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At some unremarkable point during Jason’s disappearance act, the anger faded. He had no idea when exactly the green has lost its edge, there was no noticeable shift or Windows alert screen to let him know about an upgrade. It was a usual Tuesday of sitting in his apartment, TV on in the background as he uploaded his online homework, when Bruce had appeared on the screen.
And there was nothing.
No shiver of blood-circulating rage, he didn’t break his laptop, nor a flash of a nauseatingly sharp green reflect from the TV. His fingers stopped, hovering a cat’s whisker away from the keyboard, and Jason waited for something- anything- and was shocked to feel nothing in the slightest.
There was no love, that was long since buried in a casket next to a rusting crowbar, and Jason was strangely fine with that. It hadn’t dawned on him that, in the four years since Red Hood had tried and failed to make a dent in the Narrows, helped along by a few online college courses and finally finishing high school, he’d come to peace with it all.
When he was younger, he’d had a place in that Manor, he’d been loved. Then he’d died, the gap he’d left being filled before the cobwebs could grow, and time had passed on. He was an entirely different person- literally in some ways, the Pit had washed away the childhood malnourishment and given him quite the growth spurt- and that was fine. Good even.
Jason took a deep unsteady breath and fumbled for the remote on his left. He hesitated, thumb ready to press the big red button, and put it down again. The news had already moved on anyway, there was no point in running from someone who wasn’t there.
-
Jason Todd didn’t bother coming back to life. Peter Andrews, however, found his social security suddenly in use and all records of what he looked like expunged from the internet. He couldn’t resist Gotham, though, much to his efforts. It called to him in his sleep, her streets and rooftops beckoned him every time he closed his eyes. Hell, he even missed the smog, the fresh air was getting on his nerves.
It had been his home long before Batman had anything to do with it, and damn it if he didn’t feel homesick.
He found a nice place after a not long of looking. It was a tiny house, right on the outskirts, but it had a picket fence and an actual garden area (even if it was the size of child’s sandbox). By early November, he was settled in.
He hadn’t much to move in with anyway, a few small bags of clothes and squashed second hand books being all he had to his fake-name. He’d laughed the first week, after putting everything in its place, that the house was too big. Since he was a kid and stuffed in an apartment so squashed, you’d be pissing in the sink, he’d always dreamed of having more rooms that he knew what to do with. It’s why he’d loved the Manor, with its endless halls and unlocked rooms. He’d spent the better half of his time there lost in the library or running laps around Bruce if he tried to seek him out.
So, he bought bookshelves, scoured every thrift store he could find, painted the walls, and covered the blank canvas with frames and paintings. Jason had built a small planter too, though it was far too late in the year to plant much, especially in the Gotham cold. It took all of his garden space, looked like utter shit, and he loved it. With no plants or netting to keep it covered, the stray neighbourhood cats had taken to sleeping in it. He’d set out two bowls, one for water and the other for food, which were refilled twice a day.
He finished his courses on the first of December, one in the morning, and near cried. Not finishing school had always been a pin-prick in the balls, so when his certificates came in the post two weeks later, he had cried for real and hung them proudly by his bedroom door- the first thing he’d see, proof he was still alive. Even if it was with a different name.
-
Dick finds him on the twentieth of December, catching him by surprise with his hands full of groceries. Jason hadn’t noticed him at first, focussed on his shitty plastic bags not ripping their handles off only five fucking minutes from his house, and had even walked past him, cursing under his breath. It wasn’t until he heard a stuttered breath and an incredulous “Jason?” from behind him that he stopped his speed-walking.
Shitty baseball-cap-sunglasses disguise, Dick Grayson stood in all his glory with a freaking Lego set the size of a medium dog in his arms. Jason squinted through the minor blizzard at the box; it was an architect one, probably cost an arm and a leg (for normal people at least), and Jason wondered which Wayne kid it was for. He vaguely remembered Damian from Nanda Parbat- before the Pit of course- and it was hard to imagine him playing with Legos, the image drawing a small chuckle out of his blue lips.
Dick near dropped the box in his stunned state and stepped out from the store front, where he’d been hovering in the door way like a nuisance, only to be pushed back by the rapids of last-minute shoppers rushing past in a stream.
Jason could have taken the moment to run, from the look in his eye that was what Dick was expecting from him, yet remained still and watched amusedly as Dick fought against the tides to stumble over.
He was a hair away, Lego set slowly slipping out of his mittens- fucking mittens, of course he was wearing mittens, oh god they had polka dots too- and the puff of frosty breath he was hyperventilating out tickled against Jason’s skin. Dick moved in a trance, eyes checking over every pore on his face, before he laughed- not from joy though, closer to the bark of laughter that comes with shock.
“Jay.” He breathed out, face unfearingly and openly fond “I- we thought… Shit.”
Holding back a familiar curt British ‘language’, Jason rolled his eyes and nodded towards a more secluded alley, coincidentally a shortcut on his walk home.
He didn’t stop walking and, like a puppy dog, Dick followed after on unsteady legs. It was when they were only a few minutes away from a heated house that Dick broke the silence.
He’d moved his hand towards one of Jason's- which was busy holding bag number three- and like any sane person would, Jason slipped Dicks fingers through the handles.
Dick laughed, a full head tilted back laugh, and tears crept into the corners of his eyes “Goddammit Jay, you know that wasn’t…” He passed the bag on to his other hand, the Lego box now precariously tucked under an arm, and grabbed onto Jason’s hand tight. Unlike Dick with his dumb mittens, he’d forgotten gloves, and the warmth didn’t go unappreciated “There. That’s better.”
A twist of a key, chucking of shoes onto newspaper, and two very hot chocolates later, they were curled up on their opposing ends of the couch.
Dick had barely touched his chocolate, keeping the mug cupped in his grasp, and taken to staring at Jason with his head resting on the back cushions.
“You look good. Better.”
“Thanks.” Jason took a long sip and yawned.
“Jason, where did you go?” He sounded heartbroken and for a brief moment Jason wished he was still angry, because of-fucking-course he left Gotham, he did have some self-preservation instincts left in him. Not much, true, but some.
“Italy, at first, to lay low for a while. Spent a few months after that travelling around Europe, finished school and found odd jobs here and there. I did a stint as a mechanic actually, in a garage back in France, it was... whatever.” Jason shrugged.
“Jaybird, it’s been four years.” Dicks chest heaved after he spoke, distressed at the fact, and had to take a moment to compose himself once more “I though you were dead. We all thought you were dead. Did… does Bruce know?”
“No.” He shook his head “Last time I saw him was when I was in the hood. I don’t exactly plan on a reunion either.”
“Jay.”
“It’s okay.” And yet again it takes him back for a second with how much he means it “Dick, really. I’ve had a lot of time to think.”
Dick pushed his face deeper into the cushion, which to be fair isn’t that hard with how squishy the couch is “Jason, loosing you again… it almost killed us both.”
“Staying here would have killed me.” Jason sighed and took another long sip from his mug “Dickie, I’m not sure if you’ve ever noticed but wearing a mask for a chunk of your childhood sort of fucks with your head.”
That gets him a teary snort.
“I couldn’t keep going through the motions of it all. After the last fight Bruce and I had, the helmet broke and I didn’t really see a need to bother getting it fixed.” Jason sneaked a socked foot out from under his blanket to poke at Dicks legs “I got out. Sure, I could have called or sent a cryptic letter with newspaper-letters to say I was alive, but tell me this, and be honest. If I had called, would you guys have come looking for me?”
Dick, with a gaze full of pure pain, smiled “Little Wing, I would’ve done anything to get you back.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t.” Jason finished the last of his hot chocolate and rested the cup on the coffee table with a tiny clink as ceramics met glass “Like you said, I look better. I got my life together, made a new name and bought a freaking house. I don’t think I could have done better for myself.”
“I know, I know.” Dick murmured, still looking at him with those big sad eyes of his “I just don’t want to lose you again.”
“I’m not going back to the manor.” Jason warned, tone unwavering “Listen, I’ve forgiven Bruce for a lot of shit, but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s no place for me there, not one that I’d want. I’ve built something here. I won’t give that up.”
“I know.” He was beginning to sound like a broken record, stuck on his defeated admittance “Could I visit you though? Alfred too, he misses you like crazy.”
Jason rolled his eyes “I’m well aware you lot aren’t going to let me out of this easy, Dickface. Just… keep Bruce away, until I’m ready.”
“Anything, Little Wing.”