A cavernous hall—
An emptied lap pool; blue tiles stained nicotine yellow with age—
A ring of unforgiving white lights—
A haphazard operating theatre set up in the shallow end—
A short, fat man in a half-pig mask, dressed more like a butcher than a surgeon—
A dried river of red-brown trailing in half-washed rivulets from gurney to deep end—
A struggling child trapped between the impassive arms of two figures with plasticky faces, mouths sagging grotesquely—
They were wrestling the child — a girl, writhing too fiercely to pinpoint her age but small so small — towards the pool's edge, where water would once have lapped at the rippled black tiles. Another pair of empty-faced assistants reached up from the shallows, ready to catch the girl.
All this, Peter took in during the half-second it took for his presence to be registered.
The plastic-men reacted quickly, guns rising, but Peter was faster. He shot a rapid-fire one-two and the men were repelled backwards. If one of them cracked their heads on the filthy tiles, Peter didn't have the time or fucks to care. He'd already raced across the space and snatched up the girl before not-so-unfortunate skull hit tile.
"No!" the pig-butcher hollered from the macabre pool and then the cavernous space exploded with gunfire, sound shattering off walls and ripping through Peter's sensitive ears.
He ignored the pain and ran, already deciding on the changing rooms as a viable space and wrenched open the door to the ladies' to throw spider and girl inside.
Not fast enough: though his senses clocked the threat he still stumbled and gasped with startled pain as something punched him in the thigh.
"No you fools!" the same voice screeched as Peter slammed shut the door and webbed it up. "You'll kill the graft!"
The gunfire stopped from the pool side but was immediately followed by the harrowing thud of a body throwing itself against the door.
But the webbing held.
Still stuck to the wailing child, who kicked and hit with as much as her little limbs could manage, Peter took in the changing rooms. There was another entry point at the opposite end of the long space. He stumbled towards them, weathering the girl's battering, and webbed the frames up too, effectively trapping them inside.
It didn't matter. Peter would get them out through the ceiling if needed.
The girl stopped hitting him the moment he set up the second layer of webs, but she was still wailing. He set her down on the wooden bench that ran the whole length of the room. Cubicles and large empty walls where lockers once stood lined both sides.
"Hey, hey," he said to the hysterical child, crouched to minimise himself. "You're safe now—"
"Wh-who are you!" the girl sobbed, flinching away. She was grimy, with badly shorn hair that had probably once been a mousy brown. Peter doubted she was any older than eleven or twelve. She wore little more than a papery smock, like the kind worn in hospitals.
Rage flushed through Peter, but when he responded, his voice was successfully light-hearted with just the right amount of earnestness. "I'm Spider-Man. I heard your cries for help."
"H-heard me?" The girl had curled into a ball on the bench. So small! But something about what he'd said had started to calm her down. She snuck a look at him through filthy hands crusted with blood. Peter dreaded to think of how. "A-are you like Superman?"
"A little," Peter hedged. There was no way he was even remotely matched to the power of a Super, but the classification didn't matter. "What's your name?"
"Oli-Olivia."
Another crash against the door. Both flinched. Peter lifted his mask to show he was smiling. No one was getting through unless they had a flame thrower. "Olivia. Hi. I wish we'd met under better circumstances."
Olivia's eyes shot between the doors and Peter. Tear-tracks had worked their way down the grime on her cheeks. "Hi," she said warily. "Are you here to h-help me?"
"Yes," Peter said firmly.
He glanced back at the door they'd burst through. That man had to be Pyg. Jason warned he was a fan of human experimentation. And those unmasked goons… they were probably dollotrons[1]. A shiver of revulsion passed through him. Descriptions could only prepare you so much for the reality.
"Are you the only prisoner?"
Olivia curled into a ball and Peter floundered. He wasn't equipped to deal with a child in such deep distress. It was a far cry from Naomi, the failed runaway.
"I'm sorry," he said, and had to fight to keep his voice level and clear of urgency. "You've been very brave, but I need to know if there's anyone else—"
"I'm the last one!" Olivia sobbed.
Peter's blood iced over. The river of red-brown sprung up, unwanted. "… How many?"
"F-four, I th-think." Olivia curled up even tighter and Peter had to strain to hear. "He — he said I w-was the la-last choice. 'Cause I'm so small."
The graft!
A strange term to use for a child… Dread swelled up, an oncoming tide that Peter feared he'd have no hope of shoring against. He couldn't just sit things out in here. Not if there were other victims. "What happened to them?"
Olivia shook her head. "I don't know!"
"Okay—"
"But a-after—" Olivia's head suddenly shot up. She stared at him with eyes desperate with the need to be understood. "I heard them! They were—" her voice hitched, breaking high-pitched in a horrified warble.
"It's okay," Peter tried to hush her. He didn't feel it, but a little girl's peace of mind was leagues more important than his own. "You're safe—"
"B-but they're prolly—"
"We don't know that," Peter said forcefully. "But Olivia, I'm going to need you to stay in here, okay? No one can come in."
"You're leaving?"
"I need to find the others," Peter said with what he hoped was a comforting smile. He tugged the mask back in place and stood up, only to nearly topple over at the blast of pain in his right leg. Blood stained the suit from mid-thigh. Even as he stared, another throb chewed through the muscle and the stain grew.
Later. He wasn't lightheaded, and despite the vicious pain, it didn't seem like a life-threatening injury. Peter would have to just deal with it later.
To give both of them some peace of mind, Peter added another layer of web to both entry points.
"Hide in one of the stalls," he ordered Olivia and the girl complied without complaint. He blinked in surprise, but didn't question the obedience. Instead, he jumped up to the ceiling and wrenched out a roof tile. The crawl space was thick with dust and the ancient stink of chlorine. Peter clambered through and was endlessly grateful for the suit: getting the dust out of his hair would have sucked.
As soon as he was certain he was clear of the changing rooms, Peter punched through another tile and used the surprise of exploding gypsum to web up the two dollotrons still trying to force their way into the room. A fast-acting goon in a horse mask — guess Pyg liked to diversify his workforce — attempted to dodge Peter's next shot but only succeeded in getting caught funny and falling with a pained scream. Ouch. Looked like he might have broken the guy's leg.
Sorry Jason. Looked like Peter was a hypocrite.
He webbed up the rest — it was only Pyg and the last of his terrifying dollotrons. They were strong and reckless — Peter had to take care to ensure they wouldn't hurt themselves in their struggles to escape. When he was satisfied, he flipped down, landing solidly on the cold floor.
No quippy lines tonight. Peter's only desire was to find the others. Dreading what he'd hear, he finally tapped into the comm again as he made for the men's changing rooms. "Hood? You still alive?"
There was a snarled grunt. "You creepy-crawling bastard! You idiotic! Impulsive!" There was a fleshy whack and a corresponding yell. "Dumbass!"
Had Peter not managed to get through in time to save Olivia, he might have winced at the vitriol from Jason. But he refused to be cowed. "There's a child here. Hood, it's Pyg. Pyg's here."
"Fucking hell," Hood cursed, though he didn't sound surprised. "You're sure?"
Peter eyed the man pinned to the tiled floor; his stupid mask had half come off and he was stirring weakly. Must have hit his head as he fell. What a shame. "I'm sure. He's secured."
"Secured? You're certain?"
"Unless he's got some kind of super-strength you didn't warn me about?"
A grunt and more shouting. "No," Hood grit out. "Stay put. I'm—"
But Peter didn't care what Jason was about to do. He had a job to finish.
There was a heavy-duty padlock on the male changing rooms. Peter merely wrapped his hand around the lock and wrenched. It tore away in a hideous shriek of metal. Dropping the ruined lock to the floor, he stepped inside cautiously, though the web told him it was empty of life.
Cells. The cubicles had been converted into cells. Doors knocked out between two cubicles and caged in with heavy-duty mesh. Thin piles of blankets were scattered throughout: some had been tossed up to land in the lidless cisterns and age-stained toilet bowls left behind, as through thrown about in a struggle. Beneath the clinical burn of bleach, Peter's sensitive nose picked up the sour reek of misery that had etched itself into the crumbling and mouldy grout.
He wanted to tear the room to pieces. Anything to get rid of that stink.
Lifeless, as the Web had shown. On the opposing entrance, the sounds of continued fighting — crashes and shouts with the odd pop of gunfire — continued.
"You want a hand?" Peter asked. The Web showed that there were barely a handful of fighters still on their feet: the rest were strewn about the gym like (still living) flies.
"No," came Jason's clipped reply. "You deal with your side."
"I've got Batman, Batgirl and Robin 1 headed your way," Oracle suddenly piped up. "ETA four minutes."
There was an especially loud crash. "We've got it handled!" Hood growled.
"It's Pyg," was all Oracle said flatly.
There was a click, then Hood spoke again. "Unless you planned on introducing yourself tonight, you should make yourself scarce."
Peter thought about it as he jogged out of the makeshift prison. He could stick around. After all, he'd already met Batgirl, and she'd seemed friendly enough. But his gut told him to make himself scarce.
Still… he had a job to finish. "I have to find the others first."
"Spider, you—"
But Peter had stopped listening again. Across from the changing rooms was another padlocked door. Hot and Cold Baths, read the plastic sign above it.
There was something in there, churning about in a frenzied circle.
… It wasn't human.
Saliva thickened with bitter fear, Peter tore off the padlock and stepped inside and
The
World
Emptied
Of
Sound.
— + —
Two pools. Each about twelve feet square and filled with water. In the one furthest from him was a small seal.
The zoo. Dick's grim expression and Peter's misinterpretation. Of course the Wayne's weren't responsible, they had been investigating it.
The entire room reeked of fish and shit and rotting meat.
Because in the second pool — the one closest to Peter — was a body.
The water was pink with blood. The body floated face down. Only, it wasn't human anymore, because—
Peter thought he might have retched —
Because the body in the water no longer had legs.
He stumbled back, revulsion and horror chasing him straight out of the room but even as the door swung shut, the image remained.
Skin fused to fur; fur fused to skin. Livid black and red streaked across a bare back.
Peter tripped over something and landed on his ass. It was the webbed-up body of a goon.
"— Spider!"
He tore his gaze from the goon. Jason had appeared finally, chest heaving with exertion. He stood over Pyg, crowbar brandished, but had turned at Peter's entrance. "You find 'em?"
Peter couldn't answer. At the sight of Pyg, at the sight of the man's grotesque mask and the blood-stained lap pool behind him, a rage erupted in Peter, so viciously hot it seared his nerve endings. The fury rendered him mute. He rolled to his feet and stalked towards the man.
"Spider, what—"
Peter slapped Hood's questing arm away.
"Spider-Man!"
Hands grabbed at Peter. Hood may as well have had the strength of a toddler, for all the effort it took to tear Peter's arm from the man's grip.
"Monster!" he snarled, and with a strength only barely reigned in, punched Pyg right in his fat gut. The man even squealed, as if convinced of his own transformation into beast. Peter punched again and heard the snap of bone. "You fucking sicko!"
"Spider-Man!" The roar in his ear was accompanied by hands again, wrapped around Peter's wrists. He turned in a snarl, only to meet the glaring eyes of Red Hood.
That's Jason. Not another assailant. Jason.
Jason, who made use of Peter's hesitation to get right up in his face and coincidentally block Peter's view of Pyg. "Trust me when I say this is not the kinda debut you wanna make," he hissed.
Abruptly, the fire in Peter's gut was doused with shame and the returning horror of the night. He flinched back, out of Jason's hold. "Oh God. I — I have to—"
"Leave? Yeah. No shit. But we ain't done here, Spider."
"But I—!"
"We. Ain't. Done," Hood reiterated, grabbing Peter by the shoulders for good measure. "Listen to me. There's an old post office across from Ivan Park. You enter from the roof." Hood fished a key card from a pocket in his jacked and handed it over. "It'll bypass the security system. You wait for me there. Now scram. You don't wanna be here for this."
Peter tried to look at Pyg, but Jason's shoulders were too broad a hurdle for him to attempt. "Are you…?"
"Just get outta here!"
Okay. Okay, fine. It was time for Peter to leave. But first— "There's a girl — Olivia — in the changing rooms," he managed to get out. The shaking was growing. "Here," he shoved a little spray bottle — hidden in his boot — into Jason's hands. "It'll dissolve the web."
Gloved fingers wrapped around the bottle and tucked it away. "Noted."
"ETA One minute," Oracle warned them. Peter wasn't sure why they'd even cover for him after what he'd done — what he'd been about to do.
Again, again, how could you fall like this again!
Peter backed off and spun on his heel, eyes firmly on the ceiling to avoid falling back into the familiar pit of anger and do something he'd truly regret. Though it felt wrong to just leave Jason, he didn't want to be here for the fallout even more.
"Spider-Man."
Peter paused, halfway through the hole in the ceiling. The one he'd made for himself earlier.
Hood carried on, "You run away from this — from me — and I promise you, I'll hunt you down. And you won't be happy when I find you."
He swallowed. The thought had occurred to him. But… Peter had a responsibility. And running away from his problems was no longer an option.
He nodded, unaware it went unseen by Jason.
He fled.
— + —
Jason covered Peter's work with a beating of his own, grimly ignoring Pyg's obscene squeals of pain and laughter. The pitch was wrong — too animalian — to confuse with another's cruel hysterics, but even so, the memories threatened to resurface. There'd be nightmares, whenever he managed to sleep. Nightmares upon terrors upon horrors.
It was too easy to fall into a rhythm. A smack. A crack. A screech. Rinse and repeat, palm aching from the extended brutality with a rod of iron in hand.
Disgusted, he dropped it, the clatter on hard tile nearly drowned out by Pyg's wails and his nonsense about perfection and breakthroughs on human-animal melding. Sadistic shit. No wonder Peter had reeled out of the hot and cold rooms like he'd been hit by fear gas.
Fuck. What was he doing wasting time? Jason took out the Jericho nestled against his ribs. A reliable thing, it fit so nicely in his hand.
"You're done, Pyg," he sneered, and thumbed off the safety and he—
"Hood! Stand down!" an all too familiar voice bellowed and Jason—
Jason fucking flinched.
A batarang smacked into the pistol and the shot went wide, shattering the white tiles two feet from Pyg, and then there was a body barrelling into Jason and tackling him to the ground like he was the monster. Like he was the one responsible for that waterfall of dried blood!
He got a single good punch in before Batman had him pinned and Jason didn't bother fighting back any more than the token amount to give the impression of a struggle. That had to be enough time. He hoped to fuck Peter had high-tailed it out of there with the Bats distracted from pursuit.
"Took you long enough," Jason jeered. "What? Got caught up saving little murderers from trees?"
"Yield."
"To what?" Jason laughed breathlessly. "You?"
"You were about to kill him!".
"And what a tragedy that would have been! Yet another of your failed redemption projects! At it again with the torture and the murder!" he crowed. Batman hovered inches above Jason with a snarl of his own carved into his exposed face. It took more than Jason was prepared for to keep himself away from that rooftop. Away from the sick grief and tearing of fabric and kevlar and the final familial ties between father and son. He covered it with bluster instead. "You're intent on keeping this city sick, aren't you, old man?"
"Batman!" God bless Timbo, trying to mediate with the kind of urgent tone Jason would bet his left ass-cheek was put on. "You need to see this."
"Yeah, B," Jason echoed, though he went limp to show he was done fighting. "Why don't you go see what the good professor's done this time?"
Batman stared down, jaw giving away nothing but the usual contempt reserved solely for Jason. Though he knew his own expression was hidden by the mask and muzzle, Jason wished he could have burnt a sizzling hole in B's skull from the heat of his answering glare.
Those kinds of wishes were as useless as a bird in a locked warehouse.
"Hood won't shoot him," Robin promised. "Right?"
"Sure, sure." Jason gave a lazy wave with his one free hand. "Go on, Batman. You've neutered me."
With a frustrated growl, Batman threw himself off Jason and stalked away. Jason sat up but didn't bother standing. Instead, he watched with Tim as Bruce carefully pushed open the door to the hot and cold pools, only to freeze in the doorway at whatever he saw.
Fucking hell. Jason didn't need to see what was behind door number one to have a solid punt at what it was Pyg had done.
Should have remembered the gun earlier. Or the fucking All Blades! Fuckssake.
He glanced at Valentin, not even ten feet away. If he summoned them now he could—
"You okay?" Tim broke Jason's train of thought. He looked back across to see Batman step hesitantly into the room. The door swung shut with a feeling of finality.
Wisely, Tim didn't offer to help Jason up.
"Just fuckin' peachy." He hauled himself up, dusted off his knees, then started walking, though not without one last kick for good measure in the meat of Pyg's thigh.
"Hood?" Tim asked over the man's wail. "What are you doing?"
Jason ignored him. He pulled out the spray bottle Peter had given him; good thing it was a flexible kind of plastic — the kind you'd buy at the drugstore for travel — so it hadn't shattered in his brief tussle with Bruce. The liquid inside was clear but faintly yellow.
He knocked on the door to the women's. "Kid? You in there?"
No response. Jason wasn't much surprised.
Tim joined him. "There's a kid?"
"'Course there's a damn kid," Jason growled. "When has someone like Pyg ever kept his depravity to the adult population?"
Tim hummed. "What's that?" He pointed at the spray bottle.
"Noneya." Jason knocked again. "Kid, this is Red Hood and Robin. I need you to stay clear of the door."
If this set the fucking webs on fire or gassed up the room, Jason was going to kick Peter's ass. Big dumb eyes or not.
Granted, he was ready to kick Peter's ass already for the shit he'd pulled tonight, so maybe it wouldn't make much difference if it did.
Of course, using the solvent was easier said than done: Peter had webbed it up from the inside, which left Jason painstakingly squeezing the nozzle into the millimetres-wide gap between door and frame and hoping for the best. When he got impatient, he slammed himself into the door and sprayed as he strained against the painted wood, keeping it open enough that he hoped the solvent would get through.
"You want a hand?"
"Why don't you fucking deal with the goons and dolls?" Jason snapped, mid-spray. Tim, predictably, snickered, but left Jason to it.
It took a few more body slams and quick sprays before he felt the door finally give. Jason gave the wood a final set of sharp kicks along the edges to loosen the webs further and then it swung open.
He paused at the threshold as the sound of terrified sobbing reached him.
Shit. Probably should have telegraphed his moves more.
"Hey," he said, and took off his muzzle. No use scaring the kid further with the modulator. "I bet that was real scary, wasn't it? Sorry. It's okay. It's over now."
The crying didn't let up. Jason held back a curse.
"I'm coming in, 'kay?" he said, then stepped into the changing room. He took care to keep his footsteps audible, then sat at the bench opposite the cubicle he thought the kid was hiding in. "I'm just gonna sit here, alright? You can come out when you're ready."
It felt good to finally sit. Jason's muscles and joints ached from fighting. "Crap. Don't think I'm gonna get up after this."
Yeah… sitting was a mistake. Should've known better. He wouldn't've noticed how fucking exhausted he was. Now all he could think of was getting back to his apartment and collapsing into bed. Maybe a brief cuddle with Dog before surrendering himself to the nightmares.
Fat chance of that, though. Now when he had a date with Spider-Man still on the books. Speaking of…
"So, you got to meet Spider-Man, huh?" he mused, anger cleared from his voice. Jason felt clumsy speaking like this — out of practice — but it was part and parcel for the job. "You're lucky, you know? I can count the number of people who've spoken to him on one hand. And I promise, I don't have any weird and wacky number of fingers."
The crying had calmed, though Jason could still hear the sticky sniffles of a child coming down from tears.
"R-really?" came a wet voice from the other side of the cubicle.
"Yep. He's real new 'round here. Still got that new car smell."
He heard a scuffle. Bare feet landed on the floor.
"What's your name, kid?"
"O-Olivia."
The feet ventured close to the door, though it stayed locked.
"Olivia… Twelfth Night. Not bad as names go. You got family?"
"Yes. But mommy doesn't live with mama anymore."
He nodded, satisfied. It didn't sound like she was reluctant to go home.
"There's a missing person's report for an Olivia Barrens, eleven years old," Oracle told him. Jason owed her so much wine for not outing Peter. Not that it meant much: it wouldn't take much for Bruce to put two and two together. "Family's been beside themselves. They're clean."
"Noted," he muttered, then spoke louder for Olivia's ears. "The guy's still on probation. Think you could give me a review, Miss Olivia?"
Olivia laughed softly in between sniffles. "He was fast."
That he was, Jason thought darkly. He'd seen it before, the night Peter had that nightmare, but seeing him move that fast while crawling across the fucking ceiling? Had Jason not a plethora of demons already, that might've been the thing of nightmares.
"I-I thought his webs were cool."
Jason nodded sagely. He also agreed there. They certainly helped neutralise his threats from a distance. The speed in which Peter must have dealt with those dollotrons… Jason was reluctantly impressed. "He's good at sticking to a theme, ain't he? Spider suit, spider-web. Did he do the wall-climbing thing, too?"
The lock unlatched, and one brown eye peeked at him from the crack in the door she'd made for herself. Jason kept his posture deliberately relaxed and as nonthreatening as his 6'1" frame can manage.
"He told me to hide, but I peeked," Olivia confessed. "He stuck to the ceiling."
Jason chuckled. "Smart. Always gotta keep an eye out for yourself in Gotham."
The door opened wide enough for Olivia to slip out and Jason smiled tiredly.
"Hey, kiddo. You hurt?"
Olivia shook her head. "Am I gonna go home?"
"Yeah." Unlike the rest of 'em. "Your moms miss you like hell."
Abruptly the girl burst into tears and suddenly Jason was accosted by four and a half feet of filthy, terrified child. Feeling too large and clumsy for such work but left with no better alternative, he focused on calming Olivia down, patting her back carefully and humming platitudes.
He bit back his anger. Too many. Too many fucking kids. It was all too easy to supplant Olivia with Jenny — with any fucking kid — and never. Never could Jason understand why Bruce couldn't just — turn the other fucking way.
Some acts were beyond redemption. Some people beyond forgiveness. He'd said it to Peter and he believed it. Wouldn't be able to wield the All Blades without it. And every time Bruce insisted they live was another time he allowed them to kill again. More victims. More deaths. More endings far worse than death. All because the Batman thought the lives of beasts like Pyg were worth more than those like Olivia.
As always, the rage seethed. Jason let it. As always, there'd be a time to let it out.
Eventually, Olivia calmed down. Almost as soon as the tears stopped, there was a soft knock at the door, as though they'd been waiting for that moment.
"Hood?" Batgirl — Cass, with Babs off — called.
Olivia clutched him tighter at the sound of an interloper, but Jason patted her back again. "It's just Batgirl. You know Batgirl? She's the best of the Bats. Can she come in? She's here to get you some help before you go back to your moms."
Olivia clearly thought about it, but eventually nodded.
"Come in," Jason called out. "Slow."
Cass listened and entered cautiously. She let the door slowly shut behind her and made her way over to them with that dancing grace Jason still found unnerving, on occasion. "There's a social worker here to speak to you, Olivia."
"And my moms?"
"They're on their way," Cass promised and held out her hand. Olivia unstuck herself from Jason and took her hand.
He breathed out slow at the blood crusted in the girl's fingernails. The cops would have already shipped Pyg off: there was no point going out and finishing the job now.
Shouldn't've fucking flinched.
Cass led Olivia out of the changing rooms, and Jason hauled himself up with a groan, then groaned again when he saw Tim hovering in the doorway.
"What?" he sighed, taking no care now to keep the harshness from his voice. He slipped the muzzle back on before any cops could spot him.
"So… Spider-Man, is it?" Tim asked as he stood to the side to allow Jason to stalk past. As expected, Valentin was gone, though there were several cops still working on liberating the webbed up (and freshly sedated) dollotrons and the small handful of goons Peter stuck from the floor. It looked like they'd resorted to trying to pry them off the tiles with a knife. Jason made no attempt to help, despite the half-full solvent he now had in his possession.
"That's what he's callin' himself," he grunted. Jason couldn't help but pause at the edge of the lap pool…
Was that a kid's blood, trailing down to the deep end?
If he left now, he could intercept the cops en route to Arkham—
"Any possible relation to your man?"
Jason wrenched his gaze away and straight up laughed, though he found the sound hard to manage. "You're shittin' me. The barefoot wonder? He flinches during action scenes."
Technically not a lie, though Jason suspected it had more to do with loud, unexpected noises than it did the violence. Actually, never mind suspected — that was the exact kind of behaviour he'd expect to see from someone who'd 'fought in a war'.
In fact, that kind of experience might explain Peter's attempt to beat the snot out of Pyg. Jason might've been impressed, had he not been pissed at the hypocrisy and worried about how killing Valentin would affect someone like Peter.
"Just seems a coincidence," Tim said, frown visible even with the domino. "And it's not like he's without abilities."
"Sure, and they nearly got him murdered." May as well keep up the cover story for now, even if they'd be lucky if the cat managed to stay in the bag another day at this point. "He's got no interest in work like the Bats. This spider's new, but he ain't mine."
"But you chose to work with him."
"More like, we were playing at cat and mouse when he latched onto somethin' — the kid's crying, I think — and I figured I'd stick around to supervise."
"Hmm." Tim didn't push for more, but he also didn't sound convinced, either. That was fine with Jason, though it might become a problem for Peter if he didn't decide to come clean soon.
He felt Batman's presence before he announced himself. "Red Hood, how did you find this place?"
Jason held back the reflexive snarl at the command implicit in his voice — Batman made it abundantly clear he wasn't part of the menagerie anymore. He wasn't one to be ordered around by someone who'd so clearly severed ties. But he was also so fucking tired, and worried Peter might actually run off despite Jason's warning. Leaving as soon as possible was of higher priority than asserting his independence from the Batman.
So, he gave a perfunctory account of the night, starting with a lie — that he'd stumbled across Spider-Man and decided to test him after hearing he'd helped out that runaway the night before last — and ending with another lie — that Spider-Man ran off as soon as everything had been secured, despite Jason's orders. A sandwich of untruths. Fucking tuck in.
"Why didn't you call us in earlier?" Batman asked when Jason was done.
"We had it handled. Thought it was just some organised crime."
"You didn't know it was Pyg's hideout?" Tim asked, surprised.
"Not until we started fighting 'em. Like I said: we just got lucky Spider-Man heard the kid. If we were even an hour later, who knows what Pyg would've done to her."
Batman was silent a moment as he worked over Jason's account. He hummed. "You need to return to the cave for debrief."
Jason raised a brow. "I don't fucking think so. I've told you all you need to know right now."
"Spider-Man is still at large—"
"You mean the Spider-Man that dropped everything to find a kid only he could hear crying?" Jason scoffed. "That Spider-Man?"
"He's dangerous—"
"No, fuck you. I ain't your lackey and as far as I'm concerned, the kid's proven himself to have his head screwed on as straight as any of ours are." He poked Batman in the armoured chest. "Which ain't the ringing endorsement I already know you're thinking it is. But that's two kids in forty-eight hours he's saved.What's your count, Batman?"
Bruce was silent. Jason didn't fool himself into thinking he'd won, but at least he'd delayed things. Fuck. He just wanted to get showered and get some sleep.
"I'm leaving. Don't contact me until the PM, at least." He sent a less angry wave to Tim. "Catch you around, Ex-Red. Tell Batgirl I said thanks."
"… Sure," Tim said. "I'm glad you guys found the girl in time."
"Sure," Jason echoed. He spun on his heel and stalked out of the gym. With any luck, his bike was out of the police cordon.
Night's not over yet, he thought darkly as he shot a hook up into the ironwork bracing, uninterested in speaking to a cop as he got out of there. Not by a long shot.
[1] For those unaware, Pyg's dollotrons are victims who've been surgically altered and lobotomised to become essentially 'living dolls'. They're highly resistant to pain and will follow orders without question. They will attempt to complete a task/attack even if they hurt themselves, and therefore require sedation to be properly dealt with. Good thing Peter's webs are stronger than the average human!