A Better Choice Part4
A Better Choice Part 4 (Through A Glass Lightly series)
Fandom: Batman
Continuity: Post-Crisis AU, Umbra Verse
Characters: Jason, Dick, Joker
Rating: PG-13?
Warnings: Foul Language, Violence
Word Count: 5,688
Summary: What should have happened in Batman 427 after Bruce was an ass and Jason went looking for his biological mom.
A/N: This is the result of a brainstorming session for a different fic with vespertila. Thank you dragonbat2006 for the excellent beta! Parts one, two and three this way.
It’s odd. Jason honestly never would have thought that finding a relief aid worker would be harder than finding a Mossad agent. For all that a few phone calls get him a friendly voice who tells him, in English, that Dr. Shelia Hayward is in Ethiopia, no one can give him anything more specific. Apparently, the workers move around as needed and the paperwork is constantly playing catch-up.
Four days and five refugee camps later, Jason is hot, tired and more than a little frustrated. Okay, so that’s an understatement.
And on top of that, the heat isn’t helping Dick’s cold. If anything, it’s making it worse. He has no idea how that one works. There have got to be some nasty side effects to everything he’s been taking, but the guy insists he’s fine, that he’s managed to push through worse.
They don’t talk. Well they do, but not about the subject they are both avoiding. What if Sheila is his mother? Dealing with her isn’t going to be like dealing with the others. She’s a civilian, so it’ll perfectly okay for Jason Todd to approach her. Maybe he’ll raise a few eyebrows, but being a white teenager in a refugee camp will do that all on its own.
Their land rover crawls into the camp outside of Magdala. It’s not the first such camp they’ve been inside, today, but as before, the devastation and sheer human suffering is profound. It makes him... it makes him feel like an ungrateful little wretch. He’s Bruce Wayne’s adoptive son, so legally he’s heir to the man’s billions. But that has never been important to him. What is, is that he has a sweet fucking life waiting for him back in Gotham. And a family, even if Bruce is a world-class jackass at times.
He frowns as Dick parks the vehicle.
“Hey, Little Wing.” Dick is right there, his hand on Jay’s shoulder. The concern is positively oozing off of him.
Jason just looks around. “It’s not like Gotham. The problem isn’t something we can make bleed and take to jail.” His voice sounds just as dejected as he feels. Expect that it’s more than that. His emotions are a knot in the pit of his stomach and he can’t even begin to sort them out.
“No, it’s not,” Dick agrees a measure of sorrow in his own voice. “But like Gotham, you do what you can, when you can. When we’re finished, we can call Bruce and tell him that the Wayne foundation needs to cut a check.”
A frown crosses his face. “It won’t be enough, Dick. It won’t ever be enough.”
“I know.” No words of encouragement, no attempts to lighten the mood. He looks at Dick and sees him watching a too-thin child totter slowly towards a simple lean-to shelter and the woman inside it.
Jason takes a deep, steadying breath. Focus. He needs to focus.
They begin asking questions. In English. It takes some time to find someone who can understand them. Eventually their efforts are rewarded when a middle-aged Ethiopian man points them in the right direction. “You’ll find her in that tent. It’s her office.”
Finally! His thoughts are on the woman he’s about to meet, even as his feet run toward their destination. Distantly, he hears Dick wheezing a little as he moves to keep up. Jason doesn’t wait up. Nor can he stop himself from impatiently pushing back the tent flap and peering inside.
A blonde woman is standing over a table, looking at some papers. She turns to the entrance with a surprised expression. Jason can only stand there, taking in the color of her blue eyes, so like the ones he sees in the mirror.
“Can I help you?”
Some part of Jason is disappointed that there is no look of recognition on Sheila’s face, but realistically, there wouldn’t be. She must have given him up when he was very young, seeing as he has no memory of her. He smiles for both of them.
“Uh. Hi,” he says lamely. He’s just standing there, blocking the entrance. He doesn’t move until Dick nudges him in the fucking kidney. Then he steps in, his hands at his sides. “Um. I’m Jason. I think. You might be... my mother?”
Sheila is still blinking at him, but there is a thoughtful look in her eyes now. She’s considering it.
Dick presses forward and offers the doctor his hand. “Dr. Hayward, what my brother is-“
The woman’s eyes get wider, and somewhat suspicious. “What? Are you claiming to be my son, too?”
Dick holds up his hands before Jason can say anything. “No, no. We aren’t related by blood. We were both taken in by Bruce Wayne, back in Gotham City.”
The suspicion is gone, replaced by something else as Jason moves closer.
“I’m Dick Grayson. And this is Jason Todd.”
“Todd?” she repeats. Then her eyes widen, and Jason’s heart leaps. She raises a hand to her lips. “Oh my God,” comes the gasped realization.
The teen is standing before her. “Mother?” he whispers, before throwing his arms about her slim waist, pressing close, and holding tight. “Mother! Mother! Mother!” And he knows. He can feel it. He’s found her.
He barely hears as Dick excuses himself, saying something about finding out if anyone needs an extra pair of hands. For long moments he just clings to the woman that gave birth to him. Smiling, he pulls back and lets go. “I’m sorry, I just... I’ve been looking for you, and-”
She shushes him with a finger to his lips and a little smile. “It’s more than alright. But let’s sit.” Sheila waves him to the other folding chair at the table. “I want to know all about you and your life back in Gotham.”
They talk. Or, rather, Jason talks. He explains about how his father started going in and out of jail. Then how he died. Jason omits the fact that it was Two-Face that killed him, since there’s no way he’d know that as a civilian. He’s a bit more hesitant when telling of Catherine’s illness. It’s been four years since her passing and his having to fend for himself, but it still cuts deep. He talks of Bruce and how he’s kind of a dork, again giving an edited version.
Sheila listens, flashing him sympathetic looks as he talks. And she laughs a little at his description of Brucie’s behaviour. She asks about what school he goes to and if he’s happy at the manor. Jason tells her about the garage full of really sweet cars and how he can’t wait to turn sixteen and get his licence. He feels like an ass at how much he has to censor it all. She’s his mother, but he can’t tell her the most important part.
Finally, he has to ask the one question that’s been eating at him: Why did she give him up?
She smiles at him gently. “I was a struggling med student when I met and fell in love with your father,” Sheila recounts in a gentle voice. “Shortly after you were born, I got into trouble.” Jason watches as her expression turns pinched, pensive. This is clearly not a happy memory for her, but he doesn’t interrupt. “The incident put an end to my medical career back in the States.” There’s something more which she’s not telling. Did someone force her to quit? Blacklist her? What had happened he wasn’t to demand, but doesn’t. “Willis was supposed to join me, once I settled in England.”
Jason bites his lip slightly. He can’t say anything, not yet. He can tell that this is difficult for her, and the best thing he can do is let her get it all out in the open in her own time.
She turns to look at her hands as she continues. “But your father fell in love with Catherine Johnson before I could send for him.” She takes a deep breath before continuing, turning away from him. “Willis wrote to me about her, telling me that they had been married a few days earlier. I thought it best to let them raise you as their own.” Much as he wants to, Jason can’t see her expression. But the sorrow in her tone tells him everything he needs to know. “I had neither funds, nor any hope of winning custody of you in a legal battle.”
Standing, Jason moves closer and puts a hand on the woman’s-on his mother’s-shoulder. When she looks up at him, she wears a pleading expression that begs him for understanding.
“Besides, a custody fight would have been rough on you,” she says earnestly. “I finally accepted the fact that I would probably never see you again.”
Of course he understands. He’s seen the ugly outcome of such things, sometimes behind police tape, and that she thought of what was best for him... He wraps his arms about her shoulders from behind and hugs her tightly, his cheek pressed to her hair. “It must have been so hard for you,” he whispers. She sits there, accepting his affection, reciprocating by placing her hands on Jason’s forearms.
Her breathing hitches a little as she soldiers on bravely. “I managed... My work helped me get through....” She looks at the cheap little travel clock on the table and reluctantly moves to disengage Jason’s hold. “Speaking of work, you’re going to have to excuse me for a little while, Jason,” she says ruefully, getting up from her chair.
Jason is taken aback. “Huh?” He’s finally found her, and now she has to cut their reunion short?!
“It’s camp business I can’t get out of, Jason,” she explains gently, putting a hand on his back and lightly ushering him to the tent flap. “Wait outside. Maybe you can help with the food dispersal. I’ll be done in an hour or so.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets to keep himself from hugging her again. “Okay.” Of course she can’t get out of it. There aren’t enough aid workers as is, an all-too-common problem. And her work here is very important. He shouldn’t be selfish.
Heading out, he spots a familiar blue-black shock of hair at a tent with open sides-some sort of a rudimentary kitchen, from the look of it. And yes, that was a sniffle. Jason sure hopes someone gave Dick a mask to wear before they let him help with the food. When Jason gets close enough he asks, “Need a hand?”
Dick turns to him and yes, he’s wearing one of those dinky little paper things. “Mmm, probably. Go ask Negasi over there.” He gestures to a dark-skinned man in a dirty blue shirt. Jason doesn’t see Dick’s concerned look.
He presents himself to Negasi, who is glad of the extra help, and is quickly set to work dishing out the depressingly-small portions of rice. The children taking the bowls break his heart.
As he works, his mind wanders freely, and it takes idle notice of the vehicle that pulls up outside of his mom’s tent. He watches, wondering if this is the business Sheila mentioned and with whom it’s being conducted. His storm-blue eyes widen as he sees who steps out.
Holy shit!
Granted, he’s put on flesh-coloured make up, and he’s sporting a safari helmet, but there is no mistaking who it is. The Joker is heading to his mom’s tent, followed by two large, muscle-bound goons.
Jason abandons his position, ignoring the angry yells that greet his departure. He’s focused on his goal: the back of his mother’s tent. He needs to listen in. Not even the Joker is stupid enough to try something in the middle of a refugee camp. He hopes.
Skulking around the back of the tent he settles in for some eavesdropping, something that is ridiculously easy through the thin canvas. He doesn’t jump out of his skin when Dick comes up behind him, even though he hadn’t heard the asshole moving. The guy’s almost as bad as Bruce. Which shouldn’t exactly surprise him.
“What are we doing back here?” Dick asks in a hoarse whisper. Jason says a quick prayer to any power listening that Dick won’t start hacking up a lung.
“Joker is in there, with... Mom.” Saying it aloud makes it all so much more real, and he’s not sure he can stay here, only listening. His mom is in danger as long as Joker is here.
“Him?!” The acrobat is whispering, but it’s still hideously loud. “Here?!”
Jason slaps a hand over the idiot’s mouth and glares at him. Thankfully, Dick actually grabs a clue and shuts up, but the hand stays where it is. Just in case. Turning his attention back to the voices in the tent, he listens intently.
“-hands on the six truckloads of medical supplies. How you arrange it is your problem, Sweetie.” That’s the Joker’s nasal, slightly manic voice. It raises every hair on the back of Jason’s neck. “But remember, if you screw this up, your superiors will learn of the medical trouble that drove you to this rat-hole. The Gotham City police are still rather interested in who performed the sloppy operation on that poor, dead teenager.” The canvas does nothing to distort the sickeningly-coy tone.
Joker is blackmailing his mom into helping him! Jason’s not going to bolt in there and kick ass, even though he really, really wants to. That would be stupid. Almost as stupid as Dick licking his hand to remind him it’s still covering the guy’s mouth. It would be gross... if he weren’t trying to hear more of the exchange. He drops the hand, and Dick carefully moves closer.
“You’ve got a good thing going for you here as chief distributor of medical supplies for the area. Don’t mess it up.” It’s not a suggestion, or even a threat. It’s an order, and Joker expects it to be followed. Jason is going to seriously enjoy smashing the bastard’s face in.
There are sounds of movement from within the tent.
“Shall we go to the warehouse, then?” The Joker speaks again. It’s not a question and he sounds so damned pleased with himself. “My drivers are awaiting our arrival.”
He sits back on his heels, but only a moment, then he’s moving to the flap. He’s just in time to see the bastard, his two muscle-bound thugs, and Sheila get in the waiting jeep. Shit.
Dick has a hand on his shoulder and is pointing at a guy who is just getting off his dirt bike. Yeah, that will do. Jason goes up and grabs the bike. The guy starts yelling, but Jason’s already on it, and Dick’s hopping up behind him.
They take off after the jeep. Jason is thankful that the Joker isn’t driving particularly fast; otherwise, their borrowed, gutless bike would have been left behind.
Though the depot isn’t far, it takes an impossibly long time. Longer because they are following the road from the cliff above, it and the track isn’t all that straight. His heart pounds every time their path veers away from the road and he wonders if this time they’ve lost them.
Finally, he stops the bike. Both he and Dick get off. Here, the cliff has petered to almost nothing, with only a few boulders to provide cover. It’s really not great for them, but it will have to do.
“Let’s get those doors open, Sheila, honey.” The Joker’s gleeful voice carries easily. “My boys are anxious to earn their share of this ill-gotten booty.”
Jason watches with a sinking feeling, as his mother unlocks the doors and pushes them wide.
The six trucks are already at the loading dock and the Joker’s men are taking boxes from off of them. Sheila asks the question that has been bugging Jason, though he has to read her lips to make out the words.
“Why are those men unloading boxes into the warehouse?”
“To replace the ones we’re going to steal.” The clown sounds downright happy, which is damned scary given the sorts of things that the Joker enjoys.
“Are they empty?” Sheila presses. It’s another good question. Jason is biting his lip even as he frowns. His mom is being forced to help the Joker, but she has good instincts. Maybe he can find out what they’re up against. The idea of that psycho just stealing medical supplies is too tame; there has to be more to it than that.
“No, they contain a mixture of my lethal laughing gas,” the man crows. “Just imagine the surprise when one of your bleeding-heart social workers opens any of these cartons! Each box contains enough gas to cover a four-acre stretch!” The fucker is smirking, pleased with himself!
Dick sucks in a breath beside him. “Oh crap.” And yes, the man has a gift for understatement.
“Don’t look so down, Sheila” the clown teases. “I’m doing you a favour! Think of it as a way of cutting down the number of mouths you have to feed.” Then he’s laughing. “The Joker always likes to leave his mark wherever he goes!”
Sheila turns away in disgust. Whatever she says next is obscured by the hand covering her mouth.
A hand is on Jason’s shoulder. Dick points to a little area to their left. It’s possible that they can get closer, maybe figure out which boxes contain the Smilex. Nodding, Jason moves, following Dick’s lead. Even so, he can’t help but throw another glance toward his mom.
Come on, head in the game. With a critical eye on their surroundings, Jason taps Dick’s shoulder and indicates that they should split up. It’s the best way to take advantage of the sparse cover and make sure Joker doesn’t slip away.
By the time they get down to the warehouse, the six trucks are packing up in preparation for leaving. But not, Jason notes, with the Joker or Sheila on board. They’ve moved into the building. He should go in after them, find his mom, and punch the shit out of Joker.
“Jason, give me a hand here,” the sound of Dick’s voice whispering over the comm-link in his ear startles him. ‘Here’ is inside the main structure.
Scowling, he heads into the building. Has Dick found the psycho? No, he wouldn’t be sounding this calm if he had. So what is....?
Dick is standing there in the shadows, looking at the boxes. The ones with the Smilex are easy enough to spot, because they have small stylized joker faces in one corner. “He’s not in here,” he whispers in answer to Jason’s unasked question. “The clown has the boxes rigged to release the gas when they’re opened. So,” he grins at Jason, “we just make sure they can’t be opened.”
Jason huffs. He has no idea what Dick has in mind to accomplish the task. And the longer he stands here, the more time the Joker will have to do something to Sheila.
The hell?! Dick looks like he’s groping himself. Oh. No. He’s got his uniform on under his civvies. When he brings out his hand, he’s holding a dozen little spheres, which he presses into Jason’s hand.
“Hang onto these.” He’s reaching in somewhere to grab more. Where the hell does he store stuff in that suit of his? Dick pulls out another handful of the little things. Taking one, he holds it up. “These babies are awesome. They burst when they land and they cover a lot of area.”
Dick demonstrates by tossing one of the things on top of a pile of Jokerized boxes. A thick, goopey fuchsia substance oozes over it and Jason manages to suppress a little shudder. The stuff seems to be expanding like shaving cream but the consistency is wrong. Even from here it looks like it’s a solid, rubbery mass-one that he really doesn’t want to get any closer to.
“Cyborg said they’d be completely solidified four minutes after breaking,” Dick states as he tosses two more.
“Great,” Jason growls, handing back to the handful to Dick. “You have this covered.” He ignores the groan at his unintentional pun. “I’m going to scout a bit, make sure Joker hasn’t gone back for his truck, or some shit like that.”
Dick nods as he tosses another couple of the spheres. “Just recon, ’kay? You find him, you call me, and then we tag team him.” And that is as close to an order as Dick has come this entire trip. So Jason doesn’t roll his eyes behind the mask. Not quite. Like he’s stupid enough to tackle the Joker on his own...
Heading out into the meagre shadows of the loading dock, he can see nothing by Joker’s truck. He moves around back, and he pulls up short. There is one door back there. And it’s opening. Sheila steps out, a cigarette in her mouth, and a little metal lighter in her hand.
“Mom,” Jason says, heading over to her, worried. He doesn’t see any injuries on her. That’s something, at least.
“Jason?!” She turns to him, surprise evident on her pretty features. Everything about her seems tense... terrified? That would only make sense.
“You’ve got big trouble, Mom,” he hisses urgently. “I know all about it. The Joker...everything.” And he can help. Will help. It’s what he does.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies defensively. Of course she’s defensive, considering what involvement with Joker means, never mind that he’s blackmailing her.
They don’t have time for this. They really don’t. Hell, he’s not even sure if Joker is still here. He should be, but there is no way to know for sure.
“Come on, Mom, play straight! I can help!” He wants to shout at her, to convince her, but that would be a bad idea.
“Sure, tell me about it,” is the defeated reply, as she turns her back on him. She’s not buying it. Any of it. He’ll have to show her.
Jason begins to undo his shirt. “Mother, there is a lot about me that you don’t know.” He pulls it open, showing off the red tunic and the R badge. That gets her attention.
“Huh? That outfit,” she whispers, her eyes widening. “You’re.....” As the revelation penetrates, the woman pulls herself together and seems to come to a decision, while Jason strips off the rest of his civvies and puts on his mask. “Come with me.”
She opens the door leading back into the building before Jason can stop her. “Wait!” he hisses. It’s dark in there-the star-lite lenses are going to need a moment to adjust. “The Joker...”
“...Is long gone,” Sheila informs him, as she walks into the gloom of the back room. She guides him past more boxes. “There’s nothing to worry about. But I’ve got something you should see.”
Nothing to... what? On the other side of the wall are all those booby-trapped crates! How could that be ‘nothing to worry about’?! “What?” He can’t keep the surprise from his voice as he follows her. “What’s going on here?”
“Just step over here,” she coaxes, waving a hand to indicate a space between the stacks of boxes. “You’ll understand everything.”
Frowning, he moves through the space, only to pull up short. There is the Joker, holding a gun, and grinning like the madman he is. Behind him are two of the goons from before. “What?” His eyes widen behind the white-out lenses. “But you said...” The words are a choked whisper, as comprehension dawns.
“I lied,” come the steely words from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he sees his... he sees Sheila holding a pistol of her own, and pointing it right at him. “You see, I can’t afford to have you stirring up trouble. I’ve been dipping into the medical funds myself.” As she talks she’s backing him up. The back of his neck itches, and he knows he’s being boxed in. “If you blow the whistle on the Joker, the ensuing investigation would certainly uncover my embezzling.”
The Joker is behind her now, cackling, amused by the show before him.
“Sorry about that, kid,” she continues, the gun steady and unwavering in her hand. “Looks like you chose the wrong person to trust, this time.” Over her shoulder, she asks the Joker, “What should we do with him?”
“Something I’ve wanted to do for years...” the Joker croons sickeningly. The next instant, he’s delivering a back-handed pistol whip to Jason’s jaw. A kick to his stomach, and he can’t breathe. Hands on him, putrid breath. The Joker’s hauling him up by the front of his tunic, hoisting him off the ground. “Come now, birdboy! You’re not going to sleep on me already, are you? The party is just getting started!”
Gasp, think. Move! Jason gets his feet under him and throws a fist at the Joker’s midsection, putting everything he has behind it, as his lip curls in a snarl. “Then let’s dance, asshole!”
He’s in close quarters, facing multiple opponents, and at least two guns. He’s faced worse, but he’s not thinking about that right then. All that matters is where to find the next guy, and landing the next punch. Like that kick to the Joker’s jaw. Someone behind him, big. Jason moves, but not fast enough. Hand on his shoulder, spinning him. Then a fist impacts with his nose. He goes down, seeing stars.
As he lays on his side the kicks start and he tries to roll away. Move, goddamn it! Don’t just lay there, don’t be a fucking target! But the bastard is following him. He’s sure he has at least a few broken ribs, and the shots to his stomach aren’t helping his breathing at all, either.
Then it stops. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Sheila turning away as she lights up her cigarette.
“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do to Uncle Joker.” The clown is coming toward him with something in his hand. “You’ve been a bad boy. You must be punished!” A cackle seems to slice through him, as the bastard lifts the crowbar. “Prepare yourself for a severe spanking, young man.”
Two things happen at once. Jason’s booted foot shoots out, slamming into the Joker’s knee, and something that looks suspiciously like a one of Dick’s stylized wing-dings slices into the hand holding the very solid weapon.
The Joker is howling, and the crowbar crashes to the ground dangerously close to Jason’s hip. Right, time to move. Nightwing is there, putting the hurt on one of Joker’s henchmen, but there’s another one closing. Jason isn’t up for a fight and he knows it, but his fists aren’t his only weapon. He turns and leans into the boxes, pushing the corner one out, and causing the rest to cascade down on the man.
Part of him wonders when Dick ditched his civvies and put the mask on. The rest of him doesn’t care. All that matters is that there are now two goons down and Nightwing is advancing on Joker, who is trying to crawl away. That’s fine by Jason, he’s got other concerns. Like the woman who is fleeing the scene, heading for the door.
If he lets it become a foot race, Jason knows he’s screwed. He’s not going to be moving quickly any time soon. But that’s the really cool thing about being Robin. He’s got toys. Getting out the door, he sees her at the corner of the building. His hand reaches into his belt and pulls out a bolo. Swinging it about easily, he lets fly, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as it tangles about her knees, and she goes down.
He doesn’t wince when she falls, her knees slamming into the unforgiving stone. Jason can admit that he is upset, to say the very least. But now isn’t the time for whining about his goddamn feelings!
Making his way over as quickly as his ribs will allow, he watches her futilely trying to untangle the thin cables about her legs. When he’s draws closer, the pretty blonde turns a panicked look up at him.
“Jason! You don’t understand!”
No, he really doesn’t. He’s never understood what drives someone to do the kinds of things he’s seen. There might be degrees of depravity between releasing Smilex and stealing from relief funds, but it still amounts to the same thing: she’s a criminal who victimizes the helpless. She is the lowest of the low. And he’s working real hard to not think what that means for him.
He pulls out a zip-strip and silently gets to work binding her wrists, being careful not to cut off the circulation. Only then does he remove the bolo. Jason tries to smoother a pained grunt as he pulls the woman to her feet and begins marching her back to where he’d left Dick.
The entire duration of the short journey the... the bitch... is trying to play the mother card on him. Trying to sweet-talk him. Trying to convince him it was a mistake, that the money she’d taken was being sent back to the States to help an underground abuse survivor network. Seriously?! After her previous admission, she actually expected him to swallow that load of bullshit?!
He pushes her into the back room. Nightwing is standing over the trussed up Joker and his two henchmen, obviously waiting for Jason’s return. The older vigilante looks at him. “Everything cool, Robin?”
“No,” Jason says with a frown.
It’s then that Sheila decides to try another tactic to gain her freedom. The innocent expression she’s been trying to snow him with is gone without a trace. Instead, she looks exactly as calculating and angry as she is. “I know who you are, Robin! If I’m put in jail, how long do you think it will be before that little piece of information becomes common knowledge?”
Jason frowns. Yeah. That. Man, has he ever screwed the pooch this time.
But Dick is there, before her, his body obscuring whatever he’s got in his hand. There is a flash of light, and she goes quiet, staring at what he’s holding in front of her face. Jason blinks. Nightwing has turned to him and, though he can’t actually see it through the mask’s white lenses, he has the distinct impression that Dick is winking at him. Huh.
“Another of Cyborg’s toys?”
“Something like that,” is Nightwing’s cryptic response. The hell? That’s not like Dick. Though it could be that mentioning the source, given the ears that might overhear, would be problematic. “It’ll scramble her short-term memory, going back a day at most, but that’s all we need.”
Jason nods, feeling a desire to move around and do something. Right, there is something he can do. “You have fun with that,” he says. “I’m calling this in.” Assuming he can find something to do that with.
***
He does. And after far too long, he finally convinces someone at the local UN garrison that he’s legit and that yes there is a bio-hazard at the medical supply depot as well as a bunch of terrorists to take into custody.
Jason and Dick are up on the roof when the peacekeepers and HazMat crew arrive to take care of business. Watching them cart off the goop-encrusted boxes, as well Joker and company, feels very... nothing. Not like an accomplishment, though it is. Not like a happy ending, though it’s that too. He just feels tired. And drained in every way imaginable.
“I screwed up,” Jason says glumly, looking off in the distance without really seeing anything at all.
“Yup.” That single word sounds inappropriately cheerful, and he has to look at Dick. They both are still in costume, masks on, so he can’t see the man’s eyes, but the face is... What? Unconcerned?
Jason scowls.
“Little Wing, we ALL screw up. It’s part of life, more so for those of us in tights. But the reason you screwed up is because you believed in someone, thinking her to be a good person. That’s not a bad thing, and if this turns you into a paranoid sour puss like Batman, I’m totally going to noogie you into submission!”
Dick is both perfectly serious, and grinning like a maniac. Jason can only blink, unsure what to make of that. So he ignores it. “She played me,” he continues unhappily.
“Yeah, she did.”
Okay, Dick agreeing with him is really starting to suck ass. But there is something about that which... He glances over at Dick, once more, seriously looks at him.
“You knew.” This time he only gets a mute nod in reply. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Would you have listened?” It’s a serious question, and if he’s honest, he’d have to say, ‘no’. Not when faced with the prospect of having found his mother. “I saw the way she was cold reading you in the tent.”
“Cold reading?” Jason frowns and gestures for him to continue.
“It’s a carnie trick used by fake psychics. You watch the person’s facial expression and body language as you throw things out and see what sticks. Then you build on it. That she knew your father made her job that much easier. Hell, she could have been giving you partial truths about what happened.”
Scowling, Jason nods. This really isn’t doing anything to make him feel better. A gloved hand descends on his shoulder.
“There’s just one question left from all this,” Dick declares, smiling gently at him. The obvious question must have been written all over his face because he continues. “Are you coming with me to the ’Tower? We still have samples to run.”
Jason nods slowly and climbs to his feet. Yeah, there is that.
“Great! Maybe you can get Danny off my case!”
Uh. For some reason, the second Robin is getting a very bad feeling.
End.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To be continued in A Better Choice: Epilogue
Fandom: Batman
Continuity: Post-Crisis AU, Umbra Verse
Characters: Jason, Dick, Joker
Rating: PG-13?
Warnings: Foul Language, Violence
Word Count: 5,688
Summary: What should have happened in Batman 427 after Bruce was an ass and Jason went looking for his biological mom.
A/N: This is the result of a brainstorming session for a different fic with vespertila. Thank you dragonbat2006 for the excellent beta! Parts one, two and three this way.
It’s odd. Jason honestly never would have thought that finding a relief aid worker would be harder than finding a Mossad agent. For all that a few phone calls get him a friendly voice who tells him, in English, that Dr. Shelia Hayward is in Ethiopia, no one can give him anything more specific. Apparently, the workers move around as needed and the paperwork is constantly playing catch-up.
Four days and five refugee camps later, Jason is hot, tired and more than a little frustrated. Okay, so that’s an understatement.
And on top of that, the heat isn’t helping Dick’s cold. If anything, it’s making it worse. He has no idea how that one works. There have got to be some nasty side effects to everything he’s been taking, but the guy insists he’s fine, that he’s managed to push through worse.
They don’t talk. Well they do, but not about the subject they are both avoiding. What if Sheila is his mother? Dealing with her isn’t going to be like dealing with the others. She’s a civilian, so it’ll perfectly okay for Jason Todd to approach her. Maybe he’ll raise a few eyebrows, but being a white teenager in a refugee camp will do that all on its own.
Their land rover crawls into the camp outside of Magdala. It’s not the first such camp they’ve been inside, today, but as before, the devastation and sheer human suffering is profound. It makes him... it makes him feel like an ungrateful little wretch. He’s Bruce Wayne’s adoptive son, so legally he’s heir to the man’s billions. But that has never been important to him. What is, is that he has a sweet fucking life waiting for him back in Gotham. And a family, even if Bruce is a world-class jackass at times.
He frowns as Dick parks the vehicle.
“Hey, Little Wing.” Dick is right there, his hand on Jay’s shoulder. The concern is positively oozing off of him.
Jason just looks around. “It’s not like Gotham. The problem isn’t something we can make bleed and take to jail.” His voice sounds just as dejected as he feels. Expect that it’s more than that. His emotions are a knot in the pit of his stomach and he can’t even begin to sort them out.
“No, it’s not,” Dick agrees a measure of sorrow in his own voice. “But like Gotham, you do what you can, when you can. When we’re finished, we can call Bruce and tell him that the Wayne foundation needs to cut a check.”
A frown crosses his face. “It won’t be enough, Dick. It won’t ever be enough.”
“I know.” No words of encouragement, no attempts to lighten the mood. He looks at Dick and sees him watching a too-thin child totter slowly towards a simple lean-to shelter and the woman inside it.
Jason takes a deep, steadying breath. Focus. He needs to focus.
They begin asking questions. In English. It takes some time to find someone who can understand them. Eventually their efforts are rewarded when a middle-aged Ethiopian man points them in the right direction. “You’ll find her in that tent. It’s her office.”
Finally! His thoughts are on the woman he’s about to meet, even as his feet run toward their destination. Distantly, he hears Dick wheezing a little as he moves to keep up. Jason doesn’t wait up. Nor can he stop himself from impatiently pushing back the tent flap and peering inside.
A blonde woman is standing over a table, looking at some papers. She turns to the entrance with a surprised expression. Jason can only stand there, taking in the color of her blue eyes, so like the ones he sees in the mirror.
“Can I help you?”
Some part of Jason is disappointed that there is no look of recognition on Sheila’s face, but realistically, there wouldn’t be. She must have given him up when he was very young, seeing as he has no memory of her. He smiles for both of them.
“Uh. Hi,” he says lamely. He’s just standing there, blocking the entrance. He doesn’t move until Dick nudges him in the fucking kidney. Then he steps in, his hands at his sides. “Um. I’m Jason. I think. You might be... my mother?”
Sheila is still blinking at him, but there is a thoughtful look in her eyes now. She’s considering it.
Dick presses forward and offers the doctor his hand. “Dr. Hayward, what my brother is-“
The woman’s eyes get wider, and somewhat suspicious. “What? Are you claiming to be my son, too?”
Dick holds up his hands before Jason can say anything. “No, no. We aren’t related by blood. We were both taken in by Bruce Wayne, back in Gotham City.”
The suspicion is gone, replaced by something else as Jason moves closer.
“I’m Dick Grayson. And this is Jason Todd.”
“Todd?” she repeats. Then her eyes widen, and Jason’s heart leaps. She raises a hand to her lips. “Oh my God,” comes the gasped realization.
The teen is standing before her. “Mother?” he whispers, before throwing his arms about her slim waist, pressing close, and holding tight. “Mother! Mother! Mother!” And he knows. He can feel it. He’s found her.
He barely hears as Dick excuses himself, saying something about finding out if anyone needs an extra pair of hands. For long moments he just clings to the woman that gave birth to him. Smiling, he pulls back and lets go. “I’m sorry, I just... I’ve been looking for you, and-”
She shushes him with a finger to his lips and a little smile. “It’s more than alright. But let’s sit.” Sheila waves him to the other folding chair at the table. “I want to know all about you and your life back in Gotham.”
They talk. Or, rather, Jason talks. He explains about how his father started going in and out of jail. Then how he died. Jason omits the fact that it was Two-Face that killed him, since there’s no way he’d know that as a civilian. He’s a bit more hesitant when telling of Catherine’s illness. It’s been four years since her passing and his having to fend for himself, but it still cuts deep. He talks of Bruce and how he’s kind of a dork, again giving an edited version.
Sheila listens, flashing him sympathetic looks as he talks. And she laughs a little at his description of Brucie’s behaviour. She asks about what school he goes to and if he’s happy at the manor. Jason tells her about the garage full of really sweet cars and how he can’t wait to turn sixteen and get his licence. He feels like an ass at how much he has to censor it all. She’s his mother, but he can’t tell her the most important part.
Finally, he has to ask the one question that’s been eating at him: Why did she give him up?
She smiles at him gently. “I was a struggling med student when I met and fell in love with your father,” Sheila recounts in a gentle voice. “Shortly after you were born, I got into trouble.” Jason watches as her expression turns pinched, pensive. This is clearly not a happy memory for her, but he doesn’t interrupt. “The incident put an end to my medical career back in the States.” There’s something more which she’s not telling. Did someone force her to quit? Blacklist her? What had happened he wasn’t to demand, but doesn’t. “Willis was supposed to join me, once I settled in England.”
Jason bites his lip slightly. He can’t say anything, not yet. He can tell that this is difficult for her, and the best thing he can do is let her get it all out in the open in her own time.
She turns to look at her hands as she continues. “But your father fell in love with Catherine Johnson before I could send for him.” She takes a deep breath before continuing, turning away from him. “Willis wrote to me about her, telling me that they had been married a few days earlier. I thought it best to let them raise you as their own.” Much as he wants to, Jason can’t see her expression. But the sorrow in her tone tells him everything he needs to know. “I had neither funds, nor any hope of winning custody of you in a legal battle.”
Standing, Jason moves closer and puts a hand on the woman’s-on his mother’s-shoulder. When she looks up at him, she wears a pleading expression that begs him for understanding.
“Besides, a custody fight would have been rough on you,” she says earnestly. “I finally accepted the fact that I would probably never see you again.”
Of course he understands. He’s seen the ugly outcome of such things, sometimes behind police tape, and that she thought of what was best for him... He wraps his arms about her shoulders from behind and hugs her tightly, his cheek pressed to her hair. “It must have been so hard for you,” he whispers. She sits there, accepting his affection, reciprocating by placing her hands on Jason’s forearms.
Her breathing hitches a little as she soldiers on bravely. “I managed... My work helped me get through....” She looks at the cheap little travel clock on the table and reluctantly moves to disengage Jason’s hold. “Speaking of work, you’re going to have to excuse me for a little while, Jason,” she says ruefully, getting up from her chair.
Jason is taken aback. “Huh?” He’s finally found her, and now she has to cut their reunion short?!
“It’s camp business I can’t get out of, Jason,” she explains gently, putting a hand on his back and lightly ushering him to the tent flap. “Wait outside. Maybe you can help with the food dispersal. I’ll be done in an hour or so.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets to keep himself from hugging her again. “Okay.” Of course she can’t get out of it. There aren’t enough aid workers as is, an all-too-common problem. And her work here is very important. He shouldn’t be selfish.
Heading out, he spots a familiar blue-black shock of hair at a tent with open sides-some sort of a rudimentary kitchen, from the look of it. And yes, that was a sniffle. Jason sure hopes someone gave Dick a mask to wear before they let him help with the food. When Jason gets close enough he asks, “Need a hand?”
Dick turns to him and yes, he’s wearing one of those dinky little paper things. “Mmm, probably. Go ask Negasi over there.” He gestures to a dark-skinned man in a dirty blue shirt. Jason doesn’t see Dick’s concerned look.
He presents himself to Negasi, who is glad of the extra help, and is quickly set to work dishing out the depressingly-small portions of rice. The children taking the bowls break his heart.
As he works, his mind wanders freely, and it takes idle notice of the vehicle that pulls up outside of his mom’s tent. He watches, wondering if this is the business Sheila mentioned and with whom it’s being conducted. His storm-blue eyes widen as he sees who steps out.
Holy shit!
Granted, he’s put on flesh-coloured make up, and he’s sporting a safari helmet, but there is no mistaking who it is. The Joker is heading to his mom’s tent, followed by two large, muscle-bound goons.
Jason abandons his position, ignoring the angry yells that greet his departure. He’s focused on his goal: the back of his mother’s tent. He needs to listen in. Not even the Joker is stupid enough to try something in the middle of a refugee camp. He hopes.
Skulking around the back of the tent he settles in for some eavesdropping, something that is ridiculously easy through the thin canvas. He doesn’t jump out of his skin when Dick comes up behind him, even though he hadn’t heard the asshole moving. The guy’s almost as bad as Bruce. Which shouldn’t exactly surprise him.
“What are we doing back here?” Dick asks in a hoarse whisper. Jason says a quick prayer to any power listening that Dick won’t start hacking up a lung.
“Joker is in there, with... Mom.” Saying it aloud makes it all so much more real, and he’s not sure he can stay here, only listening. His mom is in danger as long as Joker is here.
“Him?!” The acrobat is whispering, but it’s still hideously loud. “Here?!”
Jason slaps a hand over the idiot’s mouth and glares at him. Thankfully, Dick actually grabs a clue and shuts up, but the hand stays where it is. Just in case. Turning his attention back to the voices in the tent, he listens intently.
“-hands on the six truckloads of medical supplies. How you arrange it is your problem, Sweetie.” That’s the Joker’s nasal, slightly manic voice. It raises every hair on the back of Jason’s neck. “But remember, if you screw this up, your superiors will learn of the medical trouble that drove you to this rat-hole. The Gotham City police are still rather interested in who performed the sloppy operation on that poor, dead teenager.” The canvas does nothing to distort the sickeningly-coy tone.
Joker is blackmailing his mom into helping him! Jason’s not going to bolt in there and kick ass, even though he really, really wants to. That would be stupid. Almost as stupid as Dick licking his hand to remind him it’s still covering the guy’s mouth. It would be gross... if he weren’t trying to hear more of the exchange. He drops the hand, and Dick carefully moves closer.
“You’ve got a good thing going for you here as chief distributor of medical supplies for the area. Don’t mess it up.” It’s not a suggestion, or even a threat. It’s an order, and Joker expects it to be followed. Jason is going to seriously enjoy smashing the bastard’s face in.
There are sounds of movement from within the tent.
“Shall we go to the warehouse, then?” The Joker speaks again. It’s not a question and he sounds so damned pleased with himself. “My drivers are awaiting our arrival.”
He sits back on his heels, but only a moment, then he’s moving to the flap. He’s just in time to see the bastard, his two muscle-bound thugs, and Sheila get in the waiting jeep. Shit.
Dick has a hand on his shoulder and is pointing at a guy who is just getting off his dirt bike. Yeah, that will do. Jason goes up and grabs the bike. The guy starts yelling, but Jason’s already on it, and Dick’s hopping up behind him.
They take off after the jeep. Jason is thankful that the Joker isn’t driving particularly fast; otherwise, their borrowed, gutless bike would have been left behind.
Though the depot isn’t far, it takes an impossibly long time. Longer because they are following the road from the cliff above, it and the track isn’t all that straight. His heart pounds every time their path veers away from the road and he wonders if this time they’ve lost them.
Finally, he stops the bike. Both he and Dick get off. Here, the cliff has petered to almost nothing, with only a few boulders to provide cover. It’s really not great for them, but it will have to do.
“Let’s get those doors open, Sheila, honey.” The Joker’s gleeful voice carries easily. “My boys are anxious to earn their share of this ill-gotten booty.”
Jason watches with a sinking feeling, as his mother unlocks the doors and pushes them wide.
The six trucks are already at the loading dock and the Joker’s men are taking boxes from off of them. Sheila asks the question that has been bugging Jason, though he has to read her lips to make out the words.
“Why are those men unloading boxes into the warehouse?”
“To replace the ones we’re going to steal.” The clown sounds downright happy, which is damned scary given the sorts of things that the Joker enjoys.
“Are they empty?” Sheila presses. It’s another good question. Jason is biting his lip even as he frowns. His mom is being forced to help the Joker, but she has good instincts. Maybe he can find out what they’re up against. The idea of that psycho just stealing medical supplies is too tame; there has to be more to it than that.
“No, they contain a mixture of my lethal laughing gas,” the man crows. “Just imagine the surprise when one of your bleeding-heart social workers opens any of these cartons! Each box contains enough gas to cover a four-acre stretch!” The fucker is smirking, pleased with himself!
Dick sucks in a breath beside him. “Oh crap.” And yes, the man has a gift for understatement.
“Don’t look so down, Sheila” the clown teases. “I’m doing you a favour! Think of it as a way of cutting down the number of mouths you have to feed.” Then he’s laughing. “The Joker always likes to leave his mark wherever he goes!”
Sheila turns away in disgust. Whatever she says next is obscured by the hand covering her mouth.
A hand is on Jason’s shoulder. Dick points to a little area to their left. It’s possible that they can get closer, maybe figure out which boxes contain the Smilex. Nodding, Jason moves, following Dick’s lead. Even so, he can’t help but throw another glance toward his mom.
Come on, head in the game. With a critical eye on their surroundings, Jason taps Dick’s shoulder and indicates that they should split up. It’s the best way to take advantage of the sparse cover and make sure Joker doesn’t slip away.
By the time they get down to the warehouse, the six trucks are packing up in preparation for leaving. But not, Jason notes, with the Joker or Sheila on board. They’ve moved into the building. He should go in after them, find his mom, and punch the shit out of Joker.
“Jason, give me a hand here,” the sound of Dick’s voice whispering over the comm-link in his ear startles him. ‘Here’ is inside the main structure.
Scowling, he heads into the building. Has Dick found the psycho? No, he wouldn’t be sounding this calm if he had. So what is....?
Dick is standing there in the shadows, looking at the boxes. The ones with the Smilex are easy enough to spot, because they have small stylized joker faces in one corner. “He’s not in here,” he whispers in answer to Jason’s unasked question. “The clown has the boxes rigged to release the gas when they’re opened. So,” he grins at Jason, “we just make sure they can’t be opened.”
Jason huffs. He has no idea what Dick has in mind to accomplish the task. And the longer he stands here, the more time the Joker will have to do something to Sheila.
The hell?! Dick looks like he’s groping himself. Oh. No. He’s got his uniform on under his civvies. When he brings out his hand, he’s holding a dozen little spheres, which he presses into Jason’s hand.
“Hang onto these.” He’s reaching in somewhere to grab more. Where the hell does he store stuff in that suit of his? Dick pulls out another handful of the little things. Taking one, he holds it up. “These babies are awesome. They burst when they land and they cover a lot of area.”
Dick demonstrates by tossing one of the things on top of a pile of Jokerized boxes. A thick, goopey fuchsia substance oozes over it and Jason manages to suppress a little shudder. The stuff seems to be expanding like shaving cream but the consistency is wrong. Even from here it looks like it’s a solid, rubbery mass-one that he really doesn’t want to get any closer to.
“Cyborg said they’d be completely solidified four minutes after breaking,” Dick states as he tosses two more.
“Great,” Jason growls, handing back to the handful to Dick. “You have this covered.” He ignores the groan at his unintentional pun. “I’m going to scout a bit, make sure Joker hasn’t gone back for his truck, or some shit like that.”
Dick nods as he tosses another couple of the spheres. “Just recon, ’kay? You find him, you call me, and then we tag team him.” And that is as close to an order as Dick has come this entire trip. So Jason doesn’t roll his eyes behind the mask. Not quite. Like he’s stupid enough to tackle the Joker on his own...
Heading out into the meagre shadows of the loading dock, he can see nothing by Joker’s truck. He moves around back, and he pulls up short. There is one door back there. And it’s opening. Sheila steps out, a cigarette in her mouth, and a little metal lighter in her hand.
“Mom,” Jason says, heading over to her, worried. He doesn’t see any injuries on her. That’s something, at least.
“Jason?!” She turns to him, surprise evident on her pretty features. Everything about her seems tense... terrified? That would only make sense.
“You’ve got big trouble, Mom,” he hisses urgently. “I know all about it. The Joker...everything.” And he can help. Will help. It’s what he does.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies defensively. Of course she’s defensive, considering what involvement with Joker means, never mind that he’s blackmailing her.
They don’t have time for this. They really don’t. Hell, he’s not even sure if Joker is still here. He should be, but there is no way to know for sure.
“Come on, Mom, play straight! I can help!” He wants to shout at her, to convince her, but that would be a bad idea.
“Sure, tell me about it,” is the defeated reply, as she turns her back on him. She’s not buying it. Any of it. He’ll have to show her.
Jason begins to undo his shirt. “Mother, there is a lot about me that you don’t know.” He pulls it open, showing off the red tunic and the R badge. That gets her attention.
“Huh? That outfit,” she whispers, her eyes widening. “You’re.....” As the revelation penetrates, the woman pulls herself together and seems to come to a decision, while Jason strips off the rest of his civvies and puts on his mask. “Come with me.”
She opens the door leading back into the building before Jason can stop her. “Wait!” he hisses. It’s dark in there-the star-lite lenses are going to need a moment to adjust. “The Joker...”
“...Is long gone,” Sheila informs him, as she walks into the gloom of the back room. She guides him past more boxes. “There’s nothing to worry about. But I’ve got something you should see.”
Nothing to... what? On the other side of the wall are all those booby-trapped crates! How could that be ‘nothing to worry about’?! “What?” He can’t keep the surprise from his voice as he follows her. “What’s going on here?”
“Just step over here,” she coaxes, waving a hand to indicate a space between the stacks of boxes. “You’ll understand everything.”
Frowning, he moves through the space, only to pull up short. There is the Joker, holding a gun, and grinning like the madman he is. Behind him are two of the goons from before. “What?” His eyes widen behind the white-out lenses. “But you said...” The words are a choked whisper, as comprehension dawns.
“I lied,” come the steely words from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he sees his... he sees Sheila holding a pistol of her own, and pointing it right at him. “You see, I can’t afford to have you stirring up trouble. I’ve been dipping into the medical funds myself.” As she talks she’s backing him up. The back of his neck itches, and he knows he’s being boxed in. “If you blow the whistle on the Joker, the ensuing investigation would certainly uncover my embezzling.”
The Joker is behind her now, cackling, amused by the show before him.
“Sorry about that, kid,” she continues, the gun steady and unwavering in her hand. “Looks like you chose the wrong person to trust, this time.” Over her shoulder, she asks the Joker, “What should we do with him?”
“Something I’ve wanted to do for years...” the Joker croons sickeningly. The next instant, he’s delivering a back-handed pistol whip to Jason’s jaw. A kick to his stomach, and he can’t breathe. Hands on him, putrid breath. The Joker’s hauling him up by the front of his tunic, hoisting him off the ground. “Come now, birdboy! You’re not going to sleep on me already, are you? The party is just getting started!”
Gasp, think. Move! Jason gets his feet under him and throws a fist at the Joker’s midsection, putting everything he has behind it, as his lip curls in a snarl. “Then let’s dance, asshole!”
He’s in close quarters, facing multiple opponents, and at least two guns. He’s faced worse, but he’s not thinking about that right then. All that matters is where to find the next guy, and landing the next punch. Like that kick to the Joker’s jaw. Someone behind him, big. Jason moves, but not fast enough. Hand on his shoulder, spinning him. Then a fist impacts with his nose. He goes down, seeing stars.
As he lays on his side the kicks start and he tries to roll away. Move, goddamn it! Don’t just lay there, don’t be a fucking target! But the bastard is following him. He’s sure he has at least a few broken ribs, and the shots to his stomach aren’t helping his breathing at all, either.
Then it stops. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Sheila turning away as she lights up her cigarette.
“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do to Uncle Joker.” The clown is coming toward him with something in his hand. “You’ve been a bad boy. You must be punished!” A cackle seems to slice through him, as the bastard lifts the crowbar. “Prepare yourself for a severe spanking, young man.”
Two things happen at once. Jason’s booted foot shoots out, slamming into the Joker’s knee, and something that looks suspiciously like a one of Dick’s stylized wing-dings slices into the hand holding the very solid weapon.
The Joker is howling, and the crowbar crashes to the ground dangerously close to Jason’s hip. Right, time to move. Nightwing is there, putting the hurt on one of Joker’s henchmen, but there’s another one closing. Jason isn’t up for a fight and he knows it, but his fists aren’t his only weapon. He turns and leans into the boxes, pushing the corner one out, and causing the rest to cascade down on the man.
Part of him wonders when Dick ditched his civvies and put the mask on. The rest of him doesn’t care. All that matters is that there are now two goons down and Nightwing is advancing on Joker, who is trying to crawl away. That’s fine by Jason, he’s got other concerns. Like the woman who is fleeing the scene, heading for the door.
If he lets it become a foot race, Jason knows he’s screwed. He’s not going to be moving quickly any time soon. But that’s the really cool thing about being Robin. He’s got toys. Getting out the door, he sees her at the corner of the building. His hand reaches into his belt and pulls out a bolo. Swinging it about easily, he lets fly, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as it tangles about her knees, and she goes down.
He doesn’t wince when she falls, her knees slamming into the unforgiving stone. Jason can admit that he is upset, to say the very least. But now isn’t the time for whining about his goddamn feelings!
Making his way over as quickly as his ribs will allow, he watches her futilely trying to untangle the thin cables about her legs. When he’s draws closer, the pretty blonde turns a panicked look up at him.
“Jason! You don’t understand!”
No, he really doesn’t. He’s never understood what drives someone to do the kinds of things he’s seen. There might be degrees of depravity between releasing Smilex and stealing from relief funds, but it still amounts to the same thing: she’s a criminal who victimizes the helpless. She is the lowest of the low. And he’s working real hard to not think what that means for him.
He pulls out a zip-strip and silently gets to work binding her wrists, being careful not to cut off the circulation. Only then does he remove the bolo. Jason tries to smoother a pained grunt as he pulls the woman to her feet and begins marching her back to where he’d left Dick.
The entire duration of the short journey the... the bitch... is trying to play the mother card on him. Trying to sweet-talk him. Trying to convince him it was a mistake, that the money she’d taken was being sent back to the States to help an underground abuse survivor network. Seriously?! After her previous admission, she actually expected him to swallow that load of bullshit?!
He pushes her into the back room. Nightwing is standing over the trussed up Joker and his two henchmen, obviously waiting for Jason’s return. The older vigilante looks at him. “Everything cool, Robin?”
“No,” Jason says with a frown.
It’s then that Sheila decides to try another tactic to gain her freedom. The innocent expression she’s been trying to snow him with is gone without a trace. Instead, she looks exactly as calculating and angry as she is. “I know who you are, Robin! If I’m put in jail, how long do you think it will be before that little piece of information becomes common knowledge?”
Jason frowns. Yeah. That. Man, has he ever screwed the pooch this time.
But Dick is there, before her, his body obscuring whatever he’s got in his hand. There is a flash of light, and she goes quiet, staring at what he’s holding in front of her face. Jason blinks. Nightwing has turned to him and, though he can’t actually see it through the mask’s white lenses, he has the distinct impression that Dick is winking at him. Huh.
“Another of Cyborg’s toys?”
“Something like that,” is Nightwing’s cryptic response. The hell? That’s not like Dick. Though it could be that mentioning the source, given the ears that might overhear, would be problematic. “It’ll scramble her short-term memory, going back a day at most, but that’s all we need.”
Jason nods, feeling a desire to move around and do something. Right, there is something he can do. “You have fun with that,” he says. “I’m calling this in.” Assuming he can find something to do that with.
***
He does. And after far too long, he finally convinces someone at the local UN garrison that he’s legit and that yes there is a bio-hazard at the medical supply depot as well as a bunch of terrorists to take into custody.
Jason and Dick are up on the roof when the peacekeepers and HazMat crew arrive to take care of business. Watching them cart off the goop-encrusted boxes, as well Joker and company, feels very... nothing. Not like an accomplishment, though it is. Not like a happy ending, though it’s that too. He just feels tired. And drained in every way imaginable.
“I screwed up,” Jason says glumly, looking off in the distance without really seeing anything at all.
“Yup.” That single word sounds inappropriately cheerful, and he has to look at Dick. They both are still in costume, masks on, so he can’t see the man’s eyes, but the face is... What? Unconcerned?
Jason scowls.
“Little Wing, we ALL screw up. It’s part of life, more so for those of us in tights. But the reason you screwed up is because you believed in someone, thinking her to be a good person. That’s not a bad thing, and if this turns you into a paranoid sour puss like Batman, I’m totally going to noogie you into submission!”
Dick is both perfectly serious, and grinning like a maniac. Jason can only blink, unsure what to make of that. So he ignores it. “She played me,” he continues unhappily.
“Yeah, she did.”
Okay, Dick agreeing with him is really starting to suck ass. But there is something about that which... He glances over at Dick, once more, seriously looks at him.
“You knew.” This time he only gets a mute nod in reply. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Would you have listened?” It’s a serious question, and if he’s honest, he’d have to say, ‘no’. Not when faced with the prospect of having found his mother. “I saw the way she was cold reading you in the tent.”
“Cold reading?” Jason frowns and gestures for him to continue.
“It’s a carnie trick used by fake psychics. You watch the person’s facial expression and body language as you throw things out and see what sticks. Then you build on it. That she knew your father made her job that much easier. Hell, she could have been giving you partial truths about what happened.”
Scowling, Jason nods. This really isn’t doing anything to make him feel better. A gloved hand descends on his shoulder.
“There’s just one question left from all this,” Dick declares, smiling gently at him. The obvious question must have been written all over his face because he continues. “Are you coming with me to the ’Tower? We still have samples to run.”
Jason nods slowly and climbs to his feet. Yeah, there is that.
“Great! Maybe you can get Danny off my case!”
Uh. For some reason, the second Robin is getting a very bad feeling.
End.
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To be continued in A Better Choice: Epilogue