Chapter Text
Jason had heard of Plants vs. Zombies, but this was getting out of control.
Gotham’s downtown was in chaos - no surprises there - and Jason was right in the thick of it, taking down whole hordes of zombified citizens as Scarecrow and Poison Ivy continued their squabble.
“They're both the bad guys,” Jason muttered into his comm link, grateful that he had recently upgraded his air filtration system on a whim. “They should just hug it out.”
“Wouldn't that make all our lives easier,” Roy replied. His voice was muffled by his gas mask, but at least he wasn't one of the far-too-many people strung out on Scarecrow’s latest batch of fear gas - a potent mixture that seemed to be temporarily stripping its victims of pain, fear, and higher-level thinking - or one of Ivy’s new plant-controlled minions with parasitic vines crawling into their noses and ears. No, thank you.
“Is this what you humans call ‘shipping’?” Kori asked curiously, floating overhead. “When you want two people to hug?”
Roy snorted. “Not when that hug would kill one of them,” he replied. “And holy shit, what did I tell you about staying away from internet fandoms?”
Kori frowned and flew higher, using her vantage point to get a better view of the city. “I see no sign of your adversary the scary crow, but a large growth of vines has appeared a few blocks from here.”
“That'll be Ivy,” Jason grunted. “Let's see what we can do to prune her back a bit, shall we? A little fire should do the trick - let’s move in.”
“Hell no,” Roy pouted, folding his arms in front of his chest. “You may have high-tech suits and superpowers, but I do not, and I am not getting poisoned again.”
The last time they’d faced off against Ivy, Roy had ended up covered in large purple blisters - and the time before that, it had taken three days to get him to stop kissing the potted plants in his apartment. Bad times were had by most. Jason still had pictures.
“Fair enough,” Jason said with a shrug. “You stay back and keep your eyes on the field. B and his merry band of sidekicks will be here soon and I wanna be out of here before the flock descends.”
“You got it,” Roy replied. He saluted once, casual as anything, then raced off with Starfire hot on his heels.
Which left Jason a good three blocks of zombies all to himself.
Holstering his gun, Jason cracked his knuckles, the capacitors hidden in his gloves charging immediately. The plates in his armored gloves, courtesy of Roy, could produce short bursts of electricity on command, and while it wouldn't kill anyone, a strike laced with that much power would be enough to knock any zombie flat on their ass.
Jason dove into the fray, grinning wildly as he dodged the zombified citizens of Gotham and the flailing vines, taking down attackers with impunity and carving through the chaos. Progress was only slowed by the occasional detours here and there to aid unaffected civilians caught in the conflict. Most rescues only required a good punch to an incoming zombie-jaw, but not everyone was so lucky. Jason found countless people nursing vine-whip lashes and nasty bite wounds, as well as a few broken limbs here and there. He managed to pull one girl - her long blonde hair vaguely, frustratingly familiar - out of the middle of a zombie mob by the straps of her heavy purple backpack, and a block away he had to draw his knife to slash through the vines tying an old man to telephone pole.
“Why can't crime in this city ever be normal?” he griped into the comm.
Kori snickered. “If things were normal here, would you even bother staying?”
The princess had a point.
Before he could consider the validity of that point, however, something brushed against his thigh. Jason hardly registered the touch before that something was winding tightly around his chest, capturing his arms in tight coils as it constricted around his body.
Ivy’s vines.
Jason swore. Getting caught very rarely played a role in his plans, but when Poison Ivy was involved, capture was never pleasant. Already, Jason could feel the vines circling his throat, the slender tips exploring beneath the edges of his mask, pressing so tightly against the skin of his face he feared there’d be welts there the next day - if he was even conscious the next day. If these vines found their target, who knew when he’d wake up from his stint as a plant-zombie…
Or if you’d wake up at all, a nasty little voice suggested in the back of his mind. How much damage could Ivy cause if she took control of him? Everyone would be in danger…
“Uh. Guys I-”
Jason snapped his mouth shut as quickly as he’d opened it, grimacing as the tips of some adventuring vines pulled at his lips and stretched farther along his face. But his arms were pinned to his body; his hands clenched uselessly against his sides.
Bad. This was bad, this was very, very ba-
Something whizzed past his visor, moving so fast he flinched as it hissed in and out of sight - and all at once the vine’s grip loosened. Jason immediately took advantage of his newly-regained freedom, shoving the vines from his body and yanking them out from under his mask.
“Nice shot, Arsenal,” he muttered into the comm, relieved and chagrined and grateful all at once. He hadn’t even known Roy could still see him - when keeping an eye out for Batman, it was best to stick to the high ground. The old man liked coming in from above.
The comm crackled once. “Shot?” Roy asked. “I haven’t started shooting yet; you put me on recon, remember?”
Jason stilled.
“You alright there, Hood?”
Kicking aside some of the fallen vines, Jason knelt to inspect the object that had cut him loose - not an arrow like he first thought, but some sort of throwing disc, smooth and sharp and…
...marked with the emblem of a bird.
“Shit.” Jason looked up and scanned the nearby buildings, finding what he sought almost immediately.
One of the Robins had perched on the fire escape jutting out from the apartments across the street, and he seemed to watch Jason intently, his black cloak snapping in the wind.
The replacement.
It could be no one else; word on the streets after Jason disappeared said that the young man who had appeared to fight by Batman’s side had refused to take up the mantle of Robin, choosing instead to wear a different mask and a different name. It was the only info Jason had managed to dig up on the kid; all other information, including who he was and where he came from, had proven next to impossible to find.
And now there he stood, fit and fresh as a fiddle, like a cowled knight in gleaming red armor waiting for some sort of acknowledgement - or at least a thank you - from the the distressed damsel he’d so kindly rescued.
What a smug fuck.
“Arsenal!” Jason barked into the comm, “I thought I told you to alert me when the birds arrived.”
Roy made an indignant sound. “They haven’t! You think I’d miss an arrival like tha- ”
A flash of light burst through the snarled vines at the top of the tower Jason had been approaching, and before he could figure out what happened, large pieces of plant-flesh came raining down from above. Overhead, he thought he could make out the sound of an angry scream.
“...oh.”
“Goddammit,” Jason muttered.
“Alright, looks like it’s time to scram, Hood,” Roy amended. “This is not a fight I want to be in the middle of.”
Jason wholeheartedly agreed.
The replacement looked up, assessing what had happened, and then - casting one last, unfathomable look back at Jason - he cast off, firing a grappling hook into a nearby building and swinging up to join the three silhouettes that had appeared on the tower directly across from where Ivy was wrecking havoc.
No need to guess who had arrived. Jason would know the Bat and his Birds anywhere, and he had no intentions of furthering that acquaintanceship now or ever.
“Exit, stage left,” Jason muttered. Looking around, he found a motorbike, fiddled a bit with the wires, started the ignition, and drove away.
~~~
Unfortunately, saving the city from zombies didn't serve as a valid excuse for Jason to miss out on cleaning the next morning.
The chore of the day: window washing. Dusting and spraying and scrubbing and drying every single blasted window in the entire damned school - a task that Jason took to with little vigor. While most of the vine-lashes had disappeared by the time he’d woken up, by midmorning, the dull soreness from the night before had become a throbbing ache, one that hung like lead from his shoulders and dug deep into his back.
“Who decided dance studios needed French doors?” Jason grumbled, turning onto the dance wing with a sound of dismay. The art wing had been bad enough - most of the windows had been plastered with art, so he’d only needed to wash one side of them - but the dance wing, with its windowed studios and wall-to-wall mirrors, just looked like torture. He almost preferred the plant-zombies.
And after cleaning the all the mirrors in a single studio, Jason decided he definitely preferred the plant-zombies.
Whoever the architect was should be fired, Jason thought as he moved on to the next studio, feeling bitter despite knowing that the school had been designed and built long before he ever stepped foot in it. They should’ve hired someone else, anyone else, what kind of assholes would hire this asshole to -
Jason stilled.
“She worked there, you know. When she could.”
The commissioner’s words echoed in Jason’s mind, piercing and inescapable. His fingers knotted tighter around the rag in his hands.
“She loved those kids. She saw something in them that she also saw in you.”
“This isn’t quite what you wanted for me, is it,” Jason whispered. Beyond the doors, he could see his reflection in the mirror of the empty studio, saw exhaustion weighing on his shoulders and weariness in his sleepless eyes. A troublemaker, a lawbreaker, who danced around in a mask at night and called it justice, then had to clean up his crimes the next day.
“Oh my gosh, Steph - what happened to you? ”
Jason jumped, startled by the sound of a voice from the other end of the hall. Looking around and finding no one, he wandered farther down the hall to look, pausing just out of sight of the last studio.
It was the angry student from the other day - Twinkletoes, Jason had called him - looking in shock at the girl standing before him. Jason remembered her from that day as well, she’d been talking to the boy then too. Curiosity piqued, he drew closer to listen, slipping into a narrow alcove and leaning out just enough to be able to see the two students and hear what they said.
“It’s from last night,” Steph replied with a sigh, leaning heavily on her crutches. Her leg was now encased in a heavy black fracture boot. “Got caught by some fear-zombies on my way into town.”
“Is it-?” the boy started, stunned.
“Broken,” Stephanie finished, sounding resigned. “In two places. Though honestly? It could’ve been much worse. If it wasn’t for the guy who pulled me to safety, who knows what shape I’d be in.”
Jason stared, shocked, realizing all at once that the guy she had mentioned was him. She’d been the girl from the night before; he’d saved her from the zombies. He knew she’d been familiar…
The boy pulled her into a gentle hug. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmured into her hair.
“Me too,” she whispered, so quiet Jason barely caught the words. “But what about the Showcase? I won’t be able to dance… you won’t have a partner...”
The boy released her, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “It’s fine,” he said seriously.
Even with what little he knew about Twinkletoes, Jason could tell things were decidedly not fine. Tension pulled at the other boy’s shoulders and disappointment drew fine lines along his brow.
“Tim…”
The boy shook his head, any signs of stress vanishing in an instant. He placed his hands on Stephanie’s shoulders and smiled gently at her.
“It’ll be fine,” Tim said easily. “I’ll figure things out, maybe hold auditions, and it’ll all work out. Don’t worry about the Showcase; focus on healing up. What’s really important is that you get better.”
Stephanie’s shoulders sagged, visibly relieved. “Thanks, Tim.”
“No problem,” he said easily.
Jason watched as Tim helped Stephanie gather her belongings and readjust her crutches, then followed her to the open door to see her out.
For a moment, it looked to Jason as though the other boy would leave as well. Now that he didn’t have a partner, any practice he might’ve had planned would now be pointless. Jason had no idea what this Showcase was, but it seemed like whatever this kid had planned for it was now in shambles.
But he didn’t leave.
Once Stephanie had gone, the boy - Tim - turned back to the studio and shut the door behind him, taking careful, even steps until he stood alone in the center of the room.
Jason could hear his own heartbeat. Tim took a long, slow breath.
All at once, Tim leapt backwards and threw himself into a flip, landing on his feet with a hard thud and then dropping to the floor in a wide, sweeping kick, motion exploding from the stillness like lightning screaming from the sky.
He was… dancing, Jason realized as he watched the other boy whirl across the floor in an improvised series of elaborate twists and turns, giving a voice to all the stress and disappointment he had hidden so expertly just minutes before. Moving from the alcove, Jason drew closer so he could get a better view, entranced by the raw emotion of it all as Tim danced with the sort of power and grace Jason could only equate to the best of fighters.
...It was incredible.
The dance ended almost as suddenly as it had started, Tim finishing one final flying leap that seemed to last forever before he landed and brought the storm of his dance to a close. Now Jason could see that the display was nowhere near as effortless as the other boy had made it seem - Tim’s pale brow now glistened with sweat and the locks of his hair at the base of his neck were damp.
Winded by the exertion, Tim pulled his shirt up and over his head, using it to mop the perspiration from his face and neck, exposing - in Jason’s expert opinion - a surprising amount of muscle for a dancer of his size, and more concerningly, a nasty-looking bruise that stretched across his flank.
Jason leaned closer and squinted, stunned by the severity of the injury. Black and violet stains bled across the pale skin like ink spilled on canvas - the boy looked like he’d been hit with a baseball bat… or a telephone pole maybe. He’d be lucky if all his ribs were intact.
How did a kid like Twinkletoes get a bruise like that?
He didn’t get much time to think about it. His movement, as slight as it was, was enough to catch Tim’s attention - and he turned with a jolt when he noticed someone outside the studio, watching him.
Time to go, Jason thought.
He ran.
A split second later, Tim made it to the door of the studio and yanked it open, the hinges squealing in protest as he ran through.
But the hall beyond was empty.
Whoever had been there had gone.