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Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey | Jason and Eddie | Flashback
No, it’s okay bartender. Just give me the bottle. Yeah, the big one. Why am I drinking? Well, you see, I died a while back. Got my skull crushed in by a maniac with a crowbar. Today is the big one-five, the crystal anniversary. Nah, I’m okay. Just let me take Jack here and we’ll have a nice long talk in private.
Nestled in a back booth at Finnegan’s, a hole in the wall financial district bar, Jason sipped his third-fourth?-highball of Gentleman’s Jack, not even bothering to look up at the commotion a few tables over. Henri hadn’t wanted to come gloom and doom with him, and…well, there wasn’t much of anyone else left. Isabel had been some sorta spy, Batgirl wasn’t speaking to him, and Roy was dead. Kory was furious that he’d almost died fighting Batman in a stupid pissing contest. Dick…Dick didn’t care.
He was startled out of his thoughts when a tall brunette man in an eggplant trenchcoat fell backwards into the empty bench seat across the table from him, catching himself on an extended hand. Looking up, Jason saw a man in a suit, white powder and blood traced on his nose. His face was red, veins and tendons bulging out of his perfectly tailored shirt. He was yelling, but the words weren’t registering in his ears yet. Looking back at the fallen man, he saw no emotion but thinly veiled annoyance, and he immediately decided to back the man. Standing, he drew himself up to his full height, clearing his throat to get the Wall Street asshole’s attention.
His eyes widened as Jason loomed above him, the color and confidence draining as two hundred and forty pounds of denim and leather stepped towards him, putting a massive hand on his shoulder. Leaning down, Jason peered into the man’s huge pupils, looking for the fear past the dilation.
“Come on, Shitstain. That’s no way to act. Get the fuck outta my booth.” He squeezed tight on his clavicle, feeling the bone strain under his thumb. The man winced, then attempted to squirm away as the pain increased. Finally, Jason let go, chuckling darkly as the man practically sprinted away, clutching his shoulder. Sitting back down, he swept a hand through his hair, glad he’d dyed the streak. He hated attracting attention when it was showing, and this was exactly why. The fewer identifying marks, the better. He’d even taken to wearing contacts, but tonight, he had chosen to let his pale aquamarine eyes go natural. The bartender had his name, but that was all. Nothing would come of the search, anyway. The League had erased his identity over a decade ago, not like it was difficult. All that had been under his name was a birth certificate, and even that had been erroneous. HIs parents hadn’t ever actually gotten married, but a common law marriage had been been applied the year after Jason was born. In any case, his birth name had been Jason Peter Winick, with his mother’s maiden name given to him. After her death, he’d adopted his father’s surname, not wanting to bring any attention to the only legacy Catherine had left him.
"Financial guys can be real assholes.” He was addressing the fallen man now, watching as he readjusted that purple coat. He was…unique looking, to say the least. Wideset eyes, a huge chin, and cheekbones that looked so out of place Jason wondered if he’d had them implanted. “Name’s Jay. What’d you do to piss him off, anyway? You try to rent his favorite hooker?” He laughed, tossing back the last bit of his glass. “I’ve seen him knock a waitress out for getting his martini wrong before.”
I’m the voice inside your head
You refuse to hear
I’m the face that you have to face
Mirrored in your stare
I’m what’s left, I’m what’s right
I’m the enemy
I’m the hand that will take you down
Bring you to your kneesSo who are you?
So crawl on my belly ‘til the sun goes down
I’ll never wear your broken crown
I took the road and I fucked it all away
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace?
Arabella | Red Hood and Batgirl | Zero Year Flashback
Barbara had tried to push the sounds of steel slicing skin out of her mind, but it was more than a little distracting. She winced, swallowing hard, desperate to keep her attention on the young woman. The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen – if that. Tentatively, Barbara had reached for her hand before the girl snapped it away, trembling, and as much as she understood, it still stung. It was beyond frustrating being unable to communicate with the girl, to tell her that she meant her no harm, she was just trying to help. So when Hood approached, Barbara was secretly relieved, even if her pride suffered.
Brows furrowed in astonishment as the girl easily let Hood cradle her in his arms, and had the situation been different she may have been resentful or bitter. Now wasn’t the time for egos, though, and Barbara nodded at the Red Hood’s request. She sprinted for the exit, eyes scanning the lot for the group of girls – spotting them all huddled together on the broken asphalt.
“There’s a place in midtown, a clinic. Anonymous, low profile. Should be safe.” Propping open the door, she waited for Hood and the girl to pass through before securing the area. Heading in the direction of the group, she swept the perimeter, ensuring they didn’t have any unexpected tails. Barbara crouched down, running a gentle hand over the shoulder of one of the sobbing young women. “You going to be able to take her with that injury?” Eyes flicked to the man’s side. “I can stay here with them, make sure they’re safe until the authorities arrive, if you can handle it.”
He didn’t catch the resentment in her pose, so occupied with his injuries and the girl. Shaking his head, he spoke just through the comms, not wanting to alarm the girl with more indecipherable language.
“They won’t trust me if I go alone. Someone needs to go with me, and it’s gotta be you. Otherwise…” He glanced down at the girl, frightened and clinging to his neck. “I don’t think she’ll make it. Is your clinic safe? Can I stay there with her, at least until she gets into surgery?”
He didn’t mention that he himself needed attention; it seemed obvious.
“Look. The cops can handle this, right? Case like this, Gordon or at least Chandler will be here. They can take care of it.” He paused, his next words bouncing around his skull before he spoke them.
“I need your help again, Batsie. Just drive the truck to your clinic, introduce me and her. Then you can ghost.”
Day for the Dead (to Dance among the Living) | Jason and Roy
Roy was so tired. Though he kept his hands pocketed as he walked toward the door of the roof, he wanted nothing more than to grind the heels of his palms into his eyes. His skin itched, and for the first time in a while, he had to chide himself for the thoughts that accompanied such a feeling. He hoped this fall out didn’t mean he’d have to stop spending time with the kid. Dick had seemed happy to see him at least, and if their movie night turned slumber party was anything to go by, he just couldn’t leave the boy twice.
At the sound of his name, the red head’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t really know what he was expecting Jason to say, but he honestly hadn’t expected his name to be said at all. Turning on his heel, though not all the way around, Roy watched his old friend continue to deal with him. Sometimes, when things got complicated, when feelings got hurt and he was tired (but he was always tired lately), the militant wished he had picked normal people to spend his time with.
Normal. As if he was some golden standard. No, not normal— but easy to talk to. People who said what they felt, and felt exactly what they said. It’s not as if Roy didn’t know how to interpret his friends’ words by now, their actions, but sometimes he wished he didn’t have to do the extra work just to understand; to feel better. He wished his friends were open books, more like him, but, on second thought, Roy didn’t want that at all.
Heaving a heavy sigh, the red head watched, listened to his rap sheet, to the debts he could never repay, and tried not to start walking away again. Tired, yeah. Tired made you sad. But, this. This was guilt, burden— this was all his failures— and that, that destroyed you.
And he was welcome to be Arsenal again? What is that? Some shitty party favor?
Roy didn’t want Jason’s goddamn blessing to be. He didn’t want the man to tell him he could have some shitty fucking name back. Welcome to be Arsenal again— as if he needed permission. The red head didn’t care about the fucking name. He wanted… Jason knew what he wanted. He wanted to be a part of the Outlaws, to be welcomed back into their weird, pseudo family, even at an arm’s length, even with a grudge. He didn’t fucking care about a name he—
And of course he saw it coming, with everything he’s known in life, how could he have not? But Roy had come into this expecting it, knowing he wouldn’t fight back, so he didn’t. He didn’t even roll with it, letting Jason connect with a sharp sound. The red head caught himself as the force sent him down, balancing on one knee, one palm supporting his weight, the other cradling his jaw. Slowly, he pushed himself back to his feet, stood straight as he worked his jaw a few times before dropping both hands back to his side. Gritting his teeth at the sting, knowing the hit had broken skin without having to feel the warm liquid oozing to the surface, Roy looked back at Jason with no real feeling. There was no other way to do it, because he didn’t know how to feel anymore. He could feel some type of anger rising in his gut, but he didn’t know who he was angrier at anymore, who he felt worse for, didn’t know what to do. So, instead, he stood there, as if waiting for Jason to hit him again, and right now, he half expected him to.
Hundreds of thoughts ran through his head as he watched the SEAL stumble, then stand without reacting. The broken man he’d pulled out of a burning hut in Africa. The vomiting mess as he’d come down off his morphine hangover, holed up in a hostel in Austria. Swapping conquests and stories of exotic locations and local women, ignoring Kory’s looks of annoyance. Clogging the comms with karaoke as she attempted to zap them as they danced just out of reach of her bolts. Even the nights when they’d black out, waking up safe in bed somehow, rum and whiskey still on their breath.
Numbness was plastered on Roy’s face, and with his pain came a release of emotions that Jason had managed to keep repressed for years. Stepping forward, he pulled Roy tight, clapping him on the back in a rare show of brotherly love.
“I missed the fuck out of you, Harper.”
The smallest hint of a tear squeezed itself out of his eyes, and he released the shorter man and took a step back.
“There’s lots to catch you up on, okay? Let’s grab a drink-assuming you still partake-and catch up before we go see Kory."
Fireside | Jason and Kory | Blackout
Liftoff in the Dragon took less than thirty seconds, and they cleared the waterfall quickly. Kory hadn’t spoken, and though it had been ages since they worked together, he still could tell when things bothered her.
From the day they met, they’d been beyond words; kindred spirits, though they clashed far more often with each other than the other Outlaws. She’d been honest advice and opinions for years, and he’d never been afraid of telling her exactly what his thoughts were, or why he had an opinion.
He wasn’t sure, then, why he’d been keeping her in the dark for so long. She’d quit after Roy died, all but dropped off the radar. She’d pop up from time to time to talk to Dick, or make small talk with Jay. But they’d lost that spark, that bit of understanding that had kept the warriors together.
After her reaction to Zatanna, he’d given up talking about who he cared about; she’d all but said “told you so” and held it against him as proof he couldn’t bring civilians into this life. With Batgirl…he’d never even mentioned her. There might be rumors, sure. But they were careful, and none of the tabloids had said a single word about them. Cass was less of a purposeful secret, more unwillingness to share details about his oldest friend and earliest student.
Taking off his helmet, he stuck it on the console, running a gloved hand through his white and black hair. With a long, slow exhale, he hit autopilot, swiveling to look at the Princess.
“Come on. Tell me why you’re pissed.”
Might as well get it over with before they had to rely on each other in combat, right?
You can see that life’s for us to talk about.
You can leave whenever you want out.
You don’t relate to me, no girl.
You don’t respect me, no girl.
Behind the Screens || Tim & Jason
Fruit Bat. Also known as the Megabat or a Flying Fox but, those names sounded much more threatening than Tim knew he was. Still, the names were deceiving of the creature itself. On record, they could grow over sixteen inches, fitting for their name but, the animal could vary in size based on region and would sometimes grow no bigger than two inches. They prayed on mangoes and nectar from fruits like it and were often easily handled by people with proper training. Tim supposed he could be a Fruit Bat, a smaller one. Like Stella Luna before him, the teen wasn’t quite a predator of the night, separated from his mother and still learning how to use his wings, but a bat none the less. At least, for now.
Shaking the facts clear from his head, (and when had he read so much about fruit bats?) Tim went over the man’s questions again, hoping he hadn’t paused too long in answering while having been stuck in his own head.
“Curiosity killed the cat.” Tim almost chided, though managed to pull it off in a half hushed tone, besides, who was he to talk. Was he really supposed to answer? He supposed Red Hood did want to know, but did he really want to divulge such information? The young hacker knew he wouldn’t get any in return, and while that was disheartening, it wasn’t really news. “If you believe that no one has a healthy past, then you already have your answer.“ Because really, did he want Tim to fill in the bubbles? To circle the right answers and pass his papers forward? Check box number one if you have one or more dead parents, box two if they were mean to you and box three if you’re just fucked in the head. Yeah, right. The younger male rolled his eyes, huffing lightly before turning back to the large consoles.
Finally, after, quite possibly, the longest two minutes Tim had ever experienced, (half because of his anxiety over Dick’s safety, and the other due to this conversation he was expected to take part in), the computer beeped, red dots springing forward on the map. Dick sure had gotten around. The cameras that had most recently spotted the renegade teen belonged to the GCPD. It was weird, hacking into his own employers network, especially after promising to do good, but this was good right? He had found Dick’s trail and he— he was in the back of a police car? Finding the number of the patrol vehicle, Tim tracked the built in GPS until the car reached its destination. Once there, the older teen’s image was picked up by another facility with functioning cameras, a backup generator.
Tim pulled the footage up onto the screen, with another flick of his wrist, showing the older teen sitting in a six by eight holding cell, pout clear on his boyish face.
"He’s at the, um, Gotham City Police Department.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Did it? Last I heard, the Cat was in Bludhaven.” He smiled at his joke, not knowing if the girl would get it. Selina was…complicated. He wasn’t sure if Bruce had managed to tell the others about her yet.
He cocked his head to the side as the image of his student popped up on screen, sitting bored and annoyed in a jail cell.
“Fuck. What the hell?”
Dick knew better. He wasn’t afraid of his identity getting out, but still. The kid had connections to Jason, and getting arrested wasn’t a good thing. Arrest records meant a paper trail, which meant Dick was a liability. Unless…
“Thanks, Kid. Gotta go save the Padawan, you know.”
Turning on his heel, he walked past Cass, stopping only to hug her tight one last time, not knowing when he’d see her again.
“Be good, Baby Bat."
Fifteen steps later, he spun around, calling out one last jab at the girl at the computer.
"Dick is friends with Harley Quinn. Wrap it before you tap it, alright Kiddo?”
He was in the Dragon after that, climbing in to see a very pissed off Kory in the copilot chair.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I.”
and all of this will never be the same again 