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When Jason Todd buried his mother, he couldn’t afford a headstone. He couldn’t afford a funeral either, but it wasn’t like anyone would’ve gone. Not besides him and maybe Mrs. Walker from across the hall, assuming Jason would’ve been thinking clearly enough to ask her. So Jason let the state pay to simply put her in the ground while he watched, numb and alone, in the back corner of a crowded cemetery in the East End, and that was that. At least, Jason thought, he wouldn’t have to worry about losing her ashes when he took to the streets later that night. At least this way he always had a place he could go.
In the two years that followed, Jason visited Catherine whenever he could, frequently sneaking off at the end of patrol to hop the fence and tell her about the night’s adventures. He always went alone, save for once, when he finally mustered up the courage to ask if Bruce would come with him. It was one of the last Saturdays of winter and there was a nip in the air as they stood in silence on the grass above her. As they made their way home, warm in the car with a thermos of hot chocolate, Bruce asked if Jason wanted a marker, or even to move her to the Wayne burial grounds. Despite what the offer meant, and the adoption papers signed over a year before, Jason was still waiting for the other shoe to drop; for Bruce to take everything back and send him packing. And Gotham was home. Not Bristol, not the manor—not for Catherine at least.
She should stay, he told Bruce, but, yeah, she deserves better.
Together, they decided upon something simple, yet elegant. The company said it would be a month before it was ready.
Jason left for Ethiopia three weeks later.
He hasn’t visited since, so one-track minded in his revenge before he put all that energy into healing instead—into grieving his own lost life.
When Jason sees the stone for the first time, he’s surprised to find pristine marble glistening in the summer sun next to yellow zinnias, Alfred’s handiwork apparent in their bright blooms. Engraved in block letters was her name, and the dates, and a small image of the Virgin Mary, picked for every night Jason heard Catherine praying to her. At the bottom, he had them write “beloved mother.” In hindsight, Jason figures he probably could’ve been a little more creative than that, but she would’ve loved it regardless.
Well, as much as anyone could love their own grave, he thinks. From what he’s heard, Bruce had his done up just as nice and the mere thought of it still made Jason sick to his stomach.
He didn’t plan on coming; doesn’t know what it was about seeing the date on a billboard downtown that made him turn right instead of left. 11 years was hardly an anniversary worth acknowledging, yet Jason still found himself sitting in the grass with a shitty bouquet he bought from the first street vendor he passed. He doesn’t know how long he’s been there either, staring at his mother’s name, index finger tracing the groove of the “O” in idle circles.
What Jason does know is that he picked the worst day for it, smack in the middle of the longest heatwave Gotham’s had in years. He can almost feel the air, thick and heavy with humidity, in his chest as he breathes. An oak tree had grown in the time he’s been gone, and it’s cooler in its shade, but just barely. The sun still beats down on his back and his jeans still stick to his thighs when he moves to cross his legs. Jason’s only saving grace is that the cemetery’s deserted, anyone that would’ve come probably busting open the closest fire hydrant for some sliver of relief instead.
At least, the cemetery was deserted until he hears tires on gravel coming down the drive. A car stops. Metal scrapes. The door slams.
He knows who it is immediately, but the somber setting keeps his smile at bay.
Jason’s always been attuned to her presence, or so he likes to tell himself. He can’t help it. His sentimental parts might not be buried six feet deep, but no one digs them out as easily as Barbara Gordon does.
The reality is it’s the click of the chair that gives her away. Jason knows every sound of its assembly by heart, having heard her put it together and take it apart countless times in the year they’ve been together.
Not bothering to turn and confirm his suspicion, Jason asks, “How’d you find me?”
“Oh, you know. Omnipotence and all that,” she replies, and Jason can practically hear the smirk in her voice. Flatly, Barbara adds, “Bike upgrade comes with a tracker.”
Jason hums in acknowledgment. He assumed it was there—it was Bat and Birds protocol after all—even if she didn’t have time to finish walking him through all the bells and whistles last night before Bruce called to ask them for help taking down Riddler. He doesn’t mind, either. They’ve never been able to hide anything from each other. Now, he has nothing left that he wants to.
“I tried calling. Then it got late and—”
Shit.
There’s no bite in her voice, but the guilt slaps him in the face all the same when he realizes he was supposed to meet her for lunch who knows how long ago.
“I’m sorry, Barb. I left it in my bike and lost track of time and…” Jason scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Jason, it’s okay,” Barbara reassures him. “Besides, how many dates have I canceled?”
“You’ve told me, and then went to go save the world.”
“This is important too,” she says firmly. “And I don’t mean to intrude, I just thought you could use this.”
Barbara tosses a water bottle and Jason catches it before finally turning to look at her. Sweat already glistens on her brow, which sits furrowed in concern. There’s no breeze to blow at the hem of her sundress, but her mouth twists up, an unspoken question pulling at her lips.
“Stay,” he answers, means it as an offer, but comes out more like a plea.
“Okay.”
Jason takes a long drink as Barbara settles herself on the ground next to him. When it’s almost half empty, he sets the water down and pulls his legs up to his chest. Barbara rests her head on his shoulder and Jason closes his eyes as she soothes her nails down his back. The proximity makes the heat that much worse, but she doesn’t pull back, and he doesn’t dare consider pushing her away.
For a while, no one talks but the birds.
Then, finally, Jason asks, “Do you think she would’ve been proud?”
Barbara smiles against his shoulder and tilts her head up at him.
“Yeah, Jay,” she answers, his name soft and safe on her tongue. “I do.”
Jason bobs his head but bites his lip, like he’s not sure he agrees. If his mom was right and Heaven existed—if Oliver was right and that’s where Jason went—there was no way Catherine Todd didn’t. And there was no way, Jason thought, after everything he’d done, that they’d let him back in when he barely felt like he deserved the second chances he’d gotten on Earth.
“I wish you could’ve met her,” he says quietly, feeling tears start to pool behind his eyes. “Not— Not the shell he made her. Who she really was…”
Jason swallows, hesitates, not used to remembering his childhood. It was always so hazy before the pit, but now…. now it’s acid green in vibrant technicolor. For a moment, he can almost feel the water, seeping into his pores, bubbling beneath his skin until it—
Jason gasps as a shudder rolls through him. He opens his eyes and looks at Barbara, reaching out for her hand to find it already upturned, waiting for him. She laces their fingers together as he rests his forehead against her own.
“Breathe,” Barbara whispers, guiding his other hand to her chest.
And he does, in and out to the rise and fall of her own. He focuses on her eyes. Green stares back at him, different this time, warm and comforting, like his favorite color used to be.
“You with me?” Barbara asks after a moment.
Jason nods. “Always.”
He wraps his arms around her and Barbara shifts to settle against him, her back to his chest. He drops a gentle kiss to her temple and runs his fingers up and down her side, finding solace in the feel of the soft cotton despite it being damp with sweat. Jason waits for his pulse to slow before he speaks again.
“Whenever, um… Whenever there was a long period where Willis wasn’t around, in jail or doing something to end up in it, it was like— Like she finally felt… free. I mean, things weren’t good, y’know, but... She was just so different then. She had this one nice dress, for church every week—”
“Hold on, I’m trying to picture you in a church,” Barbara teases.
Jason pokes her playfully in the side and she laughs.
“Clearly, God took his time with the bursting into flames bit.”
He doesn’t have to look to know Barbara’s rolling her eyes, but she brings her arms up over his and squeezes his bicep.
“Anyway, it was yellow. She’d put it on, force me into a button-down, and we’d waltz around in the tiny space of our kitchen. I don’t know where she learned how, but when I came to the manor, even Alf was impressed by what I had down. We’d dance for hours, laughing the whole time and… I never saw her happier than she was in those moments.
“And at night, even when Willis was around, she’d always tuck me into bed, kiss my forehead, tell me, ‘you’re meant for something bigger than this, baby.’ Every night… At least until she—” Jason takes a ragged breath, shoulders heaving. “I know that, like, on a whole she wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t really a mom, not like she should’ve been.”
Barbara’s body tenses. She doesn’t talk about her parents before, or that part of her past, much at all. She remembers it, of course, but it’s a life she chooses to forget. Until she can’t.
Jason rests his cheek against her crown and holds her tighter.
“I know I— We should’ve been kids, not taking care of them. I know that, but my mom… She tried,” Jason says, voice breaking. He sniffles and Barbara reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “She always tried, even when it got hard.”
“So that’s where you get your stubbornness from, huh?” Barbara asks, lightly scratching at the nape of his neck.
“Yeah.” Jason chuckles weakly. “Yeah, probably. Hers was different though. Somewhere I… I lost hope. For a long time… But she never did.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Barbara says. “I think I would’ve liked her.”
Jason pulls back and meets Barbara’s gaze.
“She would’ve loved you.” He smiles and adds, “Not that it’s hard.”
“Plenty of people would disagree with that statement,” Barbara deflects, turning to look back at the gravestone.
“Yeah, well, they’d be wrong,” he says and leaves it there.
They haven’t said those words yet, even though he’s pretty sure he’s always meant them. But his track record with love—no matter the kind—is this. It’s cemeteries and loss, people left and leaving, and he can’t bear the thought of her name on that list.
They don’t need them, anyway, to know how the other feels. It comes out as moments like this. In the way she’s always improving his gear if he even offhandedly complains about the tech. Or in the way he has a warm bath and her favorite book waiting for her after a long mission with the Birds. For them, “I love you” is a whispered “be safe” before she sends him out into the field every night with a kiss.
“Tell me more?” Barbara asks tentatively
“What do you wanna know?” Jason responds, following it quickly with a chuckle.
He knows the answer already. With her, it’s always “everything,” especially when it comes to him.
So they sit and he tells her, talking until the sun sets. Until the tears fall and he cries into her shoulder. Until the rain pours and the heat breaks. Until Jason’s heart finally feels a little less heavy, and his mother a little less far away.