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Jason hated laughter.
He should probably be more specific.
Jason loved Bruce’s gentle and deep chuckle, which was so soft it might be non-existent. He also loved Dick’s snorts accompanied giggles that sounded a lot like a young child trying to hide their laugh in their hands.
Jason hated Tim’s fake laugh that rang too high and too loud like it would convince himself that he was happy.
And Jason absolutely hated giggles that turned into peels of laughs, then to chortles.
Maybe that’s why Jason had decided to duct tape the clown's mouth shut.
It wasn’t even that hard to break into Joker’s cell. One guard had the key. Which may seem like a good idea except that Jason could lock the door behind him and no one would be able to get in.
But no guard would want to save Joker, so why bother?
Joker was awake when Jason opened the cell door. He had made a comment about feeding time or something but Jason hadn’t cared enough to pay attention.
All he could see was green.
Joker had giggled when Jason pulled the duct tape out. A sick, high-pitched giggle that almost sent Jason running out of the room because the last time he’d heard it–
“Which hurts more? A?”
Jason tried to scream but the air in his lungs had been knocked out.
“or B?”
CRUNCH
“AHHHHHHH!”
Jason closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He wasn’t there. Joker was the one chained up, not Jason.
Joker said something perverted and twisted but Jason forced his brain to tune it out. He stepped forward, grabbed Joker by the head, and slammed it into the wall behind him.
Joker laughed again, despite the ringing headache he now must-have.
The green flared even brighter.
Alright, changing priorities. First, get the bastard to shut up.
Then he could get to the bashing of heads and snapping of bones.
If Jason had been thinking straight, he might have realized that beating someone to death with a crowbar, while poetic, would not help his nightmares.
Especially because, even with the duct tape wrapped around the clown’s mouth and head, he could still hear the laughter–
Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe Jason was just insane. Maybe he was the one laughing while he raised and slammed down the metal bar over and over and over and over–
There was too much green and not enough red.
Not enough red.
Not enough red.
Jason couldn’t tell you when the green vanished. Honestly.
There just came a moment when the pungent smell of iron sent him back, reeling. A part of his mind registered the stickiness of the blood on his hands, his clothes, on the floor, and the body–
–the body didn’t even look like a body.
Oh, heavens above Jason was going to be sick.
Somehow (and he means somehow), Jason was lucid enough to get out of Arkham without being spotted or setting off any alarms.
Yeah, there would be a lot of bloody hand and footprints but the blood would only come back as Joker’s and there was a reason Jason had worn gloves.
Once he was clear of Arkham and its grounds, Jason fell to his hands and knees and promptly regurgitated the contents of his stomach.
Okay…
Joker was dead.
Jason… did not know how to feel about it.
Relieved? Happy?
Maybe disgusted with himself because Jason was definitely going to have nightmares about this night for the rest of his life.
… He didn’t know.
Jason pushed himself to his feet and stumbled onward.
Jason found himself on the banks of Gotham River, perhaps an hour after the messy deed. He fell to his knees on the bank and reached out to the water. He paused, just before he touched the filthy water.
There… was so much red. More brown now, most of the blood had dried but there was still some red. Enough to make Jason recall English class and the words of The Bard. Jason could not help but mutter the familiar words to himself.
“Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand?”
Well. Only one way to find out.
Jason dunked his hands and arms into the river. The gloves soaked in the filthy water and Jason yanked them off before letting them be carried away in the current. The thin jacket that he had been wearing followed after. It had been bought for the express purpose of killing Joker and Jason would rather not have any memento from this particular night.
Jason then grabbed his messenger bag, pulled out the disgusting and stained crowbar. With a terrible scream, Jason threw it into the river as far as he could. It was joined by the switchblade and duct tape roll. With one final yell, Jason threw the messenger bag in as well.
Then he fell to his knees and sobbed.
“I killed Joker.”
Jason’s confession seemed to ring much louder in the Batcave than it had in the hospital a few months earlier.
Dick and Tim did not seem surprised. Bruce already knew, so Jason could only bear the pained expression he gave Jason. Damian’s expression was very blank, but Jason could imagine the storm of fears underneath.
Jason had already talked to the kid, after all. He knew what was coming.
Dick shrugged, “Kind of figured since you showed up the day after it was announced.”
Tim did not say anything, only gestured at Dick in a ‘that was my thoughts too’.
Jason swallowed down the fear that rose up. “Did you… see the report?”
“No, they haven’t,” Bruce stepped in. “And they will not be seeing it as long as I live.”
“It couldn’t have been worse than when I punched him out,” Dick shrugged like it was no big deal but Jason could see the haunted look in Dick’s eyes.
Jason’s gaze dropped to his hands, “It was. Much worse.”
“You were under the effects of the Lazarus Pit,” Bruce said. “That wasn’t you.”
That was one of the arguments that Damian had made late last night in a hushed whisper. An argument that Jason had shot down because ‘that does not matter because I still did it.’
And honestly, even without the pit… Jason was pretty sure he would have still done it.
“... there’s more,” Jason breathed. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest. But he had to do this. He needed to do this before he lost his nerve. Bruce wasn’t stupid and he would put it together sooner or later and… Jason needed to tell them.
He needed to tell Tim .
His family was sitting quietly in anticipation of Jason’s confession. Tim had been given the seat at the computer and Dick was hanging on the back of it. Bruce stood to their right and Alfred to the left. Damian stood a bit separated from them, but gave an encouraging nod.
Jason felt a stab of guilt, but pushed forward. He took in the sight, perhaps for the last time before taking a deep breath. “I… I couldn’t just…” the words seemed to die in his throat. Helplessly, he locked eyes with Tim and tried again. “Tim, where are your parents?”
Something in Tim’s expression changed. His voice came out flat and void of any kind of emotion. “Jack and Jannet Drake died in a car accident while I was in the hospital.”
Jason swallowed. “...no, they didn’t.”
Bruce frowned, “Jaylad, what are you–?”
“First, I… persuaded them off the road. They drove into a ditch, but… it didn’t kill them.” Jason could only watch the horror flood Bruce, Alfred, and Dick’s faces. Tim’s expression hadn’t changed, but his face had paled tremendously.
The words wouldn’t stop coming now. “Your Mom… she had hit her head pretty hard and was barely conscious. I just… hit it harder. Your Dad… well, he couldn’t get out because his side was in the ditch. He… he tried to talk to me. I… didn’t listen.” Jason’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Suffocated him with my jacket before breaking his neck.”
Silence descended on the cave.
Jason was not sure how long he sat there, waiting for the yelling and screaming to start. It was a long time. Long enough for tears to form, for Jason to force them down, for them to form again, and finally fall. Jason took a shuddering breath and pushed the painful words out. “I… I know… that I won’t– … I can’t be forgiven– and I kn–know I was wrong. And… and I’m s–sorry, I really am but everything– everything was green and they hurt you– you–” Jason sobbed and bit down on his knuckles to try and calm down. “I don’t re– regret the… the J– the J–... that bastard clown but I– I–”
A different sob broke through Jason’s blubbering. A very familiar sob.
Tim had his face buried in his hands and was trembling with each broken sobs and gasps of breath.
That seemed to kick everyone else into action. Dick dropped down next to Tim and pulled him into a Dick Signature Hug™ which Jason was not jealous of. Bruce and Alfred dropped next to them with hushed whispers and murmurs that Jason couldn’t quite make out.
Jason knew this would happen. He had prepared himself and had practiced in the mirror for the past week. That didn’t make the knife to his heart any less painful.
Damian looked at Jason, eyes sad.
“I want to come with you,” Damian had whispered, late last night.
Jason smiled, “I know. And I would love that but–” he took a deep breath to stop the tears, “You’re with your Dad. There will be no one who can love you better.”
“... Promise me, you’ll write. Or call. Or–”
“I promise,” Jason swore.
“I’m sorry,” Jason managed.
Then he turned and ran up the stairs.
Bruce called, “Jason, wait–!” but Jason paid it no mind. He had a to-go bag by the front door along with a fueled and ready-to-go motorcycle that Talia’s “revenge money” had paid for.
It was fine. Jason had set out and done what he had planned to do. He’d killed Joker, made sure Tim was alive and recovering, revealed he was alive to his mourning family so they could move on, and gotten to hug everyone for real instead of those stupid ghost hugs, saved Damian from his horrible family and given him a new one, and got to spend some time recovering in a happy home. It was okay.
It was okay.
It didn’t stop Jason from pulling over just outside of Gotham and sobbing for three hours. But it was okay.
He had lived his life with a loving family. It was past time for Tim and Damian to have that.
“Yeah?”
Jason couldn’t help but smile, the familiar exchange a welcome distraction. “Weird way to answer the phone.”
“...Who is this?” the question was growled. Jason could hear the silent threat, which yeah, maybe calling Roy on the phone was not the smartest way to say ‘hey, I’m alive’ . To be honest, Jason had half-expected Roy to have changed his number. He should have tried to contact Roy sooner, but there had been so many things he had to do before…
Before.
Honestly, he was pretty surprised that Roy hadn’t heard or reached out. It wasn’t like his face wasn’t plastered all over the news. Pretty easy to see the headline, “Jason Todd-Wayne Alive!”
So here Jason was, in a musky phone booth (an actual, swear on the Bat, phone booth ) somewhere in Pennsylvania dialing an old number that he hoped he remembered correctly.
Turns out, he did.
Jason’s smile slipped. “Who do you think, jerk?”
“...I’m not high enough for this.”
Jason’s blood went ice cold, “I’m sorry , what?”
“Who put you up to this? Because when I find you, I’m gonna–”
“Oh no , you do not get to threaten me after a comment like that, Roy William Harper. Where are you?”
“Eff you,” the line disconnected.
Jason dialed the number again. It went to the answering machine.
“Oh, that’s how we’re doing it, huh, Roy? I’ll put it in small words so you understand you jerk : I died. The universe decided it didn’t like that so it spat me back into the land of the living. Call Dickie if you don’t believe me. Call Bruce. He’ll probably try and force my location out of you. And even if you don’t believe them then check the news headlines in Gotham because they are still not over it. Now I’m going to hang up, give you five minutes, and then call again. If you don’t pick up then I’m going to hunt down the old team and tell them about the spray paint incident. You know, the one that we promised to take to our grave, which I did , by the way.”
Five minutes later, Jason dialed the number.
It didn’t even finish the first ring.
“Jaybird?” the question was whispered and sounded much too broken.
“Hey, Speedy. Now, where are you so I can kick you into next week?”
Roy looked terrible.
Which, yeah, Jason wasn’t sure why he expected anything different because Roy’s family history and the comment from three days ago did not paint a good picture.
He was much too thin, had bags under his eyes, and his entire body was trembling from something that was definitely not from excitement to see Jason. There were very clear track marks running down his arms and Jason could see the drugs and related items on the dining table.
Roy did not even acknowledge Jason when he walked into his very filthy and very cheap apartment.
“Right,” Jason muttered to himself. “Get Roy in bed, clean up the place, go shopping for real food, and then you can have a panic attack.”
Jason was making pancakes when Roy finally woke up.
He looked around, clearly confused as to how he was tucked in on his floor mattress and probably wondering where the smell of good food was coming from. He visibly froze at the sight of Jason standing over a frying pan and the pathetic stove.
“Mornin’,” Jason said. “How you feeling?”
Roy stared at him.
“I made pancakes.”
“...Jaybird?”
“Yeah?”
“...I thought you were dead.”
Jason flipped the pancake before answering, “We talked on the phone three days ago.”
“...I thought that was a dream or somethin’,” Roy put his head in his hands. “Maybe I’m still dreaming?”
“You can certainly think that but I don’t think you could dream your apartment this clean,” Jason gestured around at the peeling wallpaper and matted carpet. “It is not much of an improvement.”
Roy narrowed his gaze around the room. His eyes fell on the clean table. In the blink of an eye, Roy went from guarded to panicked. “Jason–”
“Bathroom cabinet,” Jason poured the last of the pancake batter into the pan. “Although, it took all of my willpower not to throw it in the dumpster out back.”
Roy visibly curled in on himself. “Jay–”
“You don’t need to explain to me,” Jason shrugged. “My mom was an addict and it ended up killing her. I was addicted to cigarettes at age seven. Mostly kicked it when B took me in. Definitely kicked it when I ended up six feet under.”
“So…” Roy shakily got off his dirty mattress and to his feet. “You’re okay with it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“...Aren’t you going to yell at me?”
Jason switched off the stove. He scooped the last pancake onto the plate before finally turning to face his friend. “Do you want to stop?”
“...”
“Then yelling isn’t going to help anything.” Jason set the table with paper plates and plastic forks. He had enough foresight when he went shopping for groceries to buy syrup and butter, so those were also put on the table. The plate of piled pancakes was put in the middle and Jason took a seat. “Eat up, then we’ll talk.”
“...okay.”
Breakfast was a quiet affair. Roy barely touched any of it, but he did manage to get down one pancake without incident. Jason, on the other hand, ate seven pancakes with hardly any breaths between them. Neither of them spoke, focusing on the food in front of them.
Finally, Jason pushed his plate away and let out a loud burp. “You done?”
Roy jerked his head.
“Right then,” Jason clapped his hands together, “First thing: Do you have Naloxone?”
Roy blinked. “W… what?”
“Naloxone. Do you have any? I didn’t see any in the bathroom cupboard but I was hoping you might have it somewhere else.” Jason sighed, “Clearly, you don’t. So be happy I bought some last night.”
“I… no, I don’t.”
“Okay, next question: do you use alone or with someone?”
Roy looked at Jason like he had grown a second head. “A… alone?”
“Okay,” Jason nodded to himself. “I would ask what you’re using but I’ve seen heroin enough times to know.”
Roy looked even more uncomfortable.
“I see you use intravenously,” Jason motioned at the bruising and marks on his arms. “Talk me through your standard process.”
“Jason, what–?” Roy shook his head. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure my best friend doesn’t kill himself with his bad habits,” Jason replied. “Which means clean needles, no mixing, not using alone, having Naloxone, and preferably going to safe injection sites.” He leaned back in his chair, fixing Roy with a look, “Is that a problem?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“The correct answer is no,” Jason rolled his eyes. “And I’m staying here for the foreseeable future so you’re just going to have to get used to it. Now tell me your process.”
“Hey, uh, Jaybird?”
Jason looked up from the notebook he had been scribbling in for the past three hours. “Yeah?”
Roy shifted uncomfortably. “I… uh… I’m gonna… practice… archery.”
Jason put the notebook aside. “Okay.”
Roy gave Jason a side-eye. “...That’s it? Just, ‘okay’?”
“What do you want me to say?” Jason asked.
Roy glared. “I don’t know. Maybe, ‘you used less than a day ago?’ Or, ‘you have a problem?’ Not… okay .”
Jason kept his gaze even. “How about this: I’m proud of you for telling me. There is a reason we came up with a code phrase.”
Roy did not respond.
“Now, do you want to do it here or in the bathroom?”
“Jason?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m… I’m glad you're alive.”
Jason smiled, “Me too.”
“You were a ghost?!”
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Trust me, I was just as confused as you are.”
Roy shook his head. “This kind of stuff only happens to you, I swear.”
“Yeah, it sucks,” Jason frowned. “I got to watch helplessly as my kid brother tried to kill himself… four times? I guess almost three times and then one time was an actual attempt.”
Roy was quiet for a long moment. “You, uh, didn’t haunt me at any point, did you?”
“...no,” Jason sighed. “I thought Oliver would help you and Bruce wasn’t… none of them were doing well. Wish I had though.”
“Well, it probably would have just added to your issues.”
“...Roy, you didn’t.”
“Hey, Killer Croc talked me out of it.”
“Killer Croc did what now?”
“Bruce has a kid?”
Jason looked up from his pile of chopped potatoes. He had not made soup in a long while, but had decided to take the challenge. “Roy, B has like… a zoo of kids.”
“Yeah, but I meant a bio kid,” Roy shot back.
“And that is surprising how exactly?” Jason turned away
“Sorry, I’m just…” Roy shook his head, “How many kids can the Bat have?”
“At the moment: five.” Jason paused, “Wait, are we counting the two that still have parents? Because if so, then seven.”
“Seven!? Where’d the other three come from?”
Jason shrugged, “Well there’s Babs, this blonde chick who likes to try and beat me up whenever we see each other, and the really creepy but cool assassin girl that B picked up while I was no longer a ghost, but still stuck with the League.”
Roy was very quiet for a moment.
“Son of a–”
“You killed the Joker.” Roy looked like he had swallowed a very large pill. “Dude.”
“Kettle, meet pot.”
“I’m not saying–” Roy took a deep breath, “Never mind.”
“No, tell me what you're thinking," Jason leaned back on the dirty couch he had found in a thrift shop. Seriously, how had Roy lived without a couch for so long?
"It’s nothing."
"Roy--"
"I just…" He hesitated a moment. "I feel like I should have done something before."
Jason thought for a moment. "No. I… I needed to face him. No matter how much I would have loved to watch someone else take that bastard's head off. But he was my demon. My devil that I needed to put in the ground." He shifted a bit, "Maybe not the way I did it because of the triggering nightmares but ya know."
Roy looked thoughtful. "Mmh."
There was a knock on the door.
Roy was passed out in his bed from his most recent “adventure”, Jason hadn’t ordered any groceries, and as far as he knew, Roy didn’t have any sellers coming.
Jason grabbed his gun and quietly tiptoed over to the door.
There was also no peephole.
Another knock, this one was a little firmer.
Deep breath in…
Jason swung the door open and brought the gun level to the person’s head–
–only to curse, lower the weapon, and hiss as quietly, yet loudly as he could, “What are you doing here?”
Cassandra freaking Cain did not look impressed if the subtly raised eyebrow was any indication. She gestured into the room, the silent, “Can I come in?” as loud as Jason’s pounding heart.
Jason glanced inside, took in the messy couch and dirty dishes, and decided against guests on this particular day.
“Not here,” he grunted. “Let me grab a jacket.” Jason retreated into the apartment, sent a quick text to Roy about going for a walk (“Don’t do anything stupid til I get back, please. Call if you are struggling with anything”), shoved the gun into a hidden holster and threw on a red hoodie.
Cass hadn’t moved from where he had left her. She nodded curtly at Jason, turned sharply, and headed to the stairs.
Jason locked the door with a sigh and followed after her.
This was going to be a long conversation.
Cass kept quiet.
Jason wasn’t sure why this threw him off. Quiet was kind of her thing. But he wasn’t in much of a talking mood either which meant this was a long and quiet walk down the sidewalk and into the nearby park.
It was pretty crowded, which made sense for a Saturday afternoon. A few families were picnicking, some other people were walking the dog, and several cyclists were weaving through the traffic.
Cass ended up settling herself on an empty park bench. She motioned for Jason to sit then shuffled around in her bag for a moment. A pad of paper was produced along with two small bags of chips, one of which she offered to Jason.
Jason took the snack, but didn’t really feel like eating it. He looked around the park, but didn’t see anything or anyone too suspicious. Then again, he had led them to the park so unless B and company were tracking Cass…
Cassandra held up the pad. ‘I alone. No one else.’
Well, Cass was many things. A liar wasn’t one of them. Jason leaned back on the bench and sighed. “How’d you find me?”
Cassandra wrote a word. ‘Damian.’
“Traitor,” Jason snorted.
Cass shook her head. She scribbled down on the pad for about two minutes, then handed it to Jason.
‘Letters to Alfred and the false name smart. B never suspected. Alfred never told. B was worried. Asked many questions. Damian answered some. Communication was obvious. Unknown method. I looked. I found. I came here. Investigated. Found you.’
“Well,” Jason spread his arms out, “Here I am. Why are you here?”
‘Worried.’
“About me?” Jason asked.
Cass nodded.
“I’m fine,” Jason said with a half smile. “Got a job, paying bills, punching any idiots in alleyways who don’t understand what a girl means when she says ‘no’ . I’m fine.”
Cass gave him a look. ‘Fine not good.’
“Fine is fine,” Jason said.
She shook her head, pointing at the same sentence.
“I’m fine–”
Cass shook her head even harder. She scribbled again. ‘Fine not fine. Babs said.’
“...Barbara told you that fine is not actually fine?”
Cass nodded, deadly serious. ‘Fine fake okay. What wrong?’
“Nothing!” Jason snapped.
Cass did not appear amused and definitely did not believe him.
Jason gripped his hair with tight hands. “... I’m trying to keep a friend alive.”
‘Friend at apartment?’
“Yeah.”
‘Sick?’
“In a sort,” Jason sighed. “Do you know what an addiction is?”
Cass nodded.
“Well, it’s that. And it’s going to kill him, I just… I know it.” Jason felt something inside of him die at finally admitting it aloud. It might not kill him today. It might not be tomorrow. But someday, Jason was going to find Roy laying on the ground, needle in his arm.
And it hurt.
‘Stop him?’ Cass looked confused.
Jason laughed, bitterly. “The only way an addict can stop, is if they choose it themselves. Sure, it can help to put them into a rehab place or something similar. But they have to choose it at some point. It can’t just be forced on them.” Jason shook his head. “And… I can’t do anything but just… watch. Again.”
Cass scribbled away on her notebook for several minutes before flipping it around. ‘You are a good friend. You try. You love. You care. But you alone. Help friend by not alone. Bruce? Me? Damian? Someone?’
Jason hated that she was right.
Bruce was off the table. Damian wouldn’t help. And Cass, while well meaning, wasn’t exactly back up for a situation like this.
But…
“Ugh, alright,” Jason opened his phone and scrolled down his contacts. “I’ll call someone.”
Cass beamed.
Jason debated a moment, hovering over one particular name that, according to Roy, wasn’t going to help but–
But he deserved a chance, right?
“You’ve reached Oliver Queen. If you’re calling about business, please contact my secretary. If you’re calling for personal business, leave a message and I’ll see if it’s worth calling back.”
BEEP
“...Hey, Green Boy. Lose a sidekick?”
“Roy’s alive?”
Jason glanced over at the currently passed out individual on the couch. “...At the moment.”
“Where is he?”
Jason quietly moved into the next room, shutting the door behind him. “Why do you want to know?”
“He’s my ward, Jason–”
“He told me that you kicked him out,” Jason retorted back. “Now I’m a little more inclined to believe my best friend, especially because I know how you were during the Speedy days.”
There was a pause. “I… I don’t have an excuse. I found his stash while I was… inhibited.”
“You were drunk,” Jason glared up at the ceiling, feeling his blood boil under his skin.
“I shouldn’t have–” Oliver sounded choked up. “I barely remember what I said. I barely remember–” Those were definitely tears now. “I regret every word, Jason. I swear I do.”
“Prove it,” Jason settled on as his answer.
“I haven’t drunk since that night. Haven’t touched it, not a single drop, in over a year.”
Jason looked over at the closed door to Roy. “How come you haven’t looked for him?”
“I did. Followed him to the edge of Star City and lost him in the bus system. You know Roy, you know what he’s been through. If he wants to disappear, he’ll disappear.” Oliver sounded desperate. “If I put out a missing person’s alert I knew it would drive him further away. Jason I know– I know I wasn’t the best Guardian to Roy but you need to believe me when I say I want to be better. I’m not perfect and I’ve made mistakes but I want to make them right, I want to help him–”
“I believe you,” Jason breathed. And by Joe, he actually did believe him. “The main thing now is that you need to convince Roy.”
Oliver made a kind of desperate sound. “How? Roy doesn’t change his mind–”
“That’ll be up to you,” Jason replied. “But with Roy? Actions speak louder than words.” Jason heard the sound of movement from the couch. “I’ll do my best to keep him alive until then. But Oliver–”
That was definitely movement and a faint, “Jay?” was called.
“Yes?”
“If you mess this up, I’ll let you glimpse the last thing Joker ever saw before I sent him to Hell.”
Click.
One week later, Oliver Queen went on live national television to announce Queen Industries was donating twenty-five million dollars in total to the thousands of rehab centers across the United States, another five million dollars to Alcoholics Anonymous and other varying non-profit addiction support groups, and was currently in the process of receiving the city permits to build and fund a new rehab center in Star City.
He then opened up to questions from the attending press.
Jason was not at all surprised by the first question of, “What prompted this particular action from Queen Industries?”
What he was surprised by was the answer.
Oliver straightened up, looking directly into the camera as he spoke. “Around a year ago, I anonymously checked myself into such a facility for my Alcoholism. I remained there for several months before being released. I have since attended meetings with the AA whenever my schedule allowed it. Both helped me in a time where I was unsure of how to continue.” His tone grew a bit more somber, “My addiction cost me… more than I can ever say. I hurt the people I cared about. I chased away the ones I loved. And nothing I will ever do will make up for the pain I caused them.” He looked around the attending audience, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “Even if all of this will save only one other person from that dark hole I found myself in– I will have considered the cost worth it.”
The questions after that were a bit more tame, such as where the funds were coming from (Most from auctioning off several expensive antiques around the Queen Manor) and a few asked about Oliver’s time in recovery. Some pressed to know the breaking point, but Oliver politely declined the comment, insisting upon privacy for those he hurt.
At the end of the conference, Oliver announced a charity dinner that would be held at Queen Manor in three week’s time. The profits raised would be matched 100% by an anonymous donor, and would go towards improving the state of the streets of Star City by helping any willing participant to learn job and life skills through free classes and guaranteed employment at Queen Industries or a few other Star City companies that Jason didn’t recognize.
“We want to help eliminate the problem, not contribute to it,” was Oliver’s closing statement to the conference before exiting off screen.
Jason hadn’t seen the interview live. But he did see the city news station cover it on the 6 o’clock news that Jason usually turned on while making dinner for background noise more than anything.
Roy hadn’t moved from the couch the entire story, eyes fixed on the screen, shock plastered across his face. Once it was over, he had found the entire interview and watched it twice, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
Then he turned off the TV and came to Jason. “I want to practice archery.”
Jason hid the disappointment with a blank nod.
After Roy was out of sorts, he texted Oliver:
‘Roy saw the interview. I don’t think it worked.’
Oliver texted back only a few minutes later. ‘I didn’t think it would. But I should have done this a while ago. You just reminded me that I wasn’t alone in the struggle.’
Jason stared down at the text in a similar state of shock similar to Roy earlier.
He was grateful that he didn’t have a pack of cigarettes on him because he would have probably broken like Roy had.
Jason started following the Star City News Station.
He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing half the time.
Oliver had seemingly changed his personality overnight. Upon further investigation, Jason realized that no, he actually hadn’t. It was just Oliver deciding to stick his head out for something that wasn’t a party. The past year had been a downtick of “Olie” incidents. Sure, since Oliver’s time on that island, he hadn’t been as much of a partier, but he still had that gene in him.
But since “the Incident” as Jason had begun calling it, Oliver had hardly been in the press, unless it was about Industry Business. There had been no new girlfriends, no late night parties, no arrests, not even for appearances as Bruce usually did.
The press conference had really just marked the end of the silent era. Oliver was now actively campaigning and according to a lot of eye witnesses, personally working on the various projects he had announced.
The charity ball had been a massive success and Oliver was teaching weekly business classes to the participants of the work programs. He had arranged for the construction of the new Star City rehab center to also be used as a teaching ground for any participants who wanted to learn construction (and apparently attended the class when he could, dressed in patched jeans and a work shirt).
Any work done with any of the Anonymous groups was kept strictly off any news outlets because the one time someone tried to follow Oliver to a meeting was decked by the billionaire and sued via his personal lawyers. That had made the news, followed by a public announcement from Oliver about how just because he had shared his story, that was not permission to butt in on anyone else's.
Jason had never been more proud of the man and had printed off the story and left it on the table before heading to work that day.
Roy hadn’t commented on it, but the page was gone when Jason came home and Roy looked like he might have been crying.
Another few weeks later, Oliver announced a sports and education scholarship eligible to anyone who had come from an addict home– with the note that the applicant must also be clean or showing effort to be clean.
What Jason hadn’t been expecting was Bruce to show up at the official announcement party and declare it a joint effort between the two billionaires.
They were calling it the Harper–Todd Scholarship.
Jason may have curled up in bed and cried for a few hours when he had heard that.
Jason had been living with Roy for almost six months when his phone rang with an unknown number. He hadn’t picked it up, thinking a scammer or whatever.
It was only hours later that he noticed he had one new voicemail.
“This is Jay. You know what to do.”
BEEP
“...Hey, Jason. It’s… it’s Tim. Before you ask, I got this number from Oliver but he doesn’t know about it and I’d like to keep it that way, if it’s all the same to you. I want to talk to you. … Please? Call me back?”
Jason listened to the message until he fell asleep that night. Then he listened to it another few dozen times in the morning.
He left a note for the passed out Roy, saying he was going on a walk and to call if he needed him. Then he pulled on a coat, strapped the gun away, and headed out the door.
BRRRRRRR…
BRRRRRRR…
BRRRRRRR…
BRRRR–
“Hello?”
Jason’s mouth felt dry. “...Hey Timmers.”
“...One second.” There was a thump and he heard Tim distantly call to someone about going outside. The rustle of a jacket and the click of the back door and then just wind.
“Jason? You still there?”
“Yeah… I’m here.”
“Okay. Good.”
Jason watched a couple of people walk by the park bench he was currently sitting on. None of them really grabbed his attention, mostly just joggers and walkers. One lady was pushing a stroller that had a screaming toddler in it.
Jason swallowed down the fear and forced himself to speak. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”
“...Right.” Tim was definitely pacing. Jason could hear the steps on the pavement. “I… I don’t have my notes for this, they’re upstairs–”
“Notes?”
“It… helps to write down what I want to say when I have to make a phone call.” Tim sounded a bit defensive.
“Oh. Sorry, I can call back–”
“No, no, just… let me try to remember what I wanted to say.”
Jason sat there for what felt like an eternity. In all honesty, it was less than a minute.
“I’m not mad at you.”
Jason frowned. “Tim–”
“I’m not! I was never mad at you.”
“I hurt you–”
“You saved my life,” Tim replied. “My parents never could have claimed that.”
“Doesn’t change what I did.”
“I don’t care what you did. You’re… you’re my brother, Jason. And… and I miss you.”
Jason found himself unable to speak, the words caught in his throat.
Tim had never called him ‘brother’. And Jason never thought he would, not after–
“I… I know this is going to sound cold but I don’t care that you killed my parents, Jason. I cried because I thought it had just been karma catching up to them. And… it had been. Just not in the way I thought it was.” It sounded like Tim was crying a little. “You… you killed them for me. Maybe not in your right mind but… you did that for me. And I couldn’t believe anyone would have ever cared–”
“Oh, Timmy,” Jason whispered. “We all care. Even Damian.”
“I know.” There was the sound of Tim wiping the tears away. “The little brat told me two days ago that if you hadn’t killed them, he would have himself– no kill rule or not.”
Jason couldn’t hold back the laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like Dami.”
“He misses you,” Tim confessed. “We all do.”
“...I miss you guys too.”
“Will you come home, then? Please?”
Jason hesitated. “...I will when I’m ready. But I don’t know when that will be.”
“Will you at least keep in touch? I… I miss our talks. A lot. And Damian would love to hear your voice.”
“Just you two for now. Don’t tell Bruce because he’ll just drag me home. And Dick will come after me.”
“...Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow night?”
“Sounds good to me, Timmers.”
“...okay,” Tim practically breathed.
Jason hung up after that.
And then he buried his face in his hands and cried.
“Todd.”
“Damian.”
“...how are you?”
“You read my letters, don’t you?”
“They are in code, Todd. And code is the minimum amount of information possible to relay a message. How are you?”
“Alive.”
“That bad?”
“Sometimes. I’m not alone.”
“Yes, your letters hinted at that. You have a roommate?”
“An old friend. He needs help.”
“Then he is in capable hands with you as his friend.”
Jason might have cried a little after that conversation, but he would never tell.
Jason came home one day to voices in the apartment.
He carefully readied his gun, just in case, then quietly opened the door.
The voices were quiet, but one was definitely Roy’s.
Jason quietly closed the door, moving softly down the entry hall. He was finally able to hear the other participant’s words and not just noise.
“--that sound to you?”
Jason relaxed, feeling the tension drain out of him. But he remained hidden for a moment longer, just waiting.
Roy sniffled, blowing his nose pretty loudly. “...Sounds good to me.”
“Okay.” Roy was not the only one who had been crying, based on Oliver’s own stuffed voice. “Can I… Can I hug you?”
Silence. Then some chairs scraped and Roy was now full on sobbing, the tears muffled into what Jason could only assume was Oliver’s shirt.
Finally, Jason entered the field of view, looking around the corner at the sight.
Oliver was up on his knees, holding Roy (still in a chair) in his arms in a tight hug. He cradled Roy’s head against his shoulder and had his own face covered in tears. Oliver saw Jason and tensed at the sight, but quickly relaxed once he recognized him.
Jason gave a little wave, feeling a bit out of place.
“Jason’s back,” Oliver told Roy.
Roy didn’t really say anything, just curled up tighter in Oliver’s arms.
“Can I tell him?” Oliver asked.
A shaky nod.
“Roy called me two days ago,” Oliver began, voice quiet. “He… He wants to stop.”
Jason would have shouted for joy, but didn’t want to break up the tender moment. “That’s the first step. There's still a long way to go.”
“We know,” Oliver replied. “We… We have a plan. We’re going back to Star City tonight.”
“Good,” Jason smiled. “Promise me you won’t leave him this time around?”
Oliver nodded, looking more serious than Jason had ever seen in his life.
“Alright,” Jason came over and hugged Roy gently from behind the chair, arms slung loosely around his best friend’s neck. “Call me whenever you can, okay?”
“You’re…” Roy looked up, eyes red– not just from using this time around. “You’re not coming with us?”
“My family needs me home,” Jason said as gently as he could. “But if you need me– you call me. Okay? I’ll be on the Batplane flying to Star City faster than Bruce can catch me.”
Roy snorted through the sobs. “You’ll visit?”
“I’ll even bring some brothers for you to meet,” Jason smiled. “So long as you keep fighting. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Jason knocked on the door.
Somehow, it wasn’t Alfred who answered it.
It was Bruce.
Neither was prepared, with both of them freezing in place upon seeing the other.
Jason had thought he’d be able to ease into this reunion. But no, fate decided to just throw him into the deep end. Thanks for that.
“Uh…” Jason lamely said, mind blanking of any of the well thought apologies he had written up on the ride back to Gotham.
Turns out, he didn’t need words. Bruce didn’t say anything, yanking Jason into a very tight hug right there on the steps. “...Welcome Home, Jason.”
Jason returned the hug, closing his eyes and breathing in the familiar smell of Bruce’s cologne. “...Good to be home, Dad.”