Chapter Text
Jason had made new plans. His heightened impulsiveness had already been accounted for when he made the original ones, but he could only plan for so much. So, he'd thrown himself into being Red Hood, the new crime lord who’d just killed the Joker, who’d burst onto the scene with a bag of heads, who had recently also killed Black Mask.
It helped him focus, let him deal with the restlessness that made his bones itch. The pit was insatiable, calling for blood insistently. Not that Jason pushed back much, if at all, he'd wanted those people dead just as much as the pit had, if not more. So, really, making his plans for a, hopefully bloody, family reunion after he'd done Red Hood business was the best course of action.
His plans varied heavily. Some were reminiscent of his own death, except with him being the one with the crowbar, others involved sneaking into the Batcave to mess with everyone. The ones that made him remember manic laughter and the sound of metal on concrete were put aside. They were the ones he made when particularly volatile, reminiscent of his older plans for Titans Tower, set aside when be killed the Joker. Jason could stomach doing a lot of shit, but recreating his own murder, whilst playing the role of his murderer, was too much.
His plans for Robin could wait, however. Jason wanted to focus on Batman first.
— — —
Love wasn't something Jason thought he could feel. Not anymore.
He had loved people, before he died.
He liked Thalia, sure, but he didn't love her at all. She was a mentor, something like a friend. The pit liked her as well, she fed it after all, but neither of them loved her.
Jason wanted to love, he wanted to love so much it hurt. He wanted that last emotion, the only one the pit didn't enhance so he could truly experience it. The closest he got was his connection to the pit, the way their entire beings were connected.
Maybe that was love, maybe it wasn't.
Jason liked it regardless.
— — —
A few months after the Joker's death, barely one month after Black Mask's, Jason had managed to finalise his plans for his former family. Batman was a detective, after all, and Jason could use that.
He'd start leaving clues, small at first, but gradually becoming more and more obvious. Things like quoting books he'd read, or TV they'd watched, referencing missions, referencing people, maybe dropping in a real name somewhere. It'd be fun to do something with his gravestone, maybe shatter the thing into pieces infront of Batman.
When Batman could've easily pieced it together, Jason would lead him somewhere memorable. Where they'd met, Jason's favorite gargoyle, the alley Batman's parents had died in, somewhere near where Jason used to live. Maybe this is the part that could involve his grave, it'd be fitting. Then, Jason would reveal himself, maybe fight Batman, insult him, hurt him as much as possible, any way he could, and leave. Preferably less injured than Batman.
The idea of walking away from a bloody and beaten Batman, leaving him sprawled helplessly on the floor, made his lips curl upwards. The pit liked that idea just as much as Jason did.
Batman morphed into Bruce and he froze where he'd been pacing in his safe-house. Bruce, in trousers and a soft jumper, no cowl in sight. Bruce, covered in blood and bruises, reaching out for him, calling for him. Suddenly, the thought wasn't anywhere near as fun.
— — —
The pit tends to want what Jason wants, feel what Jason feels. It makes it easy, when he can feel his impulse control shatter and he goes to shoot someone. The pit can't make him do something, doesn't actively argue with him.
Sure, it caters to his more violent emotions, but it's more than that. Jason knows it is.
He can only be swayed to do something he was already considering, and the pit can be swayed as well, violence dampened when Jason wants it to be. They work as one, sharing emotions, sharing wants.
The pit offers a comforting presence, reassurance that he's alive, that he's still able to think and feel. Jason doesn't know what he'd do if it vanished. It'd probably feel like he was missing a peice of his soul.
— — —
Jason had quoted so much literature in that past month. Shakespeare, Dickens, Austen, Pratchett, Tolkein, Shelly, and so many more. Batman seemed to be understanding the references for what they were ad time went on, so Jason set out more clues.
He threw references to missions into his taunts, including references to justice league missions most people weren't meant to know about. Jason also referenced personal stuff, being just discreet enough that Batman would only realise later on. It worked, Batman was surveiling him more, getting suspicious, asking more questions.
Then Jason sent a parcel to the Manor. A book he remembered having read countless times as a teenager.
He'd bought 2 copies, the pit pulsing in agreement when he gave in and read it. It wrapped around him as he read it in his safehouse, remembering hours spent in a library that's now a lifetime away.
He attached a note, wrapping the parcel in red, yellow, and green before sending it off.
‘Cemetary, tomorrow, midnight.
You know which headstone, don't you?
-RH’
— — —
Jason still didn't know how he felt about Bruce. He hated Batman, but Bruce had made it clear that Batman was different from him, hadn't he?
It wasn't like how Jason was Red Hood and Red Hood was Jason, Bruce was Batman and he wasn't at the same time. The same at their core, but 2 separate identities.
Jason hated Batman.
Jason had loved Bruce.
The pit wasn't helpful. It agreed with his resentment towards Batman, but all he felt when he thought of Bruce was longing and bitterness. Somehow, the pit only curled around the emotions left behind by love, it didn't seem to want him to hate Bruce. Jason didn't want to hate Bruce either, not really, but it'd be so much easier.
Because Jason didn't know how to love, not anymore.
— — —
Batman meets him at his headstone, grim and pale under the cowl. Jason grins behind his helmet.
Showtime.
Batman has questions, of course, and Jason replies with taunts, giving away bits of information wrapped in mockery. They fight a bit, but Jason can tell Batman is holding back, he knows who Jason is. He backs up, leaning against the angel perpetually looking down at his empty coffin.
Jason reaches up.
The helmet is unlatched.
The helmet is off his head.
The helmet is on the floor and Batman is staring at him in horror.
Jason grins, more taunts sliding off his tongue as Batman freezes. He pushes, stepping forward, itching for a fight, Batman must hate him, must want to lock him up.
Instead…
(“Jason?”)
Batman takes off his cowl.
(“It's really you…”)
Bruce stares at him, eyes almost soft, jaw slack with unfiltered awe.
(“Isn't it?”)
Jason can't speak, tongue like lead in his mouth.
(“Jaylad?”)
There's no punch, no shouting, no insults, just reverence and shock.
(“You came back?”)
This wasn't what he'd planned for. Batman was supposed to hate him, hate the way he came back wrong.
(“Why didn't you come home?”)
Batman was supposed to confirm that he hadn't loved him, that Bruce had replaced him.
(“Oh, Jason,”)
He couldn't move, nothing was going how it was meant to, Bruce wasn't meant to look at him like that. Wasn't meant to be slowly walking towards him. Wasn't meant to be looking at him like he was a miracle and not a monster. Jason was fine with being a monster, he couldn't handle being a miracle. Jason wasn't made to be cherished like that.
Green pulsed steadily, attaching onto hope and longing, pushing him the remaining few steps into Bruce's arms. Jason was helpless against it, he'd missed being held, longed for gentle touches. The pit knew this, regardless of whether Jason ever admitted it or not, knew what he wanted and wanted it for him. Jason's body sagged as green wrapped around him, static and soothing under his skin as he was wrapped up in strong arms. It tugged at his emotions, latching onto them and bringing them out from where he'd hidden them away. He could feel his eyes dampen under the mask at the waves of pure longing that washed over him, encouraged by the words being whispered into his hair, by the arms that tightened around him.
The pit hummed in satisfaction and Jason realised that maybe, maybe everything could be okay. Just for now.