Chapter Text
The glowing sign which established the cafe hummed slightly due to the cheap electronic lighting. It lit up the entrance with a glow too bright for such a dull area. It was a laughable contrast with sirens echoing in comparison, coming from a block over… From what he could recall of his early years spent living in this shit hole, this was nothing out of ordinary for a Gotham night. Chaos rained down upon the residents, alongside the usual night's rain…
But from inside of the Bowery’s newest establishment, the atmosphere was something entirely out of the normal… Jason Todd was sitting down behind of the counter, all possible tension in his body was gone. His breathing was constantly regulated, such practices deeply helped with countering the side effects of the Pit. His hands were wrapped around his favourite mug; branded with the Wonder Woman logo. He cherished the warmth that greeted his cold hands, it made them feel a little more alive. His hands belonged to a corpse.. Steam emitted from the dark liquid inside, the substance harboured quite the faint, yet rich scent of black tea, which he had sweetened with a spoonful full of honey… With his free hand he casually flipped over to the next page of the classic novel resting on his lap.
For the first time from what he could recall; Jason could say that he was truly at peace with the current life he was living…
And from what he could recall. He had once experienced a hatred, one so deep that his return to Gotham for sure, was not supposed to look anything like this. The city had accepted another symbol of vengeance out of him. A ghost masked in leather and shades of red… He was sure if his old family had been aware of his return, they would have prepared for something dramatic. But they couldn’t assume anything in regards to a situation they had no awareness of. And for all he cared, they could stay in the dark. Forever, hopefully.
Jason had come to the decision of what would be his final act of rebellion against the Batman, the very man who had replaced him in memory. Rather than it being a turf war, it was going to be retirement… Along with a subtle funding of a few hundred (thousands) stolen very subtly out of the Wayne Enterprises’ multiple offshore accounts, he took a significant amount out of each in a way that wouldn’t draw attention to the losses… A few missing dimes would not harm a soul, especially not the nepo-baby Bruce Wayne. This sort of self-indulgent victory seemed much sweeter than the honey induced in his tea.
With his ‘fathers’ money, he had purchased a decently priced building in the heart of the Bowery; the very place that he had grown up in… Most of the memories associated with this place weren’t the best for sure, but he held onto the hope that he could replace them with positive ones. Memories centered around happiness rather than disappear.
He had always harboured the passion for crafting stuff for consumption. In honesty, it was something he had picked up from observing Alfred; the one person who had truly verbalized his care, and made him feel seen… So came the decision to take up on that interest, and declare it a sanctuary of a cafe. He was much more focused on comfort rather than the guns and capes he had experienced for most of his life. The centre of this new life he was living, was built up of caffeine and sweet things…
The bell, placed above the front door, let out the simple alert of a chime; one which cut through his haze of literature and fatigue. Jason did not act to look up from his book, though he managed to pick up on the scents of expensive perfume along with a tinge of blood as it drifted casually into the room… “If you’re here to break more of my plates, Ivy, you are paying for the replacement.” Jason remarked before turning another page of the novel, much too focused on the text, rather than the customers making their way in.
“Oh relax, Jay.” Harley Quinn’s distinct accent chirped in response, as she made her way to her usual corner booth, dragging a reluctant Poison Ivy by the hand behind of her. “We are just here for a quick date; Palm needs her sugar-fix, and your place is the only joint in this shit hole where someone isn’t attempting to shoot us mid bite.”
“Underworld rules still apply,” Jason said, as he finally closed his book shut, settling it down on the counter. “This is technically neutral grounds… You break it, you bought it.”
Harley replied with a joking giggle. And from a table in the far corner, Edward Nygma let out a sigh induced with deep irritation, as his focus was partially on the crossword puzzle in front of him. His remark came with a deep annoyance reserved for familiars; “Your blend tonight is perfect, it’s infuriatingly so. It’s honestly a riddle to me how a brute like you manages to balance the bitterness in such a flawless manner.”
“It’s called following a basic recipe Eddie, you should try it for once.” Jason shot back. A genuine, teasing smile starting to form on his scarred lips.
He managed to play his part with perfection. He served as the cynical along with slight irresponsible older brother, to the city's rogues. And unlike most, he did not judge or comment on their side activities, and in return; they left their grudges out at the front of his property and became picture-perfect regular customers… It was almost laughable how domestic it all worked out to be for such flawed and frowned upon people, like them. Laughable was a definition that could be used, of course, that was until the rest of the city began to catch on to what was occurring.
It was simply an unspoken fact, that a residency in the Bowery that was somehow frequented by a lot of Gotham’s most notorious criminals, and somehow had a lack of body counts and property damage; was a rare anomaly… And in the area of Gotham, it was known that anomalies tended to attract The Bats. They had a bad habit of sticking their nose into the unknown and assuming the worst. They had the reputation of approaching new concepts with a deep sense of distrust.
…The bell above the door let out a second chime of the hour, as yet again another individual entered. The second they did; the cafe’s atmosphere shifted entirely in the matter of a few instant seconds. And in replacement, something cold and tense came into the store… Harley paused in the middle of one of her laughs, as Ivy’s eyes made their way, with a narrow towards the entrance; she sensed something out of the usual danger.
Jason found himself leaning casually against the cold and marble carved counter, resting his arms in a crossed manner. His gaze moved down to find the newcomer too swiftly.
…It was a kid that was now standing across from him, it undeniably so. From his point of view; standing in front of him was a short and clearly intense child, one who carried himself with a stoic facade. But what truly tipped off Jason to further detail was this child's rigid posture and instinctual grace with each movements, that showed fully in each lethal stride, making the fact now unmistakable to him; This kid was much dangerous than most may believe.
It was none other than Damian Wayne, who had now stopped short in his previous tracks, from the moment he grasped a proper look at the barista… The silence that had formed afterwards had now begun to stretch on and dragged, forming into something that Jason personally believed was a pretty awkward staring contest... Damian’s breath had now come to a temporary halt of shock, as it was clear to him that he instantly recognized the man standing in front of him… He knew it all too well, he was familiar with the sharp line of that jaw, matched with the many scars around it, and the white streaks that framed the front of Jason’s hair, due to their overlapping days in the League of Assassins.
To the rest of the ever moving world continuing around them, including his family of furry themed vigilantes; What had once been a boy named Jason Todd, was now nothing more than a tragic memory. A memory that was continued to be remembered by a uniform placed in a glass case, forever rotting in the Batcave… And yet here he currently was, a proclaimed dead man, now wearing a silly apron instead of his old bloodied cape, along with a cup of self made tea in his tainted hand.
Damian was clearly trying his absolute best to maintain his icy persona, one drilled into him by the League. And yet as he titled up his chin to face the man he had once respected, his voice was a mere whisper; “Todd.” The complicated emotions he appeared to be experiencing were now laid bare within his tone, it was a mix of shock and tightly controlled emotions.
“Hey kid. Long time, no see.” Jason’s voice in response was soft, along with his outward exterior and body language. Any tension he had once experienced now melted away in a quick instant… The person in front of him was not a robin, rather he was just a child. A child who unfortunately, was aware of exactly how cruel this world could be… “Want a hot chocolate? It’s on the house.”
In response to his display of fondness, Damian stiffened up, seemingly unfamiliar to the action of being addressed in such a way. He turned his face away, staring in the opposite direction as if to hide his eyes and the emotion behind them. “...I do not require a ridiculous display of charity from a dead man, nor do I care for your childish concoction.”
“Right, right. That's totally ‘Ah-Ghul’ of you,” Jason chuckled, seeming to take not the slightest offence in regards to Damian’s attempt at cruel words. He made his way in a swerve across the counter, and reached under a nearby booth; gently scooping out a scruffy, disabled cat; one of the many strays that had taken up residence in his cafe. He held the cat out towards the youngest Wayne. “Well, Alfred the second, here needs someone to hold him whilst I brew the hot-chocolate… Are you up for the mission?”
Damian took a moment to pause, as he stared down at the cat offered in his direction. His usual mask managed to crack for half a second before he swiftly picked up his composure, moving to take the feline with reluctance. Surprisingly, his movements were gentle and full of care.
“This is an inefficient use of my time.” He muttered beneath his breath, though in contradiction to his words, Damian moved his hand and buried his fingers into the cat’s fur… As he took a seat in the nearest booth, the one beside the rouge-couple; the cat curled up onto his lap with a fond pur. From behind of him, Harley did not bother to cover up her coo at the sight, causing Damian’s scowl to deepen.
Jason himself did little to hide his smile, as he began to move back behind the counter and into his usual seat… The secrets in which he had fought so hard to keep, were beginning to unravel. He was certain that even if Damian did not share this account, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the family picked up on his behaviour, making them destined to follow… Yet as he took another look at Damian; finally appearing to be safe, far away from the pressure of the cowl; Jason came to the belief that the chaos may be worth the risk.