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joekitsu · 2 months ago

Text

Would you still love me (When I'm no longer young and beautiful?)

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63693112

Part 1/3(?)

Word count: 7102

Main relationship: (PLATONIC) Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd

Additional tags: Hurt/comfort, Canon typical violence, angst, insecurity, Good parent Bruce Wayne (!!!), Batfamily feels.

Summary: Jason had underestimated Bruce’s paranoia when he asked him that question. It seems he had also underestimated how much the universe loved fucking things up for him.

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Gotham never quite had quiet nights. The cursed city almost always had something going on in its long shadows, a mugging, a robbery in the making, an assault, a hostage situation. Never silent, never calm, Gotham seemed to roar with chaos. Gotham quiet was never quiet, it was still noisy in every way that mattered.

Today was quiet. Not a single leaf fell to the ground, not a single wave crashed into the polluted docks of Gotham bay. All the rogues were already locked up tight in Arkham. There was no alarm blaring over the police radios, no Bat-signal lighting up the foggy night sky acting like a deterrent to criminals. Quiet. Unnervingly so. A quiet like this never spoke of good things.

The Red Hood stood on a rooftop with his guns in his hands, wary eyes scanning over his territory in the decrepit city. Even Crime Alley was silent, even the wind refused to howl in his ear. Stray dogs laid in their cardboard shelters in the dead stillness, not even looking up as rats scurried into nearby sewers. None of this reassured the gunslinging vigilante, only made the sick feeling in his gut worsen.

Jason had been so ready to call it quits before midnight fell, mind still racing over the vicious argument he had had with Bruce a few days ago. Bruce had been overbearing the past couple of weeks, invading on his patrol routes, commenting on his violent methods, ordering him around like he was still part of his nest, like he was still sweet, innocent Robin-

He shook his head, physically waving away the memory of Bruce’s face pinched in frustration, his voice calling after him as he rushed out of the Batcave, brushing past Alfred without a passing word or goodbye. He had gone straight to his shitty apartment and fallen into bed, wrapping himself in the sheets without dinner (he had been supposed to join them at the table today, but he just had to blow up, damnit-) and skipped out on patrol. Dick had called him the next day, enquiring about him and catching him up on what had happened last night when he hadn't joined patrol. The other man had probably wanted to reassure him that nothing had gone amiss in his absence, but he only succeeded in making Jason’s guilt and frustration worsen. Batman had patrolled Crime Alley when he was unaccounted for, and a drug smuggling ring had been shut down by the Bat clan, cleanly and efficiently. Without him.

They had no issues without him. They hadn't needed him.

He had gritted his teeth through the next two days, chasing down petty criminals and stopping drug distributions left and right. He went out of his way to avoid the rest of the Bats, still seething with directionless anger and soul-crushing sadness. He had ignored injuries, let the bruises take him further from his current issues and had let his body run on survival instinct as he rounded up his spoils. He knew he had been violent, savage, and the criminals knew that twice over.

Which was probably the reason for this unnatural silence, he tried and failed to reason to himself. None of the Bats liked quiet nights, former members or otherwise. The churning feeling in his stomach had not abated no matter how thoroughly he had swept through the streets, looking for any lurking suspicious goons. It simply grew till it crept up into his lungs, suffocating him in silent rage and worry.

Barely heard footsteps caught him before he spiralled, the careful nature of their falls already alerting him to their origin. He let the groan build up in the back of his throat and fall from his lips as he turned. A dark figure formed in the shadows of the rooftop, what should have been heavy footsteps dampened by training, only loud enough to alert those trained to pick up on their sound as a signal of his arrival. The swish of that long cape and the outline of a cowl confirmed his worst fears.

The Batman had decided to patrol Crime Alley again.

He did not react to the loud groan or the quiet sigh that followed when he strode forward to join Jason in looking over the area. ‘Insufferable bastard,’ Jason scoffed to himself.

“You really don't learn do you? What part of ‘leave my territory alone’ do you not understand?” Jason snarled as Bruce turned to look at him blankly. That thrice damned cowl, always hiding away what the older man felt. Hiding away the windows to Bruce’s soul, the gateway to understanding him. Jason had once been the best at it, now he doubted he could do it even with the cowl off.

They had both changed a lot since that horrible day in Ethiopia. Jason had grown some 2 feet taller and years older, had gained new calluses on his palms from training not obtained from his father’s gentle guidance, his hair had obtained a skunk streak and he had one day woken up to find out he was now not lactose intolerant. Bruce had a couple more laugh lines cutting through the planes of his moon-pale skin, his favourite ice cream flavour was now a coffee abomination as opposed to the salted caramel he used to get on late night patrols because his birds liked to steal it from him, his hair was greying at his temples from the stress of a life of stopping crime and he fought like he finally had people behind him, backing him up. Like he finally trusted them to do so.

Jason used to be the best Bruce-whisperer ever, nowadays he feared he couldn't recognise the man he once called dad. He feared his dad wouldn't recognise him either.

The silence dragged on for a few painful moments. Bruce still refused to respond to his question, staring at, staring through Jason like he did when he had a lot to say but was not saying them, emotionally repressed bastard that he was. White-hot anger pulsed through him as the seconds flew by, before Batman's modulator-affected voice broke the silence.

“You were patrolling without joining the comm lines.” The accusation in his voice was apparent, gravelly and modified though it was, and Jason couldn't help but bristle like a sodden cat at it. There it was, another taunting illusion of him still having a place in their midst when they so clearly didn't need him. All those dinners and brunch dates he was invited to but never attended, those playful jabs passed around over comms that he did not intrude on, that rain-soft bell chime chuckle drifting over the lines in exasperation and slight amusement at the stray joke that made him smile without the effects of his modulator; things he never would experience with them because he was not Robin. Not anymore.

He was Red Hood, the crime lord turned anti-hero, the one with crumbling morals and a hair-thin fuse. He was not the second Robin who ran around claiming he was magic, was not the 13 year old who buried his face into his father’s chest to listen to the man’s voice rumble through his body like a gentle thunderstorm, was not the boy who chased Dick around the manor for dog-tagging his book. He was not the Jason they had buried in a new tuxedo. He was not his father's son anymore. He was not the Jason Peter Todd-Wayne they remembered, the one they wanted him to be.

He turned away, his eyes threatening to flood green the longer he stared at Batman’s unmoving form on the rooftop. A cruel mocking laughter spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it, words aimed to hurt like acid following. “Right, just another way for you to control what I do, huh? Fuck that. I'm not part of your motley crew, and you don't get to just boss me around.”

That damned impassive cowl, that damn decade-trained steady form, nothing that indicated a reaction to Jason’s words was visible on Bruce. His hands were tucked under the cape wrapped around him, concealing his body from sight and the (for once) non-existent breeze. His jaw was tense, but that was nowadays par with the course. All at once he could recall a time when Bruce didn't have quite so much tension lining his body, when his smiles cost less and his love even lesser, but that memory slipped away like sand washed under a tide.

There was a barely present hesitance growing in the air the longer they remained in the oppressive silence, something building up in Bruce’s throat but not leaving the dam of his lips. Jason’s impatience only grew, irritation flaring in his gut and mixing with the lingering unease. Batman’s cowl lens flashed as his mouth opened once, twice, before finally calling his name. “Jason,” he began before pausing again, the visible part of his face grimacing, “I- I’m not- we were simply worried-”

Before he could respond, before he could conjure up the vitriol brewing in his chest, two simultaneous pings cut through the atmosphere and drew their attention to their communicators. Only a direct team-wide notification from Oracle could override the restrictions Jason had added to his comm. Dread pooled in his stomach once again, rising and falling like waves attracted to the turmoil in his heart.

“One incoming hostile identified, heading towards Park Row in T-minus 3 minutes. Identity unknown, not one of the rogues.”

“Keep us updated, Oracle. Red Hood and I are on-site. We will handle it. Standby for backup.”

Protests rang out over the comms, Damian loudly demanding to be allowed to join their father in facing the enemy. Dick, ever the loyal and protective son, immediately affirmed himself for backup on standby. Tim had pulled up security cameras following the route highlighted by Oracle, relaying that they couldn't find any evidence of a presence other than a dark blurry figure racing towards Park Row. Their abilities were unknown, their skill set unknown. They were going in completely blind. Jason was going in blind with Bruce for company.

Great. He knew this dreadful fucking quiet wouldn't last long. Fucking fantastic.

It was the evening after Valentine’s day and Jason was completely sick of it. Every single social media platform was overflowing with either sappy scenes of love, women bragging about the gifts their partners had given them, or unrelenting and horrifying drama that frankly shouldn't have been posted on the internet for the sake of the people involved.

‘Or not,’ he shivered as he recalled some of the exposing type videos he had seen, ‘I guess some of those shitbags deserved being called out on the internet.’

Jason’s school had even allowed for the students to exchange letters in the name of friendship, and he had watched the popular pretty girl cringe at some of the letters she had received. Seriously, if people had the balls to give the prettiest girl in school a card, they should at the very least ensure to write it legibly. That horrible pickup line written in a destructive chicken scratch he spotted in the corner of his eye would've made lesser men cry.

Other than the disgusting sappy flowery shit that was circulating, one old trend had resurfaced both online and in real life as it did every year. Everywhere he turned, swiped or clicked, someone was asking another person the million dollar question that could make or break a relationship.

No, it wasn't ‘Will you marry me?’ as he almost wished it was

It was, of course, ‘Would you still love me if I was a worm?’

Ugh, he could gag.

The age-old question was tossed around like spare change from one couple to another, nobody seemed to be immune from the urge to ask it. Even Dick had fallen prey to the compulsion, having bought a bouquet of flowers and expensive designer chocolate (with his own money, as he liked to remind them) for Koriand'r before he had asked the question. She hadn't really understood the purpose of the question (if it did have one), but her enthusiastic ‘yes' had appeased his sorta-maybe older brother. Jason was almost thankful he didn't have a partner, lest he turn into one of these sappy people. He was just 14, thank you. No hypothetical worm-transformation scenarios for him.

Instead of calling Alfred to pick him up after school as he usually did, he had requested him and Bruce to allow him to walk home today. The walk had been peaceful for the most part, the sky had taken on a soft gradient from bright midday blue to the cooler tones of the approaching evening. He entered the manor, a little later than usual, heading into the kitchen with his belongings to ask Alfred for something to snack on as he did his homework. What greeted him wasn't the elderly butler fussing over a pot on the stove, but rather a mound of scented letters and flowers spilling out of large bouquets. The combined cloying smell of artificial sweetness and an obscene amount of pollen had made his stomach roll and he backtracked, regretting his life choices when Alfred had entered, carrying what looked to be several empty garbage bags and a tray in his gloved hands. He paused when he took in Jason’s form, his nose and mouth covered by his hand, and sighed. He must've seen the big red question mark hovering over the boy’s head, deciding that an explanation and context was necessary. The Englishman moved his gaze to the overfilled center counter, working on stuffing the flowers into a garbage bag and placing the particularly pretty ones on the tray as he spoke.

“Welcome back, Master Jason. I hope you had a good day in school today. Do forgive the mess, I was not expecting your arrival and did not have the time to clean up Master Bruce’s mail yet.”

Bruce’s mail.

Flowers and scented letters.

Bruce’s mail?

Oh. Right. Valentine’s day. His father was one of the most eligible bachelors in the whole of America. How could he forget?

It had been a year since Bruce had decided to take him in after he tried to steal his tires, and Jason could pretty safely say that it was the best thing to have ever happened to him. Bruce had given him a home, food and clothes, a stable means to the education he craved so much, and most of all, he had given him family. It was pretty obvious how awkward Bruce was when dealing with emotions, how he rarely let himself succumb to their devastating pull. But he tried. He tried, for Jason, for Dick, and for Alfred.

He ruffled his hair with every minor achievement, sneaked him out for ice cream during and out of patrol without Alfred’s knowledge, sat with him and did his homework with him even if he had other work to do. He had cooked for him when he had fallen ill with a nasty flu and had sung him to sleep in a dreamy low baritone. He had held him through his breakdowns, he had paid for his mother’s funeral, he had single handedly turned Jason’s life around, made it into something actually worth living, something better.

(The first time Jason had called him dad, Bruce had honestly been moved to tears. Jason barely had the time to realise the implications of what he had said before he was pulled into his father’s chest in an all encompassing embrace, Bruce’s quiet love permeating their shared space and saturating his surroundings. Bruce’s wide torso bent forward, covering him completely before he had moved back, getting down to his eye level. Jason had never felt more secure than the moment his father had held him so close, his heartbeat strong and steady in his chest, beating so close to his ear. They had cuddled and talked for over two hours that day, reassuring each other of their love and mutual affection. Bruce had then carried him to bed like he was simply 5 years old, had tucked him in despite his half-hearted protests and pressed his lips to the furrow of his brow and the peak of his forehead. His own way of saying ‘I love you’, the safe way, he had realised when he saw Bruce do the same for Dick after he had gotten injured during a mission with the Titans.)

Knowing your father was famous for his looks and style was one thing. Realising how true that fact was was a whole different can of worms. Realizing what that fact meant for him as the son of said man famous for his ethereal looks and charming personality was something Jason would not like to experience again. Jason had not come to terms with it yet, always dogging Bruce’s heels at the galas he attended, claiming his attention like a tiny rain soaked pup. He had almost bitten off a man’s hand when he had wandered too close to Bruce once. Dick had sneaked into his room that day after Bruce had left for patrol just to give him an approving thumbs up before leaving. Alfred had lectured him about gala etiquette, but the extra cookie for dessert didn't fool anyone.

This new knowledge caused him to scrunch his nose in disgust at the piled up junk on the counter. Heaven knows what crap they had written in those letters and what they had added to those flowers. Jason hoped Alfred was turning them into incinerator fuel. He could already bet 20 dollars on there being a letter written by a parasocial creep asking if his ‘beloved Brucie’ would love him if he became a worm, followed by a truly 0/10 shitty pun. Alfred smiling in amusement at the visible disdain on his face, continuing to clean up the counter, soon accompanied by a smaller pair of hands. Together, Jason and Alfred had cleared the entire mail before Bruce returned from the unavoidable Wayne Enterprises meeting he had scheduled for today.

Barely-there footsteps alerted Alfred to his ward’s arrival, and the butler’s shifting attention clued Jason in on the new arrival. Jason quickly got rid of the last of the evidence as Alfred set up a few snacks for the father-son pair to enjoy with newly brewed tea. Just as both of them were done with their respective tasks, Bruce had entered the doorway to the kitchen, one hand working on loosening his tie and the other musing up his gelled hair. His eyes fell on Jason’s smiling face and Alfred’s fond expression, tension leaking out of his shoulders in waves as he moved to take a seat on the barstools next to the counters. His socked feet were hefted onto the stepping bar on the stool, his hands folding onto the counter as he looked at his son and his father figure together in a shared space. It still made him unnecessarily happy to see his family sharing space and working together, a small smile blossoming on his face, lifted into place by the smell of fresh cookies and tea, ballpen ink and cheap printed A4 paper.

“Evening Alfred, welcome back Jason. How was school today, chum?”

The boy beamed at the older man, sun warmed skin splitting as a boyish grin covered his face. “Welcome back Bruce! I hope your meeting was more interesting than last time. Let me tell you, lunch hour was crazy! Anne Cathy rejected Kelly Cooper in front of the whole cafeteria and it was-” As the pair fell into middle school gossip, Alfred chuckled to himself before moving to start on supper preparations, keeping an ear out as Jason recounted the drama that occurred over lunch and bled into the rest of the day. Bruce was invested in the story, amusement shining in his eyes as he watched his son continue to detail out the witness stories and backgrounds of the pair involved. Apparently, Kelly Copper had given Anne Cathy a card for Valentine’s day and had asked her out on a dare, hoping for an easy acceptance, except Anne had ruthlessly torn into him in vengeance, airing out his dirty laundry and humiliating him in front of 40 or so other middle schoolers. It was basically a social death sentence. By the end of the day, Kelly had fallen from his Sports Star status to yet another average middle schooler, just with tons more embarrassing stories staining his throne in tomato splatters. Middle schoolers could be more cruel than Gotham high society at times.

As laughter erupted and eventually petered out into a warm joy, a sudden thought made Jason stop and face a moral dilemma. Was he really considering doing this? When he had just spent the whole afternoon mock gagging over this cheesy bullshit? On one hand, the idea of asking Bruce the question was intriguing, as it was bound to bring about unexpected and funny results. On the other hand, it was very cringey. Jason took a few seconds to debate the pros and cons over in his head, weighing each option on an imaginary scale before coming to his conclusion.

It may be cringe, but at least he would be cringe and free. Also, watching Bruce flounder when asked that question would be so worth it.

“Bruce?” His father inclined his head, signalling for Jason to go on with his query. A teasing smirk fit onto Jason’s face as he spoke the next few words. “Would you still love me if I became a worm?”

Silence fell over the room as Bruce turned to stare at him blankly. Jason could practically see the hundred thousand geared machine that was Bruce’s mind turn and run to try and comprehend what he was just asked. Jason could even see him trying to come up with an answer that he thought wouldn't offend his son who clearly asked him a serious question, as if he hadn't asked it just to watch Bruce try and come up with an answer for fun. Bruce was nothing if not an overthinker, and he was obviously debating all the common answers one would give to someone who asked them such a question.

‘Yes I would’? Have you considered what that means for you as a human who would love and raise a worm?

‘No I wouldn't’? So you would deny any affection for me simply because I am not like you?

‘It's complicated’? Oh Fuck you, you sorry coward. Escaping the question in such an obvious answer.

There was no right answer to the question and only one widely semi-accepted solution to it (something only the people completely serious about it would accept). No matter what Bruce answered, Jason would have a retort ready to make him more confused. It was a master plan of epic proportions, the Riddler could never.

(Somewhere in Arkham Asylum, Edward Nigma sneezed.)

Bruce’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened. Closed again. He was doing a very accurate depiction of a goldfish and Jason was having the time of his life. Even Alfred looked amused, watching his indomitable Master Bruce, the World’s Greatest Detective, trip over himself for a simple question just so he doesn't accidentally offend his darling son’s delicate sensibilities.

By the time Bruce had collected himself enough to give Jason a clear answer, Jason had decided to relieve the man of his stress and moved to leave the room, snagging the last cookie off of the plate, grabbing his bag from the ground and climbing the stairs to his room. His laughter bloomed and blossomed, coating the walls of the Manor like a fresh coat of pearlescent paint. The hallways echoed with childish glee and innocent joy. The evening sun peeked in through the windows and the portraits covering the walls basked in the invited sunlight. Bruce’s home was lively once again.

That night after dinner, instead of leaving on patrol as he was wont to do, Bruce had knocked on his door, holding something behind his broad back with a slightly nervous look on his face. Jason opened the door for him, trying and failing to peek at what Bruce was holding as they both sat on his large soft bed. Jason watched as Bruce took a moment to properly gather his thoughts before he spoke.

“I… thought about your question.” he started, gaze shifting from Jason’s warm teal eyes to the floor and then the ceiling. “And. I think you brought up… a very valid concern.”

Now it was Jason’s turn to be confused and honestly kind of worried. What? That was supposed to just be a stupid question, aimed to poke fun at his dad. What did he mean by a ‘valid concern’?

“With the existence of magic and our, admittedly, lacking knowledge on how the art works, there is always a non-zero chance of something similar occurring in the line of duty. And. it would be optimal to have a safe space to contain an accomplice in that case. So.” His dad’s awkwardly rehearsed speech was only half heard as he continued to stare at Bruce in bewilderment. Bruce finally revealed just what he was hiding behind him. Jason gaped at him as a semi-large box was revealed to him. The words ‘Terrarium building kit’ in bold neon yellow block letters were plastered on all sides of the box, depictions of different living and self-sustaining biomes contained in glass containers popping out as backgrounds.

For a moment, Jason was completely sure his father was pulling his leg, but no. The set of his eyebrows and the glint in his eye revealed that Bruce was being completely, irrevocably serious about this.

“Do you want to build a terrarium habitat with me?”

He couldn't help it, Jason burst out in hysterical laughter, the pitch of his voice rising higher and higher like a helium filled balloon in an open concept home. Tiny tears escaped his eyes as he bent over himself, clutching his stomach as he laughed at the truly paranoid mind of one Bruce Thomas Wayne. He couldn't believe it. This was what his dad had been obsessing over most of the evening? This went beyond his expectations. No, it crashed straight past them like a wrecking ball. God, this was hilarious.

“B, B-man, Bruce, you can't be-” He hiccuped through his words, giggles interrupting him as he moved his gaze back to his father’s slightly bemused face. “Oh my god, you are actually so serious I can't- Hah! Dick would never believe this-” He continued laughing his ass off for a few more moments before Bruce realised the hilarity of the situation and he was joined by a hesitant and subdued windy laughter. He grinned at his dad, amusement leaking out of every cell in his body at the light chuckles he was releasing before he hopped off of the bed.

“Oh, I can't believe you are willing to miss patrol for this- Come on dad! We have a terrarium to build, contingencies to make, all that fun stuff.”

“It seems like a quiet day, what can I say?”

With that, the duo ventured into the Batcave, entering winding halls before Bruce showed him an honest to god Aquarium tank the size of a medium sized cabinet surrounded by bags of compost and terrarium soil. He gave him a small sheepish smile, palm running through his gently mussed hair as he tried to explain their existence to his laughing 14 year old. “The box is for one of those tiny tanks chum, you can not be thinking I would make you a tiny worm house, now would you?

The rest of the night was spent in the Batcave, shovelling dirt and sand into the tank. The activity was interrupted by stupid dad jokes and giggle fests so loud they disturbed Bruce’s pet cave bats. Bruce had allowed Jason to skip school the next day, calling Lucius to let him know he wouldn't be attending any meetings that day. Instead, the two of them had shared a hearty breakfast courtesy of Alfred, donned their best civilian disguises and ventured into the streets of Gotham in one of Bruce’s less fancy cars. They had visited parks, collected driftwood and broken branches and rocks with patches of moss Jason thought would look pretty. Bruce had patiently lugged around the containers containing their finding to and fro the car, had wadded into ponds after Jason trying to keep him from falling in the waters going after a particular piece of wood, had collected all the different kind of moss in the parks even though the kit came with a fast growing variety. They had then hit the hardware stores, buying humidifiers and screws and tubes of various sizes and other miscellaneous thingamagigs Bruce thought they would need (Jason had initially patiently let Bruce indulge in his love for building and mechanics in the hardware store, but that patience had quickly run out as he started to compare the pros and cons of two wrenches that looked virtually the same to him. If it had been up to him, he would have picked the cheaper one, but Bruce’s rich kid sensibilities would have never agreed with his assessment).

They had stayed out way past lunch time, buying and feasting on the kind of greasy fast food Jason liked and Bruce typically never indulged in because Alfred would never approve. They had licked their lips and Bruce had wiped the mess of sauce on Jason’s flaming face despite his squirming and kicking. They went back home with ice cream cones in hand and a car full of terrarium supplies, playfully jabbing at each other's choice of ice cream flavour. Alfred’s deadpan stare did nothing to quell the easy satisfaction in Jason’s heart as he and Bruce went straight to the cave to continue installing their little project.

By the time they were done, night had fallen and dinner was being served. The sweet caramel haze of the day had not faded in the slightest, the crunch of oreos in sugary cream stayed on his mind even as he pulled his blankets over his face to sleep. It was a school night and Bruce had made it clear he wouldn't be accompanying him on those days, so he settled for bed with laughter and gentle smiles drifting in his drowsy mind.

It was simply the best day ever.

They had never ended up using that terrarium. A non-zero chance was not a guarantee, and Jason had not stayed around long enough to see their little project be put to any use.

Bruce had almost taken an axe to the thriving biosphere in his desperate rage and drowning guilt one day. Instead, he simply moved the tank into a hidden room, curled around the glass enclosure and sobbed himself into restless sleep before it was time to patrol again. If the noses he had broken that day reminded him of his almost disastrous decision, that was only for him to know.

Batman and Red Hood quickly evacuated the rooftop, moving in long strides towards their hostile target. The tenseness of their previous conversation hung over them like the blade of a guillotine waiting to fall and divorce their heads from their bodies. It was hidden to the common eye, but a trained individual would be able to tell that they weren't really in the most optimal formation for a battle. Years of fighting crime together didn't hold up against family angst, it had been so long since they both stood side by side against a common enemy. Sure, Jason had been joining the Bats during their patrols and sometimes lent a helping hand, but he mostly stuck to long ranged cover. Even when he did join them in close combat, the Bats took care to pair him up with anyone other than the big daddy Bat. They were an active minefield waiting to explode at any given moment, and regardless of their professional nature on duty, no one trusted them to not blow up at each other when in close proximity. It was in everyone’s interest to not let them interact, and that choice meant they never got used to each other in battle again. That was really coming to bite them in the ass now.

Not that they were not adaptable if push came to shove (as it was, right now), it would have simply been easier to get used to each other before rather than during battle with an unknown entity.

The sharp clicking sounds of heels disrupted the tense silence that had fallen in the area, giggling so very reminiscent of a hyena’s laughter echoing off of Gotham’s narrow alleyways and tall walls. A short feminine figure emerged from the shadows, a comically large witch hat flopping around on her head. A manic grin was etched onto her face as her gaze immediately fell on the vigilante pair ready to lunge at her should she do anything to warrant it. The Batman had his signature batarangs lining every junction of his palms and the Red Hood’s hands were already loaded with his dual pistols. Her giggling intensified as she stared the pair down, stance loose and careless. Self assured. She had no visible weapon in sight, her long black pigtails swaying ever so slightly in Gotham breeze.

(Jason had to scoff, really? The breeze decided to blow right now of all times? Fuck Gotham Quiet man)

“Oh my! What a charming reception! The big bad bat and the red riding hood just to welcome little old me? I'm flattered!” her sardonic voice cooed. The pair had tensed further as she talked, cautious around the new player in their midst. Batman hoped that by letting her ramble, they would be able to gain some idea on her abilities. Though, given her choice of attire (and the absurdly large hat), he could safely assume that she used magic. Great. Just great. Fucking fantastic.

Bruce signalled to stay down and not engage unless she moved, but Jason was getting really tired of today. The steadily rising unease that had plagued him the whole evening had made him more than a little irritable, and he was just itching for a quick fight. Before Bruce could stop him, Jason had already fired at the woman only to watch them be deflected by some sort of force field.

The woman simply laughed louder, a mocking smile slipping higher on her face before she started to ‘tsk’ at them. “How very very rude, young man. Not polite at all! I was hoping to pass through with only a little chaos for the road, but you've gone and done it!” Her palms shimmered for a second before an unidentifiable object flew from a random direction towards Jason. It was only his training and reflexes that saved him from spilling his brain matter on the asphalt. He dodged the projectile, discovering it to be a rock. He hadn't seen her throw a rock, neither was anyone hidden in the shadows. It was only them.

“Come on now, show Madame Kaos a good time!”

It soon divulged into a frenzy of dodging random flying objects and dancing around her without stepping on each other’s toes. They were doing a remarkable job actually, not getting in each other's way, too preoccupied with dodging their own weapons being used against them. Jason ducked his head to leave the flight path of what looked like a demon possessed batarang just as Bruce literally dodged a bullet flying at him straight down from the sky. Anything in their surroundings seemed to be fair game as a weapon for her, as she soon graduated from using rocks and fired bullets to manhole covers and garbage can lids. At her command, cardboard junk turned into animated cutouts of cartoon characters attacking them, heavy metal sheets flew about like oversized frisbees, weeds growing along the edges tried to trip them as they dodged and weaved and attempted to attack her. Bruce had gotten close once, delivering a few heavy blows before he became preoccupied with dodging once again. She didn't exactly seem to have much combat training, so taking her down shouldn't be too much of an issue. If only they could get close enough to actually hit her again.

Tim’s voice crackled over the comms, yelling out weak spots for him to try and hit with his rubber bullets. He bit back the urge to yell back at him that he was preoccupied with trying not to get his neck sliced in two and instead readied his guns once again. He didn't want to waste his bullets, and he especially didn't want to give her more options for flying projectiles, so had to make it quick and accurate. Tim had pointed out a gap in her stance, uncovered by the force field sporadically appearing to ward off the stray thrown batarang before animating the metal into a deranged demon bat. He had to give it to the little stalker, he had observant eyes for someone observing the battle from the shitty Gotham security cameras.

As Jason took aim, Bruce had also heard what Tim had planned and took to diverting Madame Kaos’ attention from his son, throwing more batarangs and slicing through the cardboard cutouts clutching at his legs. In the instant her attention was taken, Jason fired, bullet striking true and strong in the sensitive spot. The woman doubled over in pain, all her projectiles dropping to the ground as the magic driving them was cut off. Bruce had immediately taken out a weighted bundle of net from god knows where, throwing it over the woman to immobilize her.

Seeing as the woman was down, Bruce took the chance to move closer after a few tense observatory moments in an attempt to restrain her for custody. From the side, Jason could see her hands shine in a way that alerted him that she was going to make another move. But Bruce wouldn't see it coming, Jason realised, her hand wasn't in his line of sight, conveniently hidden by her long hair and bent over body.

‘This isn't like people write in books’, Jason thought as he moved, intercepting whatever attack Madame Kaos was about to unleash on his father Bruce. Time didn't slow down for him, there was no dramatic moment, no tense musical crescendo playing as he was hit by a bright beam of violet light. Only desperation fueling him, only the view of his father’s face as he was blocked from the attack, the devastation visible even through his cowl, just the searing pain of his cells being torn apart and put together again and again. If it wasn't so glaringly painful, he would almost compare it to using a zeta tube.

His scream of pain cut off abruptly, leaving the area in a stilted silence. He felt himself grow smaller and smaller, body losing its shape as he writhed through waves upon waves of pain. He felt himself shift into something distinctly non-human, calloused skin folding over itself once, twice, a thousand times and becoming a hard shell. His legs didn't feel normal anymore, didn't feel like his aching pair anymore. On that note, he couldn't distinguish between his different limbs. It all felt like a fever dream, an excruciatingly painful weed trip.

It took him a few moments to regain control over his senses, eyes opening to view the world around him. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, everything looked fuzzy and discoloured, as if multiple copies of the same picture were placed on top of a single frame. His hearing came next, frantic calls of his name falling from Bruce’s lips prompting him to turn in that direction. He looked up, up, up at Bruce, all the way from the ground. His impassive face was twisted in obvious worry and concern. Jason tried to look for the woman and discovered that she was nowhere in sight. Bruce had let her escape!

“Are you serious?! All that work and you let her get away???”

Suddenly, Jason realised that he hadn't opened his mouth to say anything. Or rather, he couldn't make those sounds with his mouth. But clearly Bruce had heard him, since he looked at Jason with bewilderment, concern and a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

“...Jason?”

The incredulity in Bruce’s voice was not giving Jason any good vibes. Hesitantly, Bruce went down on his knees and reached out a gauntlet-covered hand to him, reaching all the way to the ground right in front of Jason. Well, he supposed, if he had really shrunk to such a small size, assistance was required. It would also be safer than walking around on the ground as a tiny being. With a great amount of reluctance, Jason moved to climb Bruce’s palm.

Or well, tried to.

Because he suddenly had way too many legs to control.

What the actual fuck?

It seemed that he had ‘said’ it out loud as well, because Bruce let out a hysterical snort.

Jason tried to turn and look at himself, but found himself unable to turn his head without turning his whole body. His legs did not cooperate with him in his panicked state and there were two random long red things waving themselves around in his line of sight. He tried to get up off the ground and failed miserably.

Bruce finally seemed to take some pity on him, retrieving a small piece of reflective metal from his utility belt and letting Jason look at himself.

Jason ‘screamed’.

By god, did the universe love to fuck with him. It was almost like he was her favourite punching bag.

He had been turned into a worm.

A WORM.

“You're a centipede, Jason. Not a worm.”

Yes, Thank you for the clarification, Bruce. It wasn't like they had more important things to be focusing on, such as him BECOMING A DAMN CENTIPEDE.

He ‘yelped’ as he was plucked off of the ground and placed on Bruce’s palm. He tried to bite the man in his outrage, but the gauntlet shielded him from the bite. Shame, centipede bites were painful as fuck.

“Don’t bite me Jason”

‘Fuck you Bruce.’

“Language, Jason. It appears that you can communicate via some form of telepathy.”

Oh great, he was one step away from starring in A Bug’s life.

Great. Just great. How fucking fantastic.

‘Fuck my life.’

“Language.”

Thank you @cheriecelestial for motivating me to finish this lol and again, the banners as well :3

Part one is over, let's see how long it takes for me to write part two.

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