Chapter Text
Jason remembers group chats. As Jason Todd, peering over the shoulders of a kid who managed to steal an iPhone, scrolling through the texts of whoever it belonged to. Apparently, that kid used an academic support group chat to lift themselves out of the alley and into an engineering scholarship at Gotham U. Internet, magical. People, magical. Connections, magical. Sharing, magical. Education, magical. The wonders of the world, and the hopes for every kid Jason grew up with hinged on those things. A group chat seemed to connect them all.
As Robin, group chats losing their novelty. Gossip mills and overly formal planning chats seem to be the only option for heroes. He misses the secondhand tutoring that the Alley kids would glean from that stolen iPhone. Technology is so much better, and yet so much worse. There is no holy grail, or divine secrets in the Batcomputer. Only merciless wires and reality.
As Red Hood, group chats once more becoming a place of life. The Outlaws, bantering and teasing and laughing. The batkids chat, light without Batman’s darkness. The chat with his gang executives, a good kind of informal. Jason thinks maybe he’s seen all group chats have to offer. Maybe he knows what they are. But ohhhh boy was he wrong.
There are like, twenty-odd numbers here. Jason knows none of them. What the fuck. Texts flood his phone —his personal phone. How the fuck did that happen and who the fuck did it. Jason resists the urge to throw his phone out the window and shout "Yeet!"
Someone names the chat ‘magic users (vigilantes)’ Someone texts “I’m not a vigilante.” Someone renames the chat to just a period under the logic, “Too conspicuous and also not entirely accurate.” Jason wonders if the previous chat name implies that there’s a chat for villains as well. Someone sends a very long text, which Jason skims. Apparently the chat is supposed to serve as a hub for magic users, so people can find the right user for the right job. And, now get this, the chat is supposed to be for work purposes only. By now, Jason’s been on enough group chats to know how that will end. The chat floods with questions again. Jason’s fingers hover over his phone keyboard.
On one hand, he could cut himself off from this now and save himself the pain of like three thousand messages per day. On the other hand, easy access to multiple magic users could be so useful in the future. Tired Jason wants to just leave the chat. Strategic Jason demands he start drawing up some plans. Jason Jason types “Wait, why am i here tho?”
Someone has the nerve to respond with “idk,” and a less offensive follow up of “who’re you???”
Diana Prince’s number —wait, what is Auntie D doing here??— replies to his message with, “I thought you did use magic?”
Jason’s heart drops a bit to his chest. He can literally hear Ducra’s “Stupid man-child.” How the fuck did Auntie D find out about the All-Blades. He types out, “i mean yea ig but it’s more like hitting and stabbing shit,” fingers numb. “I think it counts if it’s with your soul, little one.”
Several people start typing, and then stop when Jason’s typing bubble appears. He actually might cry. Diana just doxxed him. Oh god, he can never go back to the All-Caste, Ducra’s ghost is going to beat the shit out of him.
“D the entire point is that it’s a secret,” he continues, entirely just done with this all. So much for secretive mystic monks. “You can’t dox me it’s not nice”
“Oh my god how old is he"
Jason barely restrains himself from responding with “Old enough to fuck your mom.” Look at him, abiding by the no killing rule. The chat lapses into silence, a couple question reactions appearing on Auntie D’s message about his All-Blades.
“I’m sorry I just woke up, why’ve we all gone silent?”
“Constantine why the fuck did you just wake up”
Jason’s heart drops a bit more. He’s only heard of John “Hellblazer” Constantine once in passing, but he just seemed like an asshole. A funny one, yes, but Jason doesn’t fuck around with the king of fucking around. He doesn’t want to be the ‘find out.’
“Cause we want mister mystery dude over here to answer what Wonder Woman meant by soul”
Jason curses. There is no way he's getting out of this. He can see it play out: thousands upon thousands of spam, fine print for the dumbest thing, just general magical assholery. Jason knows by way of gossip how bad magic users are when they want to know something. He can just...be obtuse and obnoxious? And it's not like Ducra’s ghost can get to him all the way in Gotham —city’s a bit more sentient than Tim without coffee in the morning, and Gotham loves Her Alley children. Sentient City-Mom versus Human Yoda-Grandma may be more likely than one thinks.
“It’s like soul magic. I take my soul and i shape it and i beat the shit out of people with it. The strongest way can only be summoned in teh face of evil tho and its taxing,” Jason explains, all but praying that it was vague enough.
But alas, someone texts, “All-Blades”
Jason responds with the address of the coffee shop they’re currently in, and turns off his phone.