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Gotham has favourites. That's a widely known fact that even the rogues agree on. Her favourites are the ones that try to keep her safe, to no one’s surprise. How else then, would one explain their astounding luck?
If they weren’t in her good graces, they would have been dead twice over with the lives they lead.
Yet, her personal beloved is one that has died once already. One who died outside her limits, one who she couldn't protect. One who died and came back, albeit wrong. Still, despite it all, despite his descent to rage and grief, he remains her most darling child.
And it’s high time she stopped his pain; he’s suffered enough.
It’s time she shared a bit of her favourites’ luck with him.
-
Jason has heard the rumours going around Crime Alley, about the Saint of the Dead. He didn’t believe them, at first, of course. How could he? When they spoke of an ethereal being that appeared amongst the living and brought them in contact with their dearest departed? Brought them closure?
At first, he chalked it up to be tall tales, nothing but fictitious hopes the most suffering people of Gotham needed to keep themselves going. And damn it , it was hard sometimes, trying to help Crime Alley. A less stubborn man would say that it was impossible. Not Jason though. Not Red Hood, born, raised, died far out and reborn from her soil.
If there was something besides the pit rage boiling in his guts that kept him going, it was hope.
And spite. Definitely spite.
So no, at first he didn’t give the rumours a second thought. But could one really blame him?
It wasn’t until one of his lieutenants, Mey, the one responsible for keeping Crime Alley’s street kids safe and fed, the one who had lost a little sister not long after he’d met her, came to him with a sudden request to help her out. To check on the kids on her behalf because she was meeting the Saint of the Dead. Only then had he thought to perhaps reconsider his stance on the rumours.
But he wasn’t like them , like his once family, and he wouldn’t breach Mey's privacy. He knew she needed closure, and who was he to get between her and the dead.
After all, he knew death intimately. And it was truly a very delicate matter.
He had decided, right then and there, that he wouldn’t pry. He’d find this so-called Saint by himself. If they even existed.
The bottomless relief in Mey's eyes the following day, drowns out every doubt in his mind that this person does exist.
He ended up spending the good half of a year on this side-project of his without coming any closer to finding the Saint of the Dead. During his worst days, he was filled with doubt. During his best, he felt the rush of the mystery in every crack of his bones.
And in this time, he’d seen countless of Gotham’s Most Unfortunate find peace. It almost felt like the heavy cloud of death that enveloped the poorer part of the city since he was old enough to understand loss , had lightened its weight.
The ghosts of Gotham were finally starting to rest and there was someone that made that happen.
-
It took him far longer than he had imagined to catch the Saint’s trail. And really, looking back he couldn’t say that it was him that found them. Not really, in any case.
A chance meeting, arranged by Gotham herself. Not that he knew it at that point. No, Jason was blissfully unaware of what was about to transpire when he stepped through the rusty ornate metal doors of the cemetery bordering Crime Alley.
The night was eerily devoid of crime for once; perhaps the snow was too cold, too plentiful for the various gangs to bother to commit any more damage on the already maimed and bleeding city. Perhaps, again, it was just luck.
Regardless of what had caused the unexpected peace, and truly, Jason wasn’t going to complain for the night off, his steps had led him to one of Gotham's lesser known — but not lesser used — cemeteries where he knew Catherine 's— his mom's grave was.
It had been some time since he’d visited her. Another life entirely it seemed; it wasn’t a stretch to say he’d been a complete other person back then..
The snow fell in fat cottonballs, slowly and mesmerising. The older lamps flickered with a warm yellow light, illuminating the rows upon rows of near-identical tombstones.
Cracked and battered, loved and kept.
He didn’t notice her immediately, his breath fogging before him, as he burrowed his nose deeper into his red Wonder Woman themed scarf. Jason took his time, yet moving purposefully towards Catherine’s grave. A full body shudder travelled up his spine, something akin to recognition lighting up in the back of his mind.
(Threat? No, whatever that was didn’t feel dangerous to him.)
He whipped his head towards the feeling and before his eyes could adjust he heard her laughter. Light, ethereal and inviting.
He saw her then, for the first time, sitting atop a sturdy looking tombstone, looking somewhere to the side, her bright teal eyes and red hair illuminated by the dim light. Both almost seemed like they were glowing. Like she was glowing from within. She was listening and nodding to something unseen, smiling widely—He squinted his eyes, making out the barest silhouette of a person, almost transparent, motioning widely to the woman.
“The fuck?” He blurted out and the woman snapped her gaze to him looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
She chuckled awkwardly but did not move from her spot on the grave as the see-through person jumped before her, arms splayed wide in defence.
"Woah, woah," Jason raised his hands in a placating manner. "I'm not gonna hurt her!"
The red-headed woman tilted her head in question to the side, eyes shining with mirth. "You're death-touched too, are you not?" She asked and wow, Jason was not ready for the torrent of feelings that these few words unlocked.
A sharp inhale of breath, a shudder and a tremendous amount of willing the tears welling up, blurring his green tinted vision, down, later he nodded and breathed out, "I died once. Violence. It didn't stick." The confession came easy on his tongue, refreshing in a way he'd never thought it was possible; it surprised him.
The woman stood up then, and the translucent figure stepped aside to let her pass. She looked at him kindly and made her own confession, "I never had a true death," she said, "for me it was little by little, negligence piled up from the moment I was in the womb." She let out a watery chuckle and extended her hand out, "But where are my manners? I'm Jazz."
He shook her hand. "Jason."
"Well, Jason," she said, "it's a pleasure to meet you." She looked between him and the transparent figure for a brief moment before she hummed contemplatively. "Can you give me five minutes with Jane? I'd love to continue our talk later," — she burrowed her nose inside her teal turtleneck— "perhaps somewhere warmer."
Jason surprised himself again that same night when he felt his lips curl into a ghost — ha — of a smile and said, "I'd love to. Go take care of your business, I'll take care of mine and we can meet after by the gate? There's a twenty-four hour chocolaterie close by."
"In Crime Alley?" Jazz sounded bewildered and Jason couldn't blame her for assuming.
He snorted out a laugh, "No, it's in Old Gotham. Ten minute walk from the cemetery…" He trailed off.
She shot him a brilliant toothy smile and he felt his brain short-circuit and his cheeks burn. "It's a date!"