i ain’t afraid of no ghost

I'm taking back the crown I'm all dressed up and naked I see what's mine and take it

Last summer i accidentally sat in on my bed and looked at the mirror and thought wouldn't it be cool if there was a drawing of red hood on a rooftop in exactly this position. so i did it

"This is the way the world ends—Not with a bang but a whimper." The Hollow Men; T.S. Eliot.

Batfamily reunion, kinda ?

Getting drunk with your boss is never a good idea, but when that leads to the Red Hood’s throwing off his helmet to throw up, leaving his face exposed, it does seem to have a silver lining. When one of his men recognised his face, recognising the face of the young boy that everyone in Gotham had seen plastered all over the news so many years ago, because that boy had died, they knew their boss had some explaining to do.

Lots of them were fathers, trying to provide for their families, so when they found out their boss was practically a child, it felt a bit odd to them, because what if that were there child—running around with guns, bombs and the likes?

The Red Hood’s too men sat him down one day, explaining to him what they had seen, explaining that they wouldn’t tell anybody, that they were just worried.

The Red Hood, or rather Jason, had cried, cried and told them to get out or he’d kill them, to get out because he wasn’t a child, not anymore, because that had been taken away from him by some sick fuck that was somehow still living.

None of them left, for once they didn’t follow orders.

One of them, a father to three beautiful daughters, pulled Jason into his arms, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words only a father could manage. He told Jason that it would all be okay, that he was so brave for doing all this, that it was okay to cry and need help sometimes, that they would all be there for him, that they would pick him up when he couldn’t do so himself, that they would take care of him when he needed it.

From then on out they kept an eye on the Red Hood, never letting him drink unless it was for an undercover mission, unless one of them was nearby because they knew he couldn’t handle his alcohol, and they didn’t want him hurt. They no longer allowed him to smoke, or ‘test’ some of the drugs they were selling to make sure they were ‘high quality. No, none of that, despite Jason’s constant threats.

You see, back in the time, before Willis got arrested, Catherine was more or less functional kind of mother. Yes, they didn't have any kind of luxury — they lived in the same street, in the same dishevelled house, with their clothes old, sewed back countless amount of times — but they survived. Willis brought money back home, and more often than not, Jason had a full stomach. And Catherine cooked to him.

Every dinner, she brought him the same yellow scrapped plate with warm, salty pasta. She always smiled shyly, as if trying not to burst with apologises for the repetitive meal they could afford, but Jason didn't mind. He loved it. It was warm, it was tasty. It was everything he wanted.

And then, Willis got in prison, Catherine fell a victim of addiction, and Jason... and Jason didn't eat anything like that for a long time. And when he finally did, thanks to Bruce and Alfred, it tasted differently. Not bad, not at all... just differently.

For years, he tried to recreate his mother's recipe (Catherine didn't even do anything special — she boiled a water, she added a salt, nothing special) and all fruitless. He died, got back — and still! Still no success.

What is it that his attempts are lacking? Why can't he cook it?

He lost so many memories along his way, but this one — this exact taste on the tip of his tongue — he could never throw away, even if he tried.

So, he tries, tries, tries-

I'm taking back the crown I'm all dressed up and naked I see what's mine and take it