Chapter Text
Day 62 since Doomsday
"Damian, hurry up and quit lagging,” Jason barks, a good ten feet ahead of the young boy and his dog. The abandoned shopping centre echoes a silence that puts Jason on edge.
They’ve made it to just outside Bristol, wandering aimlessly in an attempt to find food, supplies, and, quite literally, anything that could be of use. So far all they’ve managed to find are three dead bodies, empty cans of SPAM and one early-stage Infected. A bust of a run so far.
That’s what it’s been like for two months so far. Wander, eat, collect supplies and dump the rest into the back of the shitty Camaro Jason hotwires from the shop. Not like anyone is going to miss the car anyway.
Probably because almost everyone is dead.
Gotham's empty, and all the devils are infected.
“It is not my fault Titus insists on wandering,” Damian sneers back. Titus barked beside him before wandering off to some trash can, sniffing for food.
“I’m finding a pet shop and getting that thing a leash." Jason adjusts his grip on his shotgun, one of a few he stole from Alfred's old collection.
Oh, Alfred, how he’d pale seeing the state of which the two boys are in. The last of the Wayne family, reduced to eating out of trash cans and praying they’ll be alive tomorrow.
“How dare you?" Damian's perpetual scowl deepens, his grip on his katana tightening, the knapsack they use when raiding stores only partially full. Not a good sign; they’ve been low on food this week.
Skipping another meal seems to be in sight for Jason again; he’d go hungry a dozen times to make sure Damian is still fed. Not that he’d ever admit it.
The kid is still a brat; gotta keep him humble.
“Let's just go check out Walmart, yeah?” Jason stops, looking at the peeling map in the middle of the fork in the mall.
“I’m not eating canned corn for the third time this week."
"Yeah, well canned corn is good and all we got."
“It’s disgusting,”
“It’s filling.”
There's a loud howling sound—not Titus—and the two boys are stilling. Jason turned his head to the sound, infected. Two—maybe three? Late stage by the sound of the gargled howl.
"Damian, go hide,” Jason says without having to look, hearing Damian whistle to Titus as the two go hide. He doesn’t have to snark at Damian anymore about hiding. Two months have built a routine. Jason's got a gun; Damian doesn’t. At the start he refuses, saying he can take them down himself. Two weeks in, Damian was nearly bitten and finally got the hint. Sure kids are less susceptible to infection, but Jason's not taking that risk.
Looking over his shoulder to see Damian taking cover under some fallen statues and mannequins, Jason moves towards the sound, getting louder by the second. Cocking the shotgun and raising it—tucked in his armpit, aimed and ready to hurt.
One stumbles out from the shattered window display of a jewellery store. Its body black and flaking, the rot spreading from a blooming fungus as its neck, eyes missing and hair disintegrated into just a dent and leaking skull. It howls again; Jason cocks his gun once more, and the infected snaps its head to him, hearing the sound.
It runs, stumbling and uncoordinated but oh so violent. Its rotting teeth are on full display as it screeches for food. Jason fires, the shotgun lurching him slightly back as the bullet snaps through the infected skull, blowing whatever remains of a brain it has left. Another howls behind him, and Jason turns, clocking a new bullet and firing. The second one's knees buckle, the bullet having gone through the chest; it writhes, still trying to crawl over before Jason shoots again. It hiccups before lying limp once more. He cocks the gun, letting the bullet casing drop to the floor. He should find an ammo shop and restock soon. Jason's shoulders slump. Two more infected are dead. He’s lost track of the count.
They won’t stay dead for long. Early stage ones heal, get back up and keep rotting away, chasing the smell of fresh carrion and blood.
“Jason!” Damian's voice shouts. Jason snaps around to see an Infected running towards him, merely a few feet away—how did he not hear it? Hollowed rotten mouth open and about to bite as he raises his gun—
A shot fires.
It’s not him.
The infected fall to their sides, the body of what must’ve been a nice, kind mother writhing on the floor as another shot fires, then two more. The shot was fired from above. Jason looks up right as Damian and Titus run up to him, grabbing his sleeve, Titus barking a near growl. He sees her on the second floor of the mall, leaning over the glass railing. Cargo pants and a baggy bomber jacket on, with a medical mask over her mouth.
She’s got a rifle in her hand, aimed in the direction of the Infected. Jason narrows his eyes to get a better look, a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
It’s her.
“Y/N?” he calls out. Dumbfounded.
She tilts her head, slinging the rifle back on her shoulder. From where he is, he can see her pull the mask off, eyes wide. “Jason?!”
Jason's eyes widen, and he’s moving toward the broken escalator to get to her. “Holy shit—holy shit it’s you—”
“Oh my god, I didn’t think anyone else was alive!” She almost laughs, running down the escalator and practically jumping into a hug. Jason freezes as her arms wrap around his neck.
Touching. Touching. Stop touching. Alarms blare in his head.
She pulls away a few seconds later. Grinning.
Of all the people to run into during the end of the world—of course it had to be her. Her reaction is surprising, seeing as Jason fully believed she wanted nothing to do with him two months ago.
Something tugs at Jason's sleeve, Damian's young voice piping up in an almost scoff “Who are you?” Under the tone, Jason can almost sense Damian's true feeling: 'Are you a threat?'.
She looks down at him and tilts her head.
“Uh—this is Damian, my brother." Jason clears his throat. She blinks in recognition.
"Mhm, you're Damian. gosh, I’m sorry—you looked a lot younger in the pictures Dick showed me—”
“You know Grayson?” Damian's eyes widened marginally.
Dick Grayson, the man Damian oh-so-adores. Not that he would admit it out loud.
"Mhm," she hums, “we worked in the same precinct."
“You are a police officer?” Jason goes to open his mouth and answer.
“Uh—not really,” she beats him to it. "Technical ops, like weapons and stuff." She pauses as she looks around the abandoned mall. "Well, I was in technical ops since, y'know, I don't really have a job anymore.”
Jason cringes back slightly, startled. "Wait, so you're not a cop-cop? How did I not know that—”
“You never asked,” she says so casually, with no hesitation, not even an ounce of passive aggression or anger.
Damian just frowns more. "You still haven’t said who you are—or how you know Jason."
She just chuckles, crouching down enough to be at eye level with Damian and extending her hand. “Y/N L/N, I'm a work friend of Dick's…and I went on a date with your brother."
Jason's inner thoughts scoff at her words.
Yeah and you ghosted me.
24 Days before Doomsday
“One date, Jaybird; that’s all I’m asking,” Dick practically whines as he follows Jason into the kitchen, set on preventing Jason's escape.
“I am not going on a date with a cop.” Jason frowns, repeating for the hundredth time as he rummages in the fridge.
“She’s not technically a cop! She works in tech ops!”
“Still a cop, and I hate cops.”
“I’m a cop!”
"Yeah, and I barely tolerate you.” Jason grabs a soda, cracking it open and taking a long gulp.
“You are going to spoil your dinner, Master Jason,” Alfred says from the stove. Jason grunts, putting the drink back in the fridge for later. “And perhaps Master Dick is right; it would be nice for you to go out."
“How are you on his side?”
“Simply a suggestion, sir." Alfred continues to stir whatever is in the pot—both physically and figuratively.
For two days Dick has been pitching for Jason to let him set him up. Specifically with a girl from his precinct. So for hours upon hours, in every waking second, Dick was asked the same thing over and over again.
“Just one date”
“She’s a sweetheart!”
“You two have such similar interests you’ll love her!”
"C'mon, just do it for me, Jaybird?
It’s getting ridiculous—really, it's a miracle Jason hasn’t exploded yet. He just doesn’t want to be dating right now, okay? Rose and he just had another spat a few months ago, and he doesn’t want to jump into something new.
“Jason, please." Dick all but gets on his knees, hands clasped together and a pout on his lips.
“Why do you even care so badly, huh?” Jason sighs as he sits down at the kitchen island; it smells like pasta; that's probably what’s in the giant pot Alfred's working at. It’s a full house tonight. Tim just flew in from San Francisco; he’ll be heading back in a few days for a WayneTech meeting, Duke, Steph and Damian having all just finished their exams, and even Cass and Babs are on their way up from Boston. A full house means a lot of mouths to feed. Not that Alfred ever complains – he won’t say it – but Jason can see the way Alfred's lips perk up at the thought of all the Wayne kids home together.
“You and Rose keep doing this song and dance about each other, and it’s getting to a point, baby brother." Dick slides up beside Jason, an arm over his shoulders, just barely covering the mammoth size of them. "You need a date with someone who’s not..." he pauses to try and find the words, “crazy.”
"Remind me to buy you a thesaurus for your birthday."
“Does that imply you’ll actually get me a present this year?” Dick grins; Jason groans.
“If I agree to one date, will you promise to stop talking about this forever?”
“Of course—not a word out of my mouth." He gives a perfect, stuck-up model-ass smile.
“One date. That's it.”
“Yes! Oh, you won’t regret this—I’ll set it up.”
19 days before Doomsday.
Jason stands outside the cafe scrolling his phone. Dressed in black jeans and a V-neck with his favourite leather jacket on. Pausing as a post appears on his feed.
“Mycovirus case spreads to first patient in USA; patient to be observed in quarantine zone in STAR Labs."
Jason pays no mind to it; there have been hundreds of diseases over the years. They'll make an antidote or kill the guy before it spreads.
Besides, that's none of his concern right now. Right now he has a dare he needs to drag through for his idiot brother. Just smile, answer a few questions, eat dinner and walk her to her car. Easy.
“Jason?” A woman's voice makes him look up, and he blinks.
Oh,
Oh she’s pretty.
No, pretty doesn’t matter; he doesn’t like her. She’s a cop. It’s a reminder of everything he hates.
Jason thinks of his parents. The ones who loved him as much as they could, but it wasn’t enough. No cops saved him; the people he was taught in school would help him do nothing. They said 'good riddance' when Willis was killed; they said she had it coming when Catherine OD'd. Didn’t say a thing when his world came crashing down.
So yeah, he hates cops, and he hates the idea of having to be forced to go out with someone.
So by every reason of proxy he hates her. End of story.
"Yeah." He puts his phone in his pocket.
“Oh phew, great—I wasn’t sure since the photo Dick sent me is only a side profile and your back was turned so..." Her voice quickens as she speaks before stopping, smiling, and introducing herself. "It's nice to meet you."
“Yeah, you too." He shoves his hands into his jean pockets.
“So uh—should we head inside then?” she tilts her head, peering up at him.
She has pretty eyes.
No, Jason, stay focused. “Yeah, let's go." he takes a few steps to the door, opening it for her and gesturing for her to go in; somehow her smile seems to widen more as she heads in.
After getting their drinks, do they truly settle in, the smell of vanilla and overpriced coffee beans swarming Jason's nose, looking down at their drinks of choice? A plain coffee with milk and sugar for him and an iced latte for her. He doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t say anything either. Just staring at each other while they stir their drinks.
“This is awkward, isn’t it?” she laughs awkwardly; Jason's lips flick up slightly.
“A little, yeah,”
“I told your brother he didn’t have to set me up with anyone,” she sighs as she sips her drink, “but he kept insisting he found the perfect match for me."
Jason blinks, surprised. Why he’s surprised he’s not too sure: “Dickhead told me the exact same thing."
“Really?”
“Yeah—he’s insistent on trying to fix my dating life. " Jason rolls his eyes, and she laughs again, a real one.
“Me too! He’s always trying to set me up with someone at work. It's ridiculous.”
Cop.
Right. She's a cop and can't get too interested.
Jason clears his throat, "Yeah—probably trying to kill two birds with one stone or something."
"Probably. So what do you do for work? Dick didn’t actually tell me that much about you."
“I’m a mechanic."
"Oh, you work in a shop?”
“I own the shop, yeah," with a hint of pride in his voice as he says it. “The one on the edge of Bowery and Park Row,”
“I think I know it—the one with that red panelling at the front? Red Helmet Repairs?”
“Yup, that's me."
“I think I got my oil changed there once,” she thinks. "Despite my job, I’m terrible with cars."
This time, Jason laughs, not a full roar of a laugh but a chuckle. Maybe she isn’t too bad. "Well, give me a call next time you're getting it fixed up."
“Yeah? Will you give me a discount?”
“And why would I give you a discount?” he smirks, sipping his coffee.
“I dunno—people you go on dates with, discount?" She tries and that's enough to make Jason laugh, leaning back in his seat as his leg accidentally bumps hers.
“I usually give out those discounts after the fifth time."
She sips her drink, studying him. "You're funny."
You're cute.
-xoxo-
Two hours later, Jason and she start making their way to her car; somehow, by all odds, she managed to actually get him to talk.
And enjoy that.
For once Dick was right; she is perfect for him, asking questions about his interests, his job, his bike, everything. As they are walking down the street, Jason's going on about his latest read, ‘Station Eleven’. Explaining the plot intricately to her. All the while she nods and listens, from time to time asking questions. Is this not casual? Where the night of flirting and touches doesn’t lead to a one-night stand?
Maybe Jason could get used to this—is he jumping the gun a little bit? Maybe, but who cares?
As they reach her car, he blinks, a tall black jeep looking almost out of place amongst the tiny city cars.
"Woah." He pauses, and she turns her gaze to the car.
“Oh yeah, that's my car."
“How do you even drive this thing?”
“Is that meant to be a short joke?”
"Maybe." He looks down at her with an almost boyish grin. She rolls her eyes, and Jason's heart makes a funny sound in his chest.
“I had a fun time,” he says as she turns to face him.
“Yeah…me too, look, I’m really tired and I got work tomorrow or else I’d invite you—” she starts, to which Jason waves his hand for her to stop.
“You're good, don’t worry about it." He puts his hands back in his jacket pockets. “Call me sometime."
“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling out her phone and handing it to him. Jason quickly types the number, pausing, realising he typed in the shop's number, then quickly replacing it with his own.
“See you around, yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you,” she says as she makes her way around to the driver's seat, waving goodbye.
Jason watches as her car drives off and around the corner. His phone buzzes, and he half expects it to be her—whom he would promptly tell to not text and drive.
Instead he’s met with a message from Steph to the family group chat, a forwarded attachment of a news link.
“Mycovirus case confirmed on the west side of the US; WHO begins investigation into effects and spread."
Huh, well that's not a good sign.