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Breathing in the polluted air of Gotham, and standing on the top of Wayne Enterprises, Jason knew it was a simple fact that she would always be harsh to her children. The numbers of people on the streets was proof enough.
He remembered being one of them. He had a chance of becoming Brucie Wayne's perfect child when taken in. Jason could’ve been so much better, but he was second, as always. Bruce always told him that he was enough, he did enough, he helped enough. That he loved him as much as he loved his first son.
You told a lie, an odious damned lie; Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
Each single day on the street equaled a group of people dead. It was normal to see teenagers unmoving on the wet ground, eyes open and glazed over. No one would dare touch them, knowingly. Orphans weren't uncommon, though it was often that children would be left to take care of their parent in need. Jason was glad to be an orphan when he was.
Batman had always said that Jason was his child. His son. Only the rich would think that. Only the rich would be so naive. Only the rich would be this blind. They Worship Gotham. Worship the change. Worship her order.
Order was power. Power was not love. Love was a tool. Love was used.
Just like they all used him.
Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
“Love shouldn't be a reward, it shouldn't come with a strict list of rules.” That's what Dinah had said, the one time she'd taken a look at him back when he was Robin. But if love wasn't that, then what was it? Worship? Rules are necessary. Rules create society. Rules need to be broken in order to keep the circle going.
Viva la Revolution, or so they say.
Too many people believe Batman was good, that he helped Gotham. They were all wrong. Batman made Gotham how it is today. He shaped it. Created crime more than stopped it. Unknowingly, but still. Batman continued the circle of death.
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.
Because of Batman, there are more crimes, more dealers, beggars, orphans, suicides. The Garzonas case was proof of that. It still haunted him to this day. Not even Jason’s death stopped the visions of Gloria’s empty eyes, her body hanging, swinging oh so slightly, marks of Felipe Garzonas’ touch still fresh. Neck bruised, body limp, a shadow of a smile on her face, she was finally free from Garzonas.
Death always treated Jason well. In death, there were no lies, no manipulation, only comfort. He was finally free from the Joker when dead. He now understood, more than ever, why she did what she did. She knew it was necessary for her to be safe, to be free.
If only he could feel like that again.
But Bruce’s poisoned love would never help him kill the monster from Jason’s dreams.
The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy.
He would never help. So much for justice.
The laughter would never stop, the taunts would never pause, the smell of Sheila’s cigarette still lingering on his body to this day. Smoking was a dangerous habit, he knew that. He also knew it was a comfort, a constant, something that was and always would be there. He was sure he got it from his mother, the idea of having something in common with her was making Jason feel disgusted.
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.
One thing he had in common with Bruce was his love for the library. B didn’t like the classics, he had learned to hate them only because he related to them just the slightest bit. It was always the little things with him.
“Justice, not vengeance.” Was Batman’s motto, black and white as always. The line in fine print, firm and unmoving for everyone but family. Jason was not included, that itself an obvious thing which no one seemed to recognise besides Cassandra.
Cassandra. In all her cold beauty, swift moves and deadly precision, she was the only one who could comprehend him. Him in his rage, love, the green always tinting his vision, though not as bright as before, it was still there. It persevered. It haunted him. His decisions under the influence of the pit were his own, and how could nobody know that? But she did. She understood. She loves him, and not the toxic kind of love the rest of them had, but the real family love.
Not even Catherine cared that much about him. Catherine, in all her faults, was still the best mother Jason ever had, at least she had been trying.
Bruce, he’s not the best father. (The thin long scar on his throat is uncomfortable, suffocating him slowly, but the agonising pain that he’s gotten used to.)
One pain is lessened by another's anguish.
Truth be told, the Lazarus Pit waters are fucking weird and addicting. Side effects are more known as, well, Pit Madness.
Which is complete bullshit.
Jason wasn't mad, he wasn't enlightened or whatever the fuck wannabe big bad guys with control issues made up nowadays.
He just remembered more things. Each slight change in the atmosphere, even way back when he was Robin and punching it out with the bad guys.
Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, the uncertain glory of an April day, which now shows all beauty of the Sun, and by and by a cloud takes all away.
Especially remembering when the Joker- The pit made everything worse. Each inhale of smoke from her cigarette, heavy gleeful exhales from the clown. Soft breathing from her as she stood watching, knowing, letting it happen. Every shift in the air with each blow to the head. The metallic taste of warm blood, the laughter- Joyful laugher, the Joker was enjoying it, each swing of the crowbar to Jason's then small, fragile body, the monster took pleasure in his pain. His eerie laughter, his laughter, his laughter, his LAUGHTER-
Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.
It doesn't take much effort to school his features back into a neutral face.
It's normal, he’s used to it, it’s only natural for a human to wander in their own mind.
Two quiet, almost indistinguishable thumps were heard as Robin landed on the roof, with Nightwing next to him, readying for a fight.
Because why else would the Red Hood be standing on the roof of Wayne Enterprises, if not for a fight? He’s crazy, not suicidal.
“Hood, why are you here?” Nightwing’s voice was a comforting thing in the mess of the world, but his previous harsh words from a year ago still somehow existing in the wind, telling him that he was insane, we do not kill, and we will never let you back in the family.
They wouldn’t have to worry about that ever again. He was ready to make the sacrifice, anything to make Tim safe, Jason Todd would be welcomed into the quiet abyss once again.
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
A controlled inhale from Robin, his body blending more into the dark shadows as he read Jason’s body language, knowingly.
The seconds passed by.
“Little Wing, answer me, please, Red Hood hasn’t appeared in 3 weeks,” Nightwing wouldn’t know, but his little birdie was ready to pounce.
“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life.” His own voice seemed so foreign, so unnatural to him, to the point where he almost thought his heart had stopped.
It'd be better that way, then he wouldn't have to explain anything. Because Tim would be safe, and Jason would be dead.
"W- What?" His brother's concern was barely audible, more freaked than Jason had ever seen him be.
"Akhi, no," It was Damian now, not Robin. The boy had taken off his domino mask, and had stepped out into the moonlight.
So he knew. Shit. Well, it was expected that they would all figure him out, so they'd understand why, it was just the problem of who knew first, and who would tell who to continue the information channel in the family.
Honestly, Jason thought Babs would get it first, with her tech and all.
“Robin, go home,” Oh how Jason had heard those words too many times before, and it didn't help that Dick had the same tone as Batman did (how he still does), and how he was just standing there, staring, waiting, commanding.
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.
Damian knew better than to listen to Nightwing when it came to Jason. Just like everyone else, the topic of Red Hood wasn't ever fucking fair. Like, at all.
They were all so emotionally constipated that they didn't even bother to figure out what his birth mother had done to him, those years ago. The thought of the bitch betraying Jason never came across any of their minds. Except Cassandra, no one seemed to know. (She is The One Who Knows All, of course she would know, it's in the fucking title.)
"Nightwi-" Damian was quickly cut off, once again, by their beloved older brother.
So much for being the perfect sibling, Dickhead.
"Robin. Now is not the time for another rebellion," Those words hit close to home.
Who was he kidding?
"I'm not your father, Jason. I don't need teenage rebellion."
Fuck it.
He had nothing left to lose, Jason knew if he didn't speak up now, he'd never be able to, "Nightwing, let the poor boy speak!"
Normally, as like many teenagers, Damian Wayne would have continued being a rather bratty person, and snapped about how he was not a boy, and craft some few but powerful words painting him as a man.
But he didn't.
That's how Jason Todd realised.
The wheel is come full circle, I am here.
Bruce fucked up again. Not only is his only blood child sacrificing his life every day and night, but he knows the world's cruelty.
Some of that was probably Talia's fault, if he was honest.
"Todd remains…not unwell, but not stable. He has yet to make a decision," (A lie, the Red Hood had a plan, already in execution,) "You all have not noticed, he blames himself for everything." Damian was trying, that's what counted.
"Jay, what's wrong? Can I help somehow? Are you hurt?" Jason scoffed at that.
"I'm Robin, and being Robin gives me magic."
"I died before, Nightwing, didn't stick," Reflex, it was a goddamn reflex to say, "Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry,"
A pause, the sounds of Gotham seemed to increase as the eldest sibling reached to his ear, surely listening to Oracle on comms.
Police sirens wailed.
The wind seemed harsher than usual.
Robin grabbed a domino from the air, though probably only from one of his spare pockets, and placed it securely on.
Jason inwardly smiled, Damian understood.
I wish you all the joy that you can wish.
"Oracle, we'll be right there, about 13 minutes, give or take?" Barbara confirmed the answer to Dick's question, and a slight blush around the bottom of his mask could be seen faintly, if you knew where to look.
"It appears we must return, Hood. I enjoyed this talk of ours," Damian paused, only the slightest bit but quite a silence for his self, like he was attempting still to fully understand, "Therefore our everlasting farewell take: For ever, and for ever, farewell,"
So he accepted Jason's choice.
"If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then, this parting was well made." Continued Jason, a solemn look on his face, but satisfied.
The duo left, jumping off and their grapple lines connecting on Gotham’s gifts, leaving him alone, only accompanied by her prayers.
Hours passed again, Jason's mind made up, only moving to reach for his freedom.
He picked up the gun, turning the safety off.
And shot the marksman's shot.
Now Jason bled, situating himself to lay on the roof of Wayne Enterprises, and waiting.
Waiting for it to end.
Waiting for Tim to be safe.
Waiting for Bruce to arrive.
Batman comes.
The boy is unmoving.
His scream is only emotion.
Speak me fair in death.