Archive of Our Own

Jason had always known he was going to die young. 

It lingered in the back of his mind, permeating in the dark corners of his brain as he went about his life. 

It was why he, in the last few moments of is life, his body covered in blood and his bones shattered, simply accepted that he was going to die at the age of fifteen with no one there to save him. He had always known this was going to happen—it was just a matter of time. 

Bruce wasn’t there to save him. His real mother had betrayed him, Catherine had been dead for years now, and his father was a worthless piece of shit. Dick and he had gotten into a fight before he went off world, and now Jason was going to die. Alfred would probably be the only one to genuinely miss him, and the thought made him sad as he bled onto the concrete floor of the Ethiopian warehouse. 

Joker’s laugh echoed in his ears, sharp and cruel, and the only thing on Jason’s mind as he watched the numbers tick down on the clock was that he deserved this. 

What Jason Todd couldn’t understand was why he had to come back. He had accepted that he was going to die, that his life didn’t matter in the grand scheme of these things. He’d always be a good for nothing kid from Crime Alley and he was always going to die a painful death. He’d been okay with that. 

But it seemed like fate had some different plans for him. Those plans went a little something like this:

-

The world was dark. Dark and cold, a never ending realm of deep shadows. Before he could comprehend anything—where he was, why he was there—he awoke. 

Jason opened his eyes with a snap, gulping in a gasp of air. Lungs expanded in his chest and it hurt , the dust and dirt flying into his open mouth, forcing him to cough and gag. The air was heavy and earthy, and he could feel his own eyes flickering around frantically in the darkness of the enclosed space. He couldn’t see a thing. 

He was dead. Dead, dead, dead. 

A bomb going off, a crowbar shattering his bones, guttural screams echoing in his ears. A single thought running through his mind. 

Dad will be here. Dad will save me. 

Terror shoots up his spine, an electric current setting him into motion. He brings his hands in front of him, but everything was still shrouded in darkness. His bones and muscles ache at the movements, screaming at him to stop. He felt around himself. Hard wood. A satiny type of fabric. Get out. He has to get out. He’s going to die if he doesn’t leave here. He’s going to suffocate. 

His hands are acting on their own accord. His own brain was a mess of thoughts— sadness, paralyzing fear, sorrow. He’s banging on the roof of the coffin. Coffin. Dead. He was dead. Jason’s own screams are echoing in the shadowy, tight space around him. His hands try clawing at the hard wood, the pain in his fingers not registering as the nails ripped from his fingers with the force of his clawing. But it was no use. Out. Out. Out. 

Primal instincts take over and the only thing that’s running through his mind is that he has to live, he has to get out. 

His hands are frantically patting down his own body, looking for something that can help him escape this hell, but there’s nothing. Fingers brush something cold and sharp. His belt buckle. He rips it off and he’s using it to rip through the satin fabric of the wooden coffin he was in. Before he can even comprehend the pain it caused him, he was punching through the thick, expensive wood of the coffin, his fingers dripping with thick, hot blood. 

Blood. He was alive.

The coffin is broken now, and his face is covered in the blood that had dripped from his aching hands. Oh god. 

Dirt and mud and pieces of the earth avalanches on to him and the salt of Jason’s tears are mixing with the iron of his blood and the smell of it, combined with the earthy dirt, has him gagging. 

He scratches and scrapes and claws for what feels like hours. His brain isn’t fully working— he’s somewhat aware of that, but he can still feel the range of emotions that’s purging it’s way through his mind. Pain, sorrow, guilt, misery, they all slither through his mind and coil in his stomach, making a home right in his body. 

Jason digs blindly through the earth, and there are sharp rocks hitting his face, scraping up his already battered and bruised body. Insects scurry through the ground and crawl on his skin, and it’s brutal. It’s brutal and it’s ugly, but he forces himself to move . Escape from this purgatory of dirt and bugs and splintered wood. His entire body is groaning in pain, his nerves absolutely on fire. The beat of his heart and the blood rushing through his ears is the only thing keeping him going. He can’t die, not again, and not like this.

He’s able to tell when he’s close. The ground is wet and loose and the mud is mixing with his blood and oh god. Oh god he’s alive. 

Jason claws once more and with a guttural scream, his hand is finally free from the Earth. His other hand is free and then he’s clawing and kicking, pulling himself out from the ground.

He’s free , he’s out. 

The cool night air of Gotham city hits his face. Rain is coming down in sheets as he collapses on the wet ground, gasping haphazardly for air. He’s a demon straight from hell, hair and skin coated in his own blood and earthy dirt from the ground beneath him. 

Coughs shudder violently through his body as he rolls onto his back, the suit he has on restricting his movements slightly. Jason turns his head and retches. Nothing comes up. 

Jason moves his head, looking back up at the stormy night sky. With each drop of rain that hits his skin, he can feel blood and dirt washing away, wiping him clean. Tears mix with rain. The water is in every crevice of him, of his entire being. He lays there for a long time, letting the water wash him clean. 

The sky above him is dark and endless. He can’t see any stars. It’s a full moon out and his breathing finally evens out as he forces himself to focus on it. 

Deep breaths, Jay, calm down. 

For the first time since crawling out of his grave, he feels a strange calmness overtake him, the dark sky and the bright moon his only company as he slowly comes back to life. 

The tears on his face cool down with the cold breeze that hits his face. He chooses to focus on the feeling, counting his breaths as he breathes them in. One, two, three, four. 

Jason. He suddenly remembers. I am Jason Todd. I am Jason Todd and the last thing I remember is dying in my fathers arms. 

He looks over to the gravestone, where he had been buried. A ten foot stone angel stares at him through the night, the midnight blue sky endless behind it. The pristine white cement of the statue is marred by the dirt Jason had flung around as he had clawed his way out of his grave. The angel is standing on a base of white concrete, large words carved into it. 

Here lies Jason Todd-Wayne. Beloved son

He was Jason Todd, and he was alive. 

-

Jason is six years old and his mother’s eyes have started to change. 

He doesn’t understand how or why. He just knows that they don’t carry the same light that they used to. The same love and shine. His mom used to bring him books and read him stories and wrap him in her arms. Now she sat in an old rocking chair in front of a window overlooking the grey Gotham skies, a faraway look in her eyes. When Jason would try to talk to her, she’d move her eyes sluggishly towards him, smile smally, pat his hair, and go back to staring out the window. Jason didn’t know what was wrong. 

His father— well his father was a bit easier to figure out. 

There were times when his father hated him, when he glared over to Jason, his eyes alight with distain and anger. His father would be shaking with anger, his voice raw from yelling at Jason. He’d bring his fists down on the young boy and he’d meant for it to hurt. This, Jason could figure out. He could tell when his father got into these moods, when his breath stunk of alcohol and his words were slurred. He could tell by the way he walked, his footsteps heavy and his shoulders tense. That’s when Jason hid in the closet, his knees tucked into his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. There in the closet, Jason was safe and he could not be hurt. His dad was either too drunk or didn’t care enough to find Jason so he could beat on him. 

Other times though, his father was gentle and understanding. His breath didn’t stink of alcohol and he sounded like he did when Jason was younger. Willis would laugh when he watched TV, brining Jason in close to tell him about the team roster when they watched the Gotham Knights game. 

It was when his father was like this that he would bring his son into his arms, clutching a small Jason tightly, and he would whisper words of comfort and determination. 

“Things will be different this time, Jason. I’m sure of it. This job, it could change our lives.” 

And Jason would believe him. 

Things never changed. The closet was still there for him when he needed it, though. 

-

Everything is hazy and painful. He’s aware of the things around him, but he can’t make sense of anything. The sky is changing colors and he thinks it’s been hours since he’s crawled from the grave. 

He has to get up. He has to—to. He doesn’t know. Jason just knows he can’t stay here. 

Things happen in flashes, he’s sitting up, he’s moving, he’s walking. Every step is agony but it’s better than sitting still, better than waiting there to die again.

He moves like that for what seems like hours. The scenery around him changes, no more wet grass and dirt, but hard concrete and pavement. There’s voices around him, the busy bustle of a city. 

Gotham he thinks suddenly. He used to live in Gotham. Is that where he is now? 

There’s another flash of a memory in his head. Steel blue eyes. A hearty laugh. Strong, stable hands, carrying him up the stairs as he burrows his head into a hard chest. 

The flash gave him a sensation that was completely different to everything he had felt since he’d crawled from the god-forsaken coffin. Safe. He’d been safe once. Bruce , the name comes back to him. Bruce—was that his father? He has to get back home. 

The scene around him continues to move in flashes of hard pavement, cement buildings, tall lamp-posts. There’s someone talking to him, he thinks. 

“ello? Can you hear-” 

The sounds of the world are all too much and Jason feels his vision go blurry. He feels himself stagger and registers pain surge through his knees and the palms of his hands. 

Black spots ebb and flow through out his vision and he thinks about those steel blue eyes as his vision goes dark and the pain finally takes over. 

Jason cant discern reality from his dreams and his nightmares. There’s flashes of bright fluorescent lights on a white ceiling. A woman’s voice that is kind and soft and somewhat familiar. Then there’s the laughter. Horrible and vicious laughter that shoots terror up Jason’s spine and has him doing everything he can to escape— escape his body, his mind, anything. 

Things go dark again for a while after that. 

- 

Jason is seven years old when he first heard about the Bat. 

The Batman, who stalked the shadows of Gotham and captured anyone who was doing wrong. Who beat criminals just short of death and protected civilians. Who Willis Todd was terrified of, who he hated with a searing passion. 

When Willis was in the bad mood, his breath smelling of alcohol, words slurred and when Jason would curl up on himself in the safety of his closet, Jason would close his eyes and pray. Not to God. Jason knew by then that any of his pleas with God would go unheard. 

Instead, he would pray that Batman would show up and he would take his father away. He would pray that Batman would fly through his window, a culmination of all of Jason’s wildest dreams and nightmares, clad in all black and make it all stop. All his pain and hurt and sorrow. The Batman could make it stop for him. 

Eventually, his father would be taken away, but it wasn’t because of Batman. 

Eventually, his wishes would come true. Eventually, the Batman would come and save him. 

His pain and hurt and sorrow never seemed to go away, though. 

-

The woman’s voice is back and he can hear the words she is saying, but he’s unable to comprehend any of it. 

“ou hear me, Jason Todd?” The voice is saying. “You were dead, Jason. Murdered. Buried. And mourned. But then a miracle happened and you came back into this world. You came into my view.” 

His vision comes back to him in spots and he can see dark shadows. A tall lady. Long, dark hair. 

“We have to hurry-” She’s saying, and his body feels shaky and panicked again. It hurts to breathe and to walk and to move. It hurts to live. Everything is happening too fast around him and her hand is gripping hard onto his. They’re moving too fast, but she’s not slowing down. Flashes of tan bricks and spiraling stairs pass by him. 

“Fate is commanding your life in a way that I can barely fathom, and I am only playing a small role in a much bigger picture. What I am going to do- I am not intervening with fate’s behalf. I am stepping out of it’s way. You are meant for something, Jason.” 

He can feel his breathing quicken and there’s a deep voice speaking in his head. Deep breaths, Jay. A flash of steel blue eyes. A calm, grounding voice. Jason is trying . He tries to hold onto the voice, he knows it’s good, knows it was something that was important to him once, but it’s slipping away and all he can feel is pain. 

Agonizing pain. The brutal cracking of bones, blood filling his mouth, a psychotic, evil laughter echoing in his ears. 

He feels himself stagger in light of the memory, but the woman doesn’t slow, only hauls him up back onto his feet and drags him along. 

“We must hurry. No one can know about this. Only time will tell what fate has in store for you, but you should know that more than any other reason-” 

The woman stops now and a harsh heat hits Jason in the face. He can see green. Green everywhere, below him, and he doesn’t know if it’s some type of vision or nightmare or if it’s real. The woman yanks him to face her and he can finally see her face. 

Dark hair, green eyes, brown skin. He knows he’s seen her somewhere before, but he can’t recall where from. She is speaking again. 

 “I am doing this for love, and I can only hope that will guide you into what you become.” 

Slim arms are wrapping around him and Jason feels safe in the embrace. 

Safe. Steel blue eyes. A deep dimple poking into a stubbled cheek. Hearty laughter. A calm, grounding voice. 

And then he’s being pushed. The world turns around him and he falls into a pit of green heat.

The last thought he has before everything goes dark once more is that he’s dying again and this time, he’s ended up in Hell. 

-

Jason is nine years old and his mothers eyes are completely different from when he was a child. 

Catherine’s eyes were sweet and they were kind. Jason loved the way they would crinkle up as she laughed when he’d snuggle with her beneath the covers. She would bring him close and she would tell him the plans she had for their family. About how they would leave Gotham and they would travel the world together. 

“Can we go to Paris?” Jason would ask, his eyes alight with hope and Catherine would laugh. 

“What do you know about Paris?” 

“I’ve read about it. I think we’d like it.” 

His mom’s eyes would change then, and Jason wouldn’t know the meaning of it then, but she would smile anyways. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we can go to Paris.” 

A couple years later, his mom would disappear from the house for days on end and show back up, with her eyes glazed over and her skin full of needle marks. Jason wouldn’t know what that meant then, but he knew that it wasn’t good and that things would never change.

They’d never make it to Paris.

-

Jason’s eyes open once more and instead of seeing black this time, everything is green. 

Water is rushing in his ears and he opens his mouth without thinking, choking and gagging on burning hot liquid. Everything is on fire, his limbs, his face, his brain. He can feel the green liquid enter his system, fire rolling through his veins. Every nerve in his body is in pain, every inch searing white hot. 

Jason forces his body to move through the fire, his skin blistering and he cries out in agony as he kicks through it. 

Jason Todd breaks through the surface, shuddering in a gasp of cold air, his mind fuzzy with misery and sorrow as he remembers. 

-

He’s ten years old when he first sees Batman and Robin. 

Jason was walking home from a job he picked up helping a local convenience store stock the shelves. He’d only made fifty bucks, but it was enough to put food in his family’s stomach and it would be enough to get his dad off his back. That was all that mattered anymore. 

He knew how to walk around in the dark alleys of Gotham now, with his red hood pulled up over his head, his shoulders hunched high, and his hands in his pocket. The shadows are long and dark. That’s when he heard it. 

The telltale signs of a fight happening— the heavy grunts, the fists hitting skin, the skipping of feet across the gravel. 

Jason turned the corner and saw something he knew he’d see eventually. People always talked about Batman and Robin— the dynamic duo, the crimefighting vigilantes that haunted the criminals of Gotham. They were taking on a hoard of gang members, ones that Jason was horrified to find that he actually recognized a couple of them, and they were kicking their asses. 

Jason watched in awe as the duo completed their moves, totally opposite but completely complimentary. Where Robin was light and quick, Batman was brutal and forceful. Robin flipped his way through the fight, using his small body in the most efficient way possible. 

Jason watched as one of the thugs was about to use a baseball bat to sweep Robin’s legs with brutal force. 

“Robin!” Jason shouted from where he was and Robin turned, just in time to see the bat and hop above it to miss it’s impact. Robin took him out with a baterang before looking to where the small voice had come from. 

Their eyes met, just for one quick moment. Jason could see that Robin was young, probably only a couple years older than him. For just a couple seconds, the world went quiet as two boys looked at each other, blue eyes meeting the white of a domino mask. 

And then Robin’s attention was taken away by the fight still happening all around him. 

When Batman and Robin would finish with the criminals, Robin would go to the place he saw the small boy for those short couple of seconds. Maybe to say thanks, offer his gratitude for saving him. 

The boy was gone and now the only thing Robin could remember about him was his bright red hoodie and his fierce blue eyes. 

-

Everything after the fall is washed away in the complete and utter rage he feels coursing through his body. It physically affects him, blurring his vision and making him move in staggering paces. He forces himself to move through green fire and his skin is burning red hot, blistering in the fire’s wake. 

The current of the water changes and he sees the jagged edge of stone. He swims towards it, relishing in the feeling of something other than white hot. Jason grips the edge and uses it to push himself up and out of the pool. 

He rolls over the stone, onto his back and breathes in. Everything comes back to him all at once— his life, his dad, his mom, stealing the tires. Bruce, Alfred, Dick. Steel blue eyes looking back into his, warm and proud. A calm, grounding voice, whispering to him that he did good, he was good. 

The happiness and fun and magic he had for those four fateful, perfect years. And then— him acting out, disobeying orders, going to Ethiopia. Oh god , the warehouse, the bomb. 

Jason squeezes his eyes shut and bringing his hands to clamp around his ears, trying to do anything to stop hearing that laughter. 

Ha. Ha. HAHAHA. I will say, I thought Batsie would be here by now!

The crowbar shattering his bones. Batman coming in with the wild fluttering of his cape, but he was too late . 

Jason let out something between a guttural scream and sob, trying to get everything to go away. 

But it was useless. He remembered everything and the warm, steel blue eyes turned broken in his mind and all he could remember was that being the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes forever. The broken eyes of a man who just failed to save his son. He remembers the feeling of acceptance and peace enter his body when he realized he was going to die. He was content with that. This was the consequences of his actions. He deserved to die, and he was okay with that. Batman- Bruce, could not do anything to save him. 

Jason remembers growing up and thinking that he was always going to die young. It was just a matter of time. This was fate playing out. 

Now, he opens his eyes to see green ones staring back into his. Talia Al Ghul , his mind tells him. Before he can even register what he’s doing, his body is acting on it’s own. He grabs her shoulders and slams her onto the ground beside him. Talia has a knife to his throat in seconds and they’re at a standstill. 

“What did you do to me?” Jason growls out, his voice rough and gravelly. Probably a side effect of the whole death thing. He registers the fact that his voice is deeper, not just from lack of use but— it was different. Just how long had he been dead? 

Talia’s eyes sharpened as she raised a thin brow. Her knife was still pressed harshly against his throat. 

“I brought you back from the dead, you should be thanking me,” She hisses. Jason growls, shaking her shoulders. 

“Why?! Why would you do that?” He screams, fresh tears falling from his face. This wasn’t— he didn’t want this. Every breath was agony as he slowly died in his father’s arms and he didn’t want to remember that. He had accepted his death! Jason didn’t want to come back!

“The universe has plans for you. You were meant for something, Jason. I am only following fate’s will,” She says in a serene voice, like she genuinely believes it. 

“Why now? How long did you wait for me to rot in that grave before you decided to bring me back?” His mind was at war with himself. He didn’t want this. He had been okay with dying young, with dying in his father’s arms. Everything now was just pain and agony. He didn’t want this. 

“Jason, I found you. You came into my sight and I saved you. Don’t you see? This was all meant to happen!” Talia insisted with a new urgency in her voice. 

“What do you mean you found me?!” Jason cries hysterically, his grip loosening on Talia now. 

“The universe brought you back to life, but it was my job ot restore your soul. I was able to do that with the Pit.” 

The Pit. Suddenly, the scene comes into focus and Jason gasps in horror when he realizes what the words meant. The Lazarus Pit. The fury and rage. The boils and blisters all over his skin. He had swam in the Lazarus Pit and he had survived. It had brought him back fully. Jason heaved in shallow gulps of air. More tears escape his eyes and he see’s Talia’s eyes waver with concern. 

“Why would you do this to me?” He cries his voice small and broken. Talia shushes him, brining a hand into his hair. 

“Time will tell, young one. You remain unavenged. There is still so much of your story that has been left unwritten. So much of your destiny that has been unfulfilled. I will teach you everything you need to know.” Her small hands caress his hair and he has no choice but to find comfort in it as his body wracks with uncontrollable sobs. 

“Stay with me and I will show you how to restore what was meant to be yours.” She whispers in his ear and he has nothing left to do but nod and believe her. 

-

Jason is eleven years old and he was starving. 

It was a familiar thing now, to be so hungry that it hurt. To be so hungry that every fiber in his being ached with it. It had been months since his father had been thrown in prison and even sooner since he had found his mother on the floor of their apartment. Months since his lowest moment, his voice hoarse from screaming, shouting at his mother to get up. 

It was only days until the landlord of their building found him and kicked him out. 

He moved from alley to alley, scavenging for food and a place to sleep. The residents of Crime Alley had come to recognize him and some of them were nice, offering him food and water. Other’s weren’t so nice. 

He was tired. His body ached and his stomach felt as if it were closing in on itself. He was the thinnest he had ever been. His mother might not have been too present for the last couple years he had with her, but she always made sure he had food in his stomach. 

Jason only had a small backpack that he carried with him, just a few supplies he had taken from the small, dingy apartment he had called home. 

Jason was walking through a familiar alley when he sees it. A large, sleek black car that’s low to the ground and covered in some type of armor reinforcement. The Batmobile. 

If you’re from Gotham, you have seen the Batmobile. Whether it be on TV or walking through the streets, the car was famous for it’s quick speed and amazing endurance. 

Jason crouched down behind a couple trashcans near by and looked to see if Batman was anywhere near by. After about fifteen minutes of nothing, Jason started rooting around in his backpack, bringing out a tire iron that he kept in with him for moments like this. 

How much would those tires cost? How many meals would that money be able to buy him? His stomach clenched at the thought and he, almost deliriously, ran over to the car after grabbing a couple bricks he spotted in the corner of the alley. 

He’d have to make it quick, he knew that. He knew what Batman did to criminals—how he beat them and threw them in prison. His dad had told him as much. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to him, but the hunger, the desperation, it was too strong. 

He worked quick, surprised at the lack of reinforcements put in place as he removed one tire and secured bricks under it. Jason rolled the tire over to the mouth of the alley, so he’d be able to book it if the Bat caught sight of him. He moved onto the next one, ignoring the aching in his hands as he moved the wrench, short grunts emitting from his mouth at the effort of it. Alright, that’s two. 

Jason is coming back from rolling the second tire into the mouth of the alley when he sees it.

There’s a flutter of a cape in the corner of his eye, the landing of two feet, and an affronted grunt. 

Batman stood tall and dark, a god looking down upon him as he committed his sins. 

Jason couldn’t help the shuddered gasp he emitted as he fell backwards to the ground, his palms scraping on the hard gravel. 

Batman said nothing as he took in the scene in front of him. 

A runt of a boy moving quick and shaky, his eyes those of a wild animal whose been cornered. 

Jason braced himself for whatever was coming—a punch, a kick, whatever it was, he could take it. He could. 

A deep and hearty laugh echoed in the empty alleyway.

Jason’s heartbeat was in his ears as Batman spoke, his low and gravely voice making Jason flinch. 

“Well, come back to finish the job, boy?” 

And his voice, the laughter, it pissed Jason off. He was so cocky and sure of himself. He thought Jason’s pain and his suffering was funny . His ears got hot, his chest flaring with anger. 

“I’m gonna need you to give me back my tires.”

“What makes you think I took ‘em?” Jason spit out, glaring up at the large man. 

“That tire iron is for nothing then?” Batman gestures to the tire iron hanging in Jason’s hands. And Jason did what he always did when he was cornered, when he was about to be attacked. He fled. 

He brought the tire iron up and swung it as hard as he could into Batman’s torso, blood pumping through his veins. 

“Try and catch me, you big boob!” Jason cried, scrambling to get his feet moving. He moved towards the alleyway. God, if he could do it fast enough, he’d bring the tires along with him, just for the sake of showing Batman up, but he wouldn’t be able to escape quick enough. 

Jason was at he mouth of alleyway, about to break free from it, when Batman landed in front of him in a crouch. Jason fell backwards in shock, grimicing at the way his elbows got cut up on the ground. Jason clenched his eyes shut, breathed heavily through his nose, and braced himself for whatever came next. 

“Come on, lad, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Batman said, the low growl of his voice a bit lighter now. Jason unclenched his eyes and looked up to see the large man standing in front of him, holding out a hand. There was a trace of a smile still on the man’s lips and Jason felt nothing but doubt. This was a trap. 

“You’re not gonna arrest me?” Jason stuttered out, and this time Batman let a real, small smile take over his face. 

“I don’t have the power to arrest anyone, kiddo. I just tie them up and leave them for the cops. But how about we go get some burgers instead?” 

Jason raised a brow, looking up at him skeptically. This had to be some sort of trap. Maybe he would need Jason for a job or he would use Jason for something. The Bat was good, people in Crime Alley knew that. He was nice to locals and kept the streets safe. But Jason wasn’t just a regular civilian— his father was a criminal and Jason— Jason had done things. He did jobs with his father. He stole and he lied and he-—. 

Jason wasn’t good. 

The Batman had to know that, and now he was going to be punished. 

“What’s the catch?” Jason asked, jutting his chin out. He wouldn’t be able to escape, Batman made that clear enough by standing imposingly at the entrance of the alleyway. But maybe if Jason complied, if he did what the Bat said, he’d be easier on him. The noble Dark Knight wouldn’t hurt a child, right? Not one that followed orders?

“No catch. I was hungry myself and figured you could use something to eat as well.” 

Jason’s stomach twisted painfully at the mention of food. He hung his head down in defeat. He can’t remember the last time he had a real meal and he doesn’t know the next time he’ll be able to get a chance. Whatever this was, if it was a trick or some kind of trap, Jason’s delirious mind couldn’t get over the offer of food. 

Before all, Jason had always been taught, was survival. Everything else would fall into place. 

He looked up to the large creature in front of him—giant and dark and terrifying. He looked into his face, a black cowl covering half of it. Jason saw a small dimple poking into his cheek, he saw steel blue eyes that held kindness and concern. 

He looked up, took the Bat’s hand, and he nodded. 

-

“Does- does Bruce know?” Jason stutters out. He’s been freshly showered and given a cup of tea. In the restroom when he has taken a shower was when he saw himself for the first time. Talia had explained it had been six months since he was murdered. Jason had a missed a birthday during his time beyond the grave. He was sixteen years old now and he could feel it— he was taller, and the suit he had been buried in fit tight around his shoulders and came up short to his ankles. He looked physically different now too— his eyes. Oh, god his eyes. 

They’re not the crystal clear blue he grew up with, just like his fathers. Now they’re an opaque, mossy green. He blinked, thinking that maybe the color would change but the dull green stayed. 

Then there’s the hair. It’s longer than he’s ever had it, falling in waves around his chin. The gray streak is new too, sprouting from his scalp in the front of his hairline. He doesn’t know what it’s from… the stress of dying and coming back he supposed. 

Talia said she had found him wandering the streets in the city of Gotham, where she had immediately taken him to a hospital. She told him that he hadn’t been coherent, mostly mumbling barely spoken sentences and his own name over and over again. He had been in an induced coma for over a month before Talia became too impatient and brought him to the Pit. 

He had sobbed in the shower, his skin still red hot and blistering from his time in the Pit. Talia had given him some type of salve to rub on it, but it was still agonizingly painful. He sat down in the shower, his arms wrapped around his legs, letting the cold water wash down his back. He tried to relish in the water, pretend it was like the rain of that night he woke up from his grave, his rebirth, but that only got him thinking of dirt and bugs and blood. 

“He doesn’t know anything, I took you out of Gotham before he would’ve been able to figure it out.” Talia said across from him. Oh, right. They were in Talia’s house that was somewhere in Switzerland. 

“So what now? When can I go back to Gotham?” After all the chaos, Jason had hardly been able to think about Gotham, his home. His family. How would they react, knowing that he’s alive? Oh, god. Bruce would be devastated. Dick— he doesn’t know, they hadn’t had the best relationship after Dick had left for college but they had been brothers, right? And Alfred. A tear slipped down his face thinking about the older man. What he wouldn’t give to go back there as soon as possible. The winding staircases, the paneled wood, the crystal chandeliers, the library. He longed for all of it. 

Talia’s eyes darkened at his words. 

“You still don’t know the full story, Jason.” 

Jason felt his stomach drop at the words. What else could there possibly be? He had already fucking died and come back from the dead. 

“I need to show you some things.” 

-

Jason is eleven years old and adjusting to the manor had been harder than he’d thought it be. 

Firstly, it was different from everything he had ever known. Rolling fields of green surrounded him, enclosed by an astounding black iron gate. The driveway to the house itself was larger than any place Jason had ever lived. 

He was beside Batman— Bruce (he still couldn’t really believe that the Batman had decided to reveal his identity after one night of eating burgers together. Although, the reveal did make a lot of sense. Bruce Wayne was known by everyone in Gotham as a douchy billionaire who threw extravagant parties and donated millions to charity. It was the perfect cover.), as he toured around the mansion. Jason couldn’t help the way he looked around the manor with awe, his eyes wide and mouth agape. 

Secondly, he felt absolutely ridiculous, walking around in his grimy red hoody and ripped up jeans. He kept looking behind him to make sure that his dirty, practically falling apart shoes weren’t leaving behind muddy footprints. 

Bruce was saying something. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re being forced to stay here, but, well, I want you to sleep here for tonight.” 

“Why?” Jason asked. He couldn’t possibly imagine why Bruce, why Batman , would want him to stay here, with his dirty clothes and his greasy hair. Jason didn’t belong in a place like this. 

“I want to know that you’ll be safe.” Bruce spoke easily and Jason stopped walking, still completely confounded by everything that was happening. 

“But, why ?” 

Bruce sighed and turned to look down at Jason. 

“When was the last night you slept in a bed? The last time you ate a full meal before that burger?” 

Jason narrowed his eyes up at the man, daring him to judge. 

“Why do you care?!” Jason threw up his arms in exclamation. It was angry, almost feral, because after weeks, months of living on the streets, it was the only way he knew how to act anymore. He knew he was being unreasonable and that he should be kissing the floor that Bruce Wayne walked on. If he just complied, if he listened to orders, Bruce would be nice. But none of this was making sense. He knew that Bruce already had a son, another orphan that had been adopted. He was trying to, what? Replace him? Find another sidekick? 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily through his nostrils. 

“It’s my job to make sure the children of Gotham are safe. You living out in the streets. That’s not safe for someone your age.”

Jason wanted to protest more, to fight, and to argue but he was tired. Tired of fighting and running and trying to survive. 

Bruce Wayne kept his promise and he hadn’t hurt him. He had watched quietly as Jason put the tires back on and he’d gotten him food. He’d brought him to his home and he’d asked him to stay the night. 

Whatever this was, whatever Bruce was playing at, it had to be better than the streets. Better than scavenging for a place to hide while gangs ran the streets, digging through garbage to find something, anything to eat. Better than sleeping on cold, hard concrete, never getting a full night of rest, always alert, always looking over his shoulder. 

It had to be better. 

“Okay. Okay, fine. Can I start with a shower?” 

-

Rage courses through his body when as he reads through the papers and the blogs. 

The Joker in Arkham after Death of Jason Todd

Jason Todd’s Funeral Date Set to be Early Spring 

Robin Shows Up On Patrol After Disappearing For Months 

Joker Escapes Arkham and Causes Mayhem in Gotham

Article after article, all detailing the months after Jason’s death— the small funeral they had for Jason Todd. The reporters had noted that Dick Grayson hadn’t been in attendance. Bruce Wayne is visibly distraught after the death of his adopted son. The Joker being thrown in Arkham after his death and his subsequent escape. 

Jason’s hands where shaking, his breathing ragged. A rage, unlike anything he’s ever felt before, coursing through his body, taking up every inch of him. His vision went blurry around the edges, green tinting everything around him. 

How could they do this? To him? How could—Why wouldn’t Dick show up to his funeral? Why wasn’t that fucking clown dead? How could they just—replace him? Like he was nothing. 

You remain unavenged. 

He can barely hear Talia’s voice over the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Do you understand now?” 

Jason turned on her, almost growling. His limbs acted on his own, his hands finding her neck and squeezing. He need to let it out somehow, needed to act. 

Before he knows it, theres a prick in his neck and the world is going dark around him. 

-

Jason is twelve years old when he finally takes on the Robin moniker. 

It was after months of training with Bruce and Dick, months of convincing Bruce that he was ready. 

If you had asked Jason from over a year ago, where he thought he’d be, he probably would have said either in jail, running with some type of street gang, or dead. Jason from a year ago was the type of boy that had a short and sad life. The type of boy that was made for tragedy. 

But now, somehow, some way, he’d made it out. Away from the violence and tragedy. Now he had people around him who loved him and he had a purpose. Something to fight for. 

“You have to work on your flexibility. If you aren’t stretching everyday, then your flips are going to look like shit, Little Wing,” Dick said from where he was crouched down into a low side lunge stretch. 

He and Dick had been at learning acrobatics for over three hours now, and Jason’s body was aching. 

This wasn’t something that usually happened—Dick was always away at school or hanging with his friends or something cool. Jason was still a bit wary around him, even after months of knowing him, but it was only because he could tell that Dick didn’t like him very much. 

He wouldn’t even call him Robin, resorting to an embarrassing nickname that left a bitter taste in his mouth instead. Anytime Bruce referred to Jason as Robin in front of Dick, the older teen’s face would turn dark and stormy. 

Jason knew it was because Dick thought he wasn’t good enough. Jason was too young, too violent. Too dangerous and impulsive. Jason wasn’t good. Not in the way Bruce and Dick were. 

But now it was summer break for Dick and he had been spending a lot more time at the manor, with Bruce, Alfred and Jason. Jason tried to not show his discomfort around the older boy, but everytime Dick and Bruce were in the same room fro more than twenty minutes, some type of argument started and Jason didn’t understand why Dick had to be such an asshole all the time. 

Jason glared over to where Dick stood now, dressed in some type of leotard and spandex shorts. Bruce normally would be training Jason in the Cave, but Dick offered and Bruce agreed under the guise of ‘brotherly bonding’, whatever the fuck that meant. Bruce was sat at the batcomputer, going through files for a case they were working on. He was no doubt listening to everything they said, hoping they’d finally become friends or something.

“I stretch every morning,” Jason muttered with a roll of his eyes. He rolled out of the split he was sitting in and attempted the complicated looking flip that Dick had been trying to teach him for almost forty minutes now. 

Jason tried it one more time but his legs were sloppy and unbalanced, his elbow giving out. Before he could fall to the ground, Dick was there to catch him. He brought two large hands to his torso and twisted. 

“You have to keep you core tight, Jay. And your legs straight,” Dick positioned Jason’s legs in a wider stance. Jason’s skin positively itched where Dick’s hands were touching, but he took a deep, shuddering breath, and steeled himself. 

Dick noticed his nervousness and took his hands away. 

“You okay?” Dick spoke quietly, as if to not alarm Bruce. They both knew he was listening anyway. 

Jason stood straight and nodded. 

“I’m okay. Let’s try it again,” Jason’s voice was shaking. 

Dick looked concerned. 

“Are-are you sure? We can take a break if-” 

“Show me one more time, please.” 

Dick looked at him for a bit longer, his long dark hair falling into his eyes. He looked nothing like Bruce, not really besides bright blue eyes, but they were similar to one another. They had the same facial expressions, the same quiet look of concern, the same upturn of their lips when they were amused. 

Finally, Dick huffed out a laugh and nodded. 

“Maybe you do belong with us, after all. Alright, let’s try it one more time.” 

They continued to practice for hours, Bruce typing away at his computer. By the end of it, they were sore and sweaty, but Jason eventually got the complicated flip down. They lay side by side on the matted floor, out of breath, with twin smiles lighting up their faces. 

-

Talia takes him to ‘Eth Alth’eban. At this point, Jason is just blindly following her, too jaded by the anger and the overwhelming rage that made itself home in his chest to fully know what was happening around him. The rage, it was primal and it took over every instinct, closing in on every inch, every cervice of his brain, his entire being. 

He doesn’t even know how they get there, he thinks maybe they take a private plane, but after his first fit of rage and after Talia sedated him, he didn’t know what was happening around him. 

The next time Jason wakes up, he’s in a bed. There’s a short moment when everything is peaceful— he doesn’t remember that he’s dead or that the Joker is still alive or that Dick never attended his funeral. But then it all comes flooding back to him and he closes his eyes once more.  The rage is gone, but he can still feel the after effects of his previous one. All his muscles are still tense and his jaw aches from clenching it so hard. 

There’s bunk beds all around him and it almost looks like a military training base. There’s a clearing in the middle of the room and what looks to be training equipment. He tries to sit up but there’s a hand pushing him back onto the mattress. 

“You need to rest, Jason.” 

And Talia is there again and he closes his eyes, wondering how everything got so fucked up. He wants to go home. 

“There’s many plans in store for you. We shall begin training in due time, but for now, give yourself time to heal.” 

-

Jason is twelve years old and he was rummaging through Alfred’s china cabinet at three in the morning, an open backpack in his hands to shove away expensive items. 

He felt guilty as he took the dishware that he knew Alfred really loved. He left Alfred’s favorite teacup and kettle, because he doesn’t want to upset the older man but he knew that these must be worth a lot of money and once he’s gone, he’s going to need something to live off of. 

“Jason?” A voice called from the hallway leading into the kitchen and Jason cringed, whirling around to see Bruce standing there in a robe and slippers. It was late into the night, but Jason should have known that Bruce would be up. No one kept normal hours here and they were bats after all.

Jason made a sad attempt at trying to hide the backpack full of china behind his back. He can feel tears already burning in his throat— the guilt. He was a good kid, He swears. He just—he had to do this himself. Before it was taken away from him. 

“What are you doing, Jay? Is that Alfred’s china?” Bruce came closer over to Jason, the moonlight from the window lighting up his face and the shadows darkening over his brow. 

“I-I just. I-“

“Why would you try and steal this? You know I can get you whatever you’d like. Do you want some of your own dishes?”

And Jason opened his mouth to try and explain, try and reason with the older man. He didn’t want to leave, he loved his time here at the manor. He just— he knew it was too good to be true and it was only a matter of time before he was kicked to the curb or before Bruce or Alfred or Dick got tired of him and he had failed his math test. He was trying to be a good kid, he swears, but everything inside him itched at him to do this. 

“These are worth a lot of money.” Jason said glumly, bringing the backpack in front of himself to show bruce. Bruce looked down to Jason’s stash of dishes and nods. 

“And you need something to sell so you’ll have money when you leave.” Bruce concluded. Jason looked down to his feet, unable to meet the older man’s eyes. He’s about to open his mouth to say something when Bruce spoke again. 

“Come sit down, Jason,” Bruce said, gesturing to the grand island in the middle of the kitchen. They both sit down on the stools. “Put the backpack here.”

Jason does as he asks and set the backpack down. Shame and guilt curl inside him as he looked at the items spilling out of the bag. He sat down with his head directed at his feet, the burning of tears thick in his throat. He can’t look Bruce in the face. He can’t meet the disappointment and the shame. He was going to kick him out. Bruce couldn’t raise a thief. 

“Look at me.” The tears were a sheen in Jasons eyes now. “Jay,” 

The tears fell as Jason looked up to Bruce. 

The man’s eyes are so startling blue in the moonlight, staring back at Jason and he feels his stomach plummet upon meeting his gaze. They were so true, so good. 

I will never be that. A voice in Jason’s head viciously tells him. 

He can remember the first time he looked into those eyes, on that fateful, rainy night, when Jason was feeling reckless enough and desperate enough to try and steal from the Bat. 

“Why do you want to leave?” Bruce asked, his voice calm and steady, but Jason thinks he can see just a tiny note of hurt in the man’s crystal eyes. 

“I don’t want to leave…” Jason mumbled, fiddling with the skin on his nails. 

“Then what’s the point of all this?” 

Jason bit his lip and looked up to the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from falling but it was no use. His hands were shaking. “I-I failed my math test and me and this kid in school got into a fight and-and I didn’t know how to tell you, but the counselor said she was going to call you tomorrow and-” Jason breathed out a shuddering breath, “I just didn’t want to disappoint you.” 

Bruce sighed and grabbed Jason’s hands, stopping him from picking at his skin. “I need you to look at me, son.” Jason looked back down. Son. “There’s absolutely nothing that you could do that would make me so upset that I’d want you to leave. Why would you ever think that?” 

“I’m- I’m not a good kid. I get into fights and I steal and I don’t- I don’t deserve any of this!” Jason was getting a bit hysterical now, but he couldn’t help it, because after months of staying with Bruce and Alfred, months of living this unimaginable dream, he’s just been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for somebody to come in and take it all away from him, tell him that he was a fool for ever believing that this could all be his. Instead of waiting, he figured, he could just take the initiative and leave himself. 

Bruce squeezed his hands. “You’re not a bad kid, Jay. You’re-”

“How can you say I’m not bad? I’m sitting here after trying to steal from Alfred!” Alfred, who had never been anything but welcoming and loving and gracious. Who made him whatever he wanted for breakfast every morning. He didn’t deserve any of this. This wasn’t his. 

“You’re scared and you’re acting out of fear. This is normal for something whose gone through as much as you. I understand that this has been hard for you, Jason, but please just trust me. I love you. Alfred loves you. Dick loves you. There isn’t anything you could possibly do that would ever change that. Do you understand me?” 

Jason nodded half-heartedly. 

“Jason.” Bruce said sternly and Jason’s lips lifted up involuntarily at the stern note in his voice. He was always so serious . 

“I understand.” 

“Come here,” Bruce opened his arms and Jason got up from his chair and went into Bruce’s arms. After the last few years of Jason’s life, he wasn’t used to any type of physical affection, anyone touching him in a non-violent way. It took him months away to stop flinching away from Bruce, Alfred, and Dick. But after living with them, and getting used to being around people that didn’t want to hurt him, getting used to being hugged and touched, he almost looked forward to it now. Craved it. He relaxed in Bruce’s arms and he’s warm and he’s safe and it’s unlike anything Jason has known before. 

“I’m sorry. For trying to steal.” Jason murmured into his shoulder. 

“It’s alright, son.” Bruce said calmly, brining a large hand to run through Jason’s hair. “You will need to explain all of this to Alfred though,” Bruce said sternly. Jason nodded. 

“He’ll be upset at me,” Jason sighed, suddenly very tired. He had gotten used to warm nights in expensive sheets. It had been a long time since he had to sleep in dirty alleyways, curled up in on himself and bracing the cold. Even the thought of it had him shuddering. 

“He might assign you to some extra chores, but I promise he won’t be upset,” Bruce said and Jason could hear the smile in his words. “Now come on, lets get to bed.” 

Bruce and Jason go to his room and Bruce tucked Jason into bed. Normally, he would be embarrassed by all of the attention, but right now he let’s himself accept the love and the care. He cherished it. 

“I really hope you know I am serious Jason. You’re my son now and I care about you. I want you here. No bad grade or school fights will change that. If you make a mistake, you tell me, and we can figure it out, together. Alright?” Bruce’s eyes are open and honest and Jason has no choice but to believe him. 

“I know,” Jason nods, “I know.” 

-

Talia made due on her promises. They began training within the week, once Jason’s skin didn’t feel like it was on fire and the rage was only a small part of his mind, rather than something that was all consuming. 

He was at the League of Assassins headquarters, he learned later on. The days passed in a blurry haze of the same things over and over again. Meditate with Talia in the morning, try and wrangle in the anger, the fury. Train with other assassins, sharpening his senses, quickening his movements. He hardly talked to anyone else besides Talia except for a few words exchanged here and there.

The anger is the only constant thing. It’s there when he’s sleeping, his dreams a wild haze of laughter and green and a smiling Bruce with his shiny new Robin. Ribs being broken and blood being choked on. Lungs filling up with green fire, his whole body burning from the inside out. 

It was there when he awoke with a stuttering gasp and sweat lining his forehead, the memories of his fucked up reality coming back to him all at once. It was there in the mornings when he meditated with Talia, her soft voice saying the same words over and over again: You need to control it, Jason. You cannot let it take over, the anger is not you. Sometimes, when Jason wakes up from a particularly horrific nightmare, his voice raw from screaming, Talia will be there, shushing him and petting his hair. Her small hands will run through his sweaty hair and she’ll bring his lips to his temple and whisper soothing words. His body will wrack with sobs and he will not say anything, but soon enough, his hands will stop shaking as he forces himself to focus on her calloused, fight trained hands. Soon enough, his breathing will even out and he will be asleep once more, the nightmares gone for the rest of the night. 

The rage was there for the stealth training, every nerve in his body screaming for him to move, to act, to hit while he ran across concrete in his socks over and over again, the higher ups telling him he was too loud, too quick. 

The rage was there when he fought other members of the league, the satisfying crunch of his fist against a face the only thing to even slightly relieve him. The way it played out was like this: Jason would be forced into a ring of sand with another assassin, no weapons, no armor. Ras Al Ghul would stand watching, and wouldn’t let either of them leave until someone was dead. 

Jason always left the ring, knuckles bruised, face bloody, and his voice raw from screaming. Ras would smile at him, cruel and sharp and knowing. 

What made it completely and utterly sick was the fact that the only time he felt peace was when he was in that ring, beating someone to death. The rage in him called for it, craved it. Was this because of The Pit? Or was it always there? Jason couldn’t think about it too much because he didn’t want to know the answer. 

He had to relearn everything— his body is not the same body he was trained in. Anytime he tried to perform the  moves he’d done as Robin, the backflips and twirls and jumps, it didn’t feel the same. When Jason had died, he had barely been a hundred pounds, a mere five feet tall. Now, it had been eight months since then and he was over a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. Some of it, Talia explains, had been due to the Pit’s magic, but some of it was also because Jason was a teenager, and he had been in the heights of hitting puberty when he died. 

It takes months for him to get used to his new weight and height, his large hands and heavy feet. He was no longer the small, light-footed child that jumped from building to building like he was made for it, like he had wings. The more he trained, the more muscles and weight he gained. Every time he looked in the mirror, he was struck by his appearance, tall and strong and full of scars. This wasn’t him— not really. These eyes weren’t his, not the fierce, cobalt blue he grew up with, and his hair didn’t have the same auburn tint to it when it shone in the sun. Now his eyes were a pale, almost glowing green and his hair a dull black, the shock of white separating itself in his bangs. 

He relearned to flip and to fight but this time, he didn’t feel the same sense of shame he always did when he threw his punches too hard or his opponent ended up bloody and disoriented. There was no Bruce now, always watching and judging, always disapproving. When Jason had first started showing signs of the real, brutal violence during his time as Robin, Bruce had been there to coach him. 

“That anger you feel, I feel it too. But whatever you do, you cannot let it control you. We have to channel it into something greater.” 

But now Bruce was gone, and all Jason felt was the anger and the rage. He relished in it now. He let it take over when he was training and it fueled him. Back then, Bruce might have been right. Robin wasn’t something that could be driven by anger. Robin was light and he was hope. Robin was magic. 

Jason was not that. Not anymore. 

-

Jason is thirteen years old when a knock comes from behind the door to his bedroom. It’s the polite, two knuckled knock that Bruce never failed to do exactly the same each time he came into Jason’s room. 

Jason looked up from the large book in his hands, folded the page to keep his place in the book and told Bruce to come in. 

“Come in!”

Bruce opened the door and peeked his head in and immediately Jason is on edge because Bruce looks nervous. It’s not something that anyone else would have noticed, but Bruce’s shoulders are tense and his mouth thinned into a tight line. He’s holding papers in his hands. 

“What’s up, B?”

“Good morning. Do you have some time to talk?” Bruce asked, still standing at the door with his hand on the knob, like he’s waiting for Jason to tell him to leave. 

Jason set his book on the nightstand beside him. “Sure. What do you need?” And Jason can’t help but feel nervous himself. Maybe this was it. It was finally the time for when Bruce asked him to leave once and for all. 

“Well, it won’t take too long. Do you mind if I sit?” Bruce asked and Jason nodded, bringing his knees up to his chest. 

“Now, I don’t want you to feel like you have to have a specific answer for what I’m about to ask you, Jason. You’ve been living here for quite a while now, and I just feel that this is the next natural step.” 

Jason felt his stomach drop. Oh God, this was it. His days at the manor are over. Despite this, Jason clenched his jaw and nodded stiffly, not trusting his voice.  

Bruce brought the papers in front of Jason now. 

“It’s taken a couple months to find your birth certificate, but after contacting the local hospitals I was able to get ahold of it.”

Jason blinked. “Why- why would you need my birth certificate?” 

Bruce, while he still seemed nervous, smiled just a little bit, the corners of his mouth flicking up. 

“Well, we’ll need it for the courthouse when we sign the papers for your adoption. Now, of course, as I said this is nothing that you need to feel pressured in. I know adjusting to the manor was quite hard for you at first but-“ 

The words finally registered in Jason’s brain and he lunged forward, snatching the papers that laid between them. 

Certificate of Adoption

Jason clutched the papers his hands tightly, tears welling up in his eyes. 

He looked up to Bruce, the tears finally spilling over now as he lunged over to Bruce, throwing his arms around the larger man’s shoulders. 

“You want to adopt me?” Jason said crying, his voice verging on a wail. Bruce’s hands came to rest on Jason’s back, bringing him in closer. He always held him so gently, like Jason was special and fragile and made of something that could break. Jason had never understood it— what possessed Bruce think of him like this. 

“Of course I want to, Jason. I’ve come to see you as my son. Alfred has come to see you as his grandson. Dick already calls you his little brother,” Bruce spoke and he says it so easily, like he’s telling the truth. 

Jason wiped at his face, doing his best to keep his chin from wobbling. “Dick and me fight all the time. He doesn’t like me.”

Bruce smiled and it’s sweet and happy. He brings his hand to run through Jason’s hair. 

“Brothers fight, it’s normal,” 

“How would you know, you’re an only child,” Jason said and he knows this isn’t important, but it’s the only thind distracting himself from his trembling hands. Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Not the point. Dick loves you, he just has a lot going on with school. But he’ll make it to the adoption hearing, I promise.”

Jason looked down to the papers in his hands, still clutching them tightly. 

“But I want you to be sure, lad. I don’t want you to say yes to this because you feel like you have to. You’ll always be apart of this family, whether it’s legal or not.”

Jason shook his head, tears blurring his eyes once more. He had never— for Jason’s entire life, he’d been hiding away, never had a place to truly be himself. He’d been running from place to place for as long as he could remember. Here, with Bruce, Alfred, and Dick, he finally, finally, felt like he belonged. It might have been the opposite of everything he had ever known, with grand stairs, and hard expensive wood. A library so big that Jason didn’t even know where to start. But Bruce had made it clear that all of this belonged to him and that Jason himself belonged. 

This place, the manor, the people inside of it, it was true and it was real. 

Jason looked up, letting hot tears spill down his cheeks. He looked up into bright blue eyes. They’re true and they’re real. 

Jason let a smile take over his face, salty tears falling on his lips. Bruce brought a hand to cup Jason’s cheek and Jason nodded. 

“Yes. Yes. ”

-

Every night, he’d sleep in the same bunk bed, his heart alight with a hate unlike anything he’d ever known, those damn steel blue eyes still in his head, but this time it wasnt pride or kindness seen in them. The steel blue eyes looked at him with shame and disgust and sorrow. 

Bruce’s face used to mean something to Jason, a place of comfort, of safety. But now Jason had been forgotten and replaced. All Jason wanted to do was wipe the smug look from him face and take everything he had ever enjoyed away from him. Bruce hadn’t had to the guts to do what was necessary, what was right. The Joker was still alive and breathing while Jason had rotted away in the ground and it meant nothing. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Jason’s life had been a series of traumatic events, all one after another. His real father didn’t care for him. His mother had abandoned him. And Catherine hadn’t cared enough to spend a day sober to actually try and give Jason some kind of life. He had been stupid enough to think that things would change for good when he met Bruce and Alfred and Dick. He had been naive enough to think that they would care for him and protect him and love him. But they let him die and they didn’t care enough about him to do what really mattered. They had only waited a couple months to go and replace him. 

Clearly, Jason needed to start doing things differently, because waiting around for things to change would do nothing. He needed to act. He needed to prove to everyone that his life did mean something and that Jason being from Crime Alley, a good for nothing punk who was meant to die young, would not stop him. He would exceed everyone’s expectations and he would show them just how much of a force he was. 

He would start by completing his training here with Talia. He couldn’t deny that his skills had gotten rusty after six months in ground and he couldn’t do what he set out to do without the training from the League. So he would stay. He would relearn everything he was taught and he would become better. Then he would leave and he would go back home, back to Gotham. 

There, he would show everyone what he had become and they would be sorry for everything. For forgetting about a dead son and brother. Then he would do what finally needed to be done. 

Jason would kill that fucking clown. 

-

Jason is fourteen and Robin is his whole life now. 

Every moment that he’s not at school, doing homework, or reading, is left to Robin. It’s everything that he’s ever dreamed of—fighting crime, throwing bad guys to the police, finally having a purpose. 

And it was a good purpose. He stood for something, something good and righteous, For the first time in his life, Jason could say those words to himself, the same thing he had always been telling himself, the same thing he had always hoped would come true. 

I’m a good kid. 

For the first time, he could say them and he could believe them. 

His nights were full of wonder and magic, swinging across rooftops and putting bad guys away. He and Bruce would end the night with milkshakes from a local diner, the same one they went to on that first night. Sometimes, when Dick was home from college, he would join them as Nightwing and the three of them would protect Gotham together, a small, terrifying family of bats and birds. 

Every wish, every dream he had dreamt up as a kid, they would never compare to this reality. His reality of a perfect, loving father, who could give him everything he wanted and more. A funny, charming older brother, who liked hugs and stupid nicknames, and who could never really stay mad at him after they fought. A grandfather, butler, and caretaker, all rolled into one, who understood him better than anyone on the planet. All of it was better than the dreams and all of it, for once, was his. 

Not everything was perfect, though. 

There were some bad nights. Nights when Bruce moved too quickly and Jason would flinch violently away. There were nights when he heard Alfred would be up in the kitchen, preparing food for the next day and Jason would cringe at sound of the cutting board hitting the marble counter, or dishes clattering in the sick. It was bad nights like that, when all Jason could think about was the smell of alcohol on his dad’s breath, or when he’d miss the feeling of his mother’s frail hands running through his hair, when Jason would resort to what he knew best. 

He would turn on all the lights in his bedroom, lock the door, and lay down in his closet, his knees folded up to his chest. He’d stay there until the beating of his heart stopped echoing in his ears and the weight on his chest eased up. 

In that closet, he was safe and he could not be hurt, he kept on telling himself. 

It wasn’t the same—not really. His closet at home was small and dark, it was full of his parent’s clothes and his dad’s boots smelled like mud. His closet now was ridiculously big, everything folded neatly and color-coded. It smelled like Alfred’s lemon air freshener. 

One time, Jason had fallen asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. That night his father’s words rang loudly in his ears. 

“God, you’re too much trouble for what it’s worth. Take up too much fucking money, too much space.”

“I’m sorry, son. I didn’t mean that.” 

“I shouldn’t have listened to your stupid fucking mother. I should have thrown you out years ago.” 

“I love you, Jason. You know that, right?” 

Hot tears slipped out of Jason’s eyes as the words echoed in his head. He tried to will the words away. Eventually, his sobs turned into exhausted hiccups. His body gave slowly away to sleep. 

He woke up to that familiar two fingered knock coming from his door. 

“Jason? You’re late for school,” Bruce’s deep voice came from outside the wooden door. 

Jason’s eyes cracked open at the sound. He scrambled up, looking around himself. All the lights were still on from his episode last night. His eyes felt puffy and his throat was sore. Oh, god. Bruce is gonna freak. Is all he has time to think before Bruce speaks again. 

“Jason, I’m going to come in.” 

Bruce had always been careful to respect Jason’s privacy while he was here at the manor. Probably because the older man knew that Jason had never experienced any sense of privacy before—never had the privilege before. Bruce always knocked, always waited for permission before entering, always let Jason know that his room was his , and only his. 

Since Jason had been at the manor and attending school, he’d never once been late. Alfred made it clear in the first couple of months that it was Jason’s responsibility to wake up on his own, get dressed, and be downstairs in time for breakfast. This was the first time he hadn’t made it on time. 

Jason stood up from where he was seated on the carpeted floor of his walk in closet. The night before he had brought a single blanket in here with him. It had been one he would carry around with him in his backpack, one his mom had bought him when he was a baby. He didn’t sleep with it anymore, it was old and dirty even after being washed by Alfred. Jason kept it in a box under his bed, but after his night of memories, he brought it out for comfort. 

Before Jason could even pick up the blanket, Bruce opened the door and walked in, concern etched all over his features. Bruce looked around the room, took in the perfectly made bed, the way Jason was standing in his closet, an old raggedy blanket at his feet. Took in Jason’s puffy eyes and blotchy face. The way the young boy’s hands were shaking. 

“Hey,” Bruce spoke softly, coming in close, “What’s wrong?” 

Jason looked up at the concerned man. He was dressed in a grey suit—the one he always wore when he had a special meeting or had to something important for work. 

Jason shook his head. “N-nothing.” 

He cringed at the way his voice wavered, at the way it still sounded raw from sobbing all night. 

“Did you sleep in here?” Bruce asked, his voice slightly shocked as he looked at a breaking down Jason standing in the middle of his closet. 

Jason looked down to his feet, clenching his jaw. He refused to cry. All he did since he’d been in this house was fucking cry. 

“I-I was just-“ Jason shook his head again, “I had a bad dream.” 

Jason wasn’t  looking up at Bruce. He couldn’t. 

“Do you sleep in your closet often?”

Jason could read the question for what it actually was. Do you have these nightmares often? 

Jason just shrugged. 

Jason saw Bruce bring his hand over to Jason, which is probably why he didn’t flinch when a large hand came to rest on his shoulder. 

Finally, Jason looked up to Bruce. 

Bruce was crouching down to meet Jason’s eyes. Jason cringed at the way Bruce’s suit would probably be all wrinkled now and he’d probably be late for whatever meeting he had to be at. Jason would be late for school and probably disappoint Alfred. And God, things had been going so well since he had been adopted and now he was fucking everything up by being fucked up, with his nightmares and his episodes. He shouldn’t even be thinking about his old life. Not when he had Bruce and his new family. 

And now for some fucked up reason, he was missing his mom. He missed his dad too maybe, which was ridiculous because his dad hated him and he hurt him. 

“Only when it gets really bad,” Jason said, and it was whispered so quietly that he could barely hear himself over the pounding of his heart. 

“What makes it bad?” Bruce asked, and it so full of concern and care that Jason has to close his eyes again. 

“I don’t know.”

But he does know, doesn’t he? It got bad when it was just a little bit too dark in his room. When the world around him was just a little bit too loud. When he longed for his mothers frail hands, or his father when he didn’t reek of alcohol. 

“Jay… I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong, lad.” 

“It’s just- sometimes I’ll get reminded of something, or-or remember something specific my dad said, and- I don’t know how to explain it… it’s like he’s really there and I can hear his voice and-“ 

Jason cut himself off to take in a breath 

“And sometimes I miss them, which I know doesn’t make any sense, but I do. And so, I’ll- I’ll go to my closet because that’s where I used to sleep in my old apartment when I wanted to get away from everything.” 

Bruce brought his large hand over to cup Jason’s cheek. The look on his face made Jason want to cry. He felt as if there was a balloon in his chest, slowly expanding. 

“It’s normal for you to miss them, Jay. They were your parents.” 

“They hated me!” Jason exclaimed, throwing his arms up. 

Bruce shook his head. 

“You were their child. They loved you. I know that your father wasn’t a good man, and that your mother had a lot of problems, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t love you. You don’t have to feel bad for missing them, lad.” 

“Wasn’t a good man… that’s one way to put it.” Jason mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Jason, I want you to tell me when you have one of these nightmares, or when you start to get reminded of your father, okay?” Bruce said and Jason stared at him. 

“I cant do that…” 

“And why not?” Bruce raised an eyebrow over at him. 

“That’s too much trouble! I’m not a baby, Bruce. You can’t- you can’t just protect me from my nightmares,” Jason exclaimed, knowing he was being mean. He couldn’t help it. 

“I adopted you,” Bruce says slowly, like he’s stupid or something, which makes Jason’s anger flare up even more, “You’re my son and I’m your father. I can protect you from whatever I want to. If you have an episode like this again, I want you to come to me and let me know, do you hear me?” And Bruce’s tone took on one that was commanding, like a real father would when he’s lecturing his son. There was no raising of voices or guilt tripping or making Jason feel like a waste of space.

When Jason said nothing, Bruce repeated himself. 

“Jason, do you hear me?” 

His chin wobbled as he nodded his head. 

“Okay.” A tear slipped down his face and that’s when Bruce embraced him. 

“You never need to deal with these things on your own, okay? We’ll always be here for you, no matter what,” Bruce said into Jason’s hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Jason said wetly, a couple more tears squeezing from his eyes. 

“You don’t have to apologize. Not for something like this.” 

And after that, when Jason would have an episode or hear his fathers voice or the world was too loud all around him, he would knock on Bruce’s door, his old blue blanket in his hands. Bruce would shift in his bed, already awake, and open up the blanket for Jason. Jason would snuggle up with his dad. He’d lay on his chest, listen to his heartbeat, and match his breathing with Bruce’s slow, deep breaths. Eventually, his shaking hands would calm, his heartbeat slow. 

Jason had never felt safer in his life

-

“I have a gift for you,” Talia’s accented voice came form behind him. Even after months of training with the league and lessons on how to detect people from a mile away, Jason could never tell when Talia was around him. He supposes being the daughter of Ra’s Al Ghul had some perks after all. 

Jason turned from where he was packing his bag. Her long dark hair was pulled away from her face and she was wearing some type of pretty dress. He grunted in question. 

Talia pulled something from inside the folds of her dress and presented it to him. Her small, elegant hands displayed a wickedly sharp knife. The dagger was unlike anything he had seen before, it’s blade viciously jagged and waved. 

“It’s called a kris, ” Talia said as she handed it over to him, handle first. “I’ve had it for years now, but I think you could do better with it.” 

Jason blinked down at the weapon, feeling stragely touched by the gesture from the older woman. He and Talia had a complicated relationship that was fueled mostly by a mutual quasi love-hate relationship for Bruce Wayne, but over the past year, they had grown close. Jason couldn’t also deny that Talia had been the one to bring him back, despite whatever methods were used. She had been there for him. 

“Talia, I-” Jason began, not quite sure what he was about to say before she interrupted him once more. 

“I have one more thing.” 

Talia then moved to pick up a box from behind her. It was a wooden box that fit nicely in both of her hands. Jason barely had time to wonder what it was before she was handing it to him. He stared at it for a couple seconds before he lifted the top and a sleek, red helmet was staring back at him. It was made of some type of metal, two eye holes cut out for him. 

“I know you do not plan on staying here for much longer. I know that you have plans that are beyond this and I am proud of everything you have accomplished thus far.” As Talia spoke, Jason felt emotions that he hadn’t felt in a long time now— gratefulness, for one. He and Talia might have a complicated relationship (to say the least) but she had been the only stableness he had experienced in the eight months since he had come back from the dead. 

“I want you to know that everything I have said, I believe. You are capable of so much, Jason. Whatever feelings I have for Bruce are besides the point now. You were meant for something. Whatever that may be is up to you now.” 

Jason opened his mouth to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. Oh, god. He was was choking up over a gift— this was ridiculous. He cleared his throat and tried again. 

“Thank you, Talia. I- This means a lot to me. Thank you.” And in the months since he’s come back from the dead, it’s the first time he can think of that revenge and sabotage weren’t the only things on his mind, making everything else quiet. You are capable of so much, Jason. You were meant for something. 

A long time ago, he would have believed that. He would have believed that he was meant for good and for greatness, the Batman behind him, their capes whipping in the wind. 

Now, when he thinks about it, all he thinks he’s capable of is revenge. Now, it was all that his entire being desired. The rage and the Pit called for it. 

You were meant for something. 

Whatever that is, he supposes time will tell. Right now, he had to get to Gotham. 

-

Jason is fifteen when things start to go awry. 

He and Bruce start to argue about small things— Jason going out on patrol more than necessary during school nights, spending too much time training instead of studying, things like that. Jason was spending more time with Dick too, meeting his friends, patrolling with him. Sometimes when Bruce was lecturing them about something, Dick’s eyes would find his and he’d roll his eyes silently saying get a load of this guy. 

Things were still unbelievably good compared to how his life was before, but there was tension now. Nights when he got too stressed and took it out on whichever opponent they were fighting that night. 

Jason had always looked up to Bruce, idolized him as if he were some type of god. In a way, he was . Bruce had saved Jason’s life, had given him everything he had ever wanted. 

But Jason was quickly learning that Bruce, before all else, was human. Bruce was just like the rest of them, and he got tired and emotional and would snap if he was pushed too far. 

Sometimes, Jason didn’t know why, he felt this urge in himself to push as far as he could. To see how much Bruce could take. 

Jason doesn’t know why always has to go and mess everything up. He thinks maybe it’s because he wasnt meant to be happy. 

Why wait for the world to make everything worse, when he could just do it himself? 

Jason is fifteen and it’s near the end of March when he finds out his birth mom was still alive. He’s fifteen and it’s April when Bruce bans him from Robin, claiming Jason was getting out of hand, being too violent. He’s fifteen and it’s April when Jason disobeys his adopted father for the first time since they have known each other.

Jason is fifteen and it’s April 27th when he goes to Ethiopia to save his mother. It’s that day when he walks into a warehouse and finds the Joker, waiting for him with a red painted smile, cruel eyes, and vicious laughter. There’s a crowbar in his hand and a bomb on the floor, seconds ticking by. 

Jason Todd is fifteen years old and it’s April 27th when he’s brutally murdered. His last moments were spent in pain and agony, wishing for a father that was never his. 

Boys like him were meant to die young. They were meant for tragedy. 

-

Gotham was both exactly how he remembered it and completely different. 

There was a strange feeling expanding in his chest as he walked through the streets, almost out of body in nature. It was the same dirty concrete buildings against a muggy skyline. Dim yellow lights illuminating the shadowy streets. The occasional shouting coming from dark alleyways. 

Jason rode along on his brand new motorcycle, bought by the matte black credit card given to him by Talia. He felt like some kind of ghost, haunting the streets that raised him. The red mask Talia had gifted him was secured tightly on his head, along with the curved dagger tucked into his waistband. 

As he rode through the streets of Crime Alley, Talia’s words from over a year ago echoed in his ears.

You were dead. 

Jason pressed on the gas of his motorcycle, The sound of its muffler was loud amongst the empty streets. 

Murdered. 

Jason turned down a familiar old alleyway, thinks about a time he stole some tires and met a Bat. Shared a burger. 

Buried. 

He can still remember Bruce’s eyes from that night. The way they sparkled. The concern. The kindness. Jason had never seen anything like it. 

And mourned. 

As he drives down the alley, he sees a flutter of movement. A dark cape flapping in the wind. Jason whips his head in the direction of the movement. 

But then a miracle happened, and you came back into this world.

“Robin, let’s go.” 

And the voice was so familiar, the name was his. His body physically reacted to it, tensing up, the hairs on his arms standing up. 

Jason looked up and there he was. The Dark Knight stood in all his glory, running along the top of a roof. Robin was right behind him, his slender legs clad in all green. Jason watched as the two made their way across the roof. They both shot their grappling hooks into the night sky and then they were sailing into the air, the cold wind of the night sending their capes billowing. 

Jason felt sick. 

Sick with rage, with sadness. Sorrow and betrayal. 

Talia once told him he was meant for something. Something bigger than death. 

Jason didn’t know what that was— what his purpose was, why any of this was happening. Why he couldn’t have just stayed dead. 

He had always known he was going to die young. 

But now everything was different. Batman hadn’t avenged him. Dick missed his funeral. Jason was replaced. Joker was still alive. 

Maybe he’d been loved once. Maybe he’d been apart family and maybe he’d been happy once. Jason’s dreams, everything he’d ever wanted, finally all came true and it was perfect and beautiful for three years. 

Jason had finally let himself be happy. Only for it all to be ripped away from him. His family, the love, a purpose. The goodness and wonder and magic. It was like the universe was telling him that he wasn’t meant to be happy. This isn’t meant for you, the wind spoke to him.

Whatever he was meant for, he supposes he’ll figure out within due time. 

You remain unavenged, Talia’s soft voice whispers to him now. 

The only thing on Jason's mind as he watched his old father, Bruce Wayne, sail through the night skies with his brand new, perfect Robin, was revenge .