Work Text:
Willis Todd did not have a standard work week. At no point in his childhood could Jason recall his father being gone from 9-5, Monday through Friday. Even in those periods where the man had regular employment with consistent hours, he would always have few weekdays off in exchange for working weekends.
His father worked multiple jobs; Jason had always known that. As an adult he knew that working multiple jobs with varying hours and days would make it difficult for a man to be around, to find time for the wife and child he was working so hard to provide for. And as a child it’s true that there were many days when his only memories of his father were the faint impressions of lips on his forehead, a hand running through his hair, and his blanket being pulled tighter around him, like clockwork, early in the morning and late at night.
But Jason better remembered his father from adventure days. They started something like this:
A warm hand shook him awake.
“Jason! We’ve got an adventure to go on!”
Heavy footsteps left the room, and Jason pulled the worn quilt over his head and curled up tight, pulling his feet away from the end of the mattress. He kept his eyes closed and relaxed into the pocket of warmth his body heat had made through the night.
“Jason!”
He scrunched his eyes a little tighter. The footsteps came back into the room.
“Hmm.” Cold air hit Jason’s face as the quilt was flipped down. The little boy stayed as still as possible.
More footsteps. A rustling at the end of the bed.
“Where are your feet, huh?”
Jason hid a grin as he nestled into the bed.
“Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
And the next thing Jason knew his dad had grabbed his little feet and dragged him so he was laying flat on his back. Then, the tickling started.
Shrieks of laughter filled the air as Jason kicked desperately at the perpetrator of the tickle attack. He gasped for breath as the tickles abated just for -
“Augh!”
His father was on top of him, knees on the mattress and fingers hitting every ticklish spot on his chest and in his armpits, on his neck.
Jason fought fiercely, shoving his knees and elbows into his dad’s side, until finally the man rolled over with Jason pinned on top of him in a firm hug.
Jason lay on his father, panting from exertion.
“Time to get up, bug.”
“5 more minutes,” Jason groaned. He felt a huff of air on his hair.
“No can do, kiddo. It’s breakfast, and then an adventure.”
And with that, the man stood up, Jason sliding off him onto his feet, and shuffled Jason to the small table tucked into the corner of the kitchen.
From there, Jason’s mom or dad would hold him on their lap for breakfast, because for the longest time when he was little there had only been two chairs at the table, which usually wasn’t a huge problem because it was rare when they all got a chance to eat at the same time. When they were all together for breakfast he could sit on a parent’s lap still half asleep, and when they were all together for other meals his dad would sit on a step stool they kept in the corner because he was big enough to still see over the table on it.
Then, Jason and his dad or Jason and both of his parents had gone on an adventure.
It really had been an adventure for Jason, because his dad never told him where they were going beforehand. He would set off, Jason’s hand engulfed in his own, and tell Jason stories of far away places, or listen to Jason ramble about the books he was reading, the games he was playing with the other kids in the neighborhood, or the facts he was learning in school.
As Jason had gotten older, and began to recognize the streets they strolled down, his dad had taken it upon himself to come up with longer and more circuitous walking routes. It was a game - if Jason could recognize where they were going before they got within five blocks, he could choose what they had for dinner.
His dad took him quite a few places. Jason went to most of the museums throughout Gotham at least once. He went to the zoo a few times. They rotated through various metro parks. On one memorable occasion, his father took him to the circus. Most frequently though, they ended up at the library.
Occasionally they would make a trip to the main branch, but usually they went to the Park Row Branch of Gotham Public Libraries. Not quite aptly named, because it wasn’t technically in Park Row, it was nevertheless within easy walking distance of every apartment Jason lived in as a child. And it was quite possibly his favorite place on earth.
It was an older building, built in true Gotham gothic-inspired style. Composed of earthy brown stones with a generous covering of lichen, despite only being two stories it had a looming presence. Lancet windows, flying buttresses, and the latin carved above the heavy wooden doors with brass handles contributed to this effect.
Jason had looked up the latin once, with his dad. “Ad Astra Per Aspera” - through adversity to the stars. The librarian who helped them told him it was a common latin phrase for libraries.
Most of the time, as Jason climbed the stone steps to the door, he wasn’t paying attention to the latin. Most of the time, he was saying hi to the gargoyles.
There were seven of them in total, posed in a variety of stances across the front of the building. Each one of them had names, personalities, and monthly book recommendations for every age group, lovingly curated by the librarians.
Jason’s favorite was Gregory, who sat on the right side, hunched over a whole stack of books, his wings spread ever so slightly as if he was considering taking flight. He seemed to be wary of the patrons coming in, or maybe just wary of the gargoyle next to him, Bellamy, who sported a wide smile and looked as if he was trying to peer over Gregory’s shoulder.
Gregory was a little nervous around strangers. Gregory liked clean environments. Gregory read a good mix of classic and contemporary literature, and one year Jason’s mom got him a red and green striped hat with a white puffball that looked just like the one Gregory wore in the winter.
After saying hi to all of the gargoyles (even Bellamy), Jason and his dad would pass through the vestibule and into the library proper. The inside of the library had surprisingly high, vaulted ceilings. The entrance, thanks to the stairs, was on the second floor, which also housed most of the books meant for adults, some work tables, a tiny computer lab, and a small space where workshops could be run.
While his father went to workshops, talked to the librarians, or used the computer lab, Jason would go downstairs. The first floor was where most of the library’s reference books were housed and also boasted a few classroom-type spaces, but more important to Jason was the kid’s area. It had brightly colored carpet depicting animals with the alphabet going around the outside, and brightly colored chairs sat at tiny tables stocked with coloring supplies and elementary school reading and math pages. There were several bean bag chairs strategically placed at intervals. Surrounding the space were shelves of children’s books, with the target age increasing with the height of the shelves.
Jason would start by finding a stack of books, aided by the librarians who were happy to give recommendations and probe him gently for updates on school or anything else he’d mentioned. He would then spend hours reading, sprawled out in a bean bag chair dragged under a poster of Gregory (unfortunately right next to a poster of Bellamy). Occasionally he would be interrupted by a librarian, and coerced to sit at one of the tables and have a snack, but for the most part they let him be.
When his father was done upstairs he would head down to Jason. Even deep in reading, Jason would recognize his dad’s heavy footsteps as they approached him. He’d drag Jason to his feet - “You’re getting so heavy!” - and usher him up the stairs, waving goodbye to the librarians and letting Jason check out three whole books on the way - “But dad-” “We’ll come back when you’re done!” - before heading down the front steps, Jason saying goodbye to the gargoyles.
They’d head home and that night his mom would read to him from one of his new books until he fell asleep, warm and certain in his parents’ love for him.
It had been over a decade since his last adventure day with his dad, and after wandering the city streets for hours, with nowhere to be and nothing to do, Jason’s feet still carried him to the Park Row Branch Library.
Things had changed sometime in the last few years, while Jason had been away. Gone was the old, gothic-inspired building. In its place was a more contemporary edifice, still two stories tall but that was where the similarities ended.
The new building was all sleek lines of metal and rows of rectangular windows with tinted glass. It was like the outside had been stripped, no room for decorative carving, or flying buttresses. No place for lichen to grow. No gargoyles.
There was no latin above the automatic doors which led to the ground floor, no steps, but there was a small plaque to the right. It read:
The Jason Todd-Wayne Memorial Library
With Generous Funding from
The Wayne Foundation
Huh. Jason thought the soulless architecture reminded him of something. He supposed nothing said Gotham quite like gothic elements being replaced by the Wayne Industries aesthetic.
There was still a vestibule, this one with a cluttered bulletin board and even more busy table. On them were flyers and pamphlets advertising the various services the library provided. Resume help, interview coaching, computer skills classes, legal consultation, passport services, and more.
Entering the library space proper was jarring. It didn’t look much like a library at all, in Jason’s opinion. The back wall was lined with a few small glass classrooms, the sides with private study spaces. The computer lab had been greatly expanded. And, what shocked Jason the most, over half the books were gone.
Jason remembered the odd day wandering upstairs to find his mother or father, having to walk down rows and rows of shelves which towered over his head and obstructed his vision. Now, the shelves were much shorter, which opened up the space but - where were all the books? Jason used to dream and yearn for the days his parents would let him choose books outside of the kid’s section and carefully curated classics and now-
But there was still the second floor. Jason headed up the stairs - metal, with glass sides, no fingerprint smudges so they must get cleaned often - and into the next space.
He was relieved to find more books. Still not the selection there used to be, Jason didn’t think, but more books all the same. He walked absently through the rows, drawing strange looks from patrons when he didn’t stop to look at any particular novels. It didn’t particularly bother him. How could it, when the combination of height and build and worn out clothing made him draw stares wherever he went?
The smell was gone, he realized, as he travelled down his fourth row, eyes roaming across the shelves. The musty smell he always associated with libraries was no longer present. And that made sense, because a closer look at his surroundings revealed to Jason that the books were newer than he might have expected.
He rounded the corner and came to a halt because this was the kid’s area. Hidden in a corner upstairs. The ground was the same dark grey carpet that covered the rest of the floor, no bright colors or animals. There were still tiny tables, but these ones had uniform navy chairs at them instead of the mismatched, multicolored ones of Jason’s childhood. Even the alternative seating options (the bean bags were gone) were plain, shades of blue and grey blending in with everything else.
The small shelves, still organized by age, were topped by displays of children’s books Jason couldn’t recognize. And there were no gargoyles on the wall.
Jason left the library. There was no one to wave goodbye to, no familiar librarians or protective gargoyles. His feet, which had led him so easily to a place which should have been familiar, led him just as easily away.
Jason tried to feel like he wasn’t running.