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Jason crouched on a rooftop staring across the street, through the rain and the dark, at the apartment complex where he grew up. He saw the creeping mildew and crumbling plaster, the peeling paint and broken glass. After returning to Gotham, part of him sincerely hoped someone had demolished the place, razed all of Crime Alley, and leveled the Hill. He'd considered doing it himself.
Two kids, huddled in the alley next to his old building, giggled together as they played with a flashlight, their clumsy shadow puppets fighting each other on the brick wall. They didn't seem to notice the rain. No one called them in, scolding them about catching a cold or staying up past bedtime. Jason wondered when they'd eaten last, wondered if the deli on the corner still handed out old bread if you asked and if these kids knew that old Mr. Bolognetti looked scary, but would give you ten bucks and a sandwich for sweeping the floor.
And that was why he didn't. That was why he kept coming back to the Alley, kept protecting it and the people here, even though watching his past play out again killed him a little. These kids couldn't help where they'd been born, but he could help it suck a little less.
On the wall of his old apartment complex, above the same dumpster he remembered hiding in to escape the gang bangers and the cops, someone had thrown up his red bat symbol in spray paint. They were all over the neighborhood. Little cardstock signs appeared in windows with the symbol drawn in red marker. Stickers had started cropping up on the back of street signs and power boxes with his helmet on them and reading: Welcome to the Red HOOD.
He kind of wanted one for his bike.
"Shit, it's cold," one of the kids said.
"Yeah. Come on, I know a spot by—" The other kid stopped. "What the…"
Jason watched as they found the box he'd left there for them, marked with his symbol in an attempt to gain the trust of the rightfully skittish kids. It had everything he could remember wanting on the street—real coats, waterproof camping blankets, can openers, water bottles, small radios, cards for the subway, protein bars and full-size candy bars, a few school supplies, some batteries for that flashlight, and good solid backpacks to hold it all.
"Holy shit!"
He listened to their excited clamor as they dug through the box, quickly dividing it up. A smile overtook him and he didn't even try to stop it. One of the kids, older brother maybe, a little bigger and able to carry more, took more of the load.
And then he looked up, scanning the rooftops. Jason crouched down farther just on instinct, but the movement only gave him away.
The kid smiled and waved, pointing him out to the other one. Jason battled briefly with himself, but then he waved back.
"I told you he was real! I told you!"
He didn't dare get closer to them. They had enough violence in their lives. Sometimes though, sometimes he couldn't help it.
The next night, he checked their spot again, just to see, just to be sure.
"You sure do like this alley. Trying to muscle us out?"
Jason jumped in his skin and whirled around on his heel. He'd forgotten how sneaky kids like him could be, how second-nature stealth training had been.
The kid didn't flinch, but gave a long whistle. "That's one fancy bike helmet," he said in the same wide working class Gotham accent that Jason had never been able to completely knock as Robin—and it only came back with a vengeance after he resurrected.
The other one, a little girl, stood slightly behind him with wide wondering eyes. "Do you really kill people?" she asked, all bravery and sharp curiosity and, God, she could've been his sister. He would've liked having a sister.
He knelt down to be at their level, acutely aware of his height. "Sometimes," he said.
"You kill the bad guys, right?"
"That's right."
"Could you off my English teacher then?" the boy asked. "He won't get off my ass about my spelling."
"No."
At least you're going to school, Jason thought. He'd stopped somewhere between his mom getting sick and Bruce finding him.
"You're no fun," he said, smiling.
The little girl had gotten ahold of Jason's arm and, on instinct, he lifted it to bring her almost off her toes while she giggled. "How'd you get so big?"
"Magic," he said, which only made her laugh more.
The boy's smile turned soft even as he crossed his arms, watching the little girl swing on Jason's arm like monkey bars. "What'd you come back here for anyway?" he asked. "Drop the keys to your Batmobile?"
"No. I have a motorcycle."
"Not what I asked." And there it was, the knife in his voice put there by Gotham, bright eyes lit by chemical refineries, always sharp, always watching. He could spot a lie.
"One of those bad guys is planning to hurt a lot of people on this part of the Hill," Jason said. "I'm going to stop him, but I wanted to make sure you two were safe."
The boy blew out his lips. "Don't you worry about us, boss. I know my way around."
"I'm sure you do."
"Tell him about the new shelter!" the little girl said, letting go of Jason.
Little warning bells rang sharp in his head. Sometimes shelters were just that, but like everything else in Gotham, it could just as easily be a front.
Something in his body language must have tipped the boy off. "Yeah, I thought it was bullshit too, but…" He fidgeted and got quiet. "It's named after that kid who died."
"What kid?"
"The Wayne kid, the one who was in all the papers. He was from here, you know? Folks still talk about him sometimes."
Jason didn't breathe for a moment. His heart might have stopped all over again. Bruce wouldn't—
Actually, Bruce would. And of course, he wouldn't say anything or bother telling Jason about it. Actions speaking louder than words, as always. But it wasn't like it would've killed him.
"I don't know," the boy added, shrugging in his new coat. "I thought we might give it a shot."
"Good." Jason cleared his throat and hoped his voice modulator hid most of it. "I'll check it out, just in case."
The boy nodded and scuffed his shoe against the alley gravel. Then he held his hand out for the little girl, who took it immediately. He gave a crooked sort of salute as he led her away. "Guess we'll see you around then."
The girl called over her shoulder, waving to him, "Bye! Stay out of trouble!"
Someone must have told her that a lot. Jason certainly heard it often enough growing up here. He wondered how many of the people she knew were people he'd known, people who remembered him, still talked about him. Some of them might even remember his old joke.
I am the trouble.
But now, he thought maybe he was finally the right kind of trouble.