#event post;

[posteminent-blog]

aftermath.

It’s all a bit of a blur.

The kryptonite deal gone sour, the men who wouldn’t die, the torture, the suicide red reminder on his hand, the face-to-face meeting with Li to work out how to keep this from happening again- two days of frenetic activity, pain and anxiety and dread, too much all at once.

Jason’s tired.

He’s oversensitive right now, can’t handle the shower over his head without immediately feeling like he can’t breathe, can’t do much without getting frustrated with his own shakiness and the pain of the brands on his chest and ending up in tears. Getting online is like reentering a nightmare every time he sees a post from his brother, anxiety buzzing like hornets in his skull about whether Dick saw the picture Li posted, whether he knows Jason’s alive, why Dick’s even in Gotham. He doesn’t even know who to talk to about Dick- Jason had told him he was better off avoiding his family, the other Grayson encouraged him to reach out, and Slade is...

Slade’s angry. Maybe. It feels like he is. Looking at messages from him makes Jason want to cry, too.

There’s a tension headache building in the back of Jason’s skull. He should get up and get something for it, brew some tea, pop a tylenol or a magnesium.

He closes his eyes and curls up tighter under his covers.

[posteminent-blog]

The unleashed Amazo is obviously Red Hood.

The kryptonite theft, not so much.

Whether it’s a desire to prove himself; brought on by years of competition with his brother, taking out assassins with far more skill, or Li’s incessant criticism; or a simple act of misdirection; obscuring who’d taken the goods until Jason wants to negotiate; it’s not clear, but the differences are striking. Where the Amazo is flashy, destructive, and bears Red Hood’s signature, thanks to his invitation to the team, the kryptonite job is subtle, professional: almost as if it was a coincidence and not a planned attack, taking advantage of a distraction.

He disrupts the on-site security, jams the communications, and cuts the lights, leaving Sionis’ men both literally and figuratively in the dark, before he starts using some of those skills he’s so proud of, the ones he rarely exercises when brute force sends the loudest message.

It’s slow and steady, taking on Sionis’ people one by one, leaving them unconscious, bound, and disarmed. That alone doesn’t point to Jason’s involvement, leaving live bodies instead of dead ones, and the pile of blindfolded and gagged men won’t have much to tell their boss, either, not when Jason’s left the signature red helmet and pistols at home.

It could be anyone, in the anonymous black balaclava and nondescript body armor, that removes all tracers and GPS from the crate of kryptonite and the truck he loads it into, driving off into the night with pound upon god-killing pound of one of the most coveted materials in existence.

The truck is back before morning.

[posteminent-blog]

The preparations are an all-day thing.

Most people would classify the areas around the docks as abandoned, and while they’re right in the sense that no one lives there legally, Jason knows full well that they’re not empty, that there are people squatting in the abandoned brick buildings like he once had as a kid. He’s been through the area a few times before, scoping out places where people were likely to congregate, looking for signs of life, and he and Caroline are back today to comb through those areas.

With a bit of saved cash and the money from the STAR job, Jason’s turned Caroline’s dojo into a shelter for whoever might be in Amazo’s warpath, the two finding residents and helping them pack, move their things to a place where a bot with the powers of the League can’t destroy what little they have for themselves. Some of Caroline’s older students are helping keep things in order; food and blankets passed out, directing people to the showers to clean up and the locker room if they want to put things away; as well as entertaining the children that get brought.

One trip between the danger zone and the dojo, Jason ends up with a little boy on his shoulders, fists clenched in his hair, and the kid’s sister in his arms, telling Jason about all the kitties she sees in the alley, sometimes bickering with her brother about what they’ve named the strays. Their mother walks alongside him, one bag of their possessions on her back, the other on Jason’s, watching him curiously as he talks and engages with both of them.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks quietly, when her children are distracted by discussing whether the fat white cat on their block is ‘Sugar’ or ‘Snowball’.

“Ma’am?” he replies without thinking, those old cotillion manners Alfred had instilled in him welling back up, and the woman huffs a little, raising a brow at him.

“I ain’t no ‘ma’am.’ And I asked why. Why’re you comin’ through and movin’ everyone out? What kinda hell you plannin’ that you think we ain’t seen before?” she replies sharply, and Jason struck for a moment by the suspicion in her eyes, and, beneath it, the fear.

He remembers that fear.

Shifting his grip on the little girl, he sighs. “It doesn’t matter whether you’ve seen hell before. You shouldn’t have to just hit the floor and pray when things start goin’ down ‘cause nobody thinks of you. I’ve been there, and it ain’t fun. It gets people killed. That’s why I’m doin’ this. ‘Cause I’ve lived it.”

She watches him for another long moment, looking him up and down as they walk in silence, her son tugging at Jason’s hair. “Lookin’ a bit big for a street boy,” she finally comments, and he can’t help his laughter, lifting a hand to steady the kid on his shoulders so Jason’s shaking can’t knock him loose.

“I hit a real nice growth spurt,” he answers, and her mouth quirks up just a little, shaking her head at him.

“Must have.”

At the doors of the dojo, he sets the little girl on her feet before lifting her brother off his shoulders, taking a knee to get on their level. “You two be brave and take care of your mom, okay? Sometimes grownups get scared about new places, so you should help her.” The kids look at their mom, wide-eyed, and back to Jason, nodding so hard that he has to chuckle. “Good. Thanks, guys.”

Their mother smiles at him, reaching to take their other bag as Jason shrugs it off his back, offering her other hand for him to shake. “Take care of yourself out there.”

He clasps her hand with a small smile of his own. “I’ll do my best.”

Caroline catches his arm as he turns to head out again, brown eyes serious.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Adam?” she asks, low and concerned, and, for a second, Jason thinks of telling her his real name.

It passes.

“I’ve got this, Caroline. I promise. I’ll come out of this just fine. You just worry about the people tonight, not me.” She huffs, slugging his arm. 

“You are my people, jackass.”

Jason laughs and elbows her a little, smiling when he sees her start to grin. “Quit your worryin’. I’m gonna be fine, alright?”

“Alright, alright, quit elbowing me, you great lug,” she laughs, shoving him ineffectually, smile a bit sad as she looks at him. “I mean it, Adam. You’re my friend. You better get through this, or I’ll go down to hell and kick your ass myself.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

[posteminent-blog]

RH: so. i hate to invite you all to a Gotham party when you’re down a Bat-liaison, but if i’m not mistaken, this guy’s an old friend, and what kinda person would i be if i didn’t facilitate a reunion?

[amazo.nav]

RH: have fun, kids.