That was a slight exaggeration. After all, they'd existed forever, right alongside everyone else. Long enough for the truth of their being to be clouded, anyway. Jason had heard everything from 'a villager was mauled by a wolf, only to later bare a child with wild eyes and fangs' to 'a curse cast on a bloodline by a witch'. No one really knew, not even the League-who he'd been pretty sure had known everything.
Now, it was simply a disease. A bloodborne pathogen that was carried through the body to rewrite it's very being. There were those who were born into it, of course, but Jason hadn't. He'd been...well. He'd been something of an experiment. A desperate, last ditch attempt for Talia to awaken his so severely damaged mind from it's walking coma. It had worked, her bite powerful enough to send his body into convulsions as it twisted and writhed and changed that very first time.
And when it was over and the sun had risen, Jason had woken up for the first time since his death and the first thing he'd done had been to scream. She'd taken him in like the wayward pup that he'd been, taught him about his new body and his new purpose. She'd told him all about how his family had left him. How'd they'd barely mourned before moving on. How Dick hadn't even gone to his funeral and how Bruce had already given his uniform to some new black haired, blue eyed boy. She taught him about Pack and family and how he always had a place in hers.
She'd lied, of course. Manipulated the facts until he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. It had taken a long time -and having his throat slit by the man who was supposed to have been his father- for him to separate himself enough to start to tease out those truths. Years.
He wasn't idle during those years, either. Red Hood had a territory to maintain, carving out the Bowery for himself one bloody chunk at a time. He ruled it with a fierceness that bordered on terrifying...but only to those on the outside. He protected those on the inside with tooth and claw, and over the years he'd slowly started to regain his control.
When the traffickers had moved in, he hadn't thought twice about taking them out, letting his hatred of such things get the better of his baser nature. Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised to see Red Robin sniffing around his hunting grounds with the mess he'd left. He'd have to deal with the Pretender once he was finished cleaning up the ring.
Except, of course Tim just had to put himself in exactly the right spot on the wrong night.
Jason growled low in his throat as he leapt out, landing silently despite the fact that he was the size of a small horse. Piercing blue eyes focused on Red Robin, a streak of white amid thick black fur...and then he was rushing the man who'd come up behind the younger man, his jaws snapping closed around the trafficker's shoulder so he could drag him away.
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That was a slight exaggeration. After all, they'd existed forever, right alongside everyone else. Long enough for the truth of their being to be clouded, anyway. Jason had heard everything from 'a villager was mauled by a wolf, only to later bare a child with wild eyes and fangs' to 'a curse cast on a bloodline by a witch'. No one really knew, not even the League-who he'd been pretty sure had known everything.
Now, it was simply a disease. A bloodborne pathogen that was carried through the body to rewrite it's very being. There were those who were born into it, of course, but Jason hadn't. He'd been...well. He'd been something of an experiment. A desperate, last ditch attempt for Talia to awaken his so severely damaged mind from it's walking coma. It had worked, her bite powerful enough to send his body into convulsions as it twisted and writhed and changed that very first time.
And when it was over and the sun had risen, Jason had woken up for the first time since his death and the first thing he'd done had been to scream. She'd taken him in like the wayward pup that he'd been, taught him about his new body and his new purpose. She'd told him all about how his family had left him. How'd they'd barely mourned before moving on. How Dick hadn't even gone to his funeral and how Bruce had already given his uniform to some new black haired, blue eyed boy. She taught him about Pack and family and how he always had a place in hers.
She'd lied, of course. Manipulated the facts until he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. It had taken a long time -and having his throat slit by the man who was supposed to have been his father- for him to separate himself enough to start to tease out those truths. Years.
He wasn't idle during those years, either. Red Hood had a territory to maintain, carving out the Bowery for himself one bloody chunk at a time. He ruled it with a fierceness that bordered on terrifying...but only to those on the outside. He protected those on the inside with tooth and claw, and over the years he'd slowly started to regain his control.
When the traffickers had moved in, he hadn't thought twice about taking them out, letting his hatred of such things get the better of his baser nature. Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised to see Red Robin sniffing around his hunting grounds with the mess he'd left. He'd have to deal with the Pretender once he was finished cleaning up the ring.
Except, of course Tim just had to put himself in exactly the right spot on the wrong night.
Jason growled low in his throat as he leapt out, landing silently despite the fact that he was the size of a small horse. Piercing blue eyes focused on Red Robin, a streak of white amid thick black fur...and then he was rushing the man who'd come up behind the younger man, his jaws snapping closed around the trafficker's shoulder so he could drag him away.