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Jason sat his ass down on the sidewalk curb and heaved a sigh. The rain was pitter-pattering against his helmet. His jeans were wet. And he was sitting next to an idiot named Bootface.
What a shitty way to end the night.
Behind him, smoke sputtered from the broken front window of a jewelry store. A trail of blood led from the store’s front door to the curb where the Red Hood and Bootface were sitting. Jason had zip-tied the man’s hands behind his back, but hadn’t bothered to do anything about the bullet hole he’d put in Bootface’s thigh. Batman would be here for him soon enough anyway.
Jason had already been in a bad mood for most of tonight’s patrol. He and Bruce were on the outs again, so he was walking around with that particular flavor of fog on the brain. He’d taken solace in the fact that it was a quiet night, at least, right up until that changed at two in the goddamn morning when he saw a plume of smoke rise over the rooftops of Crime Alley. He’d rushed over to find a jewelry store being robbed by an idiot with a flamethrower. Nothing too out of the ordinary for Gotham.
But , Jason happened to recognize that the idiot’s flamethrower was one of Firefly’s designs. And he also happened to know that Batman had been trying to figure out what Firefly was up to all week. Which meant that this idiot’s flamethrower was a clue, which meant that Jason should turn the idiot over to Batman for investigation. Which meant that Jason was gonna have to deal with Bruce tonight.
And then it started raining.
So yeah. A shitty night.
Jason side-eyed his new friend. Bootface was a pretty unremarkable-looking criminal, all in all. Big bald guys in trenchcoats were a dime a dozen in Crime Alley. The flamethrower was a little different, sure, but what do you expect in Gotham? But then there was Bootface’s, well, boot-face. That one was new.
The man was pouting at his own feet, Jason was pretty sure, but it was kinda hard to read his expression, because he had a boot imprinted onto his face. Scarring, from his forehead to his chin, exactly in the shape of a boot. It was uncanny.
It’s Gotham, though. Everyone’s got to have a gimmick.
Wait a minute.
“So, uh,” Jason’s voice crackled through his helmet’s modulator, “how do the face and the flamethrower link up?”
Bootface flinched. “Wh-what’s it to you?” he growled.
“Usually, the wannabe rogues have a stronger sense of theming,” Jason explained. “They take one thing and stick with it, like moths or polka-dots. But for you, like. Boots and flamethrowers. I’m not seeing the through-line.”
“Heh,” Bootface chuckled. Jason had been around the Bats long enough to be able to tell when someone was pitching their voice down to sound scary. “You’d have to ask your bat-daddy about that one.”
“Say those words again and I’ll put a bullet in your other leg,” Jason said mildly.
To his credit, Bootface only cringed for a second before rallying. “Years ago, I was fighting Batman with a flamethrower just like this one. The bastard jumped through the flames to land a flying kick in my face. In the burning heat, the tread of his boot was branded onto my face.”
“Mhmm?”
“Since that day, I’ve had the choice between getting crushed by that defeat, or owning it.” Bootface’s voice was a little louder, gathering strength. “Do you know how many people in this rotten city have been irrevocably changed by the Batman? People need to know about the lives that have been trampled under the heel of the-”
“You should be a cop.”
Jason must’ve thrown the man off his rhythm, it took a moment for Bootface to process that one. “Do you mean that as in, like, showing people how Batman hurts us is a cop thing to do, or-”
“What? No, I don’t give a shit about your tragic backstory. You should be a cop. You’d be Bootface the bootlicker. You see my vision?”
No response.
“Maybe you could also spin a BDSM theme, but I don’t think it’s generally the face those people want to step on.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Bootface sputtered. “I’m sitting here pouring my heart out to you-”
“Bullshit.”
“Never in my life have I… what?”
“Bull. Shit,” Jason repeated. “Never happened. None of it.”
“How dare you!”
Jason sighed. It filtered through his helmet’s modulator like radio static. “Bro, what do you think Batman’s soles are made of?”
Bootface hesitated. “The darkness that lurks in the hearts of men?”
“Wh- His shoe soles, idiot, not his soul. The soles of his shoes. What do you think they’re made out of?”
“...I don’t-”
“‘Cause I’ll tell you what they’re not made out of: fucking branding irons. Where exactly do you think the line between causing permanent, well-defined burns and melting rubber is?”
“C’mon, man.”
“No, seriously! The man’s out here jumping over rooftops all night, do you really think he’s got metal-reinforced soles?! The fact that he’s able to do a backflip in rubber combat boots is already a goddamn miracle!”
“Hood, man, let me have this-”
“And anyway, a kick hard enough to press that into your face would’ve broken your damn skull before…” Jason trailed off, staring right between Bootface’s eyes. “Is that part bat-shaped?”
“No, I-”
“It is! You’ve got a little bat burned into your face!” He leaned back and howled with laughter.
Bootface was back to pouting at his feet at this point. “It’s not funny.”
“You think Batman’s got a little bat on his shoe treads?!” Jason cackled. “Now I know you’re faking, Jesus Christ.”
“Does… does he not?”
“Oh, yeah he does, so that he leaves a little trail of bats to strike fear into the hearts of anyone following -” That was as far as Jason got before he broke out into a fit of wheezing half-laughs, half-coughs.
Bootface just buried his face in his lap.
It took a couple minutes for Jason to compose himself, but when he did, he already had his next question lined up. “So what really happened?”
Bootface didn’t say anything. Or look up.
“C’mon, man!” Jason elbowed him. “How’d you end up with a boot on your face?”
“Mmdggmgm.”
“Speak up, tread-head, can’t hear you.”
Finally, Bootface surfaced. “Okay, look, I was cellmates with this guy in Blackgate-”
“No good story starts like that.”
“-and he was really into body-modding, y’know? Piercings, and scarification and stuff. It’s a way to like, individualize yourself. Stand out of the crowd when the rogues start hiring.”
“Okay, that at least makes sense. So why a boot?”
“Man, I already told you all the stuff about people getting trampled under the heel of the Bat, don’t make me say it again.”
“But the thing with Batman kicking you in the face never happened.”
Bootface paused, wary. “I mean, he punched me. Once.”
“You permanently burned a shoe tread into your face to make a statement?”
“Man, screw you.”
“Yeah, back atcha buddy.” Jason leaned back, reclining as best as someone sitting on wet pavement could. “What an awful outlet for a perfectly good anti-authority attitude.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. The only sound was the rain splashing in the gutter, and the gentle crackling of the dying jewelry store fire.
“If you tell me where Firefly is I’ll replace all of Batman’s boots with ones with bat-treads.”
Bootface blinked. “Seriously?”
“I can make it happen. Red Robin owes me a favor.”
Silence for a few moments longer.
“Alright, sure, deal.”
“Excellent!” With a satisfied clap of his hands, Jason stood up from the curb. He pulled Bootface to his feet, ignoring his hiss of pain as his wounded leg took his weight. “Buddy,” Jason sneered, “this could be the start of a beautiful friendship!”