Chapter Text
It was a nice, quiet night in Gotham, and Jason was finally getting some much-needed rest.
Just kidding, Jason’s life was a living nightmare and he was never going to get a vacation so long as he’s still breathing!
It all started like things usually did: with Dick driving him up a wall until he finally begrudgingly agrees to do whatever the hell the idiot wanted. And this time, Dick wanted him to join a good ol’ family bust. Nothing too crazy, just some mad scientists that were pilfering all known pieces of Kryptonite and were obviously going to utilize in whatever dastardly plot this batch of maniacs was obsessing over. Jason didn’t really pay attention to the brief since that was about all the Bats knew anyway, and he didn’t need to know the thirty-seven different places the dudes broke into before returning to their pathetic warehouse base. Sue him for having better things to think about. Like the cinnamon rolls Alfred was making upstairs for their post-patrol snack.
The bust itself went relatively well. Thugs were dropping like flies but regrettably still breathing since Jason restricted himself to rubber bullets for Bruce’s sake since he was still antsy about the whole guns and killing thing. It remains a major point of contention between the two. Besides that, he could simply enjoy spending some time with his family and listening to their banter. The trouble came when Dick called over the comm, “There’s hostages on one of the upper floors in the connecting warehouse.”
“Robin and I are pinned down. We are unable to assist,” Bruce growled.
Tim piped up, “I’m also a little busy.”
Sighing, Jason slugged a guy and exasperatedly said, “Fine, I’ll do it. But I get extra cinnamon rolls for this!” Immediately, his brothers started complaining about how it wasn’t fair, but Jason happily ignored them. Those cinnamon rolls were his now!
On his way to the stairs, he shot and clocked some more goons before finally breaking away from the fray and crossing the ramp that connected the two warehouses before he begins exploring the upper floors. He didn’t like what he found. Over the first several minutes he searched, he’d only found corpses. These monsters had been experimenting on them, but he couldn’t find the reason. Any documents detailing their evil plan were safely tucked away. While Jason didn’t necessarily hate a challenge and didn’t expect any evil plan-related documents to be lying around, he hated smart, evil, monsters. And after what they’d done to these poor people, they were definitely monsters. The longer he searched, the stronger his conviction to kill the leaders grew.
He entered the last room to find another corpse and a strange range of equipment. Growling into his comm, he says, “Seven dead. No survivors. I don’t know why, but these guys were using the kryptonite to experiment on their captives.”
“Understood. Return to the main floor, we need backup.”
“Roger,” Jason said grouchily before turning on his heel toward the large, industrial door. And that’s when he heard it. The quiet beeping. Rapidly spinning around again, he searched for the sound that haunted his nightmares, hoping that it was simply his imagination.
But alas, his luck was never good. On the far side of the room, a strange machine that looked like a massive, futuristic bomb was steadily counting down. “Evacuate!” he shouted into his comm. “There’s a bomb!”
As the other Bats acknowledged his warning and began moving out, Jason turned toward the door once more and bolted across the room at breakneck speed as his heart rate thundered in his ears. He yanked on the cold door handle, only to discover that it had locked behind him. Cursing, he starts picking the lock as he listens to his death merrily ticking closer.
“Hood, where are you?” Damian barked harshly, but Jason could hear the worry lacing his tone.
“I’m trapped,” he said breathlessly as he continued working the locks, because as soon as he’d unlocked the first one, he noticed the two other ones. “No windows and there’s two more locks I have to pick.”
Dick urgently asked, “Where are you? I’ll work the door from the other side.”
“Don’t,” he warns. “They’re heavy-duty, and I’m not going to let you die with me.”
“You’re not going to die,” Dick says firmly. He could hear air rushing through the device, so his older brother was assumedly already on his way.
“You have to accept that I might, but we don’t both have to.” The second lock clicked open. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you guys-”
Bruce’s voice cut him off with a pained, “Jason.”
“Look on the bright side,” he tried to joke. “You won’t have to share the cinnamon rolls!”
“Those are hardly important in this situation,” Damian rumbled in an impressive imitation of Batman’s growl.
“I’m saying it just in case,” he assured, but then the last lock clicked open. “I’ve got the locks open, I guess none of the sappy crap was necessary! I’ll be out soon.”
Jason opened the door, and the bomb went off.
There was nothing but green clouding Jason’s vision as the searing heat smashed into his back and threw him into the hallway. Or it should have thrown him into the hallway. Instead, he felt like he was falling and falling and falling within the green haze. His entire body ached and his stomach swooped as he fell for what felt like both seconds and hours. It was disorienting, and he couldn’t push away the panic clouding his mind.
Was he dying again? Is he dead? Or was this the Lazarus pit again?
He hated those three options equally, and really, really hoped that whatever was happening wasn’t any of the three.
As many will tell you, falling isn’t the scary part. Landing is what you should be scared of. And when Jason landed, he could tell you it hurt just as much as you’d expect it to when you go from magical, green freefall to dirty, unforgiving concrete.
Groaning, Jason pulled himself to his feet using the alley wall and took in his surroundings. First and foremost, this wasn’t Gotham. It was way too clean, and the lack of borderline constant screaming, shouting, gunshots, and police sirens only confirmed that. Shakily, he climbed a fire escape and hauled himself onto the roof of an apartment complex.
Once there, he could only stare at the cityscape. If it weren’t for his helmet, he’d be worried about a bird flying into his mouth and making a nest there with how far his jaw dropped. He was in New York. But if the giant, shiny tower with a massive “A” decorating it was anything to go by, this wasn’t his New York.
That goddamn explosion didn’t kill him, but now he was stranded far from home. And despite that, he is sure of one thing.
This is all Dick’s fault.