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Bruce doesn’t often make his way to this part of Gotham as Bruce Wayne. Sure, he spends his evenings out here as Batman, but it feels wrong to be in Crime Alley with memories haunting every corner.
But, he has business with the women’s shelter, and he’s been up since four that morning, and he needs a cup of coffee before he collapses.
He makes his way into a small cafe, almost hidden by its inconspicuous exterior, blending with the monotonous rows of brick. It’s not busy in this cafe but the smell of coffee permeates the air and there’s a low murmur of chatter from those who do sit in the mismatched tables by the wall.
Bruce orders a latte, double shot of espresso, with a splash of simple syrup. He usually gets it black, but he admits that his taste is more than a little expensive than what they will have here.
He also gets a pastry. It’s some sort of jammy thing with a flaky crust and it’s enough to make his stomach stop clenching as it burns the last of his honey toast from this morning.
He puts a handful of twenties in the tip jar and is about to make his way out of the cafe when a man in the corner of the cafe catches his eye.
His heart freezes in his throat at the sight of this man.
Bruce isn’t foolish enough to mistake this man for his son, for Jason, but everything about him tugs at his mind.
Jason was four foot ten, barely scraping a hundred pounds on a good day. Despite his twiggy form, he had round cheeks, clinging to the baby fat from his adolescence. His curls were unruly and his eyes were the brightest blue, always scrunched with delight or mischief. His lips curled up into a smirk or a toothy grin. He dressed for comfort first and Bruce never dared to tell him that his favorite sweaters were hundred dollar cashmere.
This man is everything Jason was not. He’s tall, broad. Every feature is sharp and defined with a strong jaw and muscles that nearly rival Bruce’s own. His eyes are dark, almost dangerous, his mouth set into a frown. He is in a worn pair of dark jeans and a blood stained leather jacket. His bangs are marked with a streak of white and his eyes are green.
There is nothing about this man that should make Bruce think of Jason, and yet there is.
The dimple near the corner of his mouth, the freckles that pepper over his nose and cheeks, the mess of curls on his head. The way he taps his fingers on the table as he reads through the well-loved paperback and switches the hand he’s holding his book with to take a sip from his mug.
Bruce’s heart aches.
He finds himself drawn to the man, crossing the cafe before he realizes what he’s doing. The cafe goes silent, all eyes on Bruce with bated breath, but Bruce doesn’t notice. He can only see this man.
“Hi,” Bruce says, dumbly.
The man looks up and does a double take, his eyes going wide and body going tense. His fingers twitch, as if he wants to reach for something.
“Bruce,” the man says.
“You know me,” Bruce says, his smile tentative and awkward. “I, uhm, I don’t know if that makes this introduction easier or harder.”
“Introduction?” the man asks, brow raised.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, his head shaking and his fingers clutching his to-go cup with a slight tremble. “I saw you sitting over here and you… you just remind me of my son. He… he passed not too long ago and I,” Bruce’s sucks in a sharp breath. “ No, I’m sorry, it’s silly. I just… it’s hard not to see him in everything I see around here. He was from Park Row. He grew up here when he was young, before I took him in, and I’m actually only here for work, but I just… I see a little piece of him in Park Row because Park Row was always a piece of him and you…” Bruce pauses. “I’m sorry. You don’t need me to… I’ll leave you be. Thank you for, uhm, listening. You have a good day.”
Bruce starts to make his way out, cheeks burning with mortification, when he’s stopped by a panicked, “Wait!”
Bruce stops, turning around.
“Is this some sort of trick?” The man asks. “Because if it is, it’s not a very good one.”
“No, no,” Bruce says quickly. “Not a trick at all. Just… just a father who misses his son.”
Bruce doesn’t know why he’s saying this, why he’s said any of this, but something about this man makes him want to trust him. Bruce would rather pull out his own teeth than admit these sort of things to Alfred or Dick, but this man… this man feels safe. Despite everything he can infer about this man, Bruce feels safe with him.
“Tell me about him?” the man asks, his voice hoarse and eyes watery yet filled with distrust.
“I really don’t want to bother—”
“I want to,” he says. “Tell me about him.”
Bruce motions at the chair across from the man. “May I?” The man nods. Bruce takes a deep breath, unsure of where to start. “His name was Jason.”
The man’s breath hitches quietly.
“He was… passionate. When he loved something, he loved with his whole heart. You couldn’t come between him and whatever his heart set itself on. Sometimes that was a book, sometimes it was a cookie before supper,” the man chuckles quietly, “but if he put his mind to it, there was nothing that could stop him.”
Bruce’s lips twist, his eyes prickling. “If you were lucky enough to be someone he loved, then you knew that you would always be protected by him. And when Jason wanted to protect you, he was… he was a supernova, his love and loyalty so bright and ready to burst when something came between you and him. It’s an honor to be loved by him.”
Bruce feels the tears pool in his eyelashes. “But what the real honor was was being able to love him. Because once you love Jason Todd, you never stop loving him. It’s impossible not to love him. He was intelligent and kind and cared so much, even when it hurt him. Because he couldn’t not care. He cared so much and wanted to help everyone he could and I think sometimes he didn’t know how to help himself so he just tried to help anyone but himself. I should’ve done better by him. Should’ve helped him more. Maybe if I did he wouldn’t have…”
A tear falls down his cheek and he wipes it away with his sleeve, embarrassed. “Jason was good. There was goodness in everything he did. I may not have seen it before, but he always had good intentions. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I think the only person he truly hurt was himself.”
Bruce smiles, more tears falling. “But I didn’t want him to hurt. No father ever wants for their child to hurt. And I know some of that was my fault. A lot of it was. But all I wanted was for him to be happy and to be loved. And maybe I didn’t do a good job at that, but I… I just hope he knew. I hope he knew that he was loved until the end.”
Bruce chuckles wetly, swiping his sleeve over his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so emotional.”
“He knew.”
Bruce looks up at the man. He stares at Bruce with big eyes, teary like Bruce’s. “You think?”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I think… I think in his last moments, he believed in you. And believed that you would save him.”
“But I didn’t,” Bruce whispers.
“But you tried, right?” the man says.
“Of course I did,” Bruce says. “But I was too late.”
“What would you do if you could see him again?”
“I’d tell him I love him and have always loved him. I’d save the apologies for when they truly mattered, but Jason he… he never wanted apologies. They were empty words when there wasn’t anything to show for them. So I’d prove to him that I’m going to change. Nothing matters more than him. Not my… work, not what he could do for me, just being him is enough. Just being my son, being alive is enough. I couldn’t care less if he really pushed a man off a rooftop. We’d talk. We’d work it out. We’d heal together. But what I believe, what I think is right, it doesn’t matter when I can’t believe in anything at all. Because Jason? He made me believe in good. He made me believe that I could truly help the world, that I could be better, that we all could be better. He was a beacon of light that guided me and sometimes I wonder if the darkness in me can’t be extinguished by whatever good I do with all that I failed him.”
Bruce pictures Jason, what he may look like today, maybe finally getting to a healthy enough weight to push past the five foot mark. He’d be nineteen now. What would he be studying? Probably literature, but maybe law. He always said that corruption lies deeper than just the criminal but in the system itself. And he always believed in redemption. Could he find redemption in those that Batman would not give a chance?
Would Jason still love Bruce? Or would he have grown distant and filled with disdain just like Dick has? Would he still want a father so broken by grief and rage? Would he still be willing to be the light in his life when he has succumbed to so much darkness?
“I would try to give him everything he deserves,” Bruce says. “But I know it would never be enough. Because he deserves more than I could ever give him. He… he always wanted to learn. He’d ask a million questions and I wouldn’t always know the answers so he’d go searching for them himself. I always wondered what sort of answers he would find for the questions he had. If he would ask bigger questions and get bigger answers. I think he would’ve changed the world. He’d changed mine.”
“You changed his too,” the man says, his voice small. “More than you know.”
“I hope so,” Bruce says.
“You really cared for him,” the man breathes with disbelief.
“Of course I do,” Bruce says. “I will never stop loving him. And I will never stop regretting all the ways I let him down. But he… he will always inspire me. His impact on my life is permanent, and the only thing I can do is carry on his memory in a way that he would’ve liked. And I don’t think I’ve done that. No, I haven’t. But I will. I will be better. I will do better. Because that’s what he would want for me.”
“And what if he wasn’t good like you say he was,” Jason says. “Would you still love him?”
“Nothing would stop me from loving him,” Bruce says. “And I don’t think that goodness would ever truly leave him. At his core, he was good. He may not have seen it in himself, he may have done some not good things for good, but he was good.”
“And what if he… he could come back to you? But he… he was upset for all the wrong reasons and he… he realizes that there’s nothing to be upset about and now he’s just scared?”
“We’d figure it out,” Bruce says with a wry smile. “We always did. It may not be easy, but all that matters is that we would be together.”
The man swallows thickly, his eyes foggy with tears. A sob escapes his throat. “I messed up, Dad. I messed up big time.”
Bruce’s head snaps up and the man, he looks at Bruce with fear and uncertainty and unbearable hope.
And Bruce realizes with a gasp that the safety, the comfort, the urge that pulled him to this man, it wasn’t just coincidence.
“Jason?”