A pleasant buzz filled my head as the party mellowed around me.
The younger crowd was already nodding off, eyes half-closed, while their guardians gently steered them out. The raucous music from earlier had softened into a low stream of casual jazz that drifted across the grounds
Red Hood's gang and my own people had mostly split into small clusters, chatting quietly and picking at the impromptu feast both crews had thrown together on short notice. For a moment, it almost looked like one big, dysfunctional family reunion.
Shared miseries and alcohol could do wonders for forging friendships.
I was glad I'd splurged on this whole endeavor. Cobblepot was probably going to rip me a new one for burning through so much stock, but I could frame it as a publicity stunt.
[Tinker - Alchemy(II)] more than covered the losses anyway.
Once I got the ability, sourcing cooking equipment had been embarrassingly easy. Being the head of a criminal union meant a large chunk of my own guys already had experience in the drug trade.
Unfortunate circumstances aside, my new knowledge let me design machines and small refineries that effectively printed alchemical potions on demand.
The sheer variety of effects compensated for their relative weakness. They weren't flashy or overtly magical, but no one was going to scoff at mild healing, boosted stamina, or basic disease removal. In fact, the lack of insane effects worked in my favor. I marketed them as a genius invention, rather than magic.
Frankly, I didn't really know how the hell it worked either. My hands sort of just moved on their own when I started making the stuff. I'd tried breaking the process down to some of my guys, but it was just straight gibberish.
I'd been cautious about side effects, but the results spoke for themselves.
After a few test runs, Cobblepot had been practically giddy. He poured money into setting up a proper lab. With manpower and supplies already handled, all I had to do was build the refineries and let the process run. A couple of facilities later, and we were churning out potions by the handful.
Obviously, I couldn't sell any of it legitimately. Getting past the FDA and the pharmaceutical giants would've been a bureaucratic nightmare. Fortunately, I had literal leagues of smugglers and dealers at my beck and call. With Cobblepot's connections layered over my own distribution network, we were pulling in hefty profits both inside and outside Gotham.
So I didn't hold back as I wandered the grounds, pressing potions and specialized drinks into every open hand I could find. The festive mood meant plenty of personal thanks, firm handshakes, and wide grins thrown my way.
Still, there was one table where the atmosphere remained at least semi-professional.
A small white plastic table sat off to the side, surrounded by a handful of my guys who were sober enough to maintain the semblance of the meeting we were technically supposed to be having.
Naturally, I did the responsible thing. I shoved more drinks into their hands and told them to take the rest of the night off.
Was it stupid to meet with a gun-slinging crime lord alone?
Probably.
But Red Hood was sitting far more at ease than he'd been when I first arrived, helmet tilted slightly as he watched the crowd.
He waved his people away without looking at them and gave me a short nod toward the empty seat across from him.
Business, then.
—
Jason felt a lot of things these days. Anger and annoyance usually topped the list. If it wasn't that, it was the constant stress of Gotham being Gotham.
Even on the rare days he tried to relax or hang out with the family, there was always that compulsive rage humming at the back of his skull just waiting for a spark.
The Pit Rages had eased up a bit as time passed, but they never really went away.
It was something he'd just learned to live with after… coming back.
It was strange being fully relaxed. Was this how normal people felt? He'd forgotten what it was like to not be on a hair trigger.
"So? How was it?" the so-called Union Leader asked.
"Decent," Jason grunted.
He'd gone into the whole "remedy" thing expecting bullshit. Snakeoil at best. Some kind of poison at worst. Instead, he had to admit that by all the impossible freaking odds, it worked. Even setting aside the mental quiet, his body hadn't felt this good in years. No constant ache in his joints or muscles.
He wasn't about to say that out loud, though.
The bastard leaned back in exaggerated shock. "You didn't like the super omega secret ingredient piña colada?"
Jason snorted. "Five out of ten."
"Wow. So rude, even after I poured my heart and soul into it." The man even rubbed at his eyes like he was about to cry.
Shameless bastard.
Jason rolled his eyes. "I'd be willing to raise the score. Of course. If you gave us a few more to taste-test."
"Ah, but of course." The grin sharpened. "But what about my earlier question? Will you be joining the Union?"
Jason tapped a finger against the plastic table.
If the question had come a few hours earlier, he would've laughed and shoved a gun in the guy's face just to make a point. But now…
His gaze drifted across the party. His people and Jean's own were simply chatting away. Relaxed in a way Gotham rarely allowed.
It looked like a dream. The kind of Gotham he'd wanted as a kid and had long since stopped dreaming of.
"Say I do," Jason said slowly. "What then? You expect my people to arm up and follow your lead? Want me hunting down the crazies at your beck and call?"
The idea had tempted him more times than he'd ever admit. Just cut loose.
Put a bullet in those bastards' heads and be done with it.
The only thing that had ever stopped him was that thin, fraying promise to Bruce. Deep down, he knew that if he crossed that line, he wouldn't really be Jason anymore.
Even then, there were nights when the call felt so damn tempting it made his fingers twitch.
Strangely, though, as the thought flared now, it didn't bring the usual surge of anger with it.
"Nah."
Jason nearly tipped his chair back. "What do you mean, nah?"
"I don't really want anything from you." Jean leaned back in the flimsy white chair, balancing it on two legs like he didn't care if it snapped. "Sure, having the legendary Red Hood on my side would be nice. Good optics. But honestly? I don't care that much. If you don't want to fight, don't fight. Hell, we can do honorary member status if you're still twitchy about the whole thing."
Jason frowned. "Then why even come here?"
"To see if you can change."
The easygoing grin didn't quite match the look in his eyes now. There was steel in his gaze.
"I don't just want to fix up a neighborhood. Or a crew." Jean continued. "I want to change Gotham. For the better."
He stood, laughing—but it wasn't carefree. It was the kind of laugh that slipped out when you were so pissed at how broken everything was that the absurdity of it all hit at once.
"I'm not a good guy. I'm not some revolutionary. I'm a street urchin and a crook. But even I want to be better." His smile thinned. "There's nothing wrong with being at the bottom. Everyone's got their own shit. Screw anyone who says otherwise. But that doesn't mean we have to stay there."
"Tough ask for Gotham," Jason replied.
"Right!" Jean's grin sharpened, almost manic. "We're all stuck in a mire of nothing. A vicious circle that just takes and takes, with the lunatics perched on top of it all. Fuck that. I don't care if it's tough. I'll be damned if we can't at least try to be better."
Jason nodded slowly. The argument resonated more than he expected. Maybe it was the strange calm settling over him, muting his usual anger, but it sounded… right.
"I respect that," he said. "But you expect everyone else to? I'll admit this went surprisingly well."
A simple test of some supposed "remedies" had somehow turned into a drinking contest, which had escalated into a full-blown party. It felt like something out of a Disney movie.
"But not every crew's going to be as rational as mine," Jason went on. "Some of these bastards won't care about speeches or goodwill. What then?"
Jean tilted his head like the answer was obvious. "We beat them up. Duh."
Jason stared at him.
"I think you've got a misconception," Jean continued. "I'm not a superhero. I'm the representative. The face of the goons and mooks this city chews up and spits out. If they won't listen, I'll make them listen."
"And if they don't…" He leaned forward slightly, his smile turning dangerous. "Some bastards just need punishing."
They both let out a dark chuckle.
This guy got it.
Bruce and Barbara were going to be on his ass about this. He could already hear the lectures.
Still…
"Honorary status, then," Jason said, extending his hand.
"Welcome to the Union." Jean gripped it firmly. "I'll make sure to send lots of piña coladas."
"Keep them coming, and I wouldn't mind helping you out now and then," Jason replied. "If the Joker messes with your people, give me a shout."
There was a dangerous glint in his eyes when he said it.
"Having you on retainer for a couple of drinks," Jean chuckled. "What a bargain. Though I don't think we'll have to worry about the Joker for now. I imagine he's got his hands full."
"Oh?" Jason leaned in.
"Not my story to tell," Jean said with a small shrug. "But as for the concrete details, let's—"
So Jason had leaned back and went over the minutiae with a rival crime boss like they were trading Pokémon cards.
It made him feel younger than he had in a long time. Almost like when he'd first started as Robin, when everything had felt possible.
The negotiation wrapped on a mostly high note. After a few final goodbyes with his crew, Jason eventually found himself alone again.
Back at his place, he dropped onto the couch. The last couple of hours felt like a fever dream.
"Did that bastard figure out some opposite version of Crane's fear toxin?" Jason chuckled as he just relaxed for what felt like the first time in forever.
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and picked up. "Yeah?"
"Jason?"
"What's up, Barbara?" He leaned back, settling deeper into the cushions.
"Just wanted to give you an update," she said. "I know things have been rough on your end."
"As if rough even begins to cover that bullshit." Jason shook his head. "What's going on with the motley crew?"
He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.
"Well… mostly we're handling the usual crazies. You know how it is. We picked up another twenty or so tonight, but a lot of the bigger names are still out."
"I'm guessing Joker's still running around," Jason said, bitterness slipping through.
"Yeah," Barbara replied carefully. "But… you might like this part. You know the League of Assassins is in town."
"Yeah?"
"Orphan and Huntress stumbled onto a meeting. There's an open contract on Joker."
Jason grinned. "Assholes finally making themselves useful."
"It's not an assassination mission," Barbara added, and he could hear her trying not to laugh. "The mission is, quote, 'cut the Joker's dick off and feed him his own balls.'"
Jason went completely still for half a second.
Then the laughter burst out of him. It hit so hard he had to lean back into the couch, one hand covering his face as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
He didn't know for sure, but he'd bet good money that shameless bastard had a hand in it.
Yeah. He was definitely buying Jean a drink next time.
Still chuckling, tension bleeding out of his shoulders, Jason felt his eyes start to droop as Barbara kept talking. The image of Joker screaming and scrambling, desperately trying to save his own nuts, replayed in his mind.
He smiled at the thought as sleep began to drag him under.
***
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices. If you want more, please comment your thoughts and ideas.
I have advanced chapters on Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.