Chapter Text
Today was supposed to be a good day. Jason woke up five minutes before his morning alarm, he had a long, productive day of intimidating Star City goons into giving up details of a massive drug shipment he would be busting later that night, and he had a massage planned for the next day.
But, of course, the universe hates Jason Todd, so now he’s handcuffed to the table in one of the Justice League’s many interrogation rooms, because Oliver fucking Queen.
“I’m a Gotham crime lord,” Jason points out for the fifth time, teeth gritted. “I thought the agreement was to leave guys like me to Batman?”
Green Arrow and Green Lantern, who are in the middle conducting the world's worst interrogation Jason’s ever experienced to date, exchange an unreadable look.
“Batman will understand.”
Jason can only stare at them in abject confusion, eyebrows pinched. “He will definitely not.”
Batman will not understand. Batman is a notorious hard-ass, even more so with what he thinks of other people dealing with his rogues. It’s not just Batman’s Super Inflexible Code of Justice, there’s also Batman’s Super Inflexible List of People Allowed to Deal with Gotham Rogues tacked right below that on the Batfridge.
And now, he completely understands why Bruce used to return from Justice League missions, collapse on the couch and bury his face in his hands. He’s the only sane, non-powered one on the entire satellite. Hell, Bruce doesn’t only have to fund these idiots in secret, he’s also keeping them in line.
It would be like herding toddlers.
The Flash disappears for a split second, door banging behind him, and suddenly he has an entire spread of fast food in front of him, which he is chowing down on at amazing speed. Jason knows that’s breaking at least six protocols.
Green Arrow doesn’t even blink, too busy manspreading, cross-armed and glaring at Jason. Green Lantern re-crosses his legs for the sixth time.
He changes his previous assumption.
They aren’t toddlers.
They’re concussed toddlers.
It’s just Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman co-parenting an entire satellite of superheroes, and none of them are present right now. He knows this because if any of them were here, this wouldn’t be happening and Jason would have someone sane to talk to.
Underneath the heavy layer of annoyance and schadenfreude directed at Bruce, Jason might even be pitying him a little bit. Just a little bit.
“Well he’s not here right now, so you’re stuck with us.” Flash points out.
Yeah. That figures.
“Then call him. I have things to do.”
“This doesn’t have to be a long process.” Green Arrow says, leaning in. “Tell us your supplier, and we can end this for today.”
Wow. So convincing. Jason is so scared right now. Quaking in his boots.
The only way Oliver Queen could actually force him to speak is by annoying it out of him, and Jason has four siblings, so he’s well practised in that area.
Rotating his shoulder, gently pulling on the restraints, his neck twinges pleasantly. Jason shifts on the seat, relaxing further against the backrest, kicking his feet out. He sighs. Looks like he’s in here for the long haul.
“Look,” Jason says, and they both subtly jerk to attention.
Throughout this entire joke of an interrogation, this is the first time that he’s actually initiated a conversation, aside from the occasional Batman-approved grunt and scathing comment. “I know you guys aren't cops, but can I at least get a phone call?”
It’s been a few hours since they came through and busted his entire operation for tonight, and if he doesn’t get out soon, there’s more than a couple of people who are going to go sniffing in the entirely wrong direction. It’s not just a matter of getting word out of his location, it’s also to satisfy the petty little part of Jason’s heart that says ‘screw you’, and dearly wants to see Batman come down on their butts like a furry avenging angel in kevlar-weave.
Also, Batman is the supreme authority on the Watchtower and his adopted dad who he is on sorta decent terms with, so it makes perfect sense to call him.
Green Arrow, however, is making this unnecessarily hard.
“What, and let you alert all your friends that we’re onto you?” he scoffs, and Jason wants to punt him from this satellite.
“Not gonna do that,” Jason says, so calmly, “I want to get out of here, preferably sometime this century.”
“Tell me your supplier and I’ll let you have that phone call.”
Jason fights the urge to slam his head against the table. Multiple times, in fact. This guy has the communication skills of an alarm clock.
No wonder why Roy dipped and went solo as soon as he did, Green Arrow is so irritating-
“Like I said, multiple times earlier, I am not associated with those idiots.” Jason grits out, cutting off his own increasingly hostile train of thought. “Just one call. Please.”
No Pit rage here, he needs to be agreeable (well, sorta agreeable) if he wants to get out of here scot-free. Look at him now, negotiating with a colossal asshole, temper still intact. He’s so proud of himself.
Said colossal asshole (Green Arrow) glares harder.
It’s a standoff for a good thirty seconds of mutual exasperated glaring before Green Lantern evidently gets sick of how nothing is happening. To be honest, he shouldn’t even be here. Jason’s pretty sure he and the Flash, being adrenaline junkies, are the worst possible choice for interrogations, which are predominately, long and very boring.
He leans over to Green Arrow, whispers, “We could use it as an opportunity to learn more.” Subtle. A shame Jason’s helmet speakers have an amplification setting.
The Flash completely misses that they’re trying to keep this on the down low.
“Excellent idea!” He says loudly. “I’ll go get the phone!”
Another bang of the door , and the Flash disappears and reappears between blinks, holding a Justice-League approved phone.
He leaves all the food wrappers open on the table.
Jason also gets an eyeful of all the crumbs the Flash left on the pristine floor of the interrogation room, and calms himself with the thought of Batman making him vacuum the entire block.
“Fine,” Green Arrow bites out, ignoring that the Flash had just undermined any sort of upper hand he had held at any point.
These guys needed to leave this sorta thing to Batman. Seriously. They’re genuinely horrible at it.
“One phone call,” he continues, “but it will be monitored.”
Yeah, no shit Sherlock.
The phone gets placed on Jason’s upturned palm.
A little bit of fiddling with his handcuff positioning, but eventually he manages to hold the phone in a more accessible position. The number he types in belongs to one of Bruce's many burner phones, specifically, one of the ones related to the Red Hood.
Of course, he could have called Batman’s main number, just to watch their faces as the Red Hood calls their boss in front of them, but he’s not. The level of petty Jason’s doing is to first make them attempt to de-scramble a Batcomputer encoded connection (which they won’t be able to) and then enjoy the fallout when Batman arrives and Jason narcs on them with all the experience of a middle child.
He almost sighs in anticipation.
It’s going to be glorious.
The number goes through, ringtone sounding in the palm of his hand.
“On speaker.” Green Arrow orders.
Jason complies, making his exasperation entirely visible through his body language. They can’t see the deadpan expression through his helmet, so he’s had to make do with other ways.
The ringtone echoes in the room twice more, before connecting with a click.
As per Bat protocol, the one who is called does not respond until the caller confirms their identity, and alerts the other party what identity they should use, whether the conversation is hero to hero, hero to civilian, or civilian to civilian.
Here though, Jason needs Batman.
“Hey B,” he starts, “this is Hood. Got nabbed by your JL buddies while busting a shipment travelling through Star City, and I need a bail. I know I don’t ask you for things often, but now is the time.”
Silence.
“Don’t worry Jaylad!” Bruce says cheerily through the receiver. “Fear not!”
Jason freezes.
That voice. One burned into his nightmares. The humiliation associated with it.
Of that voice at galas, standing red-faced to the side, dealing with the aftermath of Bruce fake-falling into fountains and walking into glass doors. Two years of pretending he didn’t know that voice in public areas, wasn’t in any way associated with the man attached to it.
That doesn’t sound like Bruce.
That sounds like Brucie .
“Never mind!” Jason says, suddenly breathless, “Please don’t come. Ever. I’m fine. Perfectly fine, in fact.”
“Aw, chum-”
Jason cuts him off. “I’m calling Roy.”
“No, no, no, son,” Bruce says. His voice turns ominous. “I insist.”
He hangs up, leaving Jason to stare at the phone in mild horror, words hanging in the air.
What has he just done?
“Who was that?” Green Arrow asks. If Jason wasn’t already catastrophizing, he’d notice the teeny bit of panic present in Green Arrow’s voice. Evidently, they couldn’t trace the call. Not when it was routed through something as powerful as the Batcomputer. “Red Hood, who was that?”
He cuts through the angry questioning. “Can I get a second phone call?”
The answer is a very passionate NO.
Has Jason done anything recently to piss Bruce off? Other than the general disregard of his No. #1 rule, the beating up Robin thing a while back, the crime empire and the entire selling drugs shtick, is there anything else? He’s been better lately!
And then it hits him.
Three weeks ago, he’d blown up a set of warehouses Batman had told him very specifically to not blow up. Out of spite, of course. There’d been no people inside, and the only people near had been himself and Robin. Jason had thought it was a meth or arms shipment.
He was wrong.
Jason had burnt at least three metric shittonnes of weed, and he’d accidentally gotten Robin higher than a kite. He’d panicked, dumped the kid back at the manor in Alfie’s disapproving arms, and promptly scarpered for his life.
Bruce had been so mad he’d looked more constipated than usual, and Jason had ditched Gotham with Roy and Kori the next day. Which, namely, was what had originally inspired him to hunt down the distributor ring selling to Gotham in Star City in the first place. Which was to avoid Batman.
Jason looks down at the phone in Green Arrow’s hand like it’s a live bomb.
He’s doomed.
He’s so fucking doomed.
He slumps over the table as dramatically as he can while handcuffed, and buries his face in his hands.
“Hey!” Green Lantern snaps his fingers in front of Jason’s helmet lenses. “Who is this ‘B’ person? And why was that call so ominous?”
Jason doesn’t respond immediately. He’s currently in the middle of planning the execution of a violent prison break, and given the odds, he needs every last brain cell to figure out how the hell he’s supposed to get out of here. Three seconds of alone time and he can break out of the handcuffs easily, and if he finds a way to disable the Flash, he can handle Green Arrow and Green Lantern then his chances of escaping increase to a solid 4.5%.
All in all, he’s still doomed.
Maybe if he managed to get out of this room and closer to his escape route: the Zeta Tube, his chances might increase.
So he needs to cooperate.
“B is my dad,” Jason says. It’s like pulling teeth. “And it looks like he’s about to bail me out, so a walk over to the teleporters would be really great, thanks.”
Green Arrow glares harder. “We’re not cops,” he snaps. “You can't just post bail and get out. Secondly, we are in a space station. In space. How would he get up here in the first place?”
So that’s a clear no.
Jason is so done, with everything. With life.
Brucie Wayne is about to descend onto these poor bastards like a drunk avenging angel with two left feet and less intelligence than common sense. He drops his head into his hands again, ignoring the pull of the handcuffs against his under-armour.
His breakout plan is toast.
Eventually, when the depression stage of grief has passed and Jason has fully internalised how screwed he is, the only thing he can really do is ask for Superman or Wonder Woman.
Wonder Woman, because she has a truth-telling lasso so he can prove his innocence because while yes, he does sell drugs, he wasn’t trying to sell these drugs in particular, or Superman, because he’s currently the only cape in the know about the Bats’ identities and maybe, just maybe, could put that superspeed to good use and use it to bust Jason out of here before Bruce arrives.
It’s time for Plan C.
“Please,” he’s going to have to resort to begging at some point, and now is that time. “Just call Superman, for the love of god.”
They call Superman.
When the interrogation room doors swing open to reveal the Man of Steel, Jason nearly sheds a tear under his helmet.
He’s here, he knows who Jason is and above all, outranks these idiots so can set him free before Bruce arrives and shreds his hard-earned scary reputation into teeny little pieces. Jason just needs to GTFO in the next fifteen minutes, and he’ll manage to completely skip the dramatic and totally unnecessary family reunion that he just knows that Bruce is planning. He can still save his reputation as a feared crime lord.
Unfortunately, they’re too late.
“Bail’s been paid.” Superman says as he enters, crushing his hopes and dreams underfoot. Jason nearly sheds a tear under his helmet, and for a completely different reason than earlier. “Get him over to the Zeta, pickup’s arriving soon.”
Jason is never going to forgive this betrayal. Where was the justice? Where was the humanity?
Green Arrow blinks. “Pickup for who?”
“For Hood.”
“We have a bail system?” The Flash whispers loudly.
“Extraneous circumstances.” Superman confirms. “Batman is usually the one to deal with cases like these, for good reason. Let’s get him up and over to the entrance hall.”
With that, the handcuffs are disconnected from the table, and with a flick of the wrist, off his hands. Jason uses the first chance he gets to itch that one spot his helmet digs into his neck. He stands, appreciating the increased range of motion, cracking a couple of times and sighing at the release in pressure.
“Arrived here, on the Watchtower? Is that protocol?” Flash asks, still watching Jason with a wary eye.
Superman raises an eyebrow. “It’s about as protocol as holding and interrogating a Gotham rogue without Batman’s knowledge and eating-,” Superman shoots the Flash an exasperated look, “-in the interrogation wing.”
“He did it,” Flash points at Green Lantern.
“I didn’t!”
Jason silently despairs for the state of Earth’s primary line of defence.
They make it to the entrance hall of the Watchtower before Jason has the chance to pull Superman to the side. Green Lantern and the Flash have gone over to the Zetas to escort the mystery man Hood called over the phone, leaving Jason in the fine company of Superman and Green Arrow.
They’re about to face Brucie. This is his last chance to get out of here, and if he can get Clark on his side, they might stand a chance.
“It’s not Bruce who’s coming,” he hisses under his breath, knowing Superman will hear him. “It’s Brucie. We gotta run while we can, I’m dead serious.”
“I don’t know about that.” Superman whispers back. “Personally, I think B would love to get back at those three, especially after they messed with one of his rogues.”
“Supes, I swear to fucking god, don’t do this to me.”
Superman smiles back at Jason, close-eyed and unfriendly. It’s kind of terrifying.
“I saw Robin a few weeks ago,” he says conversationally. Jason freezes. “He had the munchies. He also cried for five hours, had three separate mental breakdowns, and spent a further twelve hours acting like he got hit by cuddle pollen. Bruce spent the entire time pretending he wasn’t panicking as hard as Dick was. Do you have anything to say about that?”
Well, shit.
“Oops?” Jason says, sweating metaphorical and literal buckets. He’s so doomed.
Superman smiles harder. “So you understand that it’s not only Ollie, Barry and Hal that B wants a little payback on.”
“But you don’t have to help him!” Jason hisses frantically.
His hopes for a Superman-themed rescue have been flushed down the toilet so hard they’re already hanging out with Killer Croc in the sewers.
“I know,” Superman says. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
Wonder Woman is now his favourite hero. Of course, she was already his favourite hero in the first place, but Superman really had a chance to climb up the ladder. He’s now hanging out at the bottom. Next to Oliver Queen. It’s not a high bar, believe him.
“Why.” Jason’s gone through nearly all the stages of grief in the past hour or so. He’s in acceptance right now.
“Because I want to.” Superman says. “Because I can. Because it’s funny. Pick one.”
Jason stares at him, numbness and growing horror warring in his chest. “You’re evil,” he mutters. “No wonder why B has so many contingency plans against you.”
Superman shrugs. “I know. No one will ever believe you.”
Minutes later, Brucie Wayne walks in with an entire group of heroes trailing behind him, trying to explain why he cannot be at the Watchtower.
Jason accepts his fate.