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Rage flooded through Jason’s skin just as breathlessly as blood. Rage and hatred and anger all packed inside like a powder keg pleading to explode. All consuming and never ending. It was all too much and yet all he had at the same time; all he had to keep him floating above the mess that was his own mind. Because Jason Todd had died. He had died at fifteen years old, next to a mother who had never loved him, and hoping until the last fraction of a second that someone - anyone - would save him.
And yet he died.
He died and the world kept going.
He died and his world went silent.
He was alive and the world was screaming.
If someone were to ask Jason what had awaited him after he died, he wouldn’t be able to tell them. A total lapse in his memory. In one moment, he was feeling himself being torn apart as an explosion overwhelmed him. In the next, he was screaming as emerald green liquid covered his skin and invaded his lungs. He screamed as death was forced to rescind its claim on him, leaving nothing but a white streak in his hair as a reminder.
Watching from the sidelines, a cold smile crept onto the face of Talia al Ghul as she began to plant the seeds to turn a teenager’s corpse into a living weapon. Bruce had raised Damian as she had asked him; turning the boy into an honourable scion of the Wayne family. But he had not become Batman’s successor. He had become Nightwing, a hero in his own right with his own ideals. Ideals that had turned him away from the League. If Bruce had reshaped her son in his image, was it not fair that she did the same?
At least, that was the justification in her mind as she stared at a boy now breathing, angry, and so very afraid. Lost. Wet clay malleable to be reshaped however she pleased.
Deep down, Jason knew he was being played. He suspected the second a gun was placed in his hands. He knew for certain the day the wooden practice target was replaced with a living, breathing man begging for mercy. The day the last of Renegade had died. The day that Red Hood began to take form. The day something darker took hold.
In hindsight, maybe Jason didn’t hate Bruce. Maybe his anger just needed a target and the father that had failed to save him was the perfect one. The brothers that had never loved him. The sister that had claimed to love him yet let him be replaced. The family that claimed to mourn him yet let Joker still breathe.
His replacement was something else entirely. Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson. A former acrobat that had barely been orphaned before he was swept away into the Wayne family. Another act of Bruce Wayne’s altruistic nature. Another pawn for Batman to use. Robin, he had debuted as. All bright colours and smiles. A joy that contrasted so aggressively with Gotham itself. Someone that was supposedly able to make even Batman laugh. Of course, Jason wasn’t jealous! Why would he be jealous of some dumb kid?
And yet his heart ached as he remembered his first Christmas at the Manor.
And yet his heart ached as he remembered Tim once let him ramble about Pride & Prejudice, nodding at all the right places and asking all the right questions.
And yet his heart ached when he thought about Cass’s insistence that he learnt ballet with her.
And yet his heart ached when he thought of Damian’s cold and steady patience as he taught Jason to fight.
And yet his heart ached as he remembered the first time Bruce told him he was proud of him.
And yet his heart ached when he spent too long thinking about home.
So he pushed it all back. Every happy memory was suppressed as a new goal formed in his mind. Avenging himself. Forcing his fa- Forcing Bruce to choose between him or his so-called ‘duty’ to Gotham. It was his time to prove that this so-called noble approach to crimefighting was nothing in comparison to a gunshot. The dead couldn’t abuse more people. The dead didn’t slam a crowbar down onto a teenager over and over, asking if they preferred forehand or backhand. But the living dead could still avenge.
Just shy of seventeen may not have been the recommended age of most wannabe crime lords. But then again, most crime lords hadn’t had the luxury of being trained by Talia al Ghul. His debut could only be described as a bloodbath full of theatrics. An apt enough description to a debacle that ended with sixteen heads in a bag.
Everything after that flew by in flashes. Violence, bloodshed, and taunting the family that he had lost. Encounter after encounter made to torment them; to leave them desperate to figure out whose face was beneath the helmet. It obviously wasn’t his own fucked up way of checking in on his family. His way of watching how Damian now made sure to watch Tim’s back as both made sure the other was never left vulnerable. He kept note of how Cassandra had moved on from Batgirl to Black Bat, handing the former down to Tim’s ex, Stephanie.
Then there was Dick. All bright eyes and excessive colours. In all of his planning, Dick Grayson had been the one name Jason avoided the most. Robin. His replacement. There was resentment towards him, vicious and always snarling at how he fit into the family better than Jason ever had. It should have been easy to kill him; easy to remind Bruce of the true cost of his crusade.
Then Jason had to fuck up and let the kid live long enough to speak.
For Jason, the night had been going great! Black Mask’s office had taken a rocket launcher quite beautifully through one of its windows! And now he found himself fighting Firedrake in a fight, and God, it felt good to hit Tim in the face. It felt even better that he was winning. Staring down at his exhausted, battered brother, Red Hood pulled out his gun as he felt his trigger finger itch.
It was at that moment a cacophony of colours pushed their way in front of Tim, arms spread wide. “I won’t let you kill him!” As Dick Grayson ignored his brother’s plea to run. No, instead Robin stood proud with determination in his eyes and Jason was left with one clear thought as his gun stayed level with Dick’s forehead. Robin was fucking tiny. The boy he had been certain he was going to kill was just that. A boy. A kid willing to die to protect this so-called family. A kid younger than Jason had been. He lowered the gun.
“...Next time I won’t think twice.” With that, the Red Hood grappled away. He did his best to ignore the panic in Tim’s voice as the man demanded to know what the hell Dick had thought he’d been doing.
Dick Grayson haunted every fight after that. Each blow and kick came with the whispering thought of ‘how long before Robin tried to step in again?’ or ‘how the hell would Robin deal with one less of them coming home?’ And maybe that was enough for Jason to start pulling his punches; for his tirade to lessen. But never enough for it to fully end.
The Bats finally worked out who Red Hood really was, and Jason knew just how sharply that brought forward his deadline. His real reason for returning to Gotham. He needed Bruce to choose. Jason or the monster had killed him. His son or the epitome of irredeemable. And it hurt so deeply that he wasn’t sure which he would choose.
What was even worse was when Bruce didn’t even have the chance to choose.
Jason would admit he was proud of the set up he’d managed; breaking Joker out of Arkham and holding him hostage (whilst desperately tuning out the man’s mockery of their similarities. He had set the trap for Bruce and now all that was left was for the man (never his father) to step into it. A choice that had to be easy would be offered to him; kill Jason or let the Joker die. Put him back in the ground or let him take his revenge. But of course, things playing out would be too simple and when the hell was the world kind to Jason Peter Todd?
A figure in black kevlar did appear. But there was no black bat on their chest, just a blue bird. Nightwing. Damian.The son Talia had given away; the one she had claimed had grown softer as she tried to make Jason stone. His supposed older brother. He knew what to expect at this point - some bored comment about how childish he was being and such a scheme being below Batman!
And yet Damian just stared at him as one would stare at their most prized possession.
“Jason.” Nightwing didn’t seem to care for the restrained villain still cackling away. He didn’t even seem to care about their secret identities. All he seemed to care about was the teenager in front of him, and Jason really didn’t know how he felt about that. It wasn’t as if he’d had a solid relationship with his brothers before he had been thoroughly introduced to a crowbar. “You’re really here.”
The relief in Damian’s voice only made the pit in the back of Jason’s mind scream. How dare he! How dare any of them be glad he was back! How dare any of them care when his killer was still alive! How dare they act like his death hadn’t meant nothing. Yet the domino mask did its job of hiding the pure rage in his eyes. “The old man’s not brave enough to deal with me himself so he sends you? Truly touched to see how much he loves me.” Jason tried to pretend that his own words weren’t threatening to rip his heart apart.
Damian approached him carefully with arms raised as if he were trying to approach a wounded animal. “Batman does not kill.” He stated. “I am here to make sure father upholds that.” There was an unspoken implication there. The prospect that Bruce really would shoot the Joker was one Jason so desperately wanted to believe.
“Maybe if I break another one of his little birds then he’ll do it! This one wasn’t enough!” The echoing laughter clawed at his skin.
“Enough.” The word was spat from Damian’s mouth like venom. “I do not remember anyone giving you permission to speak, clown. Choose your words carefully for they may well be your last.” There was enough conviction behind them that even the Joker was stunned to silence. “I have killed before for my family. I will do so again.”
Jason’s eyes tracked every step of Damian’s movement as he moved to a table with a gun laying upon it. “It’s for Bruce.” He warned. “Only Bruce! He’s…He’s the only one who can finish this.” His voice cracked, far too vulnerable .
Damian seemed to pay him no heed as he picked up the gun. “He killed you.” He did nothing as Damian cocked the gun. “We let him live.” He did nothing as Damian lined up the shot. “I will rectify that mistake.” He did nothing as Damian pulled the trigger.
The Joker opened his mouth to speak but the single shot cut off any final words. With his head now slumped, the clown was unable to get the last laugh.
The world around Jason grew hazy as he just…stared at the corpse. The Joker was dead. The Joker was dead and his brother had been the one to do it. Loosely, he was aware of the tears streaking down his face or the arms wrapped around him, holding him as if they could steal away all his pain.
Jason didn’t know how long he let himself be held like that before pushing his brother away. “You’re safe.” Damian’s voice was far gentler than he had ever heard it before. “You can come home.”
Home.
What was home anymore? Was it the Manor? Was it the shitty apartment he’d been operating out of? Was it nowhere at all?
All Jason knew was that he couldn’t go back to the Waynes. He couldn’t go back to who he had used to be. There were too many conflicting feelings for him to go back to being Jason Peter Todd. But the only feeling the Red Hood needed was rage.
So Red Hood shoved Nightwing aside, taking the moment of surprise as his chance to make an escape. After all, with the clown dead? There was a new power vacuum and someone needed to fill it.
When he thought back to the Joker’s body, Jason snorted. One hell of a welcome home present.