Chapter Text
Jason could write his life story as a sob story, and sell it for thousands he guaranteed.
He would be rich without his father’s money and he would be recognized as something other than a failure. Which if you think about it, that's pretty awesome.
Instead, he’s in Crime Alley, unhappy beyond belief, and only on the brink of death. Jason might be bleeding profusely right now. Yikes. Okay, but realistically, he never finished high school, so his dreams of becoming a renowned writer are very much gone.
Unfortunate.
As a kid, before Bruce, he had never expected to live beyond 13. Once his mom bit the dust, and he had to deal with colder nights without her arms, he could only imagine his death to be as peaceful as hers. When his father had disappeared on him, a rush of adrenaline and panic coursed through his veins. He was truly on his own now, and the only thing that remained from his family was his last name bearing the weight of his neglectful parents.
Jason didn't know how long he had lived in that dingy apartment for.
All he had remembered was stealing food from the local shops who pretend to not notice and shivering under the thin covers he had stolen from the dumpster under his apartment. No one was looking for him, he had to remind himself when he dodged yet again another close call with a drunk creep. No one will be there to save you.
This mantra kept him going, and kept him safe whenever he was approached by the bullies his age or when he had to swallow yet another night of hunger and tears. After digging out an old tire jack from the side of the dumpster and staring at the batmobile for a second too long.
What a mess, he should’ve just died from starvation instead like all the other orphan kids in Crime Alley.
Jason gingerly placed his hand on the bleeding stab wound on the right side of his body, feeling the fight drain from him. The blood left dark stains on his fingertips, the crimson eating at his pale skin. He’d loved the color red since he was a kid, and now present day he feels mesmerized by the same crimson he found on the arms of his mother.
This world is quite cruel, huh?
He patted himself with his other hand to check for injuries. No concussion, just dizzy. He was tired, which was normal, so no problem there. There might be a few large bruises on his legs and a gash on his left shoulder from a lucky swing by one of the villains men. It was only bleeding a bit, so eh.
There were… cuts on his arms. Not from his enemies.
But that was unimportant. Jason needed to focus on the stab wound he might potentially die from. Using the walk, he lifted himself carefully to his feet, trying not to puke when he lifted his head too quickly.
His helmet felt so heavy, as if it weighed tons more than it dead. The hum of dead air was ringing in his ears. If he had just clicked that red button on the side of his helmet, he could reactivate the dead line between the Red Hood and the Barcave.
Sure they would answer for Red Hood, a cruel, but reliable ally.
But would the answer for Jason Todd, the boy who died a long time ago?
With every step Jason took, he left a blood trail. It taunted him, and followed him around like a stalker. It was a reminder, that he would not call his family no matter how much trouble he was in. After an unknown amount of steps, his vision was blurry and dark spots danced in his vision. He could barely feel the warm blood leak and bleed into his leather jacket, and breathing just hurt too much. It was a shame, he really liked this jacket.
He gave a weak pound at the glass door before a figure came running to open it.
“Jason?!”
Huh, that didn’t sound like Leslie, he thought falling forward into the person's arms. Their muscles felt firm and unlike the soft cotton of a lab coat, it felt like slippery latex instead. It felt familiar.
“Oh my God, Leslie, come here quick—“
“Goodness, he’s lost a lot of blood—“
“Little Wing, please, stay with me—“
Jason knew they told him to keep his eyes open, but he was so tired. They wouldn’t mind if he shut his eyes for a bit right? His eyes fluttered shut, uncaring about how the yelling got louder and he could hear the medical machine beep louder.
-
Beep
Beep
Beep
You're out of time little birdie, Joker cackled. How’s it feel to have your mother betray you and Batman to abandon you?
Jason was small, and covered in blood. His arms were tied in thick rope and he could only watch helplessly as the bomb ticked closer to zero. His gloves were torn and ripped and a trickle of warm liquid flowed from his hairline.
No, Bruce will come, he wouldn’t leave me.
Jason thought about Bruce’s warm gazes, although he wasn’t smiling, he could see the love in his eyes. He remembered the pride bubbling in his heart whenever Bruce laughed at his jokes or his remarks. Jason saw the bright eyes and secret grins he would share at Alfred when they successfully got him to eat dinner together or play board games together. It was the smell of freshly baked cookies after patrol, and the quiet typing of the computer late at night, where he would fall asleep early and Bruce would carry him up to his bedroom.
The shadow of a kiss on his forehead and the numbing of his pain before he had found his father.
Goodbye birdie, You were my favorite Robin.
No! He looked desperately at the horror in his mother’s expression, wishing he could smooth those wrinkles out and take her away from all of this. They would have a nice lunch at a cafe in Gotham. Sheila would apologize for betraying him and he would gladly accept her apology. He would buy her dinner later, and find her a nice place to live in. They would be happy together, and Jason would have his mother and his father. He won't be alone again.
Then, it was loud and bright, and he was gone.
Jason died alone.
-
The beeping was still there when he woke up.
Except this time, it wasn’t from explosives and he wasn’t in Ethiopia.
His hearing felt muffled, as if cotton swabs were stuffed in his ears. He could feel an oxygen mask on his face and an IV stuck deep into his arm. His bare arm. The left arm where he had left raised scars and dark marks that were too parallel and crossed to not be deliberate. Jason’s vision was blurry, and he wished he could close his eyes and sink back into the dead, the only place where he was at peace.
The blanket over his chest was itchy and stiff, which didn’t help since he was covered in the thin papery material that was a typical hospital gown.
Well, at least he had made it to the clinic. Damn, he really thought he was dead there.
Jason wouldn’t be opposed to that.
“Jason…?”
A hesitant voice plucked him from his thoughts, as he slowly turned to his left, locking his poisonous green with ocean blue eyes.
Dick?
...Dick?”
Ah, so his older brother was here. Actually, why was his older brother here?
“Why–”
“Are–”
They both started to talk before shutting their mouths firmly.
Dick gave a sheepish smile, and lifted his hand to gesture for Jason to speak, his hands shaking slightly. Jason noticed now his lip was bitten raw, as if he was anxious about something. His worry lines were deeper, as Dick had a terrible habit of furrowing his eyebrow when he was anxious or angry. Black hair was mussed into messy waves, meaning that he had just come back from patrol and was streaking his fingers through it to make it look more presentable.
Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly, a bit annoyed with the whole ordeal occurring.
“Dickhead. Why are you here? Ran out of supplies at the Cave?”
Jason knew that they never ran out of supplies in the cave, Bruce (and now Tim) were way too paranoid and on top of it to even think about missing something as small as Band-Aids.
“Bruce got injured trying to save a kid from a burning building down the block. There was a piece of metal on his leg and here was closer.”
Ugh. Bruce was here. Ew.
Jason hoped the disgust in his face wasn’t prevalent, but judging from the weird look Dick gave him, he clearly wasn’t hiding it well enough.
“So… is he here or not?”
The unspoken question of “Do I need to hide from him or is he gone now?” rang loudly in the room.
Dick grimaced, responding, “He’s here. I think he was going back to the Batcave before he heard you were injured.”
Ugh. Why, God, would you curse me like this?
“Shouldn’t you be in Bludhaven?”
Dick paused.
“I– well yes, but Bruce said he needed help since Red Robin would be out of commission for a while.”
Jason’s eyebrow quirked upwards. Tim was hurt?
“Who hurt baby bird #1?”
“He got injected with fear toxin. Bruce didn’t want him to kill himself on patrol if he accidentally saw a hallucination," Dick brushed a stray curl off of Jason’s forehead, and stayed unbothered when Jason had weakly batted it away. “Besides, Tim was already tired from the last few cases he had to look over from Commissioner Gordon. He deserves this break.”
Damn right he did.
Now you care about him, the voice whispered in the back of his mind. Yes, he replied, fuck off bitch.
You saw his blood drip of your fists and the light leave his eyes.
“You didn’t let me ask my question. Are you okay? What happened?”
He saw how Dick’s breath hitched when he glanced at the large bandage wrapped around his middle half and the scars on his arms. Jason knew he looked like a mess. The hair on his hair felt greasy and covered in dirt. There were just so many incidents happening that night, he didn’t have time to hop in his nearest safe house for a shower or something. He knew there were eye bags that could rival Bruce’s because he saw himself in the mirror. Sometimes, he can’t look at himself in the cracked mirror in his bathroom, he looked too much like Bruce.
Well, besides the obvious facial scarring and the hazardous green eyes that came from the Lazarus Pit.
“Some guy got a lucky stab at me before I could react,” Jason knew that it had to be the restless sleep he had the night before and the caffeine crash from the numerous energy drinks he had chugged to stay away during patrol wearing off. “Didn’t realize till I saw the blood coming out.”
Now that he thought about it, it was kind of embarrassing he almost got taken down by a no name.
“Jason… This isn’t normal for you.”
A rush of anger filled Jason. What did Dick know about him and what he normally was like? He was barely around to even know what his favorite food was, let alone his self destructive tendencies. No one in his family knew he had self-harmed or smoked when he was a kid, and never bothered to ask if they ever saw the light scars on his arms when he was Robin. Unfortunately, they would’ve likely never found out if he never ran into them here now, as the Red Hood.
This was shaping up to be one of the worst nights Jason’s had in a while.
“Y—You get yourself almost killed on patrol, we barely see you, and you’re hurt. Leslie had to put an IV in you because you were so dehydrated and out of it.”
Dick glances at the cuts on his arms, which were fresh as lines of clear red blood were wiped away from it not too long ago.
“Why didn’t you use our comm line, Little Wing?”
His words were so quiet that Jason almost didn’t catch it. He glanced at his brother trying to read his expression. Jason couldn’t see anything besides pain and old grief arise in his eyes and the thin line of a frown on his lips. This wasn’t Nightwing, it was Dick Grayson who had almost lost his little brother for the second time.
Jason growled, the action causing a puff of condensation to appear on his oxygen mask.
“Oh, fuck off Dick. I didn’t need your help, I made it here just fine, yeah?” He weakly sat up, ignoring the protests from his older brother. “We get hurt all the time on patrol, it’s normal. Bruce is here because he got hurt from fucking guess what? Patrol.”
Dick was silent, his eyes glossy as if he was about to burst into tears. God, Jason can not handle it if he cries right now. He has no energy to comfort his brother, he might say something hurtful instead.
He always says the wrong things.
Jason noticed how he had bypassed the topic of his self-harm. Again. No one in this family was safe from emotional constipation, especially Jason.
-
“Hey, dude, uh… Where’d you get those scars from?”
Jason was caught off guard by the hesitant voice. Duke had never talked to him unless they were on patrol together. Even then it was rare because Jason usually only patrolled during emergencies, usually with Dick or one of the girls.
Stephanie smacked Duke’s arm, eliciting a surprised “ow” from him and a glare in her response.
Jason looked down at his arms. He had forgoed the heavy leather jacket and thin long sleeve layer in favor of a simple black tank top. Although he had always run cold, it was particularly warm that day and he needed as much movement as possible if he wanted to fix his motorcycle.
There was nothing out of the ordinary, at least for him. Dark slashes that looked like claw marks had littered the entirety of both of his arms, with some turning white as they scarred. Occasionally, there would be lines of raised, white and maroon bumps across his fore arm. A white bandage had covered the area where his wrists had met his palms on both arms, a reminder of his pain from last night.
Jason noncommittally shrugged, ignoring how the suspicion from Stephanie had become obvious in her expression.
“Dunno. Probably from patrol or something. Can’t really remember.”
Oh, Jason remembered.
As he grabbed his next tool and wiped away the grease on his hands, he felt the awkward silence heavily. He barely even came into the bat cave, and when he does so it’s only to steal supplies or make small talk with Alfred.
“Ah.. I see…” Was Duke’s quiet response.
Jason hummed in response, pleased with the adjustments he had made to his bike. Yeah, he hated Bruce, but that man did have a lot of useful supplies.
“Wanna come eat lunch with us, Jason? Alfred made some fancy pasta dish.”
He turned to see Stephanie’s bright grin, as if she was determined to ignore the discomfort of Duke’s question and his stiff response.
“No thanks. Gotta get back to get ready for patrol,” Jason stood up and packed away the heavy tools. “Tell him I said thanks though.”
He grabbed his bike and walked past the two, ending the conversation before they could say anything else.
If he went home and left for patrol with more bandages on his arm than before, that was his business and nobody else's.
-
Thanks Bruce, you really passed down the gift of your emotional constipation to your struggling kids.
“I–”
Speaking of bats, Dick was interrupted by a large bat in front of his door.
Jason hated bats, but he hated big, brooding ones the most.
“Dick.”
A flash of frustration lit across Dick’s face, his eyes narrowing as he turned to glare at his father. For a moment, it was silent, as the eldest son of the nest of birds challenged the authority of their father. Bruce’s face was hard and stern, and he was still in his bat suit, minus the cowl. Parts of his cape were burned to ashes and there were slashes of something across his chest and suit.
The fight left Dick, as he sighed.
“Sorry Little Wing, I gotta run.” He gave a guilty smile in response to the fear in Jason’s eyes.
No, please don’t leave me here DIckie.
Please.
Not with him.
Jason felt warmth heat up his cheeks as he touched the raised scar on his throat. He could feel the pain from his stab wound fade away, as all hot liquid hurt coursed straight to his throat.
Dick was gone before Jason could say anything, and Jason felt like he was fifteen again. Trapped, and left behind by his older brother, who had more important priorities to attend to than staying with his whiny little brother.
“Jason.”
“Bruce,” Jason responded flatly, looking everywhere but into his father’s dark eyes. “Off your game now huh, old man? Getting taken out by a stray piece of a building has got to be a way to go out.”
His father sighed before sitting in the chair with a limp. His leg was in a cast, and it was clear that Dick would have to play Batman for a bit before he could fully heal up.
Hah, that’s what he got for leaving him behind.
With the person who tried to murder him.
“Are you okay?”
Jason stiffened, not wanting to entertain the part of him that yearned for Bruce’s comfort. The sickly sweet feeling reminded him too much of how warm his hugs were. He shut it down, before he can get hurt, and face the fact that Bruce will never offer another one of them to a murderer like him.
“Dandy. Are you done? Can you leave.” He gritted out the last sentence not as a question, but a statement. It was exhausting to talk to his feather without his emotions going awry.
Another sigh, this one with more disappointment in it. Jason just got here and he’s already facing disappointment from two different people in his family. Like, seriously? Not gonna even give him a break?
“I heard a stab wound, but I didn’t hear about those injuries on your arms.” He side eyed the cuts and the scars with… an emotion. “How’d… you get those?”
Jason rolled his eyes with great drama, he deserved it after having to deal with this “comfort” from his father after nearly dying. He thinks that Bruce wouldn’t mind him dying. He only worried for the speck on his reputation. That, being Jason, the son he couldn’t save.
A suicide that would make the world realize that Brucie Wayne isn’t the great philanthropist billionaire, or the oh so mighty Batman.
Jason was Batman’s greatest failure, no matter which way you look at it.
“I’ve always had them.”
“Jason, don't lie to me. It’s childish.”
“I didn’t get to finish my childhood, old man. Cut me some slack.”
A mix of anger and grief clouded his father’s expression. Before he could scream, yell, or scold Jason (all things he didn’t want to hear), Leslie appeared in front of the door.
“If you’re done here, I would like to tend to my patient.”
“Leslie–”
“Goodbye, Bruce. Take your medication before you leave.”
It was like a mirror to how Dick left. Both were gone in a second, silently moving in trained motions to escape in the most efficient way possible, despite any injuries. They were Batman and Robin, after all. The first of their generation.
The first real smile appeared on Jason’s cheeks when he saw Leslie chase away Bruce.
“Young man, you shouldn’t be smiling either. Did you not take my advice on getting that therapist?”
Jason’s smile turned into a grimace, glancing at his lap in defeat.
“No. They wouldn’t like my sunny personality anyways.”
Leslie sighed. A lot of people were doing that around him today.
“Jason… I know you’re hurt, but the only way to get better is to move past that,” she placed a glass of water next to his bedside and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. “Your death had hurt everyone. I know you and Bruce don’t have the best relationship, but I don’t want to see you tearing yourself apart because of it.”
Jason was silent. Rationally, she was right. If he continues to feel this way and cut his skin apart at every little inconvenience, he’s going to run out of space. When he runs out of space, there’s only one way out.
Death.
He leaned his head back on the bed, barely registering the comforting shoulder pat from Leslie and her retreating footsteps out of his room. Jason had a few options in mind.
One, he goes to see the therapist Leslie recommended, and tries his hardest to stop cutting and smoking. He talks with Bruce, they deal with their problems the healthy way he stops making Dick cry all the time yada, yada, whatever.
Two, he goes on a killing spree as Red Hood and lives a care free life doing what he wants. First, he’ll hunt down the Joker and kill him with his own hands, then leave Gotham. All communication with his family will be cut, and he will never, ever, see them again. But, Jason loves Gotham. Who will save the Crime Alley children, if not the Red Hood? They will die from starvation, alone and in pain, a feeling Jason knows all too dearly.
Three, he cuts and smokes until he can’t take it anymore. Until his lungs feel like they’re choking with smoke and his arms become an overcrowded canvas with too many shades of red. His healing factor works fast, he needs to find a way out of it. A way to get rid of himself for good. He needs to test a few options before he can determine the correct way to die.
Jason looks outside to the window at his bedside.
If he dies, he’ll never hear the sound of birds chirping in the morning. He won’t hear the yelling and crying of the citizens in Crime Alley. Never again will he see a child cry with tears of relief or smile because he saved them from an untimely demise. There would be no more friendly calls with Roy and he will never be able to reread his favorite pieces of literature. He will never get the chance to show his family his favorite burger shop in Crime Alley or witness them all together again. Dick’s laughter, Tim’s sly comments, Damian’s angry frowns, Cass’s silent smiles, Stephanie’s strong wit, Duke’s stuttering, and Alfred’s gentle care will all be gone.
He will never have to see Bruce again, or remember the warmth from his hugs or the love in his eyes.
Jason takes a deep breath, because deep down he always knew his answer.
He snatches the IV from his arm and heaves his broken body from the hospital bed, grabbing the clothes Dick left behind. They were dark and Bruce’s and fit perfectly. Expensive cologne and aftershave filled his senses as the dark cloth covered the bulk of his body. He didn't know what to make of that.
His head was still spinning and his side was still aching but he leapt through the window silently, making his way back to a nearby safehouse in Crime Alley. The morning was still young, as the sun was starting to peek its golden head out. Gotham was illuminated for a moment, bathing in the rare golden light instead of sulking away from it. Only a few people were awake, taking in the quiet before the chaos of the day started.
Each step felt like fire, but he was so close to being back home in Crime Alley. On his way there, he greeted the stray dogs that whined discontently, nosing at his injured arm with worry. He said hello to the old couple that ran the even older bakery near his safehouse. He stopped a mugging between an amateur and some poor old lady. Who is even robbing people at this time? Crime never stops, even at five A.M. in the morning. His mask reflected the sunlight onto his back window as he finally made it back “home”.
Jason disabled the traps on the windowsill quickly and quietly before slipping through. This was his favorite safehouse. It was stocked with stolen bat supplies and he always made sure there was some food tucked into the fridge. Even the bedroom was clean and pristine, as if no one lived there. Jason let his shoulders untense, feeling the relief seep through his skin and into his bones.
He changed out of Bruce’s clothes, but couldn’t bring himself to throw them away. I mean they were expensive, and he was just a broke barely employed guy right? It wasn’t because the smell smelt like his father or…
Jason tucked the clothes away to the very back corner of his closet, beneath his spare helmets and patrol attire.
He tugged on a pair of sweatpants and a random shirt before he settled himself on his bed. Jason checked the clock: 6:00 A.M. He had about four hours until his shift at the local convenience store started. Plenty of time for a hopefully good night rest without seeing clowns or bats in his dreams. Sleep came easy today, but the fatigue never left him. His eyes drifted shut, as he let sleep enthrall him with her lullaby.
Jason’s plan to kill himself would start when he woke up again.