Archive of Our Own

Dean hated Gotham.

He avoided it at all costs.

The whole goddamn city was haunted; he could feel it in the way his hackles rose the moment he drove over the city limits. Hunter instincts — long honed, by an obsessive father and a cruel life, into a sharp blade — reared to life and made him shift in the impala’s warm leather seats as he drove down the dark streets. It wasn’t even night time; Gotham’s architecture just stretched into the sky like the buildings were trying to claw their way out of the ground, blocking off what little light the low gray clouds let leak through.

He found a shitty motel in Park Row, and parked the impala in front of reception. He knew his baby wasn’t safe here, not without the wards activated, but he found it hard to care.

Dad was gone. Sam was gone. Bobby was gone. Cas was gone.

He was all alone. Again.

He had thought of going to Lisa and Ben, starting over, being a real family. Had even driven out to see them. He hadn’t gone in though. Just watched them from the street and realized that he couldn’t crash into their lives. He was soaked in blood, soaked in Winchester bad luck, and he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk them dying on him as well.

So he had driven away before they had even known he was there.

Sex workers had brought him to Gotham.

Well, not sex workers, per say, but the thing hunting them.

He had been trying these last few weeks to get back into the life, trying to move on from the apocalypse and Sam sacrificing himself and Cas exploding and Bobby’s broken neck. He had been trying to convince himself that there was a reason for all of this bullshit he’d been handed in his short life. He was only twenty eight, for fucks sake.

At least he thought he was.

Who knew what those four months, and forty years in hell, meant for his age?

Crawling from the grave felt like it had aged him at least a decade as well.

After he had gotten himself a room, he finally gathered up enough motivation to activate the wards around his baby. Cas had set them up for him when Dean had first come back from hell and was still jumping at every unexpected noise. It made his chest ache, knowing Cas had done this because he was aware of how important the impala was to Dean, knew that it was a safe space for him, and wanted to make sure nothing happened to it. It was showing care in the only way he knew how.

God, he missed him so much it ached.

He missed what they could have been if they had had some more time.

The wards made the car not invisible but something that a bystander had no interest in. Like a concrete wall lining a busy street — who even cared? Cas had looked so proud when he was telling Dean, showing him the tiny sigil he had carved underneath the driver's seat. Dean hadn’t even had it in him to be mad at Cas for defacing his car. Not when Cas handed him a ring with a matching sigil that he just had to twist three times counter-clockwise to engage the wards and clockwise to turn back off. It had saved him and Sam more than once.

Turning his back on the car, he shifted his duffle up onto his shoulder and headed for his room.

It was bad — even by his standards. He should have known it would be when he had had to explain to the clerk that he wanted to rent it for three days and not three hours.

It stunk of cigarettes and sex, had peach walls and mold in the corners of the popcorn roof. The bed sagged in the middle but it at least had a cleanish quilt. Fuck it, he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway. Hell crept into his nightmares so often that he had mostly given it up.

He pulled his laptop from his bag and started researching the murders that had been happening every full moon for the past eight months. Police thought it was a serial killer. He was pretty sure the bats would think the same thing.

Dean was pretty sure it was a poltergeist.

The alley where it was happening was always thrashed after an attack, but there was no evidence. No DNA. No fingerprints. No fibers. No hair. Nothing. He knew it could be something else. Some other ghoul or goblin, but he was almost certain it wasn’t. Most things were laying low now that the apocalypse had been canceled.

Ghosts weren’t smart enough to lay low. They weren’t smart full stop.

And Gotham had so many goddamn ghosts. So many violent deaths. So much pain.

He fucking hated this city.

He couldn’t even question the cops because the bats had too much tech everywhere. He couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself. Couldn’t risk them getting his picture. Way too much had happened these last few years. They’d have him jailed before he could spin his keys around his finger. It had taken him long enough to figure out how to get a new ID without Bobby there to help him. No one trusted a Winchester. Not anymore. Something about starting the apocalypse put you on the hunter shit list. Even if you managed to stop it in the end.

The information online wasn’t much use. The victims all knew each other in as much as people who walked the same street corners could; coworkers, friends, or acquaintances. The street corner was the link. It had to be. He checked violent murders that had happened around the area and there were fifteen.

Fucking Gotham.

It was a full moon in three days, and Dean refused to let another person just trying to survive die.

He refused to let another person die.

The diner was the epitome of greasy spoon. The walls practically shone with years of oil build up. Dean slipped into a booth, back to a wall with eyes on the entrance, the kitchen and the toilets. He pulled the menu from behind the bottles of ketchup and mustard and examined it with tired eyes, glancing around every few minutes.

He noticed when the new man walked in; black hair, curly and windswept. A streak of white lacing the fringe that he was blowing out of his eyes in a gesture that looked practiced. Sharp green-blue eyes swept the diner, landing on Dean with a piercing stare that took in more than he was willing to give him.

He smirked at the stranger and watched a blush stain sharp cheekbones. The man was huge; broad shoulders, a tiny waist and thighs that looked like they could crush a head. The brown leather jacket he wore did little to hide the tight compression top underneath that showed off defined abs that Dean wanted to lic — he cut the thought off with long practice. His dad might be dead but the lessons he had passed on still lived in Dean.

The man shook his head and went to find a booth on the other side of the diner, in the exact same strategic position as Dean, but reversed.

Interesting.

Their eyes met a few times over dinner as they each did a sweep of the diner. Dean ate his burger and watched as the man read some Austen. Dean preferred Vonnegut but he wouldn’t judge. Much.

The food was passable, and he ate it quickly, hungry for the first time in days. The man wasn’t company, but his presence made the aching hole in Dean’s chest feel just a little bit smaller. It helped having someone to interact with even in something as small as making eye contact, over and over again.

Dean shook his head, almost amused at how pathetic he was.

He was just eating his pie when the man slid into the booth opposite him.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, voice younger than Dean was expecting. This close he looked maybe twenty three. His eyes made him look older.

Dean took a bite of his pie; it wasn't half-bad. “You know everyone in Gotham?”

The man smirked. “I know everyone in my alley.”

“Your alley?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Thought this place was called Park Row.”

“So you are a tourist,” the man said with a smug grin. “What are you doing in Gotham?”

Dean took a long drag of his coffee, putting the cup down with a smack of his lips. “Couldn't resist the welcoming atmosphere and general ambiance. This is a nice city you’ve got here.”

“No, it’s not.”

Dean snorted and finished the last of his pie. “No, it’s not.”

“So why are you in my Alley?”

“Not sure that’s any of your business, man.” He stood up, shrugged on his dad’s leather jacket, and threw some money on the table. “Now, I’m going back to my motel room, and you’re more than welcome to join me,” he said as casually as he could, ignoring the fear that his dad would find out, that he would beat him, disown him, leave him alone. Dean was already alone. “Otherwise, you can kindly fuck off.”

The man spluttered and that lovely pink blush spread across his cheeks again. “That’s not… I’m not…”

Dean grinned. “Neither am I,” he lied and strolled out of the diner.

Dean knew the man was following him back, could feel his eyes on him even more intensely than the general paranoia that Gotham invoked. He stopped outside his motel room and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it but not bothering to smoke it. Sam was gone, and with him, the easy camouflage of two people. Cigarettes were a good excuse to hang around somewhere.

He rarely actually smoked them though.

Hated the taste. Hated how it reminded him of brimstone and ash.

He tapped off the glowing tip and said as casually as he could, “I invited you back, kid. You didn't have to follow me home like a stray cat.”

The man stepped out of the shadows to Dean's right. “I'm not a kid.”

“You’re not,” Dean agreed. He pulled out his room key. “Now, are you joining me, or just stalking me?”

The man stared at him for a long moment, eyes traveling up the length of Dean's body in leisurely perusal, before he finally smirked. “Guess I'm joining you.”

Dean shoved John Winchester’s voice somewhere deep down inside him again and grinned back. “Alright then, let's go.”

He opened the door and let the man into his room, glad that he had already put anything incriminating into the impala for safe keeping.

He grabbed a beer off the tiny table and gestured to the man. “Want one?”

The man took one, opened it and took a long drag. He made a face when he finished. “It’s warm.”

“Yeah, well, the digs didn’t come with a mini fridge.”

He glanced around the room, eyes narrowed with something like distaste. “I used to sleep here sometimes when I was homeless. The guy at the desk would let you have the room for a few hours for a twenty and a blow job.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

Dean hummed. “At least I didn’t have to start turning tricks until I was thirteen.”

“Jason,” the man said, electric green eyes on Dean’s face. “That’s my name.”

“Dean,” he said in return. They sat in companionable, fucked up silence for a few minutes, drinking their beers. When Dean finished his, he asked, “So, what are you looking for here? A beer? A cigarette? A blow job?”

Jason quirked an eyebrow at him. “Nothing. I’m looking for nothing.”

Even still, he put his bottle down and stalked forward until he was in the v of Dean’s legs. He was so much bigger up close, but there was something fragile about him as well. Not in his muscles, or his broad chest, not even in how he held himself, as much like a soldier as Dean did, but a general aura of fragility. Like if Dean pushed too hard, all the hairline fractures would shatter and nothing would be left.

Jason leaned down. Dean let himself be kissed.

It was good. It was so goddamn good. Just the right side of rough — biting teeth and stubbled jaw — that he couldn’t lose himself to the self loathing that his father had made sure was built into faultline of him. And it had been so long since he had been touched. Months. He hadn’t had much of a sex drive after Lawrance, after that fucking cemetery. It had been coming back slowly, but he hadn’t actually done anything with anyone else in what felt like forever.

Jason bit his lip. “If we’re going to do this, you better be here with me and not with whatever asshole you're missing.”

Dean laughed. “I miss everyone.” He managed not to sound as bitter as he thought he could.

He lay back on the bed, pulling Jason down on top of him and reveling in the man’s heavy weight. He wrapped his legs around Jason’s hips and ground them together. Jason groaned and panted into the bared skin of Dean’s neck.

“Been a while?”

Jason laughed and shifted his hips, lining them up and thrusting. “Not as long as you, I’d wager,” he said as Dean threw his head back at the bright sparks of pleasure. “Now get naked, I want to taste you.”

With a shiver, Dean did as he was told.

They fell asleep afterwards, wrapped in each other. Two lonely people desperate for some human connection.

Dean woke up alone.

He patted the bed beside him but the blankets were cold. Jason must have had a hell of a light foot to be able to move around the room without waking him, or maybe it was just because it was the first full night's sleep he had had in longer than he could remember.

Since before the grave, easily.

Usually he couldn’t sleep beside his hook ups, usually he was the one sneaking out, but something about Jason had settled the caged, paranoid thing that lived in Dean’s chest.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

So instead of thinking about it, he rolled over and checked his phone. Half past eleven. That was practically his whole day gone. He couldn’t find himself to care as he stared at the screen devoid of notifications. Not like anyone was expecting anything from him. He stretched out, feeling the aches of a good fuck settle down on him, and then decided to head to the library, see if he could find anything more on these fifteen murders in the Gotham newspapers.

Gotham Public Library was a beautiful building. Turrets rose up into the sky with gothic details that made it a stark encapsulation of everything the city designers had hoped to create when building this godforsaken city. Gargoyles stared down at him as he walked up the stairs and out of the damp winter air.

The air was warm in here; almost pleasant. Dean shrugged off his coat and threw it over the back of a chair in front of a microfilm machine. He settled into the comfortable susurration of noise that was the same in every library across the country. He calmed something in him, this easy comfort of familiarity. He turned to Sam to say so, and then remembered.

He blinked, staring at the empty chair beside him.

He didn’t know if he would ever get used to that.

It took him hours of searching through what felt like miles of newspapers before he finally had a suspect. Mark Patterson. Thirty nine. Killed by a sex worker, Maisy May, when he tried to rape her. Deemed self defense.

The woman had been the poltergeist's first victim.

The ghost had been haunting Maisy May’s corner ever since.

The newspaper article mentioned the murder weapon but gave him no further information. He could only assume it was in police custody. Which was a problem because he had no way in, and the bats would have eyes on him if he did steal it. The newspapers made it seem like it was a knife, maybe. Something sharp and violent. Patterson had been stabbed, frantically.

He had no idea how he was going to break into the police station — and which police station even, because there sure as hell wasn’t only one in Gotham — burn the murder weapon, and then get the hell out of this hellscape of a city.

Patterson had been cremated by family, and spread out over Gotham harbor. Dean didn’t get it; the harbor was a stinking mess of ACE Chemicals and dead bodies, damp and rot and briny saltwater, but hey, made his job easier.

He glanced at his phone; it was too late to figure it out now. The sex workers would already be on the street. The least he could do would be watch over them tonight.

Just in case.

The Red Hood found him that night.

Dean was sitting on a fire escape opposite where the sex workers had their corner. He leaned back against the wall, mostly hidden by shadows, watching as the johns came and went; as sex workers got in and out of cars; as they headed down alleyways and back out of them. He was bored, stakeouts had never been his strong point, and had fallen into a sort of half stupor where he was aware enough to keep an eye out but blank enough he couldn’t fall into his dark thoughts.

Boots slammed down beside him, rattling the metal and jerking Dean back to awareness.

He didn’t bother standing up, just glanced up at the gun shoved in his face. He was almost amused by the aggression in the gesture. Although this was probably a friendly Gotham greeting.

When the red helmeted man didn’t say anything, Dean grinned but kept himself hidden in the shadows. “We got a problem?”

“You tell me.” The voice modulator grated over Dean’s ears. “There’s a serial killer on the loose, and here I find you, stalking out your next victim.”

Dean put his hands up. “Okay if I stand?”

“Nope.” The voice distorter made the popping of his p sound like a popcorn kernel in hot oil. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking after them.” He gestured to the women walking up and down the streets, waiting on their next client. “There’s a serial killer on the loose.”

The Red Hood cocked his head but didn’t lower his gun. “You don’t belong in the alley. I don’t recognise you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean said, finding it almost amusing that he had met actual angels but not one had ever mentioned the son of God. “Does everyone in this part of Gotham just know everyone else?”

Hood shifted on his boots; it was an awkward movement for someone that seemed so sure of himself. “Why do you say that?”

Dean shrugged, making sure his face was still hidden. “Because only last night I got clocked as a tourist. I swear I get less trouble in the small towns.”

Hood waved his gun. “Stand up. Slowly. Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Yes, officer.”

He smirked when Hood made an offended noise, standing up slowly with his hands visible. Once he was standing, they were basically the same height. Hood was broader though, clearly strong and light on his feet. There was a tiny gap of skin between his compression vest and his helmet. A hickey was just visible in the streetlight.

Dean’s heart stuttered because that was the hickey he had placed there only last night. “Jason?”

Hood took a step back. “What?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He dropped his hands and then scrubbed them through his hair. “I slept with one of the bats?”

“I’m not a fucking bat,” Jason snarled, stepping forward. “You been killing in my alley, Dean?”

Dean laughed. “Nope.” He popped the p as well just to annoy the other man. “I got into town yesterday. Came to do a little hunting.”

A scream rang through the alley below and both their heads swiveled around. Before Dean could move, Hood, Jason, was gone. A grapple lowered him onto the ground, and then he was running. Dean cursed and raced down the fire escape. He heard gunshots, and then another scream.

He grabbed his colt from the holster at his ribs and felt the comforting cold of the ivory handle. He landed hard but started running, waving his hands at the remaining sex workers eyeing the alley with nervous looks.

“Go,” he said as he edged closer.

Hood was slammed against a wall, unable to move as Patterson, soaked in blood inched towards him. A cowering woman was crouched down against the wall. Dean waved at her, gestured for her to run. She fell twice trying to get up but she finally managed to get her feet under her.

Patterson kept futzing in and out, screaming in Hood’s face.

Dean stepped into the alleyway and shot the ghost in the face with a salt round.

Patterson disappeared. Hood dropped down onto the ground, landing on his feet as steady as ever. Dean couldn’t help but be impressed. He still fell half the time. He grabbed Hood, and dragged him out of the alley. Uncapping the container of salt from his pocket, he poured it along the pavement.

“Any way we can keep this alley shut off until tomorrow?”

Hood stared at him, expressionless mask making the disbelief seem even more effective, but he still pulled out a strip of yellow police tape from one of the many pockets on his utility belt. He made a big giant X across the alley and then glanced down the street.

“Cherry, hey,” he called down the street to a woman hiding behind a car. He somehow sounded soft even with the voice distorter. “Try and keep people out of here for the rest of the night, alright? I’ll sort it out tomorrow.”

“Alright, Hood, baby,” she answered, stepping back onto the path. “Everything good now?”

“Sorted for the moment.”

She nodded, seeming to take him for his word. “Who’s your friend? He interested in some fun?”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean said. “Not tonight.”

“Your loss, baby.”

Hood waved her off. “Leave him be, Cherry. He’s a tourist.”

“They pay the best, Hood. You know that.”

“Not this one. This one is mine.” Hood started walking down the street, glancing back once to make sure Dean was following. “C’mon, out of towner. Wouldn’t want you getting jumped.”

Dean snorted and followed him.

Jason finally took the helmet off when they were back in the motel room. “So, you going to explain what the hell that was back there?”

Dean sat down on the bed and leaned forward on his thighs. “You wanna sit down? This isn’t going to be a short explanation.”

“Make it short,” Jason growled.

“Fine.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “That was Mark Patterson’s ghost. He turned into a poltergeist, and has been killing sex workers for the last eight months. It’s not a serial killer. It’s a ghost. I came here to destroy it.”

Jason stared at him for a long moment before he sat on the bed opposite Dean. “Okay. Now give me the long version.”

It took awhile; Dean didn’t tell him anything he didn’t need to know. Nothing about the apocalypse, or the angels, the demons. Nothing high level. Just the basic goblin, ghouls and ghosts. Jason took it better than most people Dean had talked to, but he supposed being a bat did that to you.

Jason sat back when he had finished and stared at him. “Fucking ghosts,” he muttered. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

He smirked. “Feel like I’m a haunting most days.” He shook his head, waving away Dean’s curious look. “How do we kill it?”

“We need whatever is tying it to the alley and we need to salt and burn it. I think it’s probably the murder weapon. But I need to figure out which police station it’s being held in and then steal it.”

Jason grinned. “I can get it for you. Pretty sure it’s in the main precinct and I have an in to the evidence locker.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Makes it easier to do the things I need to do.”

“We need to get it tomorrow because Patterson coming out tonight means that he’s getting stronger. Which means we're running out of time.”

“And then what do we do?”

“Figure out how to burn it.”

Jason’s eyes widened gleefully and he grinned brightly. “The Batcave had an incinerator. We could break in, use it. It would be hot enough to melt metal.”

“The Batcave?” Dean leaned forward on his knees. “Won’t the Bat be pissed if we break into his secret lair or whatever?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, sounding intensely thrilled by the prospect. “He’ll be so fucking pissed. It’ll be amazing.”

“I’m trying to avoid gaining the attention of the Bats. Not piss them off with wacky Scooby Doo hijinks.”

“God, you’re fucking adorable,” Jason said, before waving his hand, dismissive. “I can wipe the cameras. Don’t worry about it. And I’ll only leave like one note taunting him.” He stood up, grabbing his helmet. He was still grinning. “This is going to be amazing.”

“Where are you going?”

“Gotta get you that knife.” He turned to the door and then spun back around. “If Patterson is tied to the murder weapon, why isn’t he haunting the station? And if I bring the knife here, will it bring Patterson with it?”

Dean bit his lip. “Honestly? It’s Gotham. She doesn’t play by the rules. It’s like the whole city is cursed. Hunters haven’t ever been able to figure out why. It just doesn’t make sense. We try to hunt as much by the rules as possible but honestly? Everything always goes to shit.”

“Sounds about right,” Jason said, putting his helmet back down. “Well then, I’ll get the knife tomorrow and go straight to the cave. Minimize the risks.” He shucked off his leather jacket and strolled over to where Dean was still sitting on the bed. “Hey, I’m done with patrol for the night.” He had a flirty grin curving up the side of his lips. “Wanna fool around?”

The shy man from the night before was gone. Dean was pretty sure it wasn’t Jason trying to seduce him but Hood. Dean shuddered when Jason dragged his nails over his scalp, and groaned when Jason tugged his head back, craning his neck so he was staring up at him.

“C’mon, Dean. Lets fuck around and find out.”

Dean couldn’t help the slow, sexy smirk that stretched across his lips. “Yeah, I guess we could do that.”

Hood leaned down and kissed him, deep and dirty.

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost panting against Dean’s lips when he pulled away. “Let’s do that.”

The Batcave was so goddamn cool.

Dean was doing his best not to freak out over every single thing he saw; the life size dinosaur, the giant penny, the massive computer, the many suits, the gadgets.

He managed to keep his excitement internal and his face calm. “It's a little smaller than I expected.”

He couldn't see Jason's face under the helmet but he was pretty sure that he didn't believe the nonchalance.

“There's old versions of the batmobile down there.”

“Holy shit, are you joking?” Dean raced across the platform and glanced down at the full on mechanic workshop below.

On a ledge to the left of it, he could see different cars, a plane and what he hoped was a rocket.

“This is the best place I've ever been. Fuck Disneyland.”

Jason laughed, free and easy. He'd taken his helmet off and the sound shivered up Dean's spine. He glanced over from where he was disabling the cameras on the computer. “I've never been to Disneyland.”

“I'll take you and maybe then you'll appreciate the wonders of this place.” He glanced down at the fully decked out garage. “I would kill to get my baby down there.”

“I'm sure I could sneak you in another time.”

Dean grinned at him, watching as his ears went pink. He couldn't help how his smile widened. “You'd face the wrath of the Bat for me?”

“I'd face off against the Bat for a piece of pie.”

Dean laughed and was about to lean forward to capture Jason's lips when a cough interrupted them.

“Master Jason, I didn't know you were bringing a guest.”

“Shit—” he winced again. “I mean, not shit. Just fuck.”

Another cough. More amused this time.

Jason's face was slowly going red. “Not that either. Are you wearing a mask, Agent A?”

“Indeed, young sir. Would you like to introduce me to your friend?”

Jason's eyes grew wide. “Sure. Definitely.”

Dean stepped around him and held out his hand to an older man with white hair and a three piece suit. He also had a domino over his eyes.

“Dean Winchester. Sorry for crashing your digs here but I needed an incinerator.”

Agent A took his hand in a firm shake. “And how do you know young Master Jason?”

Dean rubbed the back of his hands, pulling his most aw shucks look. It was a long time since he had to impress someone's parent? Grandparent?

“He's helping me with a case.”

“You're a vigilante?”

Dean couldn't see the raised eyebrow but he could hear it in Agent A’s voice.

“Not exactly. I'm a hunter. Ghosts, goblins, and ghouls.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Dean had literally no idea how to read the man.

“B isn't on the way back, is he?”

“Not quite. You probably have about forty minutes. The incinerator takes twenty to heat up so I wouldn't be dallying around until you've at least switched it on.”

Jason grinned. “Thanks, A.”

Agent A patted Jason on the cheek in a very grandfatherly gesture. “I will get you and your guest here some refreshments. Have you any preferences?”

“Dean likes pie.”

Dean tried not to react to Jason knowing that considering he'd never actually said it to him.

“Luckily I baked a fresh apple pie today,” Agent A said with a small smile. “Would that be acceptable?”

Dean nodded quickly. “Yes. Please. Thank you.” Manners seemed important to this man, and this man seemed important to Jason.

“Wonderful. I will be back momentarily. Try not to give away any of your father's secrets, Master Jason.”

Jason scruffed his boot. “Only the boring ones, A. Promise.”

Agent A shook his head with a fond smile before heading towards the back of the cave.

“C'mon,” Jason said. His cheeks were pink like his lips. “We better get started.”

The incinerator was really fucking big.

Jason laughed when he saw Dean’s face. “Can’t send anything to the junkyard, and we… they have a lot of stuff that they need to get rid of safely.”

“And you know this how?”

“I like stealing things that don’t belong to me,” he said cryptically. He spun around before Dean could question that statement and flicked on the machine. It trundled to life with a clanking noise that echoed around the cave. “What do you wanna do while we wait for it to heat up?”

Dean raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Maybe not that,” Jason said with a laugh. “Although the Batmobile probably deserves some defiling.”

Dean shifted and pretended that idea didn’t shoot through him like lightning. “Okay,” he croaked out, trying to shift that image from his head. “We should maybe not do that right now.”

Jason smirked. “But sometime?”

Dean turned away and walked over to a worktop table. “Anything here that would be useful with hunting?”

“Dunno, princess.” Jason stepped up beside him, body heat seeping through Dean’s flannel. “What do you usually need?”

Jason's breath shivered over the bare skin of Dean’s neck and he fought the shudder climbing up his spine. He used to be so smooth, so goddamn suave.

Pulling his old confidence around him like a well worn coat, he turned his head with a smirk on his lips and watched Jason’s pupils expand.

“You starting something, sweetheart, or are you just teasing?”

Jason laughed but he took a step back. “Probably not starting something right now. Later though.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, licking his bottom lip. “Later.”

The incinerator beeped and broke the tension between them. Jason glanced over and then back to Dean. This time he was the one to lick his lips.

Dean wanted.

But before he could react to the need, the air temperature dropped so quickly that Jason’s breath clouded the air in front of him. Dean shoved him to the ground just as a blade shaped like a goddamn bat sliced through the air where Jason’s head had been.

“What the fuck?”

“Where’s the duffel?” Dean asked, glancing around.

The duffel was across the cave with the salt they needed to burn down the knife, and the knife itself. There was a tire iron on the workbench that he grabbed and handed to Jason. He pushed himself up and pulled Jason up behind him, taking back the tire iron as he did. “We’re going for the duffel. We need to coat the knife with salt. Get it into the incinerator.”

He swung when Patterson appeared in front of him. The ghost disappeared with a scream of noise.

“Now,” he ordered.

They raced across the stone floor and Jason grabbed up the duffel just as Patterson appeared again. Before Dean hit him, he was flung across the cave. He slammed into a glass case, smashing through it and landing with a crash. Glass sliced into his flannel but only his neck felt wet with blood.

There was a reason, Sammy, that wearing flannels were good practice.

He pushed himself onto his knees, only to have Jason slam into him with the force of a freight train. More glass made its way into Dean’s skin but he was pretty sure he protected Jason’s. They both stood up; Jason holding the tire iron this time.

He had the knife in the other hand.

A mannequin in a beat up and bloody Robin costume rocked back and forth on top of the glass.

“Salt?” Dean asked, pushing aside his questions about that.

Jason pulled it from his pocket, handing the salt and knife to him. “I’ll protect you this time.”

Dean rolled his eyes to stop how the words made something hurt in his chest. “Alright, helmet boy. Let’s go.”

For the second time, they raced towards the incinerator. Dean salted the knife as he moved and then flung it into the open burning mouth, ignoring how the glow of the fire reminded him of hell. He could almost convince himself that he heard the knife hitting the metal bottom of the incinerator.

Patterson appeared again, but before Jason could hit him, he screamed. Raw flames burned through him, stealing away what little humanity he had left and turning him into a smoking husk. He disappeared into a black puddle on the cave floor, leaving nothing behind but echoing silence.

When Dean looked up, Agent A stood with a grim expression on his face and a tray with a full tea service on it.

“Well,” he said, deadpan. “I suppose you have some explaining to do, Master Jason.”

Dean did most of the explaining since Jason seemed to have reverted back to some type of teenage angst as he sipped tea and stared over at the case Dean had broken. Eventually he stood up and grabbed the mannequin that was lying in the glass like a dead body.

“Master Jason,” Agent A said, scandalized as Jason walked over to the incinerator and shoved the mannequin into it.

Dean realized that it was still on, and that the cave was only as warm as it was because of the raging flames. The mannequin burned brightly but the suit that was on it took a lot longer to even catch. Jason stared at it the whole time, eyes glowing. Dean couldn’t stand the pain in them, or the silence from Agent A who was watching with tears in his eyes.

He stood up and walked over to Jason, linking their hands together and leaning into his shoulder. “Need me to grab the lighter fluid?”

Jason smirked although the hollowness didn’t leave his expression. “Nah, it caught.” He nodded at the suit as the material finally caught. “Bye bye, shitty reminders and all that.” He nudged Dean’s shoulder before letting go of his hand. “We better go before the Bat gets back. He probably already knows the incinerator was turned on. He definitely knows the cameras are down.”

Dean did not want to meet the Batman. Not one little bit. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

It took them a few minutes to get out — Jason deleted any footage of them off the computer and then deleted the back up files, turned back on the cameras but on a timer apparently to give them time to escape, wiped down everything they had touched and cleaned up the glass case. He swore Agent A to secrecy but Dean knew that Jason didn’t really believe that the Bat wouldn’t find out.

Destroying whatever that suit was had left too big a trail.

“Master Jason, it was so good to see again. Maybe you should come visit in more pleasant circumstances.”

Jason nodded. “Maybe.” He grabbed Dean’s duffel. “C’mon. We’ve got to go now. He’s on the way back.” He nodded up at the screen; there was a red light moving fast down the backroads they had only traveled hours before. “I really don’t want to see dear old dad tonight.”

“Are you fucking with me?” Dean whipped around to stare at Jason.

He shrugged. “Let’s go,” he growled, grabbing Dean’s arm and pulling him back towards his bike. “Bye, A. I’ll call you next week if you keep him off my back.”

“A fair deal,” A said in a calm tone that Dean was starting to think had probably controlled a lot of vigilantes in his time. “I will speak to you next week, young sir.”

Jason threw a leg over the bike and handed Dean the duffle. “Now,” he said. “Before I have to fight him and all the boy wonders. Again.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go.”

They found themselves back at the motel.

Jason leaned against the door, putting as much distance between them as possible. Dean let him have the comfort of space and sat on the furthest bed from him.

“When I was sixteen,” he said when it was clear Jason wasn't going to talk, “my dad left me and Sammy alone to go on a hunt. Before he went, he left me with some pretty distinctive bruises across my arms.”

“Why?”

“Because I messed up. Didn’t cover him properly on a hunt. Nearly got him killed.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Jason said vehemently. “You were a kid. You shouldn’t have been fighting at all.”

“I grew up in it. I’ve been in the life since I was four. Don’t know anything different.” He glanced down at his hands but the blood on them wasn’t visible. “I should have been better.”

Jason examined him with a look that told Dean he didn't agree but he didn't think the argument was worth it. “So what happened?”

“I got caught stealing food for us. Still had the bruises on my arms. Told them it was a werewolf.” He smirked but he knew it didn’t look quite as cocksure as he wanted it too. “Stealing was something else I was well practiced at. Something else I failed at. Got sent to a group home. I got a message to Bo—” he cut himself off, “one of Dad’s friends and he got Sammy before the cops even realized he existed. They wouldn’t let me go without a guardian though so group home. I think… I think he knew exactly where I was but he left me there. As punishment.”

Jason crossed his arms, biceps bulging. He shifted and said, voice tight, “And?”

“Best two months of my goddamn life. Settled in, got to go to school, got a date to prom. Had someone who actually cared about me. Getting out was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “But then Dad came back, and I couldn’t leave Sammy alone.”

The with him went unsaid; it still weighed down heavily on the room.

Jason crossed the room and sat on the bed opposite him. Their knees came together like puzzle pieces. “You were a kid,” he said almost softly. Like he wasn’t sure if he believed it.

Dean thought he knew why Jason might be unsure about that. He swallowed, and said, with as much surety as he could manage, “So were you.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he flinched. “What are you talking about?”

“Saw that Robin costume when I fell. Batman’s your dad. One of the Robin’s died.” He took a deep breath. “Did you have to crawl out of the grave as well?”

Jason shuddered and nodded. “Did you?”

“Smell the gravedirt off me?” Dean joked but it fell flat. “I made a deal with a demon to save Sam’s life. Spent forty years in Hell. Not the vacation I was hoping for.”

“I think…” Jason took a shallow breath. “I think I was in Heaven. I don’t remember much but I think…” He shook his head. “Stupid. No way a street kid like me went to Heaven.”

Dean’s heart broke. “I’ve known you for three days and I already know where you would end up now. Teenage you? Robin you? No doubt you ended up there.”

Jason glanced away, staring down at his hands as he was the one looking for the blood now. “How’d you escape Hell?”

“An angel pulled me out.”

Jason leaned forward again, elbows on his knees with an eyebrow raised. “An angel?”

“Of the Lord,” Dean said sarcastically. “Trust me, they’re all dicks.”

“I think your work might be above my paygrade.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He matched Jason’s posture, leaning so close to him that he could feel Jason’s breath on his lips. He wanted to link their fingers together. He wanted to touch him again. He refrained despite the desperate urge — it wasn’t like he didn’t have a lifetime of practice.

“You could come with me,” he said, keeping his voice low to match the tension stretching between them. “This city is haunted. And there is more than one way to help people. You don’t have to stick with family if they're hurting you. Sometimes getting out…” he trailed off.

Jason stared at him for a long moment — his usual stoic expression had cracked down the middle so Dean knew exactly what he was going to say before Jason even shook his head. “I can’t leave the Alley unprotected.”

Dean nodded even as the desperate need reared up and he pushed it down with more effort than usual. Loneliness and want drowned him but he wouldn’t try to change Jason’s mind.

He understood that type of responsibility.

Of course, he understood.

“Okay, man.” He stood up, stepping away from Jason. “I’ve got to get going then. Can’t have the Bat coming down on me.”

Jason laughed. “He’s not that bad. Not like you’ve killed anyone.”

“How about you look up my record on that big computer of his.” He put his coat on and grabbed his already packed duffle. “Killing monsters sometimes looks like killing men.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jason muttered. “Any chance you can prove the Joker is a poltergeist?”

Dean laughed and shook his head. “Been following that freak for years. He is a one hundred percent, home grown Gotham monster, but he's also human. Otherwise I’d be the first in line.”

Something softened in Jason’s expression. He strode over and kissed Dean once, hard. It took him a second to let go of Dean’s wrist when he stepped back but he finally did.

“See you around, Dean.”

He left without another word.

Dean was stuck in some podunk town hunting witches — he fucking hated witches — when someone knocked on his motel door. He shoved the last of his burger into his mouth, grabbed his gun and tucked it in the back of his trousers. He walked silently to the door, wishing it had a peephole, and opened it with one hand behind his back.

He didn't expect to see Jason standing there with an unsure grin shaping his lips.

“Hands where I can see them, sir,” Jason said with a smirk.

Dean rolled his eyes and stepped back, leaving the door open so Jason could follow him. “Six months and that’s your opener? Finally decided to follow that dream of being a police officer?”

“Oh, fuck you, man.” Jason dumped a duffle on the foot of Dean’s bed and examined the room with sharp eyes. “So I thought about what you said.” He reached down and read the top page of the research Dean had been doing. “Witches, eh? I don’t know how to stop them.”

“I could teach you,” he replied, heart pounding.

It embarrassed him, made something in his chest ache, but he had thought about Jason every single day since that last day in Gotham. No matter how far he drove, it felt like he was haunted by the memory. He was doing better — had gotten more of a hold on his grief, had learned not to look to the side when he thought of something funny to say to Sam, or Cas, and had stopped trying to ring Bobby every time he needed help with a case. He stopped drinking himself to sleep every single night. Stopped choosing the hunts that would most likely kill him. He was trying. He was trying to try.

Jason being here felt like the universe was giving him a gift for all that effort.

Like maybe Cas was still watching over him.

“Not like you can’t already fight,” Dean finally managed. “We can start with some easy hunts and build our way up.” He scrubbed the back of his head and shrugged. “If you’re sticking around, that is.”

Jason’s grin was wider now, more steady. “Gave the alley to Spoiler and Black Bat. Did a proper handover and everything. Batman was impressed. I told him he could go fuck himself.”

Dean laughed; he couldn’t help it. Happiness was bubbling up inside him and he wasn’t sure where to put it all. “I’m sure he loved that.”

“His expression was so fucking perfect. Almost as amazing as when he found I’d burned the Robin suit.” He grinned at the memories. “Wish I’d thought to take some pictures. Keep that smile on your face. Suits you.”

Dean fucking blushed.

Jason’s grin widened when he noticed. “Oh, and Agent A said he was happy to give any help we needed. Bat computer is open to us for research. Gave me a laptop with a connection to it. Means they’re tracking us but no way he was gonna let me hunt monsters without knowing where I was.”

Dean crossed his arms to hide his shaking hands. He couldn’t believe this was happening. “You’ve really thought this through, huh?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Jason said quietly as he moved closer to Dean. “Thinking about you.”

Dean felt something crack open in his chest. “You’re staying?”

He trailed a finger along Dean’s still warm cheeks. “Long as you’ll have me.”

Dean swallowed, aching. He had been so lonely for so long, and he had wanted Jason for months. “You sticking around as friends or—”

Jason kissed him.

It was gentler than their last one. Jason’s lips were dry but soft. He didn’t try to deepen it, didn’t try for anything more. Just stayed close. The warmth of him seeped into Dean’s bones and he wanted to moan with the relief of it.

All they had done was kiss, barely kiss, and Dean felt like he was going to lose his mind.

He pulled Jason’s shirt out of his jeans and placed both his palms on the base of his back, pulling him as close as he possibly could. He wanted to crawl inside him. He couldn’t even feel embarrassed with how much he wanted Jason.

Dean didn’t want to let go, so when Jason went to pull away, he followed him, placing kisses on the edge of his lips and then down his jaw and neck. Jason shivered when Dean trailed his tongue up his skin and bit his earlobe.

“So, you missed me,” Jason smirked when Dean finally let him step back. He threw his jacket on the chair behind him and grinned. He looked younger than he had in Gotham, less heavy.

“How did you find me?” Dean asked.

Jason smirked. “I put a tracker on the impala that last day. Gave me a hell of a headache too. What’s up with your car?”

Dean laughed. “Angel wards.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Above my pay grade,” he muttered. “And I’m gonna need to teach you to check for trackers. Seriously, it’s been six months and it’s still there.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Guess we both have things to teach each other then.”

Jason laughed, easy and free, and pulled Dean back in for a kiss. Dean let himself fall into it, and hoped just this once, the universe would let him keep something good.

Just for himself.