She was gone.
A whirlwind of anger and magic and she was
just
gone.
Gone.
He was left a shell, filling in the holes she left with booze and bullets, the former to the point of poisoning and the latter to the tune of half the criminals in China Basin. He was frightening the locals, almost all of whom had, at one point or another, interacted with the Outlaws before. No one had seen the Red Hood act like this, not even during the Occupation. Then, it had been retributive, retaliating at the mercenaries who set out to destroy the lives and livelihoods of the citizens of Gotham. Now, it was different. It seemed to be without any direction, just senseless violence against those whom, ironically, had done nothing more vicious than breaking and entering.
It was one night in particular that stuck in his mind, the night that he found himself holding a gun to a single father who had, in an act of desperation, left his children in the car while he attempted to break into an ATM machine. The father had pulled a knife on Jason, and in full view of the children, Jason had broken the man’s collarbone, disarmed him, and pressed the cold steel of a .44 against his temple. One of the children screamed in fright, and the reality of what he’d done had hit him in full. He had dropped the man, disappearing in a burst of hazy anger and fury at losing his cool, his sharp edge of retribution falling to bullying the struggling poor of the city’s worst neighborhoods.
The shame and regret had taken him to The Looper again, where he’d first met her months ago. It, of course, would propel him deeper into depression and despair, but that was better anyway. Less dangerous for the people around him. After a few bottles of vodka, he’d wind up at a safehouse, passing out fully clothed on top of sheets that still smelled like her.
Weeks went by. He didn’t get better. Kory, Roy, Henri, Dick-all of them reached out, but only the kid got a response. His training was harsh, made even harder by the now nonexistent humor that Dick had previously been able to elicit from Jason. It was all business, and it was taking its toll. Tensions were high, and the Outlaws suffered because of it. Kory and Roy took solace-relief-in each other, something which only further annoyed Jason. Their not-so-secretive romance was the lowlight of his days, especially when he came home to find a Kory-shaped burn against his bedroom door. Fucking cretins.
Batgirl was the one good thing he still had going. While they’d been cautious allies at first, their shared patrols over the summer had grown a bond unlike one he had with the Outlaws. They didn’t trust each other implicitly-after all, they still held their civilian identities close to the chest-but they became a remarkable team, each so different from the other, but stronger for it. She was a goddamn wizard at on the go tactical decisions; standoffs and hostage situations that had Jason resorting to extremes got peeled apart with finesse when she was present. On the flip side, he was a hammer to her scalpel. A battering ram, really. Where she tiptoed around property damage and injuries, he’d come full force down on those who opposed him. They suited each other. Yin and Yang, or some shit.
So it was a surprise when he found a stirring inside of him, one that he hadn’t considered since his heart had been ripped out of his chest and cut to ribbons, a feeling like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t cursed to this freakish life, alive, dead, alive again. Maybe she was the answer. Who the hell knows.
He started warming back up to life after that. Even one sided, realizing he could still care about someone like that…it changed things. He was able to tolerate Kory’s post-coital glow, and ignore Roy’s sheepish looks when the three of them hung out. Dick noticed he had his laugh back, and training doubled in speed. Jason had some semblance of normality back, and everyone was the better for it.
Even so, the nighttime patrols with Batgirl became sacred. Secret. An escape from where he was expected to be one way, and allowing him to truly be himself. Witty humor, both appropriate and not. Dark and brooding, occasionally. Coarse, always. He never hid himself from her, not like he had from the rest for so long. She, oddly, incredulously, knew him better than most. This girl, whose name he didn’t know, who he spent most nights with. Talking. Working out. Kicking ass. He was a Gotham Knights fan; she a Gotham Griffins fan. Hours had been spent arguing the finer points of a designated hitter versus letting the pitcher hit (with no conclusion, naturally). She loved computers and had an encyclopedic knowledge of books. He could (and would) talk as long as she’d let him about weapons and their strengths/weaknesses, as well as the new tech that he acquired, almost always sharing his toys.
They worked.
And so, that night they finally kissed, it was like a lock had dropped from around his ribcage at last. The weight and humiliation, plus internalized blame for the breakup, finally lifted away from Jason, and he was happy. The next weeks were spent stealing kisses in alleyways, sharing them above a pile of groaning and neutralized criminals. Like goddamn teenagers, they shared a reckless abandon for the other, daring the world to catch them, to stop them. It wasn’t love, not to them. Neither believed in it, anyway. But that’s the special thing about falling in love. You never think you’re headed that direction until you’re stuck, confused, angry, elated, and scared, alone with the one who took you there.
Ready to face the big bad world hand in hand.
and all of this will never be the same again 