Chapter Text
He hissed as another crumbling shard of code bit into his palms and he staggered around the shattered remains of firewall still falling down around him. He needed to leave. Needed to get out of here and warn him.
Because he’d failed.
He, Technus , master of all things great and technological, had been soundly defeated by yet another plucky teenager. But this time held far more dire consequences than a bruised ego.
He was supposed to be the last stand, the last ditch effort to keep those, those monsters , at bay. He’d enveloped their systems; alert at all times for any leaks or cracks, making sure to keep his walls flexible enough to not be suspicious but also to never, ever , let them out.
And then someone else had broken in .
He should have been more prepared for the attack. Should have, in his almighty greatness, seen something like this coming. No one could ever leave well enough alone. No one could ever just let him bask in his own technological prowess and mastery over circuitry and code. For he, Technus , was truly the ruler of networks and wires and all things electrical. But he hadn’t seen it coming. Hadn’t prepared. Didn’t think anyone would bother digging into the systems like they had. From the other side .
And he’d had one job. Keep those despicable GIW agents from discovering Phantom’s whereabouts. Insulate their network and keep them from reaching the outside world without them noticing.
He knew from the beginning it was just a stop-gap measure. That despite all his impressive skill and power, it’d eventually fall. He’d just hoped for more time . More warning . He’d seen the state Phantom was in when he’d just- disappeared from the Realms. He’d known then he’d need to keep the Agents and the Fentons off the ghost child’s back, to give him time to recover and heal. Because if Phantom was down then they all were. Technus was no fool. Despite the stalemate they’d reached with all of Amity being pulled into the Realms, the Agents grew bolder and the Fentons more vicious by the day.
And Phantom was the only one that could stop it all.
So he’d snuck into the human realm, slinking into the truly tempting amount of hardware the despicable Agents wielded. It’d taken a great amount of restraint not to possess the lot of it all and begin his grand plans of world domination through ingenious engineering and ectoplasm. But he’d refrained, knowing he’d be caught long before he could enact any of his half-baked , glorious , plans. And then he’d taken over the systems, walling them in before they had any time to realize he’d done it. It’d been a damn impressive bit of ghostly manipulation, to be able to keep them out while staying undetected himself.
But now it was ruined .
And the ghost child, for better or worse, had a very strong and very trackable ectosignature.
So he, Technus , emperor of algorithms and automation, tried to follow that signature faster than the puny humans he’d left behind- being careful not to be seen . If they caught him it was game over. If they caught Phantom it was game over for good .
Incorporeal he hopped from electrical object to electrical object, jumping from signals and wires to waves and antenna. He was, regrettably, weak from the attack, and he could only do so much to move so fast and so far without being caught.
He followed the signature to a rundown apartment complex, landing and settling in a worn out little radio kept on a shelf in the kitchen. This was the spot where the signature was most concentrated, the feeling of the icy sharp and electrical pop of the ghost child’s scent seeping into the very bones of the place. Almost tangible. Ah. How nice, the boy had gone and acquired himself a new Haunt. And he’d made a friend by the feel of things. A sickly one, young and weak and injured, but a friend none-the-less. Hopefully that meant he was in better shape now. Hopefully, he, Technus, had nothing to fear and a warning would be all the child would need to rid the world of those nasty men in white.
He heard a door close and locks click into place.
A moment too late, then. Well, he supposed he’d just have to hunker down and wait for the ghost’s return. He could try and follow the boy through the electrical lines, but there was no guarantee he’d stick to a path with easy lines or find an easier way to communicate than possessing a radio. The protective snap of the boy’s lingering presence was strong here. He’d return.
He could stand to wait a bit, now that he’d found his quarry. Those Agents were incompetent (with a computer at least, with a weapon- they were getting scarily proficient) on the best of days. So long as nothing alerted them directly to Phantom’s whereabouts, they’d be safe for just a moment more.
*
Jason watched Fetcher squirming out of the corner of his eye. He seemed incredibly nervous and, honestly, Jason couldn’t really blame him. He was feeling just a bit nervous too. He’d taken the additional week off, just like he’d promised, but he couldn’t wait any longer before getting back out there and hitting the streets.
It was time to check up on everyone, make sure- with his own eyes- that the People of Crime Alley were doing alright in his absence.
He’d been antsy enough in the month he’d gone MIA, only able to run things from a distance and never being able to verify things weren’t going to hell behind his back. His guys had been getting antsy too, in his absence, constantly wondering when he’d be back in the streets. When he’d be enforcing his rule and protecting his people again. It hurt him to know they needed him out there and he couldn’t be there for them, that he was failing them.
The past week... his hands felt like hands again, and it’d only made him more anxious to leave. He was absolutely willing to suffer the small amount of extra downtime, though, because it meant he’d only be down for seven days instead of seven months. He might hate playing the long game, but he needed to make sure he was there for his people. That he wasn’t being stupid and putting lives at stake. And… despite how bad of an idea it was, he’d enjoyed spending more one-on-one time with his ghost. Where he could pretend that all of that wasn’t a monumentally stupid move. That what was there, and growing, wouldn’t end in heartbreak for both of them. Wouldn’t get somebody killed.
They needed to leave, rip the band-aid off in one go.
He looked back at Fetcher, hating to see him back in all of his suit, mask and eye-shield blocking his expressions. He’d gotten far too used to seeing every inch of his face, and having it hidden away again was unnerving. He sighed and put his helmet back on for the first time in what felt like forever. If fit snugly, the interior soft and padded and comforting. It felt right, putting his masks back on, layer by layer, domino first, then helmet, then Crime Lord. He would leave Jason behind in the apartment, slipping the persona of Red Hood back on like a well-worn jacket. A shield, a mask, a role to play in the great theatrical production of his own making.
He’d once told Bruce that all life was a game. The world was a stage. He was just finding a new role and making up new rules. Rules that suited him this time.
But first, he needed to check in on his people.
They stopped by one of Mama’s houses first. Mama, a shrewd woman that went by no other name, was in charge of protecting and housing all the prostitutes in his territory. It was a little old fashioned, to run things like a brothel- or more, a chain of brothels- but it was what kept everyone safest and happiest. Mama took no shit and did her best to look after every single one of the people under her purview. She was a good judge of character, too, and knew who to trust with the more vulnerable of her workers. She was the one in charge of hiring bodyguards, healthcare workers, cleaning staff, and picking who was in charge of managing each individual house.
From the phone-calls they’d made back and forth while he was on forcible medical leave, she ran things pretty smoothly. They hadn’t had much trouble so long as Black Mask’s more entitled men stayed out, and his own gang was more than eager to chase them away. He even called some of the girls himself to make sure they were truly happy and healthy. It felt too good to be true, how well things were going on that front, honestly. He couldn’t help but feel like they were lying, that they were keeping the truth from him- that things had actually fallen apart.
They stopped at one particular house first because it had a certain someone that would have his balls in a vice-grip (she’d kicked them enough already), if they didn’t stop and check in so she could see Fetcher in person.
Nadi squealed when she spotted them from the window, calling down to Fetcher excitedly.
“MI VIDA!” she bellowed, earning her disgruntled shouts from inside the building. “Oh shut up!” she shouted back through the window before turning back to them with a brilliant smile. “MY BABY! LET ME SEE YOU!”
Jason laughed, the sound distorted by his helmet and making it feel more sinister than it actually was. He could practically feel the embarrassed happiness radiating off of Spooks- who was hiding partially behind him.
He smirked and swiftly turned, scooping the ghost up from under his armpits and holding him up- presenting him Lion King style to the building. Fetcher wiggled valiantly in his grip, but didn’t phase out of the hold despite how easy it would have been for him, which was telling enough. Nadi herself doubled over the windowpane with laughter.
“You coming down to join us?” he called up once the cackling had petered out. “We’re going around for a check-in.”
He really probably shouldn’t invite Nadi along. They’d be stopping at other places- more dangerous places- discussing gang business, meeting with sketchier people, maybe running into questionable situations. But he knew she could protect herself, and if not then he and Fetcher would protect her. It was her choice to come or not. And Fetch really needed a gentler hand. His little ghost deserved it after everything that’d happened, everything he’d done and sacrificed for Jason. Besides, a lot of it would still be visiting grannies and kids and gathering Alley gossip. Nadi was good for that.
“Five minutes!” she sang before slamming the window shut and leaving them to wait on the street.
He set a still squirming ghost down back on his feet and slung an arm over his shoulders instead. He could feel the pout even from under the mask the other wore and chuckled at the petulance. Adorable.
“C’mon,” he said, “I know you could have gone intangible that entire time, so don’t give me that look.”
Fetcher crossed his arms, head slowly turning to look in Jason’s direction and pausing for emphasis. Before Jason could do anything- realizing a moment too late what the other was about to do- he found himself tilting over. The shoulder he’d been putting weight on disappeared as Fetch went intangible and he slipped through them.
“Fucker,” he cursed under his breath. And it was stupid, but it was worth seeing the mischievous glint in the other’s eyes, the crinkle at the edges meaning he was grinning wide. He only wished he could see that smile fully.
And then the full force of a six foot Latina woman was slamming into them both and nearly toppling them to the ground. Why he was caught up in the overzealous hug, he didn’t know, but he just let it happen. He’d been on Nadi’s bad side enough as it was, might as well let her do as she pleased. None of his gang would think him lesser for it either. They’d all met her.
She released them both, stepping back but reaching up to cup Fetcher’s face through his mask and tilting it side to side. Like a fussy grandmother making sure her grandchild was being fed to her standards.
“Oh, cujo, baby,” she said with a tsk, “why are you hiding your pretty face again? And why aren’t you showing off that haircut I gave you? Do you not like it? Mi vida, you can tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings. Mostly. Have you eaten? Has Red been feeding you properly? You still seem like skin and bones, you need to eat more!”
He almost felt bad watching Fetch flail in response to all of Nadi’s rapid-fire questions. Almost. It would do him good to be mother-henned by someone else for once.
“You’re gonna make him combust,” he said, deciding to give him a bit of a break.
They needed to move on if they were going to hit every spot on his planned “check-in” patrol route. Especially since, with Nadi tagging along, they were going to walk it instead of grapple and fly. He didn’t think Nadi would appreciate what the wind would do to her hair if they swung through the Alley. They could get a better look at the state of the streets this way anyway; talk to people more and make sure everyone was doing alright on their level instead of just looming over them (like a certain Overdramatic Bat-shaped Gargoyle).
She shot him a glare that made him take a step back and raise his hands in surrender. She raised a nose to the air to show her disdain and wrapped Fetcher up in another hug, nearly suffocating the guy where she crushed him against her chest. He saw the ghost just go limp in her grip, like prey succumbing to a predator. He tried really hard not to laugh at the sight, lest he be the next of her victims.
“Ah, c’mon, bonita” he said, trying to placate her wrath, “it was a compliment.”
She loosened her grip, letting Fetcher come up for air. And Jason did not repress a laugh at the over-exaggerated way he seemed to catch his breath. He knew for a fact spooks didn’t even need to breathe, dramatic little shit.
“You been taking good care of my boy, Hood?” she asked and it sounded more like a threat. “You both had me worried sick with the way you vanished off the streets.”
“Aw,” he cooed, making sure to stay out of kicking range as he teased. “You were worried about me too?”
She scoffed, “What other idiot is supposed to run the place if you bail? You may be stupid but you’re the best thing that’s happened to the Alley in a long while.”
Oh. And, well, fuck. He hadn’t expected that at all. He knew his goal. What he was working toward. What he wanted to accomplish. But he… didn’t think his work had even remotely started to pay off yet. Not in any noticeable way. But apparently, if what Nadi was saying was true, it was. He was- he was doing good . Tangible good .
“If you say so,” he replied weakly, trying for flippancy and not quite managing. Fuck, but he needed to get a hold of himself.
Nadi gave him a searching look, as if examining him from an entirely new angle and evaluating what she found. It was a bit unnerving and it made him want to shuffle where he stood, but he held firm, crossing his arms and looking at the tiny bit of skyline visible in the distance.
He didn’t know what she found, but she seemed to come to some decision as she turned Fetch around by his shoulders and started pushing him to walk down the sidewalk.
“Alright,” she called back to him, “vamos. The night ain’t getting any younger.”
She was- technically going the wrong way. But he wasn’t about to say anything; he could adjust his plans. And she was right, anyway, they needed to get going.
They meandered around the Alley, talking to anyone and everyone. Asking how they were doing, if they needed anything, if Hood needed to look into anything shady they’d seen, catching up on whatever gossip they were willing to share (and, honestly, there was so much gossip, especially when Nadi was doing the asking). He should probably invite her along for check-in patrols more often, she was a pro at getting people to speak honestly, able to lend a sympathetic shoulder that his Red Hood persona was too intimidating to achieve.
She was handy when it came to getting his gang in line too. She was willing to hear them out, but she was also no-nonsense when she sensed bullshit. And she was really good at sniffing out bullshitters. He asked, once they’d moved on and were ambling down the mildly busy streets (despite the late hour, if Gotham was anything- it was nocturnal). She’d just shrugged and said it was the only way to survive. She hated thinking the worst of people, but she’d come across plenty of scum in her time and knew how to spot trouble from a mile away. He thought it was pretty impressive that, despite it all, despite all the horrible, awful assholes and the terrible things they’d done to her, she still believed in people. Still thought the world had a chance at being better.
It was a worldview he wanted to believe in. But he’d seen the worst of humanity too. He didn’t know how much faith he actually had, that things could get better. But damn if he wasn’t gonna try.
People were surprised to see him.
He’d been MIA for so long and the People were so used to changing bosses from territory disputes (before Black Mask took everything over at least), that they’d assumed someone had taken him down. He’d expected that. Been prepared to take back any territory by force. What he hadn’t expected was the warm welcome, the relief his People expressed when they saw him. It was surreal.
Unease had grown in the streets, Black Mask’s men had been encroaching on the territory, testing to see how much trouble they could cause with the Big Bad Hood missing. The previous Crime Lord had been making strange moves. Drug running and extreme violence were worrying but expected. What Mask was up to now was worrying but unexpected. His goons would sweep the edges of the Alley, weapons glowing an eerie green. They never shot anyone but that didn’t stop the dread slowly starting to build within the community.
Jason wanted to know what dear old Maskie was doing with that huge shipment of kryptonite he’d failed to intercept. And it was far too coincidental that Maskie had that and was suddenly using green glowing weapons.
But- was he making weapons with it? He’d been so sure Mask was going to use it all as a bargaining chip- like a guaranteed type of currency in the underground. But why make weapons ? Why parade them around civilians? Why give them to your regular old goons? Was he expecting to draw the attention of a Super sometime soon? Unfortunately, without anyone getting shot they didn’t have a way to nab any bullets to study.
He just hoped it didn’t turn into yet another shitshow among all the other shitshows. The last thing he needed was Mask taunting a fucking Super in his territory.
When he was prepared to call it a day- they’d hit all the stops he’d wanted to cover and did everything they could to smooth things over that night- Nadi had just grinned and said they needed to visit one more place. Just for a little bit, she promised. It was vital for both of them. But they also needed to dress down a bit.
“You,” he said in disbelief, “want me to take off my helmet.”
“You can wear a domino,” she shot back, and he did not like the knowing glint in her eye, what the fuck. “But the helmet has to go. It’s part of the dress code,” she said firmly, tone brooking no arguments, before she turned and cooed at Fetcher. “You too, baby, I need to see that pretty face of yours again, c’mon.”
And he watched Fetcher fidget, uncertain and nervous. He knew the ghost refused to look at his own reflection, knew he hated the thought of others seeing him- because he thought they would be afraid. That they would think he was a monster. Fetcher hadn’t outright admitted it, but Jason saw it. Saw it in the way his jellyfish still flinched when Jason touched his bare face, making him acknowledge that he wasn’t hiding behind his gear anymore.
Fetcher probably thought everyone would run and scream and hide at the sight of him- despite the fact that he wasn’t all that scary if he didn’t want to be- didn’t look it, didn’t act it. And, well, the people of Gotham- and the People of the Alley in particular- had seen worse, far far worse, and always stood their ground. He’d have to show Fetcher that he could trust others to look at him and not see something evil, to see him for what he was instead of what he believed himself to be.
He hated being so vulnerable, himself. It was an unbelievably stupid idea. But, he did have a domino on under the helmet. And he’d done much dumber things.
So, with a sigh, he disengaged all the mechanisms in his helmet and pulled it off, tucking it under his arm and cocking a grin at a triumphant Nadi and frozen Fetcher.
“Dress code is dress code, Jellyfish,” he taunted as he leaned down, closer to his ghost, and murmured in his ear, “so strip .”
And Fetcher promptly turned invisible.
“Aw,” Nadi said with a pout before a sharp grin grew on her own face, “c’mon, mi vida! Give us a show! Strip!”
If Jason listened closely he could almost hear the affronted noises Fetcher must be wanting to make. Like he could feel the indignation and embarrassment. Betrayal , he heard, horrible people! Why do I put up with this!
“Ah ah,” he sing-songed, “cause you love us, Jellyfish. Now don’t leave me all naked here on my own.”
Nadi gave him an odd look but he elected to ignore it. He’d long since gotten used to the fact he could communicate via vibes alone with Fetcher. Something to do with them both being undead, probably.
Fetcher reappeared, sans mask and the top half of his suit tied off around his waist and arms crossed as he glared Jason down. He grinned and just gave the other a low whistle in appreciation. The vibrant green blush that spread across his ghost’s pretty cheeks was absolutely worth it. Even when he sent an irritated, icy punch through Jason’s stomach. Fuck but that always felt weird.
After recovering from the cold, cold feeling he straightened and gave a thoughtful hum as he watched Fetcher shift uncomfortably from side to side… He had an extra domino in his pocket. It wasn’t like it could actually hide his identity given that he- well glowed , but it might help him feel a little more secure without the main mask. Jason knew it helped him feel safer, so why not.
He stepped close again, one gloved hand slipping under his ghost’s chin and lifting it up while the other dug into one of the many pockets of his cargo pants, searching for his extra domino. Fetcher allowed the touch, merely tilting his head to the side in question. It made something stutter within his chest at the show of trust, the allowance of such casual intimacy. He ignored it, just keeping that sweet face within his grasp until he finally found the domino. He lifted it, asking without words if Fetcher wanted it.
Jellyfish smiled, small and grateful as he nodded. Jason pulled the protective film off the back that allowed for easy application, the skin-safe glue already applied underneath. With careful hands he placed the strip of fabric around crystalline green eyes. Fetch leaned into the touch and his eyes fell closed as Jason smoothed the mask over the ridge of his cheekbones, pretty white eyelashes fluttering just shy of his fingers.
He pulled away reluctantly, dropping back and looking away. He didn’t dare to see what emotion was swimming in those bright eyes.
Nadi broke the moment and bounced between them, heels clicking on the pavement as she grabbed both their hands, an excited grin stretching across her face. “To the Underbelly!”
The what?!
Nadi seemed to skip the entire way, smile never waning as she led them down hidden back-alley paths and through dozens of unexpected turns. Asphalt turned to cobblestone under their feet and Jason had an inkling of where they were going but he hadn’t been to this area of the Gotham slums in a good long while. Since before he got picked up by Bruce kind of long while.
It was the smell of street food and the chatter of many voices overlapping each other that clued him in. Right. Nadi was taking them into the hidden heart of the Alley and the Bowery and the Narrows. The Underbelly of the underbelly of Gotham. A place that, most importantly, couldn’t be reached by the cops. Not easily at least. Vehicles couldn’t reach it- the old roads made for foot traffic and nothing bigger. The railway tracks immediately above it were in disrepair, sheltering it from sight of The Blimp. All the buildings in the area were crumbling around it, making it seem abandoned and empty.
It was anything but.
They turned a final corner and he felt Fetch stop short behind him, taking in the sight. Jason should have realized earlier, but it was a Market night, and despite it being three in the morning, everything was still in full swing.
Stands and carts were everywhere, people yelling in a variety of languages for food, or haggling over the price of the meager produce being sold by the locals that could afford to grow it in their small city gardens. Paper lanterns were strung between the crumbling remains of buildings around them. There was a group standing on the broken fountain that took up the center of the abandoned square, singing and playing different time-worn instruments. Other groups were dancing around them to the beat, a jaunty latin thing. Children were laughing and chasing each other, popping up from behind the crumbling stone to scare each other through the empty windows.
God, but he remembered being one of those kids. Remembered Market Night being one of the only times he could fill his belly- taking offerings from various vendors that never said no to a hungry child. Remembered learning to dance here. To find joy here. Remembered not being able to find it again once Catherine passed and he had no one to show him the way.
A lounging figure melted from the shadows of one of the walls and Jason tensed as they approached, only to relax once he caught sight of who it was. One of the other girls, Alara, that Mama had appointed trustworthy enough to be manager, was the one to slink toward them, her grin matching Nadi’s as she looked them up and down. She was willowy and sweet, her face soft and her dark eyes hidden under glittery eye-lids at half-mast. She looked meek but her spine was steel. Her heart didn’t bleed near as much as Nadi’s did.
“Holy shit,” she said slowly, savoring the words as she gave Jason a thorough once over, “he has a face!”
“I take offense to that,” he replied flatly, trying not to shift in place at the glimmer in her eye. “What would you have done if I didn’t? You don’t know, there’s enough weird shit in Gotham I might not have. Could ‘a lost my face in a tragic bazooka accident.”
Jellyfish waved to get his attention.
He arched his arm like he was holding something on his shoulder and then mimed being pushed back by a blast, mouthing “bazooka” as he did. Then he waved his hands flippantly and mouthed “accident”. Would it really be an accident if it involved a bazooka?
“Hey,” he shot back, indignant, “ yes . Maybe I fired the bazooka but there was fishing wire attached and the hook accidentally got my face. Ripped it clean off, Loony-Tunes style.”
Fetch just scrunched his nose. Gross .
“I lose my face in an incredibly tragic, incredibly accidental bazooka accident, and all you can say is- gross?”
Their, frankly stupid, argument was broken up by stifled laughter.
Both Nadi and Alara were laughing at them. Great. His reputation had already tanked when Nadi got a hold of him and threatened the after-life out of him, but now it would never recover. It was going to take a whole other bag of severed heads to even remotely fix.
“Alright,” Alara said, soft voice still choked with laughter, “c’mon, bebek. Time to stop lurking in the shadows.”
Nadi threw her arms up as they entered the main space and shouted, “Welcome to the Underbelly Market!”
She whistled loudly into the night, catching everyone’s attention as everything fell quiet- the music and the shouting tapering off. “I brought the guests of honor!” she yelled triumphantly.
Curious eyes raked them over, noticing for the first time that he and Fetch were both just standing there- sans full masks- and looking like idiots. Someone had the audacity to wolf-whistle.
People swarmed- slowly at first, but curiosity seemed to overtake all of them eventually. Many of the faces he noticed were familiar, all People of the Alley that he regularly saw around and took care of but some of them were new, likely from the Narrows or the Bowery- timid and shy but ducking around the shield of others to take a look at the Big Bad Crime Lord and his Loyal Mutt. Both looking casual and out of place. Fetcher soon had several kids climbing all over him, silent laughter making him shake as he tried to juggle them. He looked radiant like that, happy and basking in the positive attention of others around him.
He could think himself a monster all he liked, but despite being a ghost- he was just as human as the rest of them.
The makeshift fountain band; a man with an old and tarnished trumpet, a young teenager with a well-loved fiddle on their shoulder, several people with hand drums and tambourines and several more with plucky old guitars, and hell- someone even had a washboard and another had spoons- started to play and a cheer went up throughout the crowd. Half the improvised band started singing, a lively chant in Spanish that wove through the beat and lifted up into the night. (He was pretty that most of them didn’t know what the words meant, but they were singing their hearts out anyway.)
People around them started breaking up, going back to their abandoned stands or picking their food back up. Some started forming pairs and started swaying, heels clicking on the cobblestone beneath them.
The bass kicked in and Jason watched in awe as the dancing pairs all took to moving in different steps. One couple was dancing close in an aggressive and even professional looking paso doble. One kid was dancing with family, standing on their feet as the adult swung them around in a peppy little box-step. Three people were trading off partners in a tango. One guy was break-dancing over cardboard laid out near the center of the square and another was off in the corner doing the fucking worm. It was a free-for-all. It was insane.
Jason loved it.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fetch swaying back and forth to the beat, a small sad smile on his face as he watched. Oh no, now that wouldn’t do. Jason knew an unfortunate amount of dance styles- some for the galas he’d gone to while with Bruce and some just because he had the chance to learn.
He stepped in front of his little ghost and held out a hand, tilting his head to the side and asking without words.
Wanna dance?
Jellyfish squinted up at him, like he couldn’t tell if Jason’s offer was a trick or not. The last time he’d accepted Jason’s hand- in a situation like this- had ended in disaster. The last time had been the dojo. But he wasn’t about to let it all end like that again. He wanted to prove to Fetcher, really prove, that things could go right sometimes. That Fetcher deserved happiness. Deserved to have fun. Deserved to join in one of the greatest and purest expressions of humanity. He could only hope his sincerity shone through.
Tentatively, skeptically, he took Jason’s hand.
He grinned and pulled the other close, freshly healed hands gripping at cold hips and moving them in figure-eights to the beat, earning a blush and flailing arms for it. He moved forward, leading Fetch in a simple step, before moving back again and drawing the other man with him, swaying his hips the entire time and getting Fetch to settle his arms against Jason’s chest.
“Bachata,” he murmured, leaning down to whisper into Fetcher’s little pointed ear, “is all about the hips. Relax and move with me.”
And if he pulled his ghost a little closer than necessary, if he relished in the intimate proximity- the shared body heat and the smell of a lightning storm under his nose, if he burned every second of this moment into his memory to hold close in his heart forever? Well, he’d take that to his second grave.
It was intoxicating. The music. The lights. The laughter. The people.
This is what he wanted to protect. This is why he fought so hard to overturn the system that failed these people. That failed him. This is why all the blood on his hands was worth it. The world could be so hateful, so cold and unwelcoming. Jason had definitely seen the worst humanity had to offer. Had seen sickening and unspeakable acts of cruelty. He’d been kicked and beaten by the world a fair few times, himself. He knew how bad it all could get. How bad people could be.
But here , in this time and this place, the people were good . The only things that mattered here were being fed, being happy, and being loved . Singing, laughing, feeling. Being human. This was part of the best that humanity could offer. Community. Joy. Life .
It didn’t matter that Jason was dead. Didn’t matter that Fetcher was dead. That they both thought themselves monsters. Here, they were alive. They were welcome. They were nothing but another couple dancing under the smog-covered stars.
Eventually they took a break, Fetcher still grinning wider than he’d ever seen before, a light sparking in his pale green eyes. Jason knew the other was hungry, though. Hell, he was hungry too. It’d already been a bit of a long night before Nadi brought them here. Gently, he guided his ghost towards one of the carts still serving hot, fresh food.
Mr. Betanco smiled as they stepped closer, flipping the güirila wrapped in banana leaves on the hot plate to brown the other side. It smelled heavenly and he could see Fetcher agreed with how he leaned over and breathed in the smell with a deep inhale. Mr. Betanco laughed at their antics and plated the fresh güirila with some cream and handed it over to the ghost.
Fetcher hesitated and Jason took the plate instead with a careful thanks and shoved it into his hands. He pouted but took the plate all the same, eyeing the sweet tortilla before digging in. It did look pretty damn good and Jason was eager to wait for his own. He also knew damn well Mr. Betanco would refuse payment. He’d have to find a favor to do for the man.
He was handed a steaming fresh plate and gave a grateful grin before he was shooed away. But before he could dig in he was being attacked by Nadi, getting dragged away from an amused ghost. Alara stood beside Fetch, giving Jason a cheeky smile as she waved and Nadi pulled him along with no remorse.
Nadi stood in front of him, hands on her hips, and her gaze was intense when she said, “You can’t hurt him like that again.”
“I-,” Jason started. Stopped. He wanted to say that he wouldn't. Wanted to say that he would never hurt his ghost like that ever again. That he’d rather die than repeat that mistake. But that was the thing of it. He’d rather die for a lot of reasons. He planned to die, maybe, for a lot of reasons.
(Bruce, it was always about Bruce. What would he do? What would he choose? Jason was putting his life in Bruce’s hands again and what did it say about his faith in B that he was already planning on going back to his empty grave?)
“I can’t promise anything,” he ended up saying, voice soft and filled with preemptive guilt. God but he hated how complicated everything had become. How things could so easily fall apart now. Hated how much his plan was starting to burn everything around him. But he still had to light the match.
He didn’t know what expression was on his face but it made Nadi’s crumple.
“What are you thinking, Hood?” she asked. “Why would you say that when you care so much about him? What’s going on?”
He snarled, her words putting him on the defensive. “You assume too much,” he shot back. He hated that he was so obvious. Hated that such a weak spot was so visible to others. Hated that he was trying so hard to lie to himself about it existing at all.
He hated a lot of things.
Nadi leaned away from him, a dark look on her face, before she nodded and left. “Say what you want,” she said, turning just before fully leaving the corner she’d bullied him into. “But just know that if you do hurt him again- nothing in heaven or hell will stop me hunting you down.”
He had no doubt she would. He’d deserve it too.
Despite the conflicting guilt that settled in his stomach like a stone, he wanted to get back to Fetcher’s side. Wanted nothing more than to reestablish that easy connection they had and keep hold of it for as long as possible. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been before his ghost came along. Starved. For casual touch, for easy conversations, for some semblance of goddamn peace and quiet . And like a stubborn child clutching onto a fraying security blanket, he was going to be selfish and weak and hold on until the last possible moment. Until there was nothing left but unraveling thread and irreparable tears.
He weaved through the flush of people idling about the Market, finding Fetch being accosted by Ms. Quispe who was loading up a plate with a concerning amount of tequeños and insisting on giving him a large styrofoam cup filled with what was likely aji. The older ladies of the Alley seemed determined to fatten him at any and all opportunity. He wanted to laugh as he saw Fetcher struggling to turn them down, to insist on giving them back. He stood back and watched a bit as she pretended not to understand what he was gesturing about, but Jason could see from the glint in her eyes that she knew what she was doing.
“Gonna have ta give up the ghost on this one,” he murmured as he sidled up behind the shorter man, earning an exaggerated eye-roll for the comment. Fetch just grimaced and shoved one of the cheese sticks in his direction.
“Boss.”
And then the easy atmosphere of the night shattered with the sound of a quiet voice, wary and tight with fear as one of his lieutenants approached him.
Kalev was not a man that spooked easy. He was on the more cautious side, sure, which likely fed into his reluctance to get closer and interrupt the peace the Market brought, but it wasn’t often that Jason heard the notes of fear in the deep timbre of his accent. He was large and self-assured from the muscle he packed and knew how to use proficiently. He was one of the few Jason trusted to keep the others in line. One of the few he trusted with guarding and monitoring the Alley in his absence. His sudden presence could spell nothing good.
“It’s Mask,” Kalev stated when he was close, voice low enough not to cause a stir in the crowd but quick and firm enough to clue Jason in on just how much of an immediate issue this was.
He tsked in annoyance. He’d been wondering when Ole Maskie was going to make himself known again, what plan he’d put together to be an extra sharp thorn in Jason’s side. Black Mask was still pissed at Jason’s hostile take-over and Jason’d be stupid to think the other would take that laying down.
“I think someone snitched,” Sticks said as he ran up to their group, out of breath as he settled next to Kalev’s bulk. He was a slip of a man, thin and short and altogether forgettable in appearance. It was something he used to his advantage, running around as a scout in Kalev’s shadow. “Someone told him youse was back on the streets, boss,” he paused with a grim frown, “an’ it feels like he’s out for blood.”
He sighed deeply, sticking the tequeño Fetcher had shoved at him earlier in his mouth to get his arms free and reach for the pack he’d stored his helmet in earlier. The movement apparently brought attention to his face- sans aforementioned helmet, and suddenly Sticks was in his space with a wild grin.
“You gotta face!” the man crowed, unafraid of the glare Jason leveled at him as he had the audacity to reach up and ruffle Jason’s hair. “And it’s so young !”
He rolled his eyes and gently shoved Sticks back towards a subtly amused Kalev. His lieutenant just raised an eyebrow in his direction, making no comment but his judgment was felt anyway. Whatever. He was an adult. He was . And a perfectly acceptable age to be a Crime Lord, thank ya very much.
Fetcher came up behind him, unloading his own gear from the pack with one hand and shoving the precarious plate of deep fried goodies toward Kalev’s patient hand. Sticks was now gasping and bouncing toward the ghost, face delighted as he got up close and circled the other.
“Youse ain’t no guard dog!” he exclaimed while reaching up to pinch an unamused cheek. “Youse a fuckin’ puppy!”
Fetch playfully snapped his teeth, fangs snapping on air in warning to get Sticks’ hand away from his face so he could pull his gear back on. He watched as the two went back and forth. Sticks was one of the few people who could have a half-way decent conversation with Fetch, catching what the ghost was trying to say through pantomime more often than not. Probably from experience with working with Kalev’s stoic ass. Man didn’t like to talk if he didn’t have to. Sticks more than made up for it.
Jason took stock of his weapons; just the base amount he usually had on his person, plus two of his favorite girls. Jane and Lizzie were both fully loaded and ready to go. He also had smoke bombs, actual bombs, knives, throwing blades, a modified taser that could deal double the damage the average market one could, and extra ammunition. Probably other little gadgets he’d packed away in his pockets that he was forgetting at the moment as well. Just the usual.
Soon enough they were both geared up and ready to go.
He turned to Fetcher, mourning the sight of his face as he looked for the bright pin-pricks of green that marked his eyes under the mask. He’d seen the other hesitating, fingers unsure and halting as they pulled his suit up and pulled the layers back on.
“You don’t have to go,” Jason said, trying to push as much sincerity into his voice as he could through the modulator in his helmet. “You can stay and enjoy the rest of the Market. Keep watch over everyone here.”
Fetcher glared and punched his shoulder in response. He pointed to himself then jabbed a finger into Jason’s chest. The ferocity of his response was softened when he imitated puppy ears above his head, the motion ridiculous but plain in understanding. I’m your guard dog . The clenched jaw and deliberate look towards Jason’s hands also told him that Fetcher wasn’t about to budge about it.
“Alright, alright,” he replied, giving in. “Let’s head out then.”
He turned to follow Sticks as the man began to slip back through the crowd. Weaving through dancers and food stands and leading them from the comfort of community and back into the thick of the war that Jason felt would never end.
“Maskie wants blood-,” he growled, “then we’ll give it to ‘im.”