Work Text:
Little footsteps rushed down the alley. Jason slammed the speeder to a stop, leaping out onto the small landing platform that jutted into open air above a dozen layers of skylanes. He was wearing street clothes for his undercover work but managed to throw his outer robe on after rushing from the cantina, lightsabers once more hanging from his belt. Signs that he was an ally here to help the group of younglings fleeing the Temple.
“Hurry!” An older Miralan ran behind the younglings, gipping her archive robes in one hand to keep from tripping on the hem. A youngling no more than five years old clung to her other hand. “Go to him!”
Nearly hyperventilating, a Togruta crashed into Jason’s arms. He swung her around into the speeder and turned back for a human boy. He didn’t make a sound when Jason lifted him, only stared with wide eyes and tear streaked cheeks. Jason could only guess at what they'd seen from the glimpses he'd caught on the way here.
“Stay hidden,” he instructed.
Heavy boots began echoing off the surrounding streets. Radios squawking as clones shouted to each other. No. They needed more time. The younglings were scared and tired, some of them crying too hard to see straight, all too young to carry their own lightsaber. They wouldn’t reach him in time. Jason hauled another youngling into the ship, meeting their teacher’s eyes, sensing her rising despair.
“Run!” Jason urged. They would make it. All of them. They had to.
Clones rounded the corner, blasters raised. “There! Fire!” High-pitched screams filled the air.
“Hold your fire!” He roared, “They’re only younglings!” The plea fell on deaf ears. Jason threw out his hands, knocking the clones back with the Force. More immediately stepped forward to take their places. Blast it! Stopping to fight only exposed the younglings to more danger and put Jason in a battle he was sure to lose. Reinforcements could arrive by speeder any second, blocking them in. Running was the only choice.
He swung another youngling into the ship, the others pulling them into their huddle, and reached for a Twi’lek child next. Little hands grabbed his sleeves, terrified eyes locked with his.
A choked cry.
A body collapsing limp against his chest.
Younglings sobbed their friend’s name as Jason cradled the small body. No time. Force forgive him, but others needed help, he couldn't stop. He lay her down, immediately reaching for a sobbing youngling when they too gave an abrupt scream and crumpled to the ground, outstretched fingers ghosting past his.
Force, no, how could this happen? Three bodies laying on the street. So utterly still. Bile burned his throat. None of this made sense. The Temple burning, the clones firing on innocents, blood sprayed across his hands.
As wrong as it felt, there wasn’t a second to mourn. Not if he wanted to save the remaining younglings. Gritting his teeth, Jason Force-pulled the Archivist and child in her arms the rest of the way as he ignited a lightsaber, splitting his focus to try and block the barrage of bolts headed their way. They were outnumbered. “Hurry! Get in!”
The Miralan stumbled onto the speeder. “Everyone down!” She cried, laying as a shield over the whimpering younglings. Jason threw himself in, shoving the thruster forward with the Force. The speeder took off with a whine.
“But Mira–!”
“We can’t leave them!”
“They’re all with the Force now.” The Archivist reassured the distressed younglings, the only comfort she could give. Listening to their cries, Jason felt hatred for the first time in his life. True, bone deep hatred for the clones. For himself and his failure to protect the precious future of the Order. Leaving those bodies behind was wrong. They were Jedi who deserved proper rites. Younglings who deserved to be alive.
“Hold on tight!” He climbed into the pilot’s seat and threw them into a dive, cutting sharply through skylanes, sliding between buildings, desperate to shake anyone following them. Someone was whispering the Jedi code as he flew. Like Damian would–no. No, he couldn’t think about anyone else. Who might be fighting for their lives. Who could already be dead.
Only the six lives in this speeder existed right now.
They swung around a corner. Nearly there. Up ahead was a safe spot for them to lie low until transit off-world could be found–
Speeder bikes formed a blockade with no way around. “I’m sorry,” whispered Jason as sobs rose behind him. Red laser bolts rained down–
Jason woke with a shuddering gasp, jerking violently enough that he tumbled from the narrow bunk, knee slamming into the durasteel floor. The pain instantly grounded him, even as he groaned and grabbed the smarting spot.
Remember the truth. Remember how that night really ended. With those six lives safe and smuggled off world. Where exactly, he didn’t know. Jason insisted the Archivist not share information–even their names–so there’d be no chance of giving them up under torture.
It also meant he could never discover their fate. Were they safe? Would they ever smile like they used to in the Temple? Did he only delayed the inevitable?
Wincing, Jason dragged himself up off the floor and limped out of the small sleeping nook. Enough. Thinking like that got him nowhere. The past and Jedi Knight Jason Todd were dead.
It was hours before the memory faded to the back of his mind. By then Jason was no longer Jason. Red Hood the bounty hunter took his place, stalking towards a cowering man who offered outrageous sums in exchange for turning a blind eye. Judging by the lavish and gaudy home furnishings, the target likely got too greedy with a shady business deal. But Jason wasn’t paid to judge wrongs or rights. A bounty was a bounty and a tranq dart shut them up all the same.
With a grunt, Jason slung the unconscious, wiry man over his shoulder and started making his way out. It shouldn't be a long flight to get paid. Afterwards, he could finally repair that annoying smoking vent and replace an engine gasket that was barely holding on–
A skinny glass case tucked away in a side room caught his eye. Items deemed more important or eye-catching crowded around and obscured it but Jason couldn’t look away. Lingering was a risk but he’d take it.
Behind the glass hung a narrow Jedi tabard. It was in poor condition, the edges torn and frayed, the painstaking embroidery unravelling. Based on the familiar Jedi sigil in the center it was from before Jason's time in the Order, likely from the end of the High Republic Era.
To see it in such poor condition…this final piece of his people’s legacy…
The urge to shove the target off his shoulder and let him crash to the ground rose in Jason. A few bruises could be explained away. It was doubtful the client would even care. Jason settled for roughly setting him down before opening the glass.
Soft gold fabric slipped between his fingers. A Jedi once treasured this. Perhaps Master Quinlan wore something like this when he was a padawan learner. Unlikely, based on how unconventional his master was, but still…it was a comforting thought. He didn't have many of those. Impulsively, Jason pulled it off the hanger and carefully rolled it up. It couldn’t stay here unappreciated and forgotten. But was it any better off with him, a failure of a Jedi? Not good for anything else but bounty hunting?
Jason hefted the target back onto his shoulder and marched out with his stolen prize. Master Quinlan would be ashamed. After so many lessons on balance and mastering emotions, his padawan failed them all, giving in to the Dark Side when staying true to the Light mattered most. After the Purge, Jason couldn’t help but let the hate and anger and self-loathing take control. What was left? Everything, his entire world, was eradicated. Only the Dark Side made sense. His lightsabers, he even…
Once the target was turned in, bounty collected, and ship parts haggled for, Jason set his cramped, rickety ship in orbit around an abandoned moon. The stillness of space was peaceful most times. Today…it felt endlessly vast. Cold. Haunted by memories of those he lost and let down.
Kicking his feet up on the steering console, Jason set a bowl of tasteless vac-packed mash aside and ran a hand over the tabard lying across his lap. The side that’d been hidden from view was in worse shape, one chunk of the Jedi symbol hanging on by only a few threads. Holding tangible proof of the Jedi order felt surreal. Proof they once thrived, that the entire galaxy was wrong to suddenly pretend they were mere bedtime stories, a galaxy Jason once devoted his life to helping.
Of course he still had his lightsabers, crafted with excitement and love, icons of the Jedi. But seeing red blades emerge was a painful reminder of how far he’d fallen. Maybe it'd be easier if he'd been struck by some grand realization about the Light. Or if his escape from the Dark Side was brave and worthy of praise.
The truth was pathetic. The only reason he wrestled himself back from the edge before being lost forever was landing at a mid-rim port in time to witness an Inquisitor capture and execute a fugitive Jedi on the spot. It’d been almost impossible to hold back bile until he escaped to a shadowed side street to retch like a tanked cantina patron. For two days he wasn't able to hold down food, still overcome by shame. What hardship had he endured? He wasted this survival, stood frozen in the crowd of goading spectators, while others stayed true, were tortured, and died. Now he existed in this odd liminal space, struggling to remember what balance felt like.
Purifying kyber crystals was an option for capable Jedi, ones able to handle the arduous process and strong with the light side.
Jason would never be a Jedi again.
Not for the first time he wished Dick were here to share advice or a joke to save Jason from his own thoughts. Carefully, Jason cut the dangling piece of the Jedi symbol free and slipped it in his pocket. It wasn't like having his friend but even this little piece of home brought comfort. The rest he hung on the wall across from his bunk. There was a chance staring at it before bed would make his nightmares infinitely worse. But tonight, gold and white stood out in the darkness like a beacon of hope, allowing Jason to consider the possibility that he could be better.
Maybe…this job could be his last.
Every job was supposed to be the last job. What a lie. Credits hung heavy from Jason’s belt, each bump against his hip a condemnation. He wasn't doing this to keep an eye out for possible Jedi survivors, the pathetic excuse he gave himself after seeing the execution. Or to keep scum off the streets in a twisted continuation of the creed.
No, Jason kept at it because it was all he was worthy of doing. As close to the dark side as he could get without crossing over. The only place he belonged.
Slipping a hand into his pocket, Jason rubbed the torn fabric between his fingers. The same question circled his mind, as it had in the months since he’d found the tabard: What would they think of him? Master Quinlan, Master Bruce…even Dick. It was highly unlikely they’d even recognize him.
Dwelling on the past was dangerous territory. It was too easy to substitute Dick and his padawan’s face into memories of bodies sprawled on the Temple grounds he’d flown past or in gruesome holos passed around slimy criminal dens in the days after. His best friend–kriff, maybe his only friend–slaughtered while likely defending that prickly little boy.
A pang shot through Jason, tugging deep inside. Grief? Loneliness? Maybe the ache of remembering. He couldn’t tell any of them apart anymore. Damian had been a difficult padawan at times but he'd been eager to prove himself, something Jason understood well. He even tried to give Dick advice on how Quinlan handled him. They had potential to be a great duo, even Jason could see that.
If only they got the chance.
Only one new ship had landed during Jason’s meeting with the client. Odd for a spaceport to be this empty in the afternoon but he wasn’t complaining. It was a good place to stay the night before jumping to a new outer rim port where he’d inevitably pick up a lucrative contract and spiral deeper into self-loathing.
Rusty droids dragged an equally battered fuel line to the new ship as exhaust and the tang of ozone filled the air. Jason inhaled it sharply, clearing his mind. Enough brooding or he'd make the nightmares worse. Still…he couldn't help but stare a little too long at the pair on the ship's ramp. The younger one looked like he was barely a teen. Again, that aching tug pulled at him. It was all too easy to imagine Dick and Damian in their–
As the boy turned to scan the port, the Force rippled insistently, urging him not to look away. Jason couldn’t help but marvel at the unfamiliar feeling until their eyes locked.
Shock zapped through him. Jason nearly fell to his knees. Oh Force, that was….that's…
“Damian?” Long abandoned hope began clawing into his chest.
The boy gave a cry–Damian, it was Damian, it was so clear as he stepped into the sunlight–and sprinted down the ramp. With a giddy laugh, Jason dropped his pack and threw his arms open. Damian slammed into him, also laughing as he tried his very best to break Jason's bones with his hug.
“Force, how are you here? ” He sank to one knee and held Damian's face, needing to make sure he was right and this was no mistaken identity.
Damian beamed. “Dick flew us here, bantha brain.”
Dick? Jason gathered the padawan back in his arms–because a youngling actually survived the purge, he survived –and looked to the ship's ramp.
Jedi Knight Dick Grayson stared back with wide eyes, gripping the metal as if that was the only thing holding him up.
Very much alive.
Jason was up and moving, taking long impatient strides across the sandstone, Dick matching his pace until they were yanking each other into a fierce hug and hanging on for dear life. Jason couldn't find words to speak, could only press his hands flat against Dick's back feeling its sporadic rise and fall, his heartbeat thundering equally hard as Jason's. Alive. He didn’t dare close his eyes, too scared opening them would reveal nothing but another dream.
“I thought you were both dead, you bastard,” His voice cracked on the insult. “You were with a whole battalion of clones, that was a death sentence–”
“You were on Coruscant!” Dick babbled in his ear at the same time, gripping Jason’s shirt as if he would vaporize any second, “If anyone was dead it would've been you! I never expected for you to survive the Purge, let alone make it past the planetary blockade.”
“But we did,” Jason pulled back to look at Dick. Damian hovered excitedly and Jason reeled him in, crushing him against his side, “we survived. And found each other in the galaxy's biggest kriffing dump.”
A watery laugh burst from Dick. “This is one of the dingiest spaceports I've ever seen.”
“Hang around me for a bit and I'll show you even worse,” Jason slung an arm around Dick's shoulders and slapped Damian's back, still not quite believing they were here. Any fear over his best friend seeing what he’d become was overpowered by sheer joy. For once, he could remember what happiness felt like. Reality could piss off. “C’mon, let's see what we can find to eat. My treat.”