Work Text:
If someone had asked Jason five years ago where he saw himself in the future, he’d probably have said dead.
He certainly wouldn’t have said the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit.
But in a way, it sort of makes sense.
There was no way he could have kept on going like he was. His life as the Red Hood, as a vigilante — it would have killed him one day, and it would have been permanent. There’s only ever one second chance. He needed a break, or he was going to break, but the problem in that is that what he does is who he is. It’s as unchangeable as the need to breathe.
And after Bruce came back from the time stream, after Jason saw the way their whole family was changed — Tim, hardened and closed off like never before; Dick, weary in a way Jason’s never seen; even Damian, young and volatile and raised into this…
Jason had to cut and run, then and there. He enrolled in college. He joined the FBI Academy out of college, and he breezed through the courses with gusto. He only worked with the Gotham Field Office for four months before transferring to the BAU.
And, he hasn’t once looked back.
The change from vigilante to federal agent wasn’t seamless, and it’s not a vacation. But it is, in a strange way, a relief. It’s a de-escalation, and it’s an assurance that he’ll get to go home at the end of the day. More than that, it gave him the breathing room to make home more than the place where he sleeps and stores gear — It made his life worth living, in a way more than just ‘The Mission’.
Even with cases that strike too close to home, he’s so much better off than the way he was before. Even with cases like this one.
When he walks into the roundtable room that morning, he knows instantly that this was going to be one of the bad ones. The tension in the room is heavy, thick. Like a magnet pulled against its will, his eyes catch on the paused video pulled up on the screen. His heart stutters, then falls through his chest.
It’s a little girl. She can’t be more than nine or ten, and her face is wide and pale, eyes blown wide, dark brown hair fraying around her face. He closes his eyes and breathes out, feeling a well-known weight settle under his skin. And then he opens them, letting the moment pass.
Jason really, really hates cases with kids. He hates the people who hurt them moreso.
Quietly, he slips into his seat — facing the door and the closed window to the bullpen, back to the outer window, everyone in sight — and brings the file closer. He skims through it as the rest of the team filters into the room, taking their seats around him. Morgan, in the room before him, sits to his left and Emily, who walked in right after him, to his right. It’s their usual setup, and he wonders on the other two’s personal decisions to sit the same way as him. Knowing this team, it’s a choice, not a coincidence.
He can feel his teammate’s eyes on him, which means he’s not doing as good masking his emotions as he wants to be. “You okay, man?”
Jason looks up to Morgan, a faint grimace pulling on his lips. He considers it, saying slowly, “These cases always hit differently, is all.”
The corner of Morgan’s mouth twitches downwards, and he nods. “Yeah. Kids…” he shakes his head.
“Kids,” Jason agrees.
Once everyone is settled, JJ shifts, drawing the attention to herself. “We have a bad one today, guys. Five days ago this was sent to the Appleton family in Gotham,” She presses a button on the little remote clenched in her hand and the video starts.
The video plays. The crying girl fills the screen as a mechanized voice comes from behind the camera, demanding a large ransom in exchange for their daughter’s life. The video cuts off as abruptly as it starts, and the young girl’s pale face freezes on the screen.
“Yeah,” JJ says in response to the silence that follows the video. “She was found dead the next morning before the family could even get the funds authorized, single GSW to the head. She was the daughter of Jesse Appleton, one of GCPD’s detectives. This is the third video sent to a member of the GCPD within the past month, all including children of someone on the force, varying in gender, age, and ethnicity, all killed this same way before the families could get the funds authorized. And they received another video this morning, this time of a little boy of one of their beat cops, Hayden Jameson.”
She plays that one too, and it’s more or less a copy of the first. Same words, different terrified kid.
“If the unsub sticks to schedule, he’ll be dead by morning.”
Emily speaks first, looking away from the screen to glance at her file. “Gotham? Isn’t that where you’re from, Todd?”
“Yeah. I grew up there, did my field work there. But, honestly,” he says, looking over the information before him once more. It doesn’t make sense. “Even with how personal this is for GCPD, It’s weird that they’re asking for help.”
“How come?” Rossi asks.
“Gothamites…” he waves his hand in the air as he struggles for the words, “We’re pretty secular. And a lot of out of towners can’t handle the place, no offense. GCPD is used to dealing with the likes of the Riddler and the Joker. This is relatively low scale for Gotham. If the big stuff doesn’t make ‘em ask for help, why would they for something that, for them, isn’t? So, yeah. It’s strange.”
Speaking up, Reid adds, “Jason’s right. Statistically, Gotham has both the highest crime rates and number of serial killers. There are a few other contenders for Justice League level threats— Metropolis, Star City, Central City, I could go on. But on the sheer level of body count… No place has Gotham beat. And the city doesn’t call in outside help. So the fact that they’re reaching out…”
“It’s suspicious,” Emily finishes, catching on.
“It’s something,” Jason mutters. Suspicious, definitely. Whether the suspicion lies with the police department or someone else remains to be seen.
“I’ve been to Gotham,” Rossi inputs, “it was an… entirely unique experience.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“What I don’t get,” Reid says, “is why our unsub killed his victims before the ransom money came in.”
“Unless…” Emily replies, “Unless it’s not about the money.”
From his other side, Morgan says, “He could be using the ransom video as what? Another way to torment the families? To give them hope before taking it away?”
“It can’t just be about the families. This guy definitely has a type,” she shoots back.
“I hate to say it,” Rossi starts, “but it’s entirely possible that killing these kids is secondary to him. The targets are all members of the GCPD, it might be that these are some form of vengeance killings, payback.”
“What?” Emily questions, “Like, ‘you made me suffer, so see how it feels’?”
“It’s possible that our unsub lost a kid of his own and blames the police force for it.”
Hotch nods. “That’s a good start. Garcia, can you start pulling up a list of any male who lost a child within the past six months? Probably violently, or in some sort of attack.”
“Sure can, boss,” she replies.
“Thank you. The rest of us— we have a missing child, so we’ll talk more on the jet. Wheels up in ten.”
—--
“Home sweet home.”
He’s been stuffed in the front of one of the standard black federal vans, Morgan and JJ in the back, Hotchner driving. Emily, Reid, and Rossi take up the other vehicle.
Through the window, the haunted and dreary streets of Gotham greet him. Despite being only mid-afternoon, the shadows between buildings are long and stretched, deeper than they should be. Wary pedestrians eye their vans as they drive by; they stand out like a sore thumb. The sooner they can wrap up this case, the better. It’s like the body detecting a virus: they don’t belong, and everyone knows it. Before long, all of Gotham is going to know the feds are in town. The BAU, the biggest guns of the big guns.
And like a virus, they’re going to be rejected. Violently, probably, or at least with vehemence.
His teammates don’t know what they’re getting into.
“You grew up around here?” Morgan asks from the back, pulling him from his thoughts. When Jason glances at him, he’s eyeing the landscape critically.
“Mmm,” Jason agrees. “Not here. This is the— well, not the nice part of town, but it’s better than where I grew up. Park Row. Or, Crime Alley as everyone knows it.”
“Crime Alley,” Morgan repeats, “Sounds… welcoming.”
“If you think being stabbed in the open and having no one call the cops sounds welcoming, sure.”
Morgan’s silence speaks more than any words ever could. Jason regrets that, a little. He loves the city, but she has her issues. Morgan didn’t deserve the bite Jason always seems to have when talking about Gotham, but he can’t take the words back, either.
On his left, Hotchner says, “Do you have any old contacts that might know anything?”
Given his relationship with the city’s nightlife and vigilantes, Jason is sure he does. “Yeah. But, Hotch, by the time I can contact them, the whole city will know we’re in town. We’re the hot gossip on the streets right now. It’s not like bringing in outsiders is exactly a common occurrence.”
“Already?” JJ questions from the back, “We haven’t even reached the station.”
Jason snorts. “This is Gotham. The streets have ears, and the alleys, eyes. Any good gang informant will have already informed their boss, and anyone else will spread the word quietly. We’re not good for business. For anyone.”
“Is that going to cause issues?” Hotch asks.
“Could. I’ll make sure it won’t.”
The bats will help, although vigilante hints are tricky to finagle in court, even with the Justice League establishing country-wide standards that are accepted in most places. He won’t deny the aid, but he needs solid evidence. If he hits the streets… Well, the girls recognize him even sans mask — and hadn’t that been a day when he’d figured that out — and as long as he doesn’t look like a spook and scare off clientele, he’ll get good intel if they have it.
The side-eye Hotch sends him is pointed, but he doesn’t press, only giving a flat, “Good.”
The rest of the trip is spent in silence, save for the stray comment or question about the city that the team thinks of as they pass the mixed architecture of Gotham. A solid thirty minutes after arriving from the airport, and with little fanfare, they pull into the parking garage of the Gotham City Police Department.
Jason steps out of the vehicle, an odd feeling in his chest. When he was younger, he feared the place. As Robin, the building turned into a source for allies. The Red Hood was on nearly every wanted poster in the place. Even when he worked with FBI office, it’s never been a place he’s particularly loved. But it’s as rooted in who he is as anything else.
It’s only been a little over a month since he joined the BAU and not even a year since he graduated from the Academy. He doubts the faces have changed, and he can still picture the exact place the crappy coffee machine sits.
The thought stays with him as their little group of people walk into the precinct. It’s a run down place, overworked and understaffed, funded by what little taxes the department receives. There’s significantly less corruption than there used to be, but as they walk their way through the bullpen, Jason still sees one or two faces that set him on edge.
From his office, Commissioner Gordon emerges. The man’s eyes scan their group, landing on Jason. The man’s whole face warms, and he makes his way over to them.
Jason shoots him a crooked grin, sticking out his hand.
“Jason Todd,” Gordon says slowly, taking in his frame and shaking his hand, his grasp warm and firm. “You look good, kid. These feds treating you well?”
“Commish,” he greets heartily. “I’m not doing too shabby. I still see a lot of shit, just spread out. But after Gotham—” he shrugs.
“Gotham,” Gordon returns wryly. He turns his gaze to the rest of the group, and there seems to be something approving in it. “Welcome to the city. I’m Commissioner Gordon. We’re glad to have you folks here.”
Hotch shakes his hand as well, nodding. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, and these are SSAs Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, Doctor Reid, and our Press Liaison, Jennifer Jareau. I see you already know Agent Todd. Do you have a room we can set up in?”
“Yeah, sure. Sure. Right this way.”
They follow him to the back of the space and into a conference room to the left of Gordon’s office. “You can set up here,” Gordon says, gesturing to the room, “Do you need anything? Coffee’s over by the far wall, and the vending machine you passed in the hallway has water and all other sorts of junk.”
“No thanks,” Hotch replies, “I think we have it from here.”
Gordon accepts this easily. “Right. Well, my office is next door. Come by and ask if you have any questions.”
Hotchner nods and Gordon leaves. He turns to the rest of them. “Alright, team, let’s get to work.”
—--
It’s that evening, and they still haven’t made any progress. It’s just the right time of the day where rush hour traffic is about to hit, and the city’s shadows darken and deepen even as sunset’s orange-gold light washes half the city in its glow. It’s when Gotham’s nightlife starts to emerge, and it’s the perfect time for what Jason plans to do. And so, with Hotch’s permission, Jason decides to hit the streets. Not as a vigilante— he hasn’t been one of those since he went to college, barring emergencies. But he’s not going out as a fed either.
So, off the work clothes come. He doesn’t go full suit like Hotch or Rossi, dressed plainly in cargo pants and a simple long sleeved tee a lot more akin to Morgan’s own outfit, but his day attire is still nicer than he needs. What he needs is something casual and worn down, something that won’t out him as a suit but instead highlight his Alley drawl, broad figure, and natural Gothamite grit. He needs to look like himself.
His old self, at least.
Per request, he has his own hotel room, and he changes swiftly, pulling on beaten cargo pants, a distressed henley and dark red hoodie, scuffed boots, and his leather jacket. Rolling his shoulders, he reacquaints himself with the familiar weight and grasp of his clothing, badge firmly hidden away, and then he equips and holsters his gun to his waist. There’s a thin knife in his boot, and another sewn into the lining of his jacket for easy access. It’s convenient that the BAU team has their own jet, or getting the weapons past security would be a hassle.
Then he exits his room and goes to knock on Emily and JJ’s door.
As much as he’d like, he can’t go wandering the streets alone. If he’s talking to the working girls, he can’t take any of the guys but Reid. They would probably love Reid. Except he can’t take Reid on any of the rest — whatever capabilities he might have, the guy looks like an easy mark, worsened by the fact that he’s clearly not from here. So all the guys are still at the station. Emily, though, can speak with the girls without them closing off, and she can blend into the streets like she’s lived there all her life.
It probably has to do with the many blacked out lines in her file that Jason’s supposed to not have read.
So he’s taking Emily with him. JJ, by virtue of them needing a driver and being unable to leave the van in the Alley, is at the hotel with them.
When he knocks, JJ opens the door, eyebrows rising as she takes him in. “You sure clean up nice.”
“Thanks,” Jason answers wryly. “Prentiss almost ready?”
JJ nods. “She’s in the bathroom.” She opens the door wider. “Want to come in?”
“Ah, sure. Probably best to get out of the hallway anyways.”
The hotel is middling. It’s nice enough that it doesn’t rent by the hour, and it’s in the better part of the city, but it isn’t so nice that Jason would be surprised if he learned there were recording devices in the hotel rooms. And when he swept for bugs in his own room —- well, the building is out one expensive bug and micro camera. He steps past JJ into the room.
He wonders if any of his teammates swept for bugs as well.
Somehow, he doubts it.
JJ and Emily’s room is almost the exact same as his except for the two full-sized beds in place of Jason’s queen. Otherwise: same amenities, same staticy tv, same brick wall view out the window. There’s two suitcases open on the dresser, one black and half-emptied, the other purple and gray and still closed. Emily’s and JJ’s respectively, he’d assume.
He turns, and JJ is watching him with an amused expression. “See something interesting?”
Jason shrugs. “Just checkin’ it out. You guys sweep for bugs?” He moves further into the room, running his fingers along all the obvious places and ducking to check under things as needed.
“No? Why would we—”
Jason makes a small ‘ah-ha’ noise, and straightens from where he was half bent to reach under the lip of the bed closest to the door. A small round black dot sits between his fingers.
“You’re kidding me.”
Jason snorts, searching under the other bed as well. He finds another one planted near the headboard. He drops both of them to the carpeted floor and crushes them under his foot. They break with a satisfying crunch. “Nope. Granted, they’re probably not planted to spy on us specifically, but don’t be surprised if you find hidden cameras either.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
Jason grimaces. “Places like this sell… uh, homemade videos to supplement their income.” He waves a hand towards the walls. “They’re probably not recording right now. Low battery life. But mine were on the painting behind the tv.”
JJ goes over to the tv, reaching behind it the same time Prentiss emerges from the bathroom. Emily — dressed in boots, plain jeans, a dark blue long-sleeved shirt, and black leather jacket; she’s good, she knows how to dress to the situation — looks between the two of them questioningly. “What’re you doing?”
“Sweeping for bugs,” JJ answers distantly, pulling a small camera from the top of the painting. “Huh.”
She flicks it to Jason, who treats it to the same fate as the others.
Emily hums, but doesn’t look all too surprised. “Figures Gotham would be that kind of place.”
“Yeah,” Jason says, bending down to brush the metal fragments into his hand, “I kind of forget that this is a thing that normal people don’t do, or else I would have said something. Someone should probably text the others, let ‘em know to check.”
“No kidding,” JJ responds, “Not to mention the whole illegal surveillance charge that we could press against the hotel.”
“I forget that that’s a thing, too,” he mutters to himself, dropping the camera and mic remains onto one of the bedside tables. “You ready to go, Prentiss?”
“Yes. Gun and badge hidden away, all that good stuff. Just gotta text Hotch. You?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s message him, then head out. I hope you like walking. Even with JJ taking us, it’s not worth the risk for someone to see us exiting the van, so we need to be dropped off a few blocks away.” He heads for the door, “By the way, I ‘preciate it, JJ. It saves us a lot of hassle.”
“Of course,” she says, “Y’all don’t get into too much trouble out there.”
“No promises.”
—--
Jason takes to Crime Alley’s streets like he never left. Emily watches with muted curiosity as he makes his way down the streets with seemingly random turns until he gets to the corner where his most reliable contacts work.
The girls are there, like they always are this time of day. It just the start of their business hours. He doesn’t spot Pearl, and there’s a new, young face a little further down the way — he’ll have to check into that later — but for the most part it’s familiar faces. He approaches, not worrying about others. Customers will think he’s a john, and the women recognize him.
Not that they always recognized him, but through an accident and the necessary trust the situation required, well. Here he is, able to approach out of uniform — a better arrangement for all of them, surely, even if B threw a fit when he found out.
Jason argues that he was legally dead at the time. Even now, he’s done a damn good job keeping himself out of the media, and his ‘resurrection', as it were, barely made the news. Besides, the women aren’t rats — they wouldn’t know if Jason had thought they would spill, special circumstances be damned.
Rose spots him first, cigarette held between her fingers. She usually does; she’s not the oldest but she has a sharp eye and an attuned sense of trouble. She’s straightforward and not afraid to let Jason know when things are going to shit, and most importantly, she’s loyal. If not to Jason, then her coworkers.
She takes a drag, then breathes out a cloud of smoke. “Heya, Pete. Been a minute. Who’s your friend?”
“Heya, Rose. This is Emily. Emily, this is Rose. Rose, Emily. She’s good people.”
The two women nod at each other in greeting, although Rose keeps a lingering gaze on Prentiss.
“How you been?” Jason asks, tilting closer. From the outside, he knows he looks like he’s trying to flirt, pick her up.
Rose leans towards him in return. The game’s old hat for the two of them, for show. It makes the information transfer safer for both of them. No one will think Rose is snitching, and Jason will walk away just a cheap john. “Good,” she answers, “Things have been quiet since ya left, ‘cept the breakout a few weeks back. No new upstarts on the streets.”
“I’m glad,” Jason replies, genuinely relieved. It’s not his problem to fix anymore, but he still cares. “No one troublin’ you or the girls?”
“Nah. Like I said, it’s been quiet. What’cha need?” She blows out another puff of smoke, trailing her fingers along the open edge of his jacket.
“You hear about the kids goin’ missin’? Windin’ up dead in less than a day?”
Rose sucks in a sharp breath and grabs the front of his jacket tightly. “Yeah, I heard.” She purses her lips, then purposefully relaxes her fingers, smoothing out the leather where she grabbed it. “I don’t know—” She breaks off, glances at Emily.
“She’s good people,” he repeats.
“She's a suit.”
Jason closes his eyes. He’d said it himself. Word spreads fast.
“I just want to help,” Emily says, voice gentle but firm. “I’m not here to do anything but find the bastard who’s killing these kids.”
Rose eyes her for a long moment. “Kids go missing all the time. What makes these ones special?”
Emily shakes her head, and something in her face seems to pinch. “Nothing. Every kid who goes missing, or gets hurt, or ends up dead, they all deserve help. There’s just not enough of us giving it.”
Rose keeps her gaze on her a moment longer, before turning back to Jason. “And you trust her?” she asks, looking him in the eye. Hers are brown and hard, weathered by her time on the streets and honed by her care for the others on it with her.
He stares back, meeting that look with an equal one of his own. “With my life.”
“Hm.” She looks at Emily again, and his teammate nods at her gravely, as if she understands what’s being exchanged here. Rose breathes out. “Alright. There’s been a lot of activity on the edge of The Bowery where Falcone Street meets Carmine Avenue. Problem is, none of the gangs seem to agree on whose causin’ all the ruckus. You ask me, it ain’t any of ‘em.”
Jason shares a look with Emily. “Thank you,” she says, pulling out her phone to call Hotch about the lead. He figures there will be squad cars up and down that street in less than ten.
“Thank you, Rose,” Jason echoes. He knows what she’s risking, even better than Emily. He gets it. A thanks is the least he can give.
Rose tilts her head, then pointedly turns away from them and takes a half step away. Jason jerks his head at Emily, and the two of them start walking away.
Being as they are in the Alley, they won’t be able to help if there are any immediate hits based on the address Rose gave. The only thing for the two of them to do is walk. They’re maybe a block and half away when Emily says, “You knew her.”
Jason glances at her. She’s watching him, and while there’s certainly curiosity in her voice, there’s no judgement.
“Yeah. ‘Till I was adopted, I grew up ‘round here. And, well, I felt loyal to the place, so I kept coming back,” It’s a half-truth, and he knows Emily knows it. He takes a breath to consider how to frame his own question. “You didn’t tell her I was part of the FBI.”
In the distance, police sirens wail through the streets and Jason would be willing to bet that the red and blue lights are for the tip.
They’re another half-way down the block when she responds, “You didn’t introduce us as members of the Bureau. She knew who I was, but didn’t say anything about you, and I didn’t want to ruin whatever trust you’ve built up with the people ‘round here, so I kept with it. Seemed like the road to go, and it turned out better than we could’ve hoped for, so I guess I was right.”
“Thanks.” There’s a strange kind of relief in having Rose and the others not know he works for the feds. He worked hard for his relationship with them, and he doesn’t want that to go away just because of a change in occupations. He wasn’t exactly expecting to be looked out for in the way Emily did since he volunteered himself to talk with the working girls, and he finds himself being grateful for it. “I mean it.”
“Don’t mention it.” It’s not a dismissal so much as a statement that there’s nothing to be thankful for in the first place. She trusts him on his turf, and she was just following along.
They continue walking. He’d asked that they not take the federal van into the Alley at all, and they’d listened. It’s strange what he can get away with by just saying ‘Gotham’. Taxis don’t come this far into the Alley, not even this early in the night, and the metro and trains don’t run through this part of the city at all. Jason wouldn’t advise anyone being in this part of the city at all, despite his love for it, but between him and Emily, he doesn’t have many concerns.
Then the hairs on the back of neck stand up, just to disprove his point. He takes care to not let his stance change as they continue down the street.
Looking forward and with an unchanging posture of her own, Emily says, “You know, we’ve had a tail on us these last five minutes.”
Jason doesn’t look backwards, “Last seven. And—” he looks up instead, and across. There’s a flash of blue. Instantly, the muscles in his shoulders relax. “---I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”
“You don’t find being followed worrisome?”
“It’s a bat,” he replies. “Annoying, but they’re on our side.”
“A bat?”
Jason glances at her. She doesn't look confused, so much as curious. “A vigilante,” he explains, “One of the capes of Gotham. Not the big man himself — only one of the birds has blue, and that’s Nightwing.”
“You sound pretty well-versed in your vigilante knowledge.”
“Like I said, I grew up ‘round here. Ask anyone, they’ll tell you the same thing.”
“No, no, I believe you. Just asking, that’s all.” Her eyes spark, and even if she’s being serious, she’s amused at his defensiveness.
“Hmph.” They turn the corner, and Jason spots where they are. They’ve made it far enough out of the Alley — and without being stopped by any would-be muggers, thankfully — that JJ should be within the next block or so. “Let’s meet up with JJ, then make our way back to the station. We should see how this lead pans out.”
—--
They get back to the station before any of the cars that went out makes it back from the lead they acquired. Hotch had called, though, and said that the scene looked empty, and they would have discounted it entirely if it weren’t for a small barrette they found that belonged to the most recent unsub. The unsub isn't there now, but it’s definitely his place. The CSIs are still combing through the place.
And while his teammates are otherwise distracted by that, Jason decided to deal with his bird problem. He makes his way onto the roof of the station, annoyance growing with each step up the service staircase. With a bang, the door closes behind him.
He takes in the rooftop, calling out, “You aren’t very subtle, N!”
Nightwing hops down from the adjacent building, landing with a roll and a standing finish that would put most gymnasts to shame. He rocks backwards onto the balls of his feet, stretching out his arms across his torso, unable to keep still. The bat signal sits about six feet to his right. “You’re more trained than the average pedestrian, Jay.”
“Prentiss clocked you, too.”
“The black-haired woman you were with?”
“That would be the one.” He crosses his arms and leans against the stairwell door behind him. “What’re you doing here, N?”
“Prentiss, she’s good. I’d say pass along my salutations, but…” he shrugs, moving his arms from in front of him to bent and stretched over his head, “The secret identity thing.”
“The secret identity thing,” he repeats dryly, “That would hinder me, yes. You didn’t answer my question.”
“Can’t I just say hi to my baby bro?”
Jason lets out a breath slowly, bringing up a hand to pinch at his nose. He steadfastly ignores the growing irritation building up in his chest like a particular ugly tangle of thorns. “Fine. Ignore the question. This case I’m working, I’m assuming sending it to my team isn’t a ploy of B’s to get me in the city? Because that would be a first.”
Dick frowns and relaxes out of his stretch, before running a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands at the back. It’s the first sign of something other than nonchalance and redirection he’s gotten from him the whole evening. “B is offworld. I have my hands full, and you’re good at what you do. I nudged Gordon into reaching out.”
Jason nods. “Right.” He doesn’t quite understand the crushing feeling in his chest, the sudden collapse of irritation being replaced by something that crawls up his throat and makes him swallow.
“Jason,” Dick starts, but he lacks his usual enthusiasm and trails off.
He’s not sure how this conversation got away from them so suddenly. But he knows he doesn’t like it. He clears his throat, “Anyways. Boss-man wanted me to reach out to some of my contacts, and I figured that you guys have to have something on this guy.”
Dick grimaces. “Jason—”
“The case, Nightwing.”
His brother clenches his fist once, twice, and the muscles in his jaw tick. Jason refrains from shifting, and he carefully starts counting backwards from one hundred in his head.
He’s on eighty-one going on eighty when Nightwing finally says, “A little. Not much more than you guys have, honestly. Like I said, we’ve been busy. Oracle was able to separate the audio layers on each of the videos. I don’t know what’s on there, but O said it was promising.”
Jason unfolds himself from against the wall. “Well. It’s something. Send them my way, will you?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s no problem.” Dick glances at him, briefly, but swallows whatever he was going to say and looks out over the city instead.
Despite himself, Jason follows his gaze over the sprawling building below them.
The precinct isn’t the tallest building in the city. It’s in the middle, as far as buildings in Gotham go, but the view… It's an endless sprawl of towering skyscrapers and stooping apartments, their figures dotted with lit windows and shadowy depths. Sparkling street lanterns and car lights are scattered across the city like stars reflected off the surface of the sea. Sirens and honking horns fill the city with noise, even after dark — or especially after dark — and there’s a faint smattering of gunfire, the first of the night.
Gotham’s not perfect. Not by a long shot. But she’s his. She’s theirs.
Or she was, anyway.
He thinks back to Virginia, and the home he’s built there. He has this team, and this job, and he’s finally free of this place — and yet here he is, as drawn back as ever.
Jason sighs, and the knot in his chest doesn’t ease any.
Nightwing doesn’t look at him as says, “I’ve got to get going, Jay. People to save, criminals to punch, you know the drill.” His voice is easy-going, an iron-clad wall hiding whatever’s underneath.
“Yeah. Me too.”
Nightwing hovers for a moment. Almost silently, he says, “It’s good to see you, Jason.”
Jason clenches his teeth against the sharp pang underneath his ribs. He turns away, opens the door, and says to the metal sheet, “Say hi to Tim for me, will you?”
He doesn’t bother to stick around to hear the answer.
—--
Seven minutes later, he gets a text from Tim.
Timbit: hi back got ur audio files gcpd_hostage_video_case_3.mp4
Jason: Thanks.
Timbit: yep thank O
Jason doesn’t reply. Instead, he texts Garcia.
Jason: I have something for you. gcpd_hostage_video_case_3.mp4
P. Garcia: Jay, my beautiful white haired man, where’d you get this
Jason: Oracle.
P. Garcia: …Oracle. ORACLE? dude, we are so talking ltr
Jason: Do the separated audio layers help?
P. Garcia: do they help he asks. I’ll get this to the rest of the team asap
Jason: Thanks.
P. Garcia: we are still talking, don’t forget. I can’t believe you know Oracle, omg
Jason lets out a small huff of amusement despite himself.
“What’re you laughin’ at?” Morgan asks from across the room.
Jason looks up. The conference room has a board set up and papers scattered across the table. Morgan’s the only other one in it at the moment, but he knows at least Emily and JJ are in the building.
“Garcia.”
“Penelope?”
“The one and only.”
“Why? What’s she saying?”
Jason watches Morgan for a moment. Well, it’s not like the rest of the team won’t be briefed anyways. “She’s in shock that I have contact with Oracle.”
“Who?”
“Oracle. She’s… She’s like the Penelope Garcia of Gotham’s vigilantes.”
Morgan raises his eyebrows. “Damn. And you just… know this person? Woman, you said. That’s more insider info than some JLA contacts have.”
Jason shrugs, carefully making sure the motion is casual. “Like I keep telling people, I grew up ‘round here. I had some contact with the vigilante scene before I moved. You should ask Commissioner Gordon sometime about his own interactions with the nightlife. He’s been in contact with Batman since the start of the vigilante’s career.”
“Huh.”
Jason’s phone beeps. He looks down at it. P. Garcia flashes across his screen, and he hits the green answer button with a flick of his thumb.
“Talk to me. You’re on speaker.”
“Always, muscles. Who’re you with?”
“Morgan.”
“Ahh, both my favorite boy toys in one place. Lovely,” Jason and Morgan share a look, “That lead you gave me, Jason— Gold. Mine. I mean, you could freakin’ hear grass grow, that’s how good it was.”
“So what’d you get?” .
“What didn’t I get is the better question. In addition to the obvious background of ships — I mean, it’s an island, obviously there are going to be ships — I also heard this faint clatter thingy. I can’t quite tell what it is, here listen.”
She plays the audio file for them. It is indeed some sort of clatter — wheels on a rail maybe? There’s no echo, so it’s more likely a— “I think that’s the train.”
Morgan looks at him in question. “Train?”
“Yeah. Really, it’s a monorail. No wheels, attached to a single beam. It runs throughout the city. Garcia can you cross reference every place the monorail runs with any place it gets near enough to the docks? Focus on The Bowery area since that seems to be where our unsub prefers hiding.”
“Yeah…” she replies distractedly, “still too many.”
“Too many what?” Emily asks, entering the conference room with JJ right behind her, carrying styrofoam drinks with them. She gives each of them what Jason suspects is coffee, and nods to her gratefully. He’s not Tim, but the hours are creeping up on him in a way they never used to pre-federal agent life.
“Potential locations our unsub might be. We got a tip in from Oracle that helped filter the audio layers,” Jason responds, answering the question before Morgan can. His vigilante past is mingling with his profiler present in a way he never really intended, and he’d prefer that the pool of knowledge keep as small as possible.
“Alright,” JJ says, sitting down, “So why don’t we bring it back a little? Garcia, what about potential unsubs of fathers that are recently childless?”
“Yes, and I meant to get back to you on that. So, as you know, the amount of fathers that have lost their child in the past six months is, is awful, really. Even ruling out natural causes, it’s still a staggering amount. There’s no way to narrow it down. There was a Joker attack about a month ago, and it seemed— It seemed he targeted kids. Hospitals, schools, that sort of thing. The body count is—” she cuts herself off, before starting in one big rush, “I can’t believe this son of a bitch gets off on the insanity plea everytime, because while he is clearly insane, these kind of numbers, repetitively, clearly means that this is intentional and—”
“Garcia,” Jason interrupts, a strangled note in his voice. His heart is beating faster than normal. “You’re preaching to the choir here, sister. Maybe— Maybe focus on the fathers of those victims. The Joker, he likes to play games. Did he— Did he taunt the police or families with any of the children he was holding hostage?”
“One moment,” she responds, a clacking of keys in the background, “Yes, he did. Oh, god. He killed them all on live television. Oh, god. Oh, my god—”
“Hey, that’s great work, Baby Girl,” Morgan says gently, “Can you pair the results of that with anyone who has connections to the warehouse we found on Falcone and Carmine? In addition to the various locations the monorail and docks meet?”
They hear a deep release of air from over the phone before the tapping of keys starts up again. “Yeah. Already on it… Three hits! Sending you the addresses now.”
“Thanks, Garcia,” Emily says, already rising from her chair. “I’ll call Hotch, he’s with the rest of the team.”
“Of course. Good luck, my lovelies!” There’s a click as she hangs up the phone.
“Alright,” Emily starts, exiting the conference room, head downturned to her phone. “Hotch says that he, Reid, and Rossi are going to take the address closest to them, so how about Morgan, you and I take one, JJ and Jason, you take the other.”
“Sounds good,” Jason replies as the others nod their acceptance.
Pulling on their tactical vests, they roll out.
—--
Jason pulls the vehicle into a screeching halt just outside the address Garcia gave him. They’re back in The Bowery, monorail looming just to the left of the run-down building, Gotham harbour only a block away. The place belongs to one Michael Rudmer. His daughter died in the Joker attack, and his wife killed herself shortly after.
Hell of a stressor.
There’s a feeling in his gut that he sometimes gets. Like a stone, trying to accelerate his heartbeat.
His instincts tell him that this is the place.
“JJ…”
“What?”
He looks over at her. Blonde hair pulled back and serious expression on her face, she reminds him a lot of Stephanie. Confident, encouraging, determined.
“I have a bad feeling. Stick close?”
Her eyes scan his. She nods. “Of course.”
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
They exit the car quietly, making their way up the stairs to the man’s apartment. There aren’t many residents in the building, and the place is eerily silent, haunted. When they reach the man’s door, he slips his gun from his holster and calls out, “Michael Rudmer! FBI!”
There’s nothing, then— The stomp of feet, a scream—
Sometimes Jason misses the days when he could do things illegally.
The scream gives them probable cause. Jason kicks down the door with pleasure, barely feeling the impact through his boot as it bangs open.
They quickly make their way through the foyer, clearing the kitchen, the hallway until the living room where—
Rudmer is holding a gun to the young Hayden Jameson’s head.
Jason’s leveling his own gun at the guy before he even has time to think about it. “Rudmer!” the asshole’s head jerks and focuses on him, drawing attention away from the boy. “Put the gun down.”
The unsub’s energy is frantic, and Jason worries that he might do something rash before it’s too late. “No. No! Don’t you see? They have to be punished. They aren't doing anything!” He shakes his head, then nods, nudging the gun closer towards the crying boy. His voice is broken as he says, “Maybe if they feel what I feel, they’ll understand!”
Jason takes a half step closer. “Rudmer. Micahel, hurting this boy won’t change anything. Yes, I get that the Joker is the worst kind of monster,” and, oh how he means his words, “but this? Michael, look at yourself. You’re turning yourself into someone just as bad as he is.”
As far as Jason’s concerned, he’s well on his way. Child murderers don’t get a pass in his books, but he needs to get the gun away from the boy’s head.
“You’ve never lost a child, have you? You don’t know!”
“I understand grief. I’ve grieved,” Jason scoffs. “I’ve lost more to the Joker than I sometimes feel like I have left. A woman I view as a sister was paralyzed by him. He nearly turned my little brother mad, he overdosed on Joker gas and barely survived. And me?”
He laughs bitterly, and the sounds are hollow and cold, “When I was fifteen, I died. I was stupid and I ran away from home and the Joker found me. I was beaten. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t speak. He broke nearly every bone in my body. And then he left a bomb to blow up the warehouse he left me in.” Jason ignores the small noise JJ makes from behind him, ignores how even that faint sound of sympathy makes him ache behind the ribs.
He continues on, knowing he’s only going to make his past painted worse. Rudmer hasn’t tried to interrupt, this is his one and only chance, and any trepidation he feels, well… “You could say I got lucky, living. But I didn’t know who I was for a year and a half. And when I did… I was angry. God, was I angry. I took it out on everyone around me. So when I say I understand? Trust me, Michael, I understand. But being angry — it didn’t fix anything. It only drove a further wedge between me and my family. Hurting these people, these kids? It won’t fix anything. It won’t bring your daughter back.
“You want to blame someone? Fine. But don’t blame these people. Blame the Joker. He’s the son of a bitch who hurt your family. Put down the weapon. Hurting the kid won’t do anything.”
As he speaks, Rudmer’s face goes from flushed and pinched, angry, to downturned and fast-blinking, confused. He’s listening. The man shakes his head rapidly, and the kid in his grasp shudders, tears streaming further down his face, leaving it splotchy and red.
Jason swallows, and tries one last time, “Look at him, Michael. He’s terrified. Do you really want to be the Joker of this kid’s life? You want to be the equivalent that that bastard was to you? ‘Cause to him right now, you’re one and the same. Put down the gun.”
Rudmer looks at Hayden for the first time. “I— No, I— Oh, my god,” he whispers, “What have I done?” He lets Hayden go and JJ rushes forward, pulling him behind her. Rudmer bends halfover, and the expression on his face is something Jason doesn’t know who to describe. It’s like the worst kind of horror, unable to reconcile your actions with yourself. His gun is forgotten in his hand.
He’s no threat. Jason’s at the man’s side before Rudmer even acknowledges he’s moved. Taking his gun and passing it back to JJ, he pulls the man’s arms behind his back and cuffs him as he begins to break down into sobs, muttering, “What have I done? What have I done?” over and over again.
Jason shakes his head. The guy loses his head to one of the worst monsters, and he uses his grief as an excuse to hurt others and become the very thing he hates. He can’t find it in him to feel anything other than disdain. Plenty of people lose their kids, as awful as it is. Almost none of them ever wish to inflict that pain on others.
“Come on,” he says, escorting the man out of his apartment. He shares a look with JJ as he passes, her hand curled protectively around Hayden’s head as she holds him close. Another monster put away, another day witnessing the shittiness the world has to offer.
Another young boy saved.
—--
JJ finds him on the plane, later, sliding in the seat across from him while he’s nose-deep in the latest book he’s picked up.
Jason finishes his paragraph, closing the book over his finger, before he looks up at her. He bites the inside of his lip, looking her over. Besides the faint furrow of her brows, there’s not much he can read off her. Her own eyes are trained on him, but they’re not calculating or anything else — just there, watching.
“I bet you didn’t think you were going to go back home so soon, huh?”
Jason tilts his head. “It’s funny, actually. I was thinking about that earlier. I haven’t even lived in Gotham my whole life, but it’s always where I seem to end up. And… it’ll always hold a piece of my heart, but… Virginia’s my home too. Even in such a short time — It surprised me. I don’t tend to... Get attached easily,” he finishes with a half-shrug. He hasn’t quite reconciled it in his brain, but he knows it’s true.
“I can understand that,” JJ replies, and there is genuine understanding there. He studies her, and there’s a look in her eyes that says that maybe she does get it, maybe even better than Jason himself. “Forgive me for asking, but… You didn’t mention anything about seeing family while we were there.”
“We were a little busy at the time.”
JJ gives him a look. “Not close with them?”
Jason shifts in his seat, lifting his shoulders in not quite disagreement. He looks away from her and out the window. It’s dark, and except for pinpricks of lights, there’s nothing to see. “It’s complicated.”
“You know…” he peeks back at her, and she too has shifted her gaze, staring into the woodgrain of the table. As if she feels him looking, she lifts her head back up, and her blue eyes find his. The force of them makes him want to look away again. “What you said back there—”
“JJ,” he interrupts. Even expecting it, he still couldn’t stop his instinct reaction of the topic. He purses his lips, trying to figure out how to untangle the knot in his chest, if he wants to untangle it all. He shakes his head. “It’s not… Yeah, it happened. No, I don’t want to talk about it. It is what it is. There’s nothing any of us can do about it anymore.”
She searches him for any hint of something otherwise, then she nods. “Okay. But if you ever do want to talk, I’m here, okay? Just to listen, judge-free.”
Jason snorts, and the weird tension breaks, clearing the solemnity from the air. “Sorry. I appreciate it, but…” he shakes his head again.
“I understand.” She smiles at him, and the corner of it quirks, genuinely amused. “The others are talking about you, you know.”
“Oh?” he asks, shifting his book from the table into his lap. His finger is still wedged between the pages, but it’s no longer a barrier between him and JJ. He raises his eyebrows. “What about?”
“Apparently you know some vigilantes?” and he laughs at the faint look of disbelief on her face. It rocks something loose in his chest, and it feels good. “What? Do you?”
He grins back at her. “Oh, do I.”
“No.”
“Oh, yeah. Garcia’s told me that I have to talk to her about Oracle, and under no circumstance am I to avoid her. Oracle, see, she’s basically the Penelope Garcia of Gotham, and man, is she good…”
He and JJ end up talking the rest of the flight back, somehow roping the rest of their teammates into their discussion, conversation shifting from vigilantes to Gotham as whole, and how utterly lucky they are that they went to the city during a relative time of peace. It’s amusing to see their reactions at his Gotham horror stories, and even more amusing when Rossi agrees — he interviewed the inmates at Arkham.
Jason’s respect for the man goes up at his intact sanity.
And the best part of the whole thing is — he doesn’t miss it. He doesn’t miss the chaos, doesn’t miss every reminder that lived around the corner, doesn’t miss the stalking and talked-around problems. This trip — it only confirmed that.
He’s started something new.
It’s dark and beautiful, and it’s more than what he needed. It’s who he is.
He’s not looking back.
And he doesn’t regret it.
—--
“We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.”
— Joseph Campbell