Batman received the invitation from Red Hood and wasted no time, tearing through Gotham's streets in the Batmobile until Crime Alley came into view.
As he drove, memories surfaced unbidden—images of a younger Jason Todd moving under his watchful eye as Robin. Memories of a sharp, free-spirited kid with raw talent, someone who pushed himself harder than necessary just to earn a nod of approval.
He arrived at Crime Alley, stepped out of the Batmobile, and walked into the shadowed passageway. The place stirred even more recollections. "How ironic," he muttered, his gaze settling on the exact spot where he'd first encountered a scrappy kid trying to steal the Batmobile's tires.
That was where he met Jason Todd. An orphan. A troublemaker. A boy who'd already seen the inside of juvenile detention.
The deeper Bruce dug into his file back then, the clearer it became—there was something fierce inside that kid. A willful, volatile potential. Like a flame that could either light the way forward or burn everything to ash.
He'd known Jason was destined to make waves. Without guidance, those waves would crash on the wrong shore. And Jason had nothing to lose—no parents, and no safety net.
So Bruce gave him purpose and brought him into the fight. Made him the second Robin. Made him his second son.
"Brings back memories, doesn't it?"
The voice came from ahead, unmodulated but raw. "Glad you could make it."
Batman looked up and saw Red Hood standing in the alley. There he was.
The last time they'd crossed paths, Jason had fled, unwilling to entertain a conversation any longer than necessary.
But now he was waiting. Standing still. As if he'd finally decided to indulge him.
The first thing Batman noticed was what wasn't there, the absence of his crowbar and his sword made his getup seem incomplete. The dearth made him pause. He couldn't tell whether Jason wasn't taking this seriously, or if he was simply confident enough to believe he wouldn't need his full arsenal.
"Where is Joker?" Batman asked, keeping his tone clipped and professional.
"Wow. Not even going to ask how I've been?" Red Hood replied, sarcasm clearly audible in his voice as he struggled to keep his emotions from boiling over.
Batman's eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. He wasn't in the mood for games. "This ends tonight. All of it." His voice carried absolute conviction. No matter how much it hurt, he was prepared to fight his son if that's what it took.
"No one understands that better than I do," Jason answered from beneath the hood. He reached into his belt and snapped his arm forward, sending a pair of shuriken flying.
Batman dove behind a dumpster as the blades clanged off metal. At the same time, with a press of a button, the Batmobile roared in from behind Jason.
Red Hood leapt into the air just as the vehicle barreled past, skidding to a halt at the far end of the alley near Batman. Jason hit the wall high above, planted his boots, and kicked off—
—only for a sharp hiss to cut through the alley. A steel cable snapped tight around both his legs and yanked him hard to the ground.
"You and your gadgets," Jason muttered. He drew his knife, sliced clean through the cable. As he rose, he flicked a small disc toward Batman. Batman dodged with ease, but the device embedded itself in the wall beside him.
A sharp beep followed. Batman's eyes narrowed just before the disc detonated.
"Aghh!"
The explosion hurled him violently into the opposite wall.
Seizing the opening, Jason sprang to his feet and rushed Batman, who reacted instantly, snapping his arm forward and sending a pair of Batarangs spinning through the air.
Jason slipped past them with practiced ease and pressed on—only for the blades he'd dodged to embed themselves into the alley walls on either side of him. A split second later, they detonated.
Having returned the favour, Batman raised his cape, bracing as the explosions thundered behind Jason. The blast ripped him off his feet and hurled him toward the wall. Instead of resisting it, Jason adapted. Midair, he twisted his body, angling himself so his boots struck the wall first.
The instant his soles hit, he used the blast's remaining force and his near–super-soldier strength to rebound, launching himself toward the opposite wall. As he flew, he flung several smoke pellets toward Batman.
They burst on impact, flooding the alley with thick, choking clouds of smoke. Jason ricocheted back and forth between the narrow walls, each kick sending him higher in a rapid, fluid ascent.
In seconds, he reached the top. His fingers hooked over the rooftop ledge, and he hauled himself up, dragging the fight to higher ground.
Batman caught sight of him immediately. With a sharp thwip, he fired his grapple gun, the cable yanking him upward. His cape flared wide behind him as he cleared the ledge, hit the rooftop, and rolled smoothly into a fighting stance.
Red Hood was already there—waiting.
Jason threw the first punch. Batman slipped it and countered, but Jason weaved under the return strike and drove a hard blow into Batman's ribs.
Batman grunted but didn't relent, pressing forward with a relentless flurry. His suit's reinforced under-armor absorbed the worst of it, yet Jason's hits still landed with alarming weight.
It made Bruce pause, if only for a fraction of a second. Jason's strength now rivaled Slade Wilson's, maybe exceeding it. Worse—his combat skill was approaching the same terrifying level.
As they traded blows, Batman picked up on the changes immediately. Jason had refined the League of Assassins' techniques and fused them with his own aggressive, inventive style. It kept Bruce on edge; one mistake was all Jason needed to turn the tide.
Even at a physical disadvantage, Batman's decades of experience and tactical awareness allowed him to keep pace, forcing Jason to work for every inch.
Jason landed solid hits, held his ground—but Bruce could tell. He wasn't showing everything.
And Jason could tell the same about him.
The fight was still in its opening phase. Showing his full hand now would only give Batman time to adjust—time to read his patterns, develop counters, maybe even bait him into a mistake that would end in a devastating blow. Jason wasn't about to give him that advantage.
Red Hood drew his knife and settled into a combat stance, tilting his head as he motioned for Batman to come at him, the gesture clearly saying, 'your move.'
Batman didn't hesitate. He closed the distance fast, snapping a Batarang toward him. Jason knocked it aside with his blade and immediately raised his left arm, catching Batman's follow-up punch in a tight guard before swinging back to counter.
With proficient footwork, Batman pivoted around Red Hood's strike, slipped behind him, and locked his arms around his torso before flipping him overhead.
Jason hit the ground hard—but rolled through it, springing up into a low squat. A mocking chuckle slipped from him as Batman's utility belt clattered onto the rooftop between them.
While Batman had him in the throw, Jason had taken advantage of the moment, sliding his knife clean through the belt's fastenings. It parted effortlessly—like cutting warm butter—proof of just how refined his blade really was.
That move drew a clear flash of irritation across Batman's face.. Jason saw it and grinned beneath the helmet, casually tossing the knife from one hand to the other before lunging.
Slice.
Slice.
Slice.
Batman did his best to evade and counter the flurry, but the attacks came too fast, too tight. He couldn't avoid them cleanly, and shallow cuts began to score different sections of his suit.
"I see you're still underestimating me," Jason said coolly. "Keep that up and see how far it gets you."
Batman growled under his breath, the taunt clearly striking a nerve.
They charged again, colliding in a blur of motion—until Batman suddenly surged forward, driving Jason back and off the edge of the rooftop.
They crashed into a stone gargoyle on the way down before tumbling onto the roof below. In the chaos, Jason tore the cowl from Batman's head and rolled away, creating distance between them.
Seeing Bruce's face hit him harder than expected. The anger he'd been directing outward twisted, settling back into something far more personal as if reminded of the life Batman owed.
"Here," Jason said, tossing the cowl back to him. "Let's keep it even."
He twirled the knife once more along his forearm, then reached both hands up toward the back of his helmet.
With a sharp hiss, the helmet's edges expanded and separated as Jason removed it. He locked eyes with Bruce through the domino mask beneath, then let the red helmet fall to the ground between them.
"Jason…" Bruce said quietly, his voice was heavy with sympathy. Seeing the son he had lost—murdered by the Joker—made his hardened, professional exterior falter as the father in him surged forward.
"I don't want to fight you," Bruce admitted honestly, hoping—however futile it might be—to reach him with words instead of fists.
"That ship sailed a long time ago," Jason replied. Beneath the anger he directed at Bruce, there was something else—an undeniable flicker of happiness at standing face-to-face with his adoptive father again. The man he had loved, respected, and admired.
The man who had taken in a reckless orphan without obligation and given him purpose—something that had brought light and excitement back into his life.
"Please," Bruce said, stepping carefully. "I can help you. I know what happened."
Jason scoffed. "So you talked to Talia, huh." He knew Damian had never been told the full truth about his resurrection. Aside from Ra's—now dead—Talia was the only one who could have filled Bruce in. His former lover.
"Tell me." Jason continued. "Does it make things easier for you to believe a dip in his fountain of eternal youth turned me feral? Or have you come to accept that this is just who I am now?"
He nudged the helmet forward with his boot. It rolled to a stop at Bruce's feet, drawing his gaze downward.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Bruce looked up—and his eyes widened. Jason was already right in front of him. He'd crossed the distance in an instant, moving with elevated speed.
Bruce's instincts acted in full gear. There was no time to think—only react. He snapped into a guarded stance just as Jason launched himself forward.
Jason's boots slammed into Batman's chest with brutal force, both heels driving in as Bruce's raised guard barely absorbed the impact. The blow lifted him off his feet and hurled him backward into a stone gargoyle, which had a stone piece broken on contact.
His shoulder dislocated on impact.
Grimacing, Bruce forced his cowl back into place as he saw Jason crouch to retrieve his helmet.
Pop.
He jammed the joint back into place. Pain flared hot and shrewd—but he stayed on his feet.
Forcing himself upright through clenched teeth, Bruce watched as Jason exhaled slowly and pulled the hood back over his head.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air felt heavier, and charged—like something dark had settled in. For a moment, it no longer felt as though Jason Todd stood before him, but someone else entirely.
Bruce narrowed his eyes, studying him. "Jason?"
Red Hood tilted his head slightly. "Try again."
'The Red Hood,' Batman muttered inwardly.
Jason lunged forward with enhanced speed, his fist snapping toward Bruce's face. Batman raised an arm to block—but Jason's other hand slammed into his abdomen.
Bruce coughed sharply.
The impact felt like a sledgehammer driving into his gut, forcing him to fold forward on instinct.
Thwack.
Red Hood clasped his hands together and brought them down across Bruce's back, sending him crashing to the ground.
Before Bruce could recover, Jason's boot smashed into his side with a kick, flipping him onto his back.
"Tell me," Red Hood said coldly as he loomed over him. He grabbed Bruce by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there.
"What bothers you more?"
He leaned in, his grip tightening.
"That your greatest failure crawled back from the grave… or that I've become a better Batman than you?"
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