This is not my best piece; that much I am very much willing to admit. In any case, faults aside, I somewhat belatedly present you with Part Three (Out of Three, though it could be extended if there is a sufficient amount of interest. If not, then I'll just move along.)

Cheers.

- o0o -

"Am I dead?"

- o0o -

"Is this…?"

- o0o -

He used to be a kid of the streets. Now he has a home, but he still wanders the streets and roams the rooftops at night-time, with or without Batman's or Bruce's approval, seeing that he is certainly old and competent enough to decide that for himself, technically a minor or not. Even so, when he does venture out into the night without the Bat's approval, he does so as the Red Hood rather than as Robin, seeing that the latter is far too famous and far too connected to the Bat to be even remotely convenient. The identity of the Red Hood has been used and reused by many and for many purposes, and the impression he himself once made as a thief under the aforementioned moniker is but a fading one, kept alive only by those still harbouring some sort of grudge.

Though his moniker is the same as his old one, his image differs. Now he is not strictly a thief but rather a vigilante and broker specialising in sabotage and surveillance rather than in violence, but certainly very much capable of all them, as he has proved repeatedly to those seeking to interfere with him and his work. As the Red Hood, he is not an open ally of the Bat or of any professed hero or vigilante operating in Gotham or elsewhere; for the right price and the right reasons, he'll supply just about anyone who hasn't been blacklisted with some sort of information as long as he is granted an adequate amount of compensation for it. Then again, he obviously knows better than to sell others information that will put either him as a person or someone he knows at risk, because that is just plain self-preservation on his part, both because he would rather not be hounded for it if he could avoid it, and the Bat would most certainly hunt him down in case he ever sold any info that would possibly come to compromise the identity of the man or any of said man's occasional allies.

He is not an open ally of anyone as the Red Hood, but he is in an openly antagonistic relationship with the Joker and the aforementioned madman's associates, and as such, he is naturally one to interfere whenever the aforementioned madman is planning something nefarious, and attacking a semi-retired Batgirl – Barbara Gordon – in her home with the intention of getting to not only her father James Gordon but also the Bat by association is not okay in either Jason's book, so when he learns of it he immediately leaks the information to the Bat and to Nightwing and involves himself in preventing it from occurring.

Once the potential catastrophe has been seemingly averted or at least postponed for the foreseeable future, Barbara Gordon approaches him, no doubt having uncovered the full extent of his interference, likely through hacking into the bat computer to access the Bat's locked archive using her vastly superior intellect, extensive knowledge of computers and technology and whatnot. Like Dick, she is admittedly curious about what she perceives as some sort of extrasensory ability, viewing it primarily as some sort of heightened intuition rather than as a direct connection to another self in another world.

In the other Jason's world, Barbara Gordon got paralysed from the waist down and was forced to retire from active duty, entering a bout of depression before re-entering the stage as a hacker and information broker codenamed Oracle who eventually founded the team the Birds of Prey along with other female heroes such as Black Canary and Huntress. In Jason's eyes, she is far too vigorous, far too caring and far too great a hero to be bound to a wheelchair for the rest of her life, and with her remaining active as Batgirl, it cuts down on the work Jason had to do as Robin, enabling him to focus more on his civilian life and education.

Admittedly, Jason himself is by no means nearly as clever as either Dick or Barbara, but with them getting engaged along the way and with them both dropping in to see him at the manor from time to time even while keeping in contact with him otherwise he occasionally consults either on mostly education-related issues. And, somewhere along the way, one Timothy Drake – the one the other Jason calls the Replacement – enters their lives, and Jason himself – though naturally wary, seeing that he is well aware of the possible repercussions of involving the aforementioned boy – experiences a strange feeling of urgency to ensure that the other receives some sort of training, knowing well that it would at some point be put to good use.

Naturally though, the other Jason quite openly disapproves when Jason drops the not so subtle hint to Dick that Tim had been the third Robin in the other Jason's world, even going as far as to subtly prompt the other into bestowing the title of Robin upon this so called Replacement, seeing that Jason himself finds that he would rather let someone else bear the name of Robin, seeing that he himself had neither been suited for nor quite happy with it in the first place, even disregarding the fact that he is still plagued by nightmares set in the other Jason's world; of the death of his other self.

It is not yet known to him if he can truly prevent the things he has seen from occurring in some manner, or if he is only able to postpone them for an indeterminate amount of time. It is not yet known to him, so he – in a truly paranoid and bat-like manner – has already made preparations for the worst, as well as constructed a bunch of contingency plans should he ever be in need of them. Still, with all his paranoia and contingency plans, he still fails to factor in at least one variable of greater importance…

The other Jason did a job as Robin, largely overcoming his faults and dying as a good soldier. Jason himself on the other hand passes the title on as though he had been holding onto either a hot potato or a hand grenade set to go off at any moment, hoping dearly that the curse of the Robins did not pass along with it, because unlike his counterpart, Jason has no reason to hold a grudge against Tim, who is far too clever, mildly socially awkward and always eager to please in Jason's opinion.

That aside, he also underestimated another thing – something which is largely unrelated to his very brief run as Robin but still relevant to the situation as a whole; his own importance, to Bruce in particular.

"You've got sharper instincts than I thought."

He doesn't know the man – not personally at any rate – but he knows of him.

Why is he here? Isn't hounding Nightwing more of Deathstroke's M.O.?

"What do you want?" He knows he shouldn't ask, but views it as a way to buy some time, seeing that he has already sent out a distress signal minutes earlier, having caught on to the unnerving presence stalking him.

"Do you know who I am, Red Hood?"

He feigns ignorance, shifting his stance. "Should I?"

He is the Red Hood now – not Robin – and the Red Hood fears and bows to no one.

"I have to say that I was rather surprised at seeing you out here without your minder…"

Creep.

"What do you want?"

There is a bit of static in his earpiece, with Nightwing quietly announcing that his ETA is two minutes away, meaning that Jason has to keep Deathstroke occupied until then, which is certainly easier said than done.

"What do I want?" – He is positive that there is a grin directed at him, or at least something to the like, but he doesn't see it. – "I am a mercenary – this is about what my employer wants."

The other Jason is watching again, highly attentive.

Jason has already made preparations for the worst. Admittedly, he is still afraid of dying, but finds the alternative much more frightening. If that is truly his future, then he really wants no part of it.

He vividly remembers another nightly rooftop meeting, standing up on the edge of a tall building in the midst of a great thunderstorm, drenched and shivering in his thin clothes.

He finally turns around; his trusted guns loaded and ready to be used along with the numerous batarangs he has hidden on his person. Had Bruce – or the Bat for that matter – seen him do that, the other would no doubt have disapproved of his usage of guns. Still, though he – unlike the other Jason – doesn't kill as a matter of principle, he still feels safer knowing that he has them, seeing that all weapons – be they batarangs or other things – can ultimately come to naught in the face of an opponent either stronger or smarter or both physically and intellectually superior, and naturally, Deathstroke just happens to be the latter.

Jason takes a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling once-twice-trice and then the battle is on.

In the end, he knows quite well that he cannot win; to win he would need access to far more favourable circumstances. As such, in the end, he knows he can possibly stall the other at best, and reinforcements are on their way; he can only hope that it would not be too late by then.

In his mind, the other Jason taunts him.

- o0o -

Darkness.

He feels as though he is deeply underwater, floating in the midst of a sea of liquid darkness in-between the deep depths and the unseen surface. There are voices all around him; voices along with the constant beeping of some sort of monitoring equipment.

"Where…?"

Then, the full force of a cascade of memories hit him, nearly drowning him. There are flashes and voices and static and everything; snapshots of memories that aren't his own.

"Jason?"

The other Jason's memories slam right into him with a great deal of force, and he momentarily loses sight of himself, fading in and out of a state of seeming awareness amongst the voices surrounding him.

"The return of Jason doesn't change anything at all…"

Those words alone are sufficient to snap him right back into awareness, because he remembers this and he remembers this vividly, and in doing so, he also recalls his own situation. "Jason?" he calls out into the darkness again, and strangely enough, the voices all fade to echoes and then ring out completely, leaving him in a strange kind of silence which frightens him even more.

"Am I dead?" he finds himself whispering instead, sitting down and pulling his knees up close, hugging them. "Is this…?"

"It's goddamn limbo," the other Jason's voice rings out from somewhere above. "And I spent years in it without whining back when I was the one stuck in your head…"

Oh.

"What happened?" Jason cannot refrain from asking. "How did I-…?"

"Geez, kid… how the Hell should I know?" the other Jason responds. "Now kindly shut up for a bit; I have an institution to break out of and I need all the concentration I can get, okay?"

He keeps quiet; trying to adjust within what is probably the other Jason's mind, feeling the other's movements like small tremors. It's a bloody weird sensation, because even while knowing that he is not there physically he lies down on something akin to a floor, silently wondering just why someone's mind would have floors anyway, but then again, since people's minds were generally surrounded by some sort of walls, it only made sense that one of them could serve as a floor to any unfortunate trespasser who had somehow made it in and now had virtually no idea as to how to get out. If his own theories in regards to the other Jason's stay in his own mind had been accurate, then Jason supposes it would only be fair to assume that he himself had ended up in the other's head through at least vaguely similar means. But then…

"I'm alive…"

"Well, good for you," the other Jason drawls. "And I did just tell you to kindly shut the fuck up, didn't I?"

- o0o -

When he resurfaces, he finds that his surroundings no longer consist of dense darkness; he has no idea about the mechanics of it all, but he is closer to the surface now – somehow – and as such perfectly capable of observing it all. However you look at it, it is an ever-changing and distinctly surreal landscape, and as such, Jason finds it hard to navigate. The only constant in it is the memories that lie scattered about on this vast surface; they seem almost like pieces of glass to him, and he treads carefully even though he doubts he would be able to cut himself up on such things. A glimpse of something in one of them has him pause and crouch down to have a closer look at it.

"Shelia," he finally says, having identified the image of the woman from the other Jason's memories. "Your mother."

He hears a snort and looks up, eyes slightly alit with anticipation, knowing he will be hearing an answer. "Mother?" the other Jason drawls, his voice a mixture of irritation, wry amusement and an undeniable hint of bitterness. "Nope, just the bitch that brought me into this world; she left me behind and then sold me out to an enemy. My mother is Catherine Todd and less than ideal or not, I will have no other."

"She died in the explosion," Jason says, knowing well that he is treading on some very thin ice.

Instead of anger, there is laughter. "Yes," the other Jason says. "And so did I… However, unlike her, I came back on my own and dug myself out of my own coffin. The Lazarus Pit didn't restore my life but it did wake me up, even if it might've warped my personality a bit along the way. Still…"

"You're angry about your death."

"I'm not pissed off about my death," the other Jason drawls right back at him. "I'm pissed off at the fact that no one avenged me. The Joker fucking tortured me, beating me senseless with a crowbar before blowing me up; he killed me, so the least anyone should have done was to kill him. Not that I'm particularly religious or anything, but think of it as divine retribution."

"I understand your anger. But…"

"But…?"

He understands it; he himself has borne witness to the circumstances that brought it about, but he still can't…

"I never led your life," he finally responds. "I never experienced what you experienced in person. I dreamt nightmares about what had happened to you, but even so I can't imagine what you went through. I saw, but I did not have the same connection as you did, but I…"

There is a slight pause, and he interprets it as the other being surprised. "You saw what happened to me and you feared you would end up just like me," the other Jason finally says, and Jason finds himself picturing the other sitting in a window, reloading one of his handguns. "Bitter… resentful… violent…deadly… But you're wrong. I was angry at the world long before the Bat and long before I took a dip in the pit. Truthfully, other than the Joker, I only resent the Bat…"

"You became the Red Hood, taking control of the criminal gangs in your own corner of Gotham to show him that his methods were inefficient," Jason says, retelling the other's story as he knows it, if for nothing else then to hopefully ensure that the other kept talking. "You wanted justice but you also wanted to prove a point; attacking Timothy Drake to prove that you were a better Robin, kidnapping the Joker to confront Batman…"

"He only gave excuses, so I offered him an ultimatum."

He feels as though he is watching the imagined scene now, but from within the other rather than from some point beyond him. "Your life or the Joker's."

"I guess I really could have planned it out a bit better. Then again, it's all the same in the end… though I do regret that I didn't go ahead and kill the Joker when I had the chance."

He is watching the other's hands, handling the weapon with practiced ease. "Instead, you nearly got blown up again and went underground."

"Yeah… I went to mess with Nightwing," the other readily admits, and the view shifts slightly as the other seemingly turns his head to the side to look out of the window and at the surrounding cityscape. "And then there was that matter with jumping between dimensions. An odd one that." – The other Jason pauses slightly, and then there is black and then light once more, and this time around, the other is surveying the room, which appears to be a quite messy apartment. "Well… let's just say that a lot of stuff happened. Then again, you already know that, don't you?"

"Bits and pieces, yes, but not all of it," he responds, trying to piece it all together. "Back when Batman disappeared, you fought with Dick and Tim… and Damian?"

The other snorts once again. "Yeah… and ended up in prison for a while too until that foolish Replacement decided to help me escape. And then we all fought over the Bat's legacy. Foolish, huh?"

Foolish, yes, but Jason does not comment on it. "Why do you even want to become the Batman?" he asks instead, mostly since he is curious about what kind of motives the other could possibly have for trying to accomplish such a thing, seeing that he seemed to loathe the man beneath the mask with passion.

The other Jason positively scoffs at him and shifts his eyes towards the window again. "I admired his image – as an urban legend mind you, not as a public persona. All this business with the Justice League and all that really ruined things. It made him weak. Imposing, yes. Lethal, no."

"Dick and Damian went after you," Jason says. "You shot Damian and then nearly killed Tim…"

"You disapprove," the other Jason says, a wry smile showing in his reflection.

"Yes."

"Well, fuck your opinion, kiddo."

"Well, fuck you, old man."

Momentarily, there is silence, and then, the other Jason chuckles slightly to himself. "If I could shoot you, kiddo, I would."

"You don't kill children," Jason drawls right back at him. "Not normally."

"I could make an exception."

Now Jason is the one who scoffs. "Dick beat you," he says instead, continuing to piece things together in his mind. "And in return, you withdrew your claim to the title, reworking your identity as the Red Hood."

This time around, the other sounds positively pensive. "Yeah… it had its ups and downs, but overall I had a blast. I mean really, capturing and stripping the reinvented Dynamic Duo? Honestly…"

Truly. "You had a sidekick?"

The other pauses slightly. "Scarlet?"

"Where is she now?" Jason asks, honestly curious.

"Why do you care?" the other responds, tone signalling that a change of topic would be in order.

"You spent time in prison?" Jason asks instead, even though he really knows the answer.

The other seems almost proud as he responds. "In Arkham initially, even if it has been proven that I am perfectly sane – somewhat twisted, yes, but still as sane as anyone can be after all the shit I've been through."

"Suicide rates…" Jason whispers.

Laughter answers him. "Oh yeah… I did convince quite a few people to off themselves, and in turn, quite a few people tried to off me, and I repaid the favour in spades…"

"Eighty-two dead."

"It was worth it," the other readily admits. "Even if I did get shipped back to Arkham after that. Or rather, they tried."

"And then you went to rescue Scarlet, cooperating with Dick and Damian," Jason recalls. "And then the two of you escaped."

"Yeah…"

"And then she's gone."

The other is frowning now, puzzled from the looks of it. "You're referring to my time with the Outlaws?"

"Yes."

"Still…" the other Jason goes on. "Why would you care? It isn't like you've met her personally or anything."

It's a good question; it is, truly. "Since I am here now, watching the world through your eyes, I don't know if I ever will."

For a brief moment, there is silence, and then the other Jason finally speaks, his voice a tiny bit softer compared to before. "Hey, don't worry, kiddo; you're not dead… not yet at least," he says, getting to his feet. "So… since you're here and all, you might as well sit back and enjoy the ride… I mean, I've obviously got stuff to do – crooks to eliminate and all – but I still think I'll have time to teach you a thing or two before you're able to get back over there, seeing that your mentor really hasn't taught you all that much…"

The other Jason goes on to list the things he wants to teach him, but Jason himself remains silent throughout it all, teetering on the border between hope and a distinct lack of it. "Before and not if, huh?" he finally notes.

"Definitely before," the other Jason notes a bit wryly. "The amount of time I'll be able to stand living with you inside my head is very limited."

"Even so," Jason finds himself saying. "You're actually enjoying this a bit, aren't you?"

The other Jason shrugs in response. "Who knows?"

- o0o -

"Hey, Jay… no offence but… who're you talking to?"

The other Jason looks up, and is greeted by Roy Harper – aka Red Arrow aka Arsenal – standing there on the doorway looking at him quite strangely. Momentarily, the other Jason seems a bit taken aback by it all, but within seconds a wry smirk has adorned his face. "I seem to have developed a conscience… and we're right in the middle of an argument over here."

Roy furrows his eyebrows ever so slightly before scoffing and entering the room, fetching some gear from behind one of the sofas in it. "Can you guys make it brief? We've got to get a move on."

As the archer leaves, Jason speaks up again. "Are you going to return to your old ways now?"

"Old ways?" the other Jason questions, moving across the room to fetch his mask.

"Of killing people."

The other remains silent for a while, seemingly contemplating the matter, but then scoffs at it. "Honestly… you think you can redeem me?" he taunts. "Well… good luck with that, brat."

Jason is tempted to retort, but refrains from doing so and instead finds himself contemplating the notion in silence. Actually, thinking about it and how he himself is in effect trapped in the other's mind for an unknown period of time, not having any sort of purpose whatsoever to work towards would likely drive him spare in mean time. As such, the project of attempting to redeem his other self did hold merit, partially because it was not something which could be accomplished in a single day and partially because it was something which could possibly end up benefitting them both in the end if things went well. Then again…

"Brat, that was a joke; don't get any strange ideas."

He finds himself seriously tempted to laugh at this, momentarily disregarding his own possibly dire circumstances.

"Seriously, don't. It's not going to happen."

"Wanna bet?"

It's alright, he tells himself. It'll all be alright eventually, and in the meantime, he might as well make the best of what he has and make good use of the time he has been given, even if it means that he will in effect be annoying the Hell out of his older other dimensional counterpart to do it.

For him – no, for the both of them – there was still time; time to live and time to change things. Admittedly, there is little to be done about the past. However, the future is still undecided, and in the end, so is he.

Once, he used to think that he had the ability to somehow perceive the future, drawing parallels between another's past memories and his own present, initially misinterpreting them as the inevitable path leading up to his own future before finally coming to terms with the fact that those images were just that – someone else's memories – and adjusted himself accordingly. After all, in the end, even with the similarities, he and the other Jason are and had always been fundamentally different even though they had shared a lot of experiences up until a certain point in life where their paths had diverged – or perhaps rather where Jason himself had decided to stray from the path which had seemingly been laid out for him, perceiving that his own death and destruction ultimately lay in walking down that path. Then again, and quite ironically, he had not been able to stay clear of the Bat – of Bruce; of everyone – and had been swept right back into the fold as though he had been meant to belong there from the start, and even after he had both reluctantly adorned and shed the costumed identity of Robin, he still remained a part of it all even though he usually sought to keep some distance between himself and the others.

Even so, however unwittingly, it was probably the other Jason's interference that had ultimately saved his life, showing him an image of what he could become if he ever allowed anger and bitterness to cloud his reason. Unwittingly, the other had saved him, and Jason supposes the least he could do is to return the favour now that he has been given the opportunity to do so, in spite of the other's expressed wishes and worded threats and promises of imminent retaliation.

"Don't you dare…"

He smiles.

- o0o -