Jazz and Danny opened their eyes at the same time. The sun’s rays were just starting to peek over the horizon.
Jazz growled as the whispers of the ghosts of Crime Alley reached her ears.
Batman has taken our savior. Save him, Red Phantom, save Red Hood.
Ancients damn it! She knew she shouldn’t have let Jason go alone. Jazz got up and started getting dressed. Danny stared at Jazz as she put on her suit.
“Jazz, I’m going with you.”
“No,” she said, “You’re staying here. You’re still injured, and I can’t defend myself if I have to worry about you.” She put on weapons.
Danny didn’t argue with Jazz. Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “Jazz, what’s your plan? You’re not planning on killing the Batman, are you?”
Jazz stilled, a red, creepy mask in her hands.
“If I have to, I will.” She put on the mask and stepped to the window. She took out a grappling gun.
“Stay here, Danny. I’ll be back soon with Jason.”
Danny waited a few minutes after Jazz left before turning invisible—his core protesting the use of his powers—there was no way he was letting Jazz fight this battle alone.
Jason woke slowly. His breathing didn’t change, and he didn’t move. After all, one of the first things he had learned was how to feign sleep in an unfamiliar situation. Jason felt pain in his neck. The last thing he remembered was a bright light, then blinding pain, before everything went black. Fucking Batman, man.
Jason used his other senses to find out where he was.
The sound of dripping water and squeaking bats reached his ears. No, it couldn’t be. He didn’t! Jason opened his eyes.
He fucking did! Jason was in the last place he wanted to be. Hell would’ve been better than the mother fucking Batcave. He sat up and noticed he was in one of the holding cells. The holding cells that could hold a Kryptonian if need be. The next thing he noticed was Bruce sitting by the Batcomputer, cowl down.
Jason got up and ran toward the glass, pounding against it, uncaring if it did nothing. It was still satisfying to hit something.
“Let me go, you obsessive control freak!”
Bruce ignored him and continued click-clacking away on the Batcomputer. Jason could tell it was a map of Crime Alley with different colored dots on it. Jason sneered—he could see his glowing green eyes in the reflection of the wall—and felt his anger rising.
“Oh, now you care about Crime Alley. After it became mine. You think you can take it from me? I won’t let you. I willget out, and when I do, I’m not letting you live, Bruce.” He spat the name like a curse.
Bruce didn’t pay Jason any attention. Jason kept hitting his fists against the reinforced glass until it became red with blood. At the first speck of blood, Bruce got up and walked toward Jason’s prison.
“You’re hurting yourself.”
“Fuck you. I’ve bled a lot worse before.”
Bruce flinched, catching Jason’s meaning.
“Jay lad, please. Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Bruce put his hand up against the glass, right where Jason’s bloody fist was clenched. His eyes became sad. It pissed Jason off even more. He hit the glass again, watching Bruce flinch as more blood splattered against the glass.
“Please, son, let me help you.”
Bruce’s faint smile skyrocketed Jason’s anger.
“I have adoption papers that say otherwise.”
Jason growled, his sneer dark and murderous. He couldn’t help but throw his whole shoulder toward the glass, trying to get to Bruce’s neck and snap it. He wanted to watch as Bruce’s eyes went blank in death. The man had no right; he had no right to call Jason his son.
Bruce yelled in surprise, shocked at Jason’s violent outburst. Bruce stood there for a few moments, frozen in shock as Jason violently threw his body at the reinforced glass. It wasn’t until he heard a snap that Bruce came back to himself and pressed a button on his phone until calming gas filled the room.
It took a while, much longer than he wanted to, but Jason eventually crumpled onto the floor, his shoulder up against the wall. He didn’t lose consciousness as Bruce had hoped, so he didn’t stop the gas from filling the room. Jason’s eyes still glowed that eerie shade of Lazarus green, but brighter than before.
Bruce sat on the floor, looking straight at Jason’s eyes.
“You lost the right to call me your son when you let my murderer walk around, alive,” he slurred.
“Jason, please, I couldn’t. If I did, I don’t think I would ever come back. I wouldn’t be able to stop. But, God almighty, I wanted to, I really wanted to.”
Jason didn’t glower at him, the gas still messing with his ability to move, but it was close.
“Don’t play dumb. You buried me and then got yourself a shinier, better model. What’s the point of having a street rat when you can have another rich kid at your side?”
“No, Jason! Tim isn’t your replacement. Nobody could ever replace you!”
Jason didn’t listen; he didn’t want to hear Bruce’s lies. Instead, he let the darkness take him over.
Bruce felt his heart leap in fear as Jason lost consciousness. No, it was just the gas. He was still breathing. He let the gas fill the room a moment longer before stopping it. Bruce got up and entered the room cautiously in case Jason was faking it. He closed the door behind him and slowly walked up to his son. When he got close and Jason didn’t attack, Bruce let out a deep breath through his nose. He picked up Jason and put him on the cot.
Bruce couldn’t help but put his hand on Jason’s moving chest, amazed by the miracle of Jason’s breaths. He ran his hand through Jason’s hair. He couldn’t help but touch Jason’s white bangs. They were softer than he thought they would be.
He stood like that for a few minutes before getting to work. He left to get a few medical supplies and came back in. His hands didn’t need any stitches, thankfully, so he wrapped them up after cleaning them. Jason’s shoulder was dislocated, so he sat him up and put it back into place; Jason didn’t even flinch.
Bruce was so entranced by Jason’s presence that he didn’t even feel anyone’s presence until he heard a gasp. He turned around to find Alfred looking at them.
“Yeah, Alfred, I found him. He’s home.”
