Chapter Text
The first thing Jason noticed when he woke up was the weight.
Not the weight of the blankets.
Not the weight of exhaustion pulling at his bones.
The weight of his own body.
For a few seconds, his mind was somewhere else.
He was ten again.
Cold apartment.
Thin mattress.
An empty stomach.
A body that looked too fragile to survive Gotham. Yet always did.
A kid who could disappear into oversized clothes and shadows.
Then reality returned.
His fingers moved first.
Stronger than they used to be.
Scarred.
Larger.
The hands of someone who had fought monsters, assasin, demon.
The hands of someone who had become one in some people's eyes.
Jason opened his eyes.
The ceiling of his safehouse stared back at him.
Not Wayne Manor.
Not the Batcave.
Not a place full of memories.
Just four walls, a kitchen, a bedroom, weapons locked away, and enough distance from everyone else that nobody could walk in without warning.
Perfect. Lie
He sat up slowly.
The phantom pain was always there.
Some days it was his ribs.
Some days his shoulder.
Some days the scars that crossed his body felt like they were screaming even when they weren't.
He had gotten used to pain.
Pain was easy.
Pain had rules.
People didn't.
Jason dragged a hand over his face and looked toward the mirror across the room.
He avoided it.
He always avoided it.
But sometimes curiosity won.
A mistake.
The man staring back at him looked like someone Jason would have avoided in an alley.
Tall.
Muscular.
A dangerous expression permanently carved into his face.
A white streak cutting through dark hair.
A body covered in evidence that he had survived things he shouldn't have.
The kid he remembered was gone.
That was the part nobody understood.
Everyone kept saying he was alive.
They acted like that was the miracle.
Like waking up should have been the end of the story.
It wasn't.
Because Jason Todd had died.
And somehow, another person had crawled out wearing his name.
He looked away.
"Great."
Talking to himself.
That was healthy.
Definitely normal.
He reached for his jacket.
Today was not going to be a day where he thought about feelings.
Feelings were useless.
Feelings got people killed.
.
.
.
The mission had been simple.
At least, by Gotham standards.
A weapons shipment moving through the docks.
A new gang trying to expand territory.
A few corrupt cops looking the other way.
The usual.
Jason preferred simple.
Simple meant nobody asked questions.
Simple meant he could do his job and leave.
Unfortunately, the Bat-Family had decided simple meant "group mission."
Which was why Jason was currently standing on a rooftop beside four other people wearing masks.
"You're brooding louder than usual."
Jason didn't turn.
"You're talking louder than usual."
Dick Grayson laughed.
"That's impossible. I'm always this loud."
"Exactly."
Dick smiled behind his mask.
There it was.
That smile.
The one that always made Jason remember a different time.
Before everything.
Before Joker.
Before the pit.
Before he became something everyone looked at carefully, like a broken vase stiched by anger.
Jason hated that.
Not Dick.
The memories.
Because Dick remembered Jason as a kid.
And Jason didn't know how to be that person anymore. How to be a kid
"You're bleeding."
Jason looked down.
A small cut near his arm.
"Not important."
Cass appeared beside him silently.
Jason didn't even hear her approach.
She pointed at the wound.
Then pointed at him.
"No."
Cass stared.
Jason stared back.
A silent argument began.
Duke walked over.
"She's going to win."
"She always wins," Jason muttered.
Cass nodded.
Jason sighed.
"Traitor."
Duke smiled.
"You say that like you're surprised."
That was the thing about Duke.
He was easy.
No complicated history.
No looking at Jason like he was a tragedy.
No trying to understand every reaction.
Duke just talked to him.
Normal.
Jason appreciated normal.
The mission started.
And for a while, everything worked.
Because that was the annoying thing about them.
Together, they were good.
Really good.
Jason moved with Damian like they had trained together for years.
Because they had.
They understood each other's rhythm.
Neither of them needed explanations.
Damian covered his blind spots.
Jason covered his.
No unnecessary words.
No emotional conversations.
Perfect.
"Left."
Jason moved immediately.
A second later, Damian took down the attacker.
"Your reaction time is improving."
Jason looked at him.
"Was that a compliment?"
"No."
"Sounded like one."
"It was an observation."
"Sure."
Damian walked away.
Jason almost smiled.
Almost.
The Batcave was exactly how Jason remembered.
Cold.
Huge.
Full of expensive technology and uncomfortable memories.
The others removed their gear.
The atmosphere shifted.
It always did.
On missions, they were a team.
After missions, they became a family.
And Jason still didn't know what to do with that.
"Anyone hungry?"
Duke asked.
"I could order pizza."
Dick immediately raised his hand.
"Yes."
Jason looked at him. Eyebrows raised
"You were waiting for someone to ask."
"I was hoping."
"You're impossible."
"Yet you missed me."
Jason froze for half a second.
Dick noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Dick noticed everything.
That was the problem.
Jason looked away.
"Don't make things weird."
Dick's expression softened.
And there it was.
That look.
The pity.
The concern.
The "Jason, I know you're hurting" look.
Jason hated it.
Not because Dick was wrong.
Because Dick was right.
"Nobody is making anything weird."
"You're making the face."
"What face?"
"The Grayson face."
Dick looked offended.
"I don't have a Grayson face."
"You absolutely do."
Tim walked in carrying a tablet.
"You do."
Dick looked betrayed.
"Whose side are you on?"
"Objectively? Jason's."
Jason looked at Tim.
And immediately felt that familiar guilt.
Tim noticed.
Jason knew he noticed.
That was the worst part.
Tim was smart.
Too smart.
Jason remembered being younger.
Angrier.
Out of control.
He remembered how far he had gone.
He remembered Tim.
The fear.
The fight.
The things he had almost done.
Tim had moved on.
Jason hadn't.
"You okay?"
Tim asked quietly.
Three words.
Simple.
Normal.
Jason hated how difficult they were.
"Fine."
Tim nodded.
He didn't push.
That almost made it worse.
Because Jason didn't deserve his kindness.
Before he could say anything else, Bruce entered.
The room changed.
It always changed when Bruce entered.
Everyone became slightly different.
A little more careful.
A little more aware.
"Good work tonight."
Jason immediately looked toward the exit.
A compliment.
A conversation.
A chance for Bruce to say something that wasn't about missions.
He wasn't ready. Will he ever be ?
Bruce looked at him.
"Jason."
There it was.
His name.
Not Red Hood.
Not an accusation.
Just Jason.
And somehow that was harder.
Jason grabbed the mission report from the table.
"I wrote the debrief."
Bruce looked confused.
"You can discuss it with the team."
"No need."
"Jason—"
"I'm tired."
A lie. Just like always
He was always tired.
But not physically.
Never physically.
He dropped the papers on the table.
"Everything's there."
Then he walked away.
No argument.
No dramatic exit.
Just gone.
Because leaving was easier than staying.
Alfred was waiting near the entrance.
Of course he was.
Jason stopped.
The old man looked at him.
Not like Batman.
Not like a problem.
Just like Alfred and he didn't how to feel about it.
"Master Jason."
"Alfred."
"You are injured."
"It's a scratch."
"That was not my question."
Jason sighed.
Alfred handed him a small container.
Jason looked at it.
"What is this?"
"Food."
"I know what food is."
"I was concerned you had forgotten."
Jason almost smiled.
Almost.
"Thanks."
Alfred nodded.
No lecture.
No emotional speech.
Just kindness.
That was why Jason loved him. Yet also resented him
Because Alfred never demanded that Jason prove he deserved it. But also alienated himself when things got rough.
Like when he and Dick would fight or with bruce he'd never picked a side and never acted only comforted
.
Jason left before the feelings and though became too much.
He rode home with his bike leaving it in the garage before entering the house
The safehouse was quiet.
Perfect.
Jason changed.
Clean clothes.
No armor.
No helmet.
No Red Hood.
Just Jason.
For a few minutes, he stood in the kitchen.
Then he started cooking.
It was stupid.
He had leftovers and Alfred's container.
He knew it was stupid.
But cooking worked.
Recipes had instructions.
Ingredients behaved.
Heat followed rules.
If you did something wrong, you knew why.
People weren't like that.
People left.
People lied.
People died.
But pasta?
Pasta was predictable.
He chopped vegetables.
Prepared sauce.
Seasoned the meat.
Slow movements.
Focused breathing.
The noise in his head faded.
For once, he wasn't Jason Todd who died.
He wasn't Red Hood.
He wasn't Bruce Wayne's mistake.
He was just someone making dinner.
And that was enough.
For now.
A few hours later, Red Hood returned to Gotham's streets.
The city welcomed him the same way it always did.
With violence.
With desperation.
With people who needed someone.
Jason stopped a robbery.
Then another.
Then a group of criminals trying to shake down a small store owner.
He scared them more than he hurt them.
That was the difference people forgot.
Jason Todd was angry.
But he wasn't heartless.
A kid hiding behind the counter looked at him.
"Are you a hero?"
Jason froze.
The easy answer was no...
But why couldn't he say it. Because it's no true.
Because the honest answer was complicated.
"...Go home." He said as softly as possible through the voice modulator.
The kid nodded before running away.
Jason disappeared into the night.
Because accepting that someone might see him as good was somehow scarier than being hated.
Near midnight, Jason found himself on a rooftop.
Rain began falling.
Gotham's lights blurred.
Then he saw her.
A girl. Young, about 17 years old
Standing at the edge.
One step away from disappearing.
Jason's heart stopped.
Not because he was afraid.
Because he knew that look. That look of utter dispear and usleness.
He knew what it felt like to believe there was nowhere else to go.
He moved before he could think.
Before emotions caught up.
Before doubt could stop him.
Jason Todd grappled toward the roof of the building.
Jason had expected a lot of things tonight.
He hadn't expected this.
The girl standing on the edge wasn't moving.
That was what scared him.
Not the height.
Not the possibility.
The stillness.
Jason recognized that stillness.
He knew what it looked like when someone stopped fighting because they were too tired to keep going.
His boots landed against the rooftop.
The girl flinched.
He stopped several feet away.
Not too close.
People backed away when you got too close.
He knew that.
"Hey."
His voice came out rough.
He hated that.
He was wearing a helmet withba voice modulator and body armor. Of course he sounded threatening.
The girl didn't turn around.
"I don't want to do this."
Jason's jaw tightened.
"Then don't."
A pause.
Simple.
Direct.
His usual method.
The girl laughed quietly.
It wasn't a happy laugh.
"I wish it was that easy."
Jason looked at her.
And suddenly he wasn't looking at a stranger anymore.
He was looking at every person in Gotham who had reached the point where tomorrow felt impossible.
He was looking at 11 years old him at the funerals of his mom
People always thought saving someone was about convincing them life was beautiful.
Jason knew better.
Sometimes life wasn't beautiful.
Sometimes life was brutal.
Sometimes you didn't need a speech.
Sometimes you just needed someone to stand there long enough for the worst moment to pass.
"What's your name?"
She hesitated.
"Elena."
"Okay, Elena."
He kept his voice steady.
"Why are you here?"
Silence.
The rain fell harder.
"I failed."
Jason almost looked away.
Almost.
That word.
He hated that word.
Because he knew it.
Not failure like losing a fight.
Failure like waking up and realizing everyone had moved on.
Failure like realizing the person you were before was gone.
Failure like knowing people looked at you and saw someone they wanted back instead of the person standing in front of them.
"What did you fail?"
"My collection."
Jason frowned.
Collection?
She noticed his confusion.
"I'm a fashion design student."
He blinked.
That was not what he expected.
Not even close.
"I have a competition in two weeks."
She swallowed.
"I spent months making everything. Every piece. Every detail."
Her hands shook.
"My model quit today."
Jason stayed quiet.
"She got another offer. Bigger name. Better opportunity."
Her voice cracked.
"And I understand. I do. I can't even blame her."
She wiped her face.
"But I don't have another model."
Jason looked at the edge.
Then back at her.
"So?"
"So?"
The question came out louder than she intended.
"So my collection doesn't get shown."
She took a shaky breath.
"I don't win."
Jason shrugged slightly.
"Then you enter another competition."
Elena looked at him.
He could almost hear the thought.
You don't understand.
And maybe he didn't.
Not completely.
But then she said
"My mother is sick."
Everything stopped.
Not outside.
Not Gotham.
Just inside his head.
His fingers tightened slightly.
"My treatment isn't covered."
She looked down.
"The prize money isn't just money. It's the only chance I have to help her."
There it was.
Not ambition.
Not pride.
Not some dream of being famous.
A daughter trying to keep her mother alive.
Jason knew that kind of desperation.
Not the exact same.
But close enough.
He remembered being a kid.
A kid counting coins.
A kid wondering if there would be food tomorrow.
A kid knowing that adults were supposed to have answers but watching them have none.
He remembered his mother.
Her promises.
Her apologies.
The way she looked when she was too tired to pretend everything was okay.
He remembered wanting to fix things.
Wanting to save someone.
Wanting to believe that if he just tried hard enough, maybe things wouldn't fall apart.
And then he remembered failing.
Jason hated this.
He hated how easily he understood.
Because understanding meant caring.
And caring was dangerous.
Caring meant something could be taken away.
Again.
"I can't lose her."
Elena's voice was barely above a whisper.
Jason looked at her.
Not the girl on the roof.
The daughter.
Someone who had spent months carrying fear until it became too heavy.
Someone who had convinced herself that losing the competition meant losing everything.
She wasn't weak.
She was exhausted.
There was a difference.
Jason slowly removed one glove.
Not his helmet.
Not his armor.
Just the glove.
A small thing.
A reminder that underneath all of it, he was still human.
"How long have you been dealing with this?"
Elena looked confused.
"What?"
"The fear."
She didn't answer.
Which was an answer.
Jason nodded slightly.
"Yeah."
He understood.
Because that was what nobody understood about him either.
Everyone saw anger.
Nobody saw exhaustion.
Nobody saw the years of carrying something too heavy. Or maybe he just didn't let them see it
"Elena."
She looked at him.
"You're not going to fix anything from the pavement."
Her eyes filled again.
Jason immediately looked annoyed.
Not at her.
At himself.
He should call someone.
He didn't want this.
He didn't want to care.
He didn't want to remember.
But he couldn't walk away.
Because he knew exactly what it felt like when everyone else did.
"Come down."
She didn't move.
"I don't have anyone else."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because Jason yet again knew what it felt like.
Not having anyone.
Even when people existed.
Even when people cared.
Feeling alone anyway.
Jason exhaled.
Slowly.
"What's your competition called?"
Elena blinked.
"What?"
"The competition."
"National New Faces."
"Okay."
He nodded.
"Tell me what happens."
She stared.
"You mean..."
"I mean tell me."
So she did.
Slowly.
The designs.
The judges.
The runway.
The rules.
And Jason listened.
Because sometimes people didn't need someone to fix everything.
Sometimes they just needed someone to stay.
When she finished, he was quiet.
Then
"Your model quit."
"Yes."
"And you need someone to walk."
"Yes."
" Is there anyone else that fit you vision i could hire to do it."
" um " she bit her lip glancing at him
Jason already knew where this was going.
He hated that.
He really hated that.
"No."
Elena frowned.
"I didn't ask yet."
"You were going to."
She looked embarrassed.
"I was."
Jason looked away.
This was stupid.
Completely stupid.
He had survived assassins.
He had fought Batman.
He had come back from death.
And now he was considering walking a runway.
Ridiculous.
But then he looked at her again.
And he remembered the feeling.
That desperate, impossible feeling.
The feeling of needing someone.
Anyone.
Jason sighed.
"One time."
Elena froze.
"What?"
"One competition."
Her eyes widened.
"You'll do it?"
"Don't make a big deal out of it."
She looked like she wanted to cry again.
Jason immediately pointed at her.
"Don't."
She stopped. More accurately she tried to.
"Sorry."
"Good."
A pause.
Then quieter
"Your mother."
Elena looked at him.
"What about her?"
"She will gets better."
Jason didn't know if it was a promise.
He didn't know if he had the right to say it.
But he said it anyway.
Because someone should.
Elena nodded.
And for the first time tonight, she stepped away from the edge.
Jason watched until she was safely away.
Only then did he realize something.
He had agreed to become a model.
Jason Todd.
Red Hood.
Former Robin.
The guy who scared criminals across Gotham.
Was going to walk a runway.
He stared at the sky.
"Damien is never letting me forget this."
And somehow...
That was the first thought that made him almost smile all night