Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was over. That was the only thought that Red Hood could muster lying in a pool of his own blood. Everything he had done since he dug his way out of his own grave had been leading to the confrontation with him, Batman, and the Joker. For a moment, he had really believed that Batman, no Bruce, no his dad would choose him over his own murderer. The batarang to the neck had been clear evidence to the contrary.

But none of that mattered anymore. It was over, and he could finally rest. No one else knew that he was back in Gotham. Talia, maybe, but she had only been invested to the point that he was Bruce's son, and it had just been made incredibly clear that that wasn't the case anymore. Dick hadn't even bothered to show up to the funeral of his so-called brother; there was no way he would show up for an undead crime lord.

When Jason had been on the streets after his mom died, the working girls had told him that he had too much hope, and it would get him killed. They were right, just almost a decade late on the prediction. It was hope that had him trusting Bruce Wayne enough to have the briefest glimpse of childhood; hope that had him flying over Gotham's streets in Robin's panties and pixie boots; the hope that had him bloodied and beaten watching a bomb countdown and still waiting for Batman to come save him. It was the same hope that had made him claw his way out of his coffin and brought him home to Gotham. Unfortunately, it was that same hope that had him begging Batman for safety, only to be denied in the most violent and definitive way.

The blood was cooling, no longer warm, and Jason became instantly aware of how cold he was. Had he even wanted to get out of the building, he wasn't sure he could at this point. At least he wouldn't be delusionally waiting for Batman to come rescue him. The Bat wasn't coming, and that knowledge gave him a sense of peace. Bruce had made it clear he wasn't family anymore, and Jason closed his eyes, content with the knowledge that people don't come back from the dead twice. There would be no waking up in a coffin this time.

The first time Jason woke up after dying, he was cold and alone with his thoughts. The second time, he was warmed by the waters of the Lazarus Pit, and Talia was there. As he came back to himself now, he registered that he was warm, and a soft blanket was draped over him. He slowly took stock of his current situation. It was a bedroom — not a cell — well decorated and clearly lived in if the pile of books on the end table and partially folded clothes in a basket were anything to go off. On the other side of the closed door, he could hear muffled voices.

With as much stealth as he could manage from both Bat and League of Assassins training, he crept to the door. It didn't take long for him to figure out that the voices were discussing him, something about sending him back to where he came from which didn't bode well. They had to either mean the League where he would be punished for failing his mission, or Gotham where Batman clearly would not hesitate to either throw him in Arkham or kill him.

There was a crashing noise and a groan. He flinched on instinct, instantly transported back to a different time where a much younger Jason would be huddled next to a door listening to Catherine and Willis argue about money or whatever the shitshow of the week had been. Another voice, softer and calmer, it reminded him of Willis before the drinking, started murmuring reassuringly.

"I knew what he did," the other voice started distraught and broken, "I knew what he did to you, and I still wasn't prepared to ever see it. How could he ever justify…so young…own kid." The rest of the rambling was too quiet, and he missed what else was said, but he could gather the gist of it.

To you. The two words got stuck in a loop in Jason's brain. Who did what? And to whom? Were they talking about something Jason had done as Red Hood? Had he hurt one of the two voices? Why had they brought him here then? He didn't even appear to be a prisoner or anything. Was all of it just some long-form manipulation to lure him into a false sense of security before they actually took their revenge?

The reassuring voice was back. "I know, sweetheart. I'm going to go check and see if he's woken up yet. Get cleaned up, and we'll meet you in the kitchen, alright?"

There was no answer, but Jason heard the footsteps move towards the bedroom door. The steps were loud and heavy, as if the person was doing it intentionally to announce their presence. By the time the steps made it to the door, Jason had had adequate time to get back into the bed, and decide if he wanted to pretend to be asleep or not. There was a soft knock at the door, before the door swung inwards slowly. Soft light filtered in through the opening door. Behind the figure, Jason could make out what appeared to be a fully normal home.

When his eyes finally managed to focus on the figure, he felt his brain short circuit. Standing in front of him was clearly himself. At first glance, he thought it was Willis, but the eyes were just a little too green, and the hair had the white patch in the front. This other him was clearly much older than he was now, but he still held himself the same way. There were crow's feet and smile lines on this older version, and Jason wondered what universe he'd been transported to where he had the gift of growing old.

"You're me," he finally managed to get out, eyes wide and voice heavy with wonder. "You're me, and you're old." A voice that sounded suspiciously like Alfred chastised him stating that it was incredibly rude to comment on someone's age, let alone call them. old. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry about it, kid. I'm still shocked myself sometimes." The other him smiled at him, and it was a soft, gentle thing that would have looked out of place on the current Jason's face. "Life turns out alright, I promise." The older man sat on the bed, and Jason shifted so he was sitting next to him. He wrapped an arm around Jason, a wedding band glinting in the light. "I know it feels like your life ended; I know you were ready for your life to end, even wanted it to, but I promise you, we get out of this. We get a family, and we find so much love on the way."

There's an earnestness etched into every line of the older Jason's face. He hasn't seen it on his own face since he was still Robin, trying to convince Batman that he hadn't killed Felipe Garzonas, no matter how much he might have deserved it. It was the same face that he made when Gotham Academy teachers were convinced he was cheating, or the one he used with cops in Crime Alley when he had been a kid.

In that moment, being Red Hood didn't matter. Where he was, or how he had gotten there, didn't matter. It was two street kids reassuring each other that the other one was safe. Before he could stop himself, his eyes shifted to his older self's neck. The scar that he was expecting wasn't there; instead, what he found was a tattoo of a black arrow and an ivy vine wrapping around it. Jason saw the younger him looking at the tattoo, and smiled.

"Roy's great, I promise. He used to tell me that I saved him, but he saved us too. He's good people. You'll find a lot of them on the way to get here, but he's the first one." He removed his arm and stood up. "C'mon, kid. Let's go meet our husband."

Chapter Text

Roy found himself pacing back and forth in their bathroom. He had already splashed water on his face, and was desperately trying to get back in control of his body. Objectively, the redhead had known that Batman had slit his own son's throat with a batarang; he had seen the scar that sat prominently on his Jaybird's neck before he'd gotten the tattoo, but even still, he hadn't understood what Batman slitting Jason's throat meant. He had found out, abruptly and violently, when an eighteen year old Jason Todd, still in his Red Hood gear and covered in his own blood, had appeared in their living room.

His husband had jumped into action immediately, applying pressure to stop the bleeding and delicately stitching the cut closed. There had been less blood than Roy anticipated, and Jason explained that the Lazarus Pit would have started the healing process already. It painted the horrifying picture that had Hood not been put into the Pit, then he would have already been dead. They put the younger Jason to bed, and started cleaning up the blood in their living room.

Roy's hands kept shaking. He had known that Batman, renowned hero and one of the Big Three™ of the Justice League had tried to murder his own son. Bruce Wayne had buried his son, and when that same son managed to miraculously dig his way out of that grave, Batman tried to put him back in it. It was one thing to know, and another to be face to face with that kid, younger than Lian was now, bleeding out on his floor. There was some blood on Red Hood's gloves, but not enough to indicate that he had made any attempt to stop the bleeding. Jason's father had thrown a knife at his neck, and his husband had just accepted that fate without a fight.

He started making dinner. Jason did most of the cooking, and had ever since they had first started as partners, but Roy had always had a few things that he could make. When they were still together, Jade had taught him a miso soup recipe that she had learned from some teacher of one or another ancient ways to kill people. When Jason and Roy had started teaming up, the batarang slice had still been healing and giving the former Robin trouble. Roy made a lot of the soup to make sure that Jay was still eating something. It was also how he found out that Red Hood and Cheshire had known each other before, and he found the soup comforting.

By the time his Jason appeared, with his younger counterpart in tow, dinner was ready. His husband directed the younger man to sit at the table, and draped a blanket over his shoulders. Roy remembers Jason telling him that he had been cold ever since he'd crawled out of the grave; it was the main reason that they had started sharing a bed on jobs. He portioned the soup into three mugs and set one in front of each of them before taking his own seat.

He sipped on his soup in silence, waiting for his Jason to take the lead. He was used to following Red Hood's lead in a variety of situations, and it felt natural even now. Both of the Jasons took a sip at the same time, and let out nearly identical sighs of contentment. Since he was no longer wearing the Red Hood gear or covered in blood, Roy was once again brutally reminded of how young the other Jason really was.

"This is Roy," his husband started. "We've been married for just over fifteen years; we have one kid who's twenty-two now." The younger man looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Roy wondered bitterly if it was harder for him to comprehend the marriage, the kid, or the living this long aspect.

The younger Jason kept glancing around the apartment, like he was trying to take in everything. They had pictures from their wedding hanging, as well as some with Steph and Cass, Damian, Kori, and other friends that they'd made over the years. Jason's favourite books were prominently displayed on bookshelves, throw blankets on couches, and other knickknacks around. There were times when Roy and Jason never spent longer than a week in a place, constantly hopping from safe house to safe house, and the redhead could only wonder how much worse that habit would've been with the younger man not having anyone to watch his back.

What the two Outlaws had managed to build was a proper home. Jason still oversaw some of the Red Hood's gang activities, mainly their community outreach side, but other than the he was retired. He had gone to school, gotten his degrees, and worked as an english professor at one of the nearby universities. Roy had retired out of the vigilante game earlier than that to take care of Lian, and had a mechanic's shop. Between both of their legitimate incomes, some Red Hood residuals and royalties from some patents Roy had sold, the couple's life was comfortable, and they were able to give back to their communities. What they had done was nothing short of a miracle, and both of them knew that. The fact that they had stayed in any place long enough to even have a community was a feat of itself.

At some point, Jason had gotten up to make tea, leaving Roy alone with the other Jason. The younger man seemed still hesitant about staying in the room with Roy, and the redhead was reminded of when the few times he had met the second Robin during his Titans days. The group had not been kind to the kid. Nightwing had made his opinion clear, and the few times that someone tried to be kind to his successor, the first Robin had ostracized them. No one wanted to be stuck with babysitting some young kid when they had finally gotten the chance to be heroes in their own right, and they had made it clear. That would have been less than five years ago for this Jason; no wonder he didn't want to be left with Roy.

"I'm sorry," the archer spoke, seemingly startlingly the kid out of his thoughts.

"Oh…what for?" Roy couldn't couldn't tell if he should be grateful or even more heartbroken that Jason didn't seem to remember what he was apologizing for.

"When…when you came to Titans Tower with Nightwing, we were…" he trailed off trying to find the right balance to apologize for the right thing, but not to bring up any specific forgotten bad memories, "…rude and unkind to you. It wasn't your fault; it's not an excuse, but we were just dumb kids then too, and didn't have the maturity to process everything, and we took it out on you. It was really shitty, and not at all fair to you." It wasn't the best apology he had ever given — NA had done wonders for him in that regard — but it still needed to be said. As soon as the words left his mouth, Roy cringed internally. He had called the Titans dumb kids, but most of them would have been around this Jason's age, or a little older.

"Oh, that's alright." Jason was frowning with a furrowed brow, and Roy thought it made him even younger. He also thought that he never wanted to see that look on the kid's face again. "I mean, I get why, you don't have to explain it. I was just some street rat; or course I wasn't gonna live up to Dick's standa—"

"NO!" The word was too loud and too sudden, and Jason flinched. He remembered that his Jason had also done that when they first met, and Roy was once again reminded of how much the teenager had gone through. "There is nothing wrong with you." The younger Jason opened his mouth as if to argue, but Roy already had too much experience in dealing with Jason Todd and his self-esteem that the Bats ruined. The kid had no chance. "There is nothing wrong with you. You are a good man, you become a good father, and you were a good kid. I'm sorry that people were too self-absorbed and proud to admit it, but I'm going to tell you now, and I will keep telling you to for as long as I can."

Chapter Text

Jason was still trying to figure out his older version. He was in awe of what he had apparently turned his life into . Somehow he had gone from a teen-aged crime lord on the FBI's Most Wanted list who never spent more than two days in a row in the same safe house and whose only decorations included partially dismantled handguns and blood stains to an adult with a proper home. His closest associates still hadn't seen his face, and this version of himself had pictures everywhere.

Jason had always loved kids — when Catherine was still working, he used to babysit her coworkers' kids, and it was one of the few highlights of that time. When Bruce had taken him in, he thought he might finally have the chance to grow up and become a dad, but dying in that warehouse had all but eliminated that possibility. Even when he came back to Crime Alley as Red Hood and everything was designed to get to Batman, he made sure that the kids were taken care of. After everything, Jason thought there was no world in which he could become a dad so he had trapped those dreams behind a wall and never thought about them. Finding out he was not only a dad, but that the kid had grown up and was an adult in her own right was like taking a sledgehammer to that wall.

His husband, Roy Harper, because apparently he had managed to trick one of the original Teen Titans into marrying him, had called him good. He had been called a lot of things, but good had never been one of them. Harper had even apologized for something that had never happened decades in the past. He knew that he was a sub-par replacement for the original Robin; he had always known that. Batman told him as much every time he trained and he was constantly told how much better Dick Grayson would have done it. Just because the Titans had done it more explicitly didn't change the fact that everyone thought it was true.

He said as much, and the redhead looked even more miserable. Jason had done that. He had been awake for less than twenty minutes and was already ruining future him's life by making his husband miserable. He would have to fix that.

"Look, Speedy, I never blamed you or Nightwing or any of the Titans. That's just how it was, and I once I figured that out, I accepted it. Maybe you should too." Was that too blunt? It had always worked for Jason, whether it had been with Willis, clients on the streets, or even Bruce. He took responsibility, absolved the other person, and then he could escape. It didn't seem to be working now, though; if anything the older man seemed even more distraught.

"I'm sorry…?" Usually he could read what someone needed, and if not, an apology usually went a long way.

"Oh…no. Jason you did nothing wrong." Roy looked incredibly unsure and tense. Jason had only seen him self-assured and cocky as Speedy, back when he thought the archer was the coolest person on the face of the planet. Seeing him so out of his element was starting to unsettle Jason. "Jason, you have nothing to apologize for, and being insulted and talked down to is not something you should be forced to accept." That…that was not what the younger man had expected him to say. It also definitely didn't seem correct. "You don't believe me now, I know, and that's okay. You won't for a while, but at this point I've had over two decades to show you."

The redhead reached out, hesitantly, and gently placed his hand on Jason's arm. His hands were warm, and against Jason's skin that had been cold since he dug out of his grave, it felt singeing in the best way. (Later, after Jason had been sent back to his own time, and before he had managed to find the archer, the memory of a hand warm, and branding itself into his arm, would keep him company and reassure him that everything would turn out alright in the end.)

"What's…what's going to happen to me?" he asked. Jason really had nothing to look forward to in his own time. Everyone he had cared about was dead, or thought he was dead, or tried to kill him. He wondered if he could stay here where he was loved and warm instead of being sent back to that cold, lonely existence.

"You have to go back," Roy replied, and he sounded more upset about than Jason would have thought. "You'll need to back to your own time. We'll call Zatanna and she should either be able to send you back or know someone who does."

"I don— I don't want to go back." It sounds pitiful even to his own ears, so he can only imagine what it sounds like to Roy. "There's nothing there for me. I can't just stay here?" I can't just stay with you went unsaid.

"Believe me, Jason, if I had any say in it, I would like nothing more than for you to stay. I wouldn't send you back if I could help it." For the second time, the older man surprised Jason with his reply. "Unfortunately, we're bound by the constraints of the time stream and whatnot."

Jason knew that. Of course he knew that. He had sat through enough lectures from Batman or the Justice League on how important it was to preserve the integrity of the time stream. For the first time in his life he felt like a person; it would have been nice to pretend that he had a place he belonged, even if it was just for a little while.

"It doesn't have to be today, though," Roy continued. "You can stay for a few days; get well rested and healed up before." Jason could feel something in his chest unclench when the older man said that. He obviously had more to say, and Jason waited for him. "And let me be clear: You have to go back to your time. You don't have to go back to the Bats or to Gotham or to the League." Jason looked up, taken off guard. "Yeah, I know about how involved the League of Assassins was in your life. My point is that they don't have to be, not if you don't want them to be. We can set something up so that the Alley is self-sufficient and your kids are taken care of, but you don't have to stay. You can make your life look be whatever you want it to be. Roy took a deep breath, as if he was trying to collect himself. "You are going to build yourself something truly incredible, and it can be wherever and with whomever you want."

Your kids. The two words hung in the air and wrapped themselves around him like a comforting blanket. It was the first time that someone had called the street kids in Crime Alley his. They were his people. He had been one of them until a fancy car parked in an alley changed the trajectory of his life forever. When Bruce had first adopted him, he had been determined to make something of himself so that he could help the Alley. He came back as Red Hood and realized he finally had the chance to do something for them, and so he did. He considered the kids his in the same way that he considered Crime Alley his: they belonged to him as much as he belonged to them, but no one else had ever acknowledged that. Society said that the kids belonged to the streets, and Bruce called the entire city — even Crime Alley where he only went once a year — his.

They sat with each other in silence for another moment. Jason was faced with the glaring realization that this might have been the first chance for him to take a moment to just breathe and just be. Between running from Willis' bad moods or the cops, running towards danger as Robin, and running from Batman once he came back to Gotham, he had been running his entire life. He had thought that that's just what had been allotted to him by the universe, and he had learned to be okay with that. It would never be enough, and yet it was all he would get so he would have to make it be enough.

Instead, Jason now found himself sitting in the physical manifestation of what was more than enough. He could get this; he would get this. There was a future waiting for him that wasn't just broken bones and blood covered hands, and all he had to do was believe in it enough to make it.

Chapter Text

Jason stayed with them for three days, and they used that opportunity to infuse as much love, and as many experiences a normal child would get, as possible. They took him fishing (Roy's idea) and to the Library of Congress (Jason's idea), and even to the zoo (Lian's idea). Older Jason brought him to sit in on one of his lectures at the university. Roy even took him on his monthly trip to Gotham to visit his grave site. They were staring at the freshly cleaned gravestone, now adorned with the bouquet of lilies and ivy Roy had brought. The whole ordeal served to make the younger man uncomfortable, but he didn't say anything until Roy took a picture and sent it to his older self.

"Why do you do all this?"

Roy looked up from his phone. "All of what?"

Jason gestured to the grave. "All of this. He's alive, isn't he?" Roy was smart — too smart for Jason's liking sometimes — and he managed to read the unasked question. I'm alive, aren't I? I'm a real person too, right?

He smiled sadly before responding. "Yeah, Jay. You are alive. You're here, and he's here, and I do my best every day to treat it like the miracle that it is. But this kid, this kid still died. I needed Jason to know that his death meant something to people, and he needed to know that someone would mourn the kid who actually died, not whatever martyred 'good soldier' Batman had made up."

A Good Soldier. Jason had seen the memorial case when he had hacked into the Batcave footage after coming back. Bruce had taken him in, made him part of his family, called him son, and at the end of the day, he still just saw him as a disposable soldier. He had always known that Bruce had never really accepted him, but it still hurt to see such definitive proof on a plaque.

"Hey, Jay, can you look at me?" Roy's calm voice pulled him out of his spiral, but he wasn't ready to face whatever he would see in the older man's eyes. He shook his head, and remained zoned in on his feet. "That's okay. Bruce is an asshole." The blunt language had him looking up in shock to meet eyes that were bluer and clearer than Gotham's skies had ever been.

"What?" His voice sounded dangerously young even to his own years. He must have misheard whatever Roy had said. People would talk about how silly and unserious the Brucie persona was, or how Batman wasn't much of a team player and could communicate better, but no one ever said directly negative things about him. It was not something that happened to affluent white charismatic men like Bruce Wayne.

Roy placed his hands gently on either side of Jason's face, eliminating any chance of the younger man looking away. "I said, Bruce is an asshole." So he had heard the redhead correctly. He was still processing that, when Roy went on. "Bruce is an asshole, and his opinion isn't the only one that matters. It never has been. Children aren't soldiers, and just because he can't comprehend that doesn't mean it was okay for him to treat you like one."

On reflex, Jason had opened his mouth to refute that no, Bruce didn't treat him like a soldier when he was alive, but the motion flexed his muscles enough that they pulled on the still healing Batarang scar. The scar Batman had given him. The same Batman who had taken him in, promised him safety and security, then trained him to run directly at any danger — the same danger that had gotten him killed. And even after all of that, Jason had still been willing to excuse his actions

He'd seen it before — as a kid in Crime Alley, as Robin, and maybe especially as Red Hood — someone whose automatic response was to defend another, no matter the sins of that person. He had seen it before, specifically in victims about their abuser. Batman was a hero; he couldn't have been abusive, right? No, it must have been Jason's fault somehow; never good enough to live up to the original Boy Wonder's legacy, too impulsive and reckless, too violent.

"You know," and it's Roy's voice cutting through the mire of his thoughts again, "Bruce hit Dick once. It was after you died; we were in space when it happened, and Bruce just didn't tell him. Held the funeral before we even got back to the atmosphere. Dick didn't handle it well, and called Bruce out on his typical bullshit. Bruce hit him and told him it was his fault you died."

Dick hadn't skipped his funeral on purpose? Dick didn't know he had died, and Bruce had held the funeral when he wasn't even on the planet. Bruce hit Dick. Bruce had hit Jason. Bruce had constantly talked down to Jason comparing him to Dick, but when Dick came over, Bruce would pretend he wasn't an adult with his own agency. He had treated his kids like soldiers, and iced them out when they didn't listen to him. He had put a new kid in the Robin colours, before Jason's body had even settled in the ground.

"Bruce is abusive." Jason's voice sounded so small, and coming to the realization broke something in him.

"Yeah, kid." Something in Roy's voice screamed that he had spent years trying to convince whoever would listen of that.

"I'm not going back to Gotham." He had been thinking about it for the entire time he had been with Jason and Roy, but it was the first time that he had said it out loud.

On the second day, Lian came over and they made tamales. Jason could remember Catherine teaching him how to make them, some old family recipe that had been guarded for generations. Apparently older him had taught them to Lian, his daughter, which he was still trying to wrap his brain around. His daughter who was, apparently older than he was now.

His older version and their kid bustled around the kitchen, a dance that they seemed to have done a million times. He hung on the fringes; he hadn't made tamales since Catherine had died. When he was on the streets and as Hood he hadn't had the time. As much as he had loved Alfred, it felt like some sort of betrayal to her memory to give away the recipe to an old, white, very British man so that he could get the ingredients for it. Roy was in the workshop, and he figured he could go there, when the older Jason's voice stopped him.

"You still remember how to make these, right? We're not still so deep in the Pit madness we haven't recovered all of the childhood memories?" Jason looked at the stations they had set up at the kitchen island. He probably couldn't have remembered what went into all of it, but his hands still held the muscle memory of how to roll a tamale, and he said as much.

Jason smiled at him. "Great! Then wash up, and get to work." He knows better than to argue in the man's own kitchen and does what he says. It's far too easy to imagine how this Jason was as a father, but Lian didn't always have this one. They'd been together fifteen years, which meant that the Jason Lian got was only five years removed from the him he was now. Even he, emotionally repressed as he might be, knows that in the middle of tamale making, with his hands covered in masa and no escape routes, to bring it up, but it does bother him — the wanting to know what kind of father he was at first.

Lian, much like her father, was far too observant for Jason's good. She tracked him down after the tamales had been put on to steam, and there were no other tasks for him to hide behind. He had grabbed one of his favourite books off the shelf in the living room and disappeared to the backyard. Since coming back he had read plenty, but it was all case files or tactical manuals; he hadn't read anything for entertainment or enjoyment.

She found him in the middle of Pride and Prejudice, and took a seat next to him with what appeared to be a sketchbook. He looked up briefly in case she needed something, but she shook her head. The two of them sat in silence, and it was nice. There were no expectations, no incoming threats; just two people enjoying their hobbies side by side.

"You know the first time we met, it wasn't because of dad." They had been sitting with only the ambient sounds of outside for nearly forty minutes before Lian started talking. "We met in the League; I'm Cheshire's kid too."

Jason remembered Cheshire as a talented, albeit too serious and intense at times, poisoner and assassin. There were always kids around the League compound, and Jason had taken many of them under his proverbial wing, but he didn't know any of the kids were directly linked to Cheshire. Most of his time at the compound proper was prior to him taking a bath in the Lazarus Pit, though, so he may have very well just missed it.

"You called me Mira," Lian went on. "Told me it was short for Amira which meant princess." It was starting to come back — Jason could vaguely remember a little girl with pigtails and a tiara who loved art. He nodded. "I love my mom, and I know she loved me, but she wasn't ever really ready to be a parent. You were singlehandedly responsible for giving me a childhood and making feel seen. You were a great dad before you had even considered being one."

He took the time to really look at her, and he could see both of her parents in her — she had her father's crooked smile and her mother's piercing brown eyes. His time in the League of Assassins had been a blur, but what he could remember of it, he had only mixed feelings about. To hear that while he was there he made a wholly positive impact on someone gave him some form of hope that maybe he could still do good.

"Daddy and Papá said that Batman really hurt you and that he tried to convince you that you were evil and wrong." Jason knew logically that this Lian was older than him and had enough time to process everything, but now that he knew she was one of the kids he took care of, he couldn't help but think of her as too young to carry this burden. He didn't know how to say any of that, so instead he nodded. Apparently in the next twenty years he would learn how to communicate like an emotionally mature adult, but he hadn't put in that work yet.

"I don't think you are, for the record. When we were in the League together, mom said that because of the brain damage you were acting entirely on instinct. And your instinct made you someone who loved and protected children, and who fought against injustice in whatever form you could find. I don't believe that that person could have turned into someone evil, and from what I've heard you aren't."

"You know I've killed people, right?" It was the first thing that anyone ever commented on — Red Hood's body count. Yes he did it to clean up Crime Alley, and yes, underage prostitution was eliminated and overdoses were down 80%, and yes, he had opened more food banks, soup kitchens, and shelters in a few months than Wayne Enterprises had in decades, but no one cared about that when there was a duffel bag full of heads to contend with.

Lian gave him a look that he recognized that he would get from Jade during toxin training if he was being especially obtuse. "We did just cover who my parents are, right?"

"Yeah…yeah I got that, right. Sorry."

"It's fine. Just don't do it again." She sounded serious enough that Jason looked up to find her scowling, before her facade cracked into a fit of giggling. It startled a laugh out of Jason, and it made him realize he hadn't genuinely laughed in years. For the first time since he came out of the Pit, he thought that everything might be okay.

Zatanna was set to arrive in the late afternoon on the third day. They had spent the first part the day finalizing Jason's plans for Crime Alley. Red Hood, for all anyone knew, had died in that abandoned building. The three of them had figured out a system that would keep enforcing Jason's rules for the Alley, funnel the funds back into the programs that Hood had set up, and be self-sufficient. Jason would always be Gotham's, would always have her deep in his bones, but at the end of the day, it wasn't a healthy place for him to be, especially with the Bat still running around. Over the last three days, he had gotten a taste of what his life could be, and who he could become, and nothing was going to make him give up on that. If it required him to stay out of Gotham, then it was a small price to pay.

"You should reach out to Dick," his older counterpart told him. "Bruce never told him that we came back, and he doesn't find out until years after the fact. He's really struggling, and could use someone who understands how much Bruce sucks." Somehow Jason finds himself agreeing to finish up the business in Crime Alley and then let Nightwing he was back. "You don't have to stay; hell, you don't even have to talk to him. Just let him know you're alive. He won't tell Bruce, I promise."

Zatanna, unfortunately punctual as ever, arrived on time. Older Jason made her tea and took her to the living room to get set up, leaving Roy and Jason alone in the kitchen. He had the same look of determination that Jason had gotten used to over the last few days — the one that made it clear he had something to say and that he wouldn't quit until he got it out.

"When you get back, do whatever you have to do to set the Alley up, let Dick know you're alive, and then come find me. The me that's out there waiting for you…he's not doing good, Jay. He's going to need you, and once he comes back to himself, he'll never let you be alone again. You will never know another lonely day again, not while I'm still breathing, I promise." He held Jason close to him and did both of them the courtesy of pretending they weren't crying. The separated, and Roy gently cradled Jason's face in his hands. "I loved you through it the first time; come find me, darling, and I'll love you through it all over again."

By the time they made it out to the living room, Zatanna had already set up and was ready to do the ritual to send Jason back to his own time. The goodbyes were more painful than he would have anticipated when he first woke up a few days ago. "Remember," Roy told him right before the ritual finished, "you are more good and more loved than the people you know will ever let you believe, and I will remind you of that every day for the rest of our lives."

The first time Jason Todd woke up after dying, he was cold and alone. The second time, he was warmed by the waters of the Lazarus Pits. The time after that, he woke up warm, cared for, and safe. This time, he woke up alone — but not lonely — still in his Red Hood gear, still covered in his own blood, still in the building Batman had left him in, but with the overwhelming feeling of being loved in ways that he didn't have the words for yet.

He stopped by Red Hood's headquarters, told them he wasn't dead, but that he still needed to get out of Gotham. The instructions he gave them were straightforward — turn what he had built into a non-profit, make sure the kids and the working girls were taken care of, don't let any of the funds left the Alley, and make sure the Bat never came in. He left one of his lieutenants in charge — an Alley kid he had known on the streets — competent and no-nonsense who would make sure that everything was carried out exactly how it needed to be.

"We care about you, boss," they had told him, leaning against the door frame while he packed up his office. "We'll be sad to see you go, but not sad you're getting out. Go make something of yourself on behalf of all of us Alley kids, yeah?"

Jason nodded, not trusting himself to be able to form words at the moment. His experiences with his older self and their husband still hung fresh in his mind, and to know that even more people loved him and wanted to see him succeed was making him more sentimental than he'd ever been.

With the assurances that Crime Alley would be taken care of, Jason wrote a letter to Dick letting him know that he was alive, but Bruce had done, and a number to his new burner. He would trust his older self that Dick would choose him over Bruce, but he still wouldn't tell him where he was going. The last loose end before he left Gotham was sitting behind bars.

Arkham Asylum was laughably easy to break into, and even after that, the Joker was ridiculously easy to find. At this point, he had all but a reserved cell that he would be put back into whenever he broke out. It still baffled Jason that that was an actual thing, and Bruce still didn't see any issues with it. A catalogue of the clown's injuries confirmed what Jason suspected — there were no new ones other than what he himself had done. Batman had slit his throat and then gently placed the Joker back in his designated home.

The last time that it had been him and the Joker alone in a room, Batman had killed Jason. The time before that, the Joker had killed Jason. Both situations had one thing in common — he so desperately needed someone to prove to him that he was loved. Sheila couldn't do it, and Bruce wouldn't do it, but none of that mattered now. He had been shown how loved he was; he had lived through being how loved he was. The Joker was facing away from the door, when Jason pulled the trigger. There was no banter, no taunts, no laughter, just a single gunshot and his nightmare was over.

Roy Harper had done a lot of things in his life that he had regretted. Unfortunately, no matter how he looked at it, helping to overthrow an authoritarian government in Quarac was not one of those regrets. He regretted not being a better father to Lian, not being more present, and not telling her goodbye, but he would never regreat giving an entire country's next generation the tools and inspiration to build their own futures.

The execution was soon, he knew. He wondered if the military would be so nice as to ship his body back to Ollie; he wondered if Ollie even cared enough to take it. They told him that he had a visitor — his first since being branded an enemy of the state and locked up. He briefly wondered who even could find this place to visit him, but then he realized he didn't actually care. No one in his life would think a washed up former sidekick turned addict would be worth starting yet another international incident.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of who appeared to be a Catholic priest ranting about the "deplorable conditions" that Roy was being held in. If he was being honest, it wasn't even as bad as some of the places he had holed up in at the height of his addiction.

"Listen, Father, not that I don't appreciate this, but I really don't thin—"

"Nonsense!" He was cut off by the Priest. "Come over here, my son, let us pray privately."

He looked nervously at the guards who just nodded. "As long as you're out here and I can see you, you can go wherever you want for all I care."

The priest opened the Bible he was holding, and Roy had to fight not to roll his eyes. He hadn't been a religious man in any sense of the word, but maybe if he played along the priest would do him a favour and get a message back to Ollie and Lian.

"I think this passage is particularly piercing to the heart of the matter, don't you think, Mr. Harper?"

Roy looked down at the book, and it took several moments for him to comprehend what he was looking at. Instead of a Bible, the book appeared to be hollowed out, and inside of it was his collapsible bow. His collapsible bow — not just any model that could be found, but the one he had been traveling with before coming to Qurac. This one still had stickers on it from when he had left it and Lian alone in a room unsupervised.

"Who are you?" he asked, wary, but hopeful for the first time in months.

"As I told you, my name is Pastor Beerback of the International Agency of Amnesty.

"Okay…And you know this is insane, right?" It's not like Roy wasn't going to go along with it; he was all out of options and if someone was nice enough to stage a rescue, he wasn't going to let their hard work go to waste.

"Amen!"