Jason descended through clouds that felt wrong. The air itself tasted different here—same oxygen, same nitrogen, but the underlying signature of reality was off. Like a song played in a different key.
The scream cut through his thoughts.
His eyes snapped to street level. A woman—older, gray hair, modest clothing—was running down an alley. Behind her, something green and orange swooped on what looked like a mechanical glider.
Jason squinted, his enhanced vision zooming in instantly. The figure was humanoid but wore a grotesque mask—pointed ears, yellow eyes, a manic grin frozen in metal and plastic. Some kind of costume. The glider sparked with electrical energy, and the figure held small, round objects in his hands.
Bombs.
The woman stumbled, catching herself against a brick wall. The green figure laughed—a high, cackling sound that echoed between the buildings.
Jason didn't think. Didn't analyze. Just moved.
He hit the ground between them like a meteor, the concrete cratering beneath his boots. The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, shattering windows. Dust and debris kicked up in a perfect circle around him.
The green figure pulled up sharply, his glider banking hard. "What the—"
Jason stood slowly, his cape settling around his shoulders. He didn't recognize the design of the costume, didn't know who this attacker was. But he knew what he was.
A predator.
"Who the hell are you?" The green figure demanded, hovering ten feet off the ground. His voice was distorted, mechanical. "Some new hero? Another freak in tights?"
Jason didn't answer. He turned to the woman, keeping the green figure in his peripheral vision. "Are you hurt?"
The woman—her face lined with age but her eyes sharp and kind—stared at him in shock. "I... no, I don't think so. Who are—"
"Stay behind me."
She nodded, moving back toward the alley wall.
Jason turned his full attention to the green figure. His vision shifted, peeling back layers of reality. Through the costume. Through the mask. X-ray vision revealing the man beneath.
Middle-aged. Corporate features. Expensive dental work. And eyes—even through the mask's eyeholes—that burned with chemically-induced madness.
Norman Osborn. The name came to him from nowhere, pulled from the dimensional echoes this reality left in his mind. The Green Goblin. Spider-Man's enemy.
Spider-Man.
Jason's eyes widened slightly. He knew that name. Knew it from... where? The memories were fuzzy, like something from a dream. His previous life, before he was reborn as Jason. He'd known about Spider-Man. About Marvel Comics. About—
"Oh, this is rich!" The Goblin cackled. "You're too busy daydreaming to fight! Perfect!" He hurled two pumpkin bombs in rapid succession.
Jason's hand moved casually, almost lazily. He caught both bombs mid-flight, one in each palm. The Goblin's eyes widened behind his mask.
Jason squeezed.
The bombs crumpled like tin foil, their explosive triggers crushed before they could detonate. He dropped the mangled metal, letting it clatter to the pavement.
"What... what are you?" The Goblin's voice lost some of its bravado.
Jason smiled. Not friendly. Not warm. The smile of a predator who'd found prey.
He floated up off the ground, moving toward the Goblin with deliberate slowness. The Goblin backed away, his glider retreating.
"Stay back! I'm warning you—"
Jason moved. One moment he was five feet away. The next, his hand was wrapped around the Goblin's throat, crushing the voice modulator built into the costume. They hung there in the air, twenty feet above the street.
"Let's see who you really are," Jason said quietly.
He grabbed the mask with his free hand and pulled. The reinforced polymers tore like paper. Norman Osborn's face was revealed—older than Jason had seen through the x-ray vision, aged by whatever chemicals ran through his system. His eyes were wide, not with fear but with manic rage.
"You... think you can... stop me?" Norman gasped against Jason's grip. "I'm the Goblin! I've fought Spider-Man a hundred times! I'm—"
"Nothing," Jason finished. He tightened his grip slightly, cutting off Norman's words. "You chase old women through alleys. You plant bombs in public spaces. You terrorize the innocent." The rage from earlier—from Bane, from his mother, from everything—it was still there, simmering. "You're not worth the air you breathe."
"Jason—" The woman's voice from below, concerned. "Please—"
But Jason wasn't listening anymore.
His fist came up and slammed into Norman's face. The crack of breaking bone echoed through the alley. Again. Again. Each punch methodical, controlled, but devastating. Norman's struggles weakened. Blood flew.
"STOP!"
The voice came from above. Jason looked up.
A figure in red and blue swung between buildings on impossible white strands—webbing, his mind supplied. The figure landed on a fire escape, then leaped down to street level in a single bound.
Spider-Man.
The costume was distinctive—red with black web patterns, blue on the sides and underarms, large white eyes on the mask. Young, lean, powerful. The proportions suggested someone in their twenties, maybe early thirties.
"Let him go!" Spider-Man's voice was strained, urgent. "I don't know who you are, but you can't kill him!"
Jason looked at the barely-conscious Norman in his grip, then at Spider-Man. "Why not? From what I can see, this world would be better without him."
"Because that's not how we do things!" Spider-Man took a step forward, hands raised—not threatening, but ready. "Because once you cross that line, you can't come back. Because—" his voice softened slightly, "—because May doesn't need to see more violence today."
May. Jason's eyes flicked to the woman. May Parker. Aunt May. Spider-Man's aunt. The pieces clicked into place.
He looked back at Norman, at the broken, bleeding face. For a moment, the rage demanded he finish it. But...
Jason opened his hand.
Norman fell, crashing onto his glider. The device's auto-pilot engaged, barely keeping him from hitting the pavement. It sputtered, sparking, then slowly descended until Norman sprawled on the street.
Spider-Man webbed him immediately—cocoon after cocoon of sticky strands wrapping around the Goblin until he was completely immobilized.
Jason floated down, landing softly beside May Parker. This close, he could really see her—probably in her seventies, gray hair pulled back, warm eyes despite the fear she'd just experienced. She wore a simple dress, sensible shoes. But there was strength in her bearing, kindness in her expression.
Something shifted in Jason's chest.
In his previous life, he'd had a thing for older women. MILFs, specifically. It had been more than physical—there was something about maturity, about confidence and experience, that drew him. And now, standing before May Parker, that old preference came roaring back.
She was everything he'd always been attracted to. Elegant despite her age. Strong. Caring. The way she'd spoken to him, trying to stop the violence not from fear but from compassion—
He was smitten.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" Jason asked, his voice softer now.
May blinked, seeming to come out of her shock. "I... yes. Thank you. Thank you for saving me. That was very brave."
"Brave and completely insane," Spider-Man added, moving closer. His mask made his expression unreadable, but his body language radiated confusion and wariness. "Who are you? I've never seen you before. Are you from another dimension? Magic? Time travel?"
Jason ignored him, keeping his attention on May. "I'm sorry you had to see that. The violence. I should have been more controlled."
May smiled softly. "You protected me. That's what matters." She reached out, patting his arm. "You're very strong. And very kind, underneath all that anger."
Jason's heart did something strange. Nobody had called him kind in... he couldn't remember how long.
"May, maybe we should—" Spider-Man started.
"Would you like to get dinner with me?" Jason blurted out.
Silence fell over the alley.
Spider-Man's head tilted in a way that suggested his jaw had dropped behind the mask. "I'm sorry, what?"
May blinked. "I... what?"
"Dinner," Jason repeated, meeting her eyes directly. "A date. I'd like to take you out. Get to know you. Maybe talk somewhere that doesn't smell like garbage and broken dreams."
"Okay, hold on," Spider-Man stepped between them, hands up. "Are you seriously asking my aunt—my aunt—out on a date? Right now? After you just beat Norman Osborn half to death in front of her?"
Jason finally looked at Spider-Man. Really looked at him. Behind the mask, he could sense uncertainty, protectiveness, and complete bewilderment.
"Yes," Jason said simply.
"That's—you can't—she's—" Spider-Man seemed at a loss for words.
May, however, was studying Jason with those sharp eyes. "How old are you, young man?"
"Twenty-three," Jason answered honestly.
"I'm seventy-four."
"I know."
Spider-Man threw his hands up. "This is insane! May, please tell me you're not actually considering this!"
But May was smiling now, a small, amused expression. "You know, Peter—" she paused, glancing at Spider-Man. Jason filed that name away. "—I haven't been asked on a proper date in fifteen years. Not since your uncle passed."
"May!" Peter's voice was strangled.
"And this young man did save my life," May continued. "He's clearly powerful, clearly troubled, and clearly interested. It would be rude to refuse."
"It would be RUDE—" Peter stopped, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. I'm clearly in some kind of alternate reality fever dream right now. Because my aunt is not about to accept a date from a superpowered stranger who just committed aggravated assault in front of her."
May patted Peter's shoulder. "Dear, you worry too much. Besides, if he tries anything inappropriate, I'm sure you'll come save me." She looked back at Jason. "You will behave as a gentleman, won't you?"
Jason nodded seriously. "I promise. Just dinner. Conversation. Nothing more unless you want it."
Peter made a sound like a dying cat.
"Then I accept," May said, her smile widening. "When and where?"
"Now," Jason said. "Unless you have other plans?"
"I was just heading home from the grocery store when..." she gestured at the webbed-up Norman Osborn.
"Then let me take you somewhere nice." Jason offered his hand. "Have you ever flown?"
May's eyes lit up with an unexpected excitement. "No, I haven't."
"May!" Peter practically shouted. "You're not seriously going to—"
"Peter Benjamin Parker," May said firmly, using what was clearly her 'mom voice.' "I am a grown woman. I can make my own decisions. You deal with the Goblin. I'll have dinner with this charming young man. We'll talk later."
Peter seemed to deflate. "I... but... May..."
Jason gently took May's hand. She was light, delicate. He carefully wrapped one arm around her waist, supporting her. "Hold on to me. I'll keep you safe."
May put her arms around his neck, trusting completely. "I believe you."
Jason lifted off slowly, rising into the New York sky. Below, Peter stood in the alley, hands on his head, staring up at them in complete disbelief. Norman Osborn groaned weakly in his web cocoon.
As they rose higher, May gasped in delight. "Oh my! The city looks so beautiful from up here!"
Jason couldn't help but smile. A real smile this time. "It does, doesn't it?"
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere special," Jason said. "Somewhere worthy of someone like you."
He flew them toward the lights of Manhattan, leaving behind a very confused Spider-Man and a very defeated Goblin.
On the street below, Peter finally found his voice.
"What the hell just happened?"
He looked down at Norman, then up at the sky where his aunt was flying away with a complete stranger, then back at Norman.
"Did... did I just get replaced as the weirdest thing in May's life?"
Norman groaned again.
"Yeah," Peter muttered. "That's what I thought."
He shot a web and swung off into the city, already planning how he was going to track down this mysterious flying man who'd just asked his aunt on a date.
This was going to be a very long night.