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Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to summon the sheer depths of his hatred to the forefront in hopes that the man before him might feel the heat of his rage. He'd always wanted to test the expression if looks could kill … and now was as good a time as any.
"Don't you think you're being a little overdramatic?"
Apparently, he wasn't trying hard enough because Bruce hadn't burst into flame or otherwise given any sign of discomfort at Jason's entirely reasonable anger. How the man could look so composed in his stupid tuxedo was beyond him.
Jason, in contrast, was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt and had no intention of changing out of them. To that end, he was not going to acknowledge the suspicious garment bag that Bruce was holding out like an offering.
It was a trap.
It went without saying that nothing good could possibly come from a tuxedo-clad Bruce Wayne appearing on his doorstep while carrying a garment bag. Jason had immediately known that his night was going to hell when he'd opened the door to that ridiculous sight and he'd been proven right the moment Bruce had opened his stupid mouth to ask for a favour.
"Jason – "
"Nope!" Jason interrupted bluntly. "Not doing it. You can't make me and it's a terrible idea."
Bruce sighed. "It's one night."
"A very long and horrible night that I will not enjoy."
"People are starting to spread rumours about you-"
"Not my problem."
"-which puts more attention on the family-"
"Still not seeing the issue."
"-which makes some of our other activities harder to hide."
"And you know I loathe galas … Wait," Jason frowned. "Are you seriously trying to blame me for Vicki Vale poking around last week?"
"Of course not," Bruce assured him, "but she thinks there's something to dig up and she won't stop until she finds something … anything. If it's not her, it'll be someone else. Everyone thought you were dead and now you're back; that sort of thing doesn't happen every day. Like it or not, you're a big deal right now, Jason."
Jason snorted. "First of all, I actually was dead, so I'm even more interesting than they realize, and second – yeah, that still doesn't sound like my problem."
"Tim and Damian both got hounded by paparazzi outside their schools yesterday."
That news brought Jason up short. "They're stalking kids hoping to get a picture of me?"
Bruce nodded. "It certainly seems that way."
"I thought you paid ridiculous school fees to prevent that sort of thing."
"I do," Bruce said. "My lawyers are handling it, but –"
"But if I were to make a public appearance then my photos wouldn't be worth so much," Jason concluded.
"That's the hope."
Jason crossed his arms and mulled it over. He'd known that legally coming back from the dead would result in him getting some unwanted attention. He'd expected rumours and accusations; he'd even expected that he would be followed at times by overzealous assholes with cameras. He could never have expected the sheer scale of the shitstorm that had resulted from his resurrection, however. It was utter insanity, and that was coming from a man who used to wear a helmet with a bomb in it.
He had seen his face on every single tabloid rag in the grocery store. He'd had random strangers ask him for the most personal details of his 'death' and had fended off more than a few would-be groupies hounding him in hopes of catching his eye and possibly his heart. There was even one notable man who volunteered to be his acolyte in hopes of achieving immortality through proximity to Jason.
For someone who had avoided celebrity as much as possible when living with Bruce Wayne as a child, it was a lot for Jason to handle. He hated it. At least once a day he regretted his decision to officially rejoin the family. When everyone thought he was dead, he had been left alone. Now that he was alive, everyone wanted a piece of him and it wasn't fair.
But Jason had made the choice and he'd done it because of family. Even though his particular family was full of idiots, they were his idiots and it had seemed worth the loss of anonymity to be able to do everyday things like go to the zoo with his brothers. And maybe it actually was worth it, but it wasn't an easy transition.
Either way, he couldn't put the toothpaste back in the tube. Everyone knew he was alive now and it looked like nobody in the family would be getting any peace until the next scandal or sensation took over the news feeds.
It couldn't happen soon enough. Jason couldn't help but hate the thought of his siblings getting hounded for information on him. If the gossip rags were following kids around, things were getting out of hand and someone needed to do something about it.
Well, Jason Todd had to do something about it. If he didn't do anything, the temptation to fix things with Red Hood would become too strong to ignore and that would cause an entirely different set of problems.
He sighed. Deeply. "I'm not wearing a tux, so anyone who has an issue with that can kiss my ass."
Bruce nodded and subtly set aside the garment bag he'd been carrying.
"Just to be clear, all I have to do is show up at this stupid gala, shake a few hands, tell my horrific story with all the gruesome details for the upper class assholes to gasp over, eat some hors d'oeuvres, and then I can leave?" Jason only felt mildly guilty at the look of pain that crossed Bruce's face. "Come on, old man, you know they don't really care about me. I was the street rat who shouldn't have been there. They talked down to me for years! All those jokes about hiding the silverware and how great it was that I was the newest charity case for Bruce Wayne, blah, blah, blah … It was only after I died that they all claimed to be so close to me. Now they only want the gory tidbits so they can cash in on the scandal – 'oh, poor Jason Todd! Did you hear what happened to him?' – and they can pretend to be horrified while they just eat it all up. They're all a bunch of –"
"I'm sorry," Bruce cut in. "Jason, I'm so sorry."
Jason paused, mouth still open in mid-rant. "Huh?"
"This was a terrible idea. I know you hate galas," Bruce admitted. "It's never been a secret. And you're right; most of the people at these parties are insufferable. Just because it's the most expedient solution to the problem doesn't mean it's the only solution."
Bruce looked alarmingly earnest and Jason kind of hated that expression.
"You aren't … about to have a moment, are you?" Jason asked suspiciously.
Bruce gave a small smile. "Not at all. I'm just realizing that putting you through that for no good reason isn't fair at all. Dick's been trying to get me to recognize boundaries and times when personal lives and night lives shouldn't be made to overlap. Maybe this is one of those times. You shouldn't have to relive your trauma for the sake of a bunch of gossiping strangers and I'm sorry I tried to push that on you."
"Well, shit."
"I'd tell you to watch you language, but we both know how that will go."
"So … if you don't want me to go to this party, what's the plan for getting my photo out there?"
Bruce straightened his bow tie. "Do you think I'm overdressed for that chili dog cart you like?"
Jason didn't even try to hide his snort of amusement. "You look ridiculous. You're seriously suggesting that you skip some gala to go eat street meat across town with me? Don't you have to put in an appearance or something? What time does it even start?"
"An hour ago," Bruce grinned. "As for appearances, Dick is there and he took Tim and Damian with him for good measure. The family is represented and the press would love a fluff piece about a father and son getting a meal together, don't you think?"
"I guess it's been awhile since you did something so Brucie," Jason replied.
"I brought the Lamborghini."
"Can I drive?"
Bruce looked slightly pained, but he fished the keys out of his pocket anyway. Jason grinned and snatched them from his hands before Bruce could reconsider.
"Lets get out of here before some paparazzi asshole notices your car and figures out where I live."
Part of him was unaccountably nervous for the outing. It was just him and Bruce, which had every component necessary for turning into disaster. They'd been doing better lately, hence one of the reasons Jason had felt it time to rejoin the land of the living, but it was still touch and go sometimes. Inevitably, one of them would say or do something stupid and a fight would result, but for right now, Bruce was trying and Jason was getting to drive a stupidly expensive car.
And Bruce wasn't going to push him into going to that stupid gala. The gleeful sibling in Jason was almost giddy at the thought that his brothers were suffering through it and that in the morning they would likely see photos of exactly why Bruce had ditched them. Chili dogs beat fancy finger foods any day of the week!
Bruce, for his part, seemed content to smile indulgently as they made their way down the rickety steps to the street. Jason was in a good enough mood that he even held the door for Bruce, mockingly bowing a little as he let the older man go first.
"I hope you're not expecting a tip," Bruce joked as he passed by.
"See if I hold the door for you again, you ungrateful-" Jason trailed off as Bruce stopped suddenly, directly in front of him. "What's the holdup?"
"Well … a holdup, I think," Bruce replied lightly.
Jason shifted so he could see past Bruce's absurdly large frame and froze at the sight in front of him.
There were two men standing in front of Bruce's car. One was holding a gun as the other leaned casually against the side of the Lamborghini.
"All we want is your wallet and your keys," the gunman said. "Really, you shouldn't park your fancy car around here and expect it to still be here when you get back, so this is kinda your fault."
"I've been telling him that for years," Jason muttered.
Bruce sighed. "Not really the time, Jay."
"Come on, then. Hand them over," the gunman insisted.
Bruce reached into his coat pocket slowly, telegraphing his movements as he pulled out his wallet and tossed it over. The second thief sprang forward, scooping it up before moving out of reach.
"Keys. Now," the first man reiterated.
"Right. Fine." Jason held up the keys and gave them a jingle before throwing them to the second thief. It was a shame, but it wasn't like Bruce couldn't afford another car.
"And your wallet!"
Jason froze. "I didn't bring my wallet."
The thief laughed. "Really? A car like this and you don't have any money? Right!"
"It's my car," Bruce explained calmly, "and I was going to pay for his dinner, so he didn't bring his wallet."
"He had they keys," the second man piped up. "You need a licence to drive, so where's your wallet?"
Jason would have blushed if he was capable of embarrassment anymore. The other man was right, of course, but Jason hadn't even thought about that when he'd left the apartment. Being dead hadn't involved following many rules.
The gunman stepped forward, reaching out for Jason, but Bruce stepped to the side to block him. "You have my wallet and my car. You should leave before someone calls the police."
"You think someone is going to call the police around here?" the second man laughed. "You're dreaming."
Two things happened so quickly that Jason almost didn't track them. The gunman tried to push past Bruce to get to Jason and then there was a startlingly loud bang.
Everything slowed down as Jason stared in horror. Bruce dropped gracelessly to the pavement, hitting on his knees before toppling forward onto the sidewalk. The gunman's eyes were as wide as saucers as his companion pulled at him to run.
Jason was barely aware of them escaping, not caring that they didn't even take the stupid car in their mad dash to flee the scene.
The only thing he could see was Bruce on the ground, his eyes closed and his body limp.
He couldn't hear past the roaring in his ears as he fell to his knees.
How was this happening?
They were going for fucking chili dogs! They should have been safe!
"Bruce?" His voice cracked as he reached for his father. "Bruce? Fuck, this can't be happening! If you die, I'll never forgive you! Do you hear me? Never!"
He frantically checked for an exit wound before deciding to risk turning Bruce over. His hands were shaking. How could this be happening?
They were just starting to be family again! They were working things out! For the first time in years, Jason felt like he was Bruce's son again and now his dad was bleeding out on the street because Jason wanted to live in a shitty part of town …
"Bruce?" Jason felt for a pulse, his own heartbeat hammering in his throat as he loosened Bruce's stupid bowtie and undid his top button.
The steady beat beneath his fingers make Jason want to cry with relief, but there was no time to let his emotions take over. He turned his attention to the gunshot wound –
Or, where there should have been a gunshot wound.
Bruce's shirt was torn, the bullet's entry point marked by the black discharge that spoke of point-blank range. But there was no blood.
Jason ripped open Bruce's shirt, sending black stud buttons scattering across the pavement.
His breath caught in his throat and he found himself falling backwards onto his ass in shocked relief.
Body armour.
Bruce was wearing fucking body armour under his tuxedo!
Jason let his finger trace the bullet embedded in the Wayne Tech special issue bullet-proof vest and gave a mirthless laugh. "You crazy son of a bitch."
Of course Bruce would be that paranoid.
The man in question gave a pained moan as he started to regain consciousness.
"Easy, B," Jason said, finally feeling that his racing heart was beginning to settle slightly. "You just took a bullet in the vest."
"Yeah," Bruce gasped, "it's not … pleasant."
"I'm gonna call an ambulance," Jason told him, patting the older man on the shoulder. "Even with the vest, that's a hit your internal organs didn't need."
Bruce shook his head. "I'm fine. Just need a second to … catch my breath."
Jason stared at him for a moment in indecision. Bruce was a grown man and he knew his own limits, but he had just been shot on Jason's front doorstep. Part of Jason was still trying not to panic at the sight of Bruce falling to the ground and that part of him was clamouring to bundle his father into an ambulance before going off to kick the asses of the two would-be thieves.
Shaking his head, Jason pulled out his phone. "Sorry, old man. I thought you were going to die and I'd prefer to make sure that's not going to happen. Besides, you're on a public street. If anyone saw Bruce Wayne take a bullet and there wasn't an appropriate police response, this place would take it as an open season sign. So, nope. I'm gonna light this place up with squad cars and tonight the Red Hood is gonna remind people that actions have consequences."
His voice cracked during his tirade and he was mortified to discover that hands were shaking again.
What the actual fuck?
"Jay," Bruce's voice was disturbingly quiet. "I'm okay. You don't need to worry."
"Fuck that!" Jason cried. "You stepped in front of me, you asshole! You almost died because of me! How am I supposed to feel about that?"
"I had body armour," Bruce pointed out.
Jason laughed hoarsely. "Right, like you wouldn't have done it even without the armour. And what if he'd shot you in the fucking face, Bruce? What then? You think I want to see you die on the fucking street? You think I want to live my life knowing you got shot because I forgot my fucking wallet? I can take care of myself and I would have been fine. You shouldn't have done that!"
Bruce pushed himself up until he was sitting upright, a pained expression crossing his face at the movement. "Jay, son, I'm sorry I scared you. When he moved on you, though … Jason, I'm never going to stand there and let someone hurt you. You're right – body armour or not, I will always protect you. I lost you once and I will never let that happen again, not while it's in my power to prevent it."
Jason shook his head, but Bruce reached forward and pulled him into a hug.
"You are my son and I love you. And I'm okay, Jaylad. I'm okay."
"You're still an asshole," Jason muttered, his voice muffled slightly from having his face pressed into the side of Bruce's neck. "And it sounds like someone called the cops."
The sound of sirens filled the air and Jason couldn't help the snort of laughter he gave at Bruce's sigh of defeat.
"Looks like a trip to the hospital is in the cards after all," Bruce groused.
"And don't think for a second that this gets you out of chili dogs," Jason replied, trying for levity. "Hey, do you think a family photo op at the hospital would make things better or worse? I can call Dickie. I bet he and the brats are just itching to escape."
"Why not?" Bruce capitulated. "Family trip to the emergency room … what could be better?"
"Not needing to go at all?" Jason pointed out.
The flashing lights of the police cars lit up the night and Jason tried to collect himself. He would go with Bruce to the hospital. He would let the press see him with his family and take as many pictures of him as they wanted.
Jason Todd was needed now, but when his family duties were over, all bets were off.
Red Hood had work to do, too.