Chapter Text
It is three nights after an ill-advised and migraine-inducing teamup with Batman and his groupies that Jason comes home to an envelope addressed “Red Hood” on his coffee table. None of his security system has been set off, which either means his mailman has died, become a ghost, and begun through-the-door delivery in his afterlife, or the letter is from one of the Bats.
Nightwing probably can’t even read cursive let alone write in it, Gordon would have sent an email, Jason can’t imagine what Robin the Elder, Batgirl, Spoiler, or Signal could ever want to tell Jason that badly about, Alfred calls, and Damian has never written Jason a letter in his life, which leaves only one option for Jason’s secret admirer. He’d rather die again than open it right now.
Tragically, when he emerges ten hours later, the letter is still there. It is a relatively nice April morning, as far as Gotham goes, and Jason’s life hasn’t gone to shit recently, but whatever this is might be here to change that. And here Jason was hoping for a day of rest. Armed with at least five restful hours of sleep, Jason marches into his living room and tears open the letter. There’s two front and back pages that Jason doesn't read as he skips to the signature at the bottom and immediately groans. Batman. Jason is confused, annoyed, and still fucking tired as he takes a second to think. This can’t be mission-related, or at least not urgently so, because Batman wouldn’t waste time on something important with handwriting and delivering a fucking letter. At the same time, Jason and Batman don’t particularly talk about things that aren’t mission-related, which leaves him with shit all ideas as to the contents of the letter. Jason mourns his peaceful day. Waves goodbye to an afternoon at a used bookstore with a hot cup of tea. There’s not much more he can figure out without just reading the thing, so Jason flips back to the start.
Dear Red Hood,
One line in and Jason is staring at the ceiling and groaning again. Batman is the oldest man in the world. “Dear Red Hood” is the dumbest thing he has ever read in his life. He takes two deep breaths before he can make himself look back down and keep going.
I am writing to express discontent with our last conversation. I feel we failed to communicate civilly, and I know that you will likely not agree to another conversation, so I am hoping that you will at least read my thoughts here, while you do not have to see or hear me in person.
“Failed to communicate civilly” was the understatement of the fucking century. Batman had tried to lecture Jason about “being reckless,” “needlessly putting himself and others in danger,” “failing to complete his mission objectives,” “blatantly ignoring orders,” and generally being a failure, disappointment, and violent madman. Jason had responded reasonably by screaming back at Bruce about failing to protect Gotham, being a shit leader, not killing the Joker, being a privileged, out-of-touch billionaire with no idea how to be a vigilante, and generally being a hypocritical asshole who needed to either get with the program and let Jason do things his way, or stop asking for Jason’s help. Most of the bats and birds had run off less than a minute in, except for Damian who stuck around until the end and tsk-ed at Jason when Batman turned his back. Jason took that to mean, “You are loud and annoying, and I will see you on Saturday.” Little shit.
I was disappointed with the completion of our last mission. Though we were able to stop the arms shipment, you deliberately ignored my orders to wait before entering the warehouse, leading to a fight rather than silent overtaking of materials. Furthermore, you yourself were injured in the fight, and would not allow myself to look over the wound, nor return to the Cave for care from Agent A. It is of vital importance that we stay strong and free of injury if we are to perform to our best. I hope that you at least went to see a medical practitioner of some sort.
Yes, Jason went in early. The goons were pieces of shit and deserved a beat down, and you can get fucked, Batman. Yes, Jason got shot in the leg and it hurt like shit, because he wasn’t wearing his thickest tactical pants because they got bled all over (by somebody else! Somebody who is still alive!) a few nights prior. And yes, Jason saw Leslie, and he knows Batman knows that because Gordon finds out everything and Batman is a control freak who stalks everyone he possibly can all of the time.
Telling Jason to come to the Cave was laughable at best and downright malicious at the worst. Batman doesn’t want him there, and neither do any of his precious flock, lest Jason flip out and murder them all. Batman’s moral code demanded that he offer an injured teammate aid, but Jason knows he would rather the Cave collapse than Jason step foot in it. Jason’s thinking he’ll break in and spray paint the Batmobile for his 21st in a few months. He’s got to steal some Rogue files anyway, and it would bring him so much joy. He hasn’t been back since his return from Hell; he’ll make a whole night of it. Confetti, cake, no alcohol because he does not want to crash and burn on his drive home, but maybe getting blackout drunk once he gets there. He thinks he’ll probably need it. If only Nightwing brought his bartending experience back to Crime Alley, maybe Jason could drink for free.
Jason loves to imagine Batman’s reaction to that career move, even a little more than the cop thing. Bruce never looked too favorably upon heavy drinking, despite what Brucie Wayne may have the public believe. Messes with your cognition, leads people hurtling towards bad decisions with no impulse control brake pedal. For a long time Jason agreed with him, one of few points where adolescent Jason made Bruce proud with his decisions. He’s seen substances do bad things to good people. Nowadays, he still doesn’t do it a lot. Every now and then, though, it’s convenient to forget about all of it. And if there’s any day Batman could not judge Jason for it, it would be his 21st. Who would’ve even imagined Jason would make it that long?
When I tried to express my concern on this matter previously, you accused me of not trusting you and wanting you to follow my own code because I believe that my way is superior to yours, and that I am a hypocrite. While Alfred has suggested that I admit to the hypocrite allegation, I hope you will understand that no matter how dangerous my own job is, it is infinitely more harmful to me to watch my children be hurt. Batman’s role is to take the hits so others do not have to, including you. Had you followed orders, the likelihood of injury would have been significantly reduced.
Furthermore, though I may disagree with your “code” as the Red Hood, I allow you a remarkable amount of freedom in this city. All I ask is that you do not use lethal force, and assist in emergent matters where possible. It frustrates me to see you push the already wide limits. I worry that the violence you claim Red Hood requires is affecting you. It is not an easy cross to bear, being the avenging angel of Gotham. It is a dark path to walk, and one I never wanted you to. I continue to hope, perhaps futilely, you will take into consideration my advice that you turn away from your path of vengeance upon Gotham’s criminals. As a child, your drive to fight as Robin began with the intention to bring magic to the night. Maybe you will one day remember how you felt then.
Jason sees absolute fucking red. How. Fucking. Dare he. When Jason was a kid, he thought he could fix the world, help every person in Gotham be better, live better. He watched the same people beg on the street every night, the same women and children show up at shelters every month, he put away the same damn criminals over and over and over again. Batman watched it all and acted like it never bothered him, most of the time. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t; he wouldn’t show an emotion either way. But he did nothing to stop the cycle. Robin was nothing like the Red Hood, and Robin got fucking murdered for it. The Joker massacred that kid, while Bruce sat around and did nothing. How dare Batman criticize Jason for doing things that work.
Jason hasn’t killed anybody in a year. He switched to non-lethal tactics lest Batman lock him away, and even though he isn’t happy about it, he exercises restraint. What fucking more does Batman want? Does he truly think he’s a saint for “allowing” Jason to operate in his own city, as if Batman wasn’t born and raised in Bristol, with a perpetual silver spoon in his mouth? Jason was raised here, with the people of Gotham, and he knows what they need. The kind of protection that works. The kind of vigilante they can put their trust in. It’s not Batman.
And the nerve, the absolute gall, to call Jason his child. Fathers avenge their children. Fathers don’t let a madman murder their son and walk free. Fathers love their sons unconditionally. Fathers can speak to their children without a mask, and invite them to visit home, and call just to call and not to ask for help beating somebody up. Jason has not been anybody’s child for a long time, and he won’t be again. Being somebody’s son put him in the ground.
His father is the Lazarus Pit that gave him life, purpose, and a second chance. His mother is the Gotham City that raised him. There is no room for The Batman in Jason’s family.
Seething, Jason reads on.
To another of your points, as I have told you before, I cannot kill the Joker. There can be no exceptions to the code, for one murder would only bring about more. We, moreover I, cannot be judge, jury, and executioner. I would not come back from turning my back on my beliefs. I cannot do this for you, Jason. Ask me for anything else, and I will give it. But not this.
I know you believe I did not mourn you after you were gone. I mourned you every day. I still do. You were not forgotten, or replaced, in my head or my heart. I couldn’t taint your memory by becoming a man you would not recognize. I promise you, I wanted to. But you would’ve wanted me to choose mercy, like you chose mercy towards Two Face after he killed your father. At least, that’s what I believed then. I suppose I don’t know your mind enough to predict your thoughts anymore.
I am hopeful that with time we will be able to find an understanding under which we can work together better than we do now. You are skilled, even more so than you were as Robin. You feel passionately about Gotham, and you are an asset to our team. I sincerely hope you will consider deferring to my judgment during our partnerships, as the decisions I make are for the benefit of not only the mission, but you and your siblings, as well as civilians, and yes, the criminals we face. I am perfectly willing to listen to your critiques when possible, and would prefer this to you ignoring my orders mid-mission. We worked together well, once, although perhaps not as well as you did with Dick. You were always so excited when Nightwing and Robin could patrol together. I know he would also appreciate more of your cooperation as an ally.
If you have read this far, and not burned this letter, I hope you are taking care of yourself. Please know that you can reach out at any time for assistance. Alfred would appreciate it if you came to family dinner.
Sincerely,
Batman
Jason isn’t any less angry as he reads the rest of the letter. He is, however, just tired again, and frustrated. He’s heard all of this before. Bruce’s rationalization of the Joker, his moral code, his falsehoods about understanding Jason’s beliefs. It’s all worthless. What Jason can’t figure out is the motivation behind this. Why all the talk about Jason’s time as Robin, his patrols with Dick of all people, his offer of contact. He doesn’t really mean any of it, so why go to all this trouble? To toy with Jason’s feelings? In the hope that a trip down memory lane will make Jason more tractable in their work? To remind Jason of the family he lost?
Jason’s back to being angry. Batman doesn’t get to do this, act like they can be partners again, as if everything could ever go back to the way it was. Maybe Batman is reminiscing about his worst Robin, in the days when he was slightly less of a disappointment. Maybe the Spring renewal of the city just put him in the mood, inspired his next manipulation tactic.
There’s no use. He’s got two new and shiny models, plus the rest of his flock. He’s furious that he can’t control Jason, so he’s trying to lure him with a trap of kindness. Batman will guide him through the jaws of death with the promise of care, of consideration, and he will snap handcuffs around his wrists and ankles and Jason will never see the light of day again. Jason sees through it, right down to the bottomless pit of guilt and misguided justice and frustrating, horrible persistence that is Batman’s soul.
Jason takes Batman’s suggestion and burns the letter to ash.