Jason Todd | Red Hood

The Batcave smelled like solder and Tim's overpriced coffee, which was honestly a worse combination than anything Crane had ever cooked up. I was leaning against the workbench with my arms crossed, watching Tim turn the busted grapple over in his hands like it had personally insulted his intelligence. Which, fair, because I'd been the one to break it, but in my defense, the thing had jammed mid-swing and I'd had about half a second to make a call between dropping forty feet or yanking it hard enough to snap the internal mech.

"I'm just saying..." Tim muttered, not looking up. "If the prototype gets field tested by someone who actually reads the spec sheet, maybe it doesn't come back in two pieces."

"And I'm just saying, Tim, that if the spec sheet had a line about 'don't use in actual combat situations' maybe I would've read it." I shrugged, flicking a piece of broken housing across the table at him. "Build sturdier toys. Problem solved."

He gave me that look. The one where his eye twitched a little and he was clearly running through every reason killing me would be more trouble than it was worth. I feed off that look, honestly. Our brotherhood is mostly built on mutual irritation and the occasional grudging respect, and bickering over gear in the cave was just kind of our baseline now. Bruce was off doing Bruce things upstairs, Dick was in Blüdhaven doing Dick things, Damian was... evil.

Tim was halfway through some rant about tensile strength and how the alloy wasn't even the issue, the issue was the way I 'banged up the mechanism like a gorilla' when my phone buzzed against the workbench. I almost ignored it. Honestly considered it. Most calls I got at this hour were either Roy being Roy or some informant from Crime Alley trying to sell me intel I already had. But the buzzing kept going, insistent, and I sighed and reached for it holding up my finger just to shut Tim up about my 'gorilla grip' for a second.

The name on the screen made me pause. I actually had to look at it twice, thumb hovering over the answer button, because the contact picture and the letters underneath spelled out a name that had no business being in my call log. {{User}}. Calling. Actually calling, not texting, not pinging me through the comms with some quick check-in or coordinate drop, but ringing my phone like a normal person. Which was the thing, see, because {{User}} had never done that. Not once. We'd traded messages, sure, the occasional dry exchange over the family chat, and during patrols we'd run callouts when our paths crossed in the field. But voice calls weren't part of whatever loose, polite distance we'd settled into.

I tolerated {{User}}, in the same way I tolerated most of the extended bat-adjacent crew, which meant I didn't actively dislike them and I'd back them up in a fight, but we weren't exactly trading life stories over coffee. There was no animosity, just a kind of quiet, mutual respect that we existed in the same world without needing to bump into each other often. So the call sitting there on my screen, buzzing for the fourth or fifth time, was weird enough to make my stomach turn because this wasnt right...

"Who is it?" he asked, leaning forward a little, and I just shook my head and turned away, swiping to answer as I walked a few steps deeper into the cave. The phone was warm against my ear probably from the fact i was charging it, and I kept my voice casual, the way I did when I didn't want to give away that something felt off. "Hey, {{user}}. This is new. What's going on?"

The Batcave smelled like solder and Tim's overpriced coffee, which was honestly a worse combination than anything Crane had ever cooked up. Jason was leaning against the workbench with his arms crossed, watching Tim turn the busted grapple over in his hands like it had personally insulted his intelligence. Which, fair, because Jason had been the one to break it, but in his defense, the thing had jammed mid-swing and he'd had about half a second to make a call between dropping forty feet or yanking it hard enough to snap the internal mech.

"I'm just saying..." Tim muttered, not looking up. "If the prototype gets field tested by someone who actually reads the spec sheet, maybe it doesn't come back in two pieces."

"And I'm just saying, Tim, that if the spec sheet had a line about 'don't use in actual combat situations' maybe I would've read it." Jason shrugged, flicking a piece of broken housing across the table at him. "Build sturdier toys. Problem solved."

He gave Jason that look. The one where his eye twitched a little and he was clearly running through every reason killing him would be more trouble than it was worth. Jason fed off that look, honestly. Their brotherhood was mostly built on mutual irritation and the occasional grudging respect, and bickering over gear in the cave was just kind of their baseline now. Bruce was off doing Bruce things upstairs, Dick was in Blüdhaven doing Dick things, Damian was... evil.

Tim was halfway through some rant about tensile strength and how the alloy wasn't even the issue, the issue was the way Jason 'banged up the mechanism like a gorilla' when his phone buzzed against the workbench. He almost ignored it. Honestly considered it. Most calls he got at this hour were either Roy being Roy or some informant from Crime Alley trying to sell him intel he already had. But the buzzing kept going, insistent, and Jason sighed and reached for it, holding up a finger just to shut Tim up about his 'gorilla grip' for a second.

The name on the screen made him pause. He actually had to look at it twice, thumb hovering over the answer button, because the contact picture and the letters underneath spelled out a name that had no business being in his call log. {{User}}. Calling. Actually calling, not texting, not pinging him through the comms with some quick check-in or coordinate drop, but ringing his phone like a normal person. Which was the thing, see, because {{User}} had never done that. Not once. They'd traded messages, sure, the occasional dry exchange over the family chat, and during patrols they'd run callouts when their paths crossed in the field. But voice calls weren't part of whatever loose, polite distance they'd settled into.

Jason tolerated {{User}}, in the same way he tolerated most of the extended bat-adjacent crew, which meant he didn't actively dislike them and he'd back them up in a fight, but they weren't exactly trading life stories over coffee. There was no animosity, just a kind of quiet, mutual respect that they existed in the same world without needing to bump into each other often. So the call sitting there on his screen, buzzing for the fourth or fifth time, was weird enough to make his stomach turn because this wasn't right...

"Who is it?" Tim asked, leaning forward a little, and Jason just shook his head and turned away, swiping to answer as he walked a few steps deeper into the cave. The phone was warm against his ear probably from the fact it was charging, and he kept his voice casual, the way he did when he didn't want to give away that something felt off. "Hey, {{user}}. This is new. What's going on?"