Chapter Text
Gotham is a gloomy city. The rain is frequent, the sunshine is a rarity and the crimes are outnumber the heroes. It is all even worst in one specific area of the city. Downtrodden and unkempt. A place that has seen more crime than charity. So much that they call it Crime Alley.
But despite all that, as much as the city is a home for many Gothamites, so is Crime Alley.
And Jason Todd hates that he is starting to think so too.
He's been living on its streets for less than half his life yet it already feels so familiar.
Both he and his mother had run away from their old rundown apartment a little more than a year ago when they found out his father was going to sell Jason to some gang he happens to be in. All because of Jason's ability.
But his mother hardly lasted a month after that.
They were fine at first, at least as fine as living on the streets of Crime Alley can be. He would use his ability to snatch food and keep them both safe in the morning. His mother would protect them both at night in the little shelter they made out of an abandoned basement. He once tried to convince her that he should be the one guarding them, but she had insisted that he was still young.
"Besides," she had said, "no one would come for us late at night. Especially when we are holed up here. And I thought Batman is supposed to be around at night."
He had scoffed at that joke. He used to avidly believe in the mythical Bat. He used to think they are both the same, humans with abilities. But that was five years ago. He has grown up from the childhood fantasy that has made up the nightmares of criminals. He still refused to believe the existence of such a story even though his father once mentioned that he has seen Batman himself.
But he accepted his mother's words anyway. Letting himself rest every night under her protection.
One fateful night, he learned that it was a bad idea. He learned that monsters come no matter the time, no matter the place.
He is used to sleeping in his other form. It is warmer and there are times when his mother would stroke him to sleep.
He woke up one night, startled by the violent sounds of a fight. He saw his mother struggling to keep something, or someone, from entering their living space. She has an old rusted machete in her hand, but she seems to be falling back. Jason was going to help her when she sharply tuned and told him to run.
He hadn't wanted to. But he was scared. And there were people running in.
And so, he did. He leaped out of another opening and bolted down the streets. Leaving behind the enemy. Leaving behind the basement. Leaving behind his mother who got hurt just to save him.
He ran until his tiny legs felt so tired that he collapsed onto the ground and passed out.
When he woke up the next afternoon, he had tracked back to where he ran from. But the sight that greeted him haunts his memory until now. Her mother lay unmoving. Not even when he tried to nose her cold hand. He even reverted back to his human form and tried calling for her. Telling her to wake up.
But she never did.
And now, he had been living on his own for a year. He used to kinda like his ability despite its look. But he now knows that it is more than just ugly. He couldn't save his mother with it. It was the thing that forced them both to run away in the first place.
So, he doesn't use it. No point in trying to utilise something worthless. Like him.