Chapter Text
There were times in Bruce’s life in which he couldn’t help but question whether any of it meant anything. Whether he and his life’s work had only culminated in driving Gotham deeper into a whirling, festering vortex of chaos and violence. In reality, it wasn’t just the one question. There were many questions that kept him up at night, wondering, desperately, if his crusade had brought any amount of peace or more than a laughable amount of stability to the city he protected with his body and life. He’d swim in a whirlpool of his own doubt and fear, analyzing every tactical decision he’d ever made, every civilian he’d ever lost, and every crook he’d put in Blackgate.
As Batman, he knew that these functionally useless fears served no one but his own ghosts. He knew better than anyone that the only way that Gotham could move was forward. There was no use in agonizing over his past decisions and failures when he seemed to be completely unable to to make any real, meaningful progress in the present day.
All of that grim reflection was to say that Batman very rarely felt that particular hopelessness and sense of failure as strongly as when he worked on a case concerning children.
This was, by far, one of the more tame examples. There was a lack of rusted chains, ripped clothes, and barbed wire that was more often found in his investigations of kidnapping rings. From his vantage point high in the church rafters, he could see them there, nearly a dozen children with ages ranging from elementary to high school, clearly well fed.
The Red Hood laid next to him on his stomach in the rafters, rifle pulled to his face as he watched the group through the scope.
Batman did not prefer bringing the Red Hood in on high-risk cases unless it was completely necessary. Where careful observation and logic was required, Hood was more likely to burst in, literal guns blazing. He had a bleeding heart for children, always. It made him a good vigilante, but it was a flaw for his strategic skills. Tonight, however, his expertise with magic, cult activity, and human trafficking made him an undeniable asset. Batman had plenty of experience with cult activity, but Hood would be able to quickly analyze and address things that Batman couldn’t even see.
What he could see was the real, concrete scene.
The children were robed and clean, those with long hair sported slick, tight braids, any others gelled and combed back. They were suspiciously well-cared for, with aesthetic touches that only invested adults could contribute to. The lack of ceremonial hoods were, as well, a sad relief in this line of work.
A congregation of adults surrounded the throng of children. They were all dressed in long black robes, equally neat.
The church was oddly bare-boned. The stage had been ripped out and there was a distinct lack of pews. The large, intricately carved podium was the only remaining piece of a traditional place of worship: a place where a speaker could rise above a crowd. The difference lay in the fact that the podium was placed in the middle of the floor, creating a circular shape in the congregation that began to clump around the unusual pulpit.
There had been clear evidence of cult activity in Gotham Proper, from the Narrows to the Diamond District to Tricorner Park. Gotham had some of the highest rates in the world for child trafficking and kidnapping in the East Coast and the Greater United States, but the rapid increase in cases of random children disappearing from schoolyards, youth groups, and relatively safe neighborhoods spelled trouble.
That was when the GCPD took notice of carefully-tacked posters around Downtown, a simple hyperlink and message reading " HAVE YOU RIGHT-ED YOUR WRONGS? "
The first sighted poster was found in the East End, but they had been found as far as park benches in Bristol. It bothered him to no end that the cultists had flown far enough under his radar to have been practically in his own backyard.
Red Robin had clapped his shoulder during his sulking episode, telling him that his own cameras had caught nothing.
Finally, a statistical analysis run by Oracle of graffiti and postings had led to an area radius that surrounded an old historical church in Gotham’s factory district with a high, slowly crumbling steeple.
In magnetic letters below the Central Gotham Church of the Christ of Yesterday spelled Repent for Your Past: 9:30PM, Wednesday.
The congregation split, allowing a figure to climb the podium.
The man was Joseph Dubble, born in a small farming town in Mississippi. In 1995 he moved to Gotham for work at a now-defunct advertising firm. Twenty years later, he stood above the rest of the congregation around him.
Batman watched as the man raised his hands wide over the group. "Good evening, brothers and sisters," Dubble’s voice boomed across the room. Batman couldn’t tell if it was natural projection or something else. There was no kind of sound system in the building.
Red Hood shifted next to him on his belly, fixing his long nosed rifle at the man below. Batman leveled him with an unimpressed look.
"For the vision, asshole," the man snarked as he pushed his helmet back up to the scope. The voice modulator almost covered his eye-roll, though nothing short of a miracle could dull his sarcasm and delayed teenage rebellion. His posturing would be ignored until it became impossible to do so and as long as the rifle didn’t engage.
"We are well aware of the hard work you have each put into bringing our congregation closer and closer to our goal. Our recruits have spent immense amounts of time spreading our Good Word, and, my brethren, our reward will be delivered tonight. " The congregation listened with rapt attention, faces flushed with excitement.
Indoctrination made people do funny things.
Dubble smiled, wide and toothy. "The time is nigh, my children. The Lord teaches us to repent for our sinful ways. As base, sinful beings, His loving divinity listens when we fall to the whims of the devil. Whether through lust, pride, or wrath, our inner darkness often drives us to hurt our brothers and sisters." Dubble hit his hands against the surface of the podium." We cannot continue to abuse our father’s forgiveness!" He then spread his hands wide, palms turned towards the ceiling. "Simple confession and prayers for forgiveness just can’t cut it anymore!"
Batman cut his eyes to Red Hood, whose back was tensed in a hard, straight line, honed in on the speaker. Clearly, neither of them liked where this was going. Any megalomaniac starting with talks about how "the time was now" was excellent at setting vigilante teeth on edge.
"They’re under some sort of influencing magic," Hood muttered. "Can you see it?"
"No," Batman replied. "How can you tell?"
"Well," Hood started, "It’s visible, to me, but you learn to notice the signs. You see the people? They’re fuckin’ blank."
Batman grunted. Aside from their nearly manic attention to Dubble, the cultists stood still, not relaxed or tense, simply puppets on strings.
The preacher set a small, pink item onto the podium. Batman set his jaw, fists clenching where he held his grapple.
The preacher waved a hand above his head. "None of us will see the inside of those pearly gates if we fail to right our wrongs! Our time is now, brethren!" He lifted the object. Batman could barely see it from the rafters, even with the zoom on his lenses.
"What the fuck," Hood muttered, resettling his gun to press his helmet even further against the scope.
"What do you see?" Batman growled.
"A pig." Hood looked over to him. "Oink."
Batman stared blankly. It had to be some sort of kitschy salt shaker picked up from a charity shop. "Any idea of the purpose?"
Hood clicked his tongue. "Gotta be charging it."
"Pray with me, children! Pray for us for this chance to finally right our wrongs. Divinity has given us this chance to fix our transgressions tonight !" The congregation moved to kneel, hands clasped in prayer and faces tipped towards the podium, the hall filling with chattering whispers.
"Fuck," Hood hissed, gripping the trigger. "Do you see that?"
Batman squinted, barely seeing swirling currents of neon energy moving through the air, curling and warping on the path of the pig.
"Louder!" The preacher shouted. "The time is now!"
"He’s got that right," Hood muttered before he braced and Batman swore, lunging for the nose of the gun as Hood squeezed the trigger.
"No!" Batman yelled, pulling the weapon towards him as the bullet careened, exploding in an arc of red with a bang against the cross above the pulpit.
"Fuck," Hood hissed, yanking his gun back. "What the fuck was that for?"
The congregation had stilled, heads turned with disturbing stillness towards the dripping paint. The preacher’s gaze tilted slowly towards the ceiling as he dropped his hands. “We seem to have guests."
Batman hooked his grapple, dropping slowly to the ground with the hiss of the line.
"Drop the pig, Dubble." He ordered.
The preacher opened his arms towards him. "Nonsense!" He heard the sound of Hood’s boots hitting the floor behind him. Dubble grinned, tilting his head to the side. "We can all reach salvation, gentlemen." His influence pressed down on Batman from all around, ringing in his ears. He had faced much more aggressive magic before.
"Just drop the pig," Hood ordered. His gun was pointed directly towards the man.
The preacher’s knuckles were white on the pig, held close to his chest now. His eyes were wide, manic. "I know you. Don’t you want to fix your past? Don’t you want to go back?"
The Red Hood took another step towards him. "You and I both know that there’s a reason that time moves in one direction, pal. Let’s talk about this."
The man sneered. "I’m not interested in your heretical capitulating."
Hood took another step towards him. "Love the SAT words, but let’s just talk." Hood lowered his gun, raising his other hand. "What can’t we fix here and now?"
"Words cannot heal all wounds. Some have to be prevented," Dubble said, stepping backwards.
"You’re kidnapping and brainwashing children," Batman interrupted. "That’s not preventing harm."
"I love them!" The preacher screeched. Energy crackled in the air, popping in his ears. Ribbons of pink-orange energy waved in the corners of his eyes. "I’m trying to save them!"
"Just put the pig down," Hood tried, moving to get closer. Dubble’s chest heaved, his eyes darting around the room. His arm snapped out, the pig flying through the air towards the back of the room.
Batman swore and dove for it, body scraping the ground as he slid to stop the figure from shattering. He grabbed the pig from the air, tucking it to his chest and somersaulting back to his feet.
The Hood was now grappling with the preacher, restraining his arms to his sides as he fought to keep him in the hold. He continued to struggle wildly, screaming gibberish and spit falling from his lips.
The congregation just stood there. Their stares were entirely blank, emotionless.
"Don’t you have regrets?!" The cultist screamed, face red. His eyes threatened to pop from his skull. "Don’t you want things to be different?!"
Hood tightened his hold on him. "Always, buddy. Doesn’t mean I can do anything about it," he gritted out.
"You can!" He screamed. "With this! You can!" He shook his head wildly, kicking a leg out. "I can!" Batman took his cuffs out, pulling the man’s wrists to restrain him for the police. "I was almost done! You ruined it!"
Hood lifted the man off the ground by a few inches. "Let’s just get him out," He said. "The cultists will come out of it eventually."
Batman turned his back, pulling his tracker out of his belt. "I’ve alerted the police. They should be on their way." Hood jerked his head at him in response.
Later, as the two worked their way across the rooftops of Gotham, Red Hood walked next to him, shoulders tense. "Guy was a real charmer," he complained, one hand holding his helmet and the other holding the pig figure. He pointed it at Batman. "Oink."
Batman grunted. "Be careful. We don’t know how his magic works. I want it tested by more magic users."
"Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it handled," Hood waved the pig through the air. "I’ve got machines back at the cave that should let us know our danger level."
"We have no idea what it would do if tampered with." Batman said as the two landed across another rooftop. "I don’t want you handling it without magical backup."
Hood scoffed. " You have no idea what it would do if it were tampered with. I know how to deal with my magical artifacts, B."
"I know enough about it to say I want it contained until we can dispose of it safely." Batman stopped, facing the Red Hood. "That’s final. It’s an unnecessary risk."
The Hood stopped and turned to face him, face screwing up in a sneer. "You don’t get to boss me around when I’m here because this is my goddamn specialty." He hissed, stepping towards him. "I know how this shit works, B."
Batman ground his teeth together. "Maybe we’d know more about it if you hadn’t interfered so quickly, Hood. You acted rashly and limited our intel."
Hood’s mouth dropped open before snapping shut. His chest rose and fell. "Fuck you, Batman, if we had done it your way, the magic would already be happening. I acted at just the right time! You couldn’t even see what he was doing."
Batman narrowed his eyes down at him and crossed his arms over his chestplate. "I’ve been in the game long enough to know when to act, Hood."
"You didn’t act when kids were getting lifted in your own damn neighborhood!" Hood snapped. "You don’t get to judge me here, old man!"
"Recklessness leads to casualties. You have to have all of the information before you can make any sort of educated decision."
"Sometimes you don’t get to know all of the information!" He flung his arms out, stepping away from him. "You have to be able to make inferences! There was an extremely low risk of casualties, save for the guy having a meltdown!"
Batman stepped two paces closer to him. "We couldn’t have been sure. There were lives at risk, children at risk."
"Children that we saved!" Hood spat. "I don’t get why you’re bitching when we got what we needed! What’s your fucking problem?!" Hood paused, teeth gritted.
"Hood," Batman started.
"No. No, you fucking asshole. Your problem has always been me, Jesus Christ, can you not make yourself be fucking normal for a single hour?" Hood stalked away, danger in the lines of his body. "I took this case with you because it’s my fucking specialty. Your opinion of me and my self-control has nothing to do with my skills or experience. "
Batman’s breath caught at the remark. "Focus on the issue at hand, Hood. Personal business has nothing to do with this case."
Hood scoffed, shoulders hunched to his ears. "Of course it fucking doesn’t. You just can’t have your fuck-up son work a case without laying into him about all the damn what-ifs."
Batman lifted his hands. His gauntlets felt heavier. "Hood, take a step back." The silence stretched.
The Hood sighed and lost tension, shaking his head. "Fucking always, B."
"Hood," Batman tried. The words wouldn’t come. "Wait.” He clenched his fists. “I…didn’t mean to insinuate that you weren’t qualified for this mission. But we have to stick to our plan in order to avoid casualties. It’s non-negotiable."
"There were no casualties!" Hood yelled. "None! Sometimes it feels like all you see when you look at me is a fucking bomb! Newsflash, buddy, I’m just as competent as you!" He threw his helmet at the ground to gesture at him. "I’m just as capable as running risk calculations and finding ins! I wasn’t going to fucking kill anyone!"
"Well what was I supposed to think!" Batman snapped, losing the tug-of-war with his own self control. "You were aiming a gun at the man’s head!"
The Hood’s domino lenses were wide, mouth flapping open. "I haven’t killed in months ! For you !" He ran a hand through his wild hair, looking to be at a total loss. "What good is it if you’re still going to label me a fucking murderer and assume I’m gonna whack every random Joe?"
"Your patterns don’t lie," left Batman’s mouth. "I have to be vigilant. It’s my damn job."
What was happening? What was he saying?
"The gun was loaded with fucking paint pellets! I have smoke capsules, rubber bullets! Why isn’t it good enough for you?" The Hood yelled at him, voice cracking right down the middle. "Why aren’t I fucking good enough for you?!"
Batman stood there, frozen. A broken record played in his head, echoing my fault, my fault, my fault , imagining that helmet and a collection of firearms. "Hood," he tried.
"No, fuck off." Hood said, picking his helmet up. "I’m going the fuck home. God."
"Wait," Batman grabbed his arm. "Hood, let me explain."
"Fuck you." Hood struggled.
Batman swam in a whirlpool of his own self-disgust and grief. "It’s my fault, Hood." He felt like he couldn’t get a hold on anything around him.
Hood stopped struggling. "What?" he asked blankly.
Batman shifted his boots. "Your…casualties. I can’t be mad about them because they’re my fault. I can’t value your decisions as separate from mine when they are results of my own." It was a pale comparison to what he meant to say and convey to the ugly, rotted truth between them, covered by shoulder shoves and BatBurger runs.
The Hood stared at him for a long moment before his eyes narrowed. Batman could feel his hate like a hot stove. "You’re fucking delusional. I make my own bed. Don’t act like anything you could have done could have changed shit."
"It could have."
"What could you have done, B? Not teaching me how to fire a gun? Not flying to Ethiopia? Not sending me to Shakespeare Camp?" Hood pointed to himself with a gloved finger. "I was always going to turn out like this, don’t pretend like you don’t know it."
Batman shook his head. "That’s not true. You were good." I made you this way.
Hood stared at him in silence before huffing and turning away. "Whatever. I’m gonna go home where I don’t have to worry about my dad thinking I’m gonna murder someone or telling me that he could have fixed me."
"You should have never been in this situation." Batman repeated, feeling desperate to make himself heard.
Hood looked back, lips curled. "What would you have done then?"
Batman swallowed. "It…all of it…I wouldn’t have done it. I would have never made you Robin or taken you out."
Hood whipped around, and Batman realized that that was exactly the wrong thing to say. Hood’s hurt showed clearly on his face.
"Fuck you, Batman. Fuck you all the way. Jesus Christ." Hood threw his hands up. "Why the fuck do we even try, then?! Why do we even try when all of it was apparently a fucking mistake?!"
Batman reached out. "It hurt you, Hood, I should have known that it wasn’t-"
"Why did you then!" Hood spat at him. "Why take me out with you?! Why make me your fucking partner if all it was going to do was hurt me !? Tell me why!"
"I wouldn’t do it again!" Batman rushed out, stepping forward. "I’d do it differently this time!" His blood pounded in his ears as he grabbed the lapels of the Red Hood’s leather jacket, hauling him close. "I regret it every damn day of my life!"
The Hood grabbed his wrist."Those are just fucking words! You know you hate me and who I turned out to be. You want to turn back time? Keep fucking dreaming."
He grinned, but it was filled with hate. "You want to know something, old man? You wanna know how I feel about it all? No one suffers more from time than me."
Batman bared his teeth. "You are not the only one who was affected by your death, Jason. I have to live with the fact I lost my son every day."
Hood laughed."I lost my whole life, B!" He threw his arms out. "I never turned 16! You lost your son? I lost myself!" He spat, shoving Batman backwards. "My hopes and dreams were fucking destroyed! I have no legal presence! No school, no job! I’ll never get those years back!"
"I know that!" Batman yelled back.
"You will never understand how it fucking feels to know that you lost everything." The Hood shoved him again. Batman let himself be moved. "Keep jerking yourself off about how I never got to get my fucking driver’s license! See if that makes my life any fucking better!"
"Hood, stop. You need to breathe." Batman snapped, grabbing the Hood’s shoulders and pushing him back.
"Fuck you!" Hood yelled before rushing him. Batman ducked out of his path, catching Red Hood under the ribs and twisting, knocking him off balance and halting his momentum.
"You’re going to hurt yourself!" Batman yelled.
Red Hood drove his elbow into Batman’s side. "Good! I hope it makes you fucking happy!"
Batman shifted, attempting a safety hold. "Stop, now!" Hood drove a knee into his groin, scrambling away before launching himself back at Batman, fists flying. Batman caught his wrist and twisted, pulling a groan from him. Batman swept the Red Hood’s leg out from under him, sending him to the rooftop. "Don’t make me restrain you, Hood, not now."
"Fuck you," The Hood snarled, bucking under him as Batman wrapped tense arms around his sides, pinning his arms to his side. "Let go, asshole."
"We need to get somewhere safe where you can calm down."
"Go fuck yourself! I need you to leave me the fuck alone!" He yelled.
Batman growled and reached into his pocket, fishing out the pig figurine and going to put it in his belt. "Now, Hood. You need medical attention."
In slow motion, Batman saw Hood’s arm flail and knock into his own, sending the glass antique flying through the air. The two froze, watching as it fell to the concrete, shattering on impact with a loud noise.
"Fuck," the Red Hood said, before it all went dark.
When Jason woke up, it was to the sound of a police siren. He groaned, rolling over to try to force himself to go back to sleep. It was way too early for this shit. His head was pounding like he’d mainlined everclear. B must have got him good. He grunted as all he turned into was warm, hard concrete. Huh. Had he not made it home that night?
He blinked his eyes open. He was outside, in the alley on 11th street, stuffed behind that big green dumpster behind the old poker bar. The fuck?
He groaned again, reaching up to rub at his aching eyes. He froze. He wasn't wearing his domino. Fuck, what happened last night? After the bust, and the fight, (which was way too fucking embarassing if he let himself think about it [like, come on, he and B had been doing pretty good and he let his damn temper get the best of him]) and..the pig. He broke the fucking pig.
He shoved himself up, his head spinning. What did he do? He waited for his vision to stop swimming with his breath stalled in his lungs but his surroundings still didn't make sense. He looked down at himself, and he was small . Like, really fucking small. He wore patchy, dusty jeans that were nearly pulling apart at the seams and duct-taped beaten-up shoes. There was dirt under his jagged fingernails and fuck. Fuck-fuckety-fuck. The alley on 11th street was a great squatting spot. Ten goddamn years ago.
"Fuck," he swore, before he covered his mouth with a dirty hand. His voice came out hoarse, but undeniably soft and high. Goddamn youthful. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Jason was fucked.
He scrambled up, catching himself on the wall.
Now that he mentioned it, way more than his head hurt. His eyes and mouth burned from dehydration, his throat sticky and scratchy. His stomach cramped from hunger. This was not good, not at all. What the fuck did he do?
He pressed his palms to his eyes, his body obviously not retaining enough water to make himself cry. Fuck. He could always go to-no. No. He was not going to Batman. He could not go to Batman.
Bruce, a traitorous part of his brain whispered, Bruce loves you. He’d help you.
Fuck off, he told it. Bruce... Bruce hated him.
Bruce... Bruce might not even know him. Bruce wouldn't turn away a child in need, but he also wouldn't, couldn't let Jason in, not without spilling his secrets. A sick feeling pulsed in his veins.
If he didn’t go to Bruce, he could die. Get trafficked, starve, freeze, the possibilities were endless. If he went to Bruce, and he couldn't fix this, he could die. Again. Bruce would put him in the traffic light colors and send him on his fucking crusade and Jason would be too small and weak to do anything about it.
And he'll never trust you again, that same part of his brain whispered, now that he knows how fucking psycho you are.
He shook his head. That wasn’t the point. He couldn't go to Batman. That was out of the question. But he had to find food.
He pushed a hand against his stomach. He had to find food, and fast. He needed shelter, and water. To get a shower. More than that, he needed to avoid Batman,
God, he was screwed.