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Jason muffled a sob in his pillow, clenching it hard enough for his fingers to ache. Thirteen more days until Dick came home. Jason wasn’t sure he could hold on that long.
It wasn’t Felipe’s death– Jason would never be shaken this much by the death of scum like that– it was Bruce’s reaction. The look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, the sheer distrust radiating out of him like arrows aimed directly at everything Jason thought their relationship meant.
He shouldn’t have been surprised, Bruce was always like this. Sceptical and suspicious even to those who were supposed to be close to him. But it stung nonetheless. Jason’s fingers ached for the familiar motion of using the super phone to call Dick, but he knew that his brother couldn’t answer, that he’d just be overly worried about the missed call until he could come see Jason in person.
So Jason refrained. He stumbled over to his desk and reverently picked up his photos from the ski trip and the single photo of his family. He lay down and curled around them, imagining that somehow, someway, the love frozen in those captured memories could soothe his hurts. He didn’t fall asleep until many hours later, cheeks streaked with wet tears even then.
After a long school day, Jason crept into the Manor silently. The halls that had grown to be his home over the years now loomed over him, feeling unwelcome and imposing. He tried to stifle the thought, convince himself that he was overreacting, that the situation would blow over and Bruce would see that Jason would never kill a man and lie about it.
But as Jason walked into the dining room and met Bruce's eyes, he felt the hope in his chest crumple up miserably. Bruce had tensed as soon as he saw Jason, face growing into a smile that would seem natural to anyone who didn't know him. The pair shared a tense silence for a few moments.
“You,” Jason rasped softly, “You really do believe it was me, huh? Even after a night's rest, even after thinking about it… you still think it was me?”
Bruce's smile didn't falter. His eyes narrowed and his voice was far too sweet when he spoke, “I don't know what you're talking about, Lad. How was school?”
Throat tightening and words failing, Jason choked out something indecipherable about homework. He ran upstairs and collapsed in bed, trying and failing to keep his feelings in check.
Did Bruce genuinely expect Jason not to notice that he still thought Jason was a murderer? Was he really going to act like nothing happened? He clutched the sheets under his palms as his breaths started coming in shallow. What the fuck was he supposed to do?
Jason fumbled for the super phone he’d left on his bedside table. He opened Dick’s contact and stared at it for a long while.
“Is it… is it better this way?” Jason questioned softly to the phone. “If he pretends like nothing happened, when he thinks I- thinks I killed someone? If you were here, you’d prob’ly get in a screaming match with him. And then you’d take me to your place, and we’d watch a flick together, n’ you’d hug me–” a sob broke his rant and Jason realised he’d started crying. He leaned over the phone and whimpered, “Fuck, Dickhead, why’d you have to leave now? I need you right now, I really fucking need you right now. Dickiebird, can’t you come home? I- I need you,” Jason kept babbling nonsensically, a jumbled together mess of anger, hurt, worry, and dread.
As his tears slowly stopped flowing, Jason looked at the sleek black screen– long turned off by now. A phantom whisper echoed in his ear, “Blow your nose and drink some water. You’ll feel like hell in the morning, if you don’t.”
Jason tried to stay upbeat and cheerful, stay Robin, as he helped Bruce in the junkyard. A massive crash sounded behind him and it took all of his willpower to focus on finishing off the thugs he was fighting before rushing over. Bruce was on the ground, getting up, and assured Jason he was fine. Relief bubbled in Jason’s chest, but it was washed out cold when Bruce explained the situation.
“For every action in this universe, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Consequences, Robin, there’s no escaping them,” Bruce said, eyeing Jason carefully.
His gaze was hidden by the cowl, but Jason could read it regardless. Murderer, murderer, murderer, it seemed to scream.
Consequences , Jason considered as he noted the carnage around them, for actions. Jason met Bruce’s white lense stare. Actions he thinks I took.
Time trickled like honey, and it was drowning Jason in its inescapable and suffocating hold. He was counting the days until Dick came home, eleven, ten, nine, eight. He’d barely noticed that he was getting more reckless, more violent, more careless, until he overheard his worst nightmares coming to life.
He’d known that Bruce might do this– though it didn’t ease the pain of it– but Alfred vouching for him not to be Robin was unexpected. The betrayal ached in his chest, and he tried not to choke on it as he ran out of the manor.
After coming back with the box from home, and finding out about his mother, Jason almost rushed to tell Alfred. But the events of the day were still a bitter throb. He swallowed down the urge, comforting himself that he still had family who cared, family that would never betray him.
But Dick was off-world, and Jason couldn’t take being at the manor any longer. Jason checked his father’s address book to find women starting with S, and crept into the Batcave to locate the one he’d found.
Sheila Haywood , her name rung like hope.
Jason shuffled awkwardly through the refugee camp. The atmosphere was clouded with misery, and Jason tried his best not to let it get to him. All of a sudden, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Jason attempted to break the hold and punch them, but he was blocked in a familiar pattern.
“Bruce!?”
“Why are you here?” Bruce asked sternly. Jason faltered as the budding hope he didn’t realise was forming had suddenly wilted. Obviously Bruce wasn’t here for him.
Jason took a deep breath to steel himself and responded, “I’m here to look for my mom.”
Bruce’s brows furrowed, “Your mother is dead, Jason.”
“I’m looking for my biological mother, Sheila Haywood. What are you doing here?”
Bruce explained the situation with the Joker, and Jason couldn’t help the derisive scoff that escaped him. Of course Bruce would prioritise the madman above all else. The Joker was a one-way ticket for Bruce to ignore everyone and everything else around him.
The two of them split ways and Jason asked around until he found Sheila’s tent. He raised a hesitant hand to enter, heart beating wildly. Stepping inside, he saw the resemblance between them right away. Her eyes matched his exactly, her hair a wave of familiar curls. Her face grew puzzled and he spoke before she could.
“You’re- you’re Sheila Haywood, right?” Jason paused for a moment and continued when she nodded hesitantly, “You used to live in Gotham, and around fifteen years ago, you were together with Willis Todd, weren’t you?”
She seemed alarmed, but gave a nod anyway. Jason took a deep breath and clenched his trembling hands, hysterically wishing that his older brother was here with him, and said, “I’m Jason Todd.”
Sheila’s eyes widened, and she inhaled shakily. She stood up slowly and made her way over to him. Her voice was soft and filled with emotion as she asked, “Jason?”
He gave in to his desires and wrapped desperate arms around her, “Hi Mom.”
She carefully returned his hug, and Jason was oddly struck by the fact that he expected it to be warmer.
Jason’s vision was red and blurry, each blink slowed by his swollen and stinging eyes. Stinging wasn’t the right word, though. Not with the way that his tears felt like acid and he couldn’t look around without a thousand knives piercing his skull.
A strike to his lower body tore skin roughly and deafened any thoughts he was having with an agonized shriek in his mind’s ear. In a jolt of clarity amidst his pain-muffled thoughts, Jason realised– with a sentiment of irony– that though his throat was throbbing with overuse at every hit, he hadn’t been able to give more than a raspy whine in quite some time.
A mad shriek of laughter violated his hearing. Jason couldn’t tell if the clown was really laughing that much or if somewhere between the hits, his mind had become an echochamber. He wondered what about this was so funny– Sheila wasn’t laughing. Sheila wasn’t even looking. Her body was taut, and her gaze refused to meet his. She took in another drag as the crowbar cracked something else in Jason’s arm.
And Jason suddenly saw the humour in it. This idiotic brat, hoping without reason, that his mother would love him. This stupid, worthless kid daring to believe that his family would care for him. There is one person, Jason tried to remind himself, one person who loves me, one person who cares.
He giggled to himself about it– though he didn’t know if he was really making sound. Jason barely noticed that the blows had stopped coming, with his body screaming at every single breath. Jason wondered if it was simply going to stop– surely the fire in nerves couldn’t burn even worse, could it?
Abruptly, he realised that the ringing in his head was the only sound he could hear. He groaned miserably while rising to his knees. The movement made him feel like he was simultaneously being ripped into thousands of shreds, and compressed into an inconceivably crushed mass.
“Jason! You’re alive!” Sheila shouted, and this time Jason could hear his laugh.
He went through the motions– untying her and telling her to run. Though he was a bit surprised at her trying to save him.
The timer ticked relentlessly behind him, and Jason didn’t have to see the numbers to know that this was it. Sheila turned to him with horror-struck eyes.
Huh, it could get more painful, Jason managed to think before everything went blindingly white.
Jason couldn’t tell if he was alive anymore. His entire body was numb and his vision was swirling. He supposed that he didn’t know what death was meant to be like, but somehow Jason thought that he wasn’t quite there yet.
And that was the kicker, wasn’t it? Yet.
He managed to stay alive through all of that, and death was still impending. Jason wondered if he was crying– he couldn’t see anything correctly anyways, and he couldn’t sense anything on his skin, much less some pitiful tears.
Jason was going to die, it was only a matter of time. And he… really didn’t want to.
Jason didn’t want to die.
He wanted to keep visiting Crime Alley with Max and Dana. He wanted to keep chatting about books with Alfred. He wanted to keep eating pizza at Pim’s place. He wanted to keep having lessons with Babs. And Dick–
Jason wanted to hug his big brother, wanted to cry in his arms and feel safe and warm and protected. Jason wanted to make food with him and watch a movie together, letting Dick pull him closer and pat his head. Jason wanted to call his brother and complain about mundane, boring things, have Dick laugh at him but give him advice anyway. Jason wanted to patrol with Dick, making silly games and competitions out of nothing.
Jason was barely fifteen, and he was going to die, and he wished so badly that he wouldn’t. He wished to everything in the universe that his big brother would find him and save him.
The drowsiness of sleep began trickling into his head, though it didn’t feel like normal sleep. Jason lost track of his thoughts, the world blacking out around him.
Why was he scared? Why was he trying not to fall asleep?
Maybe, maybe, he was going to have a nightmare?
He wasn’t really sure.
Why was he scared?
He couldn’t… really remember.
Maybe, in the morning…
Maybe, he’d think…
When he woke up.