#commissionerjg

[kitemanxhellyeah]

@commissionerjg

Opening hours were for losers. 

Chuck needed some supplies to make his Kite-Copter (it was a work in progress, the name was subject to change) and he was gonna pay for the stuff he needed but he’d had a creative binge at 3am and the shop wasn’t open... So he’d got his costume on and flown to the roof and snuck in that way, wandering around the place with a trolley full of random metal pipes, rubber hoses and other paraphilia that he’d need to get this project off the ground, (heh flight pun). 

He was just finishing when he heard the door burst open a familiar voice yelling at him. Chuck blinked a few times before turning around with a huge grin on his face, “Commissioner! I heard you were in town! How’s the family? Seen Batman lately? We were kinda tight back in Gotham.” he said with a sigh, “I kinda need this stuff soooooo can we take a reign check on the whole arrest things this time around? I’ll let you get me next week instead!”

[onehellofalawyer]

@commissionerjg

Foggy gulped, meeting people you were certain didn’t like you (even if it was some weird magical crap that caused it) was never fun. So he’d fallen back on tried and tested methods: bribery and a submissive attitude. How he’d manage to wrangle an appointment with the commissioner was down to calling in a lot of favours and he couldn’t afford to mess this up! Since he was now pretty determined to take on this DA gig he needed the support of the police to be in with a strong shot. 

He knocked on the door and entered with what appeared to be a fruit basket under one arm and a big grin on his face, “Hi,” he said meekly, “Okay! Before you throw me out or just beat me up or lock me in a cell, hear me out!” he added quickly, “I have a gift!” The fruit basket (full of cigarettes a good bottle of whiskey and a few oranges for luck) was presented, “And I need to talk to you about something really important for the city!”

[amazingflyingdick]

@commissionerjg

Dick’s resignation was handwritten. He didn’t feel right typing it out on a computer, even if it would have been the professional thing. There was something more personal about sitting down at his desk and writing it out. This job had been a lot of things to him over the years, it wore him out and he struggled with some of the decisions he’d made, but it was always personal. It was the main reason why he didn’t make the best police officer. His heart was always in the right place, but he took failings hard. On the nights no one won and cases were left unsolved, he had a hard time letting it go.

In Jim’s absence he did the best he could. He closed a lot of cases, even if he used questionable means of obtaining the necessary information to do it, but it lightened their caseload. Already there was a difference in the quality of reports. They had a faster response time. Chris was already back, with no one daring to ask how he’d healed so fast, and Dick made it clear in his letter that he was giving two weeks’ notice. The only thing the letter didn’t say was why. He wasn’t putting that in writing.

“There are too many rumors going around,” he explained, his voice low even though the door was closed. “What happened with Jason, it... looks bad. The media is suspicious because of who I am and it reflects on the whole department. Not just me.” Dick hated this. He didn’t want to disappoint Jim or leave him to deal with this on his own. It should have helped that Bruce came in the day before and talked to Jim about the new funding and subsequent improvement in the SCPD’s technology, but he could only regret that he wouldn’t be around to see it. “You worked hard to clean this place up, sir. I’m not going to be the one to mess it up.”

[lois-joanne-lane]

@commissionerjg​

“Don’t worry, Commissioner, I’m staying out of trouble.” It was strange to see Jim outside of Gotham. She’d always seen him as a cornerstone of that dark, grim city, because who else would have the grit to handle its seedy underbelly? Other than Batman, of course. Now both of them were here. Everyone was here. It was sobering to watch it unfold, to see people lose hope, and she’d written the article to inspire action. This wasn’t the type of response she’d expected, but it was something.

That didn’t mean she was blind to the consequences. She offered him a second cup of coffee. “Thought you could use it. How soon before things pick up again?” She wasn’t asking him as a journalist, even though she was already deconstructing everything around her with that mindset. This was a rare moment of peace. It wasn’t going to last.

[james-gordon-jr]

@commissionerjg​

All he had were the clothes on his back, decidedly looser than when he’d first gone in, and a small paper sack of personal items, some of which he hadn’t seen for years. Star City Asylum had been less stringent than Arkham, but he’d never been allowed to keep anything in his cell.

But it wasn’t just his weight that changed. When JJ had gone in, he’d still been a kid in many ways. Shy, self-conscious, hopeless, and angry. Kids like that didn’t last long with the criminally insane. He immediately learned to adapt to the system and the not-so-complicated interpersonal politics. The mentally ill couldn’t really be counted on, but he found ways to count on their unreliability and he used that to his advantage. 

Within the first year he’d gotten a good number of tattoos. He couldn’t afford to look clean-cut. It already worked against him that everyone knew he was Commissioner Jim Gordon’s son. He had to establish a position and a rank. To do that, he had to look more intimidating. 

That need to dominant the social sphere tapered off upon his mood to Star City Asylum. He got a new doctor. New medication. His personality began to even out. The past couple years had seen him repentant and self-aware. He started to think about the future and what he wanted for his life. He wrote an apology letter to Barbara and one to his father, as part of his treatment program, and he didn’t even have to lie. The newfound empathy wasn’t always welcomed, but he had little choice. He began to refocus his efforts on getting released. 

When the day finally came, he felt surprisingly anxious. As he heard the buzzer and the clank of the heavy doors, he suddenly had the urge to back away, return to his cell, and say whatever he had to. It was the medication. There was going to be an adjustment. His psychiatrist’s words were clear in his mind, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

His father was waiting for him on the other side. The halfway house wasn’t far, he could have just as easily walked, but there he was. JJ’s expression was guarded, cautious, the same as it was during every one of their visits. “Hey, pops.”

[clickforspoilers]

@commissionerjg​ liked for an event starter! 🧇

“Sorry, Commissioner!” Steph shouted as she gracelessly rolled over the curb with an agent who had been reaching for something in his belt. It could have been a gun or a pencil, but she definitely wasn’t about to take any chances. The crowd was getting tense and restless. Not to mention she’d been watching the agent for the past five minutes. She could see by the way he was looking around that he’d been about to do something. “He looked suspicious!”

Now he was knocked out, which hadn’t been a complete accident. Sitting up, she blew her hair out of her face and narrowed her eyes as she stared down at the NOVA agent’s belt. The clip that held the firearm in place was unfastened. “Ha! I was right!’ She said triumphantly, jumping to her feet. She had her own bright purple flex ties to fasten around his wrists; she knew the SCPD was limited in its supplies.

[justicealwaysprevails]

@commissionerjg

It wasn’t the first time Bruce visited Jim. He made a point to check in every day, twice a day, and take note of his progress. Everyone was confident he would make a full recovery, it was just a matter of when, and he intended to do everything in his power to see that he received the best care. No one knew where Gordon was. It didn’t take much money to pay off the members of Gordon’s security team, which was disappointing even as it was unsurprising. The only other department who might seek to investigate the situation would be the SCPD. He was confident Dick would mitigate that situation appropriately.

He was sitting in a chair next to the large bed when he realized Gordon was awake. Concerned, he took a quick look at his vitals to confirm that nothing changed or spiked. The room itself was clean and white, but its simple design and it would have given the impression that they were in an actual hospital if it weren’t for the touches Alfred provided over the years. He always claimed it made the room more comfortable and interesting for anyone who found themselves bedridden. Books, a few generations of iPads, and gadgets that were in various stages of completion were all crammed on one shelf by the bed. 

“Do you remember anything?” Bruce asked quietly, his tone calm and even despite its gravity.

[you-just-hit-the-jackpot]

@commissionerjg

Thirteen minutes late. It was an unlucky number. That thought alone almost made MJ laugh - as if her life could be any unluckier. Then again, she could have been murdered, right? There’d been enough explosives strapped to her to send her sky high. Maybe a part or two would have made it back to New York. A strange giggle escaped her and she clapped her hand over her mouth. 

“Sorry I’m late,” she said to Gordon, setting his coffee down on his desk. She’d put extra care into it that morning. She wanted to prove that she was still there, still committed, and doing fine despite... the incident. Honestly, it would have been more out of character if she’d been on time.

[daringdcvils]

[ @commissionerjg​ liked for a starter! ]

Matt didn’t have the disdain for the police that many others in his profession did—at least, not the police in Star City. NYPD was a whole different story, but the SCPD had done the right things under Jim Gordon’s leadership, so Matt wasn’t about to burn any bridges he might have with Jim. In fact, he kind of liked Jim. Jim reminded him of people he’d grown up with—rough and tumble, but good-hearted in the end. 

He was letting the desk sergeant guide his hand where it needed to go for him to sign out his most recent client to get arrested when he heard the sound of Jim’s approaching footsteps. “Evening, Jim,” Matt greeted, putting a charming smile on his features—not disingenuous persay, but not natural either. He always liked to spook people by saying their name before they announced their presence. It was the little things that brought Matt joy. “It’s been a while. Holding down the fort okay?” 

[fearisthegoal]

[ @commissionerjg​ ! ]

Jonathan entered the SCPD carrying a briefcase full of documents. His work had been intentionally confusing on this case—enough to make it seem like Jonathan himself was confused about the particulars of the drug and of the case, even though he knew everything there was to know about the fear toxin. If he feigned innocence well enough, then there would be no reason for any suspicions to be raised at the police department, especially when dealing with an officer as astute as Jim Gordon. 

Crane rarely admitted that other people were intelligent, but Gordon certainly had a way about him that made him an incredibly effective officer. There had to be some measure of smarts that allowed him to do that. That was why, when Crane walked into his office, he resolved himself to be extra careful. “Good morning, Commissioner,” he said, reaching a hand out to shake. “As promised, I have all the documents on my research into the case in Gotham.”

[devilxfhxllskxtchen]

Starter for @commissionerjg

Matt was finally settled in the city, him and Foggy having traveled back from New York together to get him settled. And Matt wanted to get to work. And, part of that meant making connections. It was simply the nature of the business, after all.

That led him here. The Star City Police Department. A good DA kept a close relationship with the police, they needed eachother, and Matt as assistant DA knew he needed to get that relationship going quickly. So, he arranged a meeting with the Commissioner, a man named Jim Gordon.

He had done his research on the Commissioner, found him to be a good guy. Seemed to be moral, a strong background, seemed to truly want this city to be a better place. Their goals aligned, in that respect, and he developed a quick respect for the veteran officer.

As he entered the department, he could immediately feel all their eyes on him. He was used to that, a blind man usually drew attention. He stopped, hands wrapped tightly around his cane, as he listened to the room, getting a sense for everything, the layout, etc. 

“Excuse me,” he spoke up to the room. “My name is Matt Murdock, I’m the new assistant District Attorney. I’m here to see the commissioner,” he said, then cracked an easygoing smile. “Well, not see, obviously, but I’m sure you all got the meaning.” 

[ofbxtgirls]

@commissionerjg

This was it. Barbara was about to tell her dad the truth. Opting for her apartment for the scene, Barbara was hard at work cooking a meal for herself and he father, nervous as ever. A part of her hoped that he already knew, that he had been going along with it all these years, so that he wouldn’t flip. When the doorbell rang, her heart jumped and she sighed, opening the door. “Dad. Hi,” she gave him a hug, welcoming him in.

[wndwmn]

@commissionerjg liked for a starter;

Diana had never been one to feel lost.

She was the steady one, the one who everyone else turned to for guidance—Bruce had been that for her, on some level, but everyone had been dealing with the fallout, with Dent’s words, with everything. Her chin had found a resting spot atop the mountains of her knuckles as she sat and thought, not much unlike The Thinker. 

Diana had thought that maybe some sun would help, maybe some fresh air from the sea, or the sight of flowers and nature, but it didn’t stop her from thinking about the situation that they were in. Little by little they were making things better, but that wasn’t going to stop NOVA, or the government, from doing what they wanted to do. The end was inevitable unless someone found a way out and that likely wasn’t going to happen. At least, not for a long while.

If losing their own was the price to pay for the fascist road they were being led on, she didn’t want it.

[amazingflyingdick]

sitting duck.

WHO: Dick Grayson @amazingflyingdick Jason Todd @thatsjasonfkntodd, Slade Wilson @terminator-deathstroke, and special guest: Poor Jim Gordon @commissionerjg WHERE: Star City Jail / Star City Police Department WHEN: June 1st, 2020 WHAT: The Bratva know Jason being behind bars makes him an easy target. Chaos ensues and prisoners escape (or don’t)

Jim: Jim was still responding to calls alongside his duties as Commissioner far more often than he would have liked, and he was the only one available that afternoon to deal with a report that came across of a massive fight downtown. By the time he got there, nobody had been able to tell him how it started, but it had spread out to involve five different men. He’d had one other officer with him, and between them they’d managed to break things up and haul everyone involved back to the few open cells they had left until it could be dealt with. 

He was going through the process of actually booking them when the whole thing went to hell. They hadn’t had weapons on them, and the whole story spun during the arrest had led him to believe they didn’t know each other. That assumption had completely off base, judging by the way they suddenly collaborated to overwhelm him. Jim had enough time to draw his pistol, but only got off a single shot at nothing before something slammed against the back of his skull. His vision tunneled and the last thing he saw was the floor rapidly coming toward him.

Dick: Dick’s shift ended hours ago, but he was still at work, holed up in his office so he could get some work done without any outside distractions. He was always reluctant to leave the office with Jason locked up and his identity public knowledge. It was a bad feeling he couldn’t shake. The only reason he even knew about the incident downtown was because he could hear Officer Moore bragging about it even through his closed door. He was curious, but he figured he’d go check it out as soon as he was finished with the report. Gordon would just be annoyed he hadn’t gone home yet. 

It wasn’t until he heard the gunshot that he knew something was wrong. He was up and out of the office in seconds, sprinting across the empty station, but before he could even reach the security desk he heard a distinct buzzing. Rounding the corner, he saw an unfamiliar man in the booth disarming all the systems and cameras; the security officer was crumpled on the floor, unconscious. Dick didn’t even bother asking questions before getting the stranger in a headlock. Even though he had him out in seconds, he knew it was much too late to secure anything. And he heard more commotion down the hall. Cursing softly, he made his way in that direction, toward the cell block, and his min ran rampant with possibilities. On the way he passed Commissioner Gordon slumped over the intake desk, but he stopped only long enough to make sure he still had a pulse before continuing.

Jason: Part of the issue with turning himself in was that, as both Roy and Dick had pointed out, it put a big target on his back. He’d been laying low in the manor because the sheer volume of people that Red Hood had crossed basically ensured that someone would come for him. Once word got out that he’d been arrested in Star City, it was just giving them a map. He knew that, but he’d done it all anyway. 

As the doors opened, both his and Slade’s, with nobody immediately visible to account for it, Jason got to his feet. He was immediately on edge. He’d heard what sounded like a gunshot, but it had been too many walls away for him to be sure of it until right then. Some kind of bullshit was definitely going down. He had time to take about two steps forward before he heard voices. Two (maybe three) men were speaking and he tagged the language right away as Russian. “Where is he?” 

Well, fuck.

Slade: Slade sat in the cell across from Jason Todd, who he had considered trying to kill on about six different occasions now, when the doors to their cells clanked open. It was taking his lawyers an inordinate amount of time to get him out of this damn jail, but things were certainly more bearable given the change of circumstances with Grayson. 

 It didn't mean that he wouldn't consider the gift horse that was being offered to him. How had this happened? Would it be better if he just stayed right where he was? He didn't really have long to decide before he heard the same voices that Jason did. He didn't speak Russian, and he certainly didn't love not knowing what he was about to get into. Still, he watched the pup creep out of his kennel before backing back into it. "Problem?”

Dick: The gates to the cell block were open and the everything behind him had gone dead quiet. 

Did they already take everyone out? The only reason he knew they hadn't bothered to look for Dick was because he wasn’t even supposed to be there. He’d been holed up in his office for the last few hours. He was glad he listened to his instincts and didn’t immediately head home like usual, because he had been prepared for something like this to happen. His Nightwing suit was always underneath his clothes when he went to work lately, the new design slim enough that it wouldn't be noticed even though it wasn't as heavily armored. It allowed for faster movement and, judging by the people that would come after Jason, that seemed much more important. Jason could always handle the brute force required. Dick would rather have immediate access to Nightwing's weapons. 

He made it to the entrance of the cell block, discarding his outer clothing and tossing them in a storage closet. Creeping up the stairs, he saw men ahead of him and assumed they were on their way to Jason. Dick followed, reaching the area in time to hear the angry voices, and his jaw clenched at the familiar accent. He knew who these men were because he'd helped Jason with them before. They were even one of the groups he suspected might show up. Without hesitation he reached for a smoke bomb and tossed it at their feet. Within seconds, everyone's vision would be obscured long enough for Jason to either get the upper hand or evade them entirely. In all the commotion, he assumed Slade might have already taken off. Dick wouldn't blame him. This wasn't his fight.

Jason: “If you consider the Russian mafia a problem," Jason answered, taking one look around his cell for something that could be used as a weapon. The whole point was that there wasn't anything, but that was really only because he hadn't been trying. The thin mattress was on a bed made of metal, and he could make that work. He turned his back on the open door, maybe foolishly counting on Slade having better things to do than pick that moment to also come for him, and threw the mattress to the side. With some effort and a heavy stomp, he kicked at the springs until he had two of them loose enough to rip free. They were heavy enough, and the method of removal left the edges sharp as hell. That'd do. 

He turned just in time to see two men finally walk up to the edge of his cell. "Are you boys looking for little old me?" he asked them. Jason made an abrupt switch to Russian to add, "Long time no see." A second later, he heard coughing and saw smoke rolling down the hall. It filled both cells and everything else in the time it took him to take that first swing. He could have done perfectly well with fists and feet, but he didn't want to start out bare bones if he could help it. He didn't know how many of them were actually in the station, but he was willing to bet the smoke bombs weren't from any of them. That meant he had a little help. 

The spring made a sick sound as it connected with the side of someone's temple. Jason held his breath, trying to keep as much of the smoke out as possible, and narrowed his eyes as he brought one leg up to kick his first assailant backwards toward Deathstroke's cell.

Slade: Slade had done work for and against the Bratva at some time or other. However, he thought it would be odd for them to be coming for him. And it was clear shortly after that they were there for Jason. They were likely human, which meant they would pose little threat to Slade unless the jail activated their inhibitors. Even then, he had enough training to get by. As it was now, though, he wasn't even sure he wanted to interfere. Why should he? And if he stayed in his cell and watched it happen, would they even bother him? 

He watched one idiot come careening down the hall as the smoke filled the area. As the Bratva smacked into the cell door, Slade looked down at him, still undecided. But the smoke bombs meant Dick was here. Would it even be worth it to help out? Nightwing and Red Hood probably had it covered. But if he assisted, then perhaps it would accelerate the process of getting the charges dropped. He was getting sick of being stuck there. 

So he moved, grabbing the Bratva through the bars--he hadn't bothered to step out yet. "Weapons?" He asked simply. When he got no response, Slade gave a sigh before slamming the guys head against the bars and coming around to casually pick through his gear, as if Jason wasn't fighting two others nearby.

Dick: Between the smoke bomb and his own ability to outmaneuver opponents, Dick reached the cell block and brought another guy down fast. He still knew better than to underestimate their abilities. There was a reason Jason asked for his help in taking them down in the past and he wasn't ready to relax just yet.

Even before he had the chance to complete the thought, there was the sound of more men bursting into the cell block now that the station was unmanned and there was no security to stop them. Even though Dick couldn't see them, not yet, he heard the sounds of guns being cocked downstairs. Slade was still there. He heard his voice. 

Because he'd done this dance with the Russian Mafia before, he rattled off the weapons he knew they carried once he was close enough, but skipped over the ones he knew wouldn't make a dent: "Knives. Possible Semi-automatic rifles, sub machine guns, and pistols. There might be snipers outside with SVDs and optical sights." The men who made it to Jason's cell were down, but apparently they were the first wave. Dick had taken Jim's service pistol as well as the firearm that belonged to the downed officer in the security room. He slid one to Jason, and then paused before providing a second to Slade. He kept his own. Deadly force wasn't something he ever wanted to use, but even he knew that it might be necessary if they wanted to get out of this alive - especially if Slade chose to back out of the fight.

Jason: Once he'd taken down one of them with the springs, which were uncomfortable as fuck to use and sent shocks up his arm he couldn't contend with in a larger context he crouched down next o him and immediately started grabbing what he could. In short order, he had a short-bladed knife, a pair of brass knuckles, and a loaded pistol. It wasn't going to be enough by the sound of the footsteps, but it'd work in the short term. 

"You sticking around or fucking off?" he asked Slade, not caring which answer he got. He just wanted to know how much he needed to prepare for. Did he only have Dick, or was he getting Deathstroke, too? Temporarily, anyway. 

No matter the answer, he took his newly acquired weaponry and headed back down the hall toward the sound of Dick's voice. The other footsteps were closer by then, running, and Jason saw the silhouette of someone coming toward them as the smoke truly began to dissipate. He wanted to save the gun to have some range, so he took the knife and in one fluid motion launched it through the air until he heard a scream that meant it hit something. "Better find us an exit, Nightwing, unless you want to get cornered."

Slade: “You don't seem to need my help," Slade said simply. "And I heard they have steaks in the cafeteria for the officers." Of course, that joke died when he heard Dick's voice rattling off information to him, like he expected Slade to stay. 

He very nearly sighed before simply agreeing by reaching for the pistol. "Surprise you trust me with this, little bird. Hope the cameras aren't watching. He already was beginning to break down the situation. "Do you know how many and are there any metahumans?"

Dick: Dick's mind was already working. The block was two stories and, from the sound of it, the men were already below them. There were no upstairs exits. "Two exits downstairs. Likely both guarded. If they do have snipers they'll be posted at the North exit. It's just the fire escape, but there are a lot of vantage points to get a clean shot." 

The only thing that kept the men below from seeing them now was because the confinement cells were tucked in the corner, in their own hall, and facing each other rather than open. "Then go, but the only way out is through them." Even if Slade weren't sticking around, which Dick actually didn't expect, he wasn't going to leave even someone like Deathstroke to face down machine guns without something. 

He shook his head. "I don't know how many." He paused to listen as the men spread out to search, trying to hear distinct voices. The metahuman question made him look at Jason curiously. "Have you ever known them to have metas?"

Jason: Jason glanced toward Dick’s utility belt. “How many more of those smoke bombs do you have? Anything with a bigger bang?” That was something he would’ve carried, but Dick wasn’t him. “Flash grenade?” Anything to get them to an exit. Otherwise they were trapped like rats, and it wasn’t as if the Bratva was going to be lacking men. 

He raised one shoulder in a shrug and moved past Dick to go toward the man he’d just hit with the knife. “No, but that doesn’t mean shit except they didn’t think they’d need them last time. Bet on yes and overcompensate.”

Slade: "My armor is equipped with all of those things," he said simply before considering, eyes darting around the room. "You just need a distraction?" He said simply. "Because I can do that." 

Bending down, he lifted one of the bodies at his feet. He could take countless bullet wounds, he'd fought off ridiculous numbers and could go for hours. Cakewalk. "If any of you has a katana hidden down your pants, now would be the time to hand that over. If not, I'll make it work." Slade wasn't in the mood for this mafia bullshit anyway. While he didn't usually like to just slaughter for no reason, sometimes the occasion called for it. Besides, he hadn't had a real challenge in so long.

Dick: "I have four more. And no, I don't have grenades." Dick hissed. "I have knockout gas. One rebreather." It was enough to protect himself, but the knockout gas was potent. It had floored metahumans before, but it wouldn't work on all of them and he didn't know who they were facing up against. It wouldn’t be worth the risk.

Frowning, he watched Slade lift up the body. "Hold on." He handed Jason a smoke bomb, then sighed and also slipped one in Slade's pocket since his arms were full. "We have a better chance at going through the station. I know an exit they aren't going to have covered. Meet me at the the South door to this room. It's downstairs." He nodded in the direction of the door. There was no chance they would be able to all stay together. "Slade goes first. Then I'm dropping another smoke bomb. That should be enough distraction for all of us. Let's go.”

Jason: “You got a janitor’s closet I can get to without getting shot at?” And if not, it might not be worth it. Even he couldn’t make an explosive in the blink of an eye. It was too bad, though, because using Jim Gordon’s stash of lighters to set it off would have been damn funny. 

Jason yanked a second pistol off the man with the knife just below his throat, who was still alive but probably not for much longer, especially after Jason removed the blade. It immediately promoted a nasty gush of dark blood that he stepped away from before it could pool. He swept his hand toward the door. “Lead the way, old man.”

Slade: Slade didn't really need telling. He'd been heading to the end of the hall even as Dick spoke. His mind could follow where Jason's had gone, and the right chemicals could cause some trouble. 

Honestly, if he had his mask he could flood the place with ammonia and bleach. He was pretty sure he could walk away from it either way, but not the birds at his back. 

Kicking open the door, Slade made his way to the top of the stairs before using the weight of the man on his shoulder. The body flew hard and fast as Slade put all his strength behind it. The desired effect of most of their would be assailants falling down the stairs had him grabbing the rail to flip his body over it, turning in the air to land with far more grace than one might expect from a man of his size. He had done enough research and trained enough now that he had more than one trick up his sleeve. "Keep up, kids," he called as he caught one the long metal rods in the railing of the stairs. Giving a grunt of exertion, Slade tore the rod free before he was moving to attract the bullets. He definitely got hit once or twice, but he soon had a table overturned and up as he pulled one of the two pistols he'd collected.

Dick: "Let's get out of the cell block first." They were sitting ducks here. It would be easy for Dick to manually lock the doors behind them and effectively trap the men that were there, but he didn't know if there were more scattered throughout the station. 

Stepping back, he waited only a beat for the men to be distracted enough by Slade before he followed. The second bomb was tossed over the railing a second later and the place was once again filled with smoke. Dick leapt over the railing to the floor below, watching the movement in the smoke to make sure he wasn't about to drop right on top of someone's head. 

Staying low to the ground gave him a better visual, and he could detect heat signatures by just a tap on the mask. He swept the first lackey he came across off his feet and disarmed him. It took seconds to break apart the gun and then he was moving on.

Jason: Since Jason had neither his gear like Dick or a metagene like Slade, he was going to have to compensate by actually paying attention rather than barreling forward. The Pit had given him a leg up on most normal humans, but not so much of one that he’d be shaking off a stomach full of bullets or a slit throat. So he let Slade he the distraction, Dick’s second smoke bomb sew some confusion, and then he moved. South door, bottom floor. That’s where they were heading. 

He followed Dick over the side of the rail, pistol in one hand and the bloody knife in the other, and moved past his brother until he was nearly on top of one of the other Russians. “I’ve really missed you guys,” he said in quick Russian before engaging. The man swung at him so hard that he didn’t need to see it, he could hear the movement. Jason ducked low and pushed the blade of the knife deep into the man’s calf muscle to bring him down.

Slade: Slade had managed to clear a number of the assailants with well placed bullets from a practiced soldier. If you hit in the right spot, you only needed one bullet per victim. 

As Jason and Dick began to clear the way, Slade took the time to carefully make his way over to join them. They were moving in the the direction of the door, but they'd need to clear the area enough to actually get out. And Dick had mentioned snipers. He wanted his fucking gear. 

"What'd you do to piss them off? Talk to them for more than five minutes?" As he spoke, Slade's eyes watched the room. Catching note of a gunman on the second floor aiming for Dick, Slade moved fast, catching the other and yanking him from the person he was fighting just in time for the bullet that was meant for him to bring the guy down. Pulling the second pistol from his waistband, Slade aimed before firing two shots at the would be sniper.

Dick: Dick was more distracted than usual. It wasn't that he thought Jason couldn't handle himself, because he knew he could, but that didn't change the fact that he was at a disadvantage without his gear and a real weapon (other than the pistol, that is.) His attention was divided even during the close hand-to-hand combat with a Russian mobster who was nearly twice his size. The last time he'd fought him, Dick left a nice scar on the larger man's forearm. "Been a while, Isaak. How's the family?" 

When he felt someone grabbed him he twisted instinctively, reactive, and had one of his escrima sticks out and ready to strike before he realized it was Slade. It took another second for him to track the trajectory of the bullet, but he figured out what happened quickly and relaxed. "Thanks." 

Movement by the door caught his attention and he threw the stick that was still in his hand, the voltage downing one of the guards who'd been rushing in Jason's direction. The smoke was clearing, but there weren't many of them left.

Jason: “I told them I didn’t want to share my sandbox,” Jason belatedly answered Slade just as he got back to his feet. 

The man he’d stabbed was scrabbling to get the knife out of his leg, and since Dick had so helpfully taken out another one with one of his sticks, he took the extra second to get in a solid kick to the face to put knife-guy temporarily out of his misery. That time, he didn’t retrieve the blade. 

He turned in time to see someone who’d still been in the upper level start to make his way down. Enough visibility had returned for Jason to be able to take a shot. He lifted the pistol and fired a round that tore right through his throat, an almost exact replica of the dart shot he’d managed with Slade, though with wholly different results.

Slade: Slade gave a nod to Dick before turning his attention back to the Bratva in front of them, his makeshift staff not as strong as he'd like but would do when augmented with his strength. 

He caught sight of the shot that came from Jason's gun and he felt his eye narrow. So it had been Jason who had drugged him. For a very brief moment, he considered turning his attention on him, because the shot did feel a little like a taunt. He knew the risk wasn't worth it, however. Not with two Robins and the remaining Russians. So he filed the knowledge away. For now. 

"Think we can get out of here now," he remarked, jerking his chin toward the door.

Dick: If he noticed what Jason did or Slade's reaction, Dick didn't outwardly react to any of it. The smoke had finally cleared and he was too busy taking apart the remaining guns to take notice of much else. He didn't want to leave them with any weapons. Gordon would probably ultimately use tear gas to overpower them, but he wanted to eliminate all risk. 

Nodding, he nudged an unconscious guard out of the way with his foot and opened the door. He waited until the other two were through before locking it back, then went on to the second gate. He slid it open as quietly as he could, even though he didn't see any movement in the hall, and made sure it was bolted securely behind them. "Up ahead is a row of interrogation rooms. We're going past them to the elevator and taking it down to the basement."

Jason: By the time they were through that door, they’d taken out over half a dozen Bratva already, and while Jason wasn’t convinced they were completely done with them it seemed unlikely they’d sent a whole fucking army just for him. Even he wasn’t that self absorbed. They had to be nearly through them. Still, he kept the pistol drawn, just in case Dick was wrong about that particular exit being secure. 

“This isn’t going to look great on the security tapes,” he pointed out, as though Dick wouldn’t have already realized that. 

He was still debating himself what the fuck he was doing. He’d turned himself in so he could give testimony against Deathstroke, and if he just left then it had really all been for nothing. But staying there was obviously putting anyone at the station at risk, too, not just himself. Jason was not and had never been a big fan of the police, but he didn’t intend to let them or the people working for them like that red haired girl just take his hits for him, either. 

As his mind wandered, he tried to reign it back in once they hit the row of rooms. “How many exits in the basement? Are we about to walk into another group?”

Slade: "I think that it'll look however Dickie wants to spin it," he said. "Self-defense is a strong argument if you have a good lawyer." 

Or they could both just disappear. Slade was going to be pissed if that was what he was forced into, but he'd do what he had to do. He had wanted to lay low, and then Dick had had to show up and screw it up and then twist him around. 

"If we are, more bullets would be nice. Are we anywhere near evidence lock-up?" He figured the basement made sense for where that might be.

Dick: Dick rolled his eyes when Slade called him Dickie, annoyed, but he shook his head. "They already got to the security room and disarmed our systems. The cameras have been offline the whole time." As much as he hated to admit it, he was grateful for that. This would be impossible to explain to Gordon. “There’s only one exit in the basement, but no one knows about it except the people who work here. That means Bratva probably doesn’t know about it and therefore won’t have eyes on it. And they shouldn't be down there, because you need an elevator key, but I can’t say for sure." There was no reason why men specifically after Jason would steal the elevator key from an employee and go check out the basement, but anything was possible. 

 "The evidence room is in the basement," he said, frowning. There was also supposed to be an evidence technician on duty. The guy might have wandered upstairs to investigate the commotion, but he could also be hiding. Dick didn’t want there to be any surprises. “Let me check things out first once we hit that floor. There might be someone working down there." Not only did he not want his co-worker to get hurt, but the last thing poor Kevin Barnett needed to see was Dick strolling along with two prisoners in tow. His vigilante identity was public knowledge now.

Jason: “Better watch your ass if you’re going alone, little bird.” He definitely hadn’t missed that nickname. Slade was way too comfortable being comfortable and Dick was letting him, so he deserved the snark. 

He stopped just beside the door and spent the few seconds it would take Dick to get to the basement checking the pistol he still had. He cut his eyes briefly toward Slade. “Are you staying or going?” Because, though Jason was only there because of Slade, he knew that if he bailed that Deathstroke was getting out of jail one way or the other. He either took off during the commotion or, with no testimony from Red Hood, he walked.

Slade: Slade quirked a brow before giving a scoff. He would call Dick what he liked. If the dog had a problem with it and wanted to yip, he didn’t care. Why should he? “Feeling left out, Red Hood?” He asked with a quirk of his brow. “Still haven’t made that name for yourself, have you? At least not on my radar.” 

The question had him quirking a brow. He suppose he did have to decide. “Dick,” he said simply. “I want the charges dropped and I want you to call off you dog and pet bird. No tricks, and I’ll make your life easier by sticking around.” Jason taking off would nuke his credibility and the trial would drop. He wanted the assurance. “Not more fake jobs and irritating bullshit.”

Dick: "Can we focus?" Dick's voice rose, but he was also mindful of the situation. Jason and Slade tossing passive-aggressive comments at each other was putting him on edge. He was two seconds away from using knockout gas on both of them. 

They were in the elevator now. Gritting his teeth, he pressed the door hold button so they could finish the discussion before he went on alone. "First of all, I'm not the DA. They're the ones pressing charges and they're the ones who drop them. It's out of my hands." He ticked off the next point on his fingers. "Second of all, I'm not stupid. You have everything to gain by sticking around and a lot to lose if you take off. You're the one who should be asking me for favors, because there are more charges I could level against you just based on what happened upstairs. And if my word isn't enough - " Doubtful, but he was making a point. " - my suit has a camera." 

Dick looked between them, narrowing his eyes. "So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to show Jason the way out. Then I'll put you in a holding cell. In the next few days you'll walk out of here. I'll call off whoever I have to, pay off the contract like I said I would, and in exchange you're hands off in Star City."

Jason: “Yeah, old man, the Bratva are in here after some nobody. If you think you’re the first washed up piece of work to try to get under my skin, I’ll go ahead and burst your bubble. It won’t work. The only reason I’m not on your radar is because I don’t lap up every penny somebody tries to stick under my nose.”

Dick’s warning fell on deaf ears. He didn’t have any desire to play nice or quiet when he knew everything was completely fucked either way. Keeping him in the jail had been stupid on their part. The SCPD was lucky the only people who’d died for it were a handful of Russian goons. He made a disgusted noise as he heard the rest of the plan. All for nothing. Every bit of it. Deathstroke got to walk away free, get handed an absurd amount of money, and for what? Agreeing to travel outside of city limits for work? “What a fucking joke.”

Slade: "You think you understand anything about my business, pup, but you know a fraction of my world." He took a step into Jason's face, well aware that he could and would kill this little asshole if he needed to. "Call me when your jobs are seven or eight figures and require you to kill gods. I can choose my shit and I only pick jobs that I want to do. And usually that isn't spurred on by self-righteous bullshit about good and evil or as a way to stick it to my daddy." He knew Jason because Jason and Rose weren't so different at all. Slade may be a terrible father, but it didn't mean he didn't know his kids. And Rose was too old for the 'no one understands me and i know everything there is to know' angle, too. 

His head whipped to Dick before he gave a laugh. A mirthless and bitter sound. "I don't take orders, kid." This was beginning to piss him off. "Last I checked, you were right there next to me upstairs, and so was Jason. So unless you want your brother permanently behind bars with more physical evidence of him killing people--because the law never seems to care if they're bad or good, do they?--then that footage is worth nothing." Not necessarily. It would be worth Deathstroke off the streets until Billy sprung him. But somehow Slade didn't think that Dick would put the satisfaction of possibly locking him up over little brother's life. "Besides," he added. "I think you know a few things I could get off my chest, too. If we want to throw around threats." 

Looking over at Jason, he raised a brow. "Something more from the peanut gallery?" He might just call it right here. It'd be a pain in the ass to be a fugitive until his job was done, but he'd be leaving Star City after that anyway. He'd disappeared before. He'd do it again if he had to.

Dick: Shocked, Dick immediately pushed between them protectively, facing Slade, and some of his anger finally slipped to reveal something more intent and desperate even though his tone remained even, "Stop it." Jason wouldn't think he'd need protecting, but his healing factor didn't compare to Slade's and Dick knew who would come out on top under these circumstances. In those seconds it was hard to believe he ever thought Slade wouldn’t cross the line by hurting his family. "Stop." 

It was true that Jason was there (and so was he) and he couldn't exactly edit the footage without it looking suspicious. What Dick said before hadn't been a true threat, the thought of using blackmail left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he didn't want Slade to think he could call all the shots. There had to be a compromise they could reach. Something that wouldn't force Dick into a role he didn't want to play anymore. It felt a little selfish to want something other than anger and suspicion, but he was tired of feeling weighed down by it. If Slade went back out on the streets eager to fulfill his contract, it meant losing any hope for an alliance, albeit a shaky one. It also meant losing something else, whatever something else was, and he was annoyed to discover that he'd wanted it. 

At this point it shouldn't have surprised him that Slade was willing to exploit something so personal for his own benefit, but the suggestion hit him harder than he expected. Dick blinked, visibly rattled, and it took some effort to smooth over his expression again. 

He said nothing in response. Instead, he pressed the door open button and spoke in a controlled monotone. "Stay here. Maybe ignore each other." He didn't wait for an answer before heading in the direction of the evidence room. He tapped his mask to look out for heat signatures, walking as quietly as possible on the off chance that Kevin was still down here.

Jason: “What kind of a god was that? The patron saint of egomaniacal old men? Did he bestow his powers on you? They’re working.” Jason wanted to take a swing at him so badly his hand was already curled into a fist, but his deathwish wasn’t that strong and he wasn’t that dumb. He kept that hand at his side and just stared up at him instead until Dick got in the middle. 

He hadn’t missed the expression on Dick’s face, and he had a good guess at what Slade’s threat was about. It made him want to hit him more. Still, he bit it back until Dick was gone. 

“You’re fucking stupid,” he informed Slade as soon as Dick was out of sight. “And that’s not a lazy insult, it’s just letting you know.”

Slade: "What wisdom," Slade responded, voice dripping with venom. The only reason he hadn't smeared Jason against the floor was because he wouldn't do that to Dick. He'd never forgive him if he hurt Jason. Didn't bother Dick that Slade had hurt him, but he knew it was all over if he hurt Jason Todd and it wouldn't be worth the moment of satisfaction. "That I didn't ask for. So if you could shut your mouth before I shut it for you, it'd do us both a favor." 

He wanted to fight more. If there were more Bratva, that would be great. Another part of him even considered going back upstairs to wail on them some more. He crushed it beneath his unshakable control, working to tune Jason out.

Dick: Kevin had abandoned his post. That was immediately obvious as soon as Dick rounded the corner and detected no one nearby with his enhanced vision. The basement wasn't large, he even considered the guy might have taken off through the hidden exit already (or he could be upstairs), but he would check every room just in case.  And surprisingly, he heard him before he saw him. A soft clatter from the nearby break room followed by shuffling and the sound of shoes squeaking against a linoleum floor was a better indicator than enhanced vision. When Dick opened the door, he immediately caught the infrared shape of a man crouched behind a counter.

It was possible to leave Kevin alone and find a way to barricade the door, but it wasn't worth the risk of being seen as he was backing out. Instead, he moved quickly and caught the man from behind before he had a chance to see his face. It would take less than five seconds to knock him out. 

What Dick hadn't counted on was that Kevin was wise enough to snag a knife from the evidence room. He didn't even see it until he felt the blade sink into his side, but the effort was weak and Dick snagged the man's wrist just as he went limp. Stitches were nothing new. If anything, it would bolster the story that Dick was taken out early on. Even though the entire office assumed he went home hours ago, he had no intention of letting the department handle this mess on their own. It didn't matter how exhausted he was. He couldn't just go home. 

Pocketing the knife, he continued on to check the rest of the basement. It was empty and the secret exit was still locked up tight. There was no sign the Bratva had even been down there. 

It was less than ten minutes later when he returned to the elevator, his expression impassive. "It's clear. Let's go." Leaning in, he pressed the elevator hold button just in case there were more Bratva upstairs. With any luck, the remaining men were posted at the other entrances and no longer in the building.

Jason: It was an incredibly long few minutes. It stretched on enough that Jason was debating whether or not he should go see if something had happened, though there had been no sound to indicate fighting. 

Before he made any move to do it, though, Dick finally made his way back. “There some reason Big Guy needs to tag along if you’re just putting him back in the pen?” he jerked his head toward Deathstroke. As far as he’d understood Dick’s big plan, the only part left of it was Jason leaving.

Slade: Slade watched Dick approach. He hadn't heard any signs of a struggle, but he'd know if something had happened. He was intimately familiar with the other's movements, the beat of his heart, the way he walked. His eye narrowed as he watched him favor one side. "You alright, little bird?" He asked him, glancing at him. He couldn't be sure, but he had only glimpsed a slight change.

"Surprised that you can't get out by yourself," he answered Jason without looking at him, gaze still fixed on Dick.

Dick: Dick started to answer Jason, but he stopped when he realized Slade noticed something was off. Even though it hurt, especially now that the adrenaline wore off, he had a high tolerance for those things and didn't think he'd made it obvious that anything were wrong. "Fine," he said simply. "Technician was smart enough to dig a knife out of the evidence room. No big deal. Maybe a stitch or two. Gives me a good cover when I talk to Gordon later."  

Changing the subject, his brow furrowed as he looked back at Jason. "I'm following you to the end. There's still a possibility they're waiting to ambush you. They might have an informant." He gestured for them to follow him back in the direction of the evidence room. "And you need to arm yourself just in case. I remember how those guys operate."

Jason: Jason immediately looked at Dick’s side. The suit didn’t look wet, which probably meant he wasn’t losing a lot of blood. What were the odds of getting knifed by a technician after getting away from the Bratva without a scratch? “Don’t be dumb and leave it for too long,” was all he said. It wasn’t like it was going to make any sense to sew it up for him if he needed it for credibility. 

He very nearly made a comment about adding the second katana to the collection, but Slade likely didn’t know he had the first one, so he caught himself before doing it. 

As soon as Dick had let them into the room, Jason started shifting through firearms. “Could do a line of cocaine and really give them a party,” he suggested dryly.

Slade: Slade's eye narrowed as he studied Dick's face. Was he downplaying it for the good of the mission? He could see Grayson pulling bullshit like that. But he seemed decently good at keeping himself together. He had to trust that maybe he knew his limits. 

The suggestion from Jason when they reached the evidence room had Slade smirking in spite of himself before spying his name on one of the containers. He could run instead of stay. There was that notion that maybe this was all too high risk. Why did he care if he had to leave Star City? Maybe he just should go. But if he didn't... that opened other doors. Doors that perhaps he had closed prematurely. 

"I should go back to my cell. Hopefully you don't run into anyone else." He was resolved. The closed doors it was.

Dick: "Please don't." Jason on cocaine didn't sound like a force he wanted to reckon with. Dick waited silently while he picked through the weapons, not electing to take anything himself, but he had his own defenses. 

He noticed Slade watching him and he was sure not to even flinch. It wasn't a critical wound and he wouldn't bleed out, but it did hurt. He could also feel the blood soaking the leg of his costume. If Gordon brought forensics in here, he didn't want his blood everywhere, so he pulled a bandage out of his belt and made quick use of it. 

Slade's words made him nod and he handed over Kevin's elevator key he'd left behind in his rush to go hide. "Wait by the elevator. I'll unlock a cell for you in intake, but I need you to knock me out after that." He had to get this suit off and change back into his clothes if he were going to deal with paramedics. Faking unconsciousness was always an option, but Gordon wasn't born yesterday.

Jason: “Damn, if I knew knocking you out was on the table, I might have rearranged things a little.” By that point, Jason had a machete-looking thing and a couple of extra guns. Since he was just trying to get the fuck out and not take everyone down with him, he just needed enough to make a break for it, assuming someone was waiting on the other side. 

He headed back to the door of the evidence room, loaded down with what he could easily carry, and glanced at Dick. “Ready when you are. Set me free.”

Dick: Dick gave Jason a look, but there was no real annoyance behind it. In truth, he was relieved despite the conflicted feelings he had in general. He did take an oath when he joined the department, but there were too many instances when he found himself breaking it. As much as he hated to leave, he couldn't continue like this. 

"If we get separated, just go to my place and listen in on the police scanner. It’s in my room. I don't think they'll come looking for you there, but..." Trailing, Dick shook his head. "I don't know. Like I said, Gordon's not an idiot." 

He was leading Jason down the hall as he talked. At the very end there was a large door with a tiny little window. "So this was the original location for Tarasov." Opening the door, he went in first and held it open for Jason since he was weighed down by weapons. "And the tiny hall we went down was death row."

Jason: “He was police commissioner in Gotham for most of my life and all those nutjobs are still free, so I can’t say I’ve got the same unwavering faith in the man.” But he wasn’t there to debate the merits of Jim Gordon, Slade Wilson, or anybody else. His own plan had failed spectacularly, so for the time being he’d listen and go along with Dick’s. 

“Hey, Death Row. I might have been calling that home sweet home.” California did technically still have the death penalty, and for all he knew both he and Slade might have been looking at it if the whole thing had gone the way Jason planned it. How the fuck would the state of California have killed Deathstroke? That was probably a joke anyway. 

Once they got to the exit, Jason paused and checked to make sure all the guns he’d lifted were actually loaded. They were, minus a few rounds, and he got one of them ready. “What’s the range on that mask of yours? Can you pick up signatures more than a few feet away?”

Dick: "He can only do so much. He's one person." Dick was defensive of Gordon since he knew how hard he worked. It wasn't his fault he had to deal with incompetence. Hiring was slim pickings with the salary they could offer. There just wasn't more money to go around. 

Scowling, he elbowed Jason hard. "You wouldn't have gotten the death penalty. Too many mitigating factors." Dick testified at enough sentencing hearings to know that Jason's traumatic experiences and upbringing, as well as his connection to Bruce Wayne, would have granted him privilege he probably would have resented.  But he wasn't sure about Slade. The thought made him go quiet. 

The exit was a steel door. Heavy. Dick got it open without much effort, however, and removed a flashlight from his belt. Ahead of them was one long dark tunnel. "Range is half a mile, Jay. The challenge is walls, especially these." He couldn't exactly see heat signatures through concrete. "Tunnel is 350 meters long. They took the bodies out this way so they wouldn't disturb the other prisoners. We'll end up under the bridge." He was already leading the way.

Jason: “Mitigating factors,” he immediately scoffed. “That’s the thing with the law. There’s always mitigating factors. That’s how people better off dead keep ending up back on the streets instead.” He’d never be able to wrap his head around how Dick could stand to play at being a cop when he knew from the other side how easy the law was to twist and the ones tasked with upholding it were to corrupt. He’d grown up in Gotham, too, for fuck’s sake. “Can’t be disturbing the living prisoners with the dead ones. That might actually be a deterrent.” 

The darkness meant he had no choice other than to stay close to Dick. The tunnel was too long and the walls too thick to hear anything from the outside and he had to admit that it was a little unnerving. It would have been oppressively dark without the flashlight, which was one of the few things that Jason did not do well with, and he got more agitated the further they had to go. 

“I won’t stay at your place long. I’ve got a few ideas for a safehouse, just need to set it up.” He said eventually, just to avoid the silence.

Dick: "The court system isn't fair." Dick testified in too many cases to idealize the judicial system at this point in his career. It was the same system that sent Joker to Arkham over and over again. It was the same system that gave kids life sentences for selling cocaine, but eight year sentences to pedophiles. His own job was less complicated, but he found himself hesitating when leveling drug charges whenever he thought about the punitive action the court would take in response. It made things harder and much less black and white. 

Jason's anxiety didn't go unnoticed. He almost asked him what the matter was, but when he actually thought about the possible reasons why Jason might be nervous, he thought better of it. After a few minutes he handed over the flashlight with the pretense of changing the settings on his mask. 

He nodded, unperturbed. "I'll enjoy the company while it lasts. Cordelia's, that is. I'm actually thinking about getting a dog. Have you been to the shelter before? ...Okay, nevermind, dumb question. Want to go with me? If I don't have someone to keep me in check I might bring them all home."

Jason: When Dick offered up no real argument or defense against what he was saying, Jason had no reason to keep pushing and for once dropped the subject quickly. 

He took the flashlight without saying anything, neither knowing or caring if Dick gave it to him on purpose, and just kept on walking. “Will you stop calling her that? Cordelia isn’t even a dog’s name. I’ve been gone two weeks.” There was no heat to it, though. Jason hadn’t come up with a real name for her because he hadn’t wanted to get attached, but at that point he’d had her for over a year and was far past that point. “Yeah, fine, if it’ll keep you from bringing home sixteen dogs and a parrot or something.” 

By that point, the beam of the flashlight was on another heavy door at the end. Finally.

Dick: "You named her dog and girl. Your opinion is officially cancelled." Even Damian named his animals. "Besides," he said after a beat, casting Jason a side glance. "She likes it. It makes her feel classy." Jason's dog was more than a little spoiled at Dick's apartment. He even let her sleep in his bed. 

It never occurred to him that a shelter would have anything but cats and dogs. Bruce never let him have a dog as a kid and Dick never got around to acquiring his own. He was too busy to give a dog a lot of attention. "They have parrots at the shelter? Then I can't promise anything. Who wouldn't want a parrot?" 

Dick readied his keys to unlock the door. It was harder to open, the dirt was packed along the bottom, but he managed. When there was enough of a gap he focused on what he could see. "...This is the worst angle," he muttered quietly, even though the door made plenty of noise just a few seconds ago. 

He could hear the roar of cars on the bridge above them. The tunnel emptied into a concrete channel above the river. "I don't see anything, but the bridge would give them the perfect opportunity to pick us off as soon as we walk out." As he talked, he was already using his holographic interface to hack into nearby security cameras so he could get an idea of possible positions. "Okay. So three on the bridge. One right above us and two to the left of him. Two more are down here with us. One is fifteen feet to my right and the other is closer, six or so feet to the right, and standing further back. They heard the door so they're waiting on us. Real gentlemen." He paused. "I'll get fifteen feet and you get six. I have an idea. Just make sure you get your guy back and under the bridge so you're out of their sights.”

Jason: It had been awhile since Jason had really let anyone else call the shots, and he’d taken orders from Dick more than once already that day. He almost wanted to argue on principle, but he wanted to leave more. It wasn’t worth it when the plan would probably work anyway. “Yeah, got it,” he muttered, clicking the flashlight off once they had a little light from the outside to replace it. 

He got one of the guns and the blade ready and gave Dick a nod. He’d been pent up in that cell for two weeks and the fight with the Bratva at the station felt more like an appetizer than the main event. Jason had energy and frustration to burn, and Mr. Six-Feet-Away got to help him do it. He moved quickly, not wanting to risk the sound of gunfire if he didn’t have to, and before the guy could get a shot off of his own Jason was on him. He slashed with the machete, taking a finger or two and the gun, and sent him stumbling back beneath the bridge as promised.

Dick: In situations like this, Dick had a natural tendency to take charge, likely left over from his time with the Teen Titans. Bruce was a skilled mentor, there was no denying that, but he didn't excel at leadership. It was something Dick learned on his own and through some trial and error. He'd been hard on his teammates, at times, but patient. With Damian and even during these moments with Jason, he demonstrated an attitude more cooperative than commanding. After so many years on the receiving end of wait heres and stern distrust, Dick understood the importance of respecting the people around him - especially if they were working together. 

As soon as Jason gave the nod he was moving. Fifteen feet gave the tall Russian time to fire a round at his head, but Dick dodged the bullet as soon as he saw the twitch of his finger on the trigger. The gunshot incited yells from above followed by the sound of several people running. In seconds, Dick had 15 feet on his back, rolling with him as he tried to get his arm around his neck. In the struggle, 15 feet's head struck a jagged piece of concrete and he was out like a light. That works too, I guess. 

His gaze found Jason as he removed the rebreather from his belt. In the distance he could hear shouting as the rest of the men clamored down the hillside. They still had a minute or so before they'd reach them. Ducking down so he wouldn't be seen, Dick addressed Jason over 6 feet's screaming and wailing. "I only have one of these masks and this knockout gas is strong. Go on ahead. I'll meet you the other side." Dick nodded in the direction the men weren't charging from as he slid the rebreather over his face. "I'm right behind you.”

Jason: Without a rebreather, he had little choice either way. It wasn’t as though he had immunity to the gas. Jason slammed the handle of the blade against six-foot’s temple and let him slump to the ground before he took off, though he only went far enough to put himself just out of range. 

He turned back toward Dick with one of the guns drawn. One of the Russians got closer than he wanted before the gas was activated and Jason took his shot: a perfect bullseye right through the right kneecap. It took him down immediately, practically right at Dick’s feet.

Dick: The shot startled Dick, but the knockout gas filled the air seconds later and he didn't even see the guy land. He heard it, though. 

He waited until some of the smoke cleared just to make sure all the men were out. He'd have to come back this way in a few minutes and he didn't want any surprises. 

Seconds later, he joined Jason on the far side of the bridge. He was already taking out his apartment key. "I'll be back in a couple hours. If you hear anything on the scanner, make sure you let everyone know not to text me anything suspicious." Even though Dick didn't want to think Gordon would investigate his possible connection to this, he knew Jason being the only escaped prisoner looked bad.

Jason: Once Dick reached him, Jason was already putting away the two smaller pistols. He had nowhere inconspicuous for the blade or larger gun, though. “You want to shove these back in the evidence room or am I just sticking to the rooftops on the way to your place?” He needed to do that anyway, all things considered. 

When he gave the rest of the instructions, he finally couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes anymore. “Yeah, Dick, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been doing the bad guy thing for awhile. I know what laying low means.”

Dick: "Rooftops. I might not be able to get back." If someone came to while they were gone and called the police, Dick might not have the opportunity to stage the scene he had in mind. He had contingency plans for that possibility, even though he’d rather not use them. 

He laughed. "Sorry, force of habit. But if you could actually take Careful as your middle name on your way back, I'd appreciate it." The comment wasn't serious. It was a way to add a little levity to a situation that could have turned out a lot worse.

Jason: “Alright. Me, my three stolen guns, and my blood machete are heading back to your place. Good luck.” He meant it, too, because Dick was going back to a fucking mess and Jason knew it was his fault. It was his plan to turn himself in, his plan that got the Bratva there, and it was all for fucking nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

It brought his mood down fast, but all he had to do was leave, so he wiped all that off his face for the few finale seconds. “Yep. Jason Careful Todd.” He took the key from him, threw up one hand in a kind of mock salute, and took off.

Dick: The men were still unconscious and would be for a while. Dick made sure the gates to the tunnel were locked before he headed back, as quickly as he could, but his side ached and the fighting he did with 15 feet didn't help. The bandage was soaked through and he unwrapped it, winding it between his fingers and tucking it in his belt. He couldn't keep it on there if he were going to be playing victim. Now that he was alone the guilt of having to lie to Jim settled over him, but he knew he made the only decision he could have. 

Eventually he made it back to the elevator where he asked Slade to wait. He retrieved his clothes from the storage closet and quickly changed into them. He hid the Nightwing outfit in a drawer of an unused desk that had been pushed in the corner. Using the knife from the evidence locker, he tore a gash in his shirt right where the wound was. Gordon was a detective, Dick wasn't about to underestimate him, and he tucked the knife in a different drawer. "Come on," he said to Slade, his voice quiet and his skin pallid. "The intake room has a cell." It was also where Gordon had been left slumped over the desk. Judging from the complete silence inside the station, it didn't seem as if any of the officers regained consciousness yet. That was very much a good thing.

Slade: "Fine," Slade answered, watching Dick go through his preparations. "You should get rid of that, you know," he said, meaning the knife. "They're going to search this place thoroughly. What's your story going to be, anyway?" He had helped with the fighting, but he didn't much worry about their alibis or explanations, only his own. He was curious, though, what Dick had come up with. 

He didn't like how the other looked while he really got a good look at him and Slade reached out. "Dick," he said sternly. "You're bleeding too much." If Slade knocked him out, how long before someone came? He didn't want him to keep bleeding while he just waited around. And what? Slade was just supposed to sit there?

Dick: Dick considered it for a second. It was unlikely, but a bloody suit could be explained to Gordon a lot easier than a knife. He finally removed it and slid it into his pocket. No one was going to be searching him. "I'm going to tell Gordon that I heard the gunshots from across the street. Ran over. By the time I got here they were already in the cell block and Jason was gone. You escaped and locked them in. I got you secured and took out my phone to call 911, and that's the last thing I remember." It was a plan he'd thought about the whole way back. 

"It's fine. Doesn't even hurt." He already had his phone out and dialed the numbers, then put the phone on mute. With his other hand he unlocked the cell and handed over the keys. "Toss them through the bars once you lock it back. Try to get them as close to me as you can." Dick sighed, the phone still in his hand. "And hit me hard enough for it to be believable. At least leave a contusion or something." Pausing, he couldn't help a faint, somewhat humorless smirk. "I can make it more satisfying by firing off some bad puns first."

Slade: "Got me secured? I'm not taking the fall for stabbing you if that's what you think this is going to be. I was compliant and so I'll be allowed to walk. I'm not adding assault to this little rap sheet you've cobbled together." He shook his head, but he wasn't aggressive. 

For the most part, he was worried about Dick. Dick and the blood loss. Slade narrowed his eyes. He didn't like the idea of hitting the kid while he was already bleeding. "You look pale," he explained, catching his face to turn it this way and that. "How quickly will they respond?"

Dick: "Not you, someone else. You can't stab me or knock me out if you're secured, Slade. Even if you did manage it, not even you're so good that you can make a knife disappear. I'll tell them I fought with another guy first if you're that worried about it. Happy?" Dick felt tired. He didn't want to argue. This was all going to be over soon and he had mixed emotions. 

The memory of what Slade said in the elevator brought a fresh wave of agitation and anger. Yet here he was, somehow still disappointed that there wasn't much longer to this forced arrangement. Batting Slade's hand away, he shook his head. "Typically 15 to 20 minutes, unless the city's gone crazy again."

Slade: As Dick pushed his hand away, Slade's eye narrowed but he didn't push him. If he thought this would work, then they'd do it. It wasn't his fight. So instead he considered for a long moment. "Then I guess I'll see you on the other side, right?" He said simply before leaning in to steal a brush of lips to Dick's. 

From there it was just the matter of knocking him out. He could do it with a well placed chop to the neck. It would be an instant drop if the person delivering the blow was well skilled and knew exactly how to hit. But he hesitated. Because Dick had said to leave a bruise. And he wasn't sure the Bratva wouldn't just punch where they could instead of taking him out quick and clean. 

He didn't wince as he punched Dick hard enough to give him a hell of a shiner. It was a hit that would lay him out on the floor. He swallowed before bending down to roll Dick on his side so he'd bleed out more slowly. Then he locked himself into the cell. All that was left was to wait.

[chaosmultiverse]

{ @commissionerjg }

a funny thing with timing is that there are only  3 types, bad timing, good timing

when it seems like almost everyone is fighting one another is great timing to break the law, as no one would really care as they had other problems on their minds, there was a bakery that Klarion had been wanting sweets from for a very long time but he didn’t have the money but tonight there’d be no need for money

“chwyth iâ“ as he said that a cold blast of ice and magic hit the bakery window and broke it leaving room for a witch boy and His familiar to get in, Klarion grabbed the biggest cookie the place had and started to eat, it was only now that he saw that a cop had saw all of what he just did

“Would you believe me if i told you that i asked the owners first?” Klarion put his hands up, a sigh to Teekl He was trying to think of a way out

[agentvxnom]

@commissionerjg liked for a starter!!

Flash had gotten himself tangled up in too much stuff with the SCPD. Apparently, he counted as a “key witness” for some bullshit case and it had gotten kicked up the line until the bigwigs were involved. “Look, the reason I was at the VA is that I’m Corporal Flash Thompson, I’m a job placement counselor there,” he said, leaning forward against the table to explain the same thing to yet another cop. “I stayed late to get some work done. When I was leaving, I heard a gunshot and saw someone running, that’s it.” When the door opened, Flash looked up and leaned back in his chair with a scoff. “I’m going to have to explain all this again?”