Chapter Text
It was dark by the time Jason got off work. Just past midnight by the time he was almost home.
He walked with his hands in his pockets, posture slouched enough to not look like a threat, but not so much that he looked like a target. Jason had been a scrawny kid his whole life — abject poverty and neglect will do that to you — but he'd had a growth spurt recently. He knew it was because of Mr. Singh, his boss at the convenience store. A kind man with a large family and an even larger heart.
Mr. Singh hired Jason when he didn't need to, and then he'd insisted that every employee got meals during their shifts. It was probably true, considering all of the other employees were part of Mr. Singh's family. They didn't have to feed Jason, but they did. Half the time they sent him home with leftovers.
Jason had grown six inches in the past year. At seventeen, the growth spurt had been a bit overdue, but Jason wouldn't complain.
No one tried to mug him anymore, which was how he knew the person following him wanted something else. That, and he recognized the footsteps.
"The fuck do you want, Terry?" Jason called without turning around. He was so fucking tired, and he had school in the morning.
"Where's your pops?" Terry shouted down the sidewalk and Jason cringed. The guy was clearly high. He wasn't a problem, not really. Hell, in another life, Terry Cooley would probably be a stand up guy.
In this life, he was an addict and usually homeless and had the unfortunate luck of knowing Willis Todd.
"Dunno," Jason said. "Haven't seen him in a week. I stopped goin' lookin' for him a long time ago."
Hell, Jason was happy with the man's absence. Maybe it would stick, this time.
"He owes me fifty bucks." Terry, closer to Jason now, was still shouting.
Jason spun around and started walking backwards. "What'a'ya know," he said. "Me too."
"Got any cash on ya?"
"No, Terry, real jobs don't pay you at the end of the day." Jason held out a hand, the one carrying a plastic bag of Mrs. Singh's roti and chicken tikka masala. Jason was loathe to part with it, but Terry looked like he needed it more.
"What's that?" He eyed the bag warily.
"Mrs. Singh's home cooking. Best shit you'll ever eat."
"Why are you giving it to me?"
"Cause if you're waiting for Willis to pay you back, you'll be waiting for the rest of your life," Jason snapped. "Want it or not?"
Terry snatched the bag and ran a few feet away.
Jason turned back around, and sighed at the sight of his apartment building, in all its crumbling-brick and broken-window glory.
"Thanks, Jay," Terry said softly and Jason waved a hand over his shoulder.
Jason had dreadful luck. The duct tape on his shoes only seemed to brake when it was raining. He only seemed to miss school when they had tests. Whenever he had a little bit of money leftover, after rent and utilities and food, and he thought he might be able to buy a book or some flowers for his mom, the fridge broke.
He shouldn't have been surprised, then, that just talking about Willis would summon the bastard.
Well, summon was a bit strong, considering he was already in the apartment by the time Jason got there. He could tell from the stairwell, what with all the screaming and sound of breaking objects. They didn't have objects to spare, so Jason ran to the door.
The one across the hall opened as he laid his hand on his door knob.
"If they don't calm down in ten minutes, I'm calling the cops," said the apartment's elderly occupant, her white hair askew and her bathrobe dishevelled.
"Sorry, Mrs. Violet," Jason said, meaning it. "I'll deal with it, please don't call the cops."
Mrs. Violet sighed and patted Jason's arm before retreating into her apartment once more.
Something shattered in the Todd residence and Jason yanked the door open. For a moment, he didn’t know what happened. He barely had time to register Willis, red and angry, pointing at him and shouting YOU, before he was on his ass in the hallway.
Pain thrummed behind his eyes and he felt the warm, stickiness of blood pouring down his face. Jason barely recovered his senses in time to catch his mother, as Willis threw her through the open doorway.
Staggering to his feet, Jason tucked Catherine behind his back. She was sobbing, frail shoulders shaking violently. Jason tried to not think about the shaking. She was scared, but she was also certainly coming down from something. Heroin, probably. It was usually heroin.
In the apartment, Willis screamed incoherently.
"What's his fucking problem," Jason hissed. Willis got mad, sure, but rarely like this.
"S-something went-went missing a-at w-w-w-work," Catherine whispered behind him, clinging to his shirt.
Oh.
Willis worked for Two Face. Missing merchandise was a big fucking problem.
Two doors down from Mrs. Violet, another door opened and a familiar head of blonde hair poked out.
"Jason, what the fuck?" Stephanie slurred, rubbing at her eyes.
"Sorry, Steph," Jason said, moments before Willis stomped into the hallway. Without thinking, Jason shoved his mom toward Steph and prayed the Browns had a deadbolt or five.
When Willis Todd was on a rampage, Catherine was his favorite target. Jason wasn't out of the woods, but he was bigger, now, and Willis didn't try and pick on him like he used to.
It was a calculated risk, one that Jason didn't regret, even when Willis grabbed a handful of his shirt and shoved him against the wall and slurred about fucking Gotham and fucking kids and fucking bats.
Jason wanted to ask what any of that had to do with him, but he wasn't suicidal. Even though Jason was Getting Bigger, Willis was Already Big.
"Where's your fuckin' mother," Willis snapped and Jason shrugged and Willis put his hand through the drywall next to Jason's head. It wasn't clear if that was the plan, or if Willis had missed his target by six inches. Either way, Jason got the point.
"She's getting out of your way," Jason said, aiming for placating but ending up closer to angry. Probably because he was angry. He was livid and his head hurt and his nose was still bleeding, probably it was broken, and his mother was down the hall, bruised and bloody and Jason would have to find a way to patch the hole in the wall before the landlord noticed and then Willis had a gun in his hand and Jason's mind froze.
The barrel of the gun pressed into Jason's temple and his ears started ringing. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. He didn't hear anyone approach until a flash of black and blue in his periphery caught his attention.
"Hey, now," a gentle but firm voice said, and Willis' eyes snapped to the fucking vigilante in the hallway. "Put the gun down."
"Fuckin' Nightwing?" Willis laughed, pressing the gun harder against Jason's head.
Jason didn't look at the man in spandex, he just stared at his dad. His dad, who only looked at Nightwing for a few seconds before turning back to Jason. His dad, holding a gun to his head.
There were so many emotions in Willis' eyes. Pain and fear and anger and longing longing longing.
Jason didn't know what Willis wanted, he hardly knew what he wanted but he knew that Crime Alley hardly gave anyone what they needed, let alone what they dreamt about. And no one dreamed about being a goon.
Jason mourned the man his father could have been. He had a feeling Willis did, too.
A door crashed open and Willis' attention snapped away from Jason and the pressure of the gun wavered. He moved without thinking, his left hand grabbed the barrel of the gun and twisted it out of Willis' grip and his right punched his dad in the face. Hard.
Willis fell back.
Sirens blared outside but Jason didn't know if they were approaching or receding.
Bullets hit the floor when Jason ejected the clip from the gun, and the bullet from the chamber. He slid down the wall, tired arms on tired knees, and tossed the empty weapon into the corner.
"Kid, you alright?"
Jason blinked at Nightwing and laughed a little. "Forgot you were here," he murmured.
If he tilted his head a little, he could see his dad's writhing form behind the vigilante. He was on his stomach, hands bound behind his back.
Steph's shout — an exasperated Catherine — alerted Jason to his mom's presence a moment before she crashed into him, shoving Nightwing out of the way. She pressed kisses into his hair and ghosted fingers over his face.
She babbled nonsense for a moment before Steph tugged her, gently, away. Jason pulled himself to his feet and walked into the apartment, feeling like a ghost.
"Hey, kid," Nightwing said from behind him, his voice sounding miles away. "I need you to talk to the cops, okay?"
"No thanks," Jason said, stooping to pick up shards of broken dishes. His ears were still ringing. He wasn't positive he was breathing.
"C'mon."
"Fuck off," Jason said, impassively. He was so fucking tired.
"Nightwing," Stephanie said sharply, and the hovering presence of the vigilante disappeared. Jason tossed ceramic pieces into the garbage and started righting the furniture.
"Your nose might be broken," Steph said, suddenly right next to him.
Jason raised an eyebrow and hucked the cushions back on the couch. "No shit."
The paper towel roll was on the ground, unrolled almost all the way. A trail of white across the debris-riddled floor.
"You should get that checked out."
Jason wandered into the kitchen, closing cabinets and shoving canned beans back in their place.
"Look," Stephanie said, her hand suddenly on his arm. Jason didn't flinch, but it was close. "I don't think you have to talk to the pigs, fuck 'em, but go to Doc Thompkins."
Jason sighed, rolling the paper towel back up and snagging a few to half-heartedly wipe the blood off his face.
"I'll stay with your mom," Steph said.
Her mom was an addict, too. Although hers was, apparently, actually getting better — Jason couldn't think about it too much, or he started to get jealous which was ridiculous and rude and so many shades of fucked up — but Stephanie still knew what it was like, she knew what Catherine needed. And she didn't lace any pity in her voice when she said it.
Steph ruled.
"Fine." Jason stalked out of the apartment. Nightwing was still there, hovering in the hall. Jason walked past him.
"Let me give you a ride," he said, following Jason down the stairs. Jason ignored him.
"I'm not going to let you go by yourself, alright?" Nightwing was basically pleading. Jason really didn't care. He started down the street towards Doc Thompkins' after hours clinic. It was almost one in the morning, if the microwave clock was to be believed (and it wasn't, no one ever made sure it was right).
Nightwing followed a few steps behind. "I'm going to walk with you," he said, like he thought he was being stubborn.
After a few blocks Jason stopped and turned to him. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
"Nah," he said with a billion-Watt smile. "Slow night."
Jason rolled his eyes and kept walking.
Jason pressed the buzzer on the front of the clinic. Doctor Leslie Thompkins lived in the back, and the buzzer was for anyone experiencing an emergency after the clinic closed. The woman was a saint.
A broken nose was hardly an emergency, but Jason figured she'd only just closed up, so he buzzed.
"Go for Leslie," she said, no nonsense as always.
"Hey Doc, it's Jason."
"Jason?" Shit, she sounded worried.
"I'm fine," Jason said quickly. "Think I broke my nose."
"I don't think you broke it," Nightwing mumbled behind him.
"Fuck off," Jason hissed and then, at Leslie's sharp inhale: "Not you! Sorry, not you. Nightwing is fuckin' following me."
"Jason Peter Todd, what did you do now?"
"This time? Nothing." Jason was well acquainted with Leslie, she had always been good to him and his mom, also patched them up. As Jason got older he got scrappier and his scraps were, admittedly, more often than not his fault, these days.
The door buzzed and Jason slipped in, hoping to lock out the black and blue bastard. Alas, Nightwing's reflexes were too fast.
"Oh dear," Leslie murmured, taking Jason's face in her hands. He forced his body to remain neutral, to not pull away. To not panic. It was just Leslie, with her messy white hair and her piercing gaze that seemed to see right into his soul. Her hands were warm, as they gently moved his head this way and that, before they dropped away. "Well, come on, then."
She led him to one of the rooms and patted the examination table. Jason hopped up, sighing dramatically.
He'd been right, it looked like she had just started cleaning up for the night, hadn't even taken off her white coat yet.
"I'll be right back," Leslie said, "see if I can get rid of our bird problem."
"I really didn't do anything," Jason said, without meaning to.
Leslie looked at him for several seconds, eyes flicking around his face. She said, "I believe you, sweetheart."
Nightwing was not, in fact, gone by the time Leslie set Jason's nose. Which was a bummer. He followed Jason all the way back to his apartment.
Jason was grateful, for a few minutes, that he didn’t come back inside. Until he realized that the jackass was sitting on the roof across the street, watching the living room window.
“What’s his fucking problem?” Jason said, dropping the blinds closed.
“I think they’re all like that,” Steph said with a shrug.
“How’d he even know, anyway? Not really their kind of rodeo.”
Steph ushered Catherine back into the apartment. “They show up to that kind of thing all the time,” she said, ignoring Jason when he laughed. “They do.”
“Sure.” Jason led his mom to bed, she was practically incoherent, still crying idly and muttering about Willis.
“I’m gonna go,” Steph called from the living room and Jason jogged back into the room.
“Steph,” he said. She paused at the door. “Thank you.”
She grinned, and it was smile that rivalled Nightwing’s. “‘Course.”