#but I feel like Jason was his first kid | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spacedace · 2 months

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Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

#batman #batman au #batman rogues #batman rouges gallery #dc penguin #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd robin #dick grayson robin #bruce wayne #the joker #tim drake #dc robin #gotham city #open season au #i don't go in for Jason being the 'angry' robin or the 'violent' robin #he was the lil chainsmoking ball of sunshin robin that made sure to do his homework first before going out to fight crime #dick was the scariest robin because he was BOTH incredibly violent & full of rage AND a ball of sunshine & unrelenting hope #Jason was a Gotham kid (an Alley Kid) and I think a lot of the rogues would have respected that #dick got his respect by teaching them how many of their bones a tiny 9 year old could break in a single kick #feel like there's a scene in the extended au in which Tim gets kidnapped but instead of being held for ransom or threatened #it's just the Rogues aggressively mother-henning him and trying to make sure he's alright #Dick gets a call from Harley later that the newest Robin is fine he and Riddler are coming up with deadly traps together #No she doesn't see anything wrong with that - it's just some enrichment activities for them - why do you ask?

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biillys · 2 years

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love the idea of billy being able to approach anyone at school and it just being accepted. him not necessarily being apart of the popular crowd but anytime he chooses to grace them with his presence, they're all over him, offering him a seat and the latest hottest gossip. him talking to some nerd in class, asking for a pen becos he doesn't believe in bringing his own school supplies, and said nerd internally rolling their eyes but still handing over a pen. him talking to the drama kids, asking where they got that sick as fuck leather jacket for their musical, getting confused and lowkey alarmed looks but still an answer.

love the idea of there being only a select few people that can approach him and have him actually respond and acknowledge them, everyone else not even getting a glance.

eddie being one of them.

eddie and billy seeming to become eddie and billy overnight, like one day they were strangers and the next they were basically inseparable.

eddie walking up behind billy in the hallway and swinging an arm over his shoulder, fucking with his hair, before dumping half the shit he was carrying in billy’s basically unused satchel. billy giving him a what the fuck look but still holding it open for him, and eddie rolling his eyes and saying it was fucking empty anyway, billy shoving his satchel onto eddie's shoulder cos he’s not carrying around eddie's shit for him all day.

eddie being able to lean against billy's car, jump in the passenger seat without an invitation or even a comment, cos billy does the same thing to eddie's van just as often.

they have one class together, and their teacher’s given up on separating them, cos eddie’s just gonna talk to billy from across the room anyway, and billy’s gonna throw notes back to him, ripping up the piece of paper he borrowed from the guy beside him and throwing them at eddie's hair.

they have fun in detention together.

heathers another one.

they’re coworkers, yeah, but heather was probably the first person that billy ever truly gave a shit about in this shithole of a town. heathers been a cheerleader since becoming a cheerleader was an option, but somehow, like billy these days, always seems to just do her own thing.

she can sit on billy’s lap at lunch if they both bother with the cafeteria and the most billy will do is wrap an arm around her waist and move around 'til their more comfortable.

she can go through his shit to find his car keys to make a quick run to his car at lunch to find some spare hairbands and bobby-pins cos her’s broke and billy’s got spare shit everywhere in his car ever since he basically started being everyone’s personal chauffeur.

she can drag his notes across and copy everything he's written cos she was too busy texting chrissy under the table to pay attention and the most billy will do is ask what the plans were for that night. his notes half the time are basically illegible but billy's more or less somehow got mostly straight A's so heather'll take it.

sometimes she wears his jacket. rips him off about the lip stain. billy tells her to do a better one since she gives so much of a fuck.

chrissy joins billy’s inner-circle slowly, then instantly.

billy knows of her, has probably even spoke to her, but it’s not until they meet in eddie's trailer and all smoke up together - eddie and billy fucking around on eddie's guitars, heather with her feet swung over the back of the couch, chrissy sitting tense on the single armchair before slowly loosening up - that billy feels like he actually meets her.

suddenly, she’s pulling away from jason, from the other basketball players, from all her cheer friends, and slowly she’s hanging out with heather under the bleachers, she’s meeting up with eddie in the woods, and she’s waiting around the camaro at the end of the day to catch a ride home.

suddenly billy’s waiting around after basketball/cheer practice until chrissy’s ready to leave, cos jason's been talking a lot of shit lately, and billy doesn’t really think he’s got it in him to do something reckless, but he’s also not stupid enough to underestimate a guy like jason carver.

chrissy getting nervous when she sees jason loitering around but then she sees billy waiting just behind him, and she’s feeling brave suddenly, so she practically dances her way over to billy, grabs his hand before leaning into his side, and billy’s leaning right back and dropping her hand so he can wrap his arm around her shoulder, and she leaves without looking back. billy flips jason the bird over his shoulder.

max, obviously, when she starts going to the same high school. they’ve spent the previous summer working so much shit out, and it doesn’t mean they’re not still at each others throats over the stupidest shit, but it does mean that when billy bitches about having to wait around after her stupid nerd clubs, he does it without that much heat, and when max bitches about having to deal with the fact that every single person and teacher in this damn school has an opinion on her just becos she’s billy hargrove’s little sister, she sometimes sounds kind of proud to have that label. most of the time, she’s just annoyed.

max sometimes shoves her shit in billy’s locker, becos her locker’s full of dustin’s science shit, and sometimes when she’s carrying her board around at the end of the day, billy’ll come up behind her and smack it out of her grasp before skating down the hallway. she always feels vindicated when billy gets caught though, cos she never does.

shaking billy down for lunch money, cos susan seems to think max actually likes tunafish sandwiches, when she rly truly fucking hates them. billy usually telling her to fucking scram, but occasionally giving in and passing her some change.

max sometimes tracking him down at the start of her lunch period and holding a hand out for his car keys, a pissed off look on his face, and billy takes one look behind he to see her lil gang looking all shifty, and billy - having been on the receiving end of her attitude fucking constantly in the past - just sighing before handing his keys over. more often than not, trailing behind her, even when she tells him to fuck off, just throwing a shit eating grin her way with an aww, so little maxine can have a pity party for one? fuck no. what'd the fuckers do this time?

lucas, becos he’s max’s boyfriend, and also becos he’s on the team, and he seems to be sneaking over every other weekend, and things may still be rocky between them, but since billy make his apology, they’ve been getting better. they’re not exactly besties, but sometimes they play a one on one game after practice ends and no one’s in a rush to get home, and most times lucas will win becos he’s honestly just better than billy at basketball, and each time billy will ask for best out of three, then best out of five, cos he fucking sucks at losing.

when jason and some of the other basketball dickheads start trying to drag lucas in, pulling their fake shit only to split whenever it’s convenient, billy just watches on before rolling his eyes and pulling lucas’ gear closer to his in the locker room and gives him the worlds shittest pep talk. jason carver ain’t shit, trust me. fuck that guy.

carol! and tommy! except billy’s a dick and he thinks it’s funny to fuck with tommy, so when carol comes up to him and catches him up to date with the latest wild happenings from the party he couldn’t be fucked to attend the night before, crashing at eddie’s with the others instead, and tommy tries to go in for a simple bro-handshake, billy gives him a blank stare and holds his hand out limply, not participating, watches the look on tommy’s face go from excited to confused, before finally grabbing him by the hand and pulling him close, hand on his shoulder, ‘i’m fucking with you’, then doing the stupid bro-shake thing. tommy laughing it off but turning to carol with wide eyes, every fucking time, like ‘shit, are we cool? are we friends?’ and carol just patting him on the shoulder before tucking herself into his side, all ‘yeah, babe, you're good.’

#anyway au where when billy first rolled into town; he truly did feel the need to like. make himself big. surround himself with crowds #fit in with the popular kids. attend every party. but then s3 happened #or like the non-upsidedown version but still a major critical life changing event. and when hes as healed as hes gonna get #and finally standing on his own two feet; trying to get his life back on track #he just. cant be fucked with keeping up appearances anymore. fuck being basketball captain fuck being the keg king fuck being That Guy #instead all he needs is his sister and his few people. that's literally all that matters.#anyway i think its be FUN if eddie can't understand shit in class so he's like 'billy what the fucks this mean'#but the teacher DID separate them so billy - from the literal other side of class - tries to explain it in terms eddie will click with #much to the teachers surprise; eddies grades actually improve #also. heather and chrissy wearing the guys jackets. its THAT simple #but also consider: chrissy wearing eddies jacket but eddies kinda chilly so billy offers him his leather jacket #that happens to be in the car. while heathers got his denim one. and billys just walking around in sleeves in a hawkins winter like a tool #max gives him SO much shit #also billy tommy and carol is like. billy was Faking it Til he Could Make it when he first met them so he keeps them at a distance #but then when he's in hospital and recovering; before eddie and chrissy are rly on his radar #and its just max and heather sitting by his side; tommy and carol come through #they're the only ones from billys Friend Group that reach out and visit; that check in; that fucking care #so when billy does stroll back into school. he just - walks straight pass jason and all his fake ass sympathies; straight past the girls #that use to hang all over him; gives tommy and carol a two finger salute as he walks by but completely ignores everyone else #and meets up w heather at his locker #m #nqff

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