A/N:

  As you all must have noticed by now, this is a slow paced fic.

  As most of us might know, there is a five year period time skip between Jason Todd's death and his metamorphosis into being Red Hood.

  There is vaguely little to nothing on how he exactly spent those years, or how he developed his skills to the point where he is well known for his fighting prowess.

  Amo ics, Red Hood's itle proves he is better than anyone i-Family at ohing which caused Damian to aowledge Red Hood as the superior tracker among the BatFamily, dubbing him with the title:—"Hunter."

  Join me as we explore Jason's journey and his character development through those five years, and up to his return to Gotham City.

  F.Y.I:— This isn't your DC 'cssic' kind of narrative. It's an engaging slow paced fic with deeper insights into characters.

  #######

  [Jason Todd’s POV]

  Jason sat by the window in his dimly lit room, the moonlight painting soft streaks across his face. His diray y untouched on the nearby table, save for a piece of bread he’d nibbled on absentmindedly.

  “This pce is like a fortress,” he muttered, his voice carrying softly into the stillness. His gaze lingered on the crest moon hanging high in the sky.

  “Meditating with that old geezer actually relieved some of the pent-up stress,” he added with a faint, self-depreg chuckle.

  His room was simple, almost barren, with few personal touches. He gnced around, searg for anything to occupy his restless mind. His eyes nded on a er of the room where a tall, ornate mirror hung. He hadn’t noticed it before—it was tucked away, unobtrusive.

  Curiosity piqued, Jason rose and approached it. His refle stared back at him, sharper and more defihan he remembered.

  His dark hair was disheveled from a restless evening, but oure stood out, a streak of white cutting through the dark locks at the front.

  “Have I always had that?” he murmured, running his fihrough the streak. The question lingered, but he dismissed it with a shrug. His attention was soon drawn to the suffog quiet of his room.

  “This is b as hell,” Jason muttered. He grabbed a shirt, slipping it over his toned frame as he made his way to the door. “Might as well look around before I lose my mind.”

  Jason cracked the door open just enough to poke his head through, sing the dimly lit corridor. To his surprise, no guards were stationed outside.

  “Huh. I guess I’m not a prisoner after all,” he mused. He stepped into the hallway, keeping his footsteps light.

  Jason wahrough the byrinthine halls of the pound, passing guards statio intervals.

  He wo distinct groups: those in gray uniforms patrolling with firearms and another, more ominous group dressed in bck with masked faces and traditional ons strapped to their waists.

  The masked ones intrigued him. They didn’t patrol like the others; instead, they stood watch at specific points or moved with purpose, as if on important assigs.

  “Special ops, maybe,” Jason muttered to himself.

  The sharp etal against metal drew his attention. The sound grew louder as he followed it to a wide courtyard illuminated by torches. Jason leaned against a wall, crossing his arms as he took in the sight before him.

  A child—no more than five years old—arring with two masked men. The boy wielded a sword with skill and precision far beyond his years, pushing back his oppos despite their size and experience.

  Jaso out a low whistle, yet not all that impressed. “Damn, kid’s got moves.”

  “You’re impressed?” a familiar voice asked from behind him. Jason turo see Talia al Ghul approag, her steps graceful and deliberate.

  Jason smirked, his attention still on the boy. “Not judging, but shouldn’t a kid his age be dreaming of being an astronaut or something?”

  Talia chuckled softly, her gaze fixed on the child. “For most children, perhaps. But Damian is not like most children.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I got that much. What’s the deal? He some kind of child prodigy?”

  Talia’s expression softened with a hint of pride. “He’s my son. And yes, Damian is exceptional. While other children py and dream of the future, he is already mastering the art of war.”

  Jason’s brow furrowed. “Art of war? He’s barely six.”

  Talia met his gaze, unfling. “Age is irrelevant. The world is dangerous, Jason. He will be prepared for it.”

  Jason turned back to the courtyard. Damian had disarmed one of his oppos and was now holding his ground against the sed, moving with startling agility.

  “And what about the rest of you? Did everyone here grow up like this?” Jason asked, gesturing vaguely to the pound.

  Talia tilted her head, sidering the question. “Not everyone. Many here came to the League seeking purpose. Some were lost, broken, victims of war or circumstanbsp;

  The League gave them a home, a purpose—to make the world a better pce, even if it must be done from the shadows.”

  Jaso out a low hum, skeptical but irely dismissive. “And the kid? He doesn’t get a say in any of this?”

  Talia’s tourned firm, though not unkind. “Damian uands his duty. He is destined freatness.”

  Jason’s focus returo the boy, who had now disarmed his sed oppo and arring barehanded against a third. “He’s got talent,” Jason admitted.

  “Would you like to try?” Talia asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.

  Jason blinked, caught off guard. “You mean fighting? Against them?” He oward the courtyard.

  “Why not?” Talia pressed. “You might surprise yourself.”

  Jaso out a dry ugh. “I doubt it. Unless you’d get some kink from watg zombie-boy here get his ass hao him.” He replied, referring to himself in third person.

  Talia ughed lightly at his self-deprecation. “I haven’t ughed this mu a long time. At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor along with your memories.”

  Jason’s expression turned ral, her words sparking questions he wasn’t sure he wao ask. “You knew me before all this?”

  “Our paths crossed,” Talia said casually. “But we weren’t friends.”

  Before Jason could press further, the sparring matded. Damian stood victorious, his expression calm despite his obvious effort.

  “Be here at dawn,” Talia said, turning to leave. “We’ll begin your lessons.”

  Jason watched her retreating figure, her words eg in his mind. He gnced back at Damian, who was now sheathing his bde with practiced ease.

  “Lessons, huh,” Jason muttered. “Guess I’d

  better not disappoint.”

  ****

  The crisp m air greeted Jason as he stepped into the courtyard, dressed in the dark training attire that Talia had sent over.

  The fabric was light yet durable, a stark trast to the rough, utilitarian outfits he felt more at home in. His boots made a dull thud against the stone ground as he walked, his eyes sing the gathered group.

  The training grounds of the League of Assassins were as unfiving as their philosophy. The air was deh the st of sweat and sand, the grouh Jason’s feet uneven and littered with worn patches where tless warriors had fought before him.

  The sun hung low, casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls surrounding the arena.

  Every face was obscured by a bck mask, revealing only sharp eyes that seemed to size him up as he approached. The uniformity made them appear as a singur, cohesive unit—disciplined, focused, and utterly lethal.

  Jason smirked. “Guess I missed the memo about the dress code.”

  A few of them exged gnces but said nothing. The silence was unnerving, but Jason wasn’t about to let it shake him.

  Talia made her appearance, her presenanding as always. She was dressed simirly but without a mask, though her air of authority set her apart. “You’re on time. Good,” she said, her toral.

  Jason shrugged. “Wouldn’t want to keep the ‘Assassin Academy’ waiting.”

  Her lips twitched, almost f a smile, but she quickly regained her posure. “This is no academy, Jason. This is survival. And today, you begin your training with ons.”

  Talia led Jason to a long table in the ter of the courtyard. Spread across it was an arsenal of ons: swords, daggers, staffs, throwing stars, and more exotic tools of the trade.

  “Each of these ons requires practiced precision, discipline, and respect,” Talia began, her voice steady. “You will start with the basics, the sword and dagger. From there, you will progress to more advanced ons.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. “Start with a sword? Shouldn’t I be learning to crawl before I run?”

  “You don’t have the luxury of time,” Talia replied sharply. “The League demands readiness. You’ll adapt.”

  She motioo one of the masked assassins, who stepped forward and handed Jason a simple, unadorned sword. It was heavier than he expected, the etal pressing into his palm.

  “Your first task is to familiarize yourself with the weight, bance, and reach of the bde,” Talia instructed. “Begin.”

  Jason swung the sword experimentally, feeling its weight pull at his arm. His movements were clumsy, the bde slig through the air with no real purpose.

  “You’re overpensating,” Talia said, him. “Rex yrip. Let the bde do the work.”

  Jason adjusted his hold, his movements being slightly smoother but still g finesse. He could feel the eyes of the other assassins on him, their silent judgment palpable.

  “This isly beginner-friendly,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Mastery es through struggle,” Talia replied coolly. “Now, again.”

  After an hour of drills, Talia stepped forward. “Enough practice. It’s time to test your instincts.” She motioo one of the masked assassins, who stepped forward with their own sword.

  Jason squared up, gripping his on tightly. His oppo moved with practiced ease, their strikes swift and precise. Jason, however, was awkward and defensive, barely managing to block each attack.

  The fight was short and brutal. Jason was disarmed within mihe tip of his oppo’s bde resting against his chest.

  “Again,” Talia anded, her tone firm.

  Jasorieved his sword, his jaw tightening. The sed bout was no different—the assassin overwhelmed him with speed and skill.

  By the third round, Jason started to find a rhythm. His movements, though still rough, began to flow more naturally. His old habits kicked in, aarted to anticipate his oppo’s attacks. He dodged a strike aimed at his ribs and mao ter with a swing of his own.

  It wasn’t enough to win, but it rogress.

  Talia nodded approvingly. “You’re beginning to adapt. That’s enough for today.”

  Jasohed his sword, his arms trembling from exertion. “Great. I’ll be a master swordsman by the time I’m eighty.”

  Talia allowed herself a small smile. “You uimate your potential, Jason. With time and discipline, you’ll surpass even your own expectations.”

  Jason exhaled heavily, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Despite the bruises and the fatigue, he felt a flicker of satisfa. It wasn’t worth much but he was gettier—slowly but surely. And for the first time since arriving, he felt a strange sense of purpose.

  ****

  The m greeted Jason with no fanfare, only the dull ache of his muscles from the previous week’s training. As he pushed himself out of bed, the soreness reminded him of every failed blod strike. He muttered under his breath, “Nothing like waking up to feel like a truck hit you.”

  A quick, cold shower did little to ease the tension in his body, but it woke him up enough to throw on the dark training attire that had bee at his dain.

  He g the mirror as he tightehe straps on his boots, catg a glimpse of the faint shadow under his eyes and the white streak in his hair that refused to blend into the rest of his dark locks.

  “Let’s see what fresh hell they have pnned for me today,” he muttered, heading out of the room.

  Upon arrival, he noticed courtyard was already alive with activity. The masked assassins moved with precision, their bdes cutting through the air in synized patterns.

  The sound of metal oal rang out like a macabre symphony, the rhythm punctuated by the dull thuds of fists meeting flesh.

  Jason stepped into the training ground, his boots g against the gravel. He didn’t have to wait long before Talia appeared, her presence as anding as ever.

  “You’re te,” she said, though her tone cked true reproach.

  “Or maybe you’re all just early,” Jason shot back, crag his neck.

  She smirked faintly. “Today, you’ll be sparring without ons. Hand-to-hand bat is the foundation of your training. Master your body before you master your bde.” That phrase earned her a sarcastic look from him.

  Jason rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness in his joints. “Great. Because yesterday wasn’t brutal enough.”

  Talia signaled one of the masked assassins to step forward. This one was lean but muscur, their stance radiating fidence.

  The assassin moved like a shadow, their feet silent on the gravel. Jason barely had time to brace before a fist shot toward his face. He ducked instinctively, the air whooshing past his ear as he narrowly avoided the strike.

  “Good reflexes,” Talia ented from the sidelines.

  Jason didn’t have time to feel smug. The assassin’s move was a lightning-fast kick to his ribs, nding with a siing crack. Pain exploded in Jason’s side as he stumbled back, clutg his torso.

  “Okay, that’s how it’s gonna be?” Jason growled, straightening up.

  The assassin didn’t respond, instead rushing forward with a flurry of blows. Jason mao block two punches, his arms screaming in protest, but the third hit his jaw with enough force to snap his head back.

  Stars danced in his vision as he staggered, spitting blood onto the ground. With a sudden taste of metal in his mouth, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the pain. “You hit like a pissed-off goril.”

  The assassin’s only reply was atack, this time aiming low. Jason anticipated it, stepping to the side and throwing a punch of his own.

  His knuckles ected with the assassin’s shoulder, the impact reverberating through his arm. It wasn’t a hit, but it was something.

  The assassin recovered quickly, grabbing Jason’s arm and twisting it behind his back. The pressure on his shoulder was unbearable, but Jason gritted his teeth and drove his heel into the assassin’s shin. The hold loosened, and Jason broke free, spinning around to face his oppo again.

  After a brief break, Talia ordered Jason to fight another assassin. This one was stockier, their movements less fluid but more powerful. Jason was already exhausted, his body screaming for rest, but he stepped into the ring without hesitation.

  This time, something clicked. As the assassin charged, Jason didn’t just react—he anticipated and moved at his own pace. His body moved on instinct, dug under a wide swing and delivering a sharp elbow to his oppo’s ribs. The satisfying thud of impact spurred him on.

  The assassialiated with a punch aimed at Jason’s temple, but he blocked it with his forearm, the force rattling his bones. Ign the pain, Jason followed up with a ko the assassin’s gut, driving the breath of air out of them.

  “Better,” Talia remarked from the sidelines, her voice calm but approving.

  Jason didn’t let up. He dodged a clumsy jab and tered with a swift uppercut, his fist eg with the assassin’s jaw. The crack of boing bone echoed through the courtyard, and the assassin stumbled back, dazed.

  For the first time since he’d arrived, Jaso a hint of pride. He wasn’t just surviving—he was somehow fighting back.

  By the time the training session ended, Jason was covered i and bruises, his knuckles raw and bleeding. He leaned against a stone pilr, trying to catch his breath as the adrenaline ebbed away.

  “You’re doing quite well,” Talia said as she approached.

  Jason snorted, wing as he adjusted his stance. “If by improving, you mean I’m getting my ass hao me slightly less, then sure.”

  Talia smirked. “Pain is a teacher, Jason. And you’re a quick study.”

  He g his bruised hands, flexing his fingers. Despite the pain, he felt stronger, and with a more focused train of thought. “So, what’s ?”

  Talia’s smirk widened. “Tomorrow, you will try this one more time then we’ll see how you fare against multiple oppos.”

  Jason groaned, letting his head fall back against the pilr. “’t wait.”

  But beh the sarcasm, a part of him was eager.

  *****

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