Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A shadow slips silently through the window before promptly collapsing to the floor. Ragged, mechanized breaths echoed eerily in the small, dark room as the figure dragged themself across the cold wood floor. A trail of blood sparkled in the moonlight behind him, attempting to hide the goriness of the scene.

When the person finally reached the kitchen, they dragged a concerningly well-used first aid kit out from beneath the sink and propped themself up against the cabinets. With shaking hands, the man reached up and pulled off their bright red helmet to reveal black and white bangs stuck to a sweaty forehead. The panting breaths became louder without the helmet to obscure them, and the sound alone would reveal just how much pain he was in.

Despite the obvious injury and torment, Jason Todd was achingly alone. Pulling out a pair of trauma shears, he made quick work of his pant leg and started treating the horrible gash in his thigh that was oozing blood all over his kitchen floor. Gritting his teeth, he starts stitching himself up. The entire time he was closing the wound, he was cursing himself out for not picking up more anesthetic. He’d used the last of his stock last week and hadn’t had the time to source more. He barely had time to sleep these days. Between coming at the Bats’ every beck and call, patrolling Crime Alley, and trying to keep himself alive and in check, he didn’t have much free time left over to grab something as insignificant as anesthetic. It was something that wasn’t necessary to his survival.

Groaning miserably, Jason finally ties off the last stitch on his leg and starts tending to his myriad of other injuries. He’d gotten a few cuts and bruises tonight and only a few needed any sort of treatment, but that didn’t mean it’d be a quick process. Several of the injuries he’d amassed over the past couple weeks were still in need of treatment. A half-healed gash on his shoulder was struggling to fight off an infection, he’d popped a stitch along his ribs, and he’d accidentally scraped off a rather large scab to name a few. All in all, Jason was not having a good time.

As he continued addressing his wounds, he couldn’t help feeling bitter. He’d gotten the potentially life-threatening gash on his leg saving Red Robin’s life. The younger teen had been crouching down to disarm a bomb when a hail of shrapnel came from another bomb exploding on the other side of the run-down factory. Instead of saying thank you, Tim had instantly started berating him for yanking him while he was wrist-deep in sensitive wires. The kid kept going on and on like Jason hadn’t just saved him from a massive hunk of shrapnel flying towards his face. Sure, next time Jason’ll just let the brat go blind (or worse) instead of getting himself hurt for nothing but a lecture!

The anger was bubbling away merrily in his chest, but instead of leaning into it like he used to, he took a deep breath and reigned himself back. Tim had every right to berate him. He’d nearly killed the kid last year, and that alone was enough to fully banish him from the Bats and Gotham and get him thrown into Blackgate at the least. Take into account all the other things he’d done while drowning in green and it’s a goddamn miracle he’s not rotting in Arkham next to Joker this very second.

Jason just needs to bite his tongue and continue dealing with it. He doesn’t get to care about how the Bats are treating him because he deserved far worse. He’s unbelievably lucky that they’re allowing him to work with them. Even if they don’t care that he’s injured or gets injured, it’s not their concern in the first place. He works with (for) them, but he’s not one of them. There’s a difference. He has to earn his place with them. It’s disheartening that it’s been months without any improvement, but it’s fine. They’re the victims. They get to set the pace.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Every cold shoulder, curt response, and meaningless lecture chipped away at whatever was left of Jason Todd inside him. Precious little of the boy survived death and the pit washed even more of him away. Jason was desperate to hang onto the last fractured pieces. His resolve didn’t extend to fighting with the Bats though. If they cursed and berated him, he silently took it. If he was blamed for a botched mission, he accepted the blame. If he was injured, he didn’t bother them with it. Anything he thought would bring him closer with his family the Bats, he did. Even if it was detrimental to his body and mind. What can he say, he was desperate for a shred of what he had before. Before the pit. Before death. Before he’d given up on them first.

The comm crackling to life in his ear yanked him out of his miserable musings as Batman growled, “Hood. Write up a report immediately. Red Robin needs the data.” He had to physically bite back the bitter retort that his name was Jason, not Hood. They weren’t on a civilian line, not that they ever were, and he couldn’t risk venturing further onto the man’s bad side.

Raising a shaking, blood-soaked hand to his ear, he activated the comm and replied, “Understood. Hood out.” Bruce didn’t say another word, and Jason dropped his hand back to his side exhaustedly. It’s okay. He didn’t expect anything else from the man. His welfare wasn’t Bruce’s concern. Not anymore.

Forcing his stiff and aching limbs to cooperate, he collapsed onto the couch and began typing up the night’s report. It was difficult to ignore the way his blood became tacky and sticky on his skin, but Tim needed this report. That was far more important than his discomfort. Maybe they’d appreciate how quickly he got it done. Maybe it’d help bridge the divide between them?

Or they simply won’t care, a part of him whispered darkly. The thought made his fingers stutter on the keyboard before ignoring the whisper as he resumed typing with fervor. He just needed to think positively. One of these days, his hard work will pay off. Eventually, they’ll realize how sorry he is and consider letting him come home.

Someday, he won’t be alone anymore.

At long last, he completed the report and sent it off to the Cave. Setting the laptop to the side, he couldn’t smother the cry of pain that tore from his throat as he shifted to stand. The blood had dried over his fresh stitches and all across his skin, making the congealed mass pull agonizingly as he moved. Breathing through the pain, he slowly managed to stand and hobble to his bathroom. Washing the blood off in the shower brought on a wave of sheer relief, but the hot water stung his cuts sharply in contrast. Sighing dejectedly, he couldn’t help but think his entire existence was pain at this point. He woke up and fell asleep to the feeling. Before a single injury could heal, it was either reopened, reaggravated, or replaced. This was his life now. Eternal agony, just like how he was eternally damned.

Using the last of his energy, he got ready for bed and collapsed beneath the already bloody sheets. He needed to do laundry. Once he thought of one item on his to-do list, the rest started flooding his mind. He needed to order groceries, mostly ready-to-eat meals. There wasn’t any time to cook these days. Hadn’t been in months. There was a lead in the Bowery he needed to follow up on. He’d promised Dick he’d scout out the building off of Washington Boulevard. His motorcycle needed an oil change. And, of course, he needed to pick up more anesthetics. That was just the beginning of the list, and Jason wanted to cry at the thought of all the things he needed to do. But that was a tomorrow problem. He was too tired to even torture himself over his never-ending list of responsibilities. Shoving all the unhelpful and stressful thoughts to the back of his mind, he drifted off into blissful sleep.

The one positive to always being so exhausted was that he hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks. Thankfully, tonight was the same. Unfortunately, his sleep was interrupted mere hours later by his phone ringing loudly in his ear. Jolting up in bed, he groans in pain as the movement yanks on all his injuries and some he hadn’t even known about to boot. Breathing through the discomfort, he gingerly grabbed his phone and answered without checking the caller ID. Only one person bothered to call him anymore.

“Yes?” he said as steadily as possible. They didn’t need to know how tired and beaten he was. He had to be useful, or they’ll abandon him in Arkham.

“Rendezvous at the textile factory near pier 23. The kryptonite smugglers have resurfaced,” Batman said curtly before hanging up abruptly. Jason took one, singular minute to pull himself together. He was so tired. Everything hurts. But that didn’t matter. He was the Bat's soldier, so he needed to pull himself together and do as he commanded. It was his only hope for salvation.

Dragging himself out of bed, he realized he wouldn’t be able to do this without any pain meds. Every inch of his body was on fire as if every muscle was begging him to climb back into bed and pretend the world outside didn’t exist. Grimacing, he fishes out ‘the good stuff’ as Dick calls it and downs several tablets. He hated almost anything stronger than Tylenol due to his childhood, but he wouldn’t be able to function with the agony burning through his veins. As he suits up, he idly realizes that his healing factor has been slowing down recently. Usually, the small knicks and lighter bruises would have been gone by now. Instead, they still remained dotted across his body. Maybe the pit was finally fading? The small flicker of hope made a slight smile slide onto his face before it was quickly whisked away by a hiss of pain. Fading or not, that healing factor would be pretty damn handy right about now.

Racing off into the night on his motorcycle that still needed maintenance, he carefully focused on the road to keep his exhaustion from engulfing him. The last thing he needed right now was to become a skid mark on the pavement. He could already imagine the disapproving frown Bruce would wear before turning away from his corpse and never sparing the horrible monster another thought.

When he pulled up next to the meeting point, he heard the Bats’ casual conversation trickling off as they realized he was present. Another fracture appeared in his soul, but he shoved the pain aside. Honestly, what else did he expect? Grappling up to the top, he listened silently as Batman laid out the plan of attack. They were to stealth through the building for as long as possible and slowly decrease their numbers until they couldn’t hide their presence any longer. A scathing comment from Damian was aimed his way, something about being a rabid dog who wouldn't know subtlety if it slapped him in the face, that Jason dutifully ignored before approaching his designated entrance into the factory.

Overall, the bust went pretty smoothly. And by that, he meant that everything immediately went wrong. Apparently, there was a thug and a scientist that had been colluding in the storage room Nightwing had entered and promptly sent an alert out to the entire organization. Which was honestly just the best because Jason hadn’t had a bullet wound in a while and he'd been missing them. One of the shots whizzing around him managed to embed itself in his arm, and he nearly dropped his gun as white-hot flames of agony engulfed the limb.

Rather than retreat, he non-lethally subdued his attackers and continued making his way through the building, carefully and taking down any other hostiles he came across. He was about to sweep the next hallway when he noticed a soft, pulsing green glow escaping from the last room's minuscule window. Clicking on his comm, he says, “I found a room with something green and glowing inside. Appears to be kryptonite. Working on opening it now.” Batman roughly acknowledged it, so Jason got to work. After a bit of searching, he found a panel hidden behind a faux fire alarm (which was definitely not up to code) and hacked into it in record time. It was easy. Almost too easy.

The heavy metal door smoothly slid open, and Jason quickly stepped inside, sweeping the area for enemies. The room was a large lab of some sort, complete with beakers and strange compounds lining the walls. Only the eerie glow coming from the back of the room set it apart from a normal laboratory. Creeping slowly through the maze of tables, counters, and equipment, he approached the source of the glow, expecting an enemy to pop up and shoot him again at any moment.

But instead of finding your typical, run-of-the-mill bad guys, he found a bright green, silently ticking bomb counting down the last few minutes on its clock. Heart hammering away in his throat, he turned to race out of the room. As he bolted through the room, he watched in horror as the door, the only exit, rapidly slid shut at the last moment, causing Jason to collide with it harshly. Gasping in pain as it jarred his wounds, he tries to get the control panel to open the door, but it blinks red and locks him out. He tries again but to no avail. Terrified, he realizes that it really was to easy to gain access to this room. It was a trap. Panic flaring in his chest, he quickly clicks his comm on once more and frantically reports, “I’m trapped in the room with a bomb that seems to be utilizing kryptonite! I need backup!”

His blood turned to ice when he heard Bruce direct his sons out of the building before addressing him. “Hood, get yourself out of there. We won’t reach you in time.” Translation: We aren’t even going to try. You’re as good as dead.

Horrified, Jason collapsed to his knees and thunked his head against the immovable sheet of metal before him. He hadn’t even told them how long was left on the clock. As soon as they found a way to get rid of him, they’d taken it. This was it. He’s going to die again. And he couldn’t even try to save himself by blowing up the door because the bomb in his helmet had a rather wide detonation zone. If it went off, it’d either kill or heavily injure him or set off the much bigger bomb behind him.

Tears streaked down his face beneath his helmet as his impending doom drew closer. The bright side was he only had a few seconds before the end came for him. The less time he had to think and agonize over his abandonment, the better. In his last moments, he told himself that this was fine. They were only giving him what he deserved. This was for the best. They'd already given him a stay of execution, and he'd blown it by getting himself into this mess.

As the bomb went off and the world was once more consumed in vivid, burning green, Jason couldn’t bring himself to care. Without the Bats, he was nothing. What was one more death? The heat danced across his skin, and it felt like every molecule in his body was being ripped apart until he mercifully slipped into the blackness.

Chapter Text

Jason Todd was dead.

Or at least he should have been. He was very confused when he woke up with a tiny little kitten plastered across his helmet's faceplate and purring like he was the greatest thing since midafternoon naps. Through his obscured vision, Jason made out a dirty, dingy back alley, not completely unlike any other one in Gotham. The main difference he noticed was that he couldn’t see any potentially toxic sludge on the ground or heavy, smothering smog in the inky black sky. It was strange, to say the least. If he awoke from death again, he expected to be back in a coffin. One possibly encased in steel bars and concrete. Waking up on the surface with the moon shining down on him was completely unexpected but not at all unwelcome.

His mind felt hazy and his body ached, but he could clearly recall the explosion and the fiery wave that had engulfed him. Had one of the Bats saved him? If so, why’d they ditch him here? And with a kitten no less? Damian would definitely have tried to smuggle it back to the manor. Which left only one conclusion - they hadn’t saved him. The explosion possibly could have launched him into a nearby alley, but again, this doesn’t look like Gotham. And shockingly, he doesn’t feel too much more injured than before the blast. Which frankly wasn’t saying much. His litany of injuries throbbed and ached, and his very cells seemed to burn, but he wasn’t egregiously wounded as he rightfully should be.

What the hell was going on?

With one slightly trembling hand, he grabbed the kitten by the scruff and sat up. Despite dangling in midair, she seemed quite content. Scrutinizing the creature, Jason couldn’t help but feel a warm, fuzzy feeling bloom in his chest at how the cat trusted him. The tiny thing was far too friendly to survive in Gotham. Her fur was largely black with small patches of white on her ears and feet, and bright, blazing green eyes seemed to stare into his very soul. Meowing insistently, the kitten tried to rub her head against his hand in a move that was almost too adorable for his heart to handle. Sighing resignedly, he brought the little ball of fluff to his chest, and she instantly started purring as she curled into him. “You’re mine now,” he said quietly as he struggled to his feet. While adopting a cat in the middle of an unknown and potentially dangerous situation was far from the smartest thing he’d ever done, the empty, shattered part of his heart had desperately latched onto the affection he so desperately craved. If his family couldn’t love him, maybe this tiny baby would instead.

Emotionally, Jason was a wreck right now. Physically, he was also a wreck. Mentally, he was a dumpster fire. But somewhere beneath all that jumbled, aching mess, his training was kicking in and shoving everything into a bottle that totally wouldn’t cause him problems later. Taking a deep, hopefully calming breath, he grapples to the top of the office building he somehow landed behind and hauled himself onto the roof.

As soon as he was standing, a cold feeling of dread washed over him. He knew this wasn’t Gotham. But knowing and seeing were two drastically different things. There were far too many skyscrapers and they were all clustered together. The city’s architecture was also far more modern than Gotham ever could be without tearing down the entire city and starting from scratch. But his location didn’t fully click until he turned around and saw a greenish-blue statue rising from the ocean in the far distance.

It was the Statue of Liberty. Jason was in New York. But this wasn’t a New York he recognized. Some towers he knew were missing and other buildings he’d never seen before were in their place. Wobbling slightly as a horrible conclusion formed in his mind, Jason’s hand flew up to his ear. His words exploded out of his mouth in a rapid stream, trying to get in contact with any of the Bats. However, his questions were answered with nothing but static. Whipping out his phone, he started frantically tried searching for anything related to his dimension: Gotham, Batman, hell, even Joker, but his phone didn’t have any connection despite being in the middle of a massive city.

Jason felt like his throat had been ripped open all over again as the horror and shock wrapped around his jugular and made it infinitely harder to breathe, much less think. He was stuck in another dimension with no way home. There wasn’t a way to call for help, and for all he knew, this dimension functioned completely differently than his did. He was stranded in a completely unknown place and he was starting to panic. However, before he could fully sink into the depths of a panic attack, he caught sight of a red blur flying across the sky and closing in on his location.

The panic racing through his body was pushed back by his mission drive and quickly converted to pure adrenaline. Being discovered would be bad, especially if they knew he was from another dimension. No scientist worth their salt would pass up on studying and potentially dissecting him. He should know, it happened plenty back at the League. Utilizing all of his League and Bat training, Jason blended into the shadows and ran into the depths of the city. He twisted and turned down abandoned alleys and raced across rooftops far, far away from the flying figure.

After moving for nearly an hour without any indication of a tail, Jason finally collapses against an A/C unit to rest. Now that he’s stopped, all of his aches came back to him. His gasps for breath are interspersed by groans of pain. He’d really overexerted himself tonight, and it had definitely exasperated every single one of his injuries. The kitten still clutched in his arms seemed to recognize this and clambered up onto his shoulder to curl into his neck and purr comfortingly. Jason just manages to lift one hand, which seems to be made of lead, to gently scratch the cat behind the ears before falling back onto the rooftop.

He’d been mere seconds from giving in to his exhaustion and falling asleep when a muffled scream echoed up from the alley below. Jerking himself awake, he barely manages to pull himself up with the help of the A/C unit. Thankfully, the kitten was already quite adept at hanging on and balancing despite being so small, so she easily stayed perched on Jason’s shoulder. Hobbling to the edge, Jason could see what looked like a gangster shoving a stick of a young man harshly against the brick wall near the mouth of the alley.

Using one hand to hold the kitten in place and the other to anchor his grapple, he swung down in a graceful arch before slamming feet first into the thug’s head, instantly knocking him out. The moment the victim was free, he bolted off into the night like any sane individual would. As for Jason, his entire arm was throbbing with that little stunt. Now that the adrenaline of the night was puttering out, he remembered that he had a freaking bullet lodged in his arm. Good thing the perp was out cold, or Jason would be in real trouble. He was in no shape to defend himself at the moment. Non-lethally at least, and he wasn't willing to break the Bat's rules even an entire dimension away. No matter how far away he was, the Dark Knight always knew.

Rather than stick around and risk being discovered, he wandered around New York until he found a condemned building to spend the night in. Once he found a decently safe and hidden spot, he immediately collapsed against the wall and yanked his helmet off. The second the headgear came off, the kitten was rubbing her face against his cheek comfortingly, almost like she'd been waiting the whole night for this exact moment. Chuckling lightly, Jason patted her head before getting to work pulling out the bullet and sewing the wound up with the portable suture kit he always had on hand. He carried a lot more medical equipment around as Red Hood than he did as Robin since his life was solely in his own hands now. It was just one more bitter reminder of what he’d become. A frown tugged on his face before the cat gently bumped her head against him as if she could tell his mind was straying to bad places.

“Fine, fine,” he huffed humorously as he finished treating the gash. Pulling the kitten into his lap, he started petting the soft little bundle. “We need a name for you,” Jason hummed to himself as he mulled over possible names. She was such a sweet thing so he wanted it to be something delicate and pretty. But she’d also somehow survived despite her loving nature, so the name also needed to have a bit of strength to it. Looking into her sparkling green eyes, the perfect name came to him.

“Verdana,” he said proudly. “Your name is Verdana now!” The newly named Verdana tilted her head as if in question, and Jason gladly explained, “Verdant is Latin for green, but that sounded too masculine. Therefore, Verdana.”

Seemingly unopposed, Verdana curled into a warm little ball of floof on his lap and started to doze off. Jason kept smiling and petting her for a few more minutes before he joined her in the land of Morpheus.

Chapter Text

Jason wakes up miserable and disoriented around noon the next day. He’s slightly shaky from exhaustion and it feels like every inch of his body has been beaten with a crowbar until he’s nothing but putty. Forcing his body into an upright position, he looks around in confusion at the cracked and dirty concrete surrounding him as he tries to piece together what happened last night.

The memories hit him all at once, and Jason felt like sinking back to the floor and staying there until the earth claimed him once more. He didn’t want to think about how the Bats instantly gave up on him the moment he was in trouble. New dimension or not, in the end, he’s abandoned and alone.

Something soft bumped into his hand, jerking Jason out of his thoughts. Looking down, he sees Verdana gently rubbing her face against the back of his trembling hand. Her big green eyes seem to calm the panic inside him just a little bit. Maybe not completely alone. At least one good thing came out of this absolute train wreck.

Taking a deep breath, he starts to make a game plan as he scratches Verdana behind the ears. This may be a new dimension, but the mission remained the same. After all, soldiers were made to fight, and that’s all he was. But to do that, he was going to have to restart his operation from scratch. And to do that, he needed funds and information. So, his first step should obviously be the library. It was a little risky to do some frankly illegal things on a public computer, but where else was he going to find one?

Stashing his helmet and utility belt in a well-hidden part of the building, he got ready to venture out into the city. He tried to leave Verdana behind because no self-respecting library would let animals in that weren’t service dogs, but she wasn’t having it. Thankfully, she was a tiny thing so he slipped her into his pocket and started searching for the library.

Walking down the street, it felt like there was a darkness surrounding him. People on the street side-eyed him and gave him as wide a berth as you can manage in such a crowded city. It set Jason on edge and made him feel dirty. It was like they recognized that he was an outcast. Something that shouldn’t belong. However, if he actually stopped to think about it, his myriad of injuries and the slight limp he’s dragging himself along with is probably what was setting alarm bells off for civilians. He looked like he was on the run and should be in a hospital (or jail) instead of hobbling around downtown.

After asking a surprisingly kind elderly gentleman who didn't seem bothered by his appearance for directions, he made quick work of tracking down the library. It was an enormous building that smelled of old books and cinnamon, and Jason was tempted to start looking around, but he prioritized avoiding cameras and finding a computer in an empty area instead. At long last, he collapsed into a worn desk chair and shook the mouse to wake the computer. This library was one where you had to have a library card to access the device, but no library actually cared about system security so it was ridiculously easy to hack into.

For the next several hours, he researched anything and everything that could be helpful to him. He learned about the Avengers, Shield, Hydra, the vastly differing history of this world, and so much more. Everything critical he discovered, he jotted down in Bat regulation code on the papers that the nice librarian gave him. After that, he set up an identity for himself. He could use his real name since he didn’t exist here, but he needed a bank account, birth certificate, paper trail, hospital records, really anything and everything that proved he was a real person and not a robot. He tried not to think about how weird it was to be legally alive again as himself. It was something he couldn’t even hope for in his home dimension.

Pushing those lingering thoughts aside, he got to work on one of his favorite past times - draining the bank accounts of scumbags who hopefully wouldn’t need it for much longer anyway. Draining may be too strong of a word since he didn’t need any big shots on his tail (yet), but he still took a decent chunk of change.

Lastly, he found himself a quaint little apartment and had groceries, supplies, and various other things delivered there. By the time he was finished, he’d spent a good four or so hours in the library, and Verdana was peacefully sleeping in his lap, just barely hidden by Jason’s signature leather jacket. Once more sliding the ball of fluff into his pocket, he ventured through the streets of New York until he arrived at his new apartment.

It wasn’t anything luxurious, but it wasn’t a cesspool either. The complex was rather quiet and decently well-kept, and it didn’t take long for Jason to get his keys from the front desk and find his apartment. After he left the rather unenthusiastic woman’s office, he carefully made his way through the complex until he found his new home: apartment 527.

Rather than walking straight in like he had every right to, he hovered outside the door for a moment. The key in his hand shook ever so slightly in his white-knuckled grip. This seemed like yet another new beginning, and it felt like waiting for the executioner’s ax to fall. Those never ended well for him, and he was ashamed to admit that he was scared how this one would finish. He was really, really tired of getting broken down and destroyed over and over again.

The sound of a door slamming shut shook him out of his daze, and he numbly unlocked the apartment and slipped into the dark interior. Flicking a light on, he was greeted by a glaringly empty but not at all unpleasant room. The apartment had been cleaned thoroughly, the blinds were old but in one piece, and the walls were white with a lovely blue undertone. All in all, it was leaps and bounds better than the abandoned building he crashed in last night.

Setting Verdana down, the two began exploring their new place. Overall, it was rather old but well-maintained and exactly what he needed. The bathroom was small but not claustrophobic, the two bedrooms were a good size, and the kitchen had a backsplash that appeared to be pierced together out of sea glass. That or broken beer bottles. They were basically the same thing, so Jason didn’t care that much. The last thing he inspected was the balcony. The whole reason he decided on this apartment rather than the dozen other prospects was because it was hidden from the street below by large trees and almost all the reviews complained about the balcony being worthless because it faced an ugly brick wall. Which meant that next to no one would be looking in this direction. Perfect for a Bat vigilante’s exit/entrance strategy.

Verdana was wrinkling her nose at the singular, sad-looking weed growing in the cracked pavement when a knock at the door alerted him to the arrival of his deliveries. Extra emphasis on the plural. When Jason opened the door, there was a mountain of boxes and bags, and the poor delivery driver was trudging back down to the car to haul more crap up. After the fourth and final trip, the exhausted-looking college student announced that everything was now present in Jason’s living room. The guy left a lot happier after Jason gave him an absolutely massive tip. Jason didn’t care, it wasn’t his money. And the guy deserved it with how much work he put in and even managed to keep everything in one piece.

The rest of the afternoon was spent picking up his Red Hood gear from its hidey-hole, unpacking, and, most importantly, setting up Verdana’s dedicated kitty corner. It was decked out with a luxurious little cat bed, a tasteful scratching post, and a couple little toys he thought she might enjoy. His baby deserved something nice, especially after finding her in that disgusting alley. He was only mildly displeased when she gave the bed the barest cursory inspection before clawing up his leg and climbing into his jacket pocket for a nap while he worked rather than her bed. On the bright side, he had a brand new phone to take lots of pictures.

Once he got bored of unpacking, he unboxed the laptop and started transferring the notes he’d taken earlier in the day to the device so he could expand on his research. If he was going to survive and continue with the mission, he couldn’t go into this blind. He could practically see Batman lurking over his shoulder, analyzing and mentally criticizing Jason’s research methods and priorities. Hear the man’s disappointment and disgust. Feel his hand ghosting across the scar on his throat. Snapping his eyes closed, Jason forces himself to breathe steadily. Batman wasn’t here. He never would be because he’d assume Jason was dead again and move on with his life. Batman couldn’t hurt him anymore.

And with that distance, Jason could never attempt to earn their love again. All that work, all those agonizing nights alone, were for nothing. It was like the universe wanted to ensure Jason knew that every hope and dream he ever had was well and truly gone. To drill into him that there was nothing in life for him but a mission that would inevitably kill him.

With shaking hands, he snapped his computer shut and set it aside. He needed to rest. Sleeping would fix everything. So, he ignored everything as he scooped Verdana up and trekked into his bedroom. It didn’t matter that there was research to conduct or things to put away. He didn’t care that he had wounds to treat and an empty stomach that made him lightheaded. All that mattered was making himself stop thinking. Sleep would do that. Therefore, sleep he did.

Chapter Text

Everything was burning. The blood bubbling from his throat seared his skin. The wreckage of the warehouse was alight, casting a ghostly glow across its destroyed and hellish surroundings. His fingertips throbbed from where he hauled himself out of the flaming debris. His jacket was scorched from the bomb’s blast. But worst of all, his mind felt like it was melting into confused and anguished sludge.

Dad Bruce Batman actually did it. Jason told him that either Joker or he himself had to die, and Batman made his choice.

He’d hoped to be welcomed home. To be liberated. To be loved again. What a fool he’d been. A part of himself he’d ignored and shoved deep inside knew that this was the only way this night would end. That piece of him just didn’t think he’d survive the encounter. Jason wouldn’t be surprised if his survival was planned. Just another element of Batman’s scheme to make him suffer for his sins.

But the rest of Jason screamed that he needed to live. Even as he was left shaking in the rubble, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding with a wad of soaked-through gauze, he couldn’t physically make himself let the blood slip unhindered through his fingers. Death would be a mercy, but apparently Jason couldn’t give himself a break.

Between the smoke and the pain, breathing is agonizing, and it comes in short, labored wheezes. All he wants to do is black out and let the darkness sweep all his mental and physical anguish away. He almost does manage to overpower his survival instincts, but the crunch of glass under heavy, determined footsteps drawing near hurls him into panicked alertness.

Large, black boots enter his vision, and when Jason looks up he meets the cold, emotionless whites of Batman’s cowl. The hero’s cape blocks the light of the fire and casts Jason into a darkness he didn’t desire. He simply loomed over the broken criminal and watched as he attempted to cling to the last dregs of his life.

After what felt like hours under the man’s glare, Batman finally growled, “I should have done this a long time ago.” With that, he slammed a boot into Jason’s ribs, hurling his body into a pile of bricks and plaster. Slumped against the rubble and shaking in pain, Jason reaches a hand now devoid of gauze to his neck. The blood still oozed from his wound, but it seemed even heavier now.

“Please,” Jason begged as he held his other hand out in front of him. It was a vain attempt to protect himself and they both knew it, but he had to do something. However, Jason wasn’t sure what he was imploring for from a man he no longer knew. Maybe one more chance at salvation. Perhaps a shred of mercy. More likely something permanent.

But he wasn’t given a chance to gather his thoughts. The deep voice he used to associate with safety simply said “No,” in a tone that spelt a death sentence. Jason’s execution. Batman flicked his wrist and another Batarang appeared in his grip. Before a single thought could appear in his hazy mind, the wicked metal weapon was slipping between his ribs and into his heart.

A single, treacherous tear slid down his face as Batman leaned in and snarled, “Stay dead this time.” The man he once saw as a father left the Batarang embedded in his chest and turned away from the boy he’d irreversibly disowned. As he disappeared into the shadows, Jason took his last rattling breath and finally faded into the darkness.

_______

Jason woke up reaching for his neck and gasping from memories, nightmares, and phantom pains. It hurt. Everything hurt, and in the darkness of the night, he can’t see if he’s actually injured or not. Deep, gasping sobs forced their way past his lips as he kept a vice-like grip on his throat and buried his face into the pillow. He could feel painful bruises forming beneath his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to remove his hand or lighten his hold. Despite the logical part of his mind whispering that he’s safe, the larger, panicked part of it was screaming that he was bleeding out. That if he lost even a bit of pressure, his blood would come pouring forth and he’d die here alone and in agony once more.

Out of all the damnable, miserable nights in his life, the one where Batman slit his throat was possibly the worst. He’d wanted to be loved and safe. That was all he truly wanted. Instead, he’d been condemned and punished like any other villain. No, worse than other villains, because he was supposed to be better than a rogue. Batman had taught him better.

But that wasn’t quite right, was it? The events unfurled as they did because Jason was supposed to be dead. Now he was simply an insult to a precious memory. Nothing more than a walking corpse. So it was only logical to show neither remorse nor mercy to a mere phantom. But that didn’t mean Jason didn’t suffer from the aftereffects. And of course, his mind had to go and make it worse than what actually occurred. Batman didn’t kill him that night.

Maybe he should have.

Verdana meows tentatively from the bedside table, her viridian eyes seeming to gently glow in the darkness. After a few trembling inhales, Jason manages to scratch her behind the ears. The softness of her fur beneath his fingers grounds him just enough that he’s able to start pulling his shattered and scattered pieces together.

Slipping Verdana onto his shoulder, he moves on autopilot. He leaves the bed and his feet carry him to the kitchen. Once there, he gets to work. A few minutes later, he realizes he now has a steaming, untouched mug of hot chocolate in his hands. He stares at it numbly as thoughts of Alfred float through his mind. The man’s kind smile when he first moved to the manor. The first time he said Jason was his grandchild. Running into him at the grocery store a few months ago and receiving nothing but a look of disdain and a cold shoulder.

A fresh wave of tears falls as he dumps the drink down the sink. Chocolate would upset his stomach anyway. He hasn’t eaten properly in days. After that, he fades into a numb, semi-aware state as he quietly makes himself some eggs and toast. Something easy and light on the stomach. Something that would hopefully settle the nausea rolling in his gut that could be from nightmares or starvation. It was anyone’s guess at this point.

Mechanically, he forces himself to eat and clean the dishes before shuffling back to his room and collapsing into bed. Verdana huffs in annoyance at being jostled so abruptly, but settles leisurely on his chest and quickly begins to doze. Her soft snuffles and the comforting warmth eventually lull him back to sleep as well, and thankfully, the rest of the night passes dreamlessly.

Unfortunately, a deafening crash woke him up not long after the sun slipped into the sky. He wasn’t sure if it was the sound or the shaking building is what startled him awake, but both were horrendous. It was difficult to tell. Jason hurtled out of bed and raced to the window to see a giant green goliath traipsing down the street after some floating yellow Star Wars-looking speeders. A few seconds later, the weird group turned around a corner and disappeared from sight.

Blinking a few times in surprise, Jason turned around and collapsed back into bed. This place was as weird as Gotham, and it was too early in the damn morning to deal with it. So, Jason drifted back to sleep to the oh-so-peaceful sound of car alarms and distant blaster fire. He was nocturnal and the Avengers were diurnal, so they better have this handled. Otherwise, they’d have a very, very angry ex-crime lord to deal with.

Chapter Text

It took a week of research and reconnaissance before Jason was confident enough to start patrolling. At first, he wanted to get his boots on the ground as quickly as possible. But then he realized the Avengers could pose a problem, so he scoped out their movements and dug up every scrap of information he could manage to find on them. He was halfway through that research when he had the awful realization that an alternate universe could mean alternate biology.

It was a disturbing thought that led his mind to places he vehemently never wanted to venture to again. Thankfully, all it took was one quick internet search to reassure him that nothing weird was going on. He was even more relieved that he didn’t have to learn new weak points and target areas.

After that pleasant little detour, he resumed cataloging the Avengers’ weaknesses before moving on to mapping out the active gangs, their activities, and crime hot spots. He’d have to keep a close eye on the Mott Haven area since their violent crime concentration was the highest in the city. And Mott Haven just so happened to be in the Bronx. Which is where Jason’s apartment was.

A wave of his near-permanent concern washed over him. He usually wasn’t this lucky, so something horrible was definitely going to go down somewhere around here. On the very minimal bright side, he’d be on sight to handle it. Hopefully…

At long last, he was ready to hit the streets again. Quickly and efficiently, he pulled his gear on with practiced ease. First the base layer, then the armor, followed by a small army’s worth of weapons. All that was left was his helmet. As he pulled it on, Verdana clawed her way up his armor, onto his shoulder, and started purring while she rubbed her face against his helmet.

“You can’t come with me,” Jason chuckled as he gently plucked her off his shoulder and placed the pouting kitten on the coffee table. She meowed grumpily at him and stared him down until Jason finally said, “I need you to guard the house. If a stranger breaks in, attack them. Got it?”

Whether she understood him or not, he wasn’t sure. However, she didn’t seem grumpy anymore which was a win in his book. With Verdana suitably placated, Jason carefully made his way onto the balcony and cautiously reset all of his traps before launching off into the night.

The cityscape was far different from what he was used to, but he’d memorized maps of the entire area so he wasn’t too concerned about getting lost. He evidently chose the right area to patrol/claim as his territory because within an hour he’d already stopped three robberies, escorted a lost child home, and stopped what easily could’ve turned into a murder. All in all, it was a busy start for his first day on the job, but this would’ve been an average night in Gotham so he wasn’t concerned.

Halfway through the night, he’d explored most of his new city before a blood-curdling scream drew him towards a dark alleyway. Several men were surrounding a young woman and manhandling her toward the trunk of a totally foolproof black van. No one would ever suspect a thing with how darkly tinted those windows are!

Originally, he’d been scoffing to himself at how cliche the group was being, but once the snippets of German saying 'Hydra' floated up to his perch, the mirth rapidly shriveled into oblivion. He couldn’t make out a whole lot of what they were saying at this distance, but he did make out the words lab, toxin, experiment, and something about a doctor. This was bigger than some basic baddie getting into trafficking. This was Hydra.

With rage singing in his veins, he dives off the edge of the roof and comes slamming down onto one of the thug’s shoulders. The force from a massive vigilante hurtling into the guy’s back surely made something snap, but Jason was too focused to notice the way bones shifted beneath his boot as he stepped off the man’s back and shot three of the other goons in the shoulder. Racing forward, he rips the last man away from the woman and slams him face-first into the unforgiving brick wall. He keeps the thug there with a harsh grip on the back of his opponent’s neck. As the woman flees into the night, Jason starts grilling his unfortunate victim.

“What toxin is Hydra making?” he snarls menacingly. The sound is harsh and borderline demonic through his voice modulator, and Jason feels the man start to quake in fear.

“I-I don’t know!” the man stutters. “I just grab test subjects for the higher-ups!”

A growl edges into his tone when Jason speaks again. “Where were you taking the girl?”

“I don’t know! We get a new drop-off location every time we grab someone. Come on, man! I’m the lowest person on the totem pole! I don’t know anything!”

Jason’s grip turns bruising on the man’s neck. “Then answer me this, what’s the Doctor’s name?”

The man sputters in his haste to spit out, “I don’t know his name! I’ve only heard rumors calling him the Dark Fox.” At those last few words, the goon’s voice pitched down into a whisper, and it was at that moment Jason knew he wasn’t going to get any more useful information out of the guy.

As Jason pulled the dude away from the wall, the thug sighed in relief. It was quickly followed by a broken-off cry of despair as Jason slammed his face into the wall and let his body collapse into a heap on the disgusting pavement. The sound of sirens was drawing closer, and someone doubtlessly reported the gunshots. Scanning the other four unconscious men and realizing that he wouldn’t be getting any more information out of them, he nabbed one of their phones and grappled onto a nearby roof.

Once he deemed himself far enough away from the original scuffle, he easily bypassed its password and found the number they’d been texting to receive drop-off coordinates. He texted the number and continued his patrol as he waited for a response. However, the hours ticked by without a single reply. Once he was sure they wouldn't be texting back, he huffed angrily and chucked the phone off the edge of a skyscraper, watching it shatter so far below that the sound was faint at best.

He was frustrated, to say the least. All human trafficking was horrific and worthy of hatred, but Jason particularly hated the monsters who took innocent people and used them as nothing more than lab rats. He remembers what that’s like, and as the memories of seared flesh and being slowly dissected surface, he has to carefully control his breathing so he doesn’t fall into a panic attack. While their situations were different since he’d been taken apart to learn the secrets to immortality and these people were having weapons tested on them, there is little difference to him. Both are horrific, and he needs to stop this as quickly as possible.

By this point, it was only an hour till sunrise, so Jason slipped through the deep shadows until he finally made it home. The second he was inside, he shucked off his armor while Verdana swirled around his legs. He wipes a hand exhaustedly down his face before grabbing a glass of water and booting up his laptop. He had a lot of work to do if he wanted to weed Hydra out any time soon.

Chapter Text

Jason was at the end of his rope. It’s been two weeks, and he’s slowly but surely stopped pulling his punches. Started putting bullets in more dangerous places. It’s been 336 hours of almost nonstop patrolling, researching, and scouting locations with only a few hours of sleep a day. He only remembers to eat when Verdana screams at him from the top of the fridge. Moreover, most of the times he’s actually slept have been when his body finally gives out on him as he enters the safety of his home. The one singular good thing is that despite his injuries piling up, they’ve been minor and his major ones have mostly healed.

But the fruits of his labor were finally beginning to bloom. He’s confirmed that it’s Hydra he’s up against by crippling a few more grunts and sifting through Shield’s not-so-confidential databases. Kidnapping reports were dropping exponentially since Jason started, and if he was right, he’d significantly decreased Hydra’s disposable thugs. He’d stopped eight more trucks full of Hydra agents, and he hadn’t found another one in two days. And for the cherry on top, he may have found where the rats were hiding their operation. Coincidentally (or maybe not so much), the majority of their base was located in the old abandoned sewer tunnels.

He suspected that there were several entrances stationed around the city, but so far he’d only discovered one possible location. A rather run-down-looking factory just outside of his newly claimed turf had some shady-looking, artillery-toting people slipping in and out of the building at random hours throughout the day and night. On top of that, once Jason started doing some digging, their financial and export records just screamed suspicious. Sure, it could’ve just been a gang he’d need to take out eventually, but he highly doubted your average, run-of-the-mill cartel would be having incredibly hazardous chemicals delivered. Inhumane Hydra scum though…

After reviewing his intel, gearing up, and spending five minutes prying Verdana off of his chest plate, he takes off into the darkness like the soulless wraith he’s become. As he slunk through the city, crooks who caught a glimpse of him scurried back to their holes like the rats they were, frantically glancing over their shoulder for signs of pursuit. Word of the Red Hood’s existence had spread like the plague over the short time he’s been active, and most of the smart or weak thugs realized how much of a threat he was. It was the overconfident meatheads that kept going about their business despite knowing the Hood’s in the area.

That, or they actively seek him out to boost their street cred. Like the leather-clad moron that scrambled up onto the roof behind him growling and boasting like he’s the biggest baddie to walk these sinful streets. While the guy rambled like a typical villain, Jason carefully scrutinized the man.

He was obviously an opportunist since he was huffing and puffing like he’d been chasing Hood for the past several streets and didn’t have a scrap of armor on him. The thug was muscled but nowhere near Jason’s level, and he frankly looked like he rolled around in a dumpster before confronting him. But the worst crime of all was the state his jacket and pants were in. The leather was shredded, dull, and obviously hadn’t been taken care of. Jason firmly believed that everyone looked good in leather, but this two-bit crook was making him doubt that fact.

If Jason had a watch, he’d be glancing at it. Instead, all he could do was let out an impatient sigh. The idiot was wasting valuable time that he should be spending casing the Hydra base, freeing victims, and blowing said hideout sky high. However, the thug didn’t agree because he frankly looked offended at Jason’s disinterest. The offense quickly melted into rage as the guy pulled out a massive boot knife he clearly didn’t know how to use and charged at his bored opponent.

When the man was directly in front of him and swinging his knife at Jason’s neck, he simply ducked, rolled the man over his shoulder, and let him fall off the edge of the building. He did it largely off of instinct, but the moment the guy left the rooftop, panic surged through him. As illogical as it was, he was convinced that Batman would appear out of nowhere and beat him within an inch of his life before hurling him in Arkham. With those horrific thoughts squeezing his lungs, he dived off the building after the screeching scumbag.

The wind whipped past him at a near-deafening roar as he grabbed ahold of the man. Ripping his grapple gun out and twisting midair to get a clear target, he shoots for the roof. As the wire pulls taught, Jason lets out a pained grunt when he feels his muscles strain and threaten to rip as he’s lurched out of freefall and into a smooth, arching swing. The catch was so last minute that it was mere moments into his swing that his boots brushed the ground. When that happened, he released his grip on the sniveling fool and let him roll harshly into the alley as Jason himself skidded to a stop.

Brushing himself off nonchalantly, he swaggers over to the cowering crook and roughly planted a boot on his side. “You wanna do that again?” Jason sneered haughtily despite the insane amount of fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Oblivious to Jason’s disposition, the man whimpered and shook his head desperately.

“Good,” Jason said condescendingly before pulling his foot off the man, drawing it back, and slamming it into the guy’s face. The previously sniffling guy’s head whips back harshly before he goes completely limp. As he drags the loser to the nearest lamppost and zip-ties him to the hunk of metal, he carefully draws all of his rampaging feelings together before shoving them roughly into that casket inside his chest. He didn’t have the time, energy, or desire to deal with any of those thoughts, especially if they had to do with the Bats, so he wasn’t going to right now. Or ever, if he had anything to say about it. At least not until he was back in Gotham’s merciless clutches.

Shaking off the lingering terror, he resumes trekking toward the factory that’s hopefully a Hydra base. He’d be fine. He just needed to avoid thinking about Batman, which meant avoiding killing anyone. Unfortunately… He’d just have to make sure this Doctor Dark Fox (what a dweeb) would need a feeding tube for the rest of his life.

A chill runs down his spine as if damnation was hiding just around the corner.

Ventilator? he tried. No luck. A sticky, sickening feeling surfaced in his chest and seemed to envelop his lungs, mocking his attempt.

Fine! he conceded. But at the very least, he’s never walking again! That seemed to at least somewhat appease the imaginary Batman as the feeling backed off, although it didn’t fully disappear.

Seething over his weakness, he finally arrives at the factory. The large building was missing all the Gothic charm that Gotham’s buildings had, but that didn’t make it any less intimidating. The factory was old, discolored, and had a haunting air about it despite the security milling about. If Jason let his imagination wander just a little, he could see the tortured souls of Hydra’s victims wandering through the halls, pounding on the windows, and begging for freedom. Retribution. Any semblance of comfort in their misery.

Instead of charging in like he wants to, he grits his teeth and simply observes. What he sees backs up his theory. The guards are too heavily armed and armored to be regular security. Especially if you take into account that this is supposed to be a plain old household chemical plant. Add on the security’s rigid formations and the indication of intense training, it wouldn’t be any sort of leap to call these men soldiers.

Jason takes an extra thirty minutes to round the building a few times to ensure the outside matches the blueprint he has, count the guards, and get a feel for their patrol routes. So far, nothing stands out as particularly dangerous, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything Bat-grade inside the factory. Unfortunately, the factory was too far from its surroundings to let him simply grapple over. Really, how rude could Hydra possibly be? Don’t they know it’s common courtesy to at least allow grapple access to your new nemesis?

Just as he was pondering how he wanted to make his entrance, a black van turned the corner and started driving toward the factory. A sly grin splits Jason’s face as he realizes that the idiots lifted the damn thing. Whether they did it for escape or off-roading purposes, he couldn’t care less. All that mattered was that it’d be laughably easy to slip beneath the car and hang onto the undercarriage. Quickly grappling to the ground, he waits for the van to stop at the stop sign.

The only problem was that they didn’t stop. They slowed down and started cruising right through. Cursing angrily to himself, he launches into a roll, narrowly avoids being squashed into a zombie-cake from one large tire, and grabs onto the pipes above him. He gets dragged along the road for a minute before he manages to pull his legs off the ground and hook them around the car’s underside. His arm’s sockets were strained and even more sore now from being repeatedly yanked around, but he still managed to hitch a ride so it was worth it.

However, that didn’t excuse these losers for ignoring the stop sign! Every crook with half a brain knew that if you didn’t follow traffic laws you were going to attract the cops’ attention and get carted off to jail far sooner. How hard is it to listen to a giant, offensively red sign? If you run it and hit someone, all discretion is out the window. As of this moment, Jason’s opinion of Hydra changed. They were still disgusting, horrific scum that needed to be stopped, but a small little ‘idiot’ note had been added to the mental file.

Any respect he could’ve had for their operation had gone up in smoke. Sure, the fact that they’d managed to keep their operation hidden and protected their base’s location despite Jason taking down their external operatives was impressive, but wow. Running a stop sign? What a bunch of imbeciles.

The road rushes past Jason, and despite having an iron-fisted grip on the car, it felt like the concrete was mere inches from giving him the worst road rash of his life. A brief minute later, the car rolled to a stop outside the factory’s gates. He watches with bated breath as a pair of heavy-duty boots stroll around the car. The guard clanks the back doors open and rummages around. Jason channels all of his training to remain as still as possible. His muscles strain painfully from the exertion, but he doesn’t move. At long last, the man slams the doors shut and shouts an ‘all clear’ to the gatekeeper. And with that, the car starts moving once more.

As Jason crosses the threshold of the factory’s grounds, an unsettling feeling washes over him. Hydra or not, these people were up to no good, and he’d take them down if it was the last thing he ever did with his miserable life.

Chapter Text

Beneath his heavy-duty gloves, Jason could feel his hands chafing from the unforgiving grip he had on the underside of the car. The ground raced beneath him and the wind whistled harshly around his stiff body. After what seemed like hours, the van slowed to a stop inside the factory’s unloading bay. Two men exited the vehicle and nonchalantly strolled to the trunk.

As the two unloaded the van and chatted about cryptocurrency, Tony Stark’s latest scandal, and the new taco joint off of 36th, Jason discreetly placed a boot on the ground to balance himself and lowered himself just enough that he could easily look around the area but still pull himself out of sight if need be. What he saw was objectively normal…if you were blind (his opinion might be a bit skewed and unfair to the average citizen).

The room itself was a normal garage-style area where trucks could unload their cargo. Stacks of boxes and crates littered the edges of the room, and several dollies were lined up and ready to be used. Beyond that though, it was far from being ordinary.

The chemical canisters had labels of generally safe, legally acceptable chemicals slapped on over the original labels. Labels that had large, hazardous warnings on them that barely showed through the new stickers. If you weren’t looking for them, you’d doubtlessly miss them. Hidden beneath the smell of gasoline, chemicals, and metal is the barely noticeable scent of blood. If Jason had to guess, they unloaded more than just ingredients here. And that was all without mentioning the poorly concealed secret door in the corner of the room.

Carefully monitoring his breathing so he didn’t throw caution to the wind and rampage through the place, he waited for the goons to either finish and leave or turn away so he could sneak to a new, less conspicuous hiding place. It was another few minutes before his chance came. Thug number one was trying to put a canister on a dolly, but it started to roll away, making the can nearly topple on top of him. When the man lets out a shout of alarm, thug number two quickly jogs over to make sure his compatriot doesn’t hurt himself- or so they don’t get in trouble for damaging the goods. Jason wasn’t completely sure how Hydra treated their grunts.

When thug number two started shifting in the other man’s direction, Jason silently lowered himself to the ground, rolled out the opposite side of the van, and slinked into the shadow of a stack of crates. He was so efficient in his movements that he had over twenty seconds to spare before the morons figured out how to fully slide the container onto the dolly. It was frankly laughable, and if the rest of the hideout was like this, the mission was going to be a breeze.

It took another five minutes for them to unload the truck the rest of the way, and as soon as the last chemical was removed, a stick of a man in a pristine lab coat strode into the bay. A slightly high-pitched voice asks, “Is that the entire shipment?” When the goons nodded nervously, the man tsked and said, “This’ll barely be enough for how quickly the Doctor works. Tell the distributor to ready another supply run for early next week.”

Thugs one and two nod so quickly that they looked like bobbleheads before scrambling into their van and racing off. Doctor Stick watched them go with a thinly veiled look of disgust on his face. “Imbeciles,” he sneered. “I should have them moved to the testing center and be done with them.” He then barks a few orders in German, and several men dressed in hazmat suits file out of an adjoining door and start moving chemicals onto a restricted elevator hidden behind the not-so-secret secret door he’d spotted earlier.

When all parties dispersed from the loading bay, Jason lets out a breath and starts mulling over his options. Despite how careful he’s been, he’s still going in mostly blind. If he’s going to save anyone and destroy this operation, he needs more information. Mentally reviewing his floor plan, he decides to search for information inside the factory before venturing into the labs below. If he was lucky, they’d store at least some of their info up here. While it was unlikely, it wouldn’t hurt to check. In the event he couldn’t find anything, he could always kidnap someone and grill them for everything they had.

After waiting a few moments to ensure no one was loitering about, Jason cautiously makes his way into an adjoining hallway. He moves through the old building like a silent wraith searching for its next victim. Since it was so late, no civilians were left in the factory. The few people Jason did come across were excited doctors and lab assistants in white coats and poorly disguised soldiers. Eventually, he found an office and started digging for information.

Within a matter of minutes, he’d broken the encryption on the laptop and found a list of secret entrances, guard movement patterns, and escape routes. The only problem was that it didn’t reveal anything about the facility below. With an agitated huff, he shuts everything down and waits just inside the doorway for a guard to pass like a lion laying in wait for its prey.

It was honestly child’s play. The guard, despite being trained, wasn’t anticipating anyone breaking in, much less waiting to ambush him. Jason was able to hurl him into the office and disarm him in mere seconds without alerting anyone else who may be in the vicinity.

As Jason locked the door, the man had recovered his bearing enough to try and catch his captor off guard. The soldier launched himself at him but was quickly slammed face first into the smooth concrete floor. Jason placed one of his heavy boots on the soldier’s back to keep him pinned and chuckled in amusement as the man tried to reach for a radio that was no longer there.

“Looking for this?” Jason asked smugly as he waved the device in front of his prisoner’s face. He was more than a little proud of his pickpocketing skills. It was something Batman never taught him and an area none of the other Bats could match him in.

The man growled and flailed an arm toward the radio in a pathetic attempt to retrieve it and call for backup. Putting more weight on his captive’s back, he says, “Now then, why don’t we get down to business?”

Twenty minutes and a few extra blood splatters later, Jason was now far more prepared for the facility beneath the factory. The sniveling fool had confirmed that this was indeed the work of Hydra. He’d also revealed some of the security measures and where the prisoners were located. It was truly amazing what a little light torture could do!

After tying his bloody victim up and drugging him a bit to make sure he’d be out for at least an hour, Jason made his way through the darkened hallways while fighting the urge to hum Mulan’s I’ll Make a Man Out of You. He really should have chosen his words more carefully earlier because that song was going to be repeating inside his head for the next hour at least.

The halls were unsettling and covered in dirt and grime as he navigated his way to the secret stairwell. However, that was nothing in comparison to when he bypassed the security and slipped into the hidden area. While the factory above had been eerie, the underground facility was downright chilling and carried an unmistakable sense of foreboding. In contrast to the dirty factory, the facility was sterile and scented strongly with the smell of chemicals. It was a mixture of cleaning supplies and dangerous, potentially lethal, concoctions.

Grateful once again for the protection his helmet provided, he quietly makes his way down the stairs and into the barren white halls of Hydra’s base. Every now and then, the hurried footsteps of a doctor echoed through the halls and Jason had to pull himself up into the rafters, but overall it seemed like the facility only had a skeleton crew on hand due to the late hour. The perks of being a nocturnal vigilante.

The unnerving stillness of the stark white halls on top of how they seemed to form an endless maze would be enough to drive anyone insane. It was starting to grate on Jason’s nerves, but he had a mission to fulfill. No matter what, he’d push through. People were depending on him, even if they didn’t know it, and this is what he was made for. The sole reason he was allowed to exist.

At long last, he arrived at a wall made of heavy cinder blocks. The dull gray contrasted sharply against the seemingly endless white. There was a thick, steel door mounted in the wall blocking the way to all who dared defy Hydra. Above the intimidating door, black block letters spelled “Zellenblock für Testsubjekte.” It’d been a while since he’d practiced the language, but he was literate enough to get the gist. It boiled down to “Test Subject Cell Block,” and the dehumanization made something inside him curl with rage and disgust. Another part of him can’t help but feel branded by that label.

Pushing away anything and everything that would distract him from his goal, he discreetly checks around the nearby corners to ensure no one would stumble upon him breaking into the prison area. Once he was sure he wouldn’t be interrupted, he very carefully cracked the encryption so no surprise alarms or traps would be sprung. When the light turned green, he took a split second to draw in a calming breath. Steeling his resolve, he shoves the door open and enters the belly of the beast.

Chapter Text

The scent of blood and fear hits Jason like a brick wall even through his helmet, and panic-filled whimpers fill the air when the door opens. Stepping fully into the corridor and closing the door behind him, he surveys the area for any threats. There aren’t any currently, but what he does see has his stomach rolling.

While the rest of the facility was pristine, this area was coated in blood. Most likely Hydra purposefully left it that way to make a point to their victims. Behind the industrial steel bars, hunched figures covered in burns, bruisers, and various other injuries were trying to escape his view and melt into the surrounding walls. A boy no older than fourteen sat protectively in front of what must be his sister and glared at Jason with sheer hatred even as tears leaked from his haunted eyes. From deeper within the block, he could hear someone praying for mercy and another person cursing him out.

Quickly moving to the nearest cell, which happened to have the siblings in it, Jason said in a calm, firm tone, “Everyone get up and get ready to move. I’m here to rescue you, but we need to move quickly. Hydra’s slacking off on security right now, but their soldiers are all trained and heavily armed.”

The boy who’d been glaring at Jason like he wanted to rip him apart with his teeth startled and said, “What? Why are you helping us?”

“Because they’re evil, and no one deserves to be experimented on.” The lock clicked open, and Jason swiftly moved to the next cell without touching the door. The boy cautiously opens the gate before moving inside and ushering the other occupants out. Even though he was tentatively trusting Jason, he could see the kid watching his every move like a panicked rabbit.

A few minutes later, Jason was working on the last cell door when he heard a faint scream coming from somewhere hopefully nearby. He picks up speed, unlocks the mechanism, wrenches the last door open, and breathlessly asks, “Does anyone know where the lab is?”

An older woman who seemed to barely be able to stand carefully says, “It’s down the first hallway, take a right, third door to the left.”

“How many guards?” he asks shortly as he takes stock of his weapons.

“Three, sometimes four, and there’s always at least one assistant with the doctor.”

“Perfect,” Jason said while pulling out a gun. “Does anyone know how to shoot or use a knife?” A few hands went up and Jason handed the gun to the man most steady on his feet and the other people were given knives from his frankly ludicrous stalk. If knives could glow, he’d be a lighthouse.

After the last person who wanted a knife was given one, he ordered, “Everyone, the exit is straight down the hall, last left, third right. That’ll take you to the factory. Once I start making a mess, most of the guards should race here, so lay low until you get the chance to run. If you find a phone, call the police. Good luck.”

With those words and a quick salute, Jason races to save the unfortunate soul the vile doctor has under his thumb. He could hear the prisoners swiftly making their exit behind him, but he’s too focused on keeping his boots from thundering down the hall to acknowledge their movement. While he would love nothing more than to make a racket and have everyone come to him, there’s no guarantee they won’t just kill their prisoner. Besides, the moment they know he’s there, they’ll call for backup which will endanger the other prisoners. No, he needs to be stealthy until he’s ready for the cavalry to come crashing down on him.

The closer he gets to the lab, the louder the screams become. Now, he could make out the begging and pleading interspersed between the sounds of agony. The more he heard, the harder it became to control his rage. He was slightly surprised that the pit wasn’t surfacing alongside his anger, but it’d been fading lately so it wasn’t a complete shock. Pushing all thoughts except battle from his mind, he skids to a stop before the lab’s sterile, steel door. It looked too similar to the door that got him stuck in this dimension, so he barges into the room before his mind can drag up those memories.

As the door slams into the wall, every head in the room swivels toward him in surprise. But by the time they realize what’s happening, Jason’s already tackling one of the guards to the ground. Shouts of surprise and anger echo off the walls. Someone shouts ‘Tötet ihn,’ demanding they kill the intruder, but as the second guard starts to point his gun at him, Jason’s already breaking his jaw with a powerful uppercut. When the man collapses to the floor completely out cold, Jason has a clear view of the victim they were torturing in a connected room.

Through the blood-speckled glass separating the viewing area from the torture chamber, he can see a girl no older than him seizing on a table as a luminescent yellow sludge flows into her veins. Somewhere in the room, a heart monitor beeps rapidly before it becomes one long scream as the girl jolts one last time before falling still. Her dead eyes seem to stare at him accusingly through the window, and something inside Jason snaps.

Rage threatens to choke him as the anguish clogs his throat. He’d been too late. The third guard rushes him with a truncheon, the metal stick whistling toward his head. Ducking beneath the blow, Jason grabs the man’s head and brutally slams their face into his knee. He feels something break and shift across his knee at the impact, but he couldn’t care less. As the soldier falls to the floor clutching his face and yelling in pain, Jason hurtles at the last remaining guard.

This one slumps to the white and red stained floor out cold and suffering from broken ribs and shattered wrists. Behind him, he hears banging. When he turns around, he sees the lab assistant desperately trying to open a door on the opposite side of the one he came in from and someone who must be the Dark Fox on the other side frantically typing something into a panel mounted on the wall.

Jason stalks toward the assistant, who turns to press her back against the door. Apparently, Doctor Fox had some secret weapon rigged in here, and he didn’t care if he killed his underlings. The assistant seemed to come to the same conclusion as a deluded smile crept onto her face.

“You’re too late,” she cackles in a way far too similar to the Joker for Jason’s sanity to handle. “The test subject is dead, and soon you will be too! Once the weapon is complete, Hydra will raze this city to the ground, and it’ll be your fault for failing here today. The pathetic little hero will die for nothing!”

Her ghastly words were accompanied by that horrific laughter, and Jason needed it to stop. He could feel the memories and fear rising to the surface, and he couldn’t let that happen.

Make it stop.

One moment, he’s glaring at the villainous woman and seething at her words. The next, he’s pummeling her bloody corpse into the ground. His fists rain over her broken form like hail in a spring storm, destroying everything under his unforgiving blows. You couldn’t even tell if she was a person or minced meat anymore.

Realizing what he’d done, he threw himself away from her in horror. He’d broken the rule. He’d broken his rule. His unnervingly calm breathing became panicked gasps as he stared at the unmoving carcass on the other side of the room. No, no, no he couldn’t have done that! He’d worked so hard to not kill anyone, no matter how badly they deserved it! With this, he was officially irredeemable. Unlovable. The Bats would fully abandon him now even if he somehow made it back to Gotham. If they were merciful, they’d put him out of his misery. And if they weren’t, and heaven knows they weren’t when it came to him, they’d likely maim and cripple him before locking him in Arkham. Most likely next to Joker so he’d never have enough sanity to hurt anyone, much less escape.

The crackling of an intercom interrupts his panic spiral, and Jason looks up to see the Doctor smiling through the glass window. “She was right, you know,” he said smugly. “This lab will be your tomb. Your rotting corpse left forgotten and abandoned while Hydra takes its rightful place as humanity's overlord! But I’ll grant you one last honor.”

A high-pitched hissing sound echoes throughout the room as gas pours from what would normally be sprinklers in case of a fire. Hydra was even more maniacal than Jason had originally thought.

“This gas is one I’ve been saving to test on a hero. Congratulations, you’re the first! I’d love to watch your final moments, but since this base has been compromised, I need to salvage what I can and evacuate. So long, hero!”

As the Dark Fox strolls away as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, Jason ensures his helmet’s filtering functions are still working before searching for an escape. At his feet, the four guards start writhing and begging for help. But Jason didn’t have an extra rebreather on him. And besides, he’s already killed someone. Despite what that Hydra scum said, he was intimately aware that he wasn’t a hero. So, what’s four more deaths on his ledger?

While the guards slowly stop writhing in agony as their final, sinful breaths leave their fresh corpses, Jason checks the doors. Both have been sent into an emergency shutdown, and the interior panels seem to be disconnected from them. He carried enough explosives to make quick work of the obstacles, but this gas was certainly flammable. That left one last option that Hydra idiots hadn’t accounted for: the vents.

During his research, he’d realized that most people in this dimension ignored the risk that large vents posed to villains and heroes alike. So, none of them were remotely prepared for a Bat. It was ludicrously easy to figure out which vent would lead him to an adjoining room, pop the hatch off, and shimmy through the hole. It was a bit of a tight squeeze and it made his claustrophobia bubble to the surface, but he wasn’t in there for very long so it was fine. He couldn’t let his pathetic little fears hinder the mission.

When he clambered out the other side, he roughly shook off his lingering jitters from the murders and his potentially crippling phobias. As he shakily got to his feet, he heard what sounded like a stampede coming his way. Guess Foxy-boi wasn’t too convinced the gas would kill him.

A cruel grin slips onto his face. He’s already an irredeemable monster, so he might as well kill these other monstrosities so they can’t hurt anyone ever again. It’s fine even if he’s damning himself all over again. He deserves it. With that, he steps into the hall and throws himself at the hoard of hostiles with violent glee. If he died, he’d at least take Hydra’s grunts down with him.

Chapter Text

Jason’s throat is clogged with blood, and his entire being is screaming in agony. But he keeps moving. He has to. He’s a soldier, and this is what he was made for. He ducks beneath another punch and sends his opponent reeling into the dwindling crowd behind him with a merciless kick before he steps over a man he’d taken down earlier. If they’re unconscious or dead, he doesn’t know. At the moment, he can’t find it in himself to care either.

Bodies littered the floor and blood was splattered everywhere. Shots rang out and shrieks of pain echoed throughout the facility. It’s a symphony he’s well acquainted with, which makes it easy to ignore his fatigue and simply fall into the familiar rhythm. Snap someone’s arm, drop an enemy, and take a hit in order to land a lethal one on his attacker. A pattern of violence as gruesome as it is beautiful.

It’s been so long since he’d fallen into the League’s training that it’s almost comforting to let loose. Almost. Beneath the calming waves of battle, the self-loathing curls in disgust and threatens to rise to the surface. The only thing keeping it down are the years of torture disguised as training the assassin cult had forced him to endure. It was a war between the Bat’s and the al Ghuls’ influence, and the demons would hold the reigns until Jason slaughtered his enemies and retreated to safety.

At long last, Jason slit the throat of the last guard standing in his way. He watches almost disinterestedly as their legs give out and their body slumps to the floor. Shaking, uncoordinated hands desperately attempt to keep the precious lifeblood within their body, but it’s hopeless. An imaginary box is checked within his mind and the next mission objective comes to the forefront. Almost mechanically, he tears his eyes away from his latest victim and nonchalantly steps over the still-breathing corpse as he heads for the exit. He needs to hunt down that slimy snake of a fox and ensure the test subjects escaped safely.

He’s halfway down the hall when a rasping voice calls after him. Jason pauses in his tracks and turns around to see the man grasping at his throat with one hand and dragging his limp body toward his murderer. His eyes are wild, and it looks like a scene straight out of a horror movie. A traitorous, weak part of Jason wonders if this is what he looked like when Batman gave him a matching wound. If Batman thought he was as small and pathetic looking as this man appears to Jason. It’s a thought Jason wished he’d never had. A memory that would surely haunt him.

“You-” the man chokes out around a mouthful of blood and gore. “The Dark Fox will come for you. None can escape Hydra!” The guard lets out a gurgling laugh before collapsing to the floor and falling still. Jason stands frozen for a few moments before the mission starts ringing in his head once more. He robotically turns around and leaves the pile of corpses and soon-to-be carcasses behind him. The mission was more important than whatever unhelpful feelings he was having.

Jason wasn’t completely sure what happened after leaving the pile of bodies, but the next thing he knows he’s blinking owlishly inside an elevator. He rakes his mind to figure out how he got here but comes up blank. He only knows of two elevators, and he only knew the exact location of one, so hopefully it’s that one and he didn’t randomly enter the first one he saw.

It seems like it takes hours for the elevator to finally reach the surface, but when the doors slide open he has no damn clue where the hell he is. Fan-freaking-tastic. And it just gets better! The moment he steps out of the elevator, he has to throw himself behind some boxes for cover because bullets immediately start flying. Internally cursing Hydra out for keeping a literal army in the middle of freaking New York, he pulls out his pistols and prepares for battle numero dos.

One deep breath later, he’s rolling out from behind his cover, landing in a low crouch, and popping Hydra henchmen in the face before rolling into the elevator’s slim alcove. The cool metal doors are chill even through his armor, but the heat of battle easily counters it. The wonders of adrenaline. The bullets fly for several minutes as the goons’ numbers methodically drop.

He’d been rather cautious dealing with this group, especially since several of the guards tried to creep up and get the drop on him, but that all changed when a bullet bit into his leg. Holding back a cry of pain, Jason lets a fresh wave of anger wash over him. The lack of green is starting to concern him, but he can investigate that later. For now, he needs to finish these guys off and escape.

Launching out of his alcove, he dives between stacks of crates, dropping nuisances with every movement. There were only about a half dozen guys left when he caught a glimpse of a rocket launcher being loaded. Swearing colorfully, he dives for the nearest hallway and races through the factory. Jason’s a tank, but he can’t take a rocket launcher to the face! He can hear footsteps racing after him, and he’s never regretted getting rid of his grenades on Batman’s command more than he does right now.

A harsh command in German demands people to stand aside, and Jason knows what that means. He barely manages to turn down another hall when the hiss of a rocket fills the air. The resulting explosion throws Jason to the floor farther down the hall, and he rolls painfully into a wall. Carefully monitoring his breathing to manage the pain, Jason drags himself to his feet with the help of the wall. Over the slight ringing in his ears, he can hear his opponents shouting and drawing near mixed with a new sound.

It took him a moment, but he eventually identified the distinct pitch of police sirens. His time was running out. He didn’t need word of his existence to get out any more than it would with the escapees’ witness reports. As Jason makes his way down the hall, he can’t help but lean heavily on the wall for support. The bullet wound in his leg apparently didn’t like the excessive running or being chucked into a wall apparently. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he picks up the pace as much as he can until he finds a room with an exterior window.

Sighing in relief, he slips through the window, shuts it behind him, and carefully climbs the wall. Once again, he fumes over how preposterous it was to have a building in New York that was too far to grapple to. He seriously needed to have some words with Hydra’s bosses.

When he finally hauls himself onto the roof, he runs to the far end of it since the building was quickly becoming engulfed in flames. That’s what happens when you fire a rocket indoors! Jason adjusts his mental idiot note to be all caps and underlined. These guys earned it.

Once he reaches the edge, he scans the visible area for any hostiles that would try and put another bullet in him. There were a few guards scurrying about and a lab assistant here and there shouting various orders, but overall it should be doable. Before bolting for the fence and making his escape, he has a few monsters to put down. He didn’t much care about the grunts, but the assistants had to go.

Silently, he creeps to the far edge of the roof and lies down in a sniper position. He rapidly fires off seven bullets before army crawling to the opposite side of the roof. They’d most likely assume he’s on the ground, but you can never be too careful. Besides, all the guards would gravitate to that area now. Great for daring, borderline suicidal escapes, but not the best for normal, mission-oriented ones.

Once he reaches the opposite edge, he uses his grapple to quickly reach the ground and races for the fence. When he’s about three-fourths of the way there, he hears shouts resounding behind him. Without missing a beat, he looks over his shoulder and fires behind him. The burning building perfectly silhouettes his targets which makes it easier to aim. However, while he kills the first two, the third goes down with a mere shoulder wound. Tsking disapprovingly, Jason vaults over the fence and uses his grapple to finally reach the surrounding buildings. So long as Hydra didn’t have some Star Wars-style flying cars or the Avengers weren’t called in, he was home free from this point on.

Little did he know, the Avengers were deployed, and his existence wouldn’t be a secret for much longer.

Chapter Text

It was the middle of the night when the alert came through, the obnoxious sound jerking Clint away from the sweet embrace of sleep. At first, he hadn’t thought much of the information provided. Gunshots were nothing new in New York City, and the police would only ask for help if they were severely understaffed or if the situation was way above their pay grade. Maybe it was a gang war of some sort? Either way, it was too damn late for this, and everyone was jokingly poking each other.

But the more details that slowly trickled in, the more solemn the atmosphere became. First, it was concerning amounts of firepower and advanced weaponry. Then they heard about the escaped test subjects. Lastly, a single word that dropped like an executioner’s ax: Hydra.

When those two, horrific syllables echoed over the jet’s speakers, a thick cloud of dread settled over the group. The malicious organization had been silent for so long that they’d deluded themselves into thinking that it had finally turned to nothing but ashes and awful memories. What a foolish wish.

Beside him, Clint saw Steve tense like a bowstring. The far too old and somehow scarily young soldier's hands were clenched in his lap and shaking ever so slightly. At first glance, you’d think it was nerves or despair, but one look at the blonde’s face betrayed the rage boiling beneath the surface. Few things could make Steve more furious than Hydra.

When the facility was finally in sight through the cockpit, Clint couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. “Someone sure had a bone to pick with Hydra,” Tony said with a strained chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood a bit. He couldn’t help but agree with the older man as he watched bright red flames engulf the building and snaking tendrils of smoke curl into the sky.

As the jet descended, Steve said, “Widow and I will apprehend the hostiles from the ground. Hawkeye, cover our backs. Iron Man, scan the building for survivors. Banner, see if you can get any more information from the victims.”

After a succinct chorus of affirmatives, the ramp lowered, allowing the pungent smell of smoke to assault their senses. Clint takes a brief moment to adjust his hearing aids that double as a commlink before racing down the ramp after his teammates.

His first impression is that of a battlefield. The police, while fighting valiantly, were outmatched in the face of Hydra’s intense training and wide range of weaponry. Between the fire, thick fog of smoke, and deafening gunfire, the area had a near-dystopian feel.

Despite the ugly sight before them, the Avengers charged into battle. Or more accurately, Nat and Cap did. Tony took to the skies and Banner made for the police barricade, which just left Clint to clamber on top of the jet because there was literally nothing else in the area surrounding the factory. If Hydra was trying to be inconvenient, they were doing a great job of it.

Once atop his flashy new vantage point, his eyes were instantly drawn to a Hydra goon loading a rocket launcher. Why the hell would you keep rocket launchers at a factory that’s filled with highly flammable chemicals?

This just goes to prove that while Hydra is evil, sneaky, and conniving, they aren’t always the smartest. Guess this is just another tally on the ‘Why Hydra’s Insane’ list.

Rapidly drawing back his bow, he aims for the enemy agent and fires. Right as the henchman raises the launcher to his shoulder, a heavy arrow with what looked like a marshmallow on the end smashes into his face. While the goon is too far away for Clint to hear him, he can easily imagine the cry of surprise and pain the guy makes. A slight smirk plays on his lips as he lays down cover fire for Cap and Widow. While he’s not making any lethal shots, he’s not exactly making merciful shots either. A crushed nose or ringing concussion is the least of what these jerks deserve.

Ten minutes after their arrival, things were going pretty well. The number of Hydra agents was dwindling, no one had been injured, and it seems like they’d managed to apprehend all of the lab assistants who were trying to slip away. There was only one mildly unpleasant incident where a goon had managed to shoot a rocket in Clint’s direction, and Tony had to intercept it. While it was great that he got to continue existing as something other than ash, that unfortunately meant that Clint had the absolute pleasure of listening to the arrogant dweeb gloat about saving his life, but that’s okay! He’d just have to spike Tony’s coffee or something if he didn’t shut up about it by tomorrow.

He was still happily debating on whether to stick cayenne or an insane amount of vanilla in the coffee when the battle came to an end. Police started sorting through the unconscious bodies (courtesy of the Avengers) and corpses (not their fault this time) when Cap called for everyone to circle up.

Gracefully hopping down from the jet’s roof, he lightly jogs to the loose circle of human weapons and slaps Steve on the back. “So,” he says mischievously. “How many did you get?”

Steve rolls his eyes exasperatedly, but he couldn’t hide the fond smile on his face. “Sixteen. You?”

“Seventeen,” Clint says smugly. “And!” he adds dramatically. “I got half of them in the face! So, I know we didn’t make an official bet before we got here, but I kicked more Hydra butt than you, the anti-Nazi machine himself, so I think I deserve a little reward.”

Sighing, Steve relents, “Fine, we deserve to celebrate after this. But only something within reason! What do you want?”

Giving Steve his biggest, brightest, most hopeful eyes, he asks, “Will you make apple pie?” When the fearless soldier gave him an unimpressed look, Clint leaned on him and went limp before begging, “Pleeeaaase, I was on a mission the last time you made it, and the time before that Thor stole my piece! Please, Cap, I’m literally dying of deprivation over here!”

“Fine,” Steve chuckled as he shoved Clint off of him. “Back to business, did you find anything inside the factory?”

Tony flicks his visor up before saying, “There was a Hydra agent tied up on the second floor. He was out cold when I found him, but there were signs of torture and no self-defense wounds. Besides him, everyone was already out of the building before I started scanning. I wasn’t able to check the underground facility, and we won’t be able to start exploring that until the fire department gets this inferno under control. I wasn’t going to risk going in there without a good reason since it could collapse at any-”

A deafening crash interrupts the scarlet hero as the factory crumbles in on itself. The gaggle of heroes stare at the wreckage for a second before Tony deadpans, “Moment…”

“Good call,” Steve says while trying to hide a smile. “Banner, did the prisoners tell you anything useful?”

At first glance, Bruce seemed as calm as ever, but Clint could see that his hands were ever so slightly green when he went to adjust his glasses. “Not much, but what they did tell me is worrying to say the least. Hydra is developing several different types of chemical weapons. The doctor overseeing the experiments is named Leonhard Fuchs, but is commonly addressed as the Dark Fox. It seems within the lab, he was considered practically royalty, which means he has to be a higher-level Hydra agent.”

“That makes sense,” Steve muses thoughtfully. “They’d want to keep careful control over such a large operation that’s based so close to us. Anything else?”

Bruce nodded and said, “The person who rescued them and caused this whole mess,” he said distastefully while gesturing to the flaming remains of the factory, “was a man in a red helmet. He didn’t identify himself, but the victims and even some of the surviving Hydra agents are calling him the Red Wraith. He is armed and extremely dangerous with unknown motives. The police are getting a composite sketch, but there’s something strange. He was using guns that none of them had seen before, and some of them used to be involved in gangs. The Wraith gave one of them to the escapees so they could defend themselves while he drew the guards’ attention. It’s in police custody at the moment.”

Tony perked up at that. “Really? Did he make them himself?” Clint could tell from the way Tony was shifting that he was ready to sprint for the police line and demand to examine this mysterious weapon.

“This one doesn’t look modified, but they reported that the man’s other guns possibly may have been. And Tony, they’ll send for you once they’re done examining and processing it. So please don’t harass them.”

Making an undignified squawk of horror, Tony places a hand on his chest and proclaims, “I am offended you would think I’d ever do such a thing? Truly, you wound me!”

“Tony, you literally did that last month during the alien orca case,” Bruce deadpans.

“Anyway,” Nat cuts in, “Let’s see if there’s any cleanup the police need assistance with. If not, I’m going to grab some breakfast and a nap before we have to investigate the facility.”

Clint perks right up and excitedly asks, “Are you making french toast?”

“No, you are,” she says with an innocent smile. Clint simply sighs dejectedly and follows her to the jet. He still owes her a favor, and if this is what she’s cashing it in on, he’s getting off light…even if he really, really doesn’t want to cook at two in the morning.

Thirty-six pieces of French toast, a quick nap, and three hours later, the Avengers were digging through the charred remains of the factory in search of one of the lab’s entrances. While the others were content to dig quietly, Tony and Clint were more than happy to gripe about Thor being off-world. Clint was sweaty, sore, tired, and covered in soot from head to toe. Tony had no room to complain since he had a high-tech suit that did all the work for him, but he didn’t like to be left out when it came to griping.

At long last, Nat found a staircase that descended into a creepily white facility. It was so creepily clean that Clint started wiping his soot-dusted feet and hands on every other surface he passed. It only took a single black smiley face for Nat to roll her eyes so hard that Clint thought they were going to get stuck.

The atmosphere was somewhat light-hearted until they came across the cramped cells. The floors were stained with red, and rust-colored gouges decorated the walls. It was horrifying, but not as bad as the next place they discovered. A cold corpse in an examination room stared unseeingly through a window into an observation room soaked in blood and littered with bodies. Tony’s suit detected remnants of a dangerous substance in the air, so he went in alone to collect samples.

At this point, Clint didn’t think that there’d be any more surprises in the lab, but he was shocked when they found hallway after hallway of corpses. Some were taken care of cleanly with a bullet, but others were left to bleed out painfully slowly. Some of these people had only died within the last hour or so. Despite them being slimy Hydra agents, it made Clint a bit queasy to think that some of these people were dying while he was peacefully making breakfast.

Tony whistled and asked, “Are we sure this Wraith guy was working alone? If he did, he’s at least on Frozone’s level.” Steve shot Tony a heatless glare at the nickname before he waded further into the carnage.

“From what I can tell, he was fighting alone, but I’m not positive,” Nat said as she examined a body.

After a few minutes more of searching for some clue on the Red Wraith, Tony split off to download all the information he could from Hydra’s servers, Cap and Widow went to explore the facility a bit more, and Clint and Bruce headed back to the jet to inform Shield of their findings. Clint also had a self-assigned sub-mission to talk to Bruce. The doctor seemed to have a lot on his mind, and he didn’t seem too excited about whatever it was.

When they were settled inside the jet, Clint asked in a friendly but gentle tone, “What’s got you so deep in thought? Care to share?”

Bruce flicked his eyes up to meet Clint’s and seemed to mull over what to say before asking, “Did you see any signs of a fight before we reached the observation room?

“No,” Clint said after thinking about it for a minute. “There wasn’t a speck of blood until we found the prison.”

Bruce nodded like he expected the answer. “The Red Wraith didn’t kill anyone while infiltrating the factory or facility when it was fully within his capabilities. He even left the agent he interrogated alive even though it created a major risk to the operation. I think he did that intentionally, but once he found the examination room…”

“You think he lost it?” Clint asked curiously.

Bruce raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the archer but didn’t comment on it. “Something like that. If I had to guess, he’s mentally unwell at the least and more likely having a crisis.”

That was concerning. “Do you think this will make him worse?”

“Worse? Yes. But in what way, I don’t know. At the very least, I hope he’s on our side. Otherwise, civilians may be in danger.”

Chapter Text

Icy tendrils encircled Jason’s lungs causing his breaths to come in gasping pants. His leg felt moments from giving out beneath him and the bullet wound seemed to burn with every move. But despite his poor physical state, it was veiled behind the panic of his mind.

He kept frantically checking over his shoulder every few steps. There was blood on his hands and death in his shadow. Batman must surely be right behind him. There was no way the Dark Knight would let this slide. His mind kept begging him to run, to hide, to escape. He needed to go somewhere safe. But was anywhere safe from vengeance personified?

The flickering darkness surrounding him would shift and mold into broad shoulders and a fluttering cape in Jason’s peripheral. Soft brushes of the breeze turned into the cold kiss of a batarang that burned his throat. He could still taste the blood in his mouth from the fight, and it only seemed to clog his throat and further restrict his breathing like it did that fateful night. Jovial laughter floating from a passing bar sounded like the clown cheerfully welcoming him into the abyss that is Arkham Asylum.

In his haste to find safety, he misjudges the distance between buildings and trips on his landing. Skidding painfully across the rooftop, his mind freezes in terror. Batman was going to catch him. Everything but his mortal shell was going to die as he was left to slowly rot in the depths of hell. When he stopped rolling across pavement, pebbles, and broken glass, he dragged himself to his feet with a desperation he hadn’t felt since he stitched his own throat back together.

Launching himself across the roof, he runs like a man possessed. It doesn’t matter that he’s in pain and feels like he’ll fall to the ground a hundred feet below any second now. All that matters is finding shelter from the merciless wrath of a man who now hates him.

Jason isn’t sure if he ran for minutes or miles, but he eventually stumbles through the balcony door of his apartment and collapses onto the living room floor. Somewhere beneath the terror, his mind had had enough sense left in it to direct him home. Ripping his helmet off so he can force oxygen into his shriveled lungs, he lies on the freezing hardwood floor for what feels like an eternity. Barely daring to breathe as he hopes and prays that he’s safe. Begging fate to permit him to elude the Bat’s grasp. That he’ll live another day outside of Arkham’s gates.

The sheer desperation snaps to the forefront of Jason’s mind, and a shaking hand falls to the hilt of a knife while his other hand pushes him into the closest corner. No, he’d never go to Arkham. The Asylum was nothing more than a prolonged, agonizing execution. It’d be far more merciful to leave this world before he was condemned to that darkness. While the Bat wouldn’t grant him such a mercy, it’d be laughably easy to finish what the man started. After all, Batman had so graciously left him with a pattern permanently etched on his neck. All he had to do was trace it.

Spiraling further into the murky depths of his mind, Jason didn’t notice the way the inky blackness folded and morphed. Not until it was too late.

One moment, Jason was alone with his panic, wide, glazed eyes glued to the door. The next, something drops directly on his head. Screaming in all-encompassing fear, he throws himself away from the corner he's convinced himself was safe and tries to escape the thing. But whatever it was only seemed to burrow deeper into his hair.

The thing was warm and…rumbling? It took Jason a minute to overcome the terror flooding his system, but eventually, he realized the rumbling was actually purring. Carefully reaching a hand up to tentatively pat his head, soft fur nuzzled into his gloved hand, and Jason realized Verdana was practically making a nest in his hair. At first, he wanted to be upset that she’d practically given him a heart attack. But once he realizes that his rampant panic was slowly ebbing away until just pain and exhaustion is left, he can’t help but be grateful that she’d pulled him out of it.

“Okay, time to get down,” he rasps out hoarsely as he gently plucks her out of his hair. Her bright green eyes look up at him with what he can only call concern, and he gently wraps her in a hug. “I know. Thanks for helping me.”

With Verdana in one hand, he uses the other to brace himself against the wall as he limps to the kitchen. Pulling out his first aid kit, he makes his way to the couch and slowly sinks down on it. To be honest, he has no idea how bad the bullet wound in his leg is, and he’s a bit concerned about it. Between getting hurled into a wall and running across the city like a bat out of hell, he might have made it infinitely worse than what it was.

While his tiny kitten clambers up onto his shoulder, Jason carefully cuts away the combat pants so he has a clear view of the injury. The first thing he sees is the horrible bruising. The area is mottled with deep blues and nearly black purples. The next thing he sees is the bullet sticking partway out of his skin. His armor must’ve taken most of the impact so there wasn’t enough force left to fully rip into his leg.

Jason can’t help but stare at the thing for a minute before letting out a deep chuckle. After everything that happened, this seemed like an absolute stroke of luck. Sure, the bruising was going to hurt for a while and he’d still need a few stitches, but this could’ve been a whole hell of a lot worse.

After fixing up his leg and tending to any potentially concerning injuries, Verdana started bumping her head against Jason’s cheek until he finally got the gist. Sighing, he scoops her off his shoulder, pulls her against her chest, and flops sideways onto the couch.

“Fine, fine, I get it,” he relented. While it came out as a grumble, there was a slight smile on his face. While the minuscule cat got comfortable in the crook of his arm, Jason slowly started drifting off to sleep.

Several hours later, Jason groggily woke up to the sun assaulting his tired eyes. Groaning grumpily, he grabs his phone off the coffee table and stares at the blurry numbers until they finally make sense. The large numbers seemed to stare at him accusingly since it was almost eleven am. He’d been asleep for nearly nine hours. Over the past several weeks, he hadn’t gotten that much sleep over several days, let alone in one night. And to top it all off, he actually felt refreshed.

All in all, it was just about a miracle for him, and he couldn’t help but feel suspicious. It felt like he was burning a year’s worth of luck all at once. Hopefully, that wasn’t the case, or he was in for a miserable time.

Verdana must’ve woken up while he was spacing out because all of a sudden a fuzzy little paw was batting his face, shocking him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he huffed before hauling himself off the couch and walking into the kitchen. He’d purposefully left Verdana on the couch, but within seconds she was hopping up onto his shoulder. While all cats were acrobatic to a degree, this little brat was on a whole other level.

While he started whipping himself up some breakfast tacos, Verdana kept trying to jump onto his head so she could resume turning his head into a nest. Each time, Jason would chastise her and drop her back on the floor, but that only hindered her attempts for a few measly seconds at a time. After being returned to the floor, she’d jump onto a counter before launching back onto his shoulder to wait for the next opportunity to appear.

At long last, Jason had some beautifully fragrant, gourmet-looking brisket breakfast tacos, and Verdanna had a small pile of cooked chicken in a bowl on the table. After grabbing his laptop so he could work while eating, the two happily dug into their breakfast.

Taking a big bite of his taco, Jason used the backdoor access he’d programmed into Shield to start looking for reports related to his little soiree last night. At first, the reports were what he expected. Information regarding what Hydra was doing and speculations on where they were headed next, records of the victims, what they’d been put through, and where they were being rehabilitated, and a review of what the Avengers did upon deployment and what they found.

What he hadn’t expected was the detailed report on the Red Wraith. Or, more accurately, him. There was a composite sketch, a list of suspected abilities (they seriously thought he was a meta? He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or insulted that they were downplaying his skill), and an extremely in-depth list of his victims.

Reading through that last list made Jason feel queasy, and last night’s panic started reappearing in his chest. He hadn’t intended to kill anyone, much less enough people to create such an extensive list of victims. While they’d definitely deserved it, he’d condemned himself to rid the world of them. He’d failed. Again. Why was it that he couldn’t help but waltz right into damnation’s beckoning arms? He was doing good, but why was it never good for him? It was as if he was put on this planet to be a sacrifice. He’d been forged into a soldier and sold his soul to keep it that way. How did this even hap-

Verdana meowed insistently at him and gently licked his hand before casually returning to her chicken. Now that he’d been pulled out of that headspace, he returned to his research. Which it was a good thing he didn’t decide to stop there. Apparently, the gun he’d passed off to the group of survivors, a sleek glock, didn’t exist in this dimension.

He’d been so careful to give them an unmodified, frankly boring pistol so they wouldn’t be able to get information on him from that, but they still did because he was an idiot who didn’t think freaking guns would be that different! For crying out loud, the ammo was the same so he’d assumed the models would be the same, but evidently not!

Burying his head in his hands, he let out a long, grouchy, mildly stressed groan. He didn’t want to involve himself with Shield, but it looks like he’s going to have to go and get his gun back now.

If it’s true that Glocks don’t exist in this dimension (which one quick internet search confirmed that no, they don’t. This poor, deprived dimension), there’s no way he’s letting Shield keep it. Glocks are his favorite pistol, and now there are only four in the entire world! And it’d be way too suspicious if he hired someone to make him one. Shield would pick up on it and come after him. So, it’d be a tragedy to let those morons keep it!

Dropping his hands, he sees Verdana eyeing him curiously. Leaning forward until his chin was resting on his folded arms, he asked, “You think I should rescue my Glock too, right?”

Verdana tilts her head as if mulling over the question before bouncing forward and booping his nose with a paw. Beaming happily at the kitten, Jason said, “That’s what I thought!”

Once he’d finished his tacos, Jason diligently got to work sifting through Shield’s systems and figuring out how the hell he was going to break in and get his precious Glock back without any casualties. It couldn’t be that hard, right? So long as he was sneaky and didn’t get the Avengers called on him, it should hopefully be relatively simple.

Chapter Text

It was quiet. Too quiet. Every step he took echoed thunderously in his ears despite him utilizing everything that’d been drilled into his skull by the Bat and the Demon. The darkness of the hallway seemed to churn around him, eagerly waiting for the chance to swallow him whole. To make things worse, it feels like something’s watching him from the depths of the inky blackness. But no matter how he strained his senses and scanned the surrounding shadows, he couldn’t confirm the thing’s existence. Though that didn’t mean something truly wasn’t there, and it sent chills down Jason’s spine.

Whatever was lurking, it had no intention of revealing itself. Yet.

Until it made its move, he had a mission to complete. Batman wouldn’t tolerate his failure. However, it was a little strange he hadn’t come across any guards in a while. Weren’t these smugglers supposed to be smart? There was no way they wouldn’t station a watch on their kryptonite stash, right?

Suddenly, a light green glow appeared at the end of the hallway, washing all of Jason’s thoughts away in a flood of hope. He’d found the target. All he had to do was successfully secure it, and that’d be one more speck of proof to the Bats that he was worth keeping around. That he could do something right.

But as he drew closer to the eerie light, a feeling of unease rose to the surface and sent a chill down his spine. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. All he knew was that something was going to happen, and he needed to be on guard.

The light was filtering into the hallway through a small window set in a thick, heavy-duty steel door. It was the kind of door that was meant to keep even some metas out. However, there was a merrily blinking control panel sitting innocently next to the Fort Knox level security. It was practically a confirmation of what was inside and an invitation to break in. An invitation that Jason will happily accept.

It’s laughably easy to bypass the encryption. Possibly too easy? After the door slides open, Jason cautiously creeps into the massive, sterile, lab-looking room, sticking to the shadows and watching for any potential danger. Nothing seems out of the ordinary or potentially malicious except for the mysterious glowing. When Jason reaches the back of the room though, he discovers the source of the strange light, and the remains of his bleeding heart plummet.

The light is coming from a large canister of bubbling green liquid that would look exactly like Lazarus water if it weren’t for the slightly different hue and the slivers of crystals suspended in the substance. But that wasn’t the only thing that set fear churning inside his mind. It was the fact that the ominous ooze was attached to what could only be a bomb, complete with colorful wires and a timer steadily counting down.

Panic flares hot in his mind and screams for Jason to run even as his body locks up as icy fear seeps into his limbs until they feel like blocks of lead welded in place. It isn’t until the countdown hits just over a minute left until armageddon that he comes to his senses. Suddenly, fire pours through his veins, urging him to get away and run as far as he can. Memories of a fiery death play in his mind as he races for the exit.

When the door comes into sight, there’s a figure standing just outside the entrance. Recognizing who it is, Jason opens his mouth to tell Tim to run, but the words are ripped away from him when he sees the door start to slide close. Meeting Red Robin’s apathetic gaze with his own, fear-filled eyes, his panic morphs into pure terror.

The door slides shut milliseconds before Jason reaches it. Slamming his hands on either side of the window, Jason yells, “Red, open the door! There’s a bomb, and we need to get out of here!” At first, Red tilts his head consideringly, seeming to weigh his options. Sheer relief floods through him when Red reaches a hand down to the panel, but it quickly turns to dread when he rips it out of the wall, effectively sealing Jason inside and condemning him to a grisly end.

“Red, what are you doing? Help me!” Jason begged as he desperately tried working the panel from his end without any luck.

Red Robin seems to peer into his very soul before simply saying, “I am. You’ll go back to where you belong.” With that, Red sharply turns his back on Jason, cape fluttering behind him as he strides down the hall and melts into the darkness.

“Red?” Jason shouts, betrayal and horror seeping into his tone. “TIM!” he screams desperately.

But it’s too late. He can’t see a trace of the young hero in the gloomy hallway, and resignation sinks into Jason’s very bones as he slumps to his knees, head leaning against the steel barrier separating him from his continued existence.

This was it. He’d been belatedly sentenced by his victim, and the punishment levied upon him was death. This wasn’t simply being abandoned. It was his execution.

He couldn’t even be mad at his situation because he deserved it. Instead of anger, he felt empty and hollow. If anyone deserved to get their revenge against him, it was Tim. Even as the tears dripped like rain, he continued to tell himself he was okay with this. He’d been given a second chance, and he’d squandered it. Instead of going home, he hurt those he held dear. This was the only end fate would allow for a cursed soul like his.

Somewhere behind him, he heard the bomb start whirring, and he knew that his death was drawing near. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he braces himself for the hellfire that was about to rain down on him. He knows the drill by now.

A deafening roar tears through the lab as the bomb detonates, and moments after Jason hears the explosion, he’s enveloped in agonizing flames of burning green. Even as Jason tries to resolutely endure, a scream just as full of pain as it was of grief and despair rips from his throat. He didn’t remember it hurting this badly last time, but his mind may have forcefully blocked that memory to protect him.

The raging inferno greedily drank all the oxygen in the room, and Jason struggled to inhale enough of the acrid, smoke-filled air to voice his suffering. What should be torturous shouts of agony were reduced to wheezing, near-silent groans. As the flames licked around his battered body, it felt like he was forced to feel his flesh singe and slowly melt for hours. But at long last, he started to fade into blissful oblivion.

The last thing he did before death took his dirty soul once more was pray that he didn’t come back to life again.

_______

Jason lurches up in his bed so quickly he slips off the edge and crashes to the floor. His heavy breathing sounds wrongfully loud in the silence of the surrounding darkness. Dropping his sweat-streaked head to the cool floor, he tries to scrape together his bearings and discern reality from his nightmares. He wasn’t burning to death, lost and alone again. His body, while still in pain from his recent mission, wasn’t writhing in agony. He’s okay.

Physically, at least… On the mental scale though, he’d hit rock bottom and his mind had brought an excavator.

While he knew that his mind tended to take real experiences and twist them to make them an award-winning horror flick, what if it was right? They’d abandoned him so readily that it wasn’t a stretch to think they’d orchestrated the trap in the first place. Someone had to close and lock the door, after all.

His stomach turned at the thought of his family the Bats willingly pushing him into death’s beckoning arms. Bats don’t kill, but they’ve already shown that he’s an exception to their other previously iron-clad rules, so why would this one be any different? It wouldn’t be that hard to simply lure him into a rogue’s trap with how desperate he’d been to please them. Every word that fell from their lips was law to him, and he followed their every order like it was his life’s purpose. Because it was.

He’d been such a fool. Of course they’d never allow a rabid dog to be a part of their perfect little flock, especially when it was happy simply being useful at arm’s length. It was so easy to delude himself into thinking they’d love him again even when reality was glaringly obvious to anyone who cared to look for the truth.

Gasping sobs shook his body as he struggled to come to terms with the realization that the Bats never cared about him after his resurrection. They would never love him again, no matter how badly he wished for it. With that fact came the realization that without the Bats, he had no purpose. He was nothing more than a broken tool left to rust and disintegrate on the wayside. A part of him wants to be angry, but the feeling is absent. If the emotion was lurking somewhere within him, it was drowned out by the ocean of sorrow.

Slowly dragging himself up so he can lean back against his disheveled bed, he gazes blankly up at where the ceiling would be if he could see through the seemingly endless darkness. As he stared into the abyss, all of his tumultuous feelings, the betrayal, disbelief, and grief, slowly filtered down into the pandora’s box inside his chest until all he felt was a numb, endless void of emptiness.

Even if they didn’t want anything to do with him, they built a soldier. So, he’d continue the fight they sent him to until it killed him. Until he found that eternal peace his soul craved, he had a job to do.

Chapter Text

Jason absentmindedly rubbed at his bruised thigh as he resisted the urge to scoop his laptop up, kick open the exterior doors, and chuck the damned device off the balcony. He was beyond frustrated right now for several reasons.

To start, he’d gotten an alert the other day from the program he built to monitor Shield’s databases that Hydra was still somewhere in New York. But did Shield know where they decided to hole up? No! They didn’t! For an underground super organization, Shield was severely underperforming according to Jason’s standards. Unfortunately, Jason hasn’t either. But he’s one guy who’s spread thin enough as is. And Shield, once again, is a super organization that has hundreds, if not thousands, of agents at their disposal! For all they claim that Hydra is their sworn nemesis, they’re sure failing at the basics.

On top of this helpful little development, apparently Tony Stark, the flying hunk of junk himself, has been very interested in Jason’s Glock. Evidently, the self-proclaimed tech genius couldn’t keep his greedy little hands off of an interdimensional weapon and has been hounding the higher-ups to let him screw around with (or in his words, "examine") it. From the steady stream of reports, the Shield nerds are almost done scrutinizing and cataloging every individual piece of the firearm, so it’s only a matter of time before they cave and allow Stark to play with it. And if the extensive complaints are anything to go by, Stark tends to ruin (or in his words, "improve") every other gadget he touches. And Jason isn’t letting the one singular, unmodified Glock on this god-forsaken planet get ruined by some rich air-head.

And that’s all without mentioning his daily patrols and the absolute nightmare they've been recently. The one thing Jason had going for him back in Gotham was that the Crime Alley kids trusted him. If they were in danger, they knew that they could come to him for help. If he saved them, they knew they could trust him and he’d protect them until they were safe. And on some occasions, a kid would overhear some helpful information and bring it to him.

Here, that was not the case. A few nights ago, he saw a homeless kid get trapped in a dead end by a drunk deadbeat who seemed hard set on beating the child to a pulp. After Jason dropped in and ran the guy off, he’d tried to calm the sobbing kid down, but they only cried harder. It had really hurt when the tiny child stuttered out pathetic pleas between his tears to spare him. When Jason heard that, he completely froze. Realizing that the kid wouldn’t trust him, he discreetly raked his eyes over the shivering form to check for injuries. Once he was convinced they weren’t injured, he left a small wad of cash on the ground and retreated to the rooftops. From there, he silently kept watch over the kid until they’d quieted down and left. He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but something inside him died that night.

Besides that, he’d found plenty of scumbags trying to deal to kids, stopped a few rapists, crashed a couple of gangs who were threatening nearby civilians, and had gotten into more than his fair share of fights. He’d gotten a shiny new stab wound across his ribs, a colorful array of bruises splattered across his body, and even managed to dislocate his shoulder when some guy the size of Black Mask got the drop on him and smashed him into a concrete wall. But now that he’s destroyed any chance of redemption, bodies have also started piling up in Mott Haven. Despite the result being bad for him, he can’t find it in himself to regret the crooks’ deaths.

The singular positive that’s happened in the last two weeks is that Hydra’s ceased all noticeable activities in and around his turf. Once he tracked down the other cells in New York and started cleaning house, he’d hopefully be able to fully drive them out of New York. The city, at least. He didn’t have the capabilities to protect the entire state from the squid-loving freaks.

If Jason could get his Glock back, that’d be at least one thing he could be happy about. Unfortunately, Shield hasn’t decided whether or not they’re going to move the ‘specimen’ to another base…again. They’ve moved it three times already! There is literally no good reason to move a Glock that many times. If it shot lasers and had the ability to teleport people, sure, he’d understand. But this is a normal, completely unextraordinary gun. There are maybe three things different from the average firearm in this dimension. Max seven. Why are they so enamored with the thing?

Before Jason could carry through with his computer chucking, Verdana jumped onto the coffee table and stared into Jason’s soul as she strolled right onto the device and curled into a ball on top of the keyboard. Jason gave the kitten a heatless glare before he huffs out a small laugh and roughly rubs her head. The now very rumpled-looking feline gives Jason a displeased meow before settling down for a nap on Jason’s research.

Sighing defeatedly, Jason settles for cleaning his guns until the brat decides to move. He’d been putting it off for a while now because while it used to calm and clear his mind, now it either led to a dissociative episode or a panic attack. But it had to be done, and he had the time so he might as well.

Slowly and methodically, he dismantles his firearms and starts wiping them down. The familiar movements are soothing at first, an ingrained pattern of smooth strokes and steady movements. It isn’t until he’s fully sunken into the flow that his mind begins to wander.

First, he wanders down the path of regret, wondering if he’d done something differently if it would’ve had any impact on how the Bats viewed him. If maybe they would’ve loved him if he’d set aside his rage and grief to try and talk things out. He knows they wouldn’t have agreed with his methods, but could he have mitigated the fallout by explaining his reasoning? But he didn’t, and it’s far too late to do such a thing. He regrets hurting Red Robin, and he regrets turning the Bats against him. But the thing he regrets most of all is not killing that damned clown when he had the chance.

Not only is the clown still breathing, but he’s still laughing while murdering innocents in droves. If Batman actually cared, he would have ensured that Joker never saw the light of day again. Or paralyzed him so he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. Literally anything but let the lunatic continue playing his little game with no real consequences. Hell, he’s given Jason more consequences for tripping up on a mission because he’s too injured to carry out the plan to the letter than the clown’s ever received.

Bitterness floods his senses before he quickly takes the emotion and shoves it into a darkened corner. This is his zen time, even if he’s not exactly being very zen at the moment. There’s no room for emotions here!

He allows his thoughts to continue to drift, but for some reason they fixate on Joker and run down that cursed path. The hundreds of victims he’s killed, the gory crime scenes he’s staged for his amusement and Batman’s attention, and the way he’s carefully crafted himself into the very personification of evil.

Mental images of Joker’s many victims turn to scenes of his own murder. A crowbar gracefully arching through the air, light glinting off the blood-drenched metal, crushing everything in its path. Green and yellow slowly turning to crimson as the torture drags on. The ticking of a clock, but instead of counting time’s forward progression, it’s counting down to a scared little boy’s demise.

The ticking turns silent as the scene morphs from a bloody warehouse to a sterile lab washed in green. Joker turns to Batman, and the door is still locked. Jason’s still going to die. Bruce’s words convolutedly commanding him to die rings in his ears alongside things he’s never directly voiced - that he’s a failure, a disgrace to the Bats’ good names. A monster and a dog that deserves to be kept on a tight leash until it's inevitably put down.

Tim’s cold, indifferent eyes from his dream resurface in his mind, emotionlessly telling him that he was better off dead. That he was simply helping Jason return to where he belongs. A simple thing that would be better for everyone involved.

Swimming through his murky thoughts, Jason realizes that he’s staring down at his freshly cleaned, newly loaded gun. He’s been holding it for so long that the metal isn’t a cool bite but a barely warm presence in his grip. What if he just gave everyone what they wanted and stopped fighting it?

The gun seemed to become a heavier, more demanding presence with every passing second. He didn’t want to come back, and no one wanted him among the living either. So why was he putting it off?

Before he could make any reckless decisions, his computer dinged loud and demandingly. Jason startled so badly that if his finger had been on the trigger, he would have shot the wall. Dropping the weapon on the coffee table as if it’d suddenly turned to molten steel, he quickly scoops up the laptop. Surprisingly, Verdana isn’t snoozing on it anymore. When he glances around to figure out where she went, he finds her sitting next to his ankle staring up at him with abnormally wide eyes. Brushing it off as normal cat behavior and shoving aside the internal twist of guilt, he turns back to his device and checks the notification.

Evidently, Shield moved his Glock to a disguised warehouse base on the edge of the city, and Stark was scheduled to play with it tomorrow morning. Exhaustedly rubbing a hand down his face, he gets to work. He had work to do, after all. He couldn’t let anything but the mission take him out.

Chapter Text

By his calculations, Shield was most vulnerable between three thirty and four thirty in the morning, so he’d decided to patrol like usual until the optimal time to break in rolled around. It’d gone quite well until he decided to take a brief break on a quiet rooftop. It was while he was overlooking the brightly lit city (it was practically a blinding beacon compared to the bleak streets of Gotham he’s familiar with) that a sudden chill shot down his spine.

He dropped flat to the rooftop and rolled behind an air conditioning unit when a muffled gunshot echoed through the concrete jungle. When Jason hit the floor, he heard a bullet whiz just over his head. If he hadn’t moved when he did, he would’ve had a brand new hole in his head.

Rising to a low crouch, he quickly unholstered his pistols and discreetly checked for the sniper’s position. It took a minute, but the sniper shifts just enough for a small glint of light to reflect off his scope. Jason almost smirks as he mutters ‘Gotcha,’ ‘to himself. One smoke pellet later, he launched off the roof and was suspended in thin air for a moment before his grapple started pulling him up to the sniper’s hiding spot.

Sliding onto the roof as silent as the dead, Jason slinks toward the sniper’s exposed back. His unsuspecting hunter unwittingly turned prey is frantically scanning the clearing smoke for his target to no avail. Once Jason’s close enough to see the gray lining the man’s jaw, It’s laughably easy to take the thug down. One rear naked choke later, and the man’s completely at Jason’s mercy.

As he’s waiting for the guy to pass out in his one-armed headlock, he nonchalantly checks his watch. It’s only two am, so he’s got plenty of time to wait for the sniper to wake up and answer his questions. Right before the guy falls limp, Jason dumps him onto the roof. As the man gasps for breath and tries to clear the stars from his eyes, Jason calmly starts zip-tying his arms and legs together.

When he’s happy with the makeshift restraints and the sniper is finally done coughing like he nearly drowned (what a wimp. Jason didn’t even knock him out!), Jason placed a heavy boot on the man’s chest and shoved a gun against his forehead.

“So,” Jason drawled, “the way this works is you tell me what I want to know, and I don’t shoot you. Got it?”

The middle-aged man simply gives Jason his best attempt at a wolf smile, but it comes off as almost docile to Jason compared to most he’s seen, and spits, “Sorry, it’s in my contract to not disclose anything related to my clients.”

Sighing dramatically, Jason holsters his Glock and pulls out a different gun. The sleek revolver glints in the pale moonlight, and Jason opens the chamber to let the bullets fall like rain. The metal clinks loudly against the concrete, and the sniper looks up at him in confusion. Making sure the sniper can see there’s only one bullet left in the chamber, he slides it back into place and gives it a good spin.

Placing this new gun against the man’s forehead, Jason says, “I think you know what happens now. If you don’t answer, I pull the trigger. Maybe you live, maybe your head explodes. It’ll be a surprise for both of us! Now, who hired you?”

The man keeps up his brave facade and snarks, “The muffin man!”

Click

The small sound seems to echo like thunder across the roof, and the sniper’s face pales considerably as he realizes that Jason’s not playing around.

“Let’s try that again. Who hired you?”

Seeming to choke on his words, the sniper says, “Some random guy. Might’ve been the president.”

Click

“Third time’s the charm!” Jason sing songs.

“Okay! When I got the request, it came in under an alias. Most of my contractors do that!”

Leaning in close, Jason growls, “Get to the point.”

“Dark Fox! It was signed Dark Fox. That’s really all I know!”

Jason hums to himself absentmindedly. Dismantling Hydra and tracking down their resident mad scientist had already been pretty high on his list, but it might just have to be moved to top priority now. Reholstering his revolver and standing up, Jason says, “See, was that so hard?”

The guy didn’t deign to respond, but it didn’t ruffle Jason’s feathers. It was getting harder and harder to retain any sort of emotion while he was on patrol. During interactions like this, he had to force his facade to the forefront since it unnerved his opponents and gave him an edge.

Grabbing the guy by the back of his jacket, Jason drags him to the edge of the roof. “Wait,” the man stutters, fear leaking into his every word. “You said you wouldn’t kill me!”

“No, I said I wouldn’t shoot you,” Jason corrected calmly. The man starts to beg and scream for help, but it doesn’t change Jason’s mind. One second, there are two people on the roof. The next, there isn’t a living soul to be seen.

The wind rips past Jason as he and his prisoner fall through the air. The familiar sensation of free fall is a welcome and almost comforting presence as the ground grows closer. The sniper screams bloody murder the entire time, and Jason can’t help but roll his eyes. With only a split second to spare, he fires his grapple and brings them down to street level in an elegant arc. When they land, the man is straight-up sobbing and shaking like a leaf. Ignoring the deplorable behavior, Jason secures his would-be murderer to a lamp pole and returns to the rooftops.

After checking the time, Jason sets off toward Shield location Delta 27B. It’s nearly time to break into the ‘top-secret’ and ‘extremely secure’ base.

_______

Long story short, things weren’t exactly sunshine and roses for Jason on this mission. Unfortunately, a massive bomb threat was called in at roughly two thirty, and Shield was absolutely bustling with activity, meaning Jason’s job just got a tad bit more difficult.

Muttering grouchily to himself, he starts the long and slow process of casing the joint. He’d already memorized the base’s layout thanks to having basically unrestricted access to the Helicarrier’s databanks (thank you lacking security systems), so now all he had to do was see how guard patterns had changed, what areas were the busiest, and slip in undetected. Easy as pie, right?

Thankfully, Shield had the decency to build this particular base within grappling distance, so it took a matter of seconds to glide onto the rooftop completely undetected. Swiftly bypassing the random motion sensors and oddly placed traps, Jason easily slipped into the incredibly convenient vents and army crawled his way toward the lab division. Sadly, the maze of vents didn’t connect the entire building and randomly dropped off and picked up at more or less random locations. Whoever designed this world’s ventilation was a moron in every sense of the word. But hey, at least he was a moron who made all kinds of places Bat accessible.

When Jason dropped into the darkened lab, the smell of antiseptic slammed into his senses, and he nearly dropped to his knees at the wave of nausea that followed. His body began to shake as memories of the Hydra base, Kryptonite lab, and the League of Assassins rattled through his mind. The scar on his chest the Bats mistook for remnants of the autopsy felt like it was being ripped open once more so the League’s scientists could study him.

It took tremendous effort to fight through the phantom pains and haunting memories to stumble to the door, ensure no one was lurking on the other side, and stumble out into the hall. The moment he was outside the lab, his gasping breaths slowly began to subside and his mind cleared. A flare of anger ignited in his chest at how he let himself fall into such a pathetic state while infiltrating a military base, but he could torture himself over that later.

Ignoring his still-pounding heart, he briskly navigated the corridors and ducked out of sight whenever an agent came too close. At long last, he eventually found himself standing outside the vault-like door separating him and his precious Glock. Thankfully, he didn’t even have to hack the access panel because this door was operated with a code. A code that Shield kept readily available within a level eight internal affairs file.

Tapping in the code and slipping silently into the room, he’s hit with a cold draft as he surveys the vast storage room. If he hadn’t looked up where the firearm was being kept, he’d have had to sift through the endless valley of shelving units for a month at least. Even though he knows the exact box his gun is stored in and what the label reads, there’s so much classified junk that it takes him twenty mildly nerve-wracking minutes to finally find the correct one.

When Jason pulled his missing treasure out of the dusty old container, it seemed to glint almost magically in the dim light. Triumph sparked in Jason’s veins as he returned the Glock to its lonely holster and turned to leave. The only problem was, the door was opening by itself, and Jason was nowhere near it.

Leaping into action, Jason clambers up a set of shelves and sinks into the shadows to wait. A mere moment after he’d settled down, two bored-looking guards shuffled into the room and started idly shining their flashlights about.

The taller of the two whined, “Why are they making us check every room all of a sudden? This vault isn’t scheduled for a security check until later this week?”

“Because,” the shorter one grumbled, “the Director and some Avengers are visiting. We have to be extra diligent until they leave so they don’t find some tiny thing to nitpick us over. I’d rather have one intense morning than a month’s worth of extra training.”

“True, but still, no one would be able to get in here even if they wanted to! Everything in here is dusty, old, borderline useless junk.” Feeling a bit irritated that his favorite type of firearm was labeled junk, Jason delicately started slinking toward the open door.

The shorter agent sighed, “Some of this stuff is still plenty dangerous in the right hands. Stark’s apparently very interested in-” The man cut himself off and tilted his head slightly, so he must’ve been listening to something in his communicator. “Speak of the devil. New plan, we need to grab the specimen for Stark and bring it over to Lab 42.”

Oh crap, Jason thought as he picked up his pace. As the guards started digging around the area Jason had originally been hiding, he quickly made his way to the door and slipped out into the hallway. And it wasn’t a moment too soon, because the second he’d stepped outside, surprised shouts echoed from the vault.

Cursing Shield, the Avengers, and whoever called in the random bomb threat, Jason skids down hallway after hallway while still being as stealthy as possible. Unfortunately, before he could make it to the vent and get out home free, someone caught just a glimpse of him turning a corner and set off the alarm.

Now, Jason was racing through the halls toward his emergency exit with a gaggle of trigger-happy Shield nuts on his tail. Bullets whizzed around him, and he was too focused on dodging to tell if they were rubber bullets or the real deal. He got his answer when he turned a corner and was immediately met with a searing pain in his side.

Biting down on a curse, he launched himself at his attacker and quickly cold-cocked the guy before continuing on his way a bit more bloody than before. But more and more agents were bleeding out of the woodwork, and he needed to shake them or risk getting pumped full of lead.

After exchanging a few bullets (he felt a bit at a disadvantage because he was only using rubber ones), he took several rapid, random turns and a trip into the rafters. A few minutes later, it seemed like he’d lost his enthusiastic tails. Sighing in relief, he backtracked and headed for his exit, hoping he wouldn’t run into any more trouble. Instead, he was ambushed by several agents when he was just a few hallways from freedom.

As Jason slowly but surely dropped his opponents, he could feel the exhaustion creeping up on him. It’d been a long night. Much longer than he’d anticipated, and he was ready for a long nap and some kitten cuddles. As he threw the last agent into the wall, her body slumping limply to the floor, all of the night’s (or more accurately the weeks and months and years’) aches and pains made themselves known. Letting out a quiet groan of pain, he slowly turned to make his escape.

Only to come face to face with an Avenger.

Chapter Text

Tony was annoyed. Nat was indifferent. As for Clint, he was worried. Incredibly so, if he was going to be honest with himself, and he was. He prided himself on being one of the few emotionally competent adults on the team. But not being emotionally repressed didn’t remotely help with how anxious he currently was.

Ever since the incident with Hydra two weeks ago, Tony had set Jarvis to dig for any info remotely related to this Red Wraith figure. The results were rather surprising, to say the least. Strange reports centered around Mott Haven had started popping up nearly three months ago, and ever since his appearance, crime has slowly started declining in the area. However, there hadn’t been a single casualty until the mysterious figure’s attack on Hydra’s underground lab. Since then, corpses had started piling up like snow.

The Red Wraith’s deeds ranged from rescuing mugging victims to dismantling entire gangs that were causing one too many disturbances. And while they weren’t able to find much digital evidence of his presence, there were a few images and videos they were able to pull off of various security cameras stationed around the area. With this, they were able to confirm what the man looked like (Hydra’s victims had said the man was huge, but damn the guy was huge!) and get a feel for his fighting style.

From what little footage they had, Clint could clearly tell the Wraith was highly trained in various styles of combat. It was to the point that if Clint had to face him in hand-to-hand combat, he wouldn’t be confident in his ability to win. And that’s without mentioning the guy’s marksmanship. They had a two-second clip of the Wraith drawing and firing his strange firearm, but the records they’d dug up of both living and dead victims showed that his aim was nearly impeccable.

This was more than plenty of reasons to be concerned if this player was a potential foe, but that’s not why Clint was worried. No, he was worried because a good amount of the footage they had showed the Wraith heavily injured in one capacity or another. One clip practically gave them a front row seat to the Wraith receiving a horrific gash to his abdomen, and instead of pulling back to check the damage and administer first aid, the idiot only fought harder. Other snippets show the Wraith favoring one side, ignoring various injuries, and more. To top it all off, the man’s been running like a machine. He’s out nearly every night for close to the whole night even with his myriad of injuries. It wasn’t remotely healthy behavior, and Clint was starting to wonder if the maybe vigilante had a maybe death wish.

Maybe Bruce was onto something when he made his somewhat slapped-together assessment that the guy was unstable.

But what Clint can’t put his finger on is why Tony’s ticked off about one thing or another. The man’s been glaring at the screen without a word for the past several minutes, and it’s starting to unnerve him.

“What’d that screen ever do to you?” Clint asked jokingly to try and break the tension.

Tony side-eyed him briefly before returning to his device. “Nothing,” he grumbled. “Shield’s just holding out on me. If I had to guess, they’re deliberately depriving me. Why’s it so hard to just let me take a peek at it!”

“You aren’t in the weapons business anymore,” Clint pointed out, trying to make a reasonable counterpoint on behalf of his semi-employer. Tony simply rolled his head to the side dramatically and gave the archer an unimpressed look.

“So?” Tony deadpanned. “It’s a style of weapon we haven’t seen before. What if it’s alien or from a new underground organization that’s opposing Hydra but not necessarily aligned with Shield? It could even be from the future, and Fury isn’t letting me see it!” The inventor threw his hands into the air exasperatedly, and Clint couldn’t help but snort.

“What if it’s none of the above?”

Tony once again gives him a look like he thinks Clint’s crazy and explains very slowly like his teammate’s a child, “It doesn’t matter; I still want to study it!”

Clint was about to keep prodding because he finds this hilarious, but Jarvis briskly announces that Shield has sent a response. Tony shoots up straight and demands the AI to relay the message, to which Jarvis says, “You have been invited to Shield Headquarters Delta 27B at 5 am tomorrow morning to investigate the unknown firearm. This invitation is privy upon the condition that you don’t modify or destroy the specimen.”

An array of emotions played across Tony’s face, ranging from glee to confusion before it settled upon offended as he burst out, “What?! Do they think I’m some sort of child!”

He tried really hard, truly he did, to hold back his laughter, but it burst out like a dam during flood season, and Clint would be rolling on the floor if he wasn’t worried about grease from Tony’s time tinkering in the lab.

“That would be correct,” Jarvis agreed cordially, which did not help Clint’s laughing fit.

On the verge of fuming, Tony bit out, “Fine. Tell the pirate I accept his conditions.”

“Of course, sir,” the AI said almost smugly before falling silent.

After Tony had leveled out a bit and Clint stopped dying of laughter, the genius asked, “So, you coming with?”

Clint shot right up at that and chirped, “Of course I am! Whatever would you do without me?”

“Probably keep a couple more of my brain cells,” the other man grumbled jokingly, and one of Clint’s hands flew to his chest in faux shock.

“You wound me, sir!”

Smiling, Tony gently shoved his friend’s shoulder saying, “Yeah, yeah. Make sure you get enough sleep tonight cause tomorrow we’re taking apart some mystery weaponry!”

_______

The Shield base was relatively simplistic compared to some other ones *cough* the Helicarrier *cough*, but it still seemed plenty secure. Agents roamed the halls and cameras were stationed at semi-regular intervals. However, they could only be on such high alert due to the previous threat combined with Director Fury and some Avengers showing up.

While Clint surveyed the security, Tony happily discussed the Red Wraith’s weird weapon with a researcher who’d already studied it. Apparently, a lab test that had been running behind finally finished mere hours ago and revealed there was a strange residue left on the firearm that was sending all the scientists into a frenzy.

It wasn’t uncommon for weapons to pick up dust and debris while in use, but evidently this debris was something they’d never seen before. It also didn’t match anything alien in their database, so the Shield scientists were beyond excited by this new discovery. They were still working out the substance’s properties, but they were hopeful this new material could be groundbreaking. Obviously, Tony was enraptured by this news and was asking for a sample to be sent to his personal labs. As for Clint, it just made him even more curious about the Wraith’s origins.

While on their way to Lab 42, an area exclusively reserved for high-profile researchers and visiting scientists, the head of base Delta 27B (what a dull name) ordered for the weapon to be transported to the lab. However, the moment they arrived at Lab 42’s door, an alert went out that the gun was missing.

The base’s director assured them that it must have been misplaced and would be brought to them soon, but just a few minutes later, an alarm was raised. An intruder had been spotted and was evading capture.

“If I find him first, you’re letting me test those boxing glove arrows on you!” Tony said cheekily before racing down the hall with his gauntlets piecing together.

Clint raced in the other direction while hollering, “No way in hell!” Somewhere behind him, he could hear Fury barking for the two of them to come back, but Clint continued on his way. What’s Fury going to do? Be angry that the deaf guy didn’t hear him? For all the director knows, his hearing aids are fritzing out.

Deciding to check nearby exits and work from there, Clint sprinted through the tiled halls and dodged between swarms of Shield agents. No matter what, he was going to find the intruder first!

But as he ran, he started to think. Who would break into Shield and steal an unusual but in general basic handgun and none of the alien or city-threatening weapons? Until a few hours ago, no one had even known about the strange substance. The more Clint thought about it, the more he was convinced the Red Wraith was loose in the building.

They still hadn’t confirmed his intentions, but as far as Clint was concerned, he was a mildly violent vigilante who apparently had little regard for himself and needed someone to look out for him. In fact, the last video Clint saw of the Wraith made him want to track the guy down and drag him to a hospital. The man clearly wasn’t taking care of himself, and it was tugging at the same heartstrings that made him take the risk of bringing Nat into Shield.

His thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt when he heard sounds of a fight nearby. He switched his trajectory and skid around a corner to see the Red Wraith in all his glory. His red helmet glinted in the harsh overhead light, and he moved in a vaguely similar way to Widow. His movements were smooth and sharp, and almost looked more like a dance than a fight.

Clint also noticed that the Wraith was using rubber bullets and only aiming to knock his opponents unconscious. While he could easily make his movements deadly, he was noticeably holding himself back and trying to cause the least amount of damage possible. Because of this, Clint didn’t feel guilty about taking a moment to observe the mysterious vigilante.

The more he watched, the more he saw past the impressive movements and once again saw the flaws. He noticed the way the Wraith favored his left leg and didn’t throw as many heavy punches with his right arm. The vigilante would occasionally pause almost imperceptibly between opponents as if to catch his breath or give his body a break. And it was impossible to miss the blood staining his side. It looked incredibly painful, but the Wraith steadily fought through it.

Once all the agents were down, Clint watched as the guy carefully pressed a hand to his side with a small groan of pain. Now that the guy wasn’t in the heat of battle, he seemed exhausted beyond belief.

The Wraith turned around and tensed when he noticed Clint lurking at the end of the hallway. Putting his hands up non-threateningly, Clint said, “You’re not half bad! Did you come for your gun?”

The guy tilted his head ever so slightly as if he’s considering Clint, and then a deep, mechanized voice growled, “Yes.”

Clint waited a second, but when it was obvious the red-clad man wouldn’t say anything else, he said, “Totally understandable, I’d want to hang onto my gear too! Although maybe next time just ask instead of breaking in?”

Scoffing, the man said, “As if they’d listen to me. Can you really tell me they didn’t have any suspicions about me before this?”

“Okay, fair. How about we talk this out with the director and get you patched up? You’ve been shot.”

While Clint couldn’t see the guy’s face, the helmet moved in such a way that he could tell the man was rolling his eyes. “I hadn’t noticed. And I’d love to, but that sounds like torture so I’ll pass.”

Between one blink and the next, the Wraith was suddenly in his face. Clint just managed to block the fist careening towards his face, but he didn’t notice that the punch was simply a distraction. A foot hooked behind Clint’s ankle, and the next thing he knows, his head is slamming into the tile. Spots dance in front of his vision, and he barely makes out the Wraith’s silhouette disappearing around a corner.

“Damnit,” he mutters as he stumbles to his feet and clicks his comm on. “I found him…and then I lost him.”

Tony’s obnoxious laughter made his ringing ears hurt even more as the man cackled, “That’s alright, bird boy! I’ll get him!”

Clint wanders the halls for a few minutes as he looks for the escaping vigilante, but all he finds is Tony groaning on the floor with his faceplate up. “Did my knight in shining armor get the big bad Red Wraith?” Clint teased cheerfully.

Groaning miserably, Tony said, “Shut up. I just got hit with enough electricity to make my heart explode.”

“As if,” Clint snorted. “Last time you forced me to listen to your bragging, you boasted it could withstand enough electricity to power Avengers Tower for a year.”

“...That’s irrelevant to the situation.”

Laughing, Clint helped drag Tony to his feet. “Sure it is! Now how about we make our own escape and report to Fury in the car so we can hang up on him?”

“That’s the best idea your inferior brain’s ever come up with.”

The clang of Tony’s armor hitting the ground reverberated throughout the base and was quickly followed by Clint’s raucous laughter.

Chapter Text

Jason was mildly aggravated. Not only had he gotten shot (again. It feels like he’s always getting shot these days), but he’d also had to use one of his precious electrical canisters to get Iron Man off his back. It would be borderline impossible to shove that much electricity into the device to recharge it without someone getting suspicious.

Iron Man was officially on his ‘Heroes I Lowkey Hate’ list. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be downgraded to the ‘Shoot on Sight’ list.

It’d taken a good thirty minutes for Jason to dig the bullet out, and it was thirty agonizing minutes where he kind of regretted not breaking a few of that Shield agent’s bones. But at long last, he was patched up. More or less. Anything less severe than a bullet wound he kind of just ignored.

The exhaustion was starting to make the edges of his vision fuzzy, but he still needed to eat and shower. After shoving a handful of grapes in his mouth, he stumbled to the bathroom. But the moment he passed the threshold, his eyes were caught on the mirror and he became fixated on his scars. Or more accurately, the massive ridge bisecting his chest that Talia al Ghul had gifted him.

He became lost in thought until he just became…lost. Even to himself. One second he was staring at the horrific canvas of agony that was his undead body, and the next he was showered, dressed, and shivering in the cold hallway.

It was a bit disorienting, but he chalked it up to how tired he was. He trudged into his room, flopped down on the bed, and almost instantly fell asleep. It wasn’t until several hours later a car alarm jolted him awake and out of his rampaging nightmares.

Sighing heavily that reality didn’t somehow disintegrate in his sleep, he hauled his aching body out of bed and made a beeline for the couch. He’s awake now so he needs to work. There wasn’t any time to dwell on his feelings or nightmares. All he needed to do was keep going until the day he dropped. Then he could rest.

As he was booting up his laptop, a mental to-do list popped into his mind and he instantly started cursing. He got caught last night. Which means they’d notice if he replaced all the footage that caught him. To make matters worse, it’s already been five or six hours since it happened, so they’ve had plenty of time to review the camera footage.

Internally cursing, he started running through his options. He could disguise himself as Hydra in the code and make it seem like they ‘stole’ all the information so they could track down the guy who blew their operation sky-high. On the other hand, he could make it seem like all the footage was corrupted on its own. Or, he could make it seem like he set a timed device inside Shield that would wipe all footage from that day.

Exhaustedly, he starts sifting through Shield’s systems again. In the end, he decided to wipe any clips that could give Shield too much information. Mainly, it was footage that showed him fighting or pulling out various gadgets. The things that could give them a tactical advantage. If he tweaked it just right and messed with the camera reports a bit, it’d look like the camera suddenly stopped recording due to an internal error. That way, no one would know he has unrestricted access to Shield’s databanks.

He was so close to being done when alerts started going off. Someone knew he was in Shield and was trying to track him. The urge of panic wakes him right up as he quickly begins pounding on his keyboard, setting up decoys, bouncing his signal off even more towers to hide his presence, and releasing a virus that he’d made exactly for this kind of situation.

The problem was that whoever was on the other side of the computer was far better at code than Jason ever would be. It almost felt like he was going up against Red Robin, and the thought made a cold hand of fear grip his heart. Shaking off the frankly irrational thought, he angrily realized there were only two options: fully withdraw and risk not being able to access Shield’s information anymore or remain within the server and constantly be on the move since they may be able to track his location.

Growling angrily, Jason fully pulls out of the server and slams his laptop shut. The anger didn’t last long and soon faded into defeat and the bitter taste of self-loathing. He was weak for not being able to sacrifice his stupid little apartment, and he felt pathetic for it.

As he sat there warring with himself over whether or not he had made the correct decision, the mid-morning sun rose and fell. Jason came back to himself when the golden rays of the setting sun flooded the living room. Instead of being concerned that he lost so much time, all he felt was guilt gnawing away at him. He had a job to do, and rather than get to work, he wasted away the entire day.

He debated on whether or not he should patrol, but he needed to find new sources of intel and figure out what cesspool Hydra was hiding out in now. Pulling his laptop back toward him, he devoted himself to the job. He swore to drive Hydra out of New York, and that was exactly what he would do.

_______

Clint was sprawled across the living room couch watching a video about controversial bow designs when he saw Tony suddenly straighten in his peripheral. Turning to see the older man better, he noticed how concentrated his friend had suddenly become and how fast his fingers were flying.

“Everything okay?” he asked tentatively.

Clint was starting to wonder if Tony heard him when several seconds had passed by, but Tony eventually said, “Hacker in Shield. Better than the average Joe.”

“One, that’s bad. Two, did you just admit that they’re almost as good as you?” Clint couldn’t help but tease a bit, especially since he knew Tony would be able to kick them out. But it was a bit concerning that someone had access to Shield's servers in the first place.

Tony scoffed offendedly, “As if! They’re good compared to you, but it’s child’s play for me. The problem is that they’ve prepared contingencies for when they’re discovered. They released a moderately tricky virus, and while I’m able to keep it contained, I can’t put my all into tracking them until I remove it.”

“Ouch,” Clint chuckled. “I thought you said I was getting better?”

Shooting him a slight glare, Tony said, “Yeah cause you started just above rock bottom. You’re currently at the ground floor. Now shut up so I can get this guy!”

Several tense minutes of frantic typing later, Tony shut his holo computer thing down and cursed under his breath. “The virus is gone and Shield should be secure now, but I didn’t get the location. The most I could figure out is they’re somewhere in the general north part of New York.”

“That’s it? The entire north? That’ll be helpful,” Clint joked sarcastically while tossing Tony a water bottle because the man’s dehydrated per usual.

After cracking the lid and taking a drink, Tony said, “Yeah, yeah, but I’m pretty sure there are only two suspects for the intruder.” When Clint raised a questioning eyebrow, the genius continued saying, “They were strictly modifying and removing footage of the Red Wraith from last night.”

“So Hydra or the Wraith himself?”

Nodding, Tony said, “Yuuup. But since Hydra would want all of the compiled info on him and don’t have an obvious reason for deleting clips of him, I’d say it’s safe to assume the Wraith was the one rooting around.”

“Now what?” Clint asked as he flopped down on the couch.

Giving the younger man a look that screamed ‘are you serious right now,’ Tony said, “We track him down, obviously! Fury wants us to bring him in, but honestly I’d be happy to pick his brain for a bit, make sure he’s not a menace to society, and then leave him be. Since we know he haunts Mott Haven and the surrounding area, it can’t be that hard to find him? He’s just one guy!”

Much to Tony’s chagrin and Clint’s mirth and worry, it was definitely ‘that hard’ to find the Red Wraith. The first few days, there wasn’t a single sighting of him, which made Clint worry that the bullet wound the Wraith has was worse than Clint had thought. After that, Steve and Clint were the only two who consistently looked for him while Tony kept an eye out for reports and video sightings.

For the next two weeks after the days of silence, the Wraith became active again. However, Clint had only managed to catch a few glimpses of the man here and there but was left in the dust whenever he tried to pursue the Wraith. But it was enough to re-spark his worry for the man. Whenever Clint saw him, he was never in good condition. A part of him wanted to kidnap the guy and forcibly hold him in Avengers Tower until the fool was healed. How long had it been since the Wraith had been able to move without feeling any pain?

Despite Clint’s diligent work, it wasn’t until the third week that he finally caught up to his target. However, he fervently wished it was under better circumstances.

Chapter Text

Jason was having a rather unpleasant night. That was normal and wasn’t surprising in the least when it came to him. But what was somewhat surprising was that the Avengers were after him and interfering with his patrol. Sure, he’d infiltrated Shield and probably sent them into a panic, but he didn’t expect the Avengers to care, much less get involved since Shield agents were already trying (and failing, might he add) to track him down. He’d been able to shake them off for a few weeks now, but the purple one was closing in on him.

Best case scenario, the Avengers wanted to throw him in jail. Worst case, they wanted to throw him in one of Shield’s insanely over-the-top, frankly absurd (but potentially Joker-proof, which he found quite impressive) prisons. If he got shrunk, he didn’t think he’d be able to escape that since that kind of science was way beyond his capabilities. Which means he needed to avoid the colorful group like the plague.

At first it wasn’t hard, but as the weeks rolled by, the man seemed to pick up on which areas Jason was investigating, places he often checked for drug dealers that may sell to kids, and the approximate times his body started to wear out and forced him to take a break.

Overall, Jason was displeased. Especially since during his search for Hydra, he came upon information regarding an extremist group wanting to cause mass fear and panic. So while Jason was already on a time crunch dealing with that whole situation, he’s also had to waste time mixing up his patterns and avoiding the giant purple dodo.

Today was particularly rough though because Hawkeye had been following his trail like a bloodhound all night, and it was making it difficult to clean up crime since he had to do it before the archer could swoop in. Because of this, he’d pretty much thrown all plans out the window and took turns and ducked into darkened alleys on a whim.

He’d been randomly grappling along the edge of the city when he caught sight of an extremist on his watchlist disappearing into a condemned boathouse near the docks. Quickly glancing about to ensure the purple nuisance wouldn’t see where he was going, Jason grappled down to street level and quietly circled the building.

From what he could tell, the door the goon entered was the only accessible entrance since all the others were thoroughly boarded up. Cursing to himself, Jason waited a few moments as he listened for any noise on the other side of the entrance. Once he was at least somewhat satisfied that no one was lurking on the other side, he carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He was hit with the overwhelming smell of salt and fish, but beneath the overpowering scent of the sea, he could faintly detect gunpowder. Looks like he’d finally found something. Moving deeper into the shadows of the boathouse, Jason started to investigate.

_______

Clint had gotten so freaking close to the Wraith so many times now, but the guy might as well be an actual wraith because he’ll slip around a corner mere yards ahead of him, but when Clint rounds it there won’t be a single trace of the man. Three weeks of this almost wild goose chase was starting to grate on his nerves, but he was determined to keep this up. The longer he did this, the better he got at tailing the slippery snake of a vigilante.

Tonight, Steve decided to turn in early since he was presenting at a school tomorrow morning, so that left Clint to try and close in on the Wraith all by his lonesome. Despite all the practice he’s had, it was still plenty difficult. He’d already lost the man twice tonight, but they say the third time’s the charm so maybe luck would be on his side tonight!

He was vaulting across rooftops when he just so happened to see a glint of red in his peripheral. Usually, a splash of red in a suspicious location would be indicative of only two people: Red Skull and Red Wraith. And since one was a living corpse and it was kind of obvious, this had to be Wraith.

A spark of triumph ignited within him as he watched the vigilante slip into a condemned warehouse. Could this be the mysterious man’s base of operations or was he investigating some evildoer’s schemes? Shrugging, Clint resolved to be careful and gleefully made his way for the decrepit building. Either way, his third attempt is looking pretty promising!

He crept soundlessly to the door and cautiously slid inside. His first impression was no, this isn’t the Wraith’s secret lair. While the guy refused to take care of himself, Clint had noticed the Wraith took meticulous care of his gear and most likely by extension, his base. Which meant the man was investigating something. Unless he was wrong about the guy being a vigilante and was using this place to cover up his evildoings. Unlikely from what Clint gathered, but you could never be too careful.

Slinking further into the building, he didn’t see any signs of suspicious activity or the Wraith’s red bucket. In fact, it was eerily quiet and devoid of life. It wasn’t impossible that the Wraith had ducked in here solely to throw Clint off his trail. That wouldn’t be surprising at all given how clever the Wraith had shown himself to be, but beneath the creepy vibe the place was giving him, he had a feeling that that wasn’t it. Even if he was wrong and lost his target for the night, he decided to finish sweeping the building. In the end, he trusted his gut. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to be thorough.

It took him a few minutes, but eventually he was approaching the last room without finding anything remotely suspicious. He was starting to think he really had been imagining things when he pushed open the door and promptly froze.

Standing in the center of the room with his back turned to the hero was the Red Wraith. It was safe to say that Clint was ecstatic. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said cheerfully, but the positivity quickly died when he focused on the scene. The Wraith wasn’t moving. In fact, he seemed painfully tense and wasn’t showing any signs of hearing the marksman. In fact, the man hadn’t so much as twitched when Clint entered, and that wasn’t lining up with everything he knew about the vigilante.

Something was very wrong. The unease slammed into him like a freight train, and Clint cautiously entered the room and started to skirt around the frozen figure. And that’s when he saw what the Wraith was so fixated on: a bomb. And a big one at that. To make matters worse, there was barely over a minute left on the timer, and that was too tight of a timeframe for Clint to risk diffusing it when there wasn’t a reason to do anything but evacuate the blast radius.

Cursing colorfully, Clint activated his emergency beacon (just in case. Nat chewed him out the last time he’d encountered a bomb about to explode and hadn’t let them know) and quickly approached the vigilante saying, “Snap out of it, we’ve got to go!” But there still wasn’t any reaction. Frowning, Clint gripped the guy’s shoulder, fully intending to shake him if need be, when he noticed it. The trembling. While visually it was barely perceptible, Clint could feel that the man’s entire body was shaking.

Positioning himself in front of the Wraith to block his sight of the bomb and firmly grabbing both shoulders, Clint said in a calm yet forceful voice, “It’s okay. You’re going to be alright, but I need you to snap out of it so we can evacuate.”

He could hear his mental timer ticking ever closer to zero, and he was starting to think he was going to have to try and drag this hulk of a man to safety when the Wraith suddenly stiffened. It took a second for him to gather his bearings, but eventually the glinting helmet nodded in agreement and shakily turned toward the exit, his movements stiff and almost robotic.

The vigilante was so shaky on his feet that Clint knew he wouldn’t make it out in time on his own. So, he forcibly threw one of the guy’s arms over his shoulders and half-dragged him through the building. The man’s trembling hadn’t subsided, but Clint could tell he was putting his all into forcing himself through it. In Clint’s experience, this was more than just your basic fear from running into something new and dangerous. If he had to guess, he’d say the guy’s already had a traumatizing experience with one.

“Come on, almost there,” he said as they approached the door that would dump them into the grimy old alley. But before they could exit the boathouse, his internal timer and the bomb both hit zero and the explosion ripped through the building. The force and fire destroyed the wooden walls and hurled the two crime fighters into the alley.

Clint must have momentarily blacked out because he woke up to an inferno blazing before him and large hands dragging him away from the flames licking steadily closer to his boots. Groggily letting his head loll back, his eyes locked with the glowing whites of the Wraith’s helmet.

His hearing aids were screeching and whining, but when they adjusted properly he could hear a mechanized voice ask almost gently “You with me?” Clint merely hummed in response and the vigilante nodded. “You’ve got some relatively minor burns on your arm and a light head wound. You’re going to be okay.”

A small chuckle escaped Clint as he raspily said, “I know. Help’s on the way. You should let them look you over.”

Suddenly, Clint was flying through the air before abruptly stopping and carefully being laid on a rooftop. “I’m afraid I can’t stick around. You’ll be safe up here.” The Wraith stood and turned to go when he paused and said softly, “Thanks for getting me out. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Dismissively waving his jelly-boned, gauze-wrapped arm, Clint said, “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it. Part of the job. Thanks for patching me up. Take care of yourself, ok?”

The last part seemed to make the Wraith pause for a moment as if surprised by the concern. After a quick, jolty nod, the vigilante launched himself off the roof and disappeared amongst the skyline.

It was mere minutes later that the Avengers were crowded onto the roof, fretting over him, demanding an explanation, and hauling him into the jet. Despite their nagging, it was always nice to have his friends worry over him. To show how much they cared about his well-being.

But along with the gratitude he felt, he had the sinking feeling that the Red Wraith didn’t have anyone like that. Guess he’d just have to become that person.

Chapter Text

After the whole fiasco on the docks, Jason couldn’t help but hate himself. When he saw the bomb, his brain whited out in fear. He thinks his mind might have forced him into a dissociative state in preparation for the explosion and to protect itself from the resulting trauma. It was just another reason he was too weak to be loved.

Hawkeye had pulled him far enough back into reality that when the explosion hit them, he’d been able to shield his savior from the brunt of the fire. However, the hero had still gotten hurt and knocked out due to Jason’s inadequacy. But he couldn’t stick around and watch over him until Hawkeye’s team arrived because he couldn’t let himself be captured. Even without Joker existing in this dimension, the thought of being forced to live and rot in a cell made every cell in his body yearn for the void to escape that fate.

When he pulled himself into his apartment and peeled his suit off, he couldn’t help but curse at the stinging pain that accompanied the new burns decorating his back. They’d make moving difficult for a few days. On top of the fiery red patches, a few pieces of shrapnel had caught his limbs, but once he wiped the blood off they’d be fine.

Once he’d done his best attempt to treat his back, he opened his trusty laptop and got to work reviewing CCTV footage to figure out where the weasel who’d lured him into that trap slunk off to. It took a few hours of work, but eventually, he discovered the guy frequented a particular business. A business that just so happened to be a front. And once he found the company, he was able to hack their network and start digging up every dreg of information he’d need to destroy them.

Or, maybe, let someone else deal with them. Every twitch of his muscles made his back feel like molten lava was being poured across it. If he tipped off Hawkeye…

Another flare of pain arching through his body convinced him to offload the work despite how dirty it made him feel. It took several days to compile everything, but at long last he had extensive reports on the extremist group’s plans, movements, locations, and weapons. He was ready.

Checking and rechecking his digital protection measures, he took a deep breath and started working his way back into Shield’s servers. Whoever had kicked him out last time had beefed up security, so he’d only be able to get into a less secure database. Once he found somewhere his meddling would be almost instantly detected with the new protection, he uploaded the files. And just in time because his alarms started going off, alerting him that someone was trying to track his location.

Fully pulling out, he let out a breath of relief. Once the Avengers, or even Shield if they were feeling up to doing some non-supervillain-related work for once, reviewed the information and confirmed the authenticity, it’d be out of his hands.

All of it except for one part that he withheld. The extremists had contact with Shield. And from that trail of breadcrumbs, he’d found the gingerbread house. Or more accurately, the cesspit Hydra was hiding in. If Stark or someone similar decided to do some extra digging, they’d most likely discover the link as well, so the moment Jason regained at least part of his range of motion he’d need to take immediate action.

It wouldn’t do him any good for the Avengers to come crashing in while he was cleaning house and cart him off to hell.

A few days later, the local news channels ran a story about the Avengers foiling an evil extremist group’s plans to plant explosives in several highly populated locations. Thanks to a mysterious source, they were able to successfully secure all involved individuals without any civilian casualties. Jason couldn’t help but feel relieved that this was wrapped up quickly, but he kind of wished they would have waited a single day so they would’ve been busy while he was wiping out Hydra. It was still painful to move his back, but it’d be easy to compartmentalize the pain once he slipped into the mission mindset.

With all the preparations Jason was making, time seemed to fly by. Before he knew it, it was time to suit up and destroy some slimy squids. But while he was strapping on all his gear, he noticed that Verdana was staring up at him from the coffee table. The two had been together long enough that Jason could easily tell what she was feeling. And right now, her eyes were pooling with worry.

Gently rubbing her forehead with his thumb, he quietly croons, “I’ll be back soon. Guard the house, k?” Verdana huffs in agitation but rubs her head against Jason’s hand comfortingly. It’s at that moment that he realizes that the kitten hasn’t grown an inch, and they’ve been together for over five months. He’ll have to take her to the vet when he comes back. Her tiny size doesn’t bother him in the least, but if it was related to her health it needed to be addressed.

He turned to leave, but Verdana meowed angrily at him. When he gave her a questioning look, she merely huffed and glared at him. Realizing what she was after, he sighed and trudged to the kitchen. Digging up a granola bar and taking a bite, he asked, “Happy?” At her unblinking, glowing stare (was that new?), he groaned and shoved the rest in his mouth. After swallowing it down, he said, “I’m leaving. See you soon,” and stalked out the door.

Half an hour later, he was standing on top of a water tower overlooking the massive warehouse complex Hydra had taken over. Because terrible, disgusting excuses for human beings loved warehouses and couldn’t resist turning them into places that practically oozed with evil. Just looking at the concrete structure threatened to send a shiver down his spine.

Taking a deep breath, he glides through the air and deftly lands behind a large heating unit (because Hydra learned from their mistakes and picked a location within grappling distance). Guards made rounds up here, but there was enough time between rotations that it was a breeze to avoid them. That is, if he wanted to. Whenever one got close enough to one of his hiding spots, he snatched them into shadows and snapped their necks. The crack of snapping bones hidden beneath the hum of machinery.

Fifteen minutes later, all that was left on the roof were corpses and a phantom. After searching a few bodies, he found a higher-ranking guard and happily snatched the woman’s card. It’d make accessing basic areas far easier and save him all kinds of time. With his fancy new ID badge in hand, he opens the door to the stairs with ease and descends into the depths of evil.

While stealth was still the highest priority until he tracked down the leaders, or more accurately Dark Fox, killing as many Hydra agents as possible was also quite high on the list. So whenever there was a spot he could stash a body that likely wouldn’t be found until he could rig this place to blow, he took the opportunity.

He was incredibly lucky at one point when he found a trash chute that led to a large incinerator. It was likely used for trash, destroying evidence, and disposing of victims’ bodies, but it wasn’t long before it was brimming with Hydra goons. People kept walking past the incinerator room in semi-frequent intervals, so really it was their own fault.

Eventually, he had to keep moving. But with forty fewer thugs wandering around, he didn’t feel too bad about leaving some alive when there wasn’t an adequate body-stashing spot nearby. They’d all die in the collapse later anyway. The only strange thing he found so far was the lack of test subjects. As of the moment, there weren’t any victims to rescue. It was deeply concerning because they’ve either hidden their victims better, stopped kidnapping people, killed all the ones they had, or they have a separate site they use to run tests.

About an hour after he’d entered the facility, someone finally caught sight of him. He had just snapped another henchman’s neck when the guy ambled around the corner. The man walked more quietly than the average person which was why Jason didn’t hear them coming, but the horrified gasp was hard to miss. Dropping the body, he rushed after the terrified, feeling thug. Right as the man was reaching for his radio, Jason launched into the guy’s back and pulled them to the floor. The man tried to shout for help, but Jason crushed his larynx faster. After that, he gave the man the same quick death as his comrades. It was better than he deserved.

And then he heard another gasp of shock. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he repeated the process as swiftly as possible. It was ridiculous. Like he knows this is a Hydra base, and therefore, crawling with Hydra agents. But come on, twice in a row after an hour of nothing? It was just absurd.

Once he dispatched the last poor sap that stumbled across him, he backtracked and hid the bodies before continuing to search for the slippery fox. The problem was, the base was so vast it was a real possibility that a body or he would be discovered before he found Dark Fox. In that case, the scientist would most likely flee.

It was another thirty minutes and seventeen bodies later until anything notable happened. Jason, as luck (or lack thereof) would have it, a small group of guards decided to check the room he had been investigating. Lo and behold, the inevitable shootout finally came to be. It was easy to drop them all within a minute or two since he’s dual wielding and marksmanship is one of his few talents. However, he wasn’t fast enough to prevent the alarm from being raised.

Cursing lividly, he rushes out into the hallway and starts storming through the lair like a one-man army. Since the Hydra hooligans weren’t sure where he was, he thankfully wasn’t overrun while pounding down the hallways, but he still stumbled across plenty of enemies. Bullets flew like rain during a Gotham storm, but he was thankfully only grazed a few times. His opponents weren’t so lucky.

Eventually, he barreled into a large hangar where several thugs were loading a plane of all things and preparing to depart. But the small fries weren’t important. On the far side of the bay was the Dark Freak himself. Before Jason could fire a shot off at the monster, a hailstorm of bullets flew at him. Diving to the side, he barely managed to escape from being turned into swiss cheese by sliding behind a stack of crates, but he wasn’t fast enough to prevent the one stray bullet from ripping through his arm.

Hissing in pain, he stows away his second glock. The wound is bad enough that he won’t be able to dual-wield anymore. With yet another injury, it seemed like all his other aches and pains were flaring to life. He kept exchanging shots with the slowly dwindling gaggle of goons, but he needed to hurry or Fox Face would escape. Thankfully, only two or three nuisances remained.

All of a sudden, something cracked him over the head, sending him sprawling to the floor. Before he could regain his bearings, more heavy hits slammed into his body. If his ribs weren’t broken, they were definitely bruised. Another blow to his head shattered the left side of his helmet and shoved shards of the glass-like material into his cheek.

Throwing his leg out in a large sweep, he managed to drop the jerk to the floor. As soon as Jason’s blurred vision focused, he put a bullet in the guy’s skull. Ripping his now useless helmet off, he peeked around the side of his cover to kill the last few lurking guards.

Using the crates to drag himself to his feet, he reloads his gun as well as he can with a near-useless arm as he staggers toward the plane where the doctor was quickly shoving a few last-minute gadgets and gizmos in the back. The doctor seems to realize all his meat shields are gone, so he rummages around in his coat and spins to face Jason. In his hand is an odd-looking device covered in wires with a bubbling tube sticking out of the top.

“You’re tougher than I thought, but at least I get to test this now!” he cackled. Glock finally reloaded, Jason raised it to finally rid the world of one more vile creature.

But he was too late.

A beam of light slams into him, and the next thing he knows he’s collapsing to his knees in agony, gun clattering deafeningly to the ground, as his hands fly uselessly to his throat. The scar on his throat was ripping back open, and torrents of crimson blood gushed down his chest and slid down his arms.

He wants to scream, to beg Batman to let him live or finish the job, he isn’t sure which, but all that escapes him is a high-pitched wheeze. He tries to look up at the Dark Knight and meet his death head-on, but his vision is blurry and darkening quickly. It seems like his world is shrinking to nothing but pain and an ocean of blood. He can see it pooling beneath him, but when did he lie down?

As his eyes slide closed, he thinks he feels something besides his hot blood touching him, but between the agony and onsetting numbness, he can’t tell. He tries to force himself to stay awake, to do something to stay alive, but it’s too late. The darkness drags him down into its depths.

Chapter Text

Clint was having a good day and it was shaping up to be a good night too. Great even. He had a great spar with Nat this morning (which he obviously lost. He’s eagerly awaiting the day someone beats her), made some massive cinnamon rolls that he may or may not share, and had almost convinced Tony to let him bring a pet into the Tower!

“CLIIIIIIINT!” Tony’s voice echoed from the conference room and was so loud he almost dropped his croissant.

Stomping dramatically from the kitchen to the room Tony was currently holed up in, he shouts back, “WHAT?! I didn’t buy the bird and smuggle it in, so what’s the…problem.” He trailed off when he stormed into the room and was met with three unimpressed gazes. Clearing his throat, he says almost sheepishly, “Soooo, what’s going on?”

Steve chuckles at the situation and Bruce was trying to hide a smile. As for Tony, he rolls his eyes before saying, “Well, circus boy, I think your bucket-headed friend left out some important information when he gave us those files.”

Elbowing Tony, Clint snarks, “Aren’t you the only bucket-head I know? Are you hiding something from us?”

Sighing exasperatedly, Tony continues as if Clint didn’t say anything. Most likely to save his own dwindling sanity. “Red Wraith gave us all that incredibly detailed information so we could catch the extremists, but he failed to mention that Hydra’s involved.

“Ooohhh,” Clint said in surprise.

“Yes, oh! Luckily for you, I tracked down Hydra’s new base. We should clean it up soon so your friend doesn’t get himself killed.”

Clint’s good mood sunk a bit at the reminder of the Wraith’s severe lack of self-care. The sheer indifference the guy had toward his own well-being was downright disturbing. However, the guy hadn’t made an appearance for several days, so maybe he was finally taking care of himself for once. But that also meant he’d most likely gotten injured during the explosion and taken care of Clint rather than himself. Something that highly displeased the hero despite being grateful for the first aid.

His thoughts were interrupted by Bruce saying, “Sorry to interrupt, but it might be too late to get to Hydra before the Wraith.”

“You’re joking,” Steve deadpanned. Bruce shook his head and simply put the video surveillance of the newly discovered Hydra base on the TV.

“It’s just a roof?” Tony asked questioningly.

Sighing in annoyance (at the Wraith, not Tony), Clint said shortly, “Look in the shadows Tony.”

Tony squinted and leaned in before his eyes blew wide and he whipped around to face his friend. “Those are bodies.”

“Correction, those are a lot of bodies,” Clint said humorlessly. Turning to Bruce, he asked, “Do you know when he went in?”

Bruce did something on his StarkPad before saying tightly, “An hour, give or take.

Groaning heavily, Clint turned on his heel and started to storm out of the room. Behind him, Tony shouted, “Where are you going?!”

“To go make sure that idiot doesn’t get himself killed! You guys should suit up too, Tin Man! It’s a whole ants nest of Hydra agents, and we don’t have Nat or Thor right now!”

Less than ten minutes later, they were all piled on the jet. Bruce was coming as both backup and a medic because Clint was getting the Wraith checked over if it was the last thing he ever did. How the man was still standing was beyond him.

Since all hell seemed to already be loose inside the warehouse, Tony landed directly on the rooftop. Clint practically threw himself down the ramp in his haste to kidnap (take home) and torture (provide medical care) the moody vigilante. Throwing the roof access door open, he stormed into the facility ready to drop some Hydra goons. While he tried not to kill anyone at the factory since they needed information, this place was crawling with evildoers. Attempting to leave everyone alive in a place like this would only jeopardize their safety.

Some hallways were deadly silent, others were littered with bodies, and still others were swarming with agents. But the most surprising (even though it frankly shouldn’t have been since the Wraith was involved) thing was that Tony opened a random door and found a pile of Hydra corpses just kind of laying in the center of the room. He found it mildly disturbing, but Clint could give credit where credit was due. It seemed like the Wraith’s stealth got him pretty far, so there’s a chance the guy’s still alive.

The trio kept marching down the halls and doling out justice to those they came across. There were still hordes of goons even with how many the Wraith had taken out, but the three Avengers were fully in-sync. They covered each other’s blind spots and protected each other so well that they really only had some bumps and bruises by the time the crowd started thinning out.

So far the operation had been going well, but they hadn’t found any sign of their sneaky vigilante beyond cold corpses. While the rampage and carnage pointed toward the man being alive, Clint couldn’t help but be concerned. And boy was he right to be so.

After trudging through the halls for a good thirty minutes, they finally threw open the door to a large, open docking bay. Doctor Leonhard Fuchs was racing toward the prepared plane the moment he heard the door slam open, but he was insignificant compared to the horrific sight playing out before them.

The helmetless Red Wraith seemed to fall to his knees in slow motion as Clint watched on in horror as the man’s neck seemed to rip open of its own accord. Scarlet blood spilled from between his fingers as he tried to hold himself together, but his attempts were futile as the life-giving liquid poured seemingly unhindered from the gash. The look of panic, pain, and despair hurt to see, but it wasn’t nearly as awful as the raspy wheeze that escaped the man’s lips instead of the agonized scream that should be reverberating throughout the room.

Clint shakes himself out of his momentary shock and barrels to where Wraith’s body was slumping to the floor. Grabbing hemostatic gauze out of his utility belt, he bellows at Tony as he makes to pursue Fuchs, “Tag him and get Bruce!”

Tony grimly agrees and shoots a tracker onto the retreating plane before disappearing in a blur of red and gold. Steve appears on the Wraith’s other side and starts applying his own dressing to an oozing bullet wound. As they hold pressure to the wounds, Clint can’t help but study the vigilante’s face. Despite the mask covering Wraith’s eyes, he can clearly tell that this is a kid. If he was legal, he was just barely an adult. It made him feel sick to see someone so young on the verge of death. And that’s without mentioning how hellbent the kid was on getting himself hurt.

A few minutes where every second felt like Wraith’s life slipping away later, the jet roared into the hangar and Tony and Bruce appeared next to them. Bruce quickly took over and soon enough the vigilante was tentatively stable enough to be moved onto a stretcher and transported onto the jet. While they flew back to the Tower, they debated their options. Bruce wanted to take Wraith to Shield so he could get medical care from someone more confident in this type of injury, but Clint was strongly against it. The vigilante was extremely high on Shield’s wanted list, and he didn’t think Fury would agree to let the kid go so easily, especially in this vulnerable state. Tony agreed with Bruce, but Steve agreed with Clint.

They debated their options for a while, but eventually Steve and Clint managed to convince the other two to finish treating Wraith at the Tower and help him recover. Clint wanted to say that this outcome was due to his phenomenal debate skills, but the massive, ragged scar that was revealed on Wraith’s chest when Bruce decided to conduct a general examination was far more convincing than Clint could ever be. It seemed like the longer he looked at the kid’s body, the more scars and wounds he found. The sheer amount of cruelty he’d suffered made Clint want to wrap the kid in a blanket and keep him safe from whatever cruel beings inflicted this pain upon him.

When they got to the Tower, Wraith was swiftly transported to the medical bay and Bruce got to work with Clint filling the role of his assistant since he had a decent amount of training while under Shield. Even after Bruce had staunched the bleeding and stitched the gruesome wound together, it was touch and go for a while. Clint wasn’t sure if it was due to the extreme trauma and shock Wraith endured or his lack of self-preservation (maybe even an absence of the will to live), but the kid flat lined once and got dangerously close to it several more times. Every time the heart rate dipped lower, Clint felt his own heart clench in fear. More than anything, he didn’t want the kid to die. Not like this.

Several long, agonizing hours later, Bruce declared the kid stabilized and, after instructing Jarvis to monitor the patient, he demanded everyone get at least six hours of sleep or he’d lock them out of the medbay. Clint desperately wanted to keep watch over their new ward, and it seemed like Steve and Tony were just as determined, but they knew Bruce would make good on his promise, so they reluctantly shuffled off to their respective rooms.

The only silver lining was that Bruce said the vigilante would be asleep for at least a day. After forcing Jarvis to promise to wake him up if the kid happened to regain consciousness while he was asleep, he reluctantly climbed into bed and stared into the dark abyss that made up his ceiling.

Instead of sleeping, images of Wraith’s scars appeared in his mind and possible scenarios that would cause such injuries were conjured up in response. None of the possibilities were pretty, and while Clint fervently hoped the situations had been better, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the truth was far worse.

It took ages, but eventually Clint fell asleep thinking about all the ways he could help Wraith heal both mentally and physically.

Chapter Text

The cold knife of betrayal slipped through the spaces between Clint’s ribs and buried itself in his still-beating heart. Dread flooded his veins and fear clouded his mind. How could he lie to them? How could someone he trusted so deeply turn around so easily and destroy everything they built together? The pain of-

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Tony chided as he strode into the medbay.

Tearing his eyes away from Bruce, who visibly relaxed since he wasn’t being glared at anymore, Clint whined, “I didn’t even say anything!”

“No, but we all know what you were thinking.” As the taller man passed Clint, he clapped his friend on the shoulder before going to check on the various pieces of medical tech scattered about the room.

Raising his hand a bit before aborting the movement, Bruce asked questionably, “I have no idea what he was thinking. All I know was that he started glaring at me the moment he walked in here!”

Glancing over at the doc before continuing to fiddle with something, Tony said, “Sorry, I forgot you don’t speak Clint. He was thinking about how you must have lied to him since Red here is still asleep.”

Clint burst out, “It’s been three days! THREE! You said he’d be awake after a day!”

“What?! Why would I lie about something like that?” Bruce cried out, aghast at the possibility. “His body is just using this time to recuperate. Between his physical injuries and mental exhaustion, he’s just out longer than I expected. I can’t see the future, so all I can do is make educated assumptions based on my past experience. Is that so hard to understand?”

This time, Tony didn’t even bother looking up as he cheerfully said, “For the average person, no. For Clint, abso-freakin-lutely!”

Grumbling about moronic geniuses and traitorous doctors, Clint threw himself into the chair at the Wraith’s bedside. Tony simply chuckled at his friend’s antics while Bruce shook his head fondly before checking the patient’s vitals again. While the other two men worked away, Clint glanced over their new charge for the hundredth time even though it felt like the first.

The patchwork of scars was largely hidden beneath the hospital clothes, but many more adorned his arms and peeked out from around the hems. Bruce had managed to remove the kid’s mask without causing any more damage, and the boy’s youth was on full display now. His pale face seemed even more so framed by his dark locks, and the curious streak of white in his bangs only added to the contrast.

But despite the signs of violence and suffering, he almost looked peaceful in his rest. Like someone who’d seen too much and was finally allowed a reprieve from all the hardship. Or at least, that’s what he’d look like if it wasn’t for the blood-stained bandage securely wound around his neck.

As his eyes fixated on the concealed wound, he can’t help but feel sick as he remembers what Bruce told them yesterday. The device Doctor Fuchs used on Wraith reopened egregious injuries. Why use a bullet when a simple blast could revert their opponents to their weakest moments? Which meant that someone had previously slit Wraith’s throat. It was an injury that was rarely caused by accident, and given Wraith’s lifestyle, it could only have been inflicted by someone who genuinely wanted the kid dead.

Sighing heavily, Clint leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, as if waiting for an answer to appear on the emotionless white plaster. Looking over, Tony hummed thoughtfully before standing up. “How about I order some pizza and find a movie for us to watch. Help get your mind off things?” At Clint’s wordless nod, Tony started for the door, saying, “I’ll get some popcorn too. Everything will be ready in probably thirty or so minutes, so take your time.”

As Bruce worked and Clint pondered, the only sound in the medbay was the beeping of the heart monitor and Wraith’s painful-sounding breathing, the heavy rasps echoing throughout the room. After several minutes of the near-silence, Bruce quietly approached him and said, “He’ll be alright. Even if he doesn’t wake up soon, it’ll happen eventually. It just means he’s staying still enough to heal for once.”

The half-joke makes a small smile appear on Clint’s face. “You’re right. Thanks, Bruce,” Clint said softly, and the scientist nodded slightly before leaving the room.

Now that Clint was alone with the kid, the room seemed to turn stifling. He felt guilty for not finding Hydra sooner and preventing Wraith from nearly dying…again, all things considered. The man didn’t seem to have a support system, and the injury was bad, to say the least. When the wound was first inflicted, Clint had no idea how the kid survived. It made him sick to think about Wraith possibly bleeding out in an alley, fighting to stay awake and staunch the torrents of blood pouring from his neck.

He was deeply pondering those depressing thoughts when the heart monitor started beeping rapidly, wrenching him from the horrific images his mind had conjured up. Quickly looking to the hospital bed, he watched as Wraith’s eyes flew open, terror painted on his previously peaceful face. As he frantically pulled himself to sit upright, his hands flew up to his throat, desperately trying to hold an already closed wound shut. Clint watched in horror as the kid opened his mouth to scream or beg, but only a long, warbling whine slipped past his lips. The sound only seemed to terrify the vigilante further, and his breaths came faster as he spiraled closer to a panic attack.

Clint carefully approached the bed, making sure to stay in Wraith’s line of sight, and said soothingly, “Hey, you’re safe here. I know you’re scared, but the best doctor I know patched you up. You’re going to be alright.”

The words seemed to have calmed Wraith down a little bit, but Clint saw the exact moment the kid recognized who he was. While people usually calmed down and felt safe in an Avenger’s presence, Wraith was the exact opposite. The previously calmed panic returned in full force. As the kid dove head first into a panic attack, he subconsciously dug his fingers deeper and deeper into the wound until fresh blood began to stain the bandages. While Clint wasn’t able to pull the kid out of the panic attack, he could be a hopefully comforting presence and gently hold Wraith’s hands to his chest to prevent the kid from harming himself further.

Not too long later, Bruce hurried in just as Wraith slumped over unconscious. Clint hurriedly explained what happened, and Bruce grimly nodded along as he changed the kid’s bandages and ensured the stitches were still secure while Clint worried on the outskirts.

“What do we do?! What if he wakes up like that again? He freaked out even more when he saw me! Should I leave?” Clint babbled frantically as his friend worked.

After a minute of consideration, Bruce said, “Let’s try dimming the lights and putting a light sedative in his IV drip. Usually a situation like this would call for restraints, but…” Bruce trailed off at the end as both their gazes were drawn to the young man’s still form. They were both intimately familiar with the residual signs of torture, and the kid had far too many indicators to mistake for anything else.

“Yeah,” Clint nodded in agreement. “That probably wouldn’t help.”

A few minutes later, Bruce gently guided Clint to the door. “Tony’s likely waiting for you. Just relax and enjoy your movie. I’ll keep an eye on Wraith and let you know of any changes. Alright?”

Sighing in defeat, Clint agreed and reluctantly allowed himself to get herded out of the room. He wanted to stay, but he also knew that he wouldn’t be any good to anyone in his frazzled and stressed state. Right now, the best thing he could do for everyone was trust in Bruce and appreciate Tony’s efforts.

Chapter Text

“-several unkn- substances… his blood-” a voice said as the words sunk through the haze.

“What if… contact wi-” a higher pitched voice says.

“-couldn’t be… Hyd- experiment?” yet another person asked.

Something didn’t make sense. Who were these people? Where was he? As Jason tried to sort through the fog clouding his mind, an annoyingly familiar beeping that’d been holding steady in the background slowly started to pick up.

The first voice stated shortly, “He’s waking up.”

“That’s my cue,” the second voice said. “Don’t want to crowd him. Good luck!” Jason vaguely registered footsteps receding and the sound of a sliding door opening and shutting. After that, the room was almost silent except for the shrill heart monitor and his own achy breathing.

He wasn’t in pain, which meant they put him on the good stuff or paralyzed him. And since he can twitch his fingers, he’s guessing it wasn’t the latter. And since these people were keeping him from feeling pain, they obviously weren’t with the League of Assassins.

It also surprised and delighted him to discover that he wasn’t bound to the bed. Whether this was because they underestimated him or were being considerate was to be determined, but if he needed to make a daring escape this would be a massive stroke of luck he was rarely blessed with.

But how did he get here in the first place?

As Jason raked and retraced his memory, his heartbeat slowly but surely started to accelerate. He’d been taking down the New York Hydra cell when he got jumped. Which would have been trivial in the long run if Dark Fox hadn’t shot him with something.

Memories of his skin slowly ripping apart and blood pooling beneath his soon-to-be corpse flooded his mind’s eye. He remembered the agony and terror that threatened to petrify him. After that, he briefly recalls waking up and seeing Hawkeye. And if an Avenger was watching over him, they’d likely carted his dying body to the nearest high security, incredibly secretive penitentiaries. He couldn’t go to prison.

No. He wouldn’t.

Fast as lightning, he brought a hand to his throat and dug his fingers into the bandages, trying to rip the stitches and more with his bare hand. If he bled out fast enough, they wouldn’t be able to save him again. And if they couldn’t save him, they couldn’t sentence him to a life of crumbling sanity and eternal damnation.

Alarmed and horrified shouts assaulted his ears, and suddenly his wrists were wrenched away from his sluggishly bleeding throat. Jason opened his mouth to demand they release him, to let him die, but all that he got was a raspy whistle of air and a burning, acidic pain in his throat. He froze for a moment as reality set in before he began spiraling into panic.

No, not again! The doctors told him if he damaged his throat any more, he may never speak again. He wasn’t able to speak for weeks after Batman nearly killed him. What if it’s permanent this time? Jason didn’t know if he could handle losing his voice on top of everything else in his pathetic existence.

Memories of the lonely, agonizing weeks he spent alone and voiceless bombarded him as he continued to try and wrench his hands away from the vice-like grip they were trapped in. But it seemed like he was floating in a thick, all-encompassing sludge that made it a struggle to twitch even a finger. Whether his mind or his injuries were sapping his energy, he wasn’t sure, but it only served to solidify his cold, dark real reality in his mind. He couldn’t live, but they wouldn’t let him die. And since he just tried to rip out his own throat in front of them, they would be sure to keep a close eye on him from now on. They were going to ensure he suffered for as long as possible, even if that wasn’t their intention.

Suddenly, a firm hand gripped his shoulder and a loud, commanding voice yelled, “Breathe!” Somewhere in the background, Jason registered someone exasperatedly saying that yelling wouldn’t help, but shockingly it did. Jason was ripped out of his mind and back into the present. Before him, he saw Hawkeye looking worriedly at him. In one hand, he held Jason’s wrists while his other was placed firmly on the vigilante’s shoulder.

“You with me?” the purple-themed hero asked, worry thickly lacing his tone. Confused, Jason nodded jerkily. A flash of relief flickered across the hero’s face before he continued, “Good. Are you going to try and hurt yourself again? I really don’t want to restrain you, but I’ll have to if you try that again.”

Jason thought for a second before reluctantly shaking his head. Despite him wanting to get this over with quickly, they’d easily stop him. Not to mention, he’d really rather not be chained down. He’d really rather avoid near-constant panic attacks if at all possible.

Hawkeye looked absolutely relieved when he said he wouldn’t try killing himself again, and it made Jason even more confused. This guy seemed far too invested in some random villain’s welfare, and it was even more baffling because no one had given a damn about him in years. Although, now that he thought about it, the hero had gone out of his way to save Jason from the bomb and had even been injured in the process. But despite being hurt, he didn’t seem to hold any ill will toward him.

“I’m glad,” the hero said with a small smile. “I’m Hawkeye, but you can call me Clint. That’s Doctor Banner. Could he take a look at your neck? He’ll also fill you in on your condition while he fixes you up.”

Tentatively nodding, Jason allows the untransformed Hulk to approach him and start unwinding the mess of bandages around his throat. While Clint had stopped holding Jason’s hands against his chest, he kept a loose grip on one of his wrists just in case.

When Banner started replacing some of the stitches, he calmly said, “We found you in the Hydra lab a few days ago. You were hit by a re-trauma beam prototype. Since it’s incomplete, it only reopened one of your injuries, which is why we were able to save you.” The doctor paused momentarily as if remembering how Jason tried to die just a few minutes ago. However, he continued in a steady voice, “The damage is severe, but nothing’s irreversible so long as you’re careful. As you probably noticed, you currently aren’t able to speak. So long as you don’t unnecessarily try to and avoid straining the injury, you should heal and regain full vocal capacities in about a month or so. Don’t quote me on that, Clint already tried to kick me out of the tower when I didn’t accurately guess how long it’d take you to wake up.”

The last sentence was said with a small smile and a slight teasing tone obviously aimed at the other Avenger in the room. Clint shot him an unimpressed look, but let it go. Instead, he asked Jason, “Since you won’t be able to speak for a while, you’ll need another way to communicate with us. Would you be comfortable writing? Or, I’d be more than happy to teach you sign language?”

Contemplating his options, Jason decided that revealing that he knew ASL could only be advantageous in his situation and slowly raised his shaking hands to sign, I’m already fluent in sign language.

Clint’s face absolutely glowed as he watched his patient effectively speak his language. Cheerfully, he released Jason’s wrists and raised his own hands to say, That’s awesome! The other Avengers know at very least the basics, so you should have no problem talking with us!

Once again, Jason was overwhelmingly confused. Wasn’t he being incarcerated? Why would the Avengers talk to him? Were they going to interrogate him? But if that was the case, why would Clint be so excited?

Signing with clumsy and slightly numb hands, he asked, Why would they need to communicate with me? Aren’t I in a Shield prison? Why would they come here?

Now it was Clint’s turn to look confused. He shared a look with Doctor Banner that he couldn’t read before verbally saying, “No, we aren’t handing you over to Shield. We brought you to Avengers Tower to recuperate in a safe place where you had 24/7 access to medical care. In fact, they don’t even know you’re here.”

Surprised, Jason simply asked, Why?

“Because for one, you do good work and, despite wreaking havoc with Shield, you do good work. You didn’t kill anyone, and we mess with them for fun every once in a while, so you don’t deserve whatever hell Fury would put you through. Besides, it’s painfully obvious that you don’t take care of yourself. Like, at all. So, we’re going to make sure you stay safe while you heal.”

Again, Jason asked why. He didn’t understand. Even if he did good work (something that brought a tiny shard of his heart back to life and created a scrap of warmth within his cold soul), they weren’t responsible for him. Why would they waste their valuable time and resources on a despicable sometimes villain sometimes vigilante?

Clint brings his hand back to Jason’s shoulder, moving slowly and carefully choreographing his movements. “Because I’m worried about you. At first I was just scared you were going to get yourself killed trying to make Mott Haven a better place, which you did and has massively impressed us, but now we also know you’re a kid without any noticeably reliable support systems. We don’t expect you to trust or stay with us forever, but it’d help me sleep at night if you’d stay here at least until you’re healed enough to stay safe out there. So, will you stay?”

Every word out of the hero’s mouth put Jason further and further into a state of shock. Ever since he’d returned from the dead, no one had cared for his well-being. And here Clint was offering him safety, stability, and, most importantly, validation. He could feel himself tearing up because someone recognized that he was just trying to make his part of the city safer and didn’t condemn him for his methods. Clint was a stranger doing something his used-to-be family never did for him.

Turning to look at Doctor Banner to confirm that Clint was telling the truth, he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore when the doctor gave him an incredibly kind smile and nodded in agreement. Clint momentarily looked frantic at Jason’s tears but calmed down once Jason raised his hands and simply said, Okay. I’ll stay.

He wasn’t trusting them. Not fully, not yet, and the only person he’d tentatively trust was Clint since he’d already risked his own life for Jason. But he was being truthful. If the Avengers were truly willing to house him, heal him, and arguably most importantly, validate him, it’d be a dream come true and far more than a deplorable soul like him deserved.

If they were lying and buying their time to lock him up, he could just patiently wait for the opportunity to send himself back to the grave.

Clint, once again smiling like it was Christmas morning, happily exclaimed, “You won’t regret it! Now, to business.” The hero’s expression turned far more serious, and it made Jason’s stomach plummet. Maybe they were lying. They just wanted information out of him. What if they- “What’s your name? The people you rescued have been calling you the Red Wraith or just Wraith since you came onto the scene, but we don’t know if that’s what you actually want to be called. And do you want us to address you by your name or your call sign? Oh, and you don’t have to tell us your real name if you don’t want to. Most of us respect secret identities. Tony, or Iron Man, is probably already trying to learn everything from your name to your favorite food. He’s not very good with secrets.”

Jason’s brain came to an abrupt halt as Clint spoke, and a warm, almost fuzzy feeling filled the cold cavity of his chest. People were calling him by a new name, and he didn’t hate it. He also couldn’t even begin to voice how much he appreciated Clint’s consideration for him. A small smile slid onto his face as he signed, Red Wraith works for me. You can just call me Wraith for now.

Clint also smiled in response to Jason’s and said, “For now, you say? Does that mean if we earn your trust you’ll tell us?” Jason simply shrugged almost cheekily in return, and that made the Avenger burst out in delighted laughter. “I see how it is!”

The hero was going to continue, but Doctor Banner cut in, “I’m delighted that this conversation is going so well, but Wraith needs his rest, and I can tell he’s rapidly losing energy. How about we continue after you get some rest?”

Sighing, Clint reluctantly and dramatically agreed before wishing Jason a good rest, promising to return the moment he wakes up again. After the two Avengers left the room, Jason was surprised to find this was the most relaxed he felt in he doesn’t even know how long. Even though he doesn’t fully feel safe being injured and asleep with the Avengers, he’s far more comfortable with the idea than he expected. Any lingering reservations he had slipped away as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The moment Clint and Bruce left Wraith’s room and started down the hall, the doctor immediately instructed Jarvis to keep an eye on the kid and alert them when he woke up, if anything abnormal occurred, and if he tried to hurt himself again.

At the reminder of the incredibly traumatizing event that occurred prior to their pleasant conversation, Clint’s good mood noticeably sunk. “He really tried to…” he trailed off, and Bruce nodded solemnly.

“We’ll need to ensure someone is near the medical wing at all times in case he attempts to do it again. In the meantime, we need to discuss his blood test results. Tony will be incredibly excited by one aspect of it, but I’m concerned for Wraith’s health. Severely.”

Clint looked over at his friend, eyebrows knit together in concern. “That bad?”

Bruce sighed, “It very well could be. But I currently can’t confirm anything because while it seems adjacent to Gamma bioengineering, what’s in his blood acts entirely different.”

Freezing in his tracks, Clint fully turns toward Bruce and grabs the other man’s shoulders. Fear froze in his veins as he frantically asked, “Bruce, will Wraith be okay? Is it dangerous? Could it kill him?”

Calmly brushing Clint’s hands off, Bruce says reassuringly, “As of the moment, he’s fine. I don’t know what could happen in the future, but you know I’ll do everything I can to keep him safe. Let’s talk about it more once we get the others. Okay?”

Nodding reluctantly, Clint allowed Bruce to ferry him back down the hall and lead him to the living room. Bruce must have texted the others, because Steve and Tony filed into the room less than a minute later. Unfortunately, Nat was on a mission and Thor was still off-world, so they’d have to fill those two in whenever they got back on the grid. Once all four gentlemen were settled and looking at their resident doctor with various levels of concern, Bruce started.

“As we’ve previously discussed, Wraith has been through some severe trauma throughout the past couple years. His examination and x-rays showed indications of long-term torture and human experimentation. I thought that would be the extent of the abnormalities, but his blood tests came back and flagged two unknown substances in his bloodstream. I briefly touched on this with Clint and Tony, but Wraith started to wake up.”

Steve leaned forward thoughtfully and asked, “If you were discussing it with Tony, it must not be a drug I assume?”

Shaking his head, Bruce said, “No. They both seem to be some sort of foreign substance that has managed to bond with his DNA. Unknown substance one is a strange element that has only been encountered once before in human history-”

“You’re kidding me!” Tony exclaimed as he went from slouching to sitting ramrod straight in less than a second. At Bruce’s confirming nod, Tony practically beamed with excitement. “It’s the same substance that was found on Wraith’s gun? The same thing’s integrated into his cells?!”

“Yes, and as of the moment, I haven’t been able to tell if it’s a danger to him. However, like I mentioned before, there are signs that it’s not naturally occurring within his body.”

Turning even more serious, Steve says sharply, “So we can’t rule out it being the result of the experiments he underwent. He seems to specifically be targeting Hydra. Have we asked him if they’re the ones who forced him to undergo the experiments? Could they be the ones who introduced the substance?”

“The kid just barely woke up, and we were a bit preoccupied with keeping him alive rather than grilling him about Hydra,” Clint bit out bitterly as he let his head fall back against the armchair he was slumped in.

Steve’s head snapped toward Clint so quickly he was surprised the super soldier didn’t snap his neck, magic serum or not. “He almost died?! Is he okay?” Steve asked, fear painting his words.

Sighing dejectedly, Bruce rubbed his eyes, seemingly hesitant to break the news. As for Clint, he pondered his words for a moment before saying, “He was awake for all of a minute before he tried to tear his neck back open himself. I stopped him before he hurt himself too badly, but he fully intended to kill himself. After we talked for a while, he said he wouldn’t hurt himself again, but he’s blatantly suicidal. We can’t take his word for it. On the bright side, after I explained that we weren’t forking him over to Shield or locking him away, he calmed down and seemed to warm up to Bruce and me.”

“That’s a relief, but we’ll need to make sure someone’s nearby at all times,” Tony said thoughtfully.

Nodding in agreement, Bruce said, “That was one of the things we wanted to talk about. We can circle back to this, but I’d like to move onto the second mysterious substance I found. This one appears to have been present for years whereas the other one had to have been introduced or started developing no longer than six months ago. The strange thing is, it should be presenting some sort of side effects but is currently dormant. I believe this is due to his malnutrition, near-permanent injured state, and lack of sleep. But the longer he’s with us and heals, the more likely this substance will reactivate. So, we’ll need to look out for those side effects I mentioned. Once again, I don’t know if they’ll pose a danger to him or not, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

The other three men in the room nodded as Bruce spoke, mentally taking notes so they could ensure their young charge’s safety. Eventually Steve asked, “So with these likely foreign substances, is there a way for us to find out more until we can directly ask Wraith about them? What will we do if they start negatively impacting him?”

“Well,” Bruce started. “I will be making these my sole research project for the moment in hopes of fully understanding how they work and what effects they may have on Wraith. Tony, I was hoping you’d assist me, especially with unknown substance one. You should hopefully find that one somewhat entertaining so maybe we’ll be able to sort that one out quickly.”

Tony eagerly agreed, and they continued discussing their new ward. Clint asked, “Hey Bruce, were you able to determine his age and Tony, I know you’ve been snooping. Any idea where he came from?”

“I wasn’t able to determine an exact age, but he’s surely younger than twenty-one. If he somehow is drinking age, I’ll eat my doctorates.”

Sheepishly, Tony defended, “Okay, maybe I have, but how can you expect me to bring a stranger into my tower and not be curious? But to answer your question, no, I didn’t. Which means I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Looking a little queasy, Steve grimly said, “I know the age of enlistment is eighteen and that I didn’t enlist until I was nineteen, but he’s too young to be doing something like this. Especially on his own, without support, and without allowing himself the time to heal. He’s going to get himself killed, and we need to consider if he’s doing this because he wants to help or because he wants to die.”

The silence after the soldier’s words was tangible as his words sunk in, and frankly, Clint hated himself a little for hoping his friend was right. If Wraith was going out into the field because he had a death wish, he’d likely stop if they managed to improve his mentality. So even if Wraith never trusted the Avengers or accepted their help, he wouldn’t be putting himself in danger anymore. And when Clint looked around the room, he could tell the others were thinking something along the same lines.

Eventually, Clint broke the silence by saying, “I just want to be clear, I intend to keep Wraith here for as long as possible. He desperately needs help, and we’re the only ones who can keep him from both Hydra and Shield-”

Tony snorted, and at the three unimpressed stares, he quickly said, “Sorry! Bad time to laugh, but he managed to tick off both Hydra and Shield. It’s as impressive as it is ridiculous!”

“Anyway,” Clint continued after giving a pointed look at the older man. “We’re a team, and I know I need all of your permission and definitely your support in order to help him. From what I’ve heard, you all agree. However, I want to make sure we’re on the same page. It’s not going to be easy. He’s severely traumatized and likely won’t trust us for a long time, if ever. There’s probably an ocean of triggers we’re going to have to find through trial and error, and if he panics he could become violent. Since he’s highly trained and it’s a lot of work, I understand if it’ll be too much for you. If that’s the case, I’ll figure something else out for him. But no matter what, I’ll be helping him as much as I can.”

When Clint finished, he expected the room to once again lull into a contemplative and tense silence as the others considered the implications of letting Wraith stay with them. But instead, multiple voices overlapped in a cacophony of agreements and mildly offended remarks.

Surprisingly, they all readily agreed with him. They were all fully prepared for the responsibility of taking in a traumatized, maybe-teenaged vigilante and wanted to help. In fact, all of them were aghast that Clint thought they’d let him do this alone.

“What, do you think we’re heartless?!” Tony practically shouted as he glared at the archer.

Shrugging, Clint snarked, “Well, technically you are heartless, sooooo…”

“Hey!” Tony said, rising to his feet and towering over his still-seated friend. “Mechanical hearts are still hearts!”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Clint replied, “Whatever you say, Tin Man!”

As Tony grumbled and stomped back over to his seat and Steve and Bruce started discussing a schedule for people to at least linger near Wraith’s room, a warm, content feeling glowed in Clint’s chest. Honestly, he can’t believe he doubted these guys. At the end of the day, they’re his family and would support him to the end.

Chapter Text

Jason wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but he woke to a spear of panic gripping his heart. He never slept on his back, which meant he was either strapped to a table or in the coffin. It was only after his eyes flew open that he calmed down enough to realize where he was and notice that his body ached from lying in one position for too long. The next thing he notices and is shocked by is that he’s been left alone and unrestrained. But with a flash of irritation, fear, and disgust, he realizes it’s probably because they drugged him and didn’t anticipate him waking up so quickly.

Honestly, with the pit gone, he shouldn’t be awake so soon, but it could just be that his adult body is more resistant to drugs anyway. However, that doesn’t mean he’s letting them stick more in him. Now that he’s aware of the IV drip slowly pumping hell even knows what into his veins, his brain imagines that it’s depositing something toxic into his body. He can almost feel the burn of the drug flowing through his veins, and he makes quick work of removing the needle.

Once it’s out, he breathes out a sigh of relief before collapsing back onto the bed. Despite not knowing how long it’s been since he was brought here, he knows it’s been days. Which means he shouldn’t feel so exhausted. Or he wouldn’t if he still had the pit flowing alongside his blood. Guess it was just another thing he’s lost. At least with it gone, it’d be easier to tap out when the time came.

He still didn’t trust the Avengers. There was no guarantee a single thing they said was true, and more likely than not, they’d fit the pattern and act like the Bats.

But Clint cares, a little voice inside his mind whispers before Jason harshly shoves it away. He couldn’t trust him. It’d only hurt that much more when Clint inevitably tossed him aside or threw him in jail.

A raspy, aching sigh escaped him as he rolled onto his side and stared at the heartbeat monitor as a hand drifted up to his bandaged throat. As the green line steadily rose and fell, he couldn’t help the dark little wish that it'd stop moving. He was out of commission, useless, and in enemy(?) hands. If it stopped, if his heart stopped, he could be happy. Or at the very least, at peace.

That sounded nice.

He was startled out of his dark musings by the door sliding open and Clint strolling in casually. “Hey, Wraith!” he calls cheerfully as he collapses into a chair at his bedside. “How’re you feeling today?”

Signing exhaustedly with one hand while the other remains on his neck, he says I’m fine.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Clint said kindly before asking in a tone colored with worry, “Is there a reason you took the IV out?”

Glancing over at the abandoned drip, he signs, I don’t like drugs. As soon as the reason was out in the open, Jason froze. He just gave away a weakness while he was already completely incapacitated and in potentially enemy territory. Not only did it potentially put him in danger, but he was also admitting to a frankly absurd fear. He wasn’t a hero. Far from it. But real heroes would find him pathetic and laughable for it.

But instead of taking advantage of his admission or mocking him for it, Clint merely nodded in understanding and said, “I get that. I’m sorry for doing something that made you uncomfortable. We were hoping to keep any nightmares away. Do you mind if I call Dr. Banner in to put a new IV in? Without any drugs? You’re still severely dehydrated and malnourished.”

Jason blinked for a minute in surprise before scrunching his face in displeasure. While they said they wouldn’t put any drugs in it, there was no way for him to ensure the Avenger kept his word. Not to mention that he was perfectly fine! Even before they got their hands on him, he wasn’t dehydrated or malnourished. Sure, he got woozy and winded on patrol every now and then, but just because he prioritized the mission over his caloric intake didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of himself!

But even as he thought that, his mind drifted off to cold nights and long days struggling to scrape by before settling on one particular memory. A frigid night where he’d been wandering Crime Alley in hopes of finding something. Anything. There’d been an ice storm, and because of it all the nearby shops he could reach had closed down, tires were frozen and buried, and no one was leaving their homes. As a result, he hadn’t been able to steal anything and had been starving for over a week now. He was so exhausted and dizzy that he wanted to lie down in the snow and simply drift away.

Maybe it’d stop hurting if he finally gave in. He’d been struggling so hard for so long, but was it even worth it?

That’s when he spotted it: the Batmobile. Adrenaline spiked through him when he realized that the bolts weren’t frozen to the tires and Batman wasn’t around. If he could boost ‘em, he’d be set for the rest of winter! He might even get enough to rent a crappy hotel room for the next ice storm that was supposed to hit next week. He could stop feeling like he was milliseconds away from collapsing into the snow and dying.

While Jason was good at this, the starvation had severely slowed him down from his usual pace. In fact, just taking one tire off threatened to sap all his energy. And if that happened, he’d probably die on the concrete before Batman returned. So, he paced himself despite his mind screaming for him to hurry.

He had been so, so close to getting the fourth tire off when a massive presence appeared behind him. All thoughts of saving his energy flew out the window as he put everything he had behind his swing and bolted. He’d heard of what Batman does to criminals. He’d always known that death was waiting just around the corner for him, but he’d been hoping for a peaceful one. Batman didn’t do peaceful. Whispers of a dungeon where he tortured thieves to death had circled the Alley for as long as Jason could remember, and he was tired of hurting.

That’s where his memory becomes hazy and morphs into something new. Something sinister. Suddenly, he was hanging in Batman’s bruising grip from his neck, his ratty, falling-apart shoes nowhere near touching the ground. Numbness started to settle over him as he was slowly strangled to death in the Knight’s grip.

A steady, cold voice growls, “Something as vile as you can’t be allowed in my city.”

Before Jason can even fully comprehend the words with his sluggish, oxygen-deprived brain, a sharp, agonizing pain ignites across his throat. Hot blood, the only warmth he’s felt in days, gushes across Jason’s torso as he gasps and writhes in Batman’s unforgiving fist.

Strangulation and bleeding out at the same time is torture. Everyone always talks about how quickly someone can die from one or the other, but Jason now knows that the person dying feels every excruciating second. Time seems to slow down so you can suffer even more, and the previous numbness that’d overtaken him fled, refusing to dull the agony for even a moment.

“Wraith, I need you to breathe,” a gentle voice called over the ringing in his ears, and for some reason, he listened to it. Miraculously, he was able to suck in a breath even as Batman continued to try and kill him. As he breathed, his surroundings slowly shifted from a dark, dirty alley to a blindingly white hospital room. The pain ebbed away, and Batman’s grim face morphed into a concerned blonde’s. Hawkeye. Clint, his mind supplied.

Firm hands held his shaking, spasming wrists in place, but it didn’t fill him with fear like the Bat’s did. Rather than cold and unforgiving, Clint’s were warm and gentle. He probably tried to rip his own throat out again, if he had to guess. Hopefully, they’d realize it was unintentional and not insist on chaining him down.

He tried to pull his hands out of Clint’s grip to tell him as much, but Clint held onto them and ran a thumb over the back of his hand. “Just take a minute to calm down. You had a pretty nasty attack. Take your time, okay?” Jason could only nod as he fought back the tears. Was Clint…comforting him? Why would he do such a thing? He might feel some responsibility toward the critically injured idiot in his home, but that didn’t mean he needed to go out of his way to do something that wasn’t directly related to Jason’s health. Why would he care? Why would anyone care?

Small, gasping sobs escape him despite his best efforts, and Clint’s expression breaks from its small, encouraging smile to one of heartache. “May I hug you?”

Before Jason can even think about it, he nods, and is promptly gathered up into a strong embrace. Instead of feeling trapped like he might have thought, he felt safe. He was so messed up. He barely knew this guy, but he felt safe falling apart in his arms. But he couldn’t even bring himself to care right now because this was the first hug he’s gotten in the three years since he’s come back to life. Since before he died. Even before the case that led him to Ethiopia.

Jason stayed curled into Clint’s chest for what felt like ages before the tears finally stopped. Once Clint was sure the kid was alright, he pulled back and asked, “Is there anything that would make you feel better? I could swing by your base and pick some things up for you?”

And that’s when Jason realized that Verdana had been all alone for days. Sure, she had an automated food and water bowl, but she’d been waiting for him this whole time! Secrecy be damned, he needed his cat safe!

Frantically lifting his hands, he asked Will you get my cat? I don’t need anything else, just her.

Something like glee slipped onto Clint’s face. “Let me make sure it’s okay with Tony. If he isn’t, I’ll make him! What’s her name?”

Verdana

“That’s beautiful; I can’t wait to meet her!”

Clint’s beaming smile was infectious, and Jason couldn’t help the small one that slipped onto his own face. Maybe, just maybe, he could trust Clint.

Chapter Text

Of all things, the Red Wraith has a cat. A cat! Not only are emotional support animals amazing for someone like Wraith, but Clint was wanting a pet anyway! Even if it wasn’t his, just having an animal in the tower would be awesome. Now he just had to get Tony on board. And by on board, he means get the man’s permission without him knowing what he’s allowing. Once Verdana was in the tower, it’d be too late! AAAHHHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!

“Clint,” a chastising voice comes from behind him. “What are you thinking?” Turning around, Clint comes face to face with none other than Steve Rogers, one of the most serious people on the planet. Next to Bruce. They’re both pretty serious, but it’s so much fun when you can get one of them to go along with a scheme. And Clint just so happened to know one of Steve’s weaknesses.

“Heeeeey Steve! Wanna sneak a kitten into the tower?” he asked oh so innocently.

The man in question simply raised his eyebrow before saying, “You know Tony doesn’t want any pets in here. He’s already told you no.”

Smiling like the little devil he is, Clint replies, “Oh, it’s not for me. It’s Wraith’s!”

“You’re lying,” Steve said while squinting at his friend suspiciously.

Lifting his hand in a salute, he said, “Scout’s honor, boy scout! He had an attack of some sort, and I asked him if I could get him anything. And he said his cat! Literally her and nothing else. Once it’s here, no one will be able to say anything! And come on, I know you love cats. You’ve wanted a pet in the tower just as badly as I have!”

“I don’t know,” Steve said worriedly, but Clint knew just what to do.

Giving the super soldier a sad, hopeful look, he says, “Her name’s Verdana, and she’s been all alone for days. You wouldn’t keep a poor little kitten and her suffering owner apart would you?”

Steve seemed to internally fight with himself before sighing and saying, “Fine, fine, but you should at least check with Tony first. Preferably without that maniacal grin on your face.”

Making absolutely no effort to remove his probably insane-looking smile, Clint simply continues through the tower until he reaches Tony’s lab. Opening the door, he shouts in, “Tony! Can I grab some stuff for Wraith from his place? He just had a panic attack or something and I think it would help.”

Tony, who was in the middle of blowtorching some gadget or gizmo, didn’t even look up from his work as he called over his shoulder, “Sure, is he okay!”

“Yeah, he’s sleeping right now. I’m going to hurry and grab his stuff before he wakes up.” Clint said, trying to hold back his triumphant cackles.

Still fiddling with his toys, Tony said, “K, sounds good. Let me know if you need help.”

“Will do!” Clint said excitedly before closing the door and giving Steve his biggest, smuggest, told-you-so face.

Shrugging in defeat, Steve said brightly, “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that to work!”

“He’s distracted, I’m his best friend (who can’t science), and he’s genuinely concerned about Wraith despite not showing it a lot. You should’ve had more faith in me!”

With that, the ecstatic and the cautiously optimistic man left the tower and drove to the address Wraith provided. The building was rather rundown, but for Mott Haven it seemed like it was a pretty decent place to live. However, as soon as they arrived, Clint realized that he didn’t have the key.

“We could pick the lock?” he mused to himself as he walked toward the building, but Steve grabbed his shoulder and said:

“We aren’t breaking into his front door!” After hesitating for a minute, he says tentatively, “What about the balcony?”

Clint’s face lights up and he readily agrees. Who knew the boy scout could be so adventurous? Pulling his emergency bow out, he grapples the two of them up to the fifth floor balcony. While Steve stood back and watched, Clint got to work on opening the door. It was going well until an electric current zapped him almost unconscious.

“I think Wraith forgot to mention a few things,” Clint said thickly around his swollen-feeling tongue. Steve waited until after he had checked to make sure Clint was okay to laugh in his face. He appreciated it since Tony would laugh first and check later.

Muttering grouchily to himself, he reminds himself that this is for Wraith (and to get a kitty). Eventually, he figured out how to shut off the traps. And wouldn’t you know it, there were more than just the zapper! The bright side was that he only got shocked and not shot, which seemed to be one of the apartment’s defenses. At long last, Clint was able to open the door without harming himself. Excitedly, he walked through the door.

…And immediately received a face full of hissing kitten.

Clint screamed in terror as he tried to pry the scratching cat off of him, but the hellion simply crawled somewhere else on him and continued hissing, biting, and doing everything in its power to absolutely destroy him.

“Steve! Help!” Clint yelps as tiny teeth sink into his shoulder and skitter away before he could grab the little monster.

Moving slowly and speaking in a gentle tone, Steve says soothingly, “Hey, Verdana, it’s okay. You’re safe. We’re here to bring you to Wraith. Would you like to see him again?”

At his words, Verdana paused and sniffed at Clint for a minute. She must have smelled her owner on him because she suddenly started whining and launched herself at Steve. The younger man easily caught the cat and began petting her while he crooned comforting words. Clint’s the one who hugged Wraith! Why wasn’t Verdana letting him hold her?!

Thoroughly disappointed, Clint called, “I’m going to gather up some clothes and things for Wraith before we go.” Steve merely nodded in understanding as he continued doting on the bite-sized kitten.

Wandering into the apartment and actually looking around, Clint realized that the only actual personal touches in the whole place were things meant for Verdana. There wasn’t a single thing for Wraith that wasn’t strictly utilitarian. It was unnerving and almost made it seem like Wraith truly was a specter. It didn’t say good things about the kid’s mental health.

Putting the all-black clothes and some toiletries into a duffle bag he found in the closet, he searched around a bit more to see if he couldn’t find any personal items that would bring the kid some comfort because there had to be something, right? But after a thorough search, he found nothing but an incredibly stocked gunlocker. There wasn’t a single book, graphic tee, mug, or even a watch.

Despite how worrying Clint found it, he momentarily put it aside. Wraith either had another location where he kept those things (which was unlikely) or this was an indication that the kid hated himself or didn’t think he deserved nice things (which was highly likely). Whatever the reason, Clint was going to fix it. He was going to spoil the little guy and you can bet he was going to use Tony’s money to do it!

When he walked into the living room, Steve asked, “Find everything?”

“Nothing but necessities, but we can fix that later.” From that sentence alone, Steve’s face darkened as he nodded in solemn understanding and agreement. Glad someone was on board with his plan!

With that, Steve and Clint left the apartment with the now purring kitten and booked it back to the tower. Even though they hadn’t been gone long, Clint didn’t want Wraith to wake up again without him nearby. Ever since he saved Wraith, he’s been in ‘borderline perpetual worried parent mode’ as Nat called it. But could you blame him when a teenager nearly bleeds out in your lap while you’re helpless to stop it?

When they arrived at the tower, Clint was internally complimenting himself for the plan working perfectly. Wraith got his pet back and Clint got an animal into the tower (albeit a demonic one that adored Cap and NOT HIM). However, the moment he stepped off the elevator, the sound of shattering glass echoed throughout the living room.

“What the hell is that?!” Tony borderline screamed.

“A duffel bag,” he replies innocently, to which Tony gives him an unimpressed look. “A duffel bag of heads?”

Huffing agitatedly, Tony says, “Yeah right! I’m talking about the furball in Steve’s hand. What did I tell you?!”

“To grab Wraith’s stuff…”

Tony stared at Clint briefly while Steve absentmindedly continued to scratch the purring kitten. Finally, Tony grits, “I didn’t realize you were talking about a fuzzy rat.”

Steve gasped, absolutely mortified by Tony, and Clint merely shrugged. “It’s the only thing Wraith asked for.”

“But it’s a cat! I don’t want some critter making my tower a hairy mess!” he exclaims exasperatedly. While Tony was ranting, Verdana had hopped out of Steve’s arms (breaking the poor guy’s heart, from the looks of it) and wandered over to Tony’s feet.

Sitting right next to his leg, she looks up at the inventor with wide, adorable green eyes. It was melting Clint’s heart, and he wasn’t even in the line of fire. Tony stared down at the baby who kept eye contact for a bit longer before rubbing her head against his leg and purring loudly.

Tony watched her in disbelief before looking up at Clint and saying defeatedly, “Fine, fine! You can keep her. But no other critters!”

Clint fist pumped and Steve beamed as bright as the sun as Tony simply sighed before crouching down and tentatively rubbing Verdana’s tiny head. The poor guy didn’t look like he knew what he was doing, and it wasn’t long before the kitten returned to a joyful Steve’s arms.

Now it was Clint’s turn to sigh. This was his plan, why couldn’t the cat love him a fraction as much as she seemed to adore Steve? Shrugging it off, he gestured for Steve to follow him as he set off for Wraith’s room. Once the guy was feeling a little better, he couldn’t wait to move him into a real bedroom and not a medical area. It didn’t help with the depersonalization thing Wraith seemed to struggle with.

When they were just down the hall from Wraith’s room, Jarvis let them know in a prim voice that the man was waking up, and Clint’s excitement skyrocketed. After knocking gently, he walks in and says with a bright smile, “Hey kid! This guy’s Captain America, but you can call him Steve. Your cat’s kinda glued herself to him.”

At the mention of Verdana, he visibly perks up but still manages to politely wave at the hero. In Steve’s arms, the cat must sense her owner because one moment she’s happily curled in Steve’s hands and the next she’s flying across the room and clambering all over Wraith, meowing loudly the whole time.

Silent laughs shake Wraith’s chest as Verdana eventually calms down and perches on his shoulder, sniffing suspiciously at the bandage around his throat. She seems incredibly displeased by it, but a gentle pet from the kid settles her down.

Clint had never seen these expressions on Wraith’s face, and it made his heart twist. The expression was tentative as if he wasn’t used to expressing happiness. But that’s okay, because Clint would fix it. Wraith deserved to be happy. That was one thing he was sure about.

Chapter Text

Soon after Jason’s itty bitty kitty was returned to him, Doctor Banner breezed into the room to check up on his condition. He barely even blinked at the furry new addition and simply muttered, “Why am I not surprised.” A comment that had Clint snickering and smiling smugly to himself.

As the doctor unwrapped and inspected his neck, Steve asked, “How’s he healing, Bruce?” At the sound of Bruce’s name, Jason whipped his head to face the soldier so fast he popped a few stitches and made Banner cry out in surprise.

Bruce was here? How?! No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening! He knows. He has to! And if he knows, Jason will be punished mercilessly for his actions.

His hands began to shake as his mind ran a million miles a second. Thoughts of tearing the rest of the stitches rose to the surface, but before he could take drastic action, gentle hands grabbed his shaking ones and firmly held them in place. The sudden touch startled him and brought him back to the present. Now that he wasn’t drowning in his thoughts, he could feel his throat aching, his breathing coming in panicked gasps, and his body vibrating with fear and adrenaline. Not only that, but all three Avengers in the room looked nearly as panicked as Jason felt right now as they hovered around the room.

Clint was giving him a worried look and asked, “Back with me?” Jason could only nod mutely as he frantically searched his surroundings for the man he feared far more than he had ever loved. “Wraith,” Clint said softly to regain his attention. ”Are you okay? What happened?”

Fear clogged Jason’s throat to the point that he wouldn’t be able to speak even if his throat wasn’t slit. Lifting his shaking hands, it took an incredible amount of effort for him to ask, Is Bruce here? How did he find me?

Confusion marred Clint’s expression as he took in Jason’s pale and trembling form before he seemed to realize what was going on. Carefully, the archer says, “Doctor Banner’s name is Br- that. Did someone with that name hurt you?”

Jason froze at the question but eventually nodded stiffly. Clint said in a voice full of determination, “He’ll never be able to hurt you again. We won’t let him.” Behind him, Steve and Br- Banner nodded in solemn agreement. From his perch on the bed, Clint pulled Jason into a hug slowly enough that if he wanted to he could pull away, but instead of doing so, Jason practically collapsed into the hero’s arms as he sobbed. As Clint’s arms wrapped around him, the tension melted out of him.

It was warm and safe. Jason could almost believe the archer was telling the truth like this. But no one could save him from Batman. If the Dark Knight ever found his way here, Jason’s fate was sealed. But that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate Clint’s support. It was nice to have someone on his side for once. He just hoped he didn’t screw it up like he always does.

Safely tucked in Clint’s arms with Verdana curled in his lap, Doctor Banner carefully replaced the stitches in his neck. When that was done, the Gamma-enhanced scientist said, “You’ll need to be careful with your stitches, but besides that, I think you’re ready to be moved to a real room.”

Looking up at the Avengers in confusion, Jason asked What do you mean?

Steve piped up from the corner, apparently having gotten over his guilt of sending Jason into a panic attack, “You can’t just stay in a medical suite! I mean, unless you want to, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t want somewhere more comfortable?”

That’s okay? Jason asks dumbfounded, and Clint merely gives him a sad smile before saying, “Of course! You’re our guest, and you deserve to stay somewhere nice.”

Those few words rocked Jason’s existence. He’d been operating under the labels of ‘worthless’ and ‘undeserving’ for so long that it was groundbreaking for someone to see him as anything but a Crime Alley mutt or a murderous psychopath.

After that earth-shattering revelation, Clint and Banner helped him get to his feet and unsteadily walk down the sprawling halls of the tower. Eventually, Clint threw open a door with a flourish to a red, white, and black-themed suite. “Tada!” the archer said proudly. “I picked everything out myself! *cough* with Steve’s help. *cough* If there’s anything you need, just sign at one of Jarvis’ cameras and he’ll order it.”

Jarvis? he asked, and he jumped a little when a friendly, British voice echoed throughout the room, “Hello, Wraith, I’m Jarvis.” Half-heartedly, Jason signed hello while trying to push away thoughts of a warm, British-accented voice instructing him on how to make apple dumplings after a rough day at school.

Clutching Verdana to his chest, he wonders if he’ll ever get over the Bats. Instantly, a dark part of him hisses no, he never will. No matter how much distance he puts between them, he’ll always suffer in one way or another. It’s okay, he’s fine with that. He deserves it.

_______

Clint and Steve exchange a look as they notice Wraith’s mood shift when Jarvis announces himself. Wanting to distract the kid from whatever dark thoughts he was having, he said in a bright tone, “Now that you’ve got your own room, why don’t we break it in? We can have a movie night!”

The kid tentatively agreed, and Bruce excused himself to no doubt continue looking into Wraith’s strange bloodwork. They’d agreed to hold off on asking him until he seemed a bit more stable, but that didn’t mean the Science Bros couldn’t try to crack the mystery themselves.

After weaseling the kid’s favorite pizza topping out, they settled down to watch Star Wars Episode II. Sure, it was a bit cringy, but who didn’t love a colosseum brawl?

When the pizza arrived, the three dug into their respective pies. Canadian and bacon for Clint, margherita for Steve, and good ol’ bacon for Wraith. They’d only been eating for a few minutes when Wraith suddenly hurtled off the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. Clint and Steve made to follow him, but the kid locked the door behind him. From beyond the door, they could hear Wraith retching and groaning miserably.

“Shoot,” Clint said as he realized he’d just given greasy pizza to a malnourished kid. Sure, vitamins and liquids had been administered intravenously, but that didn’t mean his stomach could handle it.

Steve seemed to realize it at the same time because he said, “We messed up.”

“Yup…Jarvis, order some broth or something for Wraith, please?” A few seconds later, the AI informed him that soup would be on its way, and Clint took a deep breath before knocking on the door. “You okay, kid? Can we come in?”

There was a flushing sound and the sink ran before the door hesitantly opened, revealing a nervous-looking vigilante. He was trying to hide it, but Clint knew that his throat had to be killing him.

“Come on,” he says gently as he ushers the kid back to his spot on the bed. “Soup’ll be here for you in a bit. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about how you’d respond to something so greasy. If you need, we’ll call up Banner and he’ll check you over. But if you’re feeling fine, let’s keep this a secret, yeah? He’d kill us for being so thoughtless with his patient!”

Clint said the last part conspiratorially, and Steve nodded in emphatic agreement. He took it as a win when a small smile graced Wraith’s weary face. Not long later, the kid’s broth showed up, and thankfully, he seemed to really enjoy it. Near the end of the movie, Wraith fell asleep with Verdana perched on his lap, cautiously eyeing the two Avengers in case they tried to hurt her human.

After a particularly long glare from the softball-sized cat, he whispered to Steve, “I think she’s just a tad bit protective.”

Glancing toward Verdana, Steve agrees. “I think you might be right. I thought she loved me, but she’s glaring at me just as much as you!”

“That makes me feel better!” Clint chuckled merrily only to cut off into a quiet groan as Steve elbowed him in the side. “Jerk!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said as he waved Clint off and gathered up the discarded remains of their dinner. “We should clear out before she decides we’re a threat and claws your face off again.”

“Why does it have to be my face? Why can’t it be yours this time?” Clint mutters as he trails after Steve and quietly shuts the door behind him. Despite their thoughtless mistake, the night was an overall success. Wraith seemed to relax a bit around them and seemed to be adequately distracted by the movie. He’ll have to make sure they do this again!

Chapter Text

Things were going great until they weren’t. Clint had told Jarvis to immediately alert him if Wraith needed help or seemed to be having a hard time. The first time Jarvis alerted him was two hours after their movie night had ended, and it was because the kid was both having a hard time and in need of help.

As Clint approached Wraith’s room, the hallway seemed eerily quiet even though, without his hearing aids, he lived in a world of silence and muffled sounds. But the moment he opened Wraith’s door, the atmosphere instantly changed.

He could faintly hear hoarse and painful-sounding screams of terror echoing off the walls even without his hearing aids in. At first, Clint feared that an enemy was attacking the already injured kid and that he was further aggravating his stitches.

The moment he stepped foot in the room — fully intending to rip apart whoever dared attack his kid — he had to drop to the floor and roll to the side in order to avoid the knife that was aimed at his heart. Popping back up, ready to retaliate, he froze when he was met with only one set of terrified eyes.

Swearing under his breath, he put his hands up and kept his distance to try and show that he wasn’t a threat. “Wraith, it’s me, Clint. I heard you screaming. Are you okay?”

Wraith was sitting ramrod straight in his bed, completely oblivious to Verdana clinging to the front of his nightshirt and probably meowing loudly. He slowly untensed as he realized he was safe (and also hadn’t impaled Clint). But instead of the relief that Clint expected, fear and guilt appeared on his face. He wrapped his arms around himself, unknowingly trapping Verdana to his chest, and seemed to visibly try to keep himself from trembling. However, his attempts were futile as the older man could clearly see the boy shaking.

Tentatively taking a step forward, Clint asked, “Hey, what’s wrong? You’re safe here, and I’ll do everything I can to help.”

I attacked you… And you saw me, he signed defeatedly after a minute of hesitation.

Clint could understand how someone so traumatized would fear being thrown out after unintentionally hurling a knife at one of his benefactors, and he could understand how said traumatized kid would have intense night terrors. What he didn’t understand was the last thing Wraith said.

“It’s okay; I’m not hurt and it wasn’t intentional. But what do you mean I saw you? Do you mean I saw you having a nightmare?”

Hesitantly, Wraith nods, and Clint’s stomach plummets. What kind of life did this kid live that having a nightmare would get you in trouble? “Wraith,” he says carefully. “There’s nothing wrong with having a nightmare beyond the fact that it interrupts your sleep, and you need all of the shut-eye you can get while you recover. Everyone has them once in a while.”

The kid seemed skeptical about Clint’s words as he gently pried Verdana off his chest and set her in his lap. Sighing, Clint slowly moved forward and plopped himself down on the far side of the bed before he continued speaking.

“I’m serious, you’re allowed to have nightmares. It’s not like you can control them anyway, so it’d be cruel to even try and punish you for it. Take the Avengers, for example. We’re called heroes and are regarded as some of the strongest individuals in the world, but every single person in this tower has a nightmare at least once a month. And that’s a really, really good month if that’s the only one they get. More often than not, it’s a weekly occurrence for most.”

Wraith looked bewildered at his answer, forcing a small chuckle out of him. “I tend to get them about once every two weeks, but after really bad missions, it seems like they visit me every night. If you’re ever having a bad night, you’re more than welcome to come out to the common room. Sometimes, there might already be someone out there, and company can be really nice after a bad trip. Or, you can always ask Jarvis to grab me. I’m here for you.”

For most of Clint’s spiel, he’d been looking at Wraith to gauge his reaction. But toward the end, his gaze had drifted to the furry lump in his young friend’s lap. When he finished, he looked back up and was shocked to see tears slipping down Wraith’s cheeks. “Are you okay?” he asked urgently, fearing the worst. When Wraith nodded and waved him off, Clint then asked, “Can I hug you?”

He was honestly expecting to be brushed off since Wraith only accepted his hugs under extreme emotional duress and otherwise shied away from touch, but this time the kid all but threw himself into Clint’s arms. Which is kind of funny cause Wraith was several inches taller and broader than him.

Actually, it wasn’t funny at all. Wraith was shaking, sobbing, and curling up as tightly as he possibly could, making himself far smaller than the confident bulk he had while patrolling. Clint swore he would find whoever thought it would be amusing to torture and absolutely destroy Wraith’s self-worth and put an arrow through their heart.

Ever so gently, he rubs soothing circles into Wraith’s back until he’s finally calmed down enough to start drifting back to sleep. After Wraith kicked him out, Clint wandered back to his room and mulled over all of the behaviors the kid had exhibited so far. None of them indicated anything good, but it would be alright. He’d already decided to help him recover, and it was important to have as much information as possible to do that.

He just wished each new thing he learned didn’t put another crack in his soul.

Except a critical new piece of information came to light the very next morning that made things a tad bit more difficult. Wraith shuffled into the living room — looking both tired and hesitant — with Verdana trailing at his heels. Clint opened his mouth to call a good morning (and hopefully make him less nervous about being caught having a nightmare last night) to him when Tony barrels out of the elevator with an almost crazy look in his eyes. As he crosses the living room, he yells, “Are you from another dimension?!”

Wraith’s eyes blow wide, and he looks around the room, his body language screaming panic. Before Clint can intervene, Wraith bolts for the balcony and jumps.

Chapter Text

It was starting to dawn on Jason that he may have made a mistake. A very, very big mistake that could end with him dead. Again. The moment he’d vaulted off the balcony, he’d reached for his waist, intending to grab his grapple gun and escape the mad scientist. This dimension didn’t have any proof of alternate ones, and Jason had been vivisected enough for both of his lifetimes. However, he may or may not have forgotten that he wasn’t wearing his suit and, therefore, didn’t have his grapple gun.

So here he was plummeting to his death and wondering if this is what he really wanted. He’d toyed with thoughts of death almost daily, but now that it was rushing up at him, he was rethinking certain things. For one, he wished he made Clint promise to keep an eye on Verdana. Also, he kind of wanted to see if Clint and the other Avengers were serious about helping him and not shoving him in this dimension’s equivalent of Arkham.

Guess it was too late for that. Even if he hadn’t thrown himself off the tower, there’s no saying whether or not they’d keep him alive instead of dissecting him.

Grimly, Jason couldn’t help but be a little bit grateful. Falling a hundred-plus stories frankly wasn’t the worst way to go. Death would be instant rather than agonizingly drawn out like last time. And the impact would mess his body up so badly he wouldn’t have to worry about waking up six feet under.

Accepting the inevitable, (because even though he can hear Stark’s repulsors firing up behind him, the man won’t reach him in time), Jason closes his eyes and waits for the pain. Or the nothingness. Death might come too quickly for his pain receptors to react.

He must have started dissociating at some point between accepting his fate and waiting to be turned into road confetti because eventually Jason realizes he’s not falling anymore. He’s flying. Opening his eyes, he sees that he’s being lifted back to the balcony.

Looking up in dazed confusion, he’s met with the sight of the last Avenger he has yet to meet: Thor. His stupid golden hair flows in the wind as he gives Jason such a big, beaming smile it makes his stomach turn in knots. No one’s looked at him like that since Ra’s gave his head scientist permission to cut him open. Although Thor’s smile looks a bit different, Jason can’t put his finger on what the difference is because he’s too busy trying to shove the nausea down from that pleasant little reminder to his time in the League. He’d tried really, really hard to avoid those memories like the plague.

Besides, he had more important things to focus on right now. For example, the fact that Stark knows and he just threw himself off a skyscraper in front of the people who are seemingly attempting to keep him alive. For now. Cause of the whole dimensional traveler thing.

So, he realistically had three options. Wrestle himself out of Thor’s grip and kiss the ground now, wait until they drop him off on the balcony again and then hurl himself over the edge, or grab Verdana and escape. The problem is that none of those are looking very likely at the moment.

By the time Thor landed on the balcony, Jason was on the edge of a panic attack. He was pale, shaking, breathing heavily, and having difficulty even standing. Clint was instantly by his side and reaching out to him. Jason flinched harshly, which made the older man slow down in his movements but didn’t stop him from gently guiding him into the living room and onto the couch. Somewhere behind him, he can hear everyone shuffling back inside and the balcony doors locking.

Suddenly, Jason felt trapped, claustrophobia setting in instantly. Which was ridiculous, this living room was bigger than Bat- nope not thinking about him. It will make things worse.

Scratch that, it did make it worse.

He couldn’t breathe, the walls were closing in on him, and Clint’s hand rubbing comforting circles on his back felt like it had migrated to wrap around his throat. Jason’s own hands flew up to his throat as he tried to suck a single breath in, but his lungs refused to cooperate. His vision was getting fuzzy and dark around the edges when someone moved in front of him and forced him to look at them.

Clint placed one of Jason’s hands against his own chest and patiently instructed Jason to breathe along with him. After what felt like hours, he could finally breathe again and was far more calm than before. However, that didn’t mean he was actually relaxed. If he was worried about Clint witnessing his nightmare last night, this was far worse.

Feeling numb and almost like he was waiting for the executioner’s ax to fall, he stays seated and waits for the Avengers to decide what to do with him. Taking in a dying vigilante was one thing. Discovering a being that frankly shouldn’t exist according to their world’s science was something completely different. What if they thought he was a scout for an invasion? Or something less than human that needed to be studied? Or that he was an evil monster that was cast out from his original dimension? Which technically wasn’t all that far off, Jason thought with a sinking feeling.

However, when Banner opened his mouth to say something, Stark cut him off in a freaked-out tone, “Are you insane? Who throws themselves off a building when asked a question?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

No, Jason signed nervously. I thought I had my grapple on me. He keeps his gaze on the floor because he doesn’t want to see the disgust on the Avengers’ faces when they realize he made such a rookie mistake.

Instead, Steve put a warm hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m glad it wasn’t something else.”

Jason could only nod and wait anxiously as someone finally brought up the question on everyone’s mind. Jason defenestrating himself practically confirmed that he was indeed from another dimension, and this wasn’t something they could just let go.

“Are you really from another dimension?” Banner asked cautiously. At Jason’s jolty nod, he continued, saying, “Did you come here on purpose?”

With tears pricking his eyes, Jason shook his head, refusing to remove his gaze from the floor. He was terrified. At this exact moment, there’s absolutely nothing he can do if they want to hurt him. He’s still severely injured and completely defenseless. He was a fool for even thinking he could slip away.

Just as the trembling started back up, Verdana leapt onto his lap and started hissing at anyone who was within ten feet of Jason. Stark stumbled backward, Steve slowly backed away, and Clint reluctantly left Jason’s side. When Verdana deemed everyone far enough away, she clambered up Jason’s shirt and plopped down on his shoulders, glaring menacingly at anyone who looked like they might try to approach them.

Banner couldn’t help but chuckle at the spectacle before becoming serious again and saying, “Wraith, you’re still welcome here, and we won’t do anything you don’t like. The only thing this changes is that we’ll start looking for a way to get you home.”

Jason couldn’t help but stare at Banner as he processed his words. They- they weren’t going to hurt him? Not only that, they’d keep helping him and more?

Clint slowly approached Jason, with Verdana hissing at him the entire time, and carefully helped him to his feet. “I think Wraith needs some time to process everything,” he says while giving Stark a sharp look before leading him back to the room he’s staying in.

After telling him to have Jarvis get him if he needs anything (and confirming that Jarvis will get him even if Wraith doesn’t ask), Clint retreats out of the room and leaves Jason to his thoughts. But Jason didn’t want to think. It was all too overwhelming. So instead, he huddled under the covers with his kitten and drifted back to sleep. He’d process everything later when he didn’t feel shell-shocked anymore.

Chapter Text

It was well past noon when Jason drifted back into consciousness, still huddled beneath his comforter with Verdana purring contently against the back of his neck. For a while, he just lay there mulling over the morning’s events.

They knew. Everyone knew. He also almost died, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, so he kind of just brushed past that.

Even after learning that he’d been hiding something so critical from them, they trusted him when he said he wasn’t here by choice. They didn’t even push. Instead, they let him hide away in the room they lent him despite the fact that they must be bursting with questions. And while Jason was incredibly grateful for their kindness and patience, he couldn’t help but be wary.

What if it was a trap? What if they wanted something from him? What if they were going to experiment on him?

Memories of cold tables and excruciating pain surfaced momentarily before Jason desperately shoved them down. No, he should give them the benefit of the doubt. They hadn’t done a single thing that would make him uncomfortable intentionally, and Clint especially deserved his trust after everything.

Besides, Banner had even promised to look for a way to send him home. Back to Gotham. Back to the Bats.

Jason didn’t know how he felt about that. On one hand, he missed his home. The near constant rain, the minimal sunlight, the architecture, and the streets that held a lifetime of memories. On the other hand, it’s home to Batman and his birds. The people that left him to die again. The heroes that refused to give him another chance. The family that didn’t want him.

Maybe this was a sign? He could go home and finally repair things with them. He’s been gone for over six months if time flowed similarly between the two dimensions. Would that have been enough time for everything to calm down? Long enough for them to accept him back?

Sickening hope twisted in Jason’s gut at the thought. What if he went home and they hated him all the same? It very well might kill him. But the chance to have a family again clung to him like a parasite.

He shouldn’t think about this right now, he decided as he rolled out of bed, leaving a grumbling Verdana to slink beneath the covers for warmth. Taking a deep breath, Jason padded out of his room and down the hall. Might as well bite the bullet to distract himself from other things.

When he wandered into the living room, the floor was seemingly empty except for Clint, who was lounging at the bar nibbling on a cherry turnover. After a moment, Clint turned toward Jason and happily beckoned him over.

“Wraith!” he said cheerfully. “Glad you’re up! Are you hungry? Steve and I made some soup for you earlier, but I could mix up a smoothie if you’d rather have that.”

The friendly demeanor lifted Jason’s spirits a bit, a small smile gracing his face. Soup would be great, thanks, he signed. Clint gestured to the chair next to him as he hopped off his own and quickly put together a bowl for him.

When the bowl was set before him, Jason couldn’t help the way his mouth watered at the heavenly smell. The rich, brown soup was primarily broth, but had thoroughly cooked (borderline mushy) vegetables and noodles that would be easy for him to swallow. He could tell how much care went into this, and it made warmth bloom in his chest that had nothing to do with the soup.

While Jason slowly ate his lunch, Clint kept up a meaningless stream of chatter to comfortably fill the silence and spoke in a way that Jason didn’t have to bother answering if he didn’t want to. The archer complained about Nat stealing his favorite dagger and Thor ‘accidentally’ destroying his door….again. Clint swore that the Norseman was far less clumsy than he let on but found it entertaining to keep up the facade. Jason actually found himself quietly chuckling at the little rant Clint went on.

After finishing the bowl, he realized just how hungry he was and asked if he could have more. Clint studied him for a second before shrugging and taking the bowl. “Okay, but only half of one! Banner was very adamant about slowly increasing your portions so you don’t get sick.”

When Jason finished his next helping of soup and the sealed bottle of water that Clint not so subtly slid to him, Clint finally started talking about the elephant in the room. “So,” Clint started slowly, “we need to talk about the interdimensional thing a little bit. Are you okay with talking about it now? We can put it off for a bit if you’d like?”

Jason jerked his head no and gestured for the older man to continue. Clint nodded and asked, “Do you know how you got here?”

While he tried to keep up an emotionless mask, Jason knew some of the hurt slipped out by the look on Clint’s face. There was an explosion laced with Kryptonite. I don’t know what it was meant to do, but I was caught in the blast and woke up here.

“Kryptonite?” Clint asked after a minute of coming to terms with the fact that Wraith had for all intents and purposes blown up and into another dimension.

Rare extraterrestrial element from my dimension. As far as I’ve been able to tell, it doesn’t exist here.

Clint nodded at the explanation and continued. “And were you a hero back in your dimension?”

A knot clogged Jason’s throat as he thought back to his time as Robin, as a slave that just so happened to be trained as an assassin, and his time as a crime lord. With slightly shaking hands, he signed I was a vigilante. Thankfully, Clint seemed to accept that answer and didn’t push.

After some clarifying questions like are the dimensions different (not really) and is dimensional travel common where he came from (not outside the Justice League), Clint must have thought Jason needed a break and changed the subject to movie nights. They discussed potential movies to watch before Clint said he could go lie down again if need be.

The funny thing was that Jason didn’t think he was tired until Clint suggested taking a nap. The moment afterwards, he found himself nodding groggily, promising to come out for dinner, and dragging himself back to the guest room.

Collapsing onto the bed (being careful not to crush Verdana who was still curled under the comforter) he was out in minutes.

_______

Clint knows that face. The expression Wraith made when he was asked how he arrived in this dimension. The kid had ever so slightly curled in on himself, avoided eye contact, and desperately tried to close off his expression. But he failed, and Clint instantly knew that it was far more than hurt.

It was betrayal.

And the words, or signs, that went with the body language painted an ugly picture. Someone had put Wraith in there with the bomb. Or at very least left him with it, which was practically the same thing in Clint’s book.

The realization made protective anger, no, hatred, burn bright in his chest. Clint had known Wraith for a very, very short amount of time, but he already knew that he was a sweet kid who had been through far too much in his short life. If he had to guess, Wraith had been hurt over and over and over again until it was hard to even hope for anything but pain and misery.

Noticing how anxious this conversation was making the kid, he tried to keep the questions as short and sweet as possible. He really only needed the most important answers right now, and everything else could wait.

After all the pressing questions were out, he switched to asking about the possibility of another movie night. Wraith immediately perked up at the prospect, and it seemed like he genuinely liked the last one and was looking forward to potentially having another one.

But despite Wraith actively engaging in the discussion, Clint could see the tension in his shoulders and the exhaustion lingering at the edges. He supposes that it has been a stressful day for the kid. Almost dying (again), having your secrets spilled, and suffering a panic attack would do that to you.

When he suggested taking a nap, Wraith looked surprised before realizing that he was indeed beat. So, he bid Clint goodbye and shuffled back to his room. After making sure the kid actually made it there, he immediately made for the lab. While all the Avengers would need to know about this eventually, the Science Bros were the ones who would be able to get the kid home.

…Back to where he’d been blown up, beaten, betrayed, and likely far more. That made him hesitant to let Wraith leave, but it was the kid’s home and he hadn’t said anything to indicate he didn’t want to return. So, Clint would drop it. For now. If he saw any hesitance, he’d ask Wraith if he really wanted to go back. And if he didn’t…

Well, Tony had plenty of room, and Clint had plenty of support to give.

Entering the lab was like falling into a separate world from the rest of the tower. Machines whirled and occasionally exploded throughout the room, the blaring music kept switching between classical (Bruce’s) and EDM (Tony’s), and chemistry and engineering equipment littered the room. While Bruce’s areas were generally neater than Tony’s, it wasn’t always by much. Clint could never make out any rhyme or reason to their scientific dance, but thankfully, he never needed to.

After politely requesting Jarvis to get their attention, because heaven knows they wouldn’t notice him unless he blew something up, the AI shut the music off. Tony immediately protested Metlife 2017 being shut off while Bruce just calmly set his goggles aside and approached their interloper. Because that’s what Clint was when it came to the lab.

“How’d it go?” Bruce asked curiously as he pulled an office chair over and sat down.

Clint wobbled his hand and said, “Honestly, not as bad as it could have. But I’m not exactly happy with what I heard.”

“If you’re not happy then it’s something serious,” Tony said in a slight teasing tone despite everyone else knowing he was dead serious and simply trying to lighten the mood.

Shaking his head, Clint said, “He got trapped with a bomb. When it went off, he woke up here. Based on his body language, I’m willing to bet my bow that someone he trusted left him to die.”

Bruce’s face darkened and Tony’s stance shifted to something hostile at those words, and Clint couldn’t help but be glad his teammates felt similarly about Wraith. The kid deserved better.

As he continued explaining what he learned, Bruce asked, “Did he explain what this Kryptonite does or what it looks like?”

“It’s only real use that he knows of is for incapacitating a hero in his dimension. He said he was shocked to see it utilized in a bomb and had no idea what function it played. It’s essentially a green rock that kind of glows. As far as I know, we haven’t encountered anything like that here.”

Bruce shot out of his chair and stumbled over to his microscope and slid a new frame beneath the lens. After a minute, the scientist declared, “I believe I have. Jarvis, would you pull this up for them please?”

A screen flickered to life in front of Tony and Clint depicting a microscopic fragment. That was green. And vaguely rock-like.

Tony’s eyes blew wide, and he choked out, “You’re joking? Bruce, you can’t be serious?”

“What?!” Clint demanded. “Is this Kryptonite? Why are you reacting like that?”

Hesitantly, Bruce turned away from the microscope to address him. “This is Specimen II. The one we found on Wraith’s gun…and in his blood.”

Clint stared at his friend for a minute before asking in a carefully measured tone, “So you’re telling me there’s an alien rock infused in Wraith’s blood?” At Bruce’s hesitant nod, Clint gulped and fought to calm himself down. “Will it hurt him?”

“As far as we’ve been able to tell, no,” Tony said as he laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “But don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye out. If there’s a problem, we’ll be on top of it before anything can happen.” Swallowing around the knot in his throat, he croaked out a quiet ‘thanks.’

Tony shuffled over to the pile of junk he was playing with earlier. “On the bright side, this gives me somewhere to start if the Kryptonite really is the reason Wraith was chucked across dimensions. Jarvis has been running equations all morning without any luck, so hopefully this will lead us to a breakthrough.”

The room lapsed into a tense silence as the two brainiacs worked on their respective projects until Tony said cheerfully, “Heeeey, so I heard there’s soup! Wanna grab me a bowl?”

Clint gave the other man a deadpan look while Tony simply smiled innocently. “If you try and eat Wraith’s soup, I will shoot you so many times the police will mistake you for a porcupine.”

“Awwwww,” Tony whined. “Are you sure? Not even just a tiny bit?”

Smiling sweetly, Clint replied, “Sure, I’ll bring just enough to drown you in!”

“Fine!” Tony finally relented. “But I expect you to make me some after Wraith gets better and can actually eat real food.”

Sighing dramatically, Clint said, “Sure, whatever,” before realizing what he just agreed to. “Hey! No, I won’t! You can make your own.”

“Too late!” the genius crowed. “You promised! Take it as payback for bringing a furball into my tower.”

Grumbling, Clint flipped Tony off and dramatically stomped out of the lab to a chorus of laughs echoing behind him. Hell, Bruce was laughing at him too.

Maybe he could get Wraith to help him get revenge on them? The kid could use some cheering up.

Chapter Text

Jason expected things to change, but he didn’t expect it to change in this way. Rather than being grilled about every little thing about his original dimension, he received casual questions that he was welcome to simply not answer if he didn’t want to.

For example, Steve was apparently a huge architectural enthusiast and Gothic was his favorite. He once asked Jason if his home dimension had it and if it was different from theirs. They then spent the next several hours discussing the style and seeing if there were any differences. Surprisingly, the only difference they found was that Jason’s dimension didn’t have a Darth Vader gargoyle on the National Cathedral. He immediately started planning to put one on his favorite cathedral in Gotham and Steve happily helped draw up the designs.

Nat once wanted to know about the culinary differences between their dimensions and what he missed the most. Jason readily admitted that he hadn’t explored nor noticed any differences, but that he sorely missed the hearty beef stew from the tiny local restaurant near his home (safehouse number twelve). Only later when Steve proudly presented a rich beef stew for dinner did he realize that she’d likely only brought the topic up to learn something that she and the others could do to make him feel more comfortable in their home. Jason was so touched he was moved to the verge of tears. If the heroes noticed, they didn’t say anything.

Another time, Tony wanted to know about technological differences, and Jason regrettably (or so Clint said) stoked his ego in some areas. He had to admit, the man was a wizard when it came to tech and had designed several things Batman would be jealous of. However, they were behind in other areas. For example, zeta tubes. Jason somehow found himself describing what little he knew about the teleportation devices, and Tony was on the edge of his seat the entire time and visibly trying to figure out how he could build one. A feat that would be mighty impressive without the alien technology the Justice League had access to.

Overall, the questions were lighthearted in subject and easy to discuss without touching on areas Jason would rather avoid. However, that wasn't always the case. Bruce wanted to know how he got the more traumatic of his injuries. Clint wanted to know who hurt him. Thor once asked with a look of confusion as he innocently asked if he didn’t miss his family. And while he knew they were being asked with good intentions, Jason didn’t want to breathe a word about any of it.

One of those uncomfortable reminders of his past surfaced during game night. While Thor was spending a normal mortal’s lifetime trying to decide his next move, Clint suddenly asked, “Hey, were you always Red Wraith or is that something new you came up with in this dimension?”

Without looking up from the board, Jason signed, I used to be called Red Hood. Red Wraith is the name Mott Haven gave me.

“Oooohh, maybe we should call you Hoodsie from now on instead of Wraith!” Tony joked light-heartedly. And the thing was, Jason knew the words didn’t have any ill intent, but that didn’t stop the walls from closing in and the horrific laughter from bouncing off of them.

Eyes blowing wide, Jason rapidly scanned the room for Joker. Because if he was hearing him, obviously he was here. And if he was here, the Bat wouldn’t be far behind his clown. Frantically, Jason scooted away from the coffee table they were playing at until he had wedged himself between two armchairs against the wall and curled into himself, trying to become as small and unseen as possible.

He thought he heard voices, but he couldn't be sure over the thundering of his heartbeat and his ragged breathing. At one point, something pulled his hand away from his neck. He hadn’t realized he’d been protectively covering the injury, but the loss and the fear of further injury forced a sob out of his throat. His hand was almost instantly dropped, and Jason quickly replaced it over his neck as his cries painfully aggravated the area.

Eventually, Jason calmed down and opened his eyes to find Clint sitting several feet from him and Verdana twisting in his lap. When Clint noticed that Jason was looking at him rather than through him, he smiled softly and continued quietly telling a story about how Thor discovered poptarts. Even though he missed half of the tale, he couldn’t help but become engrossed as he slowly came back to reality.

A few minutes later, Steve brought him rosemary tea and silently left, which is when Jason realized that Clint and Jason were the only two left in the room. He signed an embarrassed apology that the archer brushed off, saying that it’s happened to all of them before. Once Jason was feeling up to it, Clint helped him back to his room to sleep off the rest of the fear.

Sadly, things rarely work out the way you intend, and he woke up haunted by echoing laughter and vindictive vigilantes. Stumbling out of bed, he decided to head to the kitchen. For what, he hadn’t decided yet, but it seemed like the right call.

As he wandered down the hallway, voices reached his ears. “I don’t know,” a voice he quickly identified as Tony said morosely. “Maybe I should just give him space. I seem to accidentally trigger him more often than not, and it’s not good for his physical or mental recovery.”

“It’s not your fault. None of us know the extent of his trauma or what will set it off. Hell, Wraith might not even really know. All we can do is try our best and avoid the triggers we do notice,” Banner’s comforting voice replied. “Besides, you shouldn’t avoid him. The kid needs all the support he can get after what he’s been through.”

Tony sighed heavily. “You’re right. You’re always right. I just wish I could stop causing him more problems. He’s a good kid and I’d love to get closer to him, but I don’t know if that’s going to happen at this rate.”

Jason decided to stop eavesdropping at that point and make his way into the room. At first, they didn’t notice his silent entrance, but then Tony caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye and perked up. “Hey, Wraith,” he said with a little wave and a welcoming smile. “Sorry about earlier, I should have been more careful-”

Shaking his head no, Jason signed, It’s okay. I didn’t even know that would happen, and it turned out fine in the end. Biting his lip, he mulled over a couple of options before saying, Want to help me update my grapple later? It needs a tune-up, and I think you could help make it better.

A massive, excited smile blossomed on Tony’s face as he took Jason’s question for what it was. An opportunity to connect. “I would love nothing more!” the genius said exuberantly. Then, realizing that Jason was up for the same reasons they were, he said conspiratorially, “Want a drink? It sometimes takes the edge off.”

“Tony, he’s a child.” Banner deadpanned, his tone giving no room for argument. Not that it’d stop Tony anyway.

At the same time Jason signed Am not, Tony said, “We don’t know the drinking age in his dimension!”

“...Wraith, what’s the drinking age?” Banner asked, cocking an unimpressed eyebrow. Jason’s silence was telling. “I figured as much. Besides, even if you were of age, as your doctor I forbid it.”

Tony leaned over and mock whispered, “We’ll have a party after you’re healed up! Without the joykill.”

Jason couldn’t help curling up on himself in a fit of silent laughter as Banner let out a put-upon sigh. Or at least, he was laughing until Tony gave him a scrutinizing look and asked in a far more serious tone, “Exactly how young are you if you aren’t whatever legal drinking age we’re going by here?”

After taking a minute to consider whether or not to answer honestly, or frankly answer at all, Jason finally slumped into a sulk and signed, Nineteen.

“Oh my gosh, he is a child!” Tony practically screeched while Banner seemed to look at him in a new light, a slight befuddled expression creasing his face. “You’re barely even a legal adult!” the billionaire continued before visibly thinking about something and then leaning in again. “Don’t worry, once you have your first drink, you’ll be a real man.”

Tony had a massive grin on his face, but an equally large smirk slid onto Jason’s as he signed, You’re six years too late for that, old man!

The old man once again screeched as Jason laughed and Banner started chastising him about the dangers of underage drinking (if anyone accused him of also smiling and laughing along, he would deny it until the day he died). It wasn’t until the next morning that Jason realized that was the best he’d felt after a nightmare in years.

Overall, things were good (for now). He liked being with the Avengers (for now). But he’d already shown them far too much weakness. If he gave them all, or hell, even a fraction more, of his history, they wouldn’t want him around anymore. And while he was still in a delicate stage of healing, he couldn’t risk doing anything that would get him thrown out or beat up.

But while he still feared the Avengers turning on him, he was starting to doubt that outcome. They’d been nothing but accommodating and had gone far out of their way for him on multiple occasions over the past two weeks. But so had the Waynes in the beginning. After a lot of agonizing over the topic and a hell of a lot of pacing, Jason decided that he’d remain on guard, but he would take the risk. He would slowly begin placing more trust in them. If there were any red flags, he’d backtrack and bail as soon as possible.

It was on one gloriously overcast day that Banner sat down in an armchair across from where Jason was reading. With a serious look on his face, the scientist said, “Wraith, I know that we’ve identified the second substance in your bloodstream, but we haven’t been able to make much headway on the first one. We’ll need another sample sooner or later, but first, do you happen to have any information on it? Any idea how it entered your bloodstream?”

Instantly, Jason realized that this was it. He could trust Banner with this information. After all, the only reason he’s slaving away over it is because he’s worried about him rather than simple scientific curiosity. Despite being determined to take the leap, he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling.

It’s called the Lazarus Pit, he started, heartbeat roaring in his ears. It’s a magical body of water that can grant immortality to those who repeatedly bathe in it. When I was fifteen, I was hurt. Badly. Afterwards, I wasn’t all there and my body had healed wrong in some places and refused to heal in others. Someone wanted to try and fix me. So, they threw me in the pit. It worked. But, now it and its side effects are permanently a part of me.

“Side effects?” Banner asked carefully, body language oozing concern.

Jason shifted nervously. Increased rage, but I’ve got that under control! he signed quickly before continuing. Advanced healing, heightened senses, increased stamina, and that’s about it.

Banner jotted a few things down in a notebook before frowning and turning back to Jason. “I haven’t noticed a healing factor. Actually, you’re healing slower than a normal person should be.”

A grimace made its way onto Jason’s face. I have noticed the pit fading, but I didn’t realize it was that far gone.

Shaking his head, Banner quickly shot out, “No! Based on my calculations, the pit hasn’t decreased at all since the day you were exposed to it. If I had to guess, it’s your lifestyle that’s been interfering with it.”

My lifestyle? he asked tentatively. As far as he knew, he hadn’t done anything that would interfere with the pit. Although the only thing he could think of that could possibly do it is a dip in toxic chemicals. But who knows, maybe something in Gotham’s water could too.

Raising an unimpressed eyebrow, Banner deadpanned, “How about the whole not eating thing? And don’t even try to deny it, I’ve seen your bloodwork and Clint saw your kitchen. Also, the inadequate sleep could do it too.”

Oh, Jason signed sheepishly.

After writing down a few more things, Banner said, “On that note, if you keep living like a remotely healthy human being, I imagine the pit will kick back in soon. Now you aren’t about to tell me you’re immortal or older than everyone in this tower, are you?” Banner joked, and Jason shook his head good-naturedly before stopping, lost in thought. Internally, he fought with himself on if he should, if he even could, ask the man a question. As if sensing Jason’s inner turmoil and not wanting to leave him to suffer, Banner simply gestured for him to go on.

Steeling himself, he asked, Could you take a look at Verdana?

Confusion and worry were at war on the hero’s face as he asked, “Your cat? What’s wrong with her?”

She’s not growing. He couldn’t help but fidget a bit before continuing. When I woke up here, she was in the alley with me. I think she might have been exposed to some Kryptonite.

“And why do you think so?” At first, Jason started to curl up on himself, the words feeling condescending. But then he realized that the older man’s tone was simply curious.

She was a kitten then.

Thoughtfully, Banner said, “If she was an alley cat, the stress of living on the streets could have set her growth back a month her so-”

I came here over six months ago, Jason cut him off.

Surprise shot onto Banner’s face. Whether it was from the information or Jason so rudely cutting him off (even if it was nonverbally), he didn’t know. And not knowing was making him anxious.

“That’s definitely not normal,” Banner finally said. “Yeah, I’ll take a look and see what’s going on. But you’ll have to hold her for a blood sample.” At the near devastated look on Jason’s face, Banner hurried to say, “It’ll just be a little bit, and she’ll barely feel it! Promise.”

Reluctantly, Jason agreed and scooped up his baby from where she was napping in the not-sun. Five minutes later, Jason was holding a hissing and spitting kitten and Banner was hurriedly taking his hard-earned sample to the lab, dutifully ignoring the new scratches on his arm.

It wasn’t until after a dinner of tomato soup and paninis (for the Avengers. Jason couldn’t eat solid foods yet) that Banner approached him with some not totally insane but definitely shocking news. Apparently, Verdana was just like him. Her blood was infused with both Kryptonite and the essense of the Lazarus Pit.

When he asked how, Banner just kind of shrugged. His hypothesis was that the blast that shot Jason into this universe had managed to particalize some of his blood and Verdana somehow absorbed the strange cocktail. Thankfully, the only ill effect that Banner had found was the seemingly permanently stunted growth. Besides that, she was in the best shape a cat could be. Relieved, Jason thanked Banner and retreated to his room to spend the rest of the day cuddling with Verdana.

With today’s success, Jason couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy. Maybe, just maybe, trusting them wouldn’t backfire.

Chapter Text

Another week flew past, and while Jason never revealed anything too damning, he started letting himself be- well, himself just a little bit more around them. And wow was it nice. He had no idea how much he’d essentially stripped away his entire personality after dying.

When Nat found him making little pastries, she suggested having a tea party on the terrace (with constant supervision went unsaid). Jason agreed with cautious optimism. After ensuring he’d be up to it, she gave him full party planning rights and appointed herself as his assistant. She helped him make whatever his heart desired and then asked if she’d like to invite anyone.

Clint was busy, so Jason decided that Steve would be a good addition if he was okay with joining. And to his surprise (and nobody else’s) he was incredibly enthusiastic about the invite. Between the three of them, the afternoon was an absolute delight and the others only complained a little bit. Once they realized that Jason had made extras for them, they calmed down pretty quick.

And that was only one of many instances. Banner drew him into literary conversations, Clint snuck him ice cream once against Banner’s explicit wishes when he discovered he was also a fan of lime sherbet, and Thor very enthusiastically gave him lessons on pop culture since he was apparently very out of the loop. The irony didn’t escape anyone there.

Time almost seemed to fly, and before he knew it, his healing factor kicked in again. He honestly didn’t even notice it until one morning while he was making a smoothie Banner suddenly gasped and slowly approached him to avoid spooking him. When Clint asked what was wrong, Banner said, “Wraith’s healing factor is back! If he continues healing at this rate, it’ll be safe for him to speak again by the end of the week. In fact, it should be okay for you to have solid foods again.”

Without waiting for another word, Jason abandoned his smoothie endeavors and immediately started pulling out ingredients. Clint asked in a bemused tone, “What are you up to over there, Wraith? Surely you can’t be sick of smoothies?”

Distractedly, Jason signed, Crepes before returning to his batter. Clint instantly leapt to his feet and stared at him hopefully.

“You’re going to share, right? Right?” Jason simply smirked and didn’t answer, even when the archer started begging. He refused to answer the entire time he was making them until he set a beautifully assembled dessert in front of him. With the smile on Clint’s face, you’d think Jason just gave him the keys to Tony’s limited edition, suped-up Ferrari.

After that, someone told him how excited they were to be able to hear him speak at least once a day, and Jason was almost afraid of disappointing them. What if they thought his voice was too deep, too young, or just not right from the injury? He confided in Clint about it, and the man just clapped him on the shoulder and assured him that they would think no such thing. They were just excited that he was healing and would be able to have more ways to communicate with them if he was comfortable doing so. He didn’t mention it, but the pep talk did wonders for the anxiety he had over the matter.

At long last, Saturday rolled around. Jason was nervous to finally verbally speak with the Avengers, but he replayed Clint’s words in his head and made for the living room. Might as well get it over with.

The moment he stepped into the living room, he saw that the entire team was already gathered (or should he say assembled) and laying out an absolute feast on the table. Tony had apparently ordered from a famous restaurant nearby to celebrate if the to-go bags littering the counter was any indication. Jason was actually incredibly excited to try the food because the man kept talking the place up all week. Honestly, he might have been raving about it because he was planning on doing this the whole time.

When everyone realized Jason had walked in, everyone immediately quieted. “So,” Clint said, “How do you feel? Up to saying something?”

Carefully clearing his throat, Jason lamely and nervously said, “Hi, guys?”

Everything was deafeningly quiet for a minute before Clint joyfully cried, “Holy crap, the baby has a deep voice!”

“Calm down,” Nat said as she slapped her friend upside the head. “You’ll make him self-conscious.”

Looking absolutely baffled, Clint yelled, “Self-conscious? Self-conscious?! With a voice like that, he could stab me, and I would thank him. You can do no wrong with a voice like that!”

Tony burst into laughter and Banner tried to awkwardly hide a laugh behind a cough as Jason’s face turned almost as red as his signature helmet. Steve chided them for doing so, but also had a smile on his face. Once Nat was done smacking Clint (repeatedly), he came over and started chattering excitedly about breakfast and asking him what he’d like to try first.

While his voice was rough from the injury and disuse, Jason was ecstatic at the outcome and happily conversed with the group. The fact that his friends were so happy at his success made him feel cared for, something he hadn’t felt outside of Verdana in so long.

Wait…friends? Could they actually be friends? Did they see him that way too? The possibility made his hopeful heart thunder, but what if they didn’t? However, he’d also decided to trust them, and honestly, he was starting to trust them. So maybe it’d be okay to trust them a bit more.

For the rest of breakfast, Jason couldn’t help but fidget every now and then, but otherwise carried on as normal. But at the end when conversation had died down, he nervously said, “So, um, well? I’ve been here for a while now, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me. I guess I’m saying I appreciate it and would like you to call me Jason. If that’s okay?”

Surprise showed on Tony’s face, curiosity on Thor’s, and pure pride on Clint’s. Thor was the first to speak up, booming out, “Son of Jay, is it? What a fitting name for the mighty warrior our friends have told us about!”

“Jason? Dang, for such a badass, I expected a name like Leviathan!” Tony said joyfully before Steve elbowed him in the side.

Chiding his friend, Steve replied, “Jason is an epic name! What about Jason of the Argonauts? He was a hero, and Jason lives up to that legacy perfectly!”

Comments like that and more flew about, and Jason’s ears quickly turned pink from the compliments. He had expected some sort of reaction, but nothing nearly as strong, nor as positive, as this. He didn’t quite agree with Steve’s decree, but he appreciated the thought.

After breakfast, Banner did a brief medical exam to ensure everything besides his voice had healed up alright, and the man reluctantly cleared Jason for the field. He, and all the other Avengers, had recognized how cooped up their guest was feeling, and had previously agreed to take him on a mission when he healed up. When Banner gave the all clear, they just hoped there wouldn’t be any missions for at least two weeks.

Alas, to their dismay and Jason’s joy, Hydra started making moves mere days later. As they geared up, they all just hoped everything would go smoothly.

_______

Jason didn’t know where everything went wrong. One minute, he was hunting Hydra agents side by side with Clint, and the next he was on a warehouse’s cold floor in agony. Alone. It was hauntingly familiar.

Hydra must have known they were coming because everything was set up too perfectly. They were ambushed when they arrived, leaving many of the normal humans with a variety of injuries. Jason himself had a knife glance off his shoulder and a bullet graze his leg, but overall he’s in pretty good condition.

Things started to take a real turn for the worst when they managed to capture a random thug. The guy didn’t seem to care that he had fallen into the enemies’ hands. Instead, he laughed menacingly and delivered a chilling message: Nat was locked in one of five locations along the docks. In the other five areas, there was a helpless civilian, and all the captives were accompanied by a bomb.

Five bombs, four heroes (plus Jason), so they could make this work. Without another word, Cap knocked the grunt out and everyone darted toward one of the locations. Jason was lucky enough to be given the rundown warehouse on the far side of Dockyard B. Since he didn’t know how long was left on the bomb’s timer, he ran full speed to the warehouse and barged right in.

Thankfully, he got there in record time. Unfortunately, the warehouse was huge and it would take a decent amount of searching to find both the bomb and the prisoner. And since they were likely on opposite sides of the building, he’d have to be quick. Which meant more running. Hooray.

Throwing stealth away, he bolted through the warehouse with reckless abandon. Empty buildings and abandoned crates flew past him as he went, making it feel like a ghost town and somehow increasing his urgency. Anything that reminded him of his own death ignited a spark of panic in his chest, and for some reason, this building did just that.

As he ran, he didn’t notice how his comm fizzled out and stopped transmitting. He didn’t notice the carefully placed and nearly invisible motion sensors hidden along one of the walls. What he did notice was the seemingly irrational fear rising in his chest. Or maybe it was rational. Natasha or some innocent civilian was depending on him, afterall. After a good five minutes of sprinting, he spotted a figure leaning against the wall in a darkened corner. Seconds later, he’s kneeling beside them to make sure they’re alive before grabbing them and going.

As he reaches his hand up to check for a pulse, a white burning pain archs through him. Looking down in shock, Jason sees that the ‘victim’ has a knife. And it’s sticking out from between his fifth and sixth ribs. Blood drenches his front, and Jason stumbles backward as the knife is cruelly wrenched from his abdomen.

The prisoner is obviously not a prisoner and is instead a Hydra agent. One who eagerly jumps to their feet and swipes at Jason again, an awful smile too reminiscent of the Joker’s on their face. Clearly, they’re enjoying this. He just barely manages to dodge the next one, but the pain in his side prevents him from moving quickly enough to stop the knife from biting into the junction of his shoulder and neck.

Jason falls bodily against the wall and slumps to the floor as his lifeblood pours out of him. He’s already getting lightheaded. Through his blearing vision, he sees his attacker stalk toward him before freezing, turning tail, and racing away, assumedly out of the warehouse. And that’s when Jason saw it. The cursed bomb.

Why was it always a bomb? At this point, it was a pattern and surely it must be the result of a curse or something equally absurd.

It was getting hard to breathe, so Jason tried to fumble around in his utility belt for a chest seal. If he didn’t hurry and seal off his chest wound, his lungs could collapse. Or he could have a heart attack. Both things he would really like to avoid if possible.

But his fingers were uncoordinated, numb, and slick with blood. Eventually, he lost the last of his energy, and his hand fell to his side. He was so tired and was sick of hurting. No matter what he did, he always got hurt. And no matter how he tried to change his fate, he always ended up back here. Bleeding out in a warehouse set to blow.

Suddenly, the whole world tilted, and Jason was confused as to what had just happened until he realized he’d fallen over. He was so weak he couldn’t even sit against a wall properly anymore. Honestly, he’s more surprised than he should be. This was nothing new.

It was nothing new.

A traitorous tear slides down his face as he realizes that this is the end. He can’t see (and blessedly can’t hear) the timer, but he knows it’s close. There’s no way it isn’t. Not with his luck. Honestly, he made it longer than he thought. So really, he should be grateful.

His mind drifted to the Avengers. They wouldn’t make it in time. If they even tried, that is. Nat’s life is on the line as well as civilians (if the rest weren’t traps as well). Besides, they shouldn’t risk their lives for someone like him. Sure, they’d gotten closer, but that also meant they knew what his worth truly is. And his life is worth far less than any of the other lives that are at stake.

It was good while it lasted. He just wished it had lasted a little longer.

He doesn’t blame them for not coming for him; he’s just grateful that they put up with him for so long. It was the happiest he’d been since coming back to life. And maybe, he was happier than he’d been the first time around too. He just wishes he could get one more of Clint’s hugs before he goes. Just one.

Vision blurring out and hearing reduced to meaningless buzzing, Jason thinks he sees Steve’s iconic shield and Clint’s trademark purple coming toward him. A small smile slips onto Jason’s face as he realizes that he’s so far gone that he’s started hallucinating. Of all the things he could see, he’s glad it’s this.

With that, Jason finally lets himself slip away, grateful that he wouldn’t be awake for the explosion this time.

Chapter Text

Clint was incredibly hesitant to let the newly revealed Jason (he told them his name!!!) out in the field so soon after a nearly lethal injury. It didn’t feel right, but he’d also seen how stir-crazy the kid had been getting the past several weeks. There was plenty for him to do, but he was like the Avengers. He needed action, and he needed to help people. But Clint suspected it went beyond that. If he was right, and he usually was thank you very much, Jason needed to be useful.

Almost as soon as he felt comfortable wandering the tower alone, Jason was trying to be helpful anywhere he could. On multiple occasions, he’d woken up early and made breakfast for the entire team up until Steve and Bruce teamed up to ban the kid from the kitchen before noon so he’d at least try and sleep in. Jason looked a little bit like a kicked puppy when that happened, and both men almost caved.

Another time, Tony caught him trying to clean the bathroom. The man just about had a heart attack and steered him in front of the TV, rambling about his nano-cleaning bots the entire time. And don’t even get him started about the time Jason attempted to sneak out for patrol!

Overall, it was a nightmare. And now, it felt like the nightmare was growing and spiraling out of control. Hydra resurfaced sooner than anticipated, and of course it turned out to be a trap. They got jumped almost immediately and Nat was captured in the process. Now, everyone was racing to quickly reach their assigned locations. If they were fast enough, they’d be able to save her and the other victims before the bombs blew them sky-high. It stressed Clint out to no end that Jason was running off on his own, but they didn’t have the time to sort through why it made him so antsy.

The boathouse Clint got assigned was dark and near silent when he stepped inside, and it immediately set him on edge. The only sound was the creaking of the old, rotten wood and his own footsteps. Knowing that he’s on a time crunch, he grits his teeth and largely gives up on stealth as he hurries through the building. He’d really rather not be caught in here when the building goes up.

Thankfully, it seems he chose the right path because he found the victim far sooner than anticipated. It wasn’t Nat, but at least he could wrap up here and help the others out. He reached up to his ear to inform the others, but the moment he opened the line there was nothing but static. Instantly, he snapped his mouth shut. Sure, cutting the enemy’s communications channels was always a smart move, but it was especially important for surprise attacks. And Clint’s experienced enough of those that this was starting to look like one.

Looking at the situation with new suspicion, he carefully and silently approached the potential victim, keeping an eye out for traps. When he started getting close to the limp figure, he called out, “Hey, are you alright there?”

No answer. He tried a couple more times but to no avail. When he got close enough to touch, the man leapt to his feet and tried to stab Clint like a demonic jack-in-the-box. But since he suspected something like this, Clint easily dodged, grabbed his attacker’s wrist, and snapped it like a twig. The man fell to his knees screaming and clutching his hand. From there, it was easy for him to knee the man in the jaw and let him slump to the ground.

Instantly, he was pivoting and racing back the way he came. If this one was a trap, all of them likely would be. As he tore out of the boathouse, uncaring for the bomb and Hydra agent he was leaving behind, he set off toward the warehouse Jason would be scoping out. Thor, Steve, and Tony would most likely be fine. He trusted them to hold their own and save Nat. However, Jason was still healing (no matter how much he swore he was fine). On top of that, he’d been out of the game for nearly two months at this point. It wasn’t impossible for him to be caught off guard.

When Clint was nearing the warehouse, Steve thundered up to his side. “Trap?” Clint asked shortly between breaths. Steve grunted an affirmation, already solely focused on making sure their youngest member was alright. It took far too long to reach the warehouse, but at long last, they reached the doors. The massive set of doors that were locked tight and possibly barricaded. Quickly backing out of the way, Clint impatiently waited for Steve, aka the living battering ram, to bust them open. Just in case, he made note of any other possible entry points while he waited.

Thankfully, the doors flew open, revealing a pitch-black warehouse. Or at least, it was dark everywhere except where the eerie red timer of the bomb lit up. The crimson light illuminated Jason’s crumpled and bleeding form sprawled across the concrete floor, and Clint was bolting across the warehouse before he even had time to think. While he checked on Jason, Steve went for the bomb.

A breath Clint didn’t even know he was holding was released when he saw Jason’s chest rise and fall. Even with the stutter, at least the kid was alive. As Clint was stuffing gauze and wrapping bandages seemingly everywhere, Steve was suddenly back by his side and urging him to hurry.

“Two minutes on the timer, and I can’t diffuse it. We need to get him clear,” the man said gruffly, not a trace of his usual, easy-going attitude in his words. Not even bothering with a reply, Clint carefully pulled Jason into a princess carry to hopefully avoid aggravating his stab wound and books it. As he runs, he can’t help but notice that he had put on more weight than the last time Clint had to whisk Jason out of Hydra’s death traps. Great for his health, less great for outrunning a freaking bomb.

Despite the life or death situation, a little flicker of pride and annoyance shot through him. His kid was a tank. Not for the first time, Clint wanted to sulk about being the second shortest team member. And if Bruce hulks out, he’s definitely the shortest (Nat is gracious enough not to rub in her extra quarter of an inch. Tony is not).

Clint isn’t going fast enough because he’s too worried about the frankly concerning amount of blood soaking into his uniform. Steve, bless his freakishly old soul, once again wordlessly swoops in to solve all his problems. He comes up on Clint’s side and takes Jason’s legs so he can focus on carrying and stabilizing his upper body. In this new position, they make much, much faster time. By the time the two minutes were up, they had just barely managed to safely barricade themselves behind a solid wall of concrete that was far from any buildings about to go up.

And go up they did. All at once, Clint, Steve, and Jason’s warehouses blew sky high. The last two, almost unsurprisingly, didn’t. Tony obviously disarmed his bomb. Thor must have done something far less conspicuous. Maybe he shot it through the Bifrost? Clint still wasn’t sure how the thing worked, and he’d known the Asgardian for years.

The resounding boom made Clint’s hearing aids squeal for a moment before they readjusted, but Jason didn’t even stir. Worried, he immediately got to work trying to patch the kid up while Steve stood guard over them, wary of any more traps, bombs, or ill-meaning civilians/Hydra agents.

Sometime between Clint frantically applying gauze and thinking his kid was going to bleed out in his arms for real this time, Tony and Thor showed up. All he gathered from the conversation were two things: 1) they’d taken care of their bombs 2) they didn’t find Nat.

So this entire, god-forsaken mission has boiled down to losing Nat with no idea of what Hydra has done with her and potentially getting Jason killed in the process of trying to rescue the person who apparently wasn’t even here. If he wasn’t so focused on keeping the baby Avenger alive, Clint might cry.

But he didn’t have time for that. He had a kid to save. The second he had Jason stabilized, he was barking at Thor to fly him back to the Tower and Tony to call the jet. While Thor and Jason’s figures disappeared into the distance, he could only pray that the next time he saw Jason wouldn’t be in the morgue.

Chapter Text

Clint was pacing back and forth outside the med bay waiting for Bruce to either finish patching Jason up or declare his time of death. He had wanted to wait inside the room, but his anxiousness was rubbing off on the good doctor and he was quickly kicked out.

As for the others, Tony was searching Hydra’s tracks digitally while Thor was on the ground trying to find clues to where Nat went. Which left Steve, their used-to-be-youngest member if Jason survives long enough to be extended an official invitation (if he didn’t go back to his own dimension — again given that he survives — but Clint was really hoping he would end up staying). He was outside the med bay with him, but Clint wasn’t sure if he was mentally all there. The soldier was pale and almost sickly.

Needing a distraction and wanting to help his friend, Clint sat down heavily beside Steve and asked gently, “You okay? You’re not looking so good. Want me to grab some water? Maybe that disgusting sparkling stuff Tony introduced you to?”

Cracking a small smile over the friendly jab at his frankly ridiculous love of sparkling beverages before turning serious once more, Steve replies, “No, I’m fine. It’s just- He’s just a kid, you know? Nineteen and he’s already nearly died three times that we know of. It just reminds me of the kids who enlisted, and, well, of myself. I was his age when I enlisted, and he’s been in this game for years already. Probably never got a real childhood or had anyone to look out for him. And if he dies now, we can’t change that.”

Steve had already seemed miserable, but he looked absolutely devastated at his last sentence. It was as if he didn’t even realize what he was saying until it was already out in the air. “God,” he continues, absolutely mortified. “What if he dies? I’ve seen death plenty of times but this- this feels wrong! He shouldn’t- He can’t-”

At this point, the younger man was getting real close to hyperventilating, and Clint had to cut him off to make sure he actually breathed. Once he doesn’t think Steve’s going to pass out on him, Clint says in a much more sure tone than he feels, “Jason’s going to be fine. He’s survived far worse than a little stab wound. It bled a lot, but between Bruce’s medical knowledge and Tony’s tech, he’ll pull through. Besides, didn’t Bruce tell you about the magic swimming pool he got dumped in? He’s essentially got that super soldier stuff pumping through him. Just calm down and trust in our friends. Everything will be alright.”

And damn did Clint wish it didn’t feel like he was lying. Steve never got a good look at the wound, but it was a lot worse than he was letting on. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he claps Steve over the shoulder. “Come on, let's go get a drink. I could use some of those sparkly bubbles to distract me, and there’s nothing more distracting than invisible knives stabbing your tongue.”

“Wimp,” Steve mutters, startling a chuckle out of Clint as they amble miserably toward the kitchen.

_______

Jason was getting real damn tired of waking up in the med bay. What was even the point of moving into the guest room if he spent almost as much time in here as he did there?

Reality came back in blurs and swirls. Sharp lights, soft voices, and Banner’s grim face swim in and out of his inconsistent vision as he rises and falls from consciousness. It’s only when Jason fully resurfaces into wakefulness that the pain registers. It’s deep and throbbing but muddled by whatever concoction Banner has seeping into his veins. He doesn’t know when he became almost semi-comfortable with being drugged, but he didn’t feel the deep-seated terror he did the first time he woke up here and realized he had been injected with an unknown substance.

It took another long minute for him to remember why he was staring up at the med bay’s ceiling, and another five for him to process that he was alive. That he hadn’t hallucinated Clint and Steve attempting to rescue him.

His eyes were watering with the sheer volume of emotions that were burning in his chest, and he quickly decided he needed a distraction because emotions, even these warm ones, were too burdensome for him right now. Groggily, he looks to the side, searching for a glass of water.

Instead, his eyes fall on Clint’s slumped form sleeping fitfully in an armchair beside his bed. The man looks haggard and worried, his usually mirthful face scrunched up. It must have been a while since he’d been rescued because Clint’s bruises from the ambush were faded and nearly healed.

But despite the man’s obvious exhaustion, the armchair had been pushed well within Jason’s reach. It was something he’d eventually recognized as an invitation for- well, anything really. If Jason needed something, Clint had always made himself available. Whether it was a hug, quiet company, a distraction, or a laugh, he was there. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had done so much for him without even expecting so much as a ‘thanks.’

And Jason needed something right now.

Reaching out a heavy and shaky hand, he gently taps Clint on the knee. It took mere seconds for the man to open his eyes and shake the sleep from his limbs. With a tired but relieved smile, he sits up and says, “Wrai- Jason, you’re awake! You had me worried there. I-” He cut himself off abruptly when the first tear trailed down Jason’s face.

“You saved me,” Jason choked out, his tone a mixture of disbelief, awe, and unfathomable gratitude.

Clint smiled again, but under the surface, something clicked. A deeper understanding of Jason’s past unfurled, and it hurt his very soul. “Of course I did, you’re family.”

The archer had to lurch forward to keep Jason from tumbling to the floor when he careened toward him with uncoordinated limbs for a hug. He was full-on sobbing now, gasping out thanks while Clint tucked him firmly in his arms, rubbing his back and muttering his own thanks for surviving.

After a while, the older man carefully shifted them onto the bed so they wouldn’t put any more strain on Jason’s injuries. Eventually, Jason shortly asked, “Nat?”

It was stiflingly quiet before Clint let out a long, forlorn sigh. “We’ll find her.” Jason opened his mouth to apologize for wasting the precious time he and Steve had to find her, but the man shut down that line of thinking real quick with a, “Don’t. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, we’re almost certain she’s still out there. Hydra would’ve wanted to rub it in if she wasn’t.”

Nodding into Clint’s shoulder, Jason silently accepted his words. As much as it felt like his fault, Clint had never lied to him (except for that one prank, but that doesn’t count). And Jason trusted that he never would. So maybe it was okay to believe that Clint was right.

Clearing his suddenly bone-dry throat, Jason whispered, “Do I have to go back?” Jason felt Clint immediately tense around him before gently squeezing him tighter.

“I never wanted you to go.”

Chapter Text

Jason had drifted back to sleep just in time for Jarvis to quietly relay Tony’s request for him to meet him and the others in the living room. After carefully laying Jason back down and absentmindedly tucking him in, he heads for the elevator. On the way, he asks Jarvis for what feels like the hundredth time this dreadful week to keep an eye on Jason.

The moment he’s in the elevator, he sags against the wall and lets his head thunk against the cold steel. Jason finally woke up. Something finally went right for the first time since hell broke loose. And even better, he wants to stay. Clint was seriously on the verge of tears now that he didn’t have to agonize over potentially having to let his kid go. Now, he just had to find Nat and everything would be right in the world again.

A soft ding pulled him back to the present, and he managed to take a steadying breath before striding out to meet the rest of the team. They all needed some good news right now, and he had two fantastic bits for them.

The first thing he noticed was the air of gloom from earlier was replaced by frustration, anger, and something a little more positive he wasn’t able to put his finger on. He really, really hoped he wasn’t reading that wrong and that they did indeed have good news for him too. Clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention, he cheerfully chirped, “Hi, guys! I have some great news!”

Immediately, every head in the room turned to face him almost simultaneously. It was a synchronized movement that was somewhere solidly between funny and creepy. Hopefully they aren’t possessed, he thought idly before discarding the absurd idea.

It was Steve who asked with careful hope in his voice what was going on, and Clint couldn’t contain his joy any longer. “Jason is awake! AND he’s staying in this dimension. Permanently!”

The room erupted into delighted chatter as questions regarding Jason’s decision and condition flew about in rapid fire. Clint happily answered every single one of them while absolutely beaming the entire time. As expected, the rest of the Avengers were just as exhilarated with Jason’s choice as he was. None of them were looking forward to sending their newly adopted vigilante back to an abusive and dangerous situation where he likely wouldn’t survive much longer. If Jason stayed with them, they could love and protect him while simultaneously bullying him into taking care of himself.

When the news about their baby Avenger was finally all out in the open, Tony had some news of his own to share. “So,” he started with a more grim tone than the thrilled one he used regarding Jason. “I haven’t gotten a trace on Nat yet. But I have finally tapped into their network. It was hell to find and access, but it’s progress. The vast majority of it is in code and hidden behind more doors, so it will likely be a while before I find anything worthwhile. In the meantime, Jarvis is working on a remote hacking sequence to help dig through the files and break into Hydra when the time comes.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “That’s good. Far better than where we were yesterday. If there’s anything we can do to help, any one of us would be more than happy to help.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth quirks up into a half smile. “Thanks Cap, but the only person here who might be helpful is Clint, and his hacking kind of sucks anyway.”

Clint made a vaguely offended sound in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t argue. Compared to Tony’s expertise, he was a third grader. And that’s being generous. Looking thoughtful, Bruce piped up, “What about Wraith- I mean Jason, when he’s a bit stronger and if he’s up for it? Didn’t you find him rooting around in Shield virtually undetected?”

“Bruce, you’re a genius!” Tony said exuberantly, to which the man in question cocked an eyebrow and simply said, “I am.”

Tony, fully ignoring his science bro, rattled on, “Since he was actively hunting Hydra, he must already be familiar with their code, system, and alarms, which means I won’t need to spare any time training him on it! And he’s almost as good as I was at his age, so this could totally work!” Whipping to face Bruce, he asks earnestly, “When do you think he’d be cleared for something like this?”

Bruce’s face scrunches up thoughtfully, and the room lapses into silence as everyone waits in anticipation for his answer. “If his healing factor keeps up at the same pace it has for the past week, I’d say give him another two days or so to rest and get his strength back before springing this on him. From what I understand, this code is a sensitive matter, and it will require intense focus to be successful. Besides, he almost died.” The again went unsaid, but he might as well have shouted it with the way several of the team flinched. “He could use some time without any external stress to process and decompress. A coma doesn’t really allow you to do any of those things.”

“That works,” Clint said matter of factly. Sure, this was Tony’s jurisdiction and Bruce’s patient, but goddammit this was his kid. “We’ve already talked it through a little bit, but he’s extremely rattled by the situation and frankly baffled that we even bothered to come for him.”

That got a lot of sad looks and horrified gasps in response, but he pushed forward. “But, despite his certainty that we’d abandon him, we’ve come a long way since he first arrived. He actually trusts us now. We just need to show him that he’s part of the family and keep up what we’ve been doing. I haven’t said this enough, but thank you guys for accepting him so openly. I don’t think I would’ve been able to make him feel this comfortable and seen without your help. He’s healing. It’s slow, but it’s there, and I couldn’t be more proud of all of you.”

“Clint, like you said, we’re a family. No matter what, we’ve got your back,” Steve said warmly. Of course, Tony instantly had to ruin it by jokingly saying, “Jason’s great and I love that kid, but I’m still upset you brought a pet into my tower without asking!”

Rolling his eyes, Clint said, “Tony, the cat is more well-behaved than you are so I don’t see why you’re complaining.”

After a light and rather cathartic tussle between the two that relieved a massive amount of stress (and ended with a possibly extremely expensive vase being shattered), Steve suggested they have a movie night and order takeout. Everyone eagerly agreed, and, after consulting Bruce, they were able to invite Jason up. He initially seemed hesitant, but Clint quickly assuaged his doubts and helped him walk stiffly to the living room.

The night went off without a hitch. Jason didn’t seem uncomfortable the entire time and Verdana didn’t hiss at anyone once which would have been a major indicator for that. To make a good thing better, everyone seemed far more relaxed than they had since the world came crashing down around them. There was a noticeable void left by Nat’s absence, but it was a much-needed break for the entire team and a great way to celebrate Jason’s awakening.

Everyone drifted off to sleep that night feeling far happier but with a reinvigorated determination to find their missing teammate. Nat won’t be missing the next movie.

Chapter Text

He thought things would get better once Jason woke up. And in some ways, they did. The kid’s injuries were healing with remarkable progress, and he had lost a lot of the tension he used to hold once he’d finally admitted to wanting to stay. However, while his physical health was improving, his mental state backslid in some areas.

Clint really, really should have anticipated this, but it had slipped his mind between fretting for Jason and Natasha’s lives. He knew Jason had an issue with bombs (well, at least the ones he didn’t make or expect). And on top of the whole bomb problem, the kid had yet another close call with death. Of course he was going to be affected.

The trauma manifested itself in the form of night terrors. Ones just as bad, if not worse, than the several Clint had helped with when Jason first arrived. However, those ones had never quite scared Clint as much as the worst of these ones. Jason would scream but not wake up no matter what he or Bruce did. Many times he’d wake up sobbing uncontrollably and mistaking them for someone from his old life. Someone who would hurt him. But the worst was when Jason’s heart rate picked up so drastically that Bruce was about to medically intervene in fear that his heart could stop.

So, the last four days have been filled with stress and fitful nights as Clint practically lived in the med bay with Jason. The kid plastered on a smile and reassured him that he was fine. That it was okay for Clint to leave, but he knew better than to listen. He could see that Jason was anything but fine and how desperately he needed someone to stay with him, even if he refused to admit it. He’d also tried to gently remind the kid in roundabout ways that he was there to talk, but Jason was either too out of it to pick up what he was putting down or simply didn’t want to.

Eventually, he’d decided to try and confront this head-on. The kid had a lot of trauma, and he was drowning under the weight of it all. The next time Jason had calmed down from his most recent nightmare, Clint carefully said, “Hey Jason, I think talking through everything might help with your nightmares. I know you’re used to bottling it up because there was no one you could turn to, but I’m here for you. I want you to feel safe and happy. These nightmares aren’t doing either of those.”

Jason fidgeted where he was sitting on the bed beside Clint and was visibly struggling with what to do. After a long, anxious minute, Jason finally replied, hesitation flooding his tone. “I think I want to. But-” The kid cut himself off, seeming unsure if he should say it. “I’m scared,” he finally admitted.

“And that’s a completely normal way to feel. It’s not easy to be vulnerable, but doing so can help you process your trauma and help me support you better. Is there a reason you’re scared? Maybe I can help with it?” Clint made sure to hold back the desperation in his tone. Jason didn’t need to feel pressured into spilling all his secrets. That wouldn’t help the cautious trust Clint has spent so much time cultivating.

Looking away, Jason whispers, “I did some terrible things. What if you hate me when you find out?” What if you leave me, goes unsaid, but Clint heard it loud and clear.

“Jason, we’ve all done things we regret. Besides, you’re family. I could never hate you.” That must have been the right thing to say because the fear leaves Jason’s face. And after a moment, Jason steels himself and starts to talk.

At times, his voice is muted and scared as he details the bits of his past he’s ashamed of. Other times, it’s filled with unrestrained fear. The one constant is the tears. Not long after he’d begun speaking, he’d started to silently cry.

Twice Jason had to pause for a second because he was on the verge of falling into a panic attack. One of the times, Jason just shut down, stopping mid sentence and staring blankly into the distance. After that, Clint tried to get the kid to take a break, but he said he needed to get everything off his chest now or it may never happen.

The longer Clint listened, the more he wished he could get his hands on the monsters who’d terrorized his kid. Batman, his birds, Joker, the League of Assassins, and even the so-called Justice League. Some, he just wanted to give a stern talking to (read uppercut or three).

But the others?

He wanted to rip those despicable vermin limb from limb. To shoot all their limbs so they couldn’t get away and ensure they knew exactly why death was coming for them before he sent them into a long overdue grave.

By the time Jason had finished telling his story, he was a sobbing mess. The kid had buried himself in Clint’s arms long ago, and the man couldn’t help but be grateful. He didn’t need to see the unbridled rage in his eyes and think it was directed at him.

After that, Clint didn’t sleep well for days. He had horrific nightmares of Jason’s past, dreaming of a kid who just wanted to be loved being torn apart and left bleeding for his efforts. However (despite how much as the archer was struggling with his newfound knowledge), talking, and more likely being accepted, was just what Jason needed. He still had nightmares, but they were far less intense. The kid could finally rest and heal.

It was another three days before Bruce gave Tony permission to ask Jason for help, and when he did, the look on the kid’s face was enough to melt even the coldest of hearts. His expression was a mix of awe, disbelief, and joy. When asked why he looked so happy about hacking Hydra, he shyly answered, “I didn’t think I was smart enough.”

Clint instantly clocked it as Batman’s fault, and mentally punched the man for the billionth time. Tony, looking aghast, started telling Jason what a genius he was at both tech and coding by comparing his skills to Clint’s. Which, ouch. Thanks Tony. But it startled a laugh out of Jason and seemed to boost his self-confidence a little, so he would magnanimously let it slide. For now.

Tony’s days (of peace) were numbered.

Chapter Text

Jason was absolutely buzzing with excitement as he sifted through Hydra’s data and infiltrated their code. Whenever the Bats needed any coding work done, he’d always been belittled and brushed aside for his subpar skills. Even when he was Robin he hadn’t been allowed to touch any important strings of code.

But here, he was given free rein into their enemy’s system and trusted to not screw anything up. Tony simply pointed him in the direction he wanted him to go, told him to holler if he needed help, and walked away with a friendly clap on the shoulder. Not only was the man letting him help, he kept exclaiming how grateful he was for another competent coder so he could take some time to work on the universal key. And when Jason asked questions about this key, Tony was more than happy to explain every detail rather than shut him down. It was a baffling but downright joyful experience. At this rate, the muscles on his face were going to be sore from all the smiling.

Over the next week, Jason sifted and sorted through all of the data he and Tony collected, compiling folders of the newly discovered bases and everything they could find on the contents. It was only a matter of time before they found Nat.

Whenever Jason needed to take a break, another member of the Avengers was never far. Steve, who was quickly becoming more of a brother to him than any of the birds ever had, was prepared with a new hobby or activity for Jason to experiment with. Thor would often request a spar since he was the only one who knew how to skillfully wield a sword. Clint would even take him on patrol for a few hours if Jason prodded enough.

Then there was Banner. Jason didn’t know how, but the soft-spoken man had somehow picked up on his love of literature and was more than happy to indulge him. When he asked the older man how he figured out he liked to read, Banner simply gave him a small, lopsided smile and said, “Your vibes.” Jason genuinely couldn’t tell if the man was serious or pulling his leg, but he laughed nonetheless and happily took The Count of Monte Cristo.

And when Jason accidentally stumbled across a trigger or needed someone to talk through any points in the story that troubled him (sometimes about his past and other times about who he is now as a person), Banner always, without fail, set aside what he was doing and gave Jason his full attention. The man was wise and gave invaluable advice, but he also didn’t push his ideas onto him. If Jason disagreed, they had a civil conversation about it. Sometimes, one would be swayed to the other’s mindset. But if not, there were no hard feelings and they were simply happy to explore each other’s thoughts.

It was while they were discussing the Hobbits’ ideologies that Jason finally called Banner by his first name. Bann- Bruce’s face lit up in surprise and joy, but concern addled the edges. Setting aside his open copy of the Hobbit, he gently said, “You don’t have to force yourself if you find my name uncomfortable. I’m perfectly happy with whatever makes you feel safe.”

“No,” Jason said firmly around the knot in his throat. “I’m just coming to realize that Br- he and the others maybe, well, abused me? After everything, he doesn’t deserve to even be addressed. But you? You’re someone I genuinely enjoy being with, and you’ve always been there for me no matter how many times Clint drags my unconscious self to you. I’m sorry it took me this long to finally realize that.”

Another one of Bruce’s gentle smiles that felt safe and comforting appeared on his face. “I’m glad it happened at all. Thank you for trusting me. I truly enjoy spending time with you as well. You’re the only person in this godforsaken tower who also enjoys looking at a book for longer than fifteen minutes! When we get Nat back, we should start a book club.”

“I’d like that,” he replies happily.

_______

Two weeks after Nat was abducted, Jason was crashing through the tower at nine pm yelling at the top of his lungs for Tony. The Man of Steel, who had been nursing his twelfth coffee, slammed his mug on the kitchen island and raced toward Jason to figure out what was going on, already fearing the worst. When he turned the corner, the two crashed into each other. Tony bounced off the kid’s chest and sprawled onto the ground, whereas Jason was completely unphased by the encounter.

Jason chuckled as he hauled the grumbling genius to his feet, but the next instant he was excitedly saying, “I found Nat! She’s okay!” Tony immediately snatched the file out of his hand and started almost frantically sifting through the info he’d gathered.

“You did it!” he exclaimed ecstatically after flipping through the various papers, reports, and schematics. “You found her! Jarvis, tell the Avengers to suit up. We have an assassin to rescue!” Clapping Jason on the shoulder, Tony praised, “Good work, Jason! I knew you’d be able to track her down!”

With that, they split up to grab their gear. If Jason’s face was split in an almost giddy grin the entire time, no one was around to notice (supposedly). After he’d donned his Red Wraith attire, he joined the Avengers in the conference room. The plan was simple: infiltrate stealthily (if everything went well), grab Nat, destroy everything. Piece of cake.

After the basic plan was outlined, Tony held up a small remote and proudly stated, “I’ve finally finished my universal key! It should open almost anything.”

“Saying ‘almost’ isn’t the most comforting if we’re going into enemy turf, Tony. What if it sets an alarm off?” Steve asked, ever the cautious one. Tony looked around, spotted Jason, and with a wicked grin, he clicked a button. The next second, there was a slight hiss as his helmet depressurized and unlocked.

Jason’s hands flew up to his helmet and locked it back in place as Tony whined, “Aw man! I thought the faceplate would open like mine.”

“Careful!” Jason almost shouted. “You could’ve triggered the bomb!”

Everything seemed to freeze as horror and dread appeared on everyone’s faces. “There’s a bomb in your helmet?!” Clint practically screamed.

Nervously shifting from foot to foot, he replied uncertainly, “Yeah? It’s come in handy for daring escapes and general mayhem?” It was quiet, and the longer it remained so, the more he hunched in on himself. Was this what would finally get them to kick him out? This didn’t even seem that bad compared to some of the other things they know about him.

Sighing heavily, Tony wipes a hand down his face and says, “I’ll be looking at that later. I know you’re good at what you do, but safety is no joke.”

Clint had a pinched look on his face, and at first, Jason was confused as to why. And then it belatedly dawned on him. Gingerly moving to stand beside the archer, Jason put a comforting hand on his shoulder and clumsily said, “I promise it’s not like that. I- I don’t plan on going anywhere.” After a stress-filled minute, the tension bled out of Clint’s body and he gave a quick nod of understanding. Pure, unadulterated relief flooded Jason’s system that they took him at his word. And maybe, he was a bit surprised to realize he truly meant what he said.

With that done, they finished wrapping up the briefing and moved to the jet. Next stop, Kazakhstan.

Chapter Text

Four hours on the Quinjet later, Jason found himself entering the airspace over the Tian Shan mountain range. The jet’s camouflage kept them hidden from sight, but even without it, they’d likely be fine due to the heavy snowfall.

The closer they got to the location of the Hydra base, the cockpit lapsed into silence as everyone prepared themselves for the mission. As they approached the drop-off point on the far side of the base, Tony asked worriedly, “Are you sure about this, kid?”

“Of course,” Jason answered seriously. Slipping his helmet on, he turns away from the genius and strides toward the open gangway, the snowy ground zipping past quickly. Clint appears at his side dressed in a muted version of his iconic purple.

The archer asks, “Ready to put some Hydra scum in the ground?”

“They won’t even know what hit them,” he replied firmly, only to follow it up with a scoff. “Guess we’ll see if Shield’s stealth training is anywhere near the level of an assassin cult’s!”

With a challenging smile, Clint shot back, “I guess we will.” The jet slowed down dramatically, and behind them, Steve gives the countdown till they jump. As he and Clint strode to the end of the ramp, Jason’s heart rate ratchets up in anticipation and excitement, both for the drop and to finally get Nat back. Making Hydra pay would also be a nice bonus.

When Steve reaches the end of the countdown, he and Clint launch off the end of the walkway and roll to a stop in the cold, powdery snow. Above them, the jet makes a rapid retreat to prevent Hydra from detecting their presence. Now, it was up to the two of them to track down Nat.
The assassin and the special agent ghosted up the hill toward the fortress nestled between the crags of Khan Tegri. Activating the fancy new thermal vision he’d installed in his helmet during one of his workshop sessions with Tony, he and Clint silently slipped over the walls and into the compound. There were a lot of security personnel milling about, but they had the advantage of surprise. Not to mention, no one here was expecting an attack since the region was so remote and well-hidden. Their mistake. Hopefully their last.

Clint and Jason had studied the plans and security movements extensively on the way here, so it was simple to navigate their way through. What was more difficult was finding places to stash the bodies Jason kept amassing behind Clint’s back. Clint hadn’t wanted to take the risk of someone finding the bodies or getting suspicious because someone wasn’t answering their radio. Jason, on the other hand, wanted to drop every Hydra scumbag they came across.

Jason got his way after Clint got spotted and Jason had to slit the guy’s throat in two seconds flat. Since there was already one body lying around, what was a few (dozen) more?

While it obviously put the archer on edge, Clint merely rolled his eyes at Jason, who was stuffing a guy in a very public trash can, and continued making his way for the prisoner block. Thankfully, this particular base wasn’t used as a human testing site, so Nat likely hadn’t been hurt during her stay. On the downside, Hydra used it to store, test, and transport a massive variety of weapons. A fact that was good for both Hydra and the trigger-happy Red Wraith.

Twenty minutes and twenty-three dead Hydra agents later, Jason and Clint had finally made it to the exterior entrance for the prison. With a swift click of the universal key, the door unlocked, and the two infiltrators were in.

The interior looked exactly the same as every other Hydra base he’d seen before, and that thought wasn’t exactly comforting to Jason. White, impersonal walls and loud tile underfoot gave the building an eerie and foreboding feel that he really didn’t feel good about.

All the more reason to murder everyone they came across!

As they made their way through the facility, Clint and Jason (but mostly Jason, who may or may not be overly excited about being back and lethal in the field) dispatched the various guards and personnel they came across. By this point, Jason’s knife was soaked in blood and his heart was thundering in his chest. They were so close to Nat. Just another turn or two, and they’d have her back.

And of course, that’s when all hell decided to break loose.

The alarm sounded throughout the facility, and red emergency lights flashed overhead. Up ahead of them, the sound of boots slamming against tile reverberated throughout the halls. “Guess our time’s up,” Jason said with a wicked grin as he drew his Glocks. Beside him, Clint grumbled, ‘I wonder whose fault that is,’ which startled a laugh out of him.

Throwing himself into a sprint, he races up the hall on silent feet. Behind him, he hears Clint whispering urgently into his comm as he tries to keep up while also keeping quiet. When Jason reaches the juncture of the hall, he drops to the floor into a slide. As he screeches past the new hallway, he fires into the group of approaching Hydra agents. His momentum carries him safely behind the wall while his bullets hit home and the entire front line of enemies dropped dead to the floor.

“That was insane!” Clint screamed from where he’d taken up position on the other side of the hall and began firing arrows at the panicking agents.

With a smirk evident in his voice, Jason snarked, “You’re just jealous I’m cooler than you.” Between the two of them, it was ludicrously easy to take care of the remaining agents. As the last one fell and they started down the new corridor, Clint was grumbling something about upstart teenagers (if anyone said he was smiling, he’d deny it to his dying day).

It took a few more hallways and tussles until they finally arrived at the high-security block housing their missing Avenger. With a tap of the universal key, and not a bomb like Jason was wanting to use, they easily gained access and hurried into the block.

While Jason dispatched the cell block’s two guards, Clint went in search of Nat. Beyond the doorway, there were a dozen cells filled with various restraining equipment. They found Natasha in the seventh one. At first, Clint was freaking out because she was unresponsive, but he quickly discovered that she was simply unconscious and had seemingly been administered a sedative when the alarm sounded.

Clint hurried to pick the various locks binding Nat while Jason stood guard at the door. And it was a good thing he did because several more too-thorough-for-their-own-good guards had stopped by.

With Nat slung over Clint’s shoulder, the two men bolted out of the high-security area and thundered out into the hall. With a quick hand signal from Jason, they decided to take an alternate route out in hopes of running into fewer of Hydra’s goons. Despite how well things were progressing, he didn’t have a good feeling about this. With his luck, something would go horrifically wrong any moment now.

Flicking his comm on, Jason reports, “We’ve got Nat and are heading out via route four to site six. No pursuit as of yet, but that could change.”

“With how many thugs Wraith killed, I’ll be surprised if there’s anyone left to chase us!” Clint joked good-naturedly, probably sensing some of the stress Jason was feeling. And while he appreciated the attempt, he needed to focus on whatever bad thing was going to happen because there was no way it wasn’t coming.

His comm crackled to life when they were climbing the roof-access stairs. Steve yelled, “We’ve been spotted! Access to site six has been blocked, and we’re taking heavy fire. Thor and Iron Man are engaging the hostiles. Can you make it to three?”

Bursting back out onto the snowy rooftop, Jason surveyed their surroundings and had to bite back a groan. The courtyard below was swarming with goons, and it looked like it’d be nigh impossible to sneak past undetected. He should’ve killed more of these jerks on the way in.

“Negative,” he replies sharply. “Is two clear for you?” At Steve’s affirmative, he tells Clint, “We need to split up. I’ll distract them while you get to the rendezvous point. Once I shake them, I’ll meet you there.”

Clint looked like he wanted to argue, but he visibly bit back his worries and simply gave a determined nod. “Stay safe. Call if you need help,” he said simply before rushing off.

With that, Jason did what he did best. He took to the rooftops and executed the evildoers scattered beneath him. Careful not to stay still long enough for the Hydra scum to get a shot at him, he dances across the roofs and shoots at anything that moves. In the distance, he sees Thor and Tony fending off small aircrafts and anti-aircraft guns, the shots lighting up the sky.

The sounds of gunfire and his heart roaring fills his ears. Beneath his feet, snow and gravel alike shift. The cool whip of the air and the warmth of the gun in his hand make his skin seem to tingle with anticipation even more. For the first time since long before he came to this dimension, Jason well and truly feels alive.

After several minutes, Hydra finally starts to wisen up and take to the roofs in pursuit of him. With a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, he manages to keep the goons at bay. Between his combat expertise and experience with navigating rooftops, it wasn’t even all that hard.

However, what did make things difficult were the few nicks and scrapes he was picking up along the way. A particularly sharp piece of ice sliced into his glove when he vaulted over a railing. Several thugs had snuck up on him while he was dealing with their comrades and gotten a few swipes in. A wayward bullet had managed to graze his thigh. Overall, nothing was particularly problematic, but good grief was it annoying.

Eventually, Jason decided he’d played with the morons long enough and chucked a couple grenades to cover his own escape. While the thugs were scrambling away from the explosives, Jason took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. With the amount of snow falling and the number of footprints already in the powder, it’d be near impossible for them to discover which direction he’d headed in.

Halfway to Clint’s position, Jason realized a building near the center of the complex was engulfed in raging flames. He was about to ask the others if they had anything to do with it, but voices below his perch caused him to pause.

“-and the missiles are all locked onto their targets?” a strict voice asked sharply. The owner of it was a woman wearing a uniform of higher rank than the average scumbag running around here. Between that and the fact they were discussing freaking missiles made Jason pause everything to listen.

The man standing next to her stood at attention and said, “Yes. One was retargeted onto the Avenger’s jet, but all the others remain the same.”

“Good. The Avengers are already distracted, but the fire should keep any wandering heroes from interfering. Grab whatever you can and retreat. We’ll need to reconvene at another location,” the woman said.

As she started to turn away, Jason growled, “I don’t think so.” The man gasped something about ‘the demon,’ but Jason was too busy putting a bullet between his eyes to listen. Vaulting off the roof, he crashes into the leader’s retreating form, slamming her viciously to the icy ground.

Placing his gun at the base of her skull, he says, “How long until the missiles launch?” The lady refused to answer, and Jason knew deep within his bones that there wasn’t time to force an answer out of her. With a frustrated sigh, he shoots her and runs for the raging inferno of a building. The fire was so large that he already knew it was going to be a one-way trip.

He knew he had a bad feeling about tonight.

“There’s a fleet of missiles about to launch, and one of the targets is the Quinjet! I’m going to shut them down,” he says urgently into the comm.

Almost instantly, Clint was in his ear yelling, “Missiles?! Wraith, don’t tell me they’re in the one that’s on fire?!”

“It is,” Jason said curtly. “Look, if I don’t make it out-”

Frantically, the archer cut him off. “Jason, don’t you dare-”

“-thanks for everything. I know I was a burden, and I’m grateful that you still took me in.”

The frantic tone was mixed with anger this time when Clint spoke. “You aren’t a burden, goddamnit! Stay put, I’ll be there soon to take care of the missiles.”

Sighing, Jason said, “You can’t just leave Nat, and it’s okay. If someone has to go, it should be me. There’s no reason to risk the team like this.”

“Jason, you absolute moron! You’re family, not some disposable pawn!” Clint spits out furiously. At Jason’s quiet and shocked, ‘Oh,’ he continues almost desperately, “You’re one of us, so don’t do anything stupid! Thor and Tony can take care of the missiles once they’ve launched. There’s no reason to risk your life.”

Breathing out a sigh that contained far more emotion than before, Jason forlornly replies, “Thank you for saying that, truly. But Clint, they’re fighting for their lives right now. So much so that they can’t even spare a moment to talk.” Gritting his teeth and stalking toward the blazing building before him, he says with a tone of finality, “Get Nat to safety. And if you ever meet one of the Bats, do me a favor and clock them for me?”

With that, Jason deactivates his comm and walks into hell.

Chapter Text

The heat was nigh unbearable as Jason trekked through the building made almost entirely of flames and molten metal at this point. Even with his helmet, the air was hot, dry, and nearly nonexistent. It burned on the way in but had him gasping for more. If he didn’t hurry, he’d be dead long before he managed to tamper with the missiles.

Because the blistering heat made his vision dance, it was that much harder to keep his footing on the uneven ground. Debris from the ceiling and walls slowly falling apart littered his path, and more than once he had to dodge a falling beam or hurl himself over and through small walls of flames. Along the way, he touched a beam that was borderline superheated and only managed to save his hands by sacrificing his now-melted gloves.

While he trekked through the inferno, he mentally distanced himself from the collection of burns he was quickly amassing. Injuries didn’t mean anything to a dead man. Besides, if he thought too hard about them now, they’d be too much of a distraction. So, compartmentalizing was the way to go. Guess Batman taught him one good thing.

The creaking around him became louder and more insistent, signaling that the building wouldn’t be standing much longer. Thankfully, this particular structure was far simpler than some of the other convoluted Hydra facilities. So it didn’t take Jason long to stumble upon the control room. He did have to make a few detours, but the missiles hadn’t launched and he wasn’t dead yet, so it was fine.

Bright red hands slicked in sweat flew across the achingly hot control panel as he desperately tried to beat both the heat and the timer. There was a good chance the sweltering temperature could cause the control panel to short-circuit, so he needed to be quick.

A sick, twisted part of him was chuckling darkly since he now had three separate clocks ticking: the bomb’s, the control panel’s, and his life’s. Four if you want to count how long the building will stay standing. Overall, the stress was eating away at him. Despite largely shoving it aside and doing his best to focus, his hands still shook slightly as he worked to deactivate the missiles and redirect them into the ocean. If they stayed here, the fire could set them off. And if that happened, the Avengers would be caught up in the blast, meaning his death would have been for nothing.

He refuses to die in vain a second time.

His throat started to constrict as the fire began to burn away the last of the oxygen left in the room and replace it with acrid smoke. Yet another timer started in the back of his mind as he forced himself to work faster. When he finally shut off the detonation sequence, he almost went boneless at the wave of relief he felt. After that, all it took was a few last clicks to program the new targets.

Hitting the last button, Jason finally allowed his body to give in. He slumped to the floor in an exhausted, pain-addled heap, giving himself one precious second to bask in his success as he listened to the missiles taking off into the snowy night. His breath was coming in heavy gasps as his mental shields saved and the pain he’d previously pushed aside all but flooded him in one torturous wave.

With a shaking hand, he activated his comm for the last time. “Mission accomplished,” he managed to force out breathily before shutting it down once more. As much as he didn’t want to die well and truly alone for the second time, he wasn’t so cruel as to force his friends - no, his family - to listen to him die.

And so he found himself lying on the cold hard ground, drowning in agony, and waiting for death once more. As he waited for oblivion and tried to distance himself from the pain once more, his thoughts wandered. He wondered if the Avengers would grieve for him for the barest of moments before his mind instantly shut down the thought process.

Yes, they would. If there was one thing he could trust, it was that the Avengers cared. Clint had fervently declared them a family even. A watery smile slipped onto Jason’s face, and tears traced their way down his face before evaporating in the raging heat. He felt awful for hurting them like this, but at least they’d be alive. Hopefully, this would be enough to repay a fraction of the debt he owed them.

His throat burned as the air was steadily replaced by smoke, and he could vaguely see through his blurring vision that the flames were creeping closer by the second. Closing his eyes against his impending doom, all he could do was pray for the building to collapse. All he wanted was a quick death at this point, and so far, it didn’t look like that would be happening.

He played with the idea of grabbing his trusty Glock and finishing the job himself, but his stomach twisted at the idea of Clint digging his corpse and seeing he didn’t even try to wait for a rescue. Because he knows Clint’s trying at this very moment to find a way to save him. Circling the burning building and praying for a miracle that would never come.

So even if it spared him a few minutes of agony, it may curse Clint with a lifetime of guilt. And Jason couldn’t bear to do that to the man who’d given him everything he’d ever wanted out of nothing more than love.

As darkness began to creep across his vision, Jason couldn’t help but wheeze out a pathetic little laugh. The end was near, and at the very least, it was the smoke that’d get him. He’d be unconscious when death came for him, and that was a blessing he could appreciate.

Far above him, an angel appeared and began descending to him. Jason didn’t remember closing his eyes, but perhaps he was already dead. He could somewhat make out a billowing dress and long, flowing hair as the heat caused a soft, barely there breeze to move through the crumbling building.

However, the closer the angel got, the less like an angel it appeared. And it wasn’t until they were mere yards away that Jason realized what the angel was. “No freaking way,” he coughed out as Thor swooped down, a grim, urgent expression on his face. How the high hell did the Avengers always manage to counteract his atrocious luck? Honestly, it was kind of ridiculous. If he somehow survived once more, he’d have to seriously ask around and see if anyone on the team was secretly a leprechaun or some other mythical, luck-bestowing being.

Once he was secure in the Asgardian’s arms, the mighty God of Thunder quickly took off into the sky. As they broke through the roof, Jason gasped at the rush of frozen yet revitalizing oxygen filling his lungs, allowing him to breathe properly for the first time in what felt like years.

When he got enough breath in his lungs, he laughed. It was a sound full of joy and relief because at the end of the day, Jason wanted to live. Somewhere along the way, he’d finally found it again.

The moment Thor landed heavily in the snow, Clint was (very gently) ripping Jason out of his arms and smothering him like he would disappear if the man stopped for even a second. When Jason looked up, he was only slightly surprised to see tears in the older man’s eyes as he simultaneously told him off and begged him not to do something so dangerous ever again.

Nat, who must have woken up while Jason was on his suicide mission, set a comforting hand on his shoulder (for her or him, he wasn’t sure) and quietly expressed her relief that he’d made it back in one piece.

After that, everything was a blur. Hydra was left in shambles as he was shuffled onto the Quinjet. He must’ve fallen asleep, because he woke up the first time still on the jet, but hooked up to an oxygen tank with Clint hovering beside his bedside. The second time, he was in the oh-so-familiar hospital bed with Verdana purring on his chest and Bruce shuffling around in the background.

Both of those times, he was awake for but a few moments before slipping back under. But the third time, he was fully awake and cognizant of his surroundings. Clint was sitting in his chair with a small smile. “Hey sleepyhead, how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Jason managed to force through his smoke-stung lungs.

At his words, Clint’s smile dropped. “Good, because then I won’t feel bad for chewing you out. What were you thinking?! That fire was a one-way trip, and you knew it!”

Dropping his gaze from Clint’s horrified and worried one, Jason whispered, “I didn’t want to lose any of my family. So, I picked the option that guaranteed it. I’m sorry for scaring you.” Gritting his teeth, he continued with conviction coloring his tone. “But I won’t apologize for the choice I made. I still think it was the right call, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you safe.”

Clint stared grimly at him for a long, agonizing minute before he sighed heavily and dragged a hand down his face. “Damnit, Jason, why do you have to be such a good kid? You and your goddamn bleeding heart. Listen, I appreciate why you did what you did. Truly, I do. But if the cost of my life is yours, I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself. And I’m certain the others feel the same. Next time, please, please at least discuss this with us more. And if Steve makes the call, defer to him. Okay?”

“No promises,” Jason huffed obstinately. “But, I’ll at least try.”

Smiling, Clint said, “I suppose that’s the best response I could have hoped for. Now, let’s get you down to the living room. The others are waiting for us.”

At first, the archer tried to help Jason shuffle out of the med bay, but they quickly realized that Jason didn’t have the energy to make the trek to the common floor. So, Jason was cajoled into a wheelchair that Clint was all too happy to push for him.

When the door dinged open at their destination, five heads all turned at once to watch the two wheel into the room. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, only to discover that it had been a poor decision and set off a painful coughing fit. Although short, every hero in the room looked like they wanted to jump to their feet and find a way to help him.

“Hey guys?” he said nervously. He wondered if they had all gathered here to chew him out for trying to sacrifice himself for them or if something else was going on. But that didn’t feel quite right because the kitchen was filled with all kinds of snacks and desserts (including his favorite donuts from the bakery up the street, which was a good sign that he wasn’t going to get grounded or something), and Tony’s stupid disco/light machine/boombox thing that he enjoyed pulling out for parties and special occasions was sitting in the corner.

Tony was the first to speak up. “Hey, kid! Glad to see you’re up and about…mostly. How are you feeling?”

“Not awful,” Jason said suspiciously because this felt like a trap and all too similar to how things went with Clint.

However, instead of digging into him, the man simply said, “That’s a relief! Means we can move on with the festivities without worrying about you keeling over on us.”

“Festivities?” he asked carefully. Were they celebrating getting Natasha back? Their ongoing survival? Maybe Bruce published another groundbreakingly successful paper?

Steve stood up and strode to stand in front of Jason. With a voice oozing authority, he said, “Jason, we’d like to formally offer you a spot on the Avengers. It’s been a long time coming, and now seems as good a time as ever.”

Jason couldn’t do anything but blink up at the older man for a long second before flicking his gaze across the others’ faces. “You’re serious?!” he asked, flabbergasted. Looking at the other members of the Avengers, he saw a mix of pride, hope, and excitement in their faces. And he realized that they really did want him on the team, a realization that made his heart straight up soar.

After an entire minute of stunned silence, Clint carefully prodded, “So, how about it? We would love it if a hero like you joined us!” An emotion Jason couldn’t quite place flickered across the archer’s face as he reassured, “But, if you don’t want to, no hard feelings. You’re still welcome here and will always be a part of the family-”

Jason cut him off. “A hero? You really think that?” His voice was choked up with emotion because everything he’d ever wished for was coming true. He got a family that loved him, unconditional support, and now people who accepted him for who he was and didn’t see him as an evil scourge upon their city. No, it was more than that. They thought he was a hero. Something he never thought he’d be again.

Clint’s smile turned sad at how blatant the Bat’s influence on Jason’s psyche was, but it was Bruce who said, “Of course you are. One of the best.”

Tearing up, Jason said happily, “I would love nothing more.”

He was immediately pulled into Clint’s arms as the rest of the team very vocally celebrated. A warm hand that Jason instantly registered as safe fell on his shoulder and gently squeezed it. Steve, with a beaming smile on his face exclaimed, “Welcome to the team!”

And Jason knew he was finally home.