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redjaybathood · 10 hours

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First days of school came and went. Jason adjusted his hours at the diner, leaving himself only afternoon shifts and one full on weekend. The classes - well, some of them were easy, like History and English, some hellish, like Science or Econ (mostly due to their respective teachers), some awesome, like Math. He was with Lydia Martin, Jackson's girlfriend, in that one. They weren't particularly friendly, just nodding acquaintances. Jason wasn't sitting with them at lunch. It was just - that first day of school, he was still reeling from the party the night before. He wanted some quiet.

So he sat with an equally quiet guy, Boyd was the name he went by - and that's basically all he knew about him, because no parties were particularly into chatting.

He nodded at Jackson and Danny when he noticed them, same as with Scott and Stiles, or anyone else he met at the party. But that was, thankfully, it.

Between classes, he hang out at the bleachers, mostly. There were some kids who smoked there, but they left him alone and he did the same. He wasn't the only loner there, either. A curly-haired guy who was in Chem with him - Isaac - was napping in the sun there, like a cat. Somehow he was still pale as shit.

Jason had to wake him up one day - they had Chem next period, and the bell would be in a few minutes. But just as he put his hand on the shoulder, Isaac momentarily jumped up, wide-eyed. Almost fell off.

Jason backed away. It's not that he recognized something - there could be a lot of different explanations for such a reaction. Some people were more skittish than others. For some, yeah, it was a trauma response, but not necessarily domestic abuse.

"You okay, man?" he asked. "We're going to be late for the next class."

"Who are you?" Isaac asked.

"Greenberg, we have Harris's class together."

"Well, fuck off, Greenberg."

That was that. On the weekend, when Jackson and Danny were running with him (Jason did it every day, but not for physical training, but to calm down his mind), Jason tried to ask around Isaac's situation. It was honestly not his business, and Jason knew Isaac himself wouldn't be thrilled with it, but. You take a boy out of Gotham and all that.

"Lahey? Yeah, I know, we're neighbors," Jackson said. "You say he's sleeping on the bleachers? Figures. His dad is a big fucking asshole. He owns the graveyard, makes Isaac work for him."

"He was coaching the swimming team like six years ago," Danny added. "He was okay then."

"But then he drowned in a bottle, after half of his family died - first the wife, then Isaac's brother. So yeah, they kicked him out."

"Yeah?" Jason probed. "Is there anything else going on? Isaac looks kinda skittish."

Danny and Jackson exchanged a look.

"Isaac Lahey? He's one of the meanest SOBs at school. But yeah, I guess. My dad suspected that Lahey not only loved to drink, but also to slap his kid around. Reported it, even."

"And?"

"And nothing, Stilinsky's dad is as useless as the son."

And that was everything Jackson knew.

Jason, though, had the Sheriff's card, and had a notion to call him up for a reason, feel him out. It's just it didn't feel right to use Isaac for that reason. Jason knew firsthand how such cases can go south. Even if Lahey Senior was heavy handed and mean drunk. Even if he was brought up on charges and lost custody. It didn't necessarily mean a happy ending for Isaac.

So he tried to approach him first.

Isaac, for his turn, didn't eat lunch alone. He was sitting with a mousy kind of girl. Grey clothes, grey hair, no make up. He nodded at her when Isaac didn't respond to his greeting, introduced himself.

"Erica Reyes," she offered in return.

And then nothing else. Well, Jason could work with that. He really could. He started talking about himself moving here from the East Coast, how it took him awhile to get used to all the sun. Said he wanted to move to Los Angeles, after his parents died, because he had a friend there. But he couldn't afford it. So he chose Beacon Hills, found a job. Jackson's dad - you know Jackson, right - helped with getting out the foster system.

Erica looked like she didn't know why Jason was telling her his life story, but was too polite to stop it. Isaac, Jason noticed out of the corner of his eye, was still looking angry. But he didn't leave, so Jason counted it as a win.

"You know, most of the people who stay in shitty situations, they think they don't have options," Jason said. "I thought so for a long time, too. I had no relatives who could take me, or who I would trust to live with. And foster system - there are very different people there, who are in it for a lot of different reasons. I was scared. And I would understand if others were scared of it, too. But it's not the only option. I'm renting a loft on the Northern side of the town, by the way. The rent is pretty affordable, but I was thinking of finding a roommate, anyway. Do you know anyone who would be interested, Erica?"

Erica looked at him, then at Isaac. It wasn't a "You're in?" though, it was a "Can you believe this guy?" look.

"No," she said. "I will be sure to let you know."

Isaac said nothing at all.

Well, Jason knew his people skills were shit. Breaking heads were much easier than breaking convictions, for him. He wasn't like Dick.

So, he decided to do what he did best.

He did wait for the end of the week. Isaac started to go around when he saw him, much like he did with Stiles, Jason noticed. That didn't necessarily say anything about Isaac home situation, and could just as well be about Isaac finding volumous people who ranted in nonsequiter on random topics annoying.

Every night, Jason stacked out Lahey's house. He didn't hear screams or anything like that. He did follow Lahey father and son to the graveyard and back. Lahey was spending those nights in the office, and Isaac outside, digging graves with heavy machinery. No wonder he was always sleeping in school.

But, again, nothing criminal except for child labor.

And then, during the PE, Isaac's shirt riled up when he shot a ball in the basket. He had bruises on his hip. He tugged the shirt down and looked around. When he saw Jason looking, he scowled, then approached Coach Finstock. Jason didn't know what he has said to him, but Jason was running laps until the end of period.

On Sunday, when Jason had a day off at the diner, he broke into school. Checked Isaac's attendance records, grades all through elementary to high school. Medical records, what there was of them. His file from the guidance counselor office. It was all circumstamcial. Wouldn't be enough for the Sheriff to open the case. Might be why he didn't, when Whittermore first reported it. Jason found that he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt - that Isaac's father was a bad apple, that Sheriff wasn't corrupt, or indifferent. That he really didn't have anything to hold Lahey Sr. for.

Jason broke into their home while they both were at the graveyard. Saw Cadmen's room. Practically a shrine. Saw Isaac's. It was minimalist, if Jason felt charitable. He wasn't particularly, no. He noticed the lack of any pictures of the dead wife and mother. Checked her death certificate - natural causes, apparently. Checked the computers, the DVDs in Lahey Senior's room. Nothing suspicious.

Nothing out of place in the whole house, as though it wasn't really lived in. He checked everything on the first and second floor. The only place he didn't check was the basement and the garage. There was little time before the owners of the house were due to get back, so he needed to decide, quick, where to go. He opted for the basement - breaking into a garage would be easier, he could do it later.

Turned out, he didn't really need to do it later. The basement held the prize - the evidence - that Jason was looking so hard for. But... He really wished he was wrong instead. That Gotham twisted him to see darkness everywhere, made him paranoid. Would that be fucked up? Sure. It would be much better than Isaac being locked in a freezer for god knows how long, though. Long enough that the nail marks changed their placement - long enough that Isaac grew up.

Yeah, he was calling the Sheriff, and if he lets Jason down? Jason would be paying Lahey household another visit, this time when the host was home.

***

Sheriff agreed to come by the diner. Joked about Jason not updating the blog for too long, Stiles cooking blanched broccoli again.

"I don't know what you mean," Jason said. "Blanched broccoli are delicious. But yeah, I was busy with something else. That's actually why I called you about."

They were sitting in one of the boots. Jason took his break early, now that there wasn't a lot of guests. He was drumming his fingers on the coffee cup that was on the table before him, waited until Sheriff drank from his own. Avoided looking at him.

"Everything alright, son? Someone giving you trouble?"

"No," Jason said, finally catching Stilinski's gaze.

He figured he pretended to be nervous enough, it got across. Now he needed to see Sheriff's reaction.

"Jackson Whittermore said, his dad already approached you about it in the past. It's about Isaac," he added. "I think he's in trouble at home."

Sheriff sighed and nodded, closing his eyes minutely.

"Whittermore called in a noise complaint. Privately shared his concerns. We checked the house, didn't find anything. Isaac refused to testify against his father. There was no bruises on him. So..."

"No evidence, no crime, huh? Well, Isaac has bruises now. And did you check all of the house? Did you check the basement?"

"What's in the basement?" Sheriff frowned.

"You will see."

"It doesn't work like that," Sheriff grimaced. "I can't just search his house without an order, and your testimony won't be enough, I'm afraid."

"You can, if you're called in again - for a burglary, perhaps."

Jason saw that the Sheriff got it immediately.

"Now, son, don't do anything rash - something like that gets on your permanent record, then even if you aren't tried as an adult..."

"Tried? They would need to catch me first."

"Me, it's me who would need to catch you."

"You won't, don't worry." Jason got up. "Anyway, I don't know what you're talking about. I was just talking hypothetically. I'm gonna be partying with Jackson and Danny on Friday. Half the school would be there, I'm told, except for Isaac, because Isaac never goes to parties. Or anywhere, really, except to graveyard. At night. Because that's apparently how his dad saves money on hiring adults. Just be sure to work on Friday, okay? There might be underage drinking, or something."

Sheriff didn't try to talk him out anymore. Anyway, that wasn't the test. Even arresting Lahey Senior wasn't the test. Jason practically gift-wrapped him for the Sheriff.

The test was, what the Sheriff would do with this later, with the information Jason allowed him to glimpse about himself.

***

The op went without a hitch. Jason showed up at Jackson's house, made a show of drinking cola out of the solo cup, talked to Danny for five minutes before taking a bathroom break. He got out of the window on the second floor, crossed to the Lahey's house. Broke from the back, making sure not to make noise but to set up the silent alarm.

When the cop car appeared on the street, he sneaked back through the same window. The party, when he went downstairs, was in disarray. People thought the cops were after them, maybe, because they ran away, leaving only Jackson, Danny and Lydia to quickly hiding any trace of alcohol. Well, the guys were on the clean up duty, Lydia was standing by the window.

"What's going on?" Jason took a trash bag and joined Danny in picking up the plastic cups, while Jackson was hiding the beer and the liquor.

"You were gone so long, I thought it was you who called the cops on us," Danny smiled.

It wasn't quite a joke, though, Jason saw it in how he wasn't quite turning his body to him, and the tense set of shoulders.

"Nope," Jason shook his head. "Was in the bathroom all this time. Beer didn't agree with me."

"You never even finished the cup," Danny said quietly, not looking at him.

"I'm a lightweight. Didn't I tell you before? My old man was very strict. I never partied before."

" Jason," Danny stopped. Stopped cleaning up, stopped smiling. "You didn't finish your cup. I know what you've been drinking. So unless you were forbidden any caffeine as well..."

"They aren't going here," Lydia said from her vantage point. "Something happened at the neighbor's place. Well, that's a waste of the evening."

She fell down onto the couch, petulantly crossing her hands over her chest. Jackson, after a few choice words, joined her there in a sulk.

Danny started to pick up the trash again, and Jason, too. Shit, he thought. Fuck. That's what you get for thinking you're smarter than others. No matter how experienced he was, this wasn't Gotham. He wasn't wearing any mask. What he did tonight could very much jeopardize his cover - his life. And he might have fucked up things with Danny, too.

"Hey," he said suddenly. "Everyone's gone, but you know what this means? More booze for us."

"You don't drink," Danny said.

"Sure I do," Jason insisted. "Starting now. What do you say, we play some kind of drinking game? Like, uh, put some sports on, and drink everytime your team has a goal... Or something..."

Jackson snickered.

"Cute, Greenberg. We're convinced. You know sports. It's when, uh, goals."

"No, no, let's do this!" Lydia clapped her hands. "But let's play truth or dare."

"Uh," Jason said.

"You don't want to play anymore?" Danny asked mildly.

"What the hell," Jason murmured. "I'm being peer pressured. I was warned about this. But sure, yeah, let's do this."

"You can't choose dare for more than three times in a row," Danny said.

"Is that a rule?" Jason raised his eyebrows.

"It is, now."

"Not an issue to me," Jason said. Like a liar who lies, etc.

But oh well.

***

Jason made a point of chosing only truth.

Danny made a point of not asking, actually, where he has been. It left Jason frustrated. Not that he planned on telling, or relished in an opportunity to lie to him - to them. But it was like Danny was driving home some point, and Jason was still missing it.

"Okay, Jason," Lydia said, after he chose truth again. "What's the worst thing you did?"

"I don't think I can answer that without my attorney present. Or even with him present."

"Your confession wouldn't be legally binding, though," Jackson pointed out. "So just - tell us. We won't testify against you in court, that would be hearsay."

Lydia ruffled his hair lovingly. Danny, Jason noticed, was looking at him with some guarded expectation.

"Alright," Jason said. "Let me think."

"Have you committed that many atrocities?" Lydia asked, huffing a laugh.

Jason shrugged.

"By whose standards? Society? Sure. Some parts of it anyway. My father? Definitely. My own? Well." He really went all over the list on his head.

He did commit.any horrible acts - in all those parallel universes. Killed people in cold blood. Attacked teenagers younger and much younger than him. Put kids into a danger's way, or at least proposed to.

Fucked with Bruce's mind, brought him to a breaking point, and he broke - just not in the way Jason expected or needed. But in a way that left Jason dead, Joker - alive, and laughing, laughing, laughing, while everything around them went up in flames from Jason's own bombs.

He smelled a sweet, mellonny aftershave. Felt a warm hand on his face.

"You alright, man?" Danny asked him, Jason heard, and the laughter was gone, the smoke was gone. "You don't have to answer, you know. You don't even have to drink anymore."

"No, it's alright," Jason said, taking a sip. "I just don't know what to choose. I did a lot of stuff I won't necessarily advertise. Some things may get me in trouble. It's just, by and large, I'm not ashamed of them. They weren't that much horrible, if they were done for the right reasons, yeah?"

"Did you murder someone?" Jackson opened his eyes wide. "Shit, Greenberg, if that's it, do me a favor and don't, in fact, tell us."

"Nah," Jason said.

Felipe, in this universe, was the only one - and even he wasn't Jason's murder victim per se. Manslaughter at worst. Jason really spooked him, when he tried to punch him in the face. Felipe was sampling his father's product on the regular, it was the same that night. He freaked, jumped back - only he was on the balcony, there was nowhere to jump but down. Eighty floors down. Was that Jason's fault? No, Jason reiterated. Gloria Stanson's suicide was his fault. Garzonas Jr was... A bastard nobody would have missed, except his father, who made him into this in the first place.

"No murder. I won't say I was always on the straight and narrow, but it never came to that."

"Is that why your father was so strict with you?"

Jason shrugged.

"Might have. He got me out from the streets, basically. Was worried that the streets would stay behind, underneath all that fleur he tried to drown me in."

"Street?" Lydia echoed.

"Well, yeah," Jason took another swing from his glass. "I'm - I was adopted, didn't I say?"

Jackson slowly shook his head.

"Well, I wouldn't, would I. I don't like to think about it. He was still my real father, you know, despite all his - paranoia, sometimes psychosis, that he projected onto me. Because he wasn't really worried that I'm going to start stealing again - he understood that it was just means to an end, for me. And he never acknowledged that he knew why I had two priors, or why my arresting officer let me go both times, after some time in the interrogation room with a turned off camera. Maybe he never knew, never suspected. We never talked about it. Anyway, that wasn't what he was worried about. He had this - mean streak in him. He was a good guy, you know, saving puppies, donating to charities. Soft spot for kids and outcasts, provided they weren't violent."

Jason closed his eyes. Didn't want to see their faces - pity, disgust, or just simple incomprehension. Didn't want them to see his eyes glistening, either. He ought to shut up, he ought to run away. But he wanted to tell them, tell someone - he wanted to stay.

"That's the thing. He didn't like violence, if exhibited by other people. Himself, he - that mean streak I mentioned? If you pushed his buttons, or if he was already on edge for some reason. Let's just say, he put more than one guy into intensive care. Although never in the morgue, don't think. He could stop in time. And me - well, he was worried that I wouldn't. That I will be like him - and I was, a bit, if you push my buttons. Kids, women, drugs, I don't like that. I don't like that at all. So he was worried that I'm gonna do something horrible to someone, something he had stopped himself from doing, just barely, always wanting. We shared that."

And then Bruce thought that Jason jumped all over the line he drew on the Gotham's quicksand. And Jason just fell down there. And drowned on a dry land.

Jason opened his eyes.

"Sorry, what I was saying?"

"It's fine, Jason," Danny said quietly. "You don't have to explain anything more. Let's get you some water, and get you to bed."

***

Jason stayed at Jackson's. He regretted drinking that night very much - not because of what he said, he didn't remember what he said. That was the problem; no, he made a recording of everything that went during the drinking game exactly for that reason, but still - a stupid risk. Almost burned his identity down.

But in a way, it made his alibi more thorough. He was very visibly hangover when a deputy took his statement. So, his story about drinking too much, puking his guts out upstairs, and then crashing at Jackson's house stood. No, sir, I don't know about any robberies. Are the owners alright? You can't say because of the open investigation, I see.

And that was that. Neither Lydia, nor Jackson or Danny brought up the events of the last night when Jason brought them to the diner, for the hungover cure breakfast Reddy swore by.

But Jackson sneaked at him glances all throughout. And when it was time for them to go, and for Jason to took up the shift, Jackson awkwardly half-hugged him before running after Lydia.

"We're cool?" Jason asked Danny with apprehension.

Do you forgive me for lying to you, he didn't say.

"I'm sorry," Danny said. "We shouldn't have made you drink."

"Hey, I made myself drink."

"Still. We shouldn't have continued asking you stuff after it became obvious that you're - sharing more than you would otherwise. I know what it's like, a bit."

"Over sharing?"

"Having a past," Danny said. "One I don't exactly advertise. Jackson knows, but that's because his father was my lawyer."

"You don't have to tell me," Jason shrugged. "If you want to do it just because it feels unfair - don't worry about it. You can tell when it feels right. It felt right for me yesterday."

"That's just whiskey cola speaking."

"Yeah, well. At least it was in a small group, and you guys won't talk about my sad street rat past, right?"

"Street rat, right," Danny said. "Of course. No, we wouldn't."

Jason knew Danny meant something other than that. Knew that those three probably figured out who exactly broke into Lahey's house, and why. Still. Danny said he wasn't going to say, and Jackson had some kind of emotion about it, so he probably wouldn't, either. And Lydia... Well. He just had to trust into her discretion. And anyway, there wouldn't be any DNA or fingerprints to tie him to the crime scene. Unless Sheriff Stilinski really cared about his office's closing rates, Jason was nowhere near hot water.

That's it, he said to himself. It's the first and the last time he was doing any kind of maskless Robin shit in Beacon Hills. Provided there were no red flags from the Sheriff, after the bait he fed him.

But Jason's worries about the Sheriff were moot. He still showed up at a diner once a week, talked with Jason for a bit - never about that conversation. But a bit about how Isaac was doing (foster placement with McCalls for now, looking into emancipation). A bit about regular stuff like asking about Jason's grades - steadily rising, and whether he was going to try out for the lacrosse team - he hadn't decided yet, needed to watch at least one game before that; he wanted to join cross country though. Stuff like that. Inconsequential, meaningless things that nobody else really asked Jason.

Things were quiet, up till at the tail end of the Fall, someone started to kill deer off in the Preserve.

#jason todd #dc comics x teen wolf #my fics

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redjaybathood · 17 hours

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Beacon Hills was a sleepy Californian town where nothing ever happened, complete opposite to Gotham - and that's why Jason chose it for his new place of residence. Talia didn't get it.

"You have spent a year with the All Caste, trained with swords and mysterious arts that are forgotten everywhere else on Earth..."

He refrained from reminding that he was kicked out by the cult she put him in when she just restored his higher brain function. For reasons such as prophecies foretelling the doom of said cult.

"And I can give you resources, contacts, everything you need to get revenge..."

He put his hand up.

"I don't want revenge, I never did. I wanted justice, and I see that it's a futile pursuit. Now, all I want - I want just some peace and quiet."

"So just like that, you changed your mind." She looked at him not quite with judgment or dissatisfaction - more like she really didn't get that he wanted to stop.

He shrugged, warming his hands on the coffee cup.

"Look, All Caste? You know what sort of place it is. You were taught by Ducra. You had Trials of your own. You saw it, didn't you? Every variation of you, in 52 Universes. Was either of them happy?"

"I'm not in the League for happiness," she said, almost scandalized.

"Well, why are you in the League at all? I was pondering that, all the year I was in All Acres, a doorway from any point in my life. I could go right through and warn myself, I could go kill Joker before Joker even existed. And it never helped. Gotham's cursed. Batman is its white knight in shiny armour. I'm just..."

He shrugged.

"Poor boy," Talia sighed, cupping his face.

"Don't. I don't need your sympathy," he put his hands over hers, but didn't remove them from where she was touching his skin. "I could use your company, though. I'm serious - why are you even doing all this? Just... Go with me. Take him, and let's settle down where nobody knows us, nobody will..."

Talia froze, then took her cup in both hands.

"I will not ask how do you know about him, even as your father does not. How fast, do you think, it will take Ra's to find us? With our edges dulled, our blades rusty, how fast will he end our lives - and take him?"

Jason shook his head.

"If you want me to believe Damian is the reason you're still in the League..."

Talia put the cup down with a clunk.

"Don't. Ever. Say his name. Even if you think we're alone, if you think nobody is listening in. I will not risk him."

"You already are. You do. He is at risk, and will be until one of two things happen - and maybe even then..."

"I'm aware," Talia said dryly, standing up. "This conversation is over. Do with your life whatever you will. You will find me if you change your mind."

"You too," he said, but the room was empty already. "Jeez."

In one of these 52 Universes, they got together. Jason didn't cultivate with mystical immortals in that universe. He had taken something like a gap year, traveling, mostly Europe, and learning from the specialists League of Assassins sometimes employed. Killed most of them - for good reasons. Reasons he supplied anonymously to Interpol and Checkmate, in this universe.

Because in that world, no matter how many people Jason saved by killing "animals", "monsters", he left behind a piece of himself. At least, with the Soul Swords, he knew what was fueling them, what he was spending.

The story of him and Talia wasn't a happy one. Or even particularly romantic. Both of them were hurting, Bruce-shaped wound in their hearts, but also what was done upon them, what they were made to do, what they thought they should do. Their hearts were more sieves than anything else. One night, they had to each other, and then they never talked face to face ever again.

He didn't want that. He very much hoped, knowing it was futile, that Talia just - went with him, to a sleepy Californian town where nothing ever happened. They would raise her kid - maybe he could be her partner, maybe her son's brother, he would take it any way she could give.

But he couldn't stay for her, and she wouldn't leave for him.

So, he went alone.

***

He had fake documents, keeping the first name and changing the last, using the same day and month of birth and making himself a year younger. Only fair, seeing how he was dead for six months, and catatonic for another six. He put down a local attorney's phone number for his contact information on the school application. That same attorney, Whittermore, had helped him with emancipation, seeing how he was only 17, still, and would need to find someone to pretend to be his parents, or go into foster care, otherwise.

Enrollment in the school was easy. Finding a place to live as well - there was a lot of property built during a dot com bubble era that still was sitting empty. Rent was cheap, compared to Gotham. But without League's backing, he needed income. So he started to check jobs.

There was not a lot vacancies that could be filled with a teenager who was still in school. Waiting tables, washing dishes, making coffee, retail - that was about it. Gabby, his friend from another life - life before Bruce, even - was a waitress. So that's what he applied to. There was no real training, but he had the skills he needed already. Good memory, from the time he used to devour dossiers on criminal individuals and organizations. Coordination, from his movement training. Cheerful smile and small talk, from all the times, infrequent as they were, that he had to follow Bruce to some event or another. He didn't like them then - now, he was just grateful for experience, because life in Himalayas didn't nurture his social skills, to say the least. And good thing Bruce never allowed his picture to be taken, unlike how it was with Dick. At the time Jason was self-conscious, thought Bruce might have been - finding him lacking in some way. Not fit for the public to see, regardless of the new suits he ordered from his tailors for him, or haircuts Alfred gave him. Who knew, maybe Bruce indeed didn't want him to be recognized by anyone from Jason's past who would come knocking. Still, it let Jason feel free in his new life. Nobody will see his tag and his face and put it all together as American most eligible millionaire's dead son.

Beacon Hills was so small a town, Jason had learned the names and occupations of the regulars in his first week on the job. One of them, the local Sheriff, asked a few questions about where he moved from and how old he was. After finding out that in a few weeks he was starting as sophomore at high school ("I was held back a year, sir, after a car accident"), Sheriff asked him not to tell to his son, Stiles, that he's eating his lunches here.

"He's making me those low salt, low cholesterol lunches," the Sheriff chuckled. "His heart is in the right place, I can't bring myself to tell him that it all tastes like a wet cardboard."

"I can tactfully suggest a few recipes to him," Jason offered. "There are nutritious and healthy options that are quite tasty. There's so much you can do with chickpeas."

"What, and leave Robby without steady income? I couldn't do that, not until he sees his daughter through college. Who taught you to cook, by the way?"

"My grandfather."

It took a lot of Jason to keep the smile on his face. But it might have been a wrong choice.

"Well, pass along my greetings. There's not a lot of teenagers nowadays who have the skill."

"He... I'm alone now, after the accident." Jason didn't like to lie about anyone dying, it seemed like he was cursing them in this way, so he picked his words carefully.

"I'm so sorry, there's a foot in my mouth, I swear it's a family trait," Sheriff rummaged in his pocket, and then thrusted a card to him. "Here. If you need anything, you can reach me on a cell, it's written on the back."

Jason briefly considered - he had some cards with his personal number on it on him. Always ready to offer assistance to the needy? Or... Noah Stilinsky seemed like a good guy, and Jason, pocketing his card, hoped as hell that he was.

Because there's another kind of explanation why nothing big came up when he researched Beacon Hills. All sorts of things can be covered up and never see the light of the day when it's the police doing the covering.

He will call, he decided, as soon as he can find a suitable reason. He needed to know if the Sheriff and this town was what they seemed.

***

Before the school started, though, Jason couldn't find the time. He was a freshman when he died, and he had no access to schooling after his resurrection. Even with all the knowledge learned under the tutelage of a former Batgirl, there was a lot of ground to cover, to catch up with the rest of the class. It wasn't his first rodeo, and arguably it was way easier now than when he also had Robin training. But he had a job, now, working as long the hours as the diner's owner would allow him before the school started. Besides that, he took up running in the Preserve, as much to familiarize himself with his new habitat as to stay in shape. It also replaced the meditations, in part - he cut them down from the recommend by Ducra two hours per day, to half an hour, before going to sleep.

He met some people in that way, too. His new classmates, actually: Jackson Whittermore, son of Mr. Whittermore whose services he employed - finding that out, Jackson toned down his smirk and offered a handshake. He was running with his friend, Danny Mahealani. Both of them were on the school's lacrosse team, and invited him to the tryouts that would happen before the Spring.

"Maybe," Jason said. "I don't know much about lacrosse, though. And never played any team sport at all."

"Really? Not even football?" Danny gave him a once-over. "Seems like a waste."

"Believe it or not, I was a tiny, skinny kid up until recently." Jason shrugged.

Jackson asked him about his regimen. Jason couldn't explain that it was a magical fountain of youth and cure-all that fixed his stunted by malnutrition and smoking growth. He wasn't even sure that was it. Maybe years with Bruce, and then the time spent in cultivation, changed his body as well as his mind and spirit. He didn't need to eat that much now, although he didn't progress to inedia. So he bullshitted, recalling the diet Bruce was on.

It actually inspired him to start a side hustle. Food blog for teenagers who wanted to bulk up. He always loved writing, and he had some expertise on the topic, although he ended up posting more about training and exercises, than food. Every recipe required pictures, so he had to make everything from scratch, and sometimes redo the whole thing because his cell phone photos were simply shit, videos (face always out of the frame) not much better.

He looked up Donna's work, one of those times. But in the end, Jackson introduced him to Matt Dalaher, whose hobby was photography. Matt's advice and explanations were shit, and he was all too glad to tall about girls, topic Jason could offer nothing on.

"Come on, there's don't kiss and tell, and there's me starting to suspect where's nothing for you to say," Matt joked one time.

"That's exactly it," Jason smiled back, not even particularly trying to hide the edge anymore. "I'm saving myself for the marriage."

"What does Whittermore see in you? This, and the cooking shit..."

"I have amazing thighs, I was told," Jason spread them to empathize the point. "One of my best features."

"Oh, so it's like that, huh? He's trying to set you up with Danny? Damn, he did the same thing with me, he gotta give it a rest."

Jason wasn't aware Danny played for the home team, and wasn't particularly trilled to find out like it was a butt of the joke. He still smirked.

"Do I have a chance, you think?"

Matt sputtered, apparently not expecting him to, Jason didn't even know, freak out because of the gay cooties. That was the last time they really spoke. It was fine, though - Matt's speciality was more portraits than still life, anyway.

***

Before the school started, Jason was invited to a party at Jackson's girlfriend house. He had work that day, but his shift ended at seven, so he could, in theory, make it.

"Come on, man, the whole school will be there," Jackson said, running along him. Danny was a few feet ahead of them.

"I don't know anyone from school, except you and Danny," Jason pointed out.

"And Matt," Danny called over his shoulder.

"Matt isn't worth knowing!" he called back.

Danny laughed. Jason smiled to himself. He liked that sound.

He didn't know whether he liked boys, to be honest - he didn't even know if he liked anyone. Things with Talia were circumstantial - and not even in this universe. Before his death, he certainly flirted with girls - older, cooler, the ones he would have no chance in hell with, like Babs, like Koriand'r (and oh, here's another trait they shared: Dick's ex/girlfriends). But the only time he approached dating was with Rena. And they went out only twice: when she thought he could score her some drugs, and when he ditched her for Bruce. For a case, he meant - but essentially, for Bruce.

It was all kinds of fucked up, Jason was starting to realize, how Bruce was all over his life. His father, his boss, his teacher, the only friend he managed to keep - up until he wasn't anything, anymore. It left Jason unmoored, swayable to the winds. They blew, and here he was in Northern Africa, on the quest to find a woman who didn't want to be found. Here he was, letting her know a secret that cost him his life, when he didn't even manage to save hers.

He wanted someone, anyone, in his life. It made him blind to the red flags. He might be better off without feeling this way ever again - but with his new life finding its rhythm, he started feeling those pangs of loneliness again. Thinking of people he left behind. Meditation became more difficult again.

He needed to prevent that, he realized. He couldn't just will and discipline himself not to need people. So the only way was to... Find new ones.

It wouldn't be the same, of course. Nothing like life or dead situations forging a bond between two persons. But it would, should be enough.

"You know what?" He said, looking briefly at Jackson and then back at Danny's back. "I'm game. I will be there."

And then he sped up, to run along with Danny.

***

The party itself was everything that the early 2000s romcoms warned him about. If you were Jason, first time in this sort of environment, sober (he didn't know how he will react to alcohol, and wasn't about to experiment in this sort of environment), knowing no one - he didn't manage to find neither Danny nor Jackson yet - it was awkward and boring.

He knew how to talk to people if you wanted them to open up to you, but it was when he had a mask on his face. He tried very hard that his new life didn't become a new sort of costume, so he didn't want to construct a persona around his future classmates.

He found a relatively quiet corner where only two people were sitting, and sat down with his half full beer cup (poor rhododendron, but he wasn't drinking this shit for real, and an empty cup would attract a refill, and full - askance glances to why wasn't he drinking). He nodded and smiled at them. They stopped talking, although the one with darker, longer hair smiled back and nodded.

"Hey, I don't know you," the other guy said.

He had a shaved head and a graphic T-shirt, like the one Eddie wore. Eddie, flashed in Jason's mind - last time they were in touch, he lived in California, too, although way closer to Hollywood. But getting in touch with anyone from his old life was dangerous, so he didn't. Now, he kinda felt a short pang of regret.

Jason shook his head to ward away this dangerous feeling.

"Yeah, I don't know you either. But then again, I don't know anyone here, except Jackson and Danny. I'm Jason."

He offered a handshake to both of them. The dark-haired one responded first, albeit slightly awkward in the movement.

"Scott," he said.

"Nice to meet you," Jason nodded.

"Uh, you too?"

Shit, don't people say that anymore?

"I'm Stiles," the shaved-headed one said, shaking his hand, with the emphasis on "shake". "Though I don't know how nice it is to meet you if you're friends with Jackson Whittermore."

"Stiles," Jason remembered. "I heard about you."

"Definitely not nice, then."

And yet, he was still shaking Jason's hand.

"Don't worry, it was only complimentary. Well, almost."

His cooking was shitty, Jason recalled. Everytime the Sheriff took his lunch at the diner, Jason made a point to ask what his son prepared for him that day. Even texted his blog's URL to the Sheriff, so he could pass it along. Some of Stiles' attempts at his recipes were a success, it seemed, because as the Summer progressed to the end, Sheriff patronized the diner less and less.

Stiles scrunched his face.

"No way in hell would Jackson say anything positive about me."

"He isn't my sole source of information," Jason smirked.

Stiles looked at him for a second or two, and then snapped his fingers.

"Jason! From the Robby's!" He elbowed his friend in the side. "The dude who runs that fitness blog? We're, uh, we started some protocols you describe, to enhance our physic and all."

"Yeah, but I'm afraid it's not gonna help us, come Spring," Scott smiled sheepishly. "I really can't do some of it without wanting to cough up my lungs afterwards."

"That's, uh, that's not supposed to happen," Jason said carefully.

"It's fine," Scott said. "I have asthma, I'm used to it."

"Even more, then. I was basically describing some of what I was doing, when I had started to," train as a vigilante, to kick ass and take names. "Bulk up. But I had no underlying conditions except I was somewhat... Thinner than other kids my age. Look, it's important to talk to your doctor, but if there's, you know, issues with that - you should always start small. Steady wins the race, yeah?"

Jason shared some tips, and then the topic switched to lacrosse - Jason still had only the vaguest idea of what this sport entailed, or how expensive it was. That topic - the money - wasn't the one he wanted to broach with Jackson or Danny. They were under impression he has it - from him being able to afford Whittermore's law firm fees - and worked at the diner basically for shit and giggles, because he was sad son of the bitch who knew almost no one in town. He didn't dissuade them, not because he thought they're gonna be assholes about it, but... He didn't want to chance it either. He knew how some things about you that were quirky if you had the money, like reading newspapers during breaks between classes - they added to the character. Weird, but a character. But if you didn't have the money, reading newspapers was just another proof of it. A sign that you can't afford any other entertainment, like a cell phone.

Scott was just telling him where to find used gear and armor when someone walked up behind Jason's back. He managed to keep himself relaxed, so even when the hand lowered at his shoulder - and Stiles and Scott's faces tensed - he didn't lost his cool.

"Hey," Jason said, turning to see Jackson behind him.

"Why are you here with the loser brigade?" Jackson scrunched up his face. "We were waiting for you."

"I was lost, and I found myself some company. Jealous? Should have responded to my text twenty minutes ago."

"Ugh, come on, come on, I will introduce you to Lydia."

"Now's my turn to be jealous," Jason said, getting up.

He didn't quite know what to say, so he said everything that came to mind. Jackson was kind of used to it, from their weeks of running together. Stiles and Scott, though, gaped.

Jason hoped they weren't like Matt. He waved at them on the chance they weren't, and Scott waved back. Though, not Stiles.

Jackson noticed his sigh.

"What?" He looked back and scowled. "Stilinsky said something funny to you?"

Jason shrugged.

"I mean, he seemed pretty chill. But might have disliked my jokes about jealousy. And I don't know him enough to know if it's the gay thing as in, me treating homosexuality as a joke, or gay thing as in, he is going to stay away from the gay guy thing."

"Don't worry, Stilinsky is an asshole, but he's not that kind of asshole. If he was, I would kick his ass to the next Tuesday. But, uh, you're gay?"

Jason shrugged.

"I dunno. I don't know if I'm anything, if that makes sense. My father... Was pretty strict. I didn't have much friends, and. I dunno, it's just never came up. But," he stopped Jackson with the hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes. "I really was joking about jealousy. You're not my type."

Jackson punched him in the shoulder, and they both laughed.

"So what's your type? I know you said it never came up, but, the best you figure."

Jason glanced at Jackson, who was trying for nonchalant but missing a beat. Maybe Matt wasn't far off when he suggested that Jackson was playing a wingman for Danny.

He smiled to himself, feeling a bit nervous. He didn't really know how to answer the question best.

"I really have no idea. It's not about the looks, for sure. I grew up around professional model-looking types. Nobody really rang a bell for me. I like chill people though. People with a nice smile. Or a mean smile, maybe. A genuine one."

Not like the one he himself wore, most of the time.

He shrugged again. He did like that, but he wouldn't call it attraction.

"Alright," Jackson said, and clapped him on his back. "You will figure it out."

***

Jason might have been mistaken in thinking that Jackson wanted to set him up with Danny. Or maybe his answers were unsatisfactory, and he changed his mind. Over the course of the night, Jackson introduced him to a shit ton of people. Presumably, to help him "figure it out".

It wasn't hard for Jason to remember their faces, names, and basic facts they shared about themselves, but it was hard to come up with the topics of conversation. Jason didn't follow sports, or celebrities, knew nothing of local gossip, wasn't even into online gaming. He talked a bit about his blog, but in the end, the topic bored him before it could bore the new people, so he just shared a link when they asked.

When Jason noticed Danny, he wanted to make his way other, but noticed a guy who struck up a conversation with him. Danny had a nice smile. Damn.

He didn't feel particularly crushed. Maybe it answered the question, maybe it didn't. He was a bit overwhelmed, and went to catch a breath outside.

There were people by the pool, but not further into the backyard, where the garden started. He almost bummed a cigarette from a random guy, just so he wouldn't feel out of place, but then he thought, fuck it. He was out of place. He wasn't relapsing his smoking habit because standing alone in the middle of a crowd of unfamiliar teenagers was unsettling. Because if he did, he would smoke all two years of high school that were left, and then he simply wasn't stopping.

It was a short lived relief, being alone in the garden, because very soon he was not alone so much. There was Stiles, and a girl with a small designer dog.

"Uh, how did your summer..."

"What do you want, Stiles."

"Nothing! Just saying hello. It's your party, after all, would be rude if I didn't even say a word to you."

"And this is why you followed me when I took Gucci for a walk. Sure. Because I'd talk to all three hundred of guests currently in my house. Otherwise it's rude."

Jason tensed. So that was Lydia. And Stiles was... Stalking her a bit?

"No, not you-rude, me-rude. Sorry. I can leave if you want."

"Oh, wouldn't it be rude of me if I sent you away."

"Not that it stopped you ever before. Like when you publicaly ignore my existence."

"And you don't think I have a reason for that?"

"Sure. Your boyfriend thinks I'm a loser, ergo, you feel I'm a loser."

"Oh, Stiles, it's not that - it's that I have a boyfriend at all, and your puppy crush is obvious from space. I don't need the drama. And FYI? That's not how you use 'ergo', unless you think I have no mind of my own."

She picked up the dog and went back. Stiles stayed, sighing frustratedly.

Jason thought for a second, whether to disappear or come out. In the end, he whistled, before Stiles turned to head back.

Stiles immediately turned around, but it took him a moment to find where Jason was standing.

"Enjoyed the show, Greenberg?" He asked, harshly.

"Not particularly, no," Jason said honestly. "I really don't like when guys don't get the hint."

"You friends with Jackson for a month and now you're going to be teaching me a lesson on his behalf?" Stiles squeezed his fists.

Jason could see that he wasn't scared, but he was expecting an attack. And that wasn't who Jason was - not now, and not ever.

He put his hands in the air, placatingly.

"You keep your hands to yourself, I keep mine."

Stiles was taken aback.

"You think I would?.. I wouldn't!"

Jason waved his hand dismissedly.

"If I got a penny every time I heard "I would never" when a guy, in fact, would or had - I'm not saying I would be a Lex Luthor, but I might have no need for a waiter job."

"I know, I'm the son of the Sheriff, you don't need to..."

"Even if you were a Sheriff yourself, I don't care," Jason cut him off. "Okay?"

Stiles huffed, and then went back to the house.

Jason, though, he decided to call it a night and went back to the place he rented.

#jason todd #dc comics x teen wolf #crossover #my fics #wip #red hood and teen wolf i swear i don't understand why there's no more crossovers #because red riding hood get it? get it?#anyway #au for jason past his training with all caste #pre season 1 teen wolf

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