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Jason was in Star City for a few different reasons. Reason one: Regardless of what Bruce would say about him, he does care about cleaning up the drug problem in Gotham. He just knows that clearing the streets completely is impossible and unrealistic, so he’s minimized it by taking control of the market. There was a guy in town that was jeopardizing everything Jason had built back home. Reason two: he knows that wherever he goes, Bruce will follow. And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t care to find out just how far that goes. And finally, reason three: Jason had caught wind of Green Arrow’s new Speedy and her history. Jason knows that story. It’s his story. He knows how it ends. But it doesn’t have to if he can stop it.
All these reasons can be resolved in one stroke. He’s already here, he’s got Bruce right where he wants him. He can convince this Brick guy to do some of his dirty work, get Bruce to handle it for him, watch Star’s drug trade crumble under lack of leadership and rest well knowing his system is safe. He’d scuff up the Arrow a little bit, prep him for the main attraction that is Reason Three.
Jason knew the old guys were focused on practicality. He gives them three locations, they’ll divide to get to each location. That’s how One and Two were taken care of. Part one of Reason Three was handled by some guys he had hired.
Kidnap Speedy, bring her to her school for dramatic effect. That was all they had to do.
Jason knew fully well that Mia wouldn’t go down without a fight, and while he knew his men would succeed in the end, he’s quite impressed by the clear struggle she put up. If all the odds hadn’t been stacked so high against her, she probably could have gotten away.
The lights were out as he waited for her to wake up. He wasn’t sure just how long that would take, but he knew he had time. No one ever gets where they’re supposed to be when they’re needed. Not when there’s a clear and present danger.
But Jason isn’t the danger here. He’s not here to pummel a fourteen year old girl. He doesn’t doubt it might
happen, but he’s not particularly jumping with joy at the prospect.
His helmet is off while the lights are down.
He doesn’t usually take the time to polish it. Its reflectivity had been an idea he played around with when he first adopted the identity, but it was a lot of upkeep for a guy who wasn’t totally sure where he was half the time. But he’s sitting in the dark with nothing to do.
His reflection isn’t something he likes to look at. Death and rebirth left is body’s color washed out. His eyes are a bright green that cause a soft glare against the red metal. The scar under his cheek taunts him with memories just out of his reach, experiences right out of his consciousness.
He looks back to the kid, still out of it, still tied to a shitty wooden chair in the middle of the gym. Even from his hiding spot, in the midnight shadows, he can see the warmth of rushing blood in her face. What he wouldn’t give for those reminders of life.
The waiting game isn’t always the most fun, but Jason has spent a lot of time being patient. He’s become an excellent planner in his time away. He’s had countless scripts memorized, had every encounter planned to the second. This was only a little different. Kids like him and her know when someone’s being phony. They know when someone’s just saying things to be sweet, when they’re trying to manipulate, when they’re trying to hurt, to prey. So he’s flying a little off the handle this time around.
Mia comes to while the moon is still high. He watches her take in the situation and struggle against confinement. That’s his cue. Mask on. Show time.
“If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working!” She shouts out.
“No, I didn’t think it would.” It’s all in position.
He lets her pull against the ropes. He could easily cut her free. But there’s something to be seen in letting her free herself.
“You want something from me? You gonna torture me or whatever you crime lords do?”
Jason has a weird mix of disappointment and relief at her not being great at this self-rescue thing. On the one hand, the main reason Jason would have escaped by now is because of his League training. That’s not something anyone her age should be put through. And on the other hand, why hasn’t Robin Hood taught her how to slip ties? She’s a child vigilante in the big city, that should be basic safety 101.
“Say something!”
“You need to relax if you wanna break out of that.”
She slowly halts her struggles. “…What?”
“The ropes are held together by a basic knot. If you stop tensing for a second, you can get a solid enough position to rip it apart.”
“And why should I listen to you? What kidnapper tells their victim how to escape?”
“I’m offering advice. You can take it and get this show running, or you can go back to doing what you were doing. One gives you an upper hand, the other will leave you exhausted and vulnerable.”
A game of trust. This will all go easier if he can get her to listen, and she needs to feel control if she’s going to listen. She can follow his directions or she won’t. If she doesn’t, she’ll still find a way out. Kids like them are resourceful like that.
He sees her body relax, waits with bated breath as she does her next move. The distinctive snap of rope lets him know the ball is finally rolling.
The chair is tipped over as she leaps into action, fists at the ready for the perceived enemy that stands so brazenly in front of her.
“What do you want?” Her tone is tense, her eyes are narrowed, assessing the threat.
All in due time.
He nudges her bow and quiver closer to her. “Take it.”
She looks at it, then back to him. “What did you do to it?”
“You’ll feel safer, won’t you? Take it.”
She approaches carefully. He takes a pace back. She aims an arrow toward his chest once it’s in her grasp.
“You’re going to tell me why I’m here.” He sees every twitch of her arms. Itchy trigger finger.
“Mia Dearden, right?”
It’s almost another test. What can he say to get her to let the arrow go. God, part of him wants her to let go of that arrow.
She doesn’t give a response, but her expression sharpens more than he thought it could.
“You had a piece of shit that masqueraded as a person for a father. Your childhood was marred by shitty people taking advantage of you in any way they could. Your mom was out of the picture, you had no one to advocate for you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You fought back, were left to the streets, and you survived. You had to do things you never want to do again.”
“Shut up.”
“You were picked up by a vigilante guy that brought you out of that dark reality. But no matter how fast you run, how hard you try to push it all behind you, the memories always catch up. The scars don’t fade.”
“I said
shut UP!
” She lets go, hits his shoulder. It doesn’t mean much. He doesn’t go anywhere without armor. Even if it did, she’s not shooting to kill. Just to survive.
She unleashes a barrage on him, but he’s never been one to just stand and take it.
“I don’t need you to tell me my
life story
!”
“You’re a fighter. You’re resilient. The streets made you something you never should have had to be.” He has to admit, he knew she wasn’t to be underestimated, but her skill is above what he thought it would be. He might actually work up a sweat, cutting down the arrows.
“You don’t know me!”
“I think we both know that’s not true.” He’s not fighting back. He’s not here to fight back. The wounds may not be fresh, but they’ll always be raw. He’s rubbing salt and lemon into it. “Do you know who I am?”
“Mr. Big Shot Celebrity, Red Hood? I’ve heard the name.” She jumps between getting closer and making distance. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was tiring herself out. ”You took over Gotham’s crime in one night with a duffle bag of seven heads. Everyone on the scene knows the story.”
“It was eight, but that’s not the story I’m here to tell.”
“No?” Her quiver has to be nearing empty by now. “Do you think you’re some Shakespeare? You gonna wax poetic about your tragic backstory?”
“I’m more of an Austen fan, but if Shakespeare is what gets you ticking…” He sees the frustration when she pulls for another arrow and nothing comes up. She rushes at him, bow angled like a spear.
Jab after jab comes for his torso, with the occasional high kick toward his head. Acrobatic, too. As if that wouldn’t be a given. He sees the sweat in her brow. He can hear her labored breathing. She’s running out of steam. He’s actually getting a workout of his own.
But this round is starting to go for too long. He knows he has time, but there won’t be enough at this rate. He doesn’t want to restrain her. He doesn’t want to make her feel powerless or trigger the fight or flight. She won’t hear him out if she’s terrified. He needs her to hear him. Fuck, he needs someone to hear him, he needs someone to let him know he’s heard, he needs, he needs, he needs, he— He catches her leg in its next kick. Time stops. Green splashes lick at his vision. But this isn’t like that night in Gotham. Jason is fully present in this moment.
The only sounds between them are the bow clattering to the floor and her heavy breaths.
“I was five the first time my dad hit me,” he whispers like it’s some secret. In a way, it is. ”My mom used to say it wasn’t like him, ‘he’s not a violent drunk’. But he was. He’d beat her till she was unconscious, fueled on nothing but hard whiskey and rum and cheap beer. Then he fucked off and never came back. Last I heard, he died in prison. I don’t know how true that is.”
He lets her go. She doesn’t go back for another swing. The bubbling in his chest sits satisfied.
Listening
.
“Mom didn’t know how to handle him leaving. She was already dealing with a lot; making rent, keeping me safe, feeding us, and then she got cancer on top of it all. We couldn’t afford treatment and she was always in pain. Drugs gave her an escape. But we eventually ran out of money for that, too. She lost herself to it, and I had to start working. I didn’t have many skills, but people found ways to be paid. And then she was just gone.
“I don’t know what the foster system looks like in Star, but Gotham’s is pretty much just a front for trafficking and a one way ticket to more abuse. There was no way in hell I’d go there willingly. So I ran. And I survived. And I’m not proud of the things I did. But I did what I had to.”
She looks down, brows slightly furrowed. “You’re Robin, aren’t you? That’s why Batman cares so much.”
“Batman doesn’t know yet. To him, I’m just another guy with a vendetta. With any luck, it’ll stay that way.” “What makes you think I won’t tell him?” Mia scoffs, “Why should I keep your secret? You kidnapped me.” “All for show.” He waves her off, but he knows that’s not something to brush aside. “This was more of a demonstration for your mentor than you. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m kind of supposed to be six feet under.”
She doesn’t look like she believes him. He didn’t really expect her to. That’s what the dramatics of a full helmet are for.
He lets her see him. His ashen skin, his glowing eyes, his scar. It’s almost quiet enough to hear his snail-paced heartbeat. They’re almost close enough for her to feel his nonexistent body heat.
“You want me to ask how, don’t you?”
“Well, if you insist,” he tries to joke. “This,” Jason gestures to her costume, “killed me. I was ten years old when I put on the costume. I died in that costume. My past caught up to me, no matter how hard I tried to run.” “I’m not running from my past—“ “Aren’t you? Trying to put it all behind you, trying to let that underlying anger rest? It doesn’t go away. It follows . And it hunts you down and sucks you dry until you can’t move any further—“ “I’m not you. Whatever happened must have been rough, but I’m not on my way to become Star’s next big mafia boss.”
“That’s a very reductionist way of looking at me.”
“‘That’s a very reductionist’ shut up,” she mimics mockingly. “Eight heads in a duffle bag, full control of all crime in an entire city district, elaborate revenge plots, you’re a mafia boss.”
“I didn’t say I
wasn’t
, I just meant that I’m more than that.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m just here to make a point.”
“Well, I don’t know what you’re trying to prove so this seems kind of pointless.”
“That’s because this whole show-and-tell isn’t just for
you.
It’s to freak the old man out.”
“GA or Batman?”
“Either. Both. So long as they get the message.”
“Which is? Not that I’m not having fun in this trauma-dumping sesh, but why am I here.”
“Other than our life stories being almost the exact same? You’re Speedy. And so long as you wear that costume, you’re falling down the same path I did. And you can deny it all you want, but I know the road to darkness. It’s
cold
, and
painful
, and
lonely.
”
“And I’m telling you that that’s your story. I’m my own person, I’m not you . I don’t know how you became Robin, but I—“ “—earned the mantle? Peer pressured the old man to let you fight? No one forced me to be Robin either, but here we are. I know there’s no convincing you to give up Speedy. This whole scavenger hunt is for the Bat and Arrow. They need to think there’s a life threatening danger. I can appeal to your reason, I can appeal to their fear. One of those will yield a result.” “I’m not gonna quit. No one can make me quit.”
She’s not hearing, she’s not understanding, she’s not—
“I know. I told you, I know who you are . You can think I don’t all you want, but I know you. Because you’re just like me. I’d be saying that exact same thing if I lived to be your age. But I didn’t. That’s all this job sets you up for. Live fast, die young. Young and painfully.” It’s all he can think about sometimes. He doesn’t sleep anymore. He can’t. Because he’s gonna wake up back in the coffin, and none of this would have been real, the air that fills his lungs is gonna run out soon, the dirt is gonna stain his suit and skin and nails, the bugs are back in his hair. Or maybe worse. Maybe it’s all a fever dream and he’s still in the warehouse, given a semblance of mercy in the most intense mind-numbing drugs ever. It would be so like the clown to give him the idea of freedom, just to beat out any hope again. Or maybe this is worse than that. Maybe the cruelty comes in having to live with the knowledge that no one cared enough to do anything. That Bruce can’t stand to look at him, that there’s some kid who so easily took his place, that the family he longed to have and cared for just moved on. Like he was barely a thought.
Like he’s not even there. Like he was
never there
.
His head starts to overfill with crashing waves. Silence stuffs over the gymnasium. He needs to calm down.
In the end, Jason doesn’t expect her to heed his warnings. If there had been someone doing this when he was that young, he wouldn’t listen either. But the need for a parent outweighs the itch for rebellion, in his experience. If given the ultimatum, he would have dropped Robin and just been Bruce’s son. But deep down, he knows Oliver Queen is no Bruce Wayne. Bruce actually has it in him to follow through on that decision, but Jason being Robin was all his idea, and Bruce is too stubborn to walk back his statements. Everything he says is gospel. But Oliver Queen? Jason doesn’t know him too well, but he knows the man is not gonna seriously kick a kid like Mia back to the streets.
“Is this really all we’re here for? A chat? You’re not even gonna try to, I don’t know, do
anything
?” She brings him out of his head.
“Here specifically? For games and dramatics. Here together, one on one? It helps to talk.”
“Get a therapist.”
“In Gotham? That’s how you make psychopaths.” She laughs at that, though it blends with a cough. People don’t do that because of him anymore.
“Yeah, I think my descent is gonna be a grown man projecting his entire life onto me.”
“I’m 19.”
“Yeesh.” And he’d be lying if he said that didn’t hurt a little. “Sorry, it’s just… really?”
The look he gives her is unimpressed. There’s a weight in the air that just barely lifts when he puts aside the heavy stuff, the important stuff, and just gets to talking. They have time. There’s so much time before the old guys find them.
And they just. Talk. About everything and nothing. And it’s weird and stilted, because he’s still the guy with a gun and she’s still the kid looking for an escape the second this turns south, but it’s nice . It’s nice to feel human sometimes.
But nice things don’t last and Jason gets the alert that the heroes are finally on the way.
“This has been fun, but I’ve got a finale to air. The building’s got two minutes before it blows, you should run.”
“I’m sorry,
what
?”
“Dramatic irony,” is all he says before making his escape. He knows she’ll get out just fine. They’re survivors. They survive. She seems to be doing a little more than that. Maybe someday he, too, can learn to live.