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Smoke curdles from his fingertips, two of them warm from the cigarette while the others freeze. His eyes are a glassy green as they gaze over Crime Alley's skylines.
His lungs burn, half from polluted frosty Gotham air, half from nicotine. He still breathes. By all of hell does he still breathe.
At least it's not raining.
Whenever the rain graces Gotham with its presence, the joints in his fingers start to ache. No matter what he eats, he can’t rid the taste of dirt on his tongue. Thoughts come to him a little bit slower and foggier.
While most of the symptoms occurred post resurrection, Jason has never liked the rain. If one got caught in the downpour, the likelihood of getting sick increased. He never could afford the cost of being ill.
Nowadays, he spends his time settling in doors waiting. He waits for the sky to clear as much as it usually does in Gotham, which is at best a lighter cloud coverage. The only family member to understand his grief with the rain is Dick. He hasn't quite worked up the courage to ask why they share it.
At the current moment, Gotham's skies are filled with their usual toxic fog. It may not be raining, but Jason's alone with his thoughts. Perhaps this is why Timbers works until he drops. If he stays busy enough, he'll be too occupied for his mind to wander.
Jason wonders how well that works out for the kid.
As the smoke creeps out his lips, Jason tries not to think of Bruce. He tries not to think about the screaming matches, the physical fights, or the quietly simmering disappointment. He tries to focus on the brisk Gotham air or taste of tobacco stinging his tongue.
When he tries to push the thought of Bruce aside, they circle back to Jason's grave.
The grave that still marks his death at the age of fifteen.
The one that had fresh flowers and the grime carefully cleaned off the stone.
He knows the man that bends down, hand placed on his spine, before he grabs the brush and bucket of water. He knows who's steady hands respect the resting place of a boy who never returned.
Should the ghoul who haunts that same man be happy at the dedication? Should he be jealous of the boy he was? Heartbroken that his father's gaze doesn't settle on him?
When the wraith had first returned, he raged against Gotham's stagnation. He howled and lashed out at Bruce's refusal to change the broken process. He screamed himself hoarse demanding proof of love he never received.
Through it all, the older man kept visiting that empty cemetery plot. His son's body crawled out of that very same grave, yet still Bruce returned.
And Jason was angry. He was mourning the present he felt he didn't belong to. He was agonizing over his broken relationship with his dad. He vented his ire through bullets and death. He screamed until Bruce glanced his way.
Jason was so angry and part of him believes he'll never let go of that hurt.
Despite that constant ache, despite the gnawing bitterness choking him, the younger man chose to move past their differences. He couldn't forgive his father, but he could overlook all the pain the man caused physically, mentally, and emotionally.
He accepted Bruce’s clumsy overtures. He disregarded his own needs and wants to have some sort of relationship with the person who’s supposed to be his father.
It took time and careful movements on both sides. The bridge was painstakingly built between them. For once, Red Hood and Batman could even smile at each other.
Jason shouldn’t have fucking bothered.
~~~~~
For a group of assassins, the LoA compound is bustling with noises of life.
An entire dormitory is a few halls down from the room Jason's currently residing. In the opposite direction, groups meet at the training ground for daily lessons and practice. There's chatter and swords clashing together as a constant soundtrack to the teen's stay at the LoA.
Usually, the sounds soothe the side of Jason that grew up on busy streets with never sleeping neighbors. His childhood was filled with stomping feet, muffled yelling, drunk laughter, and distant gunshots. Gotham was a loud city, even at night.
It's when the city got quiet that the citizens knew to grab their weapons and barricade their doors. A quiet Gotham is a city holding its breath before it screams.
Now, the noise fades from Jason's perception. Neither the barely perceptible scent of Kibbeh nor the heavy aroma of frankincense is comprehended by the teen.
All of his senses blur out of focus as crooked fingers clutch onto the Gotham Gazette's printed paper. The date is only a week old. The paper crinkles as he tries to make out the headline once again.
Batman and Robin Foil Joker's Escape
The kid wants to scoff at Talia's blatant form of manipulation. Surely Bruce wouldn't have replaced him. Not after that. Not after Jason’s death. His father wouldn't.
Yet, the picture is clear. Batman found another little bird to wear stoplight colors. There's another child with a gleeful grin as he flies next to Bruce.
Jason's father has placed another kid in such a precarious role. That was Jason's mantle that was stolen.
Did Bruce even care? Did he even grieve his dead son before taking in another child?
From where Jason's sitting halfway across the world in Talia’s grasp, it seems as his father didn't even bother to pause between one child soldier to the next.
There's another Robin and Batman hasn't even stopped Joker. The clown is free to reign terror on Gotham in the same vicious cycle as before.
What was the point? Why did Jason undergo grueling training, face Dick's ire, and receive injury after injury on patrol if this was the result?
Why did he die if Bruce wasn't going to change a damn thing?
Harsh breaths cue Jason into the fact that he's rapidly losing control again. His vision is starting to blur, his thoughts are spiraling, and he feels lightheaded. The teen doesn't think he can stop it.
Before Jason sprang out of the water screaming up a fuss, he was never prone to this dissociative rage. He would get angry, he would fight, but he always had control. His vision didn't turn this nauseous and luminescent shade of green as he lost himself in a fugue.
No matter what Talia says about Lazarus Pits and its effect on others, he knows those waters did more than restore his mind. This is the proof. Jason is about to be lost under its waves and he’ll wake up with bloody fists. He won't even fight it. He can't.
One of his triggers, as Talia likes to point out, is the feeling of abandonment and betrayal. Bruce has hit two in one.
As his vision disappears and his mind checks out, his last thought is cursing the cape he should've never worn.
~~~~~
Gnarled fingers scramble to the gushing crimson on his neck. Any screams or exclamations of pain are lost behind the blood bubbling in his throat and mouth.
For a moment, the younger version of himself flickers into view. He's grinning at Jason's form with a cheeky smile and his hands playfully clasped behind his back. The child peers down at the seventeen year old who's bleeding out. There's a wrinkle to the bridge of his nose as he sighs and takes in the older teen’s dying form.
Jason knows it's a hallucination from blood loss and some adverse reaction with the Pit. He knows it's not real. Despite that, seeing the younger version of him, one so happy and yearning for affection, burns. It aches fiercely like fire in his veins.
The passion in the kid's eyes. The optimism for life that’s still present if a bit worn. The giggles.
Jason isn't that child anymore. He's seventeen years old, six months of which were spent dead, and his soul feels ancient. He's barely been alive, but he's been surviving for so long.
Part of him wonders if this is how Alfred feels. If the older man's hands tremble as he remembers a past he can never return to. Part of Jason would give every single drop of the blood he's currently spilling just to see his grandfather again.
They wouldn't even have to talk. Alfred wouldn’t even need to turn around and face the monster that rose from the Pit.
The side of him that's still a teen would give it all just to watch the older man bake one more time. One more time where Alfred slightly sways to swing music, sloshes flour onto his apron, and hums beneath his breath.
If he can’t have a few hours of that, could Alfred hold his face and say, “Welcome home, Master Jason,” just one more time? Could Jason just see the fondness in his grandfather's eyes?
Jason misses Alfred. He truly does. He just wants his grandfather to say his name. He just wants a hug. Surely it's not too much to ask. Surely, as he's haunted by his younger self, he can see the one person who was always there for him.
Please.
He knows the universe is cruel. To him, It always has been. No child should be familiar with starvation and hypothermia the way Jason was. No kid should be nearly beaten to death. No one should die alone.
The universe is cruel, but, if he has to die again, could he see Alfred just one more time?
It's a long shot, a prayer into an unforgiving universe, but still Jason begs. He pleads as his neck is bleeding out, but he knows he won't be afforded that small mercy. He probably won't make it even a few minutes more.
Perhaps it's better that the older man isn't here. Even if it would bring Jason comfort, he can’t stop spewing blood with every cough of his. He doesn't want his grandfather's clothes to get dirty.
Alfred always exceedingly fixes his own appearance to be presentable at all times. It's a matter of his English pride. The blood and grime would get on the old man’s clothes as he knelt next to his grandson. To have Alfred here in spite of that would be selfish.
But Jason wants his grandpa.
If he was still that kid he sees in his fading vision, it'd be as simple as going home. The butler would greet Jason with misty eyes and eagerly usher him inside. A fresh pot of tea would be paired with a plate of cookies. If Jason was fifteen, Alfred's eyes would crinkle in delight at the crumbs left all over the counter.
He's not him, though, and he never will be. He can't be that child again.
He knows better now. He does.
Jason Todd should’ve never set foot inside Wayne Manor.
~~~~~
For a blank round, Bruce sure knows how to deal out punishment. Red Hood isn't even trying to fight back as blow after blow rains down on him.
An idle thought of his wonders just what is in Bruce's boot to allow him to crack open Hood's helmet like that, but Jason recognizes that as the coping mechanism it is. It is just like the pointed humor he throws at Bruce, his comparison of the beating he's receiving to the ones Batman lays on the Joker. It's an attempt to mask his emotions. With comedy, Jason can analyze the situation without being present for the pain. Compartmentalization, eh?
As the Red Hood mask continues to crumble, Jason can't help but to feel more defenseless than before. The level of violence against the freshly turned adult didn't increase. His armor wasn't stripped. Yet, he feels bare as part of his face becomes more visible to the man who raised him.
One teal eyes stares up at the impassive lens of the cowl and the glower on the older man's face. That eye traces the faint scar on scowling lips, the frown lines etched into Batman’s cheeks, and the familiar stubble along the sharp jawline. Jason has spent years studying his father's face, but he doesn't recognize the man before him. Whoever is pummeling Red Hood, it's not the man who adopted him.
His dad wouldn't have hit him. Even for the most heinous of crimes, Bruce had promised to never lay a hand on Jason.
His adoptive father has been angry before. He has screamed at Jason and even once threw an object.
The moment that porcelain shattered, the freshly adopted child had run to his room and hid from Bruce for three days.
It took hours of apologies, pleas, and copious compensations before Jason would even meet his father's eyes. The older man then spent weeks acknowledging his wrongdoings and the trust he broke. He had learned to do better.
Bruce, after Jason flinched from his touch, swore that he would never hurt his children. He wanted his son to feel safe in his presence.
Bruce had kept his word until Ethiopia.
Thus, this person who's abusing Jason can't be his father. His father didn't lie. His eyes showed the conviction for that oath when it was made. Bruce wants Jason to be alive and well. He doesn't want to hurt him.
Another fist lashes out in fury on Jason's bare face.
It is this that forces the son to acknowledge who is bashing Red Hood's face in. He can no longer deny who's hand is gripped around his throat as the man screams in his face.
Hood wishes Bruce would call him Jay one more time. He wishes he saw remorse or guilt in Bruce’s rage.
Does his father even recognize the son he cherished? Did time change that much?
Jason is trapped on a roof as a helicopter films Batman's unrelenting assault. He's being head butted and hit and choked and slammed onto the ground. Red Hood tried to defend himself. It didn't work. He's being pummeled, and he can't do anything.
It's just happening to him.
He's hurt and Dad isn't stopping.
Bruce is dragging him across the rooftop.
There's a trail of blood being left behind.
Jason might die from this.
This is the second time he is fearing death at his mentor’s hands. Does he get a punch card? Do the adoption papers get revoked after the third time?
Gods, Jason hopes that Bruce goes home and torches every trace of the second son from that house. Pictures, report cards, clothes, and the papers that legally bind them. He hopes there's nothing remaining of their time together. He hopes that damn memorial case gets destroyed.
Jason can't even bring himself to hate Bruce anymore. The younger one should've known this would be Batman's reaction. He should've known after the last few times Bruce has hit him. It shouldn't be such a surprise that Batman broke his vow once again. At every chance, that man will uphold his mission over his responsibilities as a father. If Jason steps out of line, he'll be beaten.
Red Hood knew that, but a fragment of the son still hoped otherwise.
He regrets ever calling him “Dad.”
~~~~~
A gift, huh? Is that what Batman refers to performing life altering medical procedures without consent? Is that what it means to remove Jason's liberties?
Fuck. The young adult thinks he had an easier time breathing from broken ribs in that warehouse rigged to explode.
Breathe, Jason. In and out.
He can't. He can't fucking breathe, Bruce!
That man says that it's not a punishment, constantly being terrified like this. He says he's saving Jason. What else is the younger one supposed to think? With panic thrumming in his veins, he can't even gather his thoughts.
Fuck.
How can Bruce mask such cruelty with that farce of kindness? Safety. He calls this safe? Yeah.
Ironic that Bruce has now clipped Jason's wings more than the Joker did.
Robin was killed in Ethiopia, but at least he was allowed to fight till his dying breath. He was petrified, bruises blossomed over his skin, but he still spat out insults at the clown. He stayed strong. Robin even tried to save Sheila despite his grievous wounds.
Bruce took away his options. He removed the one aspect Jason kept with him even from the streets of Crime Alley. Bruce destroyed Jason's ability to protect himself.
The teen can't rely on himself the way the starving eleven year old could. He is weak. Defenseless. He's worse off than he was before he met Bruce. At least that malnourished little one could swing a tire iron.
Now? Now Jason falls to his knees in fright the moment adrenaline is released.
It's pathetic.
It's frightening.
What did Bruce do to him? What the fuck did he do?
That man claims this change will force Jason to live a “normal” life. Normal. For men like them?
If Bruce wanted Jason to have a normal life, he should take him out back and shoot him. That's what would've happened if he had left alone that gutter rat he picked up. That's what would have been Jason's “normal” life before he met Batman.
After him? After the crime fighting, dying, waking up in a coffin, assassins, and being a crime lord? Bruce wants him to, what? Settle down?
That's hysterical.
And people say Bruce doesn't have a sense of humor. That the man doesn't know how to joke. Clearly, they were wrong. Look at the shit he's spewing. Red Hood retiring to Metropolis. Hilarious.
Best part? Bruce is really fucking committed to this bit. Permanently mutilating a young adult’s mind? Hardcore, Bruce. Hardcore. Hell, Joker would appreciate this level of dedication.
No matter what Bruce whispers to himself at night to justify his actions, this behavior is fucked. The terror pulsing in Jason's body is one he'll never forget. It doesn't matter if this is somehow curable or reversible. The teen will remember how his muscles trembled for the rest of his life. The expression on Bruce's face will be etched onto the back of his eyelids for years to come. Unless the man fucks his brain up once more, there's no fix for that.
It would've been better if Jason had frozen to death on a street corner. At least he would have full autonomy. At least Jason, in all his underfed state, would not have been subjected to such betrayal and pyschological torture.
When that child saw the batmobile, when he saw tires that could save his life, he should've run the other way.