Dick depends on me, Jason stated.
Dick was an adult, but he had amnesia. Jason felt responsible for Dick and he relied on Jason. Even if he wasn't following some self-imposed celibacy, considering Dick in that light was wrong. Dick needed someone to help him get back on his feet. That was it. Anything else was . . .
The hinges for the bathroom door squeaked open. Looking over his shoulder, Jason saw a ratty towel tangled around one of Dick's arms as he dried off his hair. His only pair of jeans were slung low on his hips. A form-fitting tee left very little to the imagination.
Turning his head, Jason took another long drink of his coffee. His mouth instantly regretted it as the full force of the beverage assaulted his taste buds. With his free hand, he searched his cabinet for creamer and sugar before draining half of his mug.
Jason filled his cup back to the brim, adding a tablespoon of cream and sugar. Actually up and running, Jason cleared up his counter. He sidestepped to his fridge, pulling out eggs, deli meats, tomatoes, bell peppers, cilantro, and other greens. Dumping them on his counter, he dug a whisk, pan, and oil out from under his counter. Turning on the flame, he set the pan atop before pulling a bowl from his cabinet.
On a cutting board, he quickly sliced the meat into small strips, then chopped his vegetables. Turning, he added oil to his pan. With a quick flick of his wrist, he spread the oil throughout the pan. Cracking three eggs into a small bowl, he whisked them haphazardly. A second later the eggs when into the pan. A minute after that went everything else.
He folded the omelet into a plate. Placing the plate on the table, he saw Dick open the fridge and pull out the nearly empty gallon of milk. Jason straightened out and playfully crossed his arms.
Jason teased, "I'm going to get offended one day that you prefer cereal over my home cooking."
Dick shrugged and commented, "It's easier to make."
Shaking his head, Jason divided his eggs with his fork. As he took the first bite, a knock sounded from his front door. Dick tensed, eying the door uneasily. Jason stood up and reluctantly headed to the door. Ignoring how his stomach complained about the meager amount of food that just entered it, Jason opened the door.
A man of approximately five feet eight broke out into a grin. He held out his head and pulled Jason into a welcoming hug. The other arm firmly patted Jason's bad. Patting Marcus's shoulder, Jason noticed the two men standing behind Marcus. Each gave Jason a curt nod.
"Good morning too, but I doubt this is a pleasure visit," Jason muttered as the man released him.
Stepping back, Jason nearly hit Dick who had appeared sometime between opening the door and now. Glancing back at Marcus, Jason angled his body for that Dick was in plain sight.
"Marcus, my guest, Dick," Jason introduced, "Dick my family friend Marcus."
"Nice to meet you," Marcus welcomed.
Marcus held out his hand. Dick took it and for a tense moment Jason saw them sizing each other up. Marcus puffed out his chest and squeezed firmly. Dick had a nonplus look and gave a curt nod in response to Marcus's greeting.
Releasing hands, Marcus stepped toward the other two men. Jason vaguely recognized them from the congregation, but never personally spoke to them. The three exchanged pointed looks.
"Son, has anything strange been happening?" Marcus addressed the elephant in the room.
They can't know about Dick, can they? Jason's mind blurted, paranoid.
Crossing his arms, Jason asked, "What do you mean?"
Marcus clarified, "The last few nights people reported strange people in the area."
Making eye contact with Dick, Jason raised a brow in a question. Dick tensed up. Jason picked up the dull sounds of fingers tapping on denim.
"No, I didn't notice anything, but I sleep fairly early," Jason answered.
"How about your friend there?" Marcus questioned, jerking his head in Dick's direction.
"I didn't see anything," Dick answered, his voice hoarse from disuse.
Marcus nodded and continued, "Well, we're starting up a night watch for the next week or so to calm people’s minds. Could you announce that at the next service? We're looking for volunteers."
"I'll leave a message for Bishop," Jason agreed.
Clapping his hands, Marcus smiled, "Now that we got that business outta of the way, do you mind if I speak to you in private?"
"We'll head off to the next house then," one of the two mumbled, taking the hint.
Jason suggested, "Dick you should finish your cereal before it gets soggy. I'll be in as soon as I'm done with Marcus."
Jason barely picked up Dick's shuffling steps into the house. Closing the door, Jason moved onto the pitiful strip that he called a porch. The dust brushed along his toes.
"Something wrong Marcus?" Jason inquired.
Watching the space behind Jason, Marcus questioned in a low voice, "Who's your friend?"
"What?"
"Your friend," Marcus repeated, "He appeared outta nowhere."
Straightening out to his full six feet two inches, Jason hissed, "Are you trying to suggest he's involved him something?"
I mean he does, but I'm the only one that should know that except the Court.
"No, no, mijo," Marcus protested, raising his hands up in defense.
"¿Cómo se dice...?" Marcus paused, "Jon said you brought clothes for him and he's been living with you..."
Marcus left the gaps for Jason to fill. Jason blinked processing the information. Jason face palmed. Dragging his hand down his face, Jason felt a wave of disappointment.
"Are you trying to ask if we're together?" Jason finally gasped, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You know I won't judge if you were -"
Jason interrupted, "How much do you have us dating?"
"What?"
"Jon started another betting pool on whether I'm dating someone again, didn't he?" Jason concluded, "how much do you have on me dating Dick?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, mijo."
Crossing his arms, Jason stared at Marcos.
Marcos sighed, "I didn't bet on anything. Jon nagged me to ask you."
Rubbing his temple, Jason muttered, "I thought you were trying to get him to quit."
Marcos shrugged and stated, "You can get an ass to water, but . . ."
"That's a nice way of describing your husband," Jason chuckled.
"Well?" Marcus prompted.
Jason sighed, "Dick's fallen on some hard times and I'm helping back onto his feet."
Closing the space between them, Marcus offered, "You know I wouldn't say anything if it were -"
"Tío," Jason warned.
"Fine," Marcus retreated, "If you want to volunteer call me or the Neighborhood Watch. Be careful, Jason."
Massaging his temples, Jason took a moment to bat the ridiculous of the past five minutes out of his head. His stomach grumbled like an old miser. The silence gave his mind time to be nosy once more.
Whatever, whoever, Dick heard, others saw them. What if it's the Court of Owls? Jason's temple pulsed unhelpfully. What could Jason do? He was just a pastor off to one side in downtown Gotham. It's not like he had Batman on speed dial? Even if he did how would he begin to explain Dick?
Jason's stomach roared, ending that line of thought. Turning around, Jason entered his house. Mentally hitting the pause button, Jason promised to think about it after breakfast.
Switching between staring at his motorcycle and surveying Dick, Jason pulled on his red helmet. He rolled the spare, pink one his hands uneasily. The memory of a no-hands backseat rider tingled his nerves. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Holding the helmet above Dick's hands, Jason growled, "No crazy stunts or you're walking home, understood?"
Dick tucked his chin in for a reluctant nod.
"Why would you let go in the first place?" Jason muttered softly to himself.
Dick answered, "It feels like flying."
Mounting the seat, Jason coughed, "Well, find your adrenaline rush somewhere else without getting me a ticket."
A moment later, Jason kicked off. The engine roared to life and they zipped down the street. At every stoplight and sign, Jason double checked that Dick's arms were where they belonged.
Squeezing between two vans, Jason waited for Dick to dismount the bike before following suit. A second later, he stored both helmets under the seat with a bit of Tetris-like arrangement. Zipping up his race jacket, Jason pointed at Jon's store with a jerk of his thumb.
A small bell went off as the door swung open. Jon glanced up from the corner. A wide grin broke across his face. His eyes jumped between Dick and Jason. He waved energetically at Jason.
Why does he look so happy - Jason wondered, oh right, he's a bet going.
"The books section is next Jon," Jason commented, "You should probably find a dictionary about three to four years old back there."
Dick nodded, veering off to the right. Jason kept forward until he came to a stop in front of the counter. Jon's face glowed. His eyes turned crescents as Jon waved at him.
"Jon stop betting on my love life," Jason hissed, cutting to the chase.
Jon mouth popped into an 'o'. In the next second, the 'o' became a straight line. Jon interlinked his hands and rested them on the counter.
"I have no idea why," Jon began.
Jason cut off Jon, "Marcus already told me."
"You know us old people love to gossip. If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else. I can cut you in on the bet," Jon started his pitch.
"You're asking a priest to gamble," Jason stated, tilting his head judgmentally.
"So are you?" Jon asked, ignoring Jason's criticism.
"No."
Before Jon could make another sound, Jason repeated, "No."
"When was the last time you let yourself have fun, Jason?"
Swallowing, Jason broke eye contact. Angling his head to the right, Jason saw Dick shifting through worn books. On the case perpendicular to him, a handful of bat-shaped boomerangs sat on the top shelf. Below it were other miscellaneous items: an empty canister of fear gas, a cat-shaped calling cat, and an arrow made of red metal.
An arrow made of red metal., face palming, Jason realized, I don't have Batman on speed dial, but Roy still exists.
"Do you mind if I duck out back to make a call?" Jason asked.
Lifting the counter door, Jon warned, "It's a mess back there."
Jon wasn't joshing. The narrow hall shrank from the boxes of odd items that lines the wall. Jason edged carefully forward until he made it to a slightly spacier backroom. The area had enough room for a small fold-out table, chair, TV, and a row of boxes lining the perimeter.
Dropping into the plastic chair, Jason pulled out his phone. He quickly scrolled through his contacts. It didn't take long. Jason had only a handful of contacts. Tapping his foot on the speckled linoleum flooring, Jason impatiently waited for the dial tone.
Mumbling appeared on the other side of the phone.
"Roy?" Jason double checked.
Roy stumbled over his words, "Jaybird, why - do you know what time it is? Six. Why'd you call me?"
"I need a favor," Jason began.
Pausing, he clarified, "From Arsenal, not Roy."
A mess of noises bled through: rustling sheets, creaking springs, and a panting Roy. Jason's foot continued to thump off on the flooring. A series of clamoring noises suggested that Roy dropped his cell.
"Alright, what's wrong?!" Roy essentially shouted into Jason's ear.
"You have connections with the Justice League, right?"
"Jason what happened?" Roy hissed.
"Answer the question."
"Yes, but why they fuck do you need the help of the entire fucking Justice League!"
"So you can talk to Batman? Without asking me for details, can you check if the Court of Owls is interested in the church off 5th and Wayne?"
Sounding exasperated, Roy sibilated, "Who the hell is the Court of Owls and why do you need Batman?"
"I said not to ask questions," Jason deflected.
How would I even begin that story? Hey Roy so I'm might be harboring essentially is what is Gotham's version of the Illuminati's black hand and they might want him back, Jason mocked himself.
"Are you in danger?" Roy asked after a long silence.
"Probably not."
I'm just a little priest. If the Court is real and wanted me dead, I'd be dead.
"I'll call Bats, but if anything happens, call the damn police."
"Thanks, Roy."
Swiping his phone, Jason stared at the blank screen. He was a minority priest in the bad part of town. What did he do to deserve to get involved in Gotham's weird and dark side.
Exhaling, Jason stood up. It wasn't productive to remind on that train of thought. Turning around, Jason shuffled toward the core of the store.
"Eek!"
Jason froze. If it hadn't been for the gasp, Jason would've assumed he ran into a stand. Angel pushed off the stacks of boxes. She brushed her coarse yellow locks away from her face.
"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, brushing off his shoulder.
Catching narrow fingers, Jason countered, "No it was my fault. I apologize for spooking you."
She pulled her arm away, peering up at Jason. She was a good head shorter than Jason. The circles under her eyes were moats of listlessness.
"Have you been having problems sleeping lately?" Jason asked, playing the caring priest card.
"No," she said under her breath.
Jason coaxed, "I am not here to judge, miss."
"It sounds like I'mma liar, but I saw the devil last night," she whispered as if the thought of it frightened her. She checked over her shoulder for good measure. Her eyes rimmed red with fear.
Plastering on his polite smile, Jason encouraged, "Perhaps if you talk about it, it'd make you feel better, Angel."
Flattening himself along the boxes, Jason gestured for her to seat at the chair. Her bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. Angel ducked her head, staring at the floor.
"I can't take up your free time like that, Father," she murmured.
Cupping her shoulder, Jason emphasized, "I'm offering my time. I would be glad to listen if it took some weight off your shoulders."
"It had curved, metal horns and red eyes the size of satellites," she spoke, half her words dipping into a voiceless fear, "and it had row of knives sticking outta its chest."
Angel hesitated, scanning the dark corners of the room. Jason waited, gesturing her to continue. Although the descriptor wasn't familiar, her demon sounded very much like one of Gotham's many masked criminals.
"I was settling down for the night when it landed in front of me. It didn't move like a human - too quiet," Angel vocalized, the words catching in her throat, "It turned and saw me. That's how I got a good look at its face. Before it got any closer, some others came down. I guess they heard me making some noise. It jumped straight onto the fire escape and disappeared."
Why does this sound familiar?
Inhaling, Jason inquired, "Did it wear armor on its shoulders and arms?"
Sniffling, she gasped, "How'd you know, Father? Did you see it too?"