Work Text:
Once, when life was simple, three broken ribs would never have kept the Red Hood down. A little tape, a little whiskey, and he’d be back on the streets with the scum of Gotham none the wiser.
Now, though, getting flattened by Killer Croc meant that his chest cavity was suddenly everyone’s business. When he’d tried to shrug off Bruce’s concern in the infirmary after the mission, the peanut gallery had drowned him out with cries of “You can’t just run around with broken ribs, Jason!” and “You’re going to get a punctured lung, Jason!” and “Ew, Jason, I can see the bones moving around when you breathe!”
Stupid. He didn't know how he kept getting roped into these family outings. But he’d stopped Killer Croc from cracking Steph’s skull like an egg, so at least there was that.
Anyhow, Jason was on inescapable orders to take it easy, so the cruel and vicious Red Hood was lying on the sofa, watching Treasure Planet and moodily drinking his way through the twelve-pack of Capri Suns Dick had left on his fire escape. But nowadays, at least bed rest came with a silver lining: Turtle was draped around his neck like a scarf, blissfully happy, purring so loud he’d had to turn on subtitles.
Could be worse , Jason thought grudgingly as he carded his fingers through the long fur on Turtle’s belly and heard her purring tick up another impossible notch. Could be a lot worse .
He was reaching for another Capri Sun when his phone buzzed. With a low groan as his ribs shifted, Jason fished it out of his pocket and saw the notification: an encrypted email from Alfred.
That was a little unusual. Digging the remote out from under Turtle, who gave a sleepy mew of protest, Jason hit pause on Morph zooming merrily across the screen, ran the decryption app Oracle had designed for the Bats, and opened up the message.
Master Jason,
I hope you are having a pleasant day and recuperating well. Barbara reported that the drone she assigned to surveil you has not detected motion beyond the parameters of your apartment, which I and Master Bruce were very pleased to hear. It is a great relief that you are taking our advice to heart and allowing yourself time to rest and heal.
Jason let out another groan, this time one that had nothing to do with his ribs. He was going to have to have a talk with Oracle. Again.
I write because Master Damian recently completed a project that I thought you may appreciate. He had an assignment for his English class to rewrite a classic poem, and chose “The scholar and his cat, Pangur Ban.” I’m sure in your fondness for literature, you have come across this work before. Master Damian thought this tale of the monk and his cat would apply well to you and Turtle. His adaptation of the poem expresses, in my opinion, a most refreshing charm.
Unfortunately, I thought the poem’s detailed allusions to the personal life of the Red Hood might raise suspicion, so I have recommended to Master Damian that he try anew. I believe he has now selected “Jabberwocky” and is replacing the monsters with the rogues of Gotham. Time will tell if this too reveals any, shall we say, trade secrets. Perhaps you could recommend him a favorite poem of yours, and an angle of adaptation that is not focused on vigilante justice.
Regardless, I have, with Master Damian’s permission, attached “The Red Hood and his cat, Turtle” to this email for your enjoyment. Please know that we are all thinking of you, dear boy, and sending you the fondest wishes for your swift recovery.
With love,
Alfred
Huh. That was… unexpected. Jason wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or wary. But he certainly did know “Pangur Ban”; it had been one of his favorite poems. He’d had it memorized, once. Now it was smoky and vague, like a lot of other things, but he still remembered the lilt of it, like birdsong.
He opened the attachment.
The Red Hood and his cat, Turtle
By Damian Wayne
From “The scholar and his cat, Pangur Ban,” translated by Robin Flower
Turtle and her human, Hood
Strive as one for greatest good:
Hunting bugs is her delight,
Hunting crooks he stalks the night.
With flashing blade and ringing gun,
Hood puts mobsters on the run.
With fearsome fang and swiftest claw,
Turtle captures yarn to gnaw.
When research work keeps Hood indoors,
Turtle joins him, neither bored -
Red Hood follows paths of money;
Turtle tracks the sly dust bunny.
When the intel is secure,
Turtle gives a mighty purr,
And raises Red Hood’s spirits high
As he prepares to hunt and fight.
Oftentimes the fray that follows
Lasts all night, into tomorrow.
With patience faithful Turtle waits,
Til Hood returns with stumbling gait.
Better far than Manor house,
Is a soft apartment couch,
So Hood can rest his weary head
As Turtle kneads his legs like bread.
Thus Turtle teaches Hood to rest
When ribs are broken in his chest.
And family breathes with great relief
To see the Hood sincerely sleep.
How very strange, this sort-of Bat
Has made a sidekick of a cat.
But they’ve found joy, just him and she -
Two hunters live contentedly.
By the time Jason read the last line, he was wrapping Turtle in a hug so tight that for once she gave a little “mrrp ” of protest, squirming out of his arms and slithering down to his side, where she gave him a blink that was a little reproachful but mostly affectionate. Jason bent forward - his ribs shrieked, but this was more important - and planted a kiss on top of her tiny head.
“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he told her.
She bapped him on the chin. Two hunters.
Jason took a second to let the utter adoration for his cat get a little less overwhelming. Then he reread the poem, three times, and tried to figure out how he could explain to Damian all his pride and happiness and weird, honored surprise without making it awkward for both of them. Then Jason saved the attachment, and sent it to the family group chat.
A minute later, his phone started dinging with responses - “ OMG STOP!!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 ”, “ my heart is exploding, this is the SWEETEST, baby bird you are so talented!!!! ” “ this is everything i never knew i needed in my life, now i shall die happy ”, “ TODD I DID NOT GRANT YOU PERMISSION TO SHARE THIS ” - and Jason lay back with a satisfied smile. Turtle nuzzled into his side and started making lazy biscuits on his shirt.
The poem was right. They shared their work, he and Turtle. And if that work right now was a cozy nap–
Well. Could be worse.