Chapter Text
“You’re listening to GCR. In Gotham the night never gets quite quiet.”
The radio jingle changed. That was the first thing that got Jason’s attention after he came back. More than three years gone so it still didn’t sink in - the fact that he was back. Gotham had its particular hum, some sort of melody unique to the city. It wanted to welcome him right back, it seemed. No questions asked. And.. he didn’t want to let it. Not now.. maybe just never. It’s not exactly like he had time to think about it. Physically, he was back, but in thought, he separated the Gotham he once knew from the one he was in today. It seemed too dangerous to think of it as his home once more. But since the manor clearly wasn’t a home anymore (and hasn’t been in years), since neither was his old apartment he lived in with Catherine, and oh boy, since CERTAINLY neither was the League of Assassins compound he lived in for a while, then that’s probably what Gotham was. Home.
The jingle might’ve changed, but the slogan didn’t. And that tiny, silly detail felt grounding, in a way. For a second, Jason was so caught off guard by it that the wall he built in his mind between the old Gotham and the stage for the grand finale for him, Batman, and the Joker ceased to exist. Because first and foremost Gotham was his home. And he was back. Not just for a passing moment like last time, when he impulsively planted an explosive under the Batmobile. This time, he was there to stay.
‘In Gotham the night never gets quite quiet’ might seem a little grim for somebody who’s from.. any other city in the world more normal than Gotham (so, basically just any other city on earth), but it was actually somewhat comforting to people who lived there, Jason included. Everybody knew that the usual ‘bringing you good time all the time’ you heard in the radio stations from cities like Metropolis wouldn’t work here. His city wasn’t exactly known for a ‘good time’, especially not ‘all the time’. ‘The night never gets quite quiet’ was accurate and funny. And it certainly wasn’t about to get quiet with what he planned for the upcoming weeks.
Initially, he only planned on grabbing a coffee to go and coming back to his safehouse for the rest of the night - where his battered copy of Dostoyevsky’s ‘House of the Dead’ waited for him - but the radio was right there and everything felt so painfully familiar in a way completely separate from Bruce. All of the sudden Jason realized he was desperately rationalizing why he couldn't just.. stay there for a while. After all, he was done for today. Nothing to do but lie on his mattress and read with barely any light, which certainly suited a climate of Dostoyevsky’s works, but seemed a little too depressing outside of the similarities with grim Russian literature. Well, maybe not outside of the similarities. Those were just sad all on their own.
So there he was, fake-smiling at the teen standing behind the counter, asking if he could have some waffles with his order. He sat near the dirty window at the end of the diner. He chose the place because it was the closest to the speaker and if there was any need for a fast escape, the window was in close enough proximity if he didn’t mind having some glass shards in his hair.
There weren’t that many other people in the diner. Two- no, three other tables were taken out of maybe twenty. Thank fuck, Jason wasn’t even the most suspicious-looking person in the diner, wearing his washed-up jeans, a size-too-big white tee, and a dark grey-ish blue hoodie (that totally wasn’t reminding him of Nightwing). He was just one of many, many off-looking clients who visited the place daily. Nobody special, merely a part of Gotham’s ecosystem.
The plan was to listen to the program for a while. Maybe also some music, especially since what they were playing was shockingly decent for a popular radio station. Not to focus on the news that came on as soon as he got his waffles. The wondrous Todd luck strikes again, making Jason listen to the particular kind of miserable Gotham reality he didn’t miss when he was gone.
“Two twenty a.m. and we’re back with the details of last week’s Arkham breakout. Commissioner Gordon released an official statement in which he assured that all of the most dangerous criminals - and yes, I’m not calling them ‘patients’ like he did, who the hell is gonna make me? - are still in their cells. We are yet to receive a police-approved list of all those still at large, but the specialist we talked to predicts we’ll get one in the early morning. Mark, what else did our guest share with you?”
“Well Margret, I can tell ya he did not seem hopeful about wha’ the night will bring, if ya know what I mean.” The radio switched to the audio from an in-the-field correspondent. “He claims that he ain’t believin’ Gordon. In his opinion, erkhm. The- the Joker might not be in his cell a’all. He told me that the Bat’s takin’ care of it and t’s why they aren’t going official with ‘t. Personally, I would take’s words with’a grain of salt but truth to be told if he predicted right it wouldn’ be the first’ case in which tha’ happn’d now wouldn’ it?”
Jason let go of the cup he was holding, afraid he might smash it from holding it too tightly. Of course, he was aware that what they said was complete bullshit. He had eyes on the asylum at all times and seriously doubted his methods of watching the clown’s every move (or rather the lack of the clown’s moves, considering neither his hands nor legs were free) would be something that he was able to evade. Honestly, it was clear he didn’t even notice shit, and neither did the Bats. So Jason waited till his hand stopped shaking, let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and focused his thoughts on something else.
The news became background chatter. Instead he let himself pay attention to the little things. Behind the dirty window, the scenery was primarily.. dark and wet. The Gotham special. Walls were plastered with layers upon layers of different posters and ads (thankfully, none for the Bruce Wayne collaboration products, so popular even these days). The street outside was crossed by a smaller alley that Jason couldn’t get a full look at, since most of it was hidden behind a shady dark van with no back windows. The glimpse he did caught was rather nice though. On a tall brick wall somebody sprayed graffiti that clearly took a lot of time to work on. ‘ACAB includes Batman’ in a particularly nice font. It made Jason smile a little, and he found himself already distracted from the news.
The storm wasn’t terrible, but the rain seemed rather heavy (even for Gotham standards, though at least it wasn’t on the level that threatened a flood). Looking outside, it was clear that most Gothamites didn’t care to carry umbrellas at this point. If you lived in a place like that you grew somewhat immune to how bad it felt to be soaking. So the Bristol folk always had like. Three different umbrellas on them. Just in case. And those who were born ‘n raised in the real Gotham dealt with the wet and the cold in their own ways. Some were lucky enough with their water-proof clothing, some just endured not having a single hair on their heads dry. Because having one of your hands busy with an umbrella, holding something incredibly impractical like that in the case of a mugging or a fight wasn’t a good idea so near the Crime Alley. And it likely won’t be for another couple of years, even with the changes Jason planned to inflict on the place.
Two tables from Jason, a college student in a GCU hoodie, looking about nineteen years old at most, fought hard not to fall asleep next to their laptop. Their bleached blonde hair looked like they just crawled out of bed, electricized and sticking out in all directions. They constantly rubbed their eyes, yawned and shifted sitting positions. Nothing seemed to help, apparently. In front of them were a few different notebooks scattered around, and a book Jason couldn’t see the cover of clearly, but was planning on taking a look at when he would eventually walk out of the diner.
Maybe in another lifetime that would be him. Jason Peter Todd, a tired college student whose biggest enemies were the exam season and finding a way to manage his three different jobs in order to pay rent. But well. His life was what it was, and instead he only had one job. A very time-consuming one at that; an up-and-coming Crime Lord was not necessarily the kind of job that offered you a lot of spare time.
He was resting now though, wasn’t he?
The table right in front of the exit door was occupied by three large men. Their wet coats were hanging from the hanger next to their table, a small puddle already forming under. They weren’t incredibly loud, but Jason could still make out the majority of what they were saying. After looking at them for a longer moment, he came to realize he recognized one of them from the time when the only thing that ensured his survival was a small miracle of finding an abandoned tire iron under a dumpster. The guy in the diner bought some tires off of him once or twice. Used to run a shop in the Alley, never asked where Jason got them from. Not that it wasn’t obvious for someone who decides to open a business there, of all places. Maybe he could’ve done more, but for the kids whose lives depended on having their stolen goods be exchanged for cash quickly and without alerting the cops, gangs that wanted to recruit kids, or even bloody CPS, it felt huge. Got them to live a little longer and well, that was a lot. He made a mental note to investigate what the guy was doing as of late. Well, except for pulling out a phone to show the photos of his kid that was. Said act had the potential of being a good sign, considering how happy the guy looked, his entire posture changing when he talked about his baby boy.
“..as any of you now on the road can probably see, this hour isn’t particularly one for traffic. Thanks to your calls, we’ve been able to find out there was a car crash near the Bowery around forty minutes ago, just a couple of hundred yards from the Sprang Bridge. Three were injured but it seems there were no other casualties.” A pause necessary to ensure that the audience knows that would be it for this hour’s news. “Now we have some George Michael ahead of us, The Prodigy's Firestarter as well as Skunk Anansie’s Secretly. But before that there’s one particular song we wanted to play, though it wasn’t originally on the tracklist for tonight; Dark Knight, if you’re listening right now - which you better be - this one’s for you, and all the others forced to work during those ungodly hours. Hm. I suppose I included myself by accident.” She chuckled. “Have a nice shift y’all.”
‘When the Sun Hits’ by Slowdive started playing and fuck that was a terrible joke but Jason wanted to laugh at it nonetheless.
Maybe he took one crowbar hit to his head too many, but he really didn’t remember GCR to be this disastrously bad and so deeply unprofessional. Jason found himself thinking he would do a better job at being a radio host and that was truly not a good sign for the station’s quality. Well, at least the music was decent. And Gotham’s dry humor, even if poorly executed, was still Gotham’s dry humor.
It turned out to be a good call, letting himself stay at the diner. He came to Gotham only a week ago, so his only options for shelter were two different, incredibly depressing safehouses. It wasn’t bad bad, but coming back to them after a job wasn’t exactly something he was excited for. There wasn’t anything he had a personal connection with in there, so if he had to abandon them this second there would be no regret. Someday though.. if what he’s been working towards achieving ever comes to a satisfying end, and he’ll live to see it then he will buy himself a shit ton of books. Find a place to keep ‘em. Maybe dedicate a whole ass apartment, just for the purpose of reading, since apparently he has the means for it financially now. He can have a mattress on the floor and maybe a small kitchen. Alright, and a tiny bathroom. But all except for that, there’ll be books. Everywhere. His personal library, even better than the one in Wayne Manor.
Maybe he was getting a little too carried away, but he could easily imagine crafting it into a space for the citizens of Crime Alley, especially the kids who didn’t have anyone to create a safe space for them to actually discover the pleasures of well-written literature. First step would obviously be making sure they’re safe (safe for Alley standards, it was still fucking Gotham and Jason knew no one was ever going to make it into a safe safe city, no matter how hard they try), fed and won’t freeze at night. But then, if he does manage it a place to read could be incredibly beneficial for- yeah, he was definitely getting carried away. But letting himself do it made him feel something beyond what his tunnel vision usually let him, something good, and fuck him, but he missed it.
“That was truly a brilliant song. Bloody genius mixtape huh! The 90s gave us many gems, and let’s not forget that, I’m begging those who are listening. Let’s. Not. Forget that. We’ll continue with a similar selection of songs for this program because I assure you that in Gotham, the night will never get quite quiet!”
As it turns out the joke becomes rather unfunny when you hear it for the tenth time within an hour.
“..remember to tune in and listen to Ask the Question with Vic Sage at 3 am today. But before that! We have to make sure to bless your ears with some Blur! ‘Girls And Boys’ dear listeners, ‘Girls And Boys’.”
He finished his waffles quickly, but there was something in him that didn’t quite let himself leave yet. Though it wasn’t like anyone was waiting for him to give up his spot, he thought it was improper to just sit there long after he finished consuming his order, so he got up and walked back to the counter, taking his dishes with him, so that his new order could be prepared on the same plate and in the same cup. This way, the teen who seemed to be the only person currently working wouldn’t have to waste time washing a second set when there was no need for it.
“Hi, one black coffee with th’ tiniest amount of milk, two sugars, and..” he looked at the pastry display. Only dry muffins there. “.. I’ll ‘ve waffles with that again, if you still have some.” While he placed his order, he made sure to look as non-threatening as possible with the way he currently looked. So he had a small smile on his face, with the corners of his lips curled slightly up, and took a page out of Clark’s book, changing his posture to a slightly hunched one. Not that the teen gave a fuck, they were a Gothamite and a night shift worker, of course, they didn’t think Jason’s appearance was anyhow unusual. It was safe to assume that a big portion of their clientele was goons and lower-rank gang members. And it was clear that they had a gun on them, as anyone who could think logically in this neighborhood would. Therefore, he didn’t have to do anything, but hey, maybe this way he was at least less memorable!
Before finalizing his order, Jason looked back to the side of the diner where his table was in. The poor student looked even closer to falling asleep than before. And Jason hasn't had a proper conversation with someone outside of his mission in a terribly long time. Once he decided to do one thing just to please himself, a series was bound to follow, so maybe he shouldn’t have felt surprised when he added; “And you know what? Make ‘at two, with th’ second coffee bigger though. Thanks.”
He wouldn’t manage to fit everything in his hands, so he took a tray with him. When his order was ready he came to the student, placing food and drinks on the only part of the table that didn’t have notes on it. The person across from him didn’t even notice him at first, so when he said “You good there?” they rose from their seat way too quickly, knocking one of their books over in the process. Jason was quick to help them lift it up.
“Whoosh, I take it tha’ the answer is no, m’right?” He asked, slightly amused.
“M’ perfectly fine.” They proclaimed defensively, glaring at him from their side of the table. “The hell you want?”
For someone to discover and publish Jane Austen’s novels that nobody knew she wrote before, so that he can have something pleasant to read instead of all the depressive Kafka, Dostoyevsky ‘n Raymont he’s been reading lately that while incredibly well written and compelling, definitely soured his already shitty mood. For the Joker to die. For-
“Nothin’ actually. Whatcha workin’ on? Anythin’ interesting?” He found himself responding instead.
A few seconds of silence passed between them while his interlocutor tried to determine whether Jason was the kind of a person to even have a conversation with, or were they in danger. Well, either that or they just debated whether he was an asshole unworthy of a conversation, or someone who could help. And he was curious what their decision would be.
Apparently, whatever they were working on turned out to be scarier than Jason, because they just slumped deeper into their seat and sighed.
“My literature special credit assignment. It’s not looking very ‘special credit’ so far though.” They confessed, looking both annoyed with it and embarrassed by failing at the same time.
“Well, I’m sure that can still be fixed.” Jason assured them and moved the tray to the middle of the table carefully. God knows, back in the da,y any liquid spilling over his school notes would cause him to have a meltdown.
“Can I..?” Jason pointed at the book they were holding. In return, he was given a nod. The laptop screen was immediately turned in his direction, and the book ended up in his hand. He noticed that the student immediately exchanged their study material for the coffee he brought, without even really asking. Sipping on it seemed to have a positive effect on their expression.
The book they had to write an essay about was the ‘Plague’. Jason only read it twice, but he figured it should suffice if it was just to help. In their notes, the student mostly tried to find a ground for essay topics they came up with, but any time they had decided on something it was crossed out and abandoned. It seemed like they had no way of which direction to go with, and perhaps misunderstood the point of the book a little. But being free to choose what aspect of the book they’ll be focusing on? Jason could most definitely help them with that.
“Shit, that’a high school assignment.” He suddenly realized.
The student looked at him across the table, surprised.
“Well, duh. What did you think it was?”
“You’re nott’a college student?”
“Um. Obviously not. I’m sixteen??”
While almost all of his time being sixteen was gone from his memory due to the catatonic state he was in after crawling out of his grave, Jason was pretty sure he was smaller when he was around their age. He really needed to reassess on what was the normal height for people to be at certain ages. But in his defence, the kid was wearing a GCU hoodie.
“Then why tha’ hell did you drink coffee from’a stranger, kid?” Jason frowned. The realization was sudden and if the kid came here alone at night, they sure as hell needed some parenting. And fine maybe Jason was only two or three years older than them, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to provide. “I could’ve slipped somethin’ there on m’way from the counter. And this is Crime Alley, ya know tha’, right? Crime Alley, the place where people regularly get trafficked or worse?”
Now his interlocutor was the one who looked thoroughly confused.
“And t’s the middle of the night too.” He added. “And the Bat ain’t tha’much of a fan of this part of town, so the night still means a much higher probability of being harmed.” Even if B did visit Crime Alley more often, the risk of harm would still be there though. Batman’s presence definitely did not equal safety. Jason would know.
“I mean, t’s a miracle you haven’t been mugged yet. Wha’ if I put somethin’ in that coffee and while you’re unconscious I’d be stealin’ that laptop of yours?” His accent was growing stronger with every word.
To that the kid did have a response. That being they looked him in the eyes, challenging, and took a huge, loud slurp of their coffee. Because of course.
“Listen-”
“- it doesn’t seem much poisoned or spiked to me. And I still have my laptop.”
Little shit. Jason sure surprised himself when he couldn’t help but to let out a very Batman-like grunt. Was he like that before he died too? Was Robin like that?
And for goodness’ sake, he probably was.
“Why are you here at this time of t’day, by yourself, as in, y’know, alone?” He asked somewhat resignedly. Jason hadn’t admitted defeat quite yet, but a strategic retreat sounded like a good idea at the moment.
The kid shrugged.
“It’s not like it’s unusual for me. I have pepper spray on me at all times, and my friend is often accompanies me. Plus I have some self-defence training..”
That didn’t convince Jason. Like, at all. This was Gotham; one pepper spray wouldn’t be much help even against about 90% of the city’s threats.
“..and, well, my apartment isn’t exactly a place I can study in anyway. Even if I go here, my grades are barely above the passing level. If I didn’t go somewhere like I’m going here they wouldn’t let me through to another grade at all. I would choose a public library over this, believe me, but I’m afraid they ain’t really open at this time of day.” They admitted, with a certain portion of poorly hidden bitterness in their voice. While they were confessing to Jason, they avoided all eye contact and focused on playing with their glasses.
Multiple different emotions went through him, all at once. Shit. He was not in any way the right person to handle this, but it felt hit a little too close to home for him not to engage further.
“A’ight.”
The kid looked taken aback, once again.
“Alright?” They repeated after him.
“Um, yeah? We’ve got’n essay to write, don’t we?”
“Really?” For the first time during their conversation, their face brightened with a smile. It was a little shy, but Jason could definitely see it was there. And fuck, what was the last time someone smiled at him? What was the last time he had a genuine, (somewhat) normal, human interaction like that?
“Oh definitely. Ya have’ta write ‘bout ‘Plague’, right? You’ve read any of it?”
“Um, not much. Some fragments. But I do know the plot and the characters, I’ve read about it on the internet!”
“Where‘ave you read ‘bout it?”
“...”
“..I’ve watched a YouTube summary?”
Jason almost groaned. Okay. That. That was not very good. That was very much not good, actually.
“Nice, amazin’, great. Okay- okay.” He sighed. “When do you have to turn th’assignment in? What’s the deadline?”
“Till the end of the week. Wouldn’t be so bad if I actually had anything to work with, if I actually had a first draft ready. Even a sketch would be nice. But this? I’m not passing with this.”
“Not yet, that is.” Jason smiled at them. It was only Tuesday. He took down an entire human trafficking operation without knowing shit about its workings prior in less then this time. He could definitely help a kid get through their literature assignment, even without missing on any of his.. focus activities as the Red Hood. “What’s yer name kid?”
“Ricky.”
“Okay Ricky. Do ya have some time t’morrow?”
“I think so?”
“Good. So how ‘bout I tell ya what the book’s about now, and recommend which fragments ya should read by yerself, but without havin’ to finish the entire thing this week. And t’morrow we can dissect it and discuss the essay topic. If ya’d like ‘ta, of course.”
Ricky’s eyes lit up as if they had just received a Christmas gift. Maybe the kid didn’t really have people to talk with either.
“Yeah. Yeah, I can do tomorrow. Thanks, mister..” They stopped when they realized Jason didn’t actually introduce himself. Yeah, he should’ve done that right away after coming up to the kid.
But also. ‘Mister’??
“..Peter. Just Peter. Now finish yer waffles while I tell ya ‘bout the way Camus’ painted us a picture of the city of Oran.”