Chapter Text
Chapter One: The Last Straw
Rain fell over Gotham in relentless sheets, blurring the city's jagged skyline until the towers and gargoyles dissolved into little more than dark silhouettes beneath a sky that had long forgotten the warmth of sunlight. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, rolling across rooftops like an ancient warning, while neon lights reflected from rain-soaked streets in fractured streaks of crimson, blue and sickly yellow. It was a city that devoured hope with the same hunger that it bred monsters, and no matter how many times its heroes bled for it, Gotham never changed.
Jason Todd knew that better than anyone.
The Red Hood's motorcycle tore through the empty streets, its engine roaring as it sliced through puddles and disappearing into the maze of forgotten alleys hidden between decaying buildings. His helmet concealed his face from the world, the crimson lenses glowing faintly against the darkness, yet behind them sea-green eyes remained fixed upon the road ahead with quiet exhaustion rather than determination.
Tonight had been another failure.
Not because the mission had gone poorly.
Quite the opposite.
The mission had been completed perfectly.
The traffickers had been arrested.
The hostages had been rescued.
Not a single civilian had been injured.
Yet somehow...
Jason had still ended up as the problem.
His grip tightened around the handlebars.
He could still hear Bruce's voice echoing inside his mind.
"You went too far."
Too far.
Jason almost laughed.
He always went too far.
If Dick incapacitated a criminal with an acrobatic kick, it was efficient.
If Tim manipulated a gang into turning against itself, it was strategic.
If Damian broke bones during an interrogation, it was because he was still learning.
If Jason used fear...
If Jason pointed a gun...
If Jason allowed criminals to believe, even for a moment, that death might be waiting for them...
He had gone too far.
The verdict had already been decided before anyone bothered asking what had actually happened.
Because Jason was Jason.
Because Jason had died.
Because Jason had returned from the dead.
Because Jason had once stood against Batman.
No matter how many years passed, those facts remained shackles wrapped around his wrists.
The motorcycle disappeared beneath an abandoned warehouse before descending through a concealed lift hidden beneath cracked concrete. Heavy steel doors slid shut overhead, sealing the underground garage from the outside world.
Only once the silence settled did Jason remove his helmet.
Curly black hair, damp from the rain, clung to his forehead as he exhaled slowly.
His eyes...
They had once been a brilliant sea blue.
Death had stolen that colour.
The Lazarus Pit had returned him to life with eyes of unnatural sea green, forever marking him as something that had crossed the boundary between life and death.
Jason barely noticed them anymore.
He set the helmet upon a workbench before shrugging off his leather jacket.
The safe house looked nothing like the Batcave.
There were no enormous trophies or endless rows of military vehicles.
Instead, books filled almost every available shelf.
History.
Medicine.
Forensic science.
Classical literature.
Philosophy.
Ancient languages.
Law.
Psychology.
Engineering.
Beside them stood carefully organised weapon racks, medical equipment, several high-end computers Jason had assembled himself and an old record player Catherine Todd had once rescued from a pawn shop when he had been a child.
The apartment felt lived in.
Comfortable.
Human.
No one in the Batfamily had ever seen it.
They assumed Jason spent every waking hour cleaning guns and planning violent operations.
None of them knew he enjoyed losing himself inside books for hours.
None of them knew he could spend an entire evening experimenting with recipes simply because he found cooking relaxing.
None of them knew he had been accepted into several universities years ago before his death.
No one had ever asked.
Jason quietly walked into the small kitchen.
A pot of soup still rested on the stove from yesterday.
He reheated it automatically before pouring himself a bowl.
It tasted...
Fine.
He barely noticed.
The silence inside the apartment felt heavier than usual.
He found himself thinking about dinner at Wayne Manor three nights earlier.
It had started peacefully enough.
Alfred had prepared everyone's favourite meals.
Dick had been recounting one of his stories from Blüdhaven.
Tim had been half asleep over a cup of coffee.
Cass had quietly corrected Damian's posture while he attempted to argue with Duke.
Stephanie had somehow convinced Barbara to laugh.
For a brief moment...
Jason had almost believed things could become normal.
Then Bruce had entered.
The atmosphere had changed instantly.
Not dramatically.
Not obviously.
Just...
Subtly.
Bruce's gaze had lingered on Jason for a fraction longer than everyone else.
Tim had discreetly closed one of the Batcomputer windows.
Barbara had shifted her tablet away from him.
Damian had folded his arms.
No accusations.
No insults.
Nothing anyone could point towards as cruelty.
Yet Jason had recognised it immediately.
Caution.
Always caution.
As though he remained one bad day away from becoming Gotham's greatest threat.
He had long since stopped trying to explain himself.
It never changed anything.
Jason sighed before carrying the empty bowl towards the sink.
His gaze drifted towards the largest computer terminal inside the room.
Dozens of encrypted files scrolled across the monitors.
Unlike Bruce, Jason trusted paper more than computers.
Computers could be hacked.
He should know.
His fingers rested lightly against the keyboard.
There had been a time when hacking fascinated him simply because it was another puzzle waiting to be solved.
Nowadays...
It had become second nature.
He had spent years quietly improving until even Oracle herself would struggle to notice his presence inside a network.
Tim often joked that Barbara was the greatest hacker alive.
Jason had never corrected him.
There had been no reason to.
People underestimated what they never saw.
That suited Jason perfectly.
He activated the encrypted operating system hidden beneath three separate firewalls.
Lines of code flooded the screens.
Wayne Enterprise satellites.
League communication channels.
Government databases.
Justice League archives.
Everything remained available if one knew where to look.
Jason hesitated.
His hand hovered over the keyboard.
He stared silently at the cursor blinking against the black screen.
For years...
There had been one question lingering quietly in the back of his mind.
Bruce always claimed trust had to be earned.
Yet Jason had never truly understood why he alone seemed incapable of earning it.
Even after everything.
Even after returning to Gotham.
Even after trying.
Every file Bruce kept on his family members remained hidden behind levels of encryption.
Jason had never cared enough to invade their privacy.
Tonight...
He did.
Not because he wanted secrets.
Because he was tired of wondering.
His fingers moved.
The Batcomputer's security recognised Batman's credentials.
Jason smiled faintly.
"So predictable."
Bruce believed no one could bypass his encryption.
Unfortunately for Bruce...
Jason knew how Batman thought.
He had learnt from the best.
Within minutes the Batcomputer unfolded before him.
Thousands of files.
Psychological evaluations.
Mission logs.
Emergency protocols.
Contingency plans.
Jason's expression remained unchanged.
Of course Bruce had contingency plans.
He always did.
For Superman.
For Wonder Woman.
For the Justice League.
For every member of the Batfamily.
Jason simply wondered how many existed for him.
He quickly found the answer.
Three.
"...Only three?"
He almost sounded offended.
"I expected at least five."
Opening the files only confirmed what he had already suspected.
Bruce's information was...
Incomplete.
Painfully so.
Firearms.
Knives.
Peak human conditioning.
Advanced detective skills.
Exceptional marksman.
Master tactician.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing about the All-Caste.
Nothing about Ducra.
Nothing about Essence.
Nothing about his mystical training.
Nothing about the All-Blades.
Nothing about the years he had spent learning to battle creatures that ordinary heroes could barely comprehend.
Bruce had absolutely no idea what Jason was truly capable of.
That...
Should have been reassuring.
Instead, Jason found it strangely depressing.
Bruce had spent years preparing ways to stop him.
Yet he had never truly tried understanding him.
His fingers continued scrolling through the archived reports.
Then...
One particular file caught his attention.
Subject: Jason Peter Todd
Unlike the others...
It carried an additional security clearance.
One Bruce rarely used.
Jason frowned.
"What are you hiding?"
He opened it.
The document began with an ordinary psychological assessment completed shortly after Jason's return from the dead.
Further down came medical examinations.
Mission updates.
Therapy recommendations Bruce had apparently written but never actually followed through with.
Jason continued reading.
Then another attachment appeared.
DNA Investigation — Confidential
His heartbeat slowed.
"...DNA?"
He opened it.
The report had been created nearly a year after Jason's resurrection.
The first few pages detailed Bruce's private investigation into Sheila Haywood.
Jason recognised the name immediately.
His biological mother.
The woman who had abandoned him.
The woman responsible for betraying him to the Joker before his death.
He felt nothing.
Whatever feelings he might once have had towards Sheila Haywood had died alongside him in that warehouse.
He continued reading.
Then his eyes reached the final page.
His breath caught.
The comparison chart showed three names.
Sheila Haywood.
Bruce Wayne.
Jason Peter Todd.
Below them rested one final conclusion.
Probability of paternity: 99.9998%.
Jason stared.
The words blurred until the letters became meaningless black smudges across the bright white screen.
He blinked once.
Then again.
Surely...
Surely he had misread it.
His hand reached for the mouse almost mechanically before scrolling back to the top of the report.
The names remained exactly the same.
Subject: Jason Peter Todd.
Maternal Match: Dr Sheila Haywood.
Paternal Match: Bruce Thomas Wayne.
Probability of Paternity: 99.9998%.
There was no mistake.
No corrupted file.
No faulty test.
Bruce had verified the results through three independent laboratories before quietly locking the report behind one of the Batcomputer's highest security clearances.
Jason swallowed.
"...No..."
The word escaped him as little more than a breath.
He clicked open the accompanying notes.
Bruce's handwriting appeared on the screen.
Clinical.
Detached.
Exactly as he remembered.
"The likelihood of laboratory error is statistically insignificant. Sheila Haywood never disclosed the child's true paternity. Willis Todd was almost certainly unaware that Jason was not his biological son."
Jason's eyes continued moving across the page.
"Given the circumstances surrounding Jason's upbringing, I have elected not to disclose these findings until a more appropriate time."
A more appropriate time.
Jason laughed.
It was a small sound.
Quiet.
Almost disbelieving.
"...A more appropriate time..."
His fingers trembled against the edge of the desk.
Bruce had known.
Not for days.
Not for weeks.
For years.
Years.
After Jason had clawed his way back from the grave.
After countless patrols.
After arguments.
After uneasy family dinners.
After every mission they had completed together.
After every chance Bruce had been given to simply tell him the truth.
He had said...
Nothing.
Jason leaned back slowly, his chair rolling several inches across the concrete floor.
His mind refused to accept what his eyes had already confirmed.
Bruce...
Batman...
His mentor.
His adoptive father.
His...
Biological father.
The title felt foreign.
Wrong.
Because the man who had raised him would always be Willis Todd, for all of his flaws, and the woman who had tucked him into bed, sung to him when he was ill and loved him with everything she had despite addiction and poverty would always be Catherine Todd.
No piece of paper would ever change that.
Catherine was his mum.
She always would be.
Yet...
That was precisely why this hurt.
Not because Bruce was his biological father.
But because Bruce had known.
Bruce had looked Jason in the eyes for years while carrying that secret.
Bruce had watched him mourn Catherine.
Watched him question where he truly belonged.
Watched him struggle to find his place within the family.
And never once had he said—
"Jason..."
"There's something you deserve to know."
Jason closed his eyes.
His chest suddenly felt unbearably tight.
"...Why?"
The question echoed through the empty safe house.
There was no answer.
Only silence.
Silence...
And the growing ache somewhere deep inside him.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Just...
Pain.
A quiet, suffocating sort of pain that settled heavily in his chest.
Because Bruce had made a choice.
Not once.
But every single day.
Every day he had chosen to remain silent.
Every family dinner.
Every patrol.
Every birthday.
Every Christmas.
Every opportunity.
He had chosen...
Not Jason.
The words lingered in the silence of the safe house long after he had stopped reading the report.
Jason remained motionless before the monitor, his sea-green eyes fixed upon the glowing screen without truly seeing it anymore.
His breathing was slow.
Measured.
Controlled.
The discipline drilled into him by years of surviving the Lazarus Pit held firm.
Outwardly, he appeared perfectly calm.
Inside...
Everything had begun to fracture.
Bruce had known.
That single fact echoed relentlessly through his mind.
Not after Jason had disappeared.
Not after another argument.
Not recently.
For years.
Years in which they had fought side by side.
Years in which Bruce had watched him struggle to find his footing after returning from the dead.
Years in which Jason had slowly lowered his guard, little by little, believing—despite every setback—that perhaps one day he could become part of the family again.
How foolish.
Jason lowered his gaze.
He thought back to every family gathering he had attended since returning to Gotham.
Every Christmas.
Every birthday.
Every quiet dinner around Alfred's table.
He remembered standing awkwardly in the entrance hall, wondering whether he should simply leave because everyone else already seemed comfortable without him.
Dick and Barbara would reminisce about old stories.
Tim and Steph would bicker over coffee.
Cass would silently drift from one family member to another with effortless ease.
Duke always managed to brighten the atmosphere.
Damian...
Damian had always remained distant.
Jason had accepted it.
Damian had been raised by the League.
Trust did not come easily to either of them.
At least...
That was what Jason had told himself.
He had never once blamed the boy.
Instead, he had patiently waited.
He had hoped.
He had tried.
Jason's lips curled into a bitter smile.
He had spent years trying.
Trying to prove he was no longer the unstable vigilante who had first returned from the grave.
Trying to prove that every mission would not end with unnecessary bloodshed.
Trying to prove that he could be trusted.
Trying to prove that he belonged.
Yet somehow...
No matter what he accomplished...
He remained the one Bruce watched most carefully.
The one whose reports were questioned first.
The one whose motives were quietly examined behind closed doors.
The one who could never quite escape becoming a contingency.
Jason's fingers drifted over the Batcomputer files once more.
Contingency One.
Contingency Two.
Contingency Three.
Each meticulously prepared.
Each detailing methods of neutralising him.
Each written by the man who had also known Jason was his biological son.
Jason laughed quietly.
The sound held no amusement.
"Three plans to stop me."
His voice barely rose above a whisper.
"But not one conversation."
The words disappeared into the empty apartment.
No one answered.
No one ever did.
His gaze wandered back towards Bruce's private notes.
Each page remained as clinical as the last.
Objective.
Practical.
Efficient.
Bruce had documented Jason's injuries after patrols.
Recorded fluctuations in his behaviour following exposure to fear toxins.
Noted changes in his sleep patterns after encounters with the Joker.
Detailed observations regarding his emotional state.
Pages upon pages describing Jason.
Studying Jason.
Preparing for Jason.
Yet nowhere...
Nowhere...
Had Bruce simply written—
"I should tell him."
Jason slowly closed the report.
His reflection appeared faintly upon the darkened monitor.
Messy black curls.
Tired sea-green eyes.
The white streak hidden beneath his fringe where the Lazarus Pit's corruption had first manifested years ago.
Scars crossed his neck, his arms, his chest.
Each one carried a memory.
Some from Crime Alley.
Some from Robin.
Most from death itself.
He barely recognised the man staring back.
When had he begun looking so tired?
A notification appeared in the corner of the screen.
Automatically generated.
Recent access logs.
Jason opened them absent-mindedly.
His eyes narrowed.
Batcomputer clearance levels.
Batman.
Nightwing.
Oracle.
Red Robin.
Robin.
Alfred Pennyworth.
Justice League emergency access.
Jason stared at the list.
Then back at the DNA report.
His chest tightened once more.
The report hadn't been hidden in some forgotten archive accessible only to Bruce.
It sat within Jason's own secured medical file.
Protected.
Encrypted.
But accessible to anyone possessing the appropriate clearance.
Jason slowly leaned back.
"...So everyone could have known."
His voice sounded strangely hollow.
Dick.
Barbara.
Tim.
Damian.
Alfred.
Every one of them possessed the clearance necessary to access confidential Batcomputer records.
Jason had never been granted the same privileges.
He had accepted it because Bruce never fully trusted him.
Now...
Looking at the list...
Another thought crept into his mind.
What if they all knew?
What if...
He had been the last person to learn the truth about himself?
Jason pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
"Stop."
His breathing became uneven.
"They probably never looked."
The words lacked conviction.
"They had no reason to."
Didn't they?
Dick had always worried about him.
Barbara monitored everyone's medical records.
Tim lived inside the Batcomputer.
Alfred oversaw every member of the family.
How could none of them have stumbled across it?
Jason wanted to believe they hadn't.
He truly did.
But doubt had already taken root.
Once planted...
It refused to leave.
Something cold stirred deep within his chest.
A familiar sensation.
Heavy.
Ancient.
Hungry.
The Lazarus Pit.
Its presence slithered quietly through his soul like black ink spreading through clear water.
See?
The whisper barely brushed against his thoughts.
You were never one of them.
Jason closed his eyes.
"No."
You kept reaching for them.
"No."
And every time they stepped away.
His breathing quickened.
His heartbeat thundered against his ribs.
The room suddenly felt colder.
The lights flickered.
Green veins of corrupted Lazarus energy shimmered briefly beneath the skin of his forearms before disappearing once more.
Jason clenched his fists.
Not now.
He refused.
Why are you still protecting them?
The voice had no true sound.
It existed entirely within him.
Patient.
Cruel.
The detective chose everyone else.
The eldest son.
The perfect student.
The blood heir.
Even the contingency files received more attention than you.
Jason's jaw tightened.
"No."
You keep calling them family.
Did they ever truly call you theirs?
The words struck with surgical precision.
Because they were aimed at the one wound Jason had never managed to heal.
Belonging.
He had wanted so little.
Not praise.
Not admiration.
Not perfection.
Simply...
A place.
A place where he did not have to wonder whether everyone became more comfortable the moment he walked out of the room.
A place where he did not constantly feel like the mistake everyone was too polite to mention.
A home.
His hands trembled.
Green energy erupted briefly around him before he crushed it beneath years of relentless discipline.
Slowly...
Carefully...
Jason inhaled.
Held the breath.
Released it.
Again.
And again.
Every emotion was forced down.
Every shard of grief locked away behind walls he had spent years constructing.
The Pit resisted.
It always resisted.
It wanted his anger.
His sorrow.
His loneliness.
It wanted to consume them until nothing remained but rage.
Jason refused to feed it.
By the time he opened his eyes once more...
His expression had become perfectly blank.
Empty.
Anyone seeing him now would think he felt nothing at all.
Only Jason knew the truth.
Feeling had simply become too dangerous.
The safe house settled back into silence.
Outside, rain continued striking the windows.
Inside...
A single notification chimed softly from the security system.
Perimeter breach authorised.
Jason frowned.
Only one person possessed that authorisation code besides himself.
A familiar presence entered the underground corridor before the reinforced door slid quietly open.
Soft footsteps echoed across the concrete floor.
They were light.
Graceful.
Yet filled with unmistakable urgency.
"Beloved?"
Talia al Ghul's voice broke the suffocating silence.
The moment her emerald eyes found Jason sitting utterly motionless before the glowing Batcomputer, something inside her stilled.
This...
This was wrong.
Jason was many things.
Stubborn.
Sarcastic.
Quiet.
But never...
Empty.
Her gaze shifted towards the screen.
The first thing she saw was the paternity report bearing Bruce Wayne's name.
The second was Jason's unnaturally still posture.
And the third...
The faint green light flickering beneath his skin before vanishing once more.
Talia's heart sank.
She had seen that before.
Many years ago.
When a fifteen-year-old boy had clawed his own way out of his grave, broken in body, shattered in mind, and struggling against a madness that had wanted to claim him from the very first breath after his resurrection.
She had sworn then that she would never allow him to face that darkness alone again.
Quietly, she crossed the room.
"Habibi..."
Jason did not move.
That frightened her far more than any outburst ever could.
"Habibi..."
The word was spoken so softly that it barely disturbed the silence, yet Jason's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.
Talia stopped a few paces behind him.
For several long moments, neither of them spoke.
The room remained illuminated only by the pale glow of computer monitors, their light reflecting against polished concrete and shelves overflowing with books. Outside, rain continued its relentless assault upon Gotham, but within the safe house an altogether different storm had already begun.
Talia studied Jason carefully.
Years of training had taught her to read the slightest change in breathing, the smallest shift in posture.
Jason appeared calm.
Too calm.
His back remained perfectly straight.
His hands rested motionlessly upon his knees.
Even his breathing had become unnaturally even.
To anyone else, it might have seemed as though he were simply deep in thought.
Talia knew better.
This was not calm.
This was suppression.
The sort of suppression that came only after wrestling something far more dangerous back into its cage.
Her gaze drifted towards the Batcomputer.
A confidential file remained open.
Sheila Haywood.
Bruce Wayne.
Jason Peter Todd.
Probability of paternity...
Talia's emerald eyes widened ever so slightly.
She took another step closer before reading the remainder of the report.
Each sentence caused her expression to darken further.
Bruce Wayne had only discovered the truth after Jason's resurrection.
He had confirmed it through multiple independent DNA tests.
He had documented everything.
Then...
He had done nothing.
Silence settled over the room once again.
Finally, Talia looked away from the monitor and towards the young man sitting before it.
For the first time in many years...
She did not see the Red Hood.
Nor the deadly All-Caste warrior.
Nor the young man whose name caused both heroes and criminals to tread carefully.
She saw the same lost child she had first met all those years ago.
Not the night of his death.
Not when the Joker murdered him.
But a year later.
The rumours had reached even the League of Assassins.
Whispers drifting through Gotham's criminal underworld.
A homeless boy.
Filthy.
Half-starved.
Barefoot.
Fighting seasoned criminals with movements eerily similar to Robin's.
He never spoke.
Never stayed in one place.
He wandered the streets like a ghost.
Broken.
Empty.
Completely unaware of who he had once been.
Curiosity had led Talia to Gotham.
Concern had kept her there.
She still remembered the first time she had found him.
A narrow alley hidden behind Crime Alley.
Rain had fallen that night as well.
The boy had been curled against a brick wall, soaked to the bone beneath clothing several sizes too large.
His skin had been frighteningly pale.
His body was little more than skin stretched over bone.
Fresh bruises covered his arms.
Someone had tried to rob him.
Judging by the unconscious criminals scattered around the alley...
It had not ended well for them.
He had simply stared into nothingness.
His beautiful sea-blue eyes—
No...
By then they had already begun fading into the unnatural sea-green left behind by death.
They had been utterly vacant.
No recognition.
No fear.
No anger.
Nothing.
Just...
Emptiness.
When she had softly spoken his name...
"Jason."
He had looked at her without understanding.
As though she were speaking to someone else entirely.
He did not remember Robin.
He did not remember Batman.
He did not remember Gotham.
He did not even remember his own name.
Only fragments remained.
Movements.
Instinct.
Muscle memory.
Enough to survive.
Not enough to live.
For almost a year he had wandered Gotham in that state.
Invisible.
Forgotten.
Even Batman had failed to find him.
The thought still angered her.
How many nights had that child slept hungry?
How many winters had he endured alone?
How many times had criminals mistaken him for an easy target?
How many people had walked past him without ever realising that Gotham's supposedly dead second Robin was still alive?
Too many.
Far too many.
She had taken him back to Nanda Parbat.
Not because Ra's had ordered it.
Quite the opposite.
Her father had viewed the broken boy as little more than a potentially useful weapon.
Nothing more.
Talia had disagreed.
She had seen something else.
She had seen a frightened child trapped inside a body that no longer remembered how to exist.
Day after day she had remained beside him.
Feeding him when he forgot to eat.
Guiding him when he forgot how to walk without simply wandering aimlessly.
Reading aloud from books because the familiar rhythm of stories sometimes caused fleeting sparks of recognition to appear within those empty sea-green eyes.
Some nights...
He woke screaming.
Not because he remembered.
Because his body remembered.
His hands clawed desperately at invisible wood.
His lungs fought for air that wasn't there.
His fingers bled against stone floors as though still digging through six feet of earth.
He never understood why.
Neither did she.
She simply held him until the terror passed.
When every physician admitted defeat...
When every healer declared his fractured mind beyond saving...
She had stood before the Lazarus Pit.
She remembered that day with painful clarity.
The emerald waters had churned violently beneath ancient stone.
Its power was immense.
Unpredictable.
Cruel.
Ra's had warned her countless times.
The Lazarus Pit gave.
But it always took something in return.
She had known the risks.
She had also known another truth.
If Jason remained as he was...
Her father would eventually lose patience.
Ra's al Ghul did not tolerate liabilities.
Talia had looked at the silent boy sitting beneath a tree, staring blankly at the sky.
She had made her decision.
Not as the Demon's Daughter.
Not as an assassin.
But simply...
As someone who could not bear to lose another child.
The Pit had restored Jason's memories.
It had restored his mind.
It had returned his brilliant intellect.
His wit.
His laughter.
His stubbornness.
His compassion.
But It had also cursed him.
Pit Madness.
A constant predator lurking within his soul.
Waiting.
Watching.
Searching endlessly for grief.
For rage.
For despair.
Any powerful emotion became another crack through which the Pit attempted to seize control.
Talia had spent years blaming herself.
Jason never had.
Every time she apologised...
He simply smiled.
A small, gentle smile.
"You saved me."
As though those three words erased every price he continued to pay.
They never did.
Even now...
Looking at him sitting so unnaturally still...
She recognised exactly what had happened.
He had nearly lost control.
Again.
Not because he was weak.
Because he had allowed himself to feel.
And the Pit had immediately tried to devour those emotions.
A sharp ache settled inside her chest.
How many times had this happened without anyone noticing?
How many smiles had Jason forced simply to keep himself alive?
How many emotions had he buried until he no longer knew how to express them?
Her gaze returned briefly to the Batcomputer.
Only then did another detail truly register.
Bruce Wayne.
Biological father.
Talia's brows knitted together.
"...Bruce..."
She whispered the name almost in disbelief.
She had known Sheila Haywood had been Jason's biological mother.
She had never questioned Willis Todd's paternity.
Neither had Bruce, apparently, until years after Jason's resurrection.
No one had known.
Not even her.
Slowly...
Very slowly...
She looked back towards Jason.
A new understanding settled over her.
This was not merely another betrayal.
This was the destruction of one more fragile piece of trust Jason had spent years trying to rebuild.
And she could already see the result sitting before her.
Perfectly still.
Perfectly silent.
Perfectly broken.
Talia's heart ached.
She had witnessed countless warriors break upon battlefields.
She had watched kings fall to despair.
She had seen seasoned assassins lose themselves beneath the weight of regret.
None of it compared to this.
Because Jason was not broken by an enemy.
He had been broken by disappointment.
By trust placed in the wrong hands.
By hope that had slowly withered beneath years of unanswered questions.
Quietly, she crossed the remaining distance between them.
"Jason."
Her voice was gentle.
Soft enough that only he could hear.
He did not respond.
She reached out, carefully resting a hand upon his shoulder.
The moment her fingers made contact, she felt it.
His muscles were impossibly tense.
Not from preparing to fight.
From holding himself together.
Her expression softened.
"My son."
The words finally reached him.
Jason lowered his head.
"...I'm sorry."
Talia blinked.
"Why are you apologising, habibi?"
"I missed our call."
His voice was quiet.
Flat.
Devoid of the warmth she had grown accustomed to hearing whenever he addressed her.
"I know."
"I made you worry."
"You did."
"I'm sorry."
Talia's chest tightened painfully.
Even now...
Even after everything...
Jason's first concern was that he had worried her.
Never himself.
Always someone else.
She gently squeezed his shoulder.
"You have nothing to apologise for."
Silence answered her.
After another long moment, Jason finally spoke.
"...Did you know?"
The question was so quiet she almost missed it.
She frowned.
"Know what?"
Jason lifted a trembling hand towards the monitor.
The DNA report still glowed against the screen.
"...About him."
Talia followed his gaze.
Understanding dawned immediately.
"No."
Her answer came without hesitation.
"I swear to you, Jason."
"I learnt of this only moments ago."
Jason studied her face.
Searching.
Not because he distrusted her.
Because he wanted—needed—to find even the smallest hint that she was lying.
He found none.
Talia had always been many things.
Dangerous.
Proud.
Manipulative when politics demanded it.
But she had never lied to him.
Not once.
Jason slowly looked away.
"...I thought maybe..."
His words faded.
Talia understood the unfinished sentence all too well.
He had wondered if she, too, had known.
If everyone had known.
Except him.
She knelt before him so they were at eye level.
Carefully, she took both of his hands into hers.
His hands were cold.
Far colder than they should have been.
"Listen to me."
Jason reluctantly met her eyes.
"I did not know."
"If I had..."
Her jaw tightened.
"I would never have allowed you to remain ignorant of something so important."
Jason remained silent.
His gaze drifted down towards their joined hands.
Talia noticed it immediately.
He was avoiding eye contact.
A habit he only displayed when the hurt ran too deep for words.
She waited.
Jason had always needed time.
Pressuring him only made him retreat further behind the walls he had built around himself.
Nearly a full minute passed before he spoke again.
"...Was there something wrong with me?"
The question struck her harder than any blade.
"What?"
Jason swallowed.
"I kept wondering..."
His voice cracked for the briefest moment before flattening once more.
"...why everyone else fit."
Another pause.
"Dick."
"He belongs."
"Tim."
"He belongs."
"Cass."
"Steph."
"Duke."
"Damian."
"They all..."
He searched for the words.
"...fit."
"And me..."
Jason gave a tiny, humourless laugh.
"I always felt like a guest."
The confession hung heavily between them.
Talia simply listened.
She knew better than to interrupt.
"I kept thinking..."
"If I worked harder..."
"If I stopped arguing..."
"If I proved I could be trusted..."
"...maybe one day it'd stop feeling like I was borrowing someone else's family."
His fingers curled slightly around hers.
"I know I wasn't easy after I came back."
"I know what I did."
"I know I hurt people."
"I know I wasn't in my right mind."
He closed his eyes.
"But..."
"When I finally got better..."
"When I started trying again..."
"...nothing really changed."
His shoulders slumped.
"I was still..."
"The dangerous one."
"The unstable one."
"The contingency."
Another quiet laugh escaped him.
"I hacked the Batcomputer tonight."
"I found three contingency plans."
He smiled faintly.
"Honestly..."
"I expected more."
For the first time since entering the room, genuine amusement flickered briefly across Talia's face.
Only Jason could make such a joke at a time like this.
The smile vanished almost immediately.
Jason continued quietly.
"They don't even know half of what I can do."
"They have no idea about the All-Caste."
"Or the All-Blades."
"They think Barbara's a better hacker."
"They think Tim's smarter."
"They think..."
He stopped himself.
Talia noticed.
"What?"
Jason shook his head.
"It's nothing."
"My son."
Her tone became gently firm.
"It is not nothing."
He hesitated.
Then...
Very quietly...
"They don't know me."
The words were simple.
Soft.
Almost whispered.
Yet Talia felt them settle like stones inside her heart.
Because they were true.
Jason had deliberately hidden many things from Batman.
His mystical training.
His hacking abilities.
The true extent of his combat skills.
He had done so because he knew Bruce's habits.
Batman prepared for every possibility.
Jason had never wanted to become another file.
Another contingency.
Another threat to neutralise.
But...
There were so many things he had never hidden.
His love of literature.
His intelligence.
His dry sense of humour.
The way he unconsciously hummed while cooking.
His habit of leaving books open because he intended to return to them.
The gentle smile he reserved for children.
The patience he showed victims.
The kindness he tried so desperately to pretend he didn't possess.
Those things...
Required no secret identity.
No hidden files.
Only someone willing to look.
Talia lowered her gaze.
"...They never truly saw you."
Jason did not answer.
Because he couldn't.
Not without the Pit sensing the grief rising once more.
She recognised the tiny change immediately.
His breathing shortened.
His fingers stiffened.
A faint emerald glow shimmered beneath the veins of his wrist.
No.
Not again.
Without thinking, Talia reached forward and gently drew Jason into her embrace.
At first...
He remained completely rigid.
As though he had forgotten how to be held.
Then, slowly...
Almost uncertainly...
His forehead came to rest against her shoulder.
Talia wrapped both arms around him.
One hand rested against the back of his head, gently threading through his curls exactly as she had done years ago whenever nightmares stole his sleep.
"My precious boy..."
She whispered.
"You have carried this burden alone for far too long."
Jason's eyes closed.
For just one fleeting moment...
He allowed himself to lean into the embrace.
Just a little.
Enough to remember what safety felt like.
Enough to remember that, despite everything, there was still one person who had never once asked him to earn her love.
And that single thought nearly made the Pit stir once more.
The familiar warmth of Talia's embrace should have been comforting.
Instead...
Jason felt terrified.
Not of her.
Never of her.
He was terrified of himself.
The moment his walls weakened, he felt it.
The Lazarus Pit.
Patient.
Ancient.
Insidious.
It never truly slept.
It simply waited.
Waited for sorrow.
Waited for grief.
Waited for rage.
Waited for the briefest crack in his carefully maintained control.
Jason's breathing faltered.
A sharp pain spread through his chest.
Then another.
His fingers instinctively tightened against the fabric of Talia's sleeve.
No.
Not now.
Please...
Not now.
The whisper returned.
You are hurting.
Give it to me.
Jason squeezed his eyes shut.
"No..."
His voice was almost inaudible.
Talia heard it anyway.
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
Immediately, her expression changed.
His sea-green eyes had begun to glow faintly.
Not brightly enough for anyone unfamiliar with the Lazarus Pit to notice.
She noticed.
Tiny strands of emerald light flickered beneath his skin like veins of molten jade.
His heartbeat had become erratic.
His breathing uneven.
Talia felt cold dread settle inside her stomach.
"No..."
She gently cupped his face.
"Jason."
His jaw clenched so tightly she feared he might crack a tooth.
The Pit whispered again.
They abandoned you.
The detective chose everyone else.
He always will.
Jason's hands began trembling.
The room itself seemed to react.
One of the overhead lights flickered.
Several books slid a fraction across their shelves.
The air grew noticeably colder.
Not because Jason had lost control.
Because he was desperately trying not to.
Every muscle in his body shook beneath the strain.
Talia had seen this countless times over the years.
Most people believed the Pit Madness made Jason violent.
Bloodthirsty.
Unpredictable.
They were wrong.
Those were merely the symptoms visible to others.
The true horror was invisible.
Every genuine emotion became a battlefield.
Every painful memory became another attempt by the Pit to consume him.
Every tear had to be swallowed.
Every heartbreak locked away.
Every moment of grief smothered before it could breathe.
No wonder he had become so quiet.
No wonder he smiled so rarely.
No wonder he carried the weight of the world alone.
He had never been given the luxury of falling apart.
Because if he did...
The Pit would be waiting.
Jason drew one slow breath.
Then another.
His nails bit into his palms hard enough to draw blood.
Fresh crimson droplets struck the concrete floor.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The sharp sting helped.
Pain grounded him.
It always had.
The emerald glow gradually faded.
His breathing steadied.
The unnatural chill dissipated.
Once again...
The room became still.
Jason slowly unclenched his fists.
Tiny crescent-shaped wounds marked his palms.
Without a word, Talia retrieved a clean cloth from the nearby medical cabinet.
Of course she knew where everything was.
She had visited this safe house often enough over the years.
Jason never noticed.
His eyes remained fixed upon the floor.
Talia carefully took one of his hands.
He did not resist.
She gently cleaned away the blood before wrapping the cuts with practised movements.
Her hands were steady.
Yet inside...
She was furious.
Not at Jason.
Never at Jason.
At herself.
Years ago she had believed she was saving his life.
She still remembered standing before the Lazarus Pit.
She remembered the impossible choice.
Leave Jason trapped inside a broken, catatonic shell until her father eventually deemed him useless...
Or risk the Pit.
She had chosen the latter.
At the time...
There had been no alternative.
She would make the same decision again if forced to choose between Jason's life and his death.
And yet...
Looking at him now...
Watching him bleed into his own palms simply to anchor himself...
She wondered if she had merely exchanged one prison for another.
"...I'm sorry."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Jason looked up.
His expression softened with quiet confusion.
"What for?"
Talia continued wrapping the bandage.
"For this."
She gestured gently towards his hands.
"Towards..."
Her voice faltered.
"The burden you continue to carry because of my decision."
Jason immediately shook his head.
"No."
"Habibi—"
"No."
His answer came with surprising firmness.
"You saved me."
Talia closed her eyes briefly.
"I also condemned you to fight this battle every day."
Jason remained silent for a moment.
Then he gave a small, weary smile.
"I've never blamed you."
"I blame myself."
"You should not."
"I should have found another way."
"There wasn't one."
Neither of them spoke after that.
Because they both knew the truth.
If Talia had not intervened...
Jason Todd would not be sitting here today.
He would have remained a nameless, broken boy wandering Gotham until either starvation, exposure or one of Ra's al Ghul's orders finally claimed his life.
The Pit had saved him.
The Pit had cursed him.
Both statements could exist simultaneously.
Talia finished tying the bandage before gently releasing his hand.
Her gaze wandered around the safe house.
Books.
Medical journals.
University prospectuses.
Research papers.
Several application forms partially completed.
A stack of notes concerning Columbia University.
She frowned slightly.
"...You've been applying to universities."
Jason followed her gaze.
"Oh."
He sounded almost embarrassed.
"I never stopped studying."
"I can see that."
"I thought..."
He hesitated.
"...maybe one day."
Talia smiled faintly.
"You still wish to attend university."
Jason nodded.
"I always did."
His eyes drifted towards the books lining the walls.
"I died before I could."
A simple sentence.
Yet one that carried years of quiet disappointment.
"I kept telling myself there would be time later."
He laughed softly.
"Then later became patrols."
"Arguments."
"Crime."
"The Outlaws."
"Everything else."
"I never..."
His voice became quieter.
"...never actually lived."
Those words lingered in the room.
Talia felt something inside her resolve harden.
Jason deserved more than endless nights beneath Gotham's rain.
More than constantly proving himself.
More than surviving.
He deserved the chance to live.
To learn.
To laugh without watching his own emotions.
To wake each morning without wondering whether today would be another battle for acceptance.
She looked towards the Batcomputer one final time.
The paternity report still glowed upon the screen.
Bruce Wayne.
Three words that now carried a weight they had not an hour earlier.
Talia slowly reached across the keyboard.
With a single movement...
She closed the file.
Then another.
Then another.
Finally, the monitor went dark.
Jason watched silently.
"You don't need to look at it anymore," she said softly.
"You already know everything you needed to."
She rose gracefully to her feet before extending a hand towards him.
Jason looked at it.
Then at her.
A faint crease formed between his brows.
"Mother?"
The title came naturally.
Unconsciously.
As it always did when only the two of them were present.
Talia's heart warmed despite everything.
She gently smiled.
"Come with me."
Jason tilted his head slightly.
"Where?"
A quiet determination settled over her features.
"To the one place I should have taken you years ago."
He blinked.
"The All-Caste."
Talia inclined her head.
"It is time."
Jason frowned, confusion replacing some of the emptiness in his eyes.
"...Time for what?"
Talia looked directly into those sea-green eyes—the eyes that should have remained the bright sea blue of the cheerful little boy Catherine Todd had raised, the eyes forever altered by the price of resurrection.
Then she made a silent promise.
To Jason.
To herself.
And perhaps even to the frightened fifteen-year-old child she had once found wandering Gotham without memories, without a home, and without anyone to hold his hand.
She would not allow him to spend the rest of his life chained to the Lazarus Pit.
No matter the cost.
She reached forward and gently intertwined her fingers with his.
Her grip was warm.
Steady.
Certain.
"This time," she whispered, "I am going to bring all of my son home."
Jason looked down at their joined hands.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
The warmth of Talia's hand felt grounding in a way he had almost forgotten.
Safe.
It was an unfamiliar feeling.
Not because Talia had failed him.
Quite the opposite.
She had been one of the few constants in his life since his resurrection.
Whenever she promised she would come, she came.
Whenever she said she would protect him, she did.
Whenever she said she would listen, she listened.
She had never once asked him to prove that he deserved her care.
It had simply... been there.
Unconditional.
Jason slowly rose to his feet.
"Alright."
His voice remained quiet, though some of the hollow emptiness had eased.
"I'll come."
Talia smiled gently.
"There is nothing here that cannot wait."
Jason glanced once around the safe house.
His books.
His records.
His carefully organised weapons.
The Batcomputer monitor, now dark.
It suddenly felt...
Heavy.
As though the room itself contained years of exhaustion that he had never truly noticed until now.
Without another word, he reached for the keyboard one final time.
A few rapid keystrokes later, every monitor shut down simultaneously.
The hidden servers disconnected from the outside world.
Encrypted drives locked themselves.
The apartment entered complete lockdown.
Only then did Jason retrieve his leather jacket from the workbench.
He slipped it on automatically before reaching for his helmet.
His fingers paused.
"...Actually."
He placed it back down.
Talia watched him curiously.
"You are not taking the motorcycle?"
Jason shook his head.
"No."
He looked towards her with the faintest hint of dry humour returning to his voice.
"I have a feeling we're not driving."
A quiet chuckle escaped Talia.
"No."
"We most certainly are not."
She stepped closer.
Without warning, she rested two fingers lightly against the centre of Jason's forehead.
Ancient League symbols shimmered briefly beneath her fingertips.
Jason recognised the spell immediately.
"A long-range gateway?"
"I could have asked one of Father's aircraft to transport us."
Her tone became noticeably cooler at the mention of Ra's al Ghul.
"I would rather not involve him."
Jason nodded.
He understood.
Although Ra's had approved of his training with the All-Caste, his grandfather had never viewed him as anything more than a valuable asset.
Useful.
Powerful.
Replaceable.
Jason had long since accepted that.
Talia, however...
Never had.
Golden light spread beneath their feet.
Unlike the emerald glow of the Lazarus Pit, this magic felt...
Warm.
Clean.
Gentle.
Intricate circles of ancient Arabic and forgotten All-Caste runes expanded across the concrete floor.
The air hummed softly.
Jason instinctively recognised several of the symbols.
Protection.
Passage.
Purification.
Home.
The final rune caused him to pause.
Family.
His sea-green eyes lingered upon it for a heartbeat.
Then the light engulfed them both.
The safe house disappeared.
The sensation of magical transportation never became comfortable, no matter how many times Jason experienced it.
For one impossible instant, he felt suspended between worlds.
Weightless.
Soundless.
Timeless.
Then...
His boots touched solid ground.
A cool breeze brushed against his face.
Jason inhaled instinctively.
The difference struck him immediately.
The air.
It was clean.
Untainted by Gotham's smoke and pollution.
Instead, the scent of pine forests, mountain flowers and ancient stone greeted him.
He slowly opened his eyes.
The world before him was bathed in the soft glow of dawn.
Towering mountains stretched endlessly into the distance, their snow-covered peaks catching the first rays of the rising sun.
Crystal-clear streams wound through emerald valleys below, their gentle murmur replacing Gotham's endless sirens.
Ancient temples carved directly into the mountainside overlooked forests untouched by modern civilisation.
Prayer flags fluttered peacefully in the morning breeze.
The entire sanctuary radiated quiet serenity.
Jason hadn't realised how tightly he had been holding himself until that very moment.
His shoulders relaxed almost unconsciously.
The ever-present pressure resting against his mind...
Lightened.
Only slightly.
But enough for him to notice.
He closed his eyes.
"...I forgot."
Talia looked towards him.
"What did you forget?"
"...How peaceful it is here."
A gentle smile touched her lips.
"The All-Caste has always been a place of healing."
Jason looked around slowly.
Nothing had changed.
The ancient stone paths remained exactly as he remembered.
The training courtyards still echoed with the distant clash of wooden practice swords.
Meditation gardens bloomed with white lotuses.
Small shrines stood beneath towering cedar trees exactly where they always had.
Time seemed to move differently here.
Seven years.
Perhaps eight.
Yet it felt as though he had merely stepped away yesterday.
A familiar memory surfaced.
Ducra patiently correcting his stance.
Essence laughing whenever he accidentally mispronounced an ancient incantation.
Long evenings spent studying forgotten languages until his head ached.
Gruelling hours of meditation.
Learning to summon the All-Blades for the very first time.
Learning that strength born solely from anger was no strength at all.
For the first time since opening Bruce's file...
Jason smiled.
A real one.
Small.
Quiet.
But genuine.
Talia noticed immediately.
The sight eased a weight she had been carrying for years.
"There he is."
Jason blinked.
"Hm?"
"My son."
She brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve.
"I was beginning to wonder where he had gone."
Jason looked away, slightly embarrassed.
"I was only remembering."
"I know."
She knew because his eyes had softened.
Because the rigid tension around his shoulders had eased.
Because this place had always represented something Gotham never had.
Peace.
Neither of them noticed the elderly woman standing silently upon the temple steps above them.
Draped in flowing white robes embroidered with silver thread, Ducra observed the pair from a distance without speaking.
Age had silvered portions of her dark hair, yet her posture remained perfectly straight.
Her sharp eyes, filled with centuries of wisdom, rested not upon Talia...
But upon Jason.
She saw everything within a single glance.
The carefully controlled breathing.
The exhaustion hidden behind discipline.
The hollowness concealed beneath composure.
The faint traces of Lazarus corruption still lingering around his soul despite years of restraint.
Then...
She noticed something else.
Jason smiled.
Only for a second.
Yet it was enough.
Ducra smiled in return.
"So..."
Her quiet voice carried effortlessly across the courtyard.
"Our wandering grandson has finally come home."
------------