Archive of Our Own ^beta

The silence of the Cave was oppressive. 

It was as if the large stone ceiling was getting closer with every breath, pushing down on him like some mockery of a cage. Breaths coming in short little bursts, chest constricting against his plate armor. His eyes flickering around to take in every little detail from where he walked away from his bike, parked next to theirs , next to the Batman's little toys. The gleam of red contrasted against every other dark, void like surface. Like a splatter of blood and- No, don’t think about that now -

The bats finally wanted had to work with him. Unless they wanted to risk being hunted down while entering into Crime Alley, into his territory, and leaving with more broken bones then they’d arrived with. Not many of them had been thrilled at the idea. At either option, if the screaming match he’d had with Batman a few nights ago at the edge of Crime Alley had been anything to go by. But they’d reached a compromise, a thin veil of a truce. The conditions had been simple.

His demands: They wouldn’t do anything without his say so. They would report whenever they entered and left Crime Alley. They would leave his neighbourhood alone when the job was finished .

Batman’s demands: No killing.

As if Jason hadn’t killed anyone in months .

7 months and 23 days. 

As if Jason hadn’t switched to rubber bullets.

3 months and 13 days .

Not that he mentioned that little detail. Not like anyone one of them would care. He’d simply agreed, ignoring the doubtful look Batman had given him, the glance he’d received with narrow eyes from the clad demon brat kid standing dutifully at his side. 

Jason could play nice. Jason would play nice if it meant he’d get to be in the ropes again. If he’d just receive a sliver of trust, if only so they could stop looking at him like that. (A Monster, a murderer-). 

He ignored the jittery, uneasy feeling in his body as he walked deeper into the cave. 

“Oi, anyone home?”

Silence met him. Deafening, chilling, restricting. (Faintly, he could have swore he heard ticking.)

“Bats!”

He shouted a little louder, yet only his own voice echoed back to him. Guess he was left alone for the time being. It’s fine, he was probably just early. If he’d have to guess, they were just finishing up their dinner. Seated around that big, empty table (it probably wasn’t empty anymore-) and the sound of silver against porcelain, grating so loud to fill the silence (They were probably laughing and talking and- ). With Alfred’s cooking and the candles flickering and- shut up shut up shut up .

Jason was a patient man, when he wanted to be, when he had to be, so he could wait. He was always good at waiting. But he didn’t have to stand, pristine and still like some kind of machine while he did. 

His eyes took in the surroundings as he kept walking, feet carrying him forward one step at a time. With each one, he felt something distant and ugly pull at his chest. Because nothing had changed. The Bat-computer still stood timeless and towering where it always sat, the same old chair standing swiveled to the right like someone had rushed out of it towards the staircase. The vehicle-bay was still at the entrance, the batmobile left polished and pristine, with all 4 tires attached. The training mats hadn’t moved, still next to the Medbay, and connecting to the lockers and showers. The same dark grey stone ceilings. The same flutter of wings if he watched carefully, if he strained his ears. The same lights and floor and decorations and wall of costumes. 

Nothing had changed.

He couldn’t hide the tremor in his hands. His chest constricting, squeezing . He couldn’t quite breathe. 

And yet everything had. 

The Bat-computer had a few more monitors, while some of the other ones were cracked. There were multiple coffee cups, all different shapes, sizes and colours strewn across the large desk. Fidgettoys were scattered among the chaos and papers thrown everywhere , some with small doodles or stickers. There was a blanket draped over the chair, a pillow under the desk. Under the desk-

“Jason, what are you doing?”

Suddenly his view became less stone floor and more blue eyes and a tired, near but not quite, scowl.

“What does it look like, old man? Are you really going blind this early? Should we get you glasses or-”

“You know you can’t have food near the bat-computer.”

“I know, I’m not near it.”

“Jason-”

“I’m under it! I can’t get any crumbs or germs or nothin’ on it if I’m under the desk.”

Bruce let out a loud sigh, and Jason’s grin widened instantly.

“You can’t have a food stash under the Batcomputer .”

“What I’m hearing is, you want me to starve.”

“No, I-”

“Should I tell Alfred you won’t let me eat?”

“You can eat in the Manor-”

“What if I’m hungry, and dying of starvation after patrol and I need emergency granola bars?”

“Hnn.”

“Pleeeeeease B?”

Jason gave him the best, as Dick had called it “Puppy dog eyes.”, he could muster.

“Only in emergencies.” Bruce sighed out. 

“Oh hell yeah!”

“Hey, language!”

His brightly coloured box, gifted to him by Alfred , was no longer under the desk, stacked on top of one of  the smaller file cabinets, closest to the chair.  He quickly scowled at the memory and turned. 

There were a lot more vehicles now than before. Before it had been the Batmobile and Batplane mostly on display. Now there were prototypes of some other cars that weren’t the Batmobile and different types of boats and cycles and an honest to god rocket - And a multitude of motorcycles, in different colors. One was black with blue stripes across it, looking more like a 90’s sport Kawasaki than his older, more classic muscle Yamaha model. There was a more modern, smaller, with faint red and yellow details across the wheels and body. One was purple, another was entirely black (but far too small to belong to the Big Man himself). He didn’t care that they all had a place (he didn’t, why would he- ). He didn’t, because what left him staring with a hitched breath was that the wheeled little metal cabinet ( his fucking cabinet- ), that contained all his tools and greased up paper and repaired bits and bobbles he used to experiment with, he used to build with , was no longer there. His tire iron wasn’t there. Instead stood a towering set of metal cabinets against the far wall.

Perhaps it was too small. Too useless. Not like it mattered-

Jason stalked forward, trying to get his breathing under control. Stay calm, stay calm. His hands reached over to the new, huge, wooden closet that contained all their sparring weapons. There were so many new additions, mostly wooden, some gleaming metal. Polished to perfection, not how they were before. The craftsmanship he knew well. League made, his mind hissed. Bostaffs and batarangs and sickles and nunchucks and fucking katanas . Batman could curse the League all he wanted, could fight them to hell and high water, but of course he couldn’t say no to a generous donation it seemed like. He shook himself out of it. Maybe he could spar, to focus the electricity like bolts that slithered down his spine. He turned and saw the old weapons rack and felt the first genuine grin, however small, make itself onto his face. Second shelf to the right, it should be right- there!

With a triumphant huff, he pulled down his precious- he faltered, staring unblinking and unbreathing at the unfamiliar weight in his hand, the metal glinting against the harsh light above the mats. That- wasn’t his wooden staff. It was metal, and new and pristine and and- 

There was a static ringing in his ear as he rushed into the locker room, breath still caught in his throat and making the world hazy. He turned the corner, the second locker to the left- was decorated in stickers and a small note, plastered on, with neat purple writing. ‘ Spoiler’ . he scanned all the others. His little note, he’d made while bouncing nearly out of his seat, had showed Batman with a grin so unrestrained and, and proud-

“Look! Look! I finished it.”

“It was just a name card, Jason.” Despite the flat tone, even Batman couldn’t push down his smile.

“Sure, but does any other, normal, name card have a Batblob in the corner?” 

“A what?” 

“Look! It’s you!” Jason grinned up at him, letting out a squawk as a big hand suddenly ruffled his hair. 

“B!” He shouted in protest, overshadowed by unrestrained chuckles. 

Jason didn’t remember moving. Suddenly his hands were empty, his chest felt cold, he felt hollow. He stared along the wall covered in displayed costumes, taking slow (he thinks) steps along the cases. The wall was almost triple the length it was before. It went from Batman, to the Robin’s (His costume wasn’t there, it would sting if he could feel anything besides horrid buzzing ), over to every Batgirl, Nightwing, Red Robin, Spoiler, Orphan and at last, Signal. Signal only had one case. So far , he thought bitterly. 

Of course Jason never expected he would be among them. He was the violent one, the reckless one, the Robin that had up and died . Why would he want to be remembered? Worst of all, by what he’d become. If the second Robin was a failure , then the Red Hood was a god damned nuclear catastrophe. He was a killer. He was untrustworthy. He came back twisted and wrong. Everybody reminded him, everybody thought it, everybody knew it. 

But he’d been there. (Had he?) For three years . (Barely anytime at all-) But his suit wasn’t here (he was a failure, get it through your goddamn head ), he-

His eyes caught on the raised platform a few feet away from the wall. In full view of the cold and isolating cave (Who’d been filled since he was gone, since he was removed), a single class case stood against time. Any sense of calm had washed away, any semblance of control slipping through his trembling fingers like sand. Because it couldn’t be. There was no fucking way. But as he walked up the steps, hand placed carefully onto the glass as if it could shatter and disappear at the slightest of touch, he could see it clear as day. His suit. His fucking suit. 

His mask was stitched together under his right eye.

The crowbar's sharp edge caught onto his face, tearing the fabric of his face as it was ripped away. Blood at the edge of his vision, burning fire, pain, pain- the sticky blood dripping down into his mouth- god it hurt-

There was a long seam at the right side.

CRACK- echoing in his head- bouncing round and round- his vision swam- CRACK- he would have screamed if his ribs weren’t burning- FIRE- round and round and round his head-

Dark red stains spilled over the fabric, more present than the lighter red colour.

“What hurts more?

CRACK- pain pain PAIN- round and round and round his head- hahaha-

“A?”

Burning fire, all across his front. Soaking into his skin- CRACK- hahahahaha

“Or B?” 

Dull distant fire, consuming him- black swimming in his vision- blood into his lungs- round and round and round- blood in his nose 

“Forehand?”

HahahahaHAHA- CRACK- please, please just stop-

“Or backhand?”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-

Jason stumbled back, dull roaring flame across his chest, into his lungs- god he couldn’t breathe. 

He ducked down, laughter ringing in his ears round and round and round and round- and covered his ears, crouching down and trying to breathe. Breathe god DAMN IT. He squeezed his eyes shut until they stung, wet and blurry and when he opened them-

The laughter died. The pain retreated suddenly, leaving him empty and hollow and - He couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t hear anything over the present static, the deafening silence of his thoughts falling away. He stared at the letters. Blinked. Stared at them again. They didn’t change. 

“In memory of Jason Todd

-Robin-

A good soldier.”

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good soldier.

A good sold-

Right.

Jason almost laughed. He’d almost forgotten. Not a son, or a partner or-

A soldier.

Why would they keep his stuff, he’d already died. Why would they want him around, when he wasn’t that good soldier anymore. No wonder Bru- Batman never looked upon him with anything less than disapproval and disappointment and hate-

He’d stopped being a good soldier. Useless, broken things were cast aside. Like his box, like his tools, like his scrawny ugly old tire iron and cracked staff and- Right, why would they keep that stuff. They had better things, more things, shiny things. Nothing from the disobeying, broken mistake . The failure . 

Not anymore. 

If Batman wanted a good soldier, then he could be a god damned trooper. 

If Batman wanted an obedient dog, he could be a mutt. 

If Batman wanted a goddamn robot , he could be a machine.

Jason was a patient man. 

He reminded himself of that, standing up on steady legs and an aching, bleeding open wound in his chest. He turned and walked down the simple steps, towards the bat computer, and stood on the far side while he turned to watch something aimless on the monitors.

He could be anything if he willed himself. 

“Jason! I didn’t know you were already here.” Dick bounded down the stairs, followed by his little trail of ducklings. 

Soldiers didn’t hurt or rage or scream or cry. Soldiers didn’t break fragile, glass cases. Soldiers marched on. Soldiers fucking behaved. 

“Not my fault you’re all slow eaters.”

—----------------------------------------------------------

The thing about being viciously beaten and blown up and forced to inhale smoke and blood and salt until he suffocated-

It left scars. Deep, ugly, jagged, bleeding scars. They sunk into his bones and clutched his bleeding heart and didn’t let go. Fingers to claws to teeth to a twisted red smile. Especially, the claws would draw him back into fire and hurt and laughter whenever he managed to fall asleep. He would wake up, soaked in sweat and sobs clawing at his throat. He would crawl to the bathroom and gag and throw up until he dry heaved into the porcelain. Body wracked with shaky breaths and shivers. 

Jason could never fall asleep after that. Would sit against his cold, tile floor and try to remember how to be human the entirety of the night. Eventually his sobs would turn into wet, hitched breaths. Into long inhales and long sighs of relief when he could move without shaking so violently he would simply fall down onto the ice cold surface. He’d stand up and walk into his kitchen to make breakfast, then do the dishes, then water his plants, then clean and scrub and do more dishes and more cleaning and dusting until he slowly came back. Until the laughter was a distant echo in the back of his head, where it always belonged. 

Four hours. Three hours. Five hours. One hour. Three hours. Three hours-

Every night. Tears and sweat and bile. Cold tiles and porcelain and a cracked mirror. Sobs and gasps and eventual breaths. Cook, clean, water, clean, cook, clean, work work work . 

Alone in his apartment, Jason Todd could simply be, Jason Todd. Trying to get through the day. Try to survive and eat and breathe. Try to learn how to somehow, remember how to be human again. 

Two hours. Three hours. Two hours. Four hours. One hour. One hour.

—----------------------------------------------------------

If only he’d been faster. If only he stopped blinking so fucking slow. 

His side burned. Traveling from his stomach, to his side, up into his ribs and seeping into his lungs. This was fine, everything was great . The Red Hood didn’t complain. Didn’t let out the choked back whimpers or small little screams that wanted to tear from him. He grit his teeth, drew blood and fought. 

They’d tracked a new drug wearhouse being brought up by the Penguin. The whole operation would focus on developing and distributing a new hallucinatory drug that was, somehow, connected to a scrapped formula for fear toxin. Despite Scarecrow being locked in Arkham (f or now , his mind supplied with a hiss). The takedown was happening tonight, with almost all the bats, sans Signal and Orphan, being present. There were a lot of small fry goons.

Rubber met shoulders and wrists and kneecaps. No one noticed, No one bothered, as long as he didn’t put it between someone's eyes. Warm soaked into his armor, fire spreading further everytime he whipped his pistol handle into someone's skull or threw quick shots into the other direction, the action straining his wound. The sooner he did this, the sooner he could go back to his safe house and take care of the fire burning fire fire fire-

One of the goons slammed into his side and he couldn’t hold back the choked yell that escaped as the pain exploded. His vision nearly turned white, but he kept on and twisted them until they were laying flat on their back, and kicking their stomach so hard they vomited to the side. 

It was over fairly quickly after that, thank fucking god. Black was dancing dangerously in his vision every second that passed, and he would rather not pass out in front of any of the bats. He’d rather die, again, because then it would ruin this fragile thing he’d been given. 

The Red Hood was not a dog that bit the hand that fed him, rabid as he was.

“Hood?”

“What?” He almost growled out, before he reigned it into more of an irritated snarl. Nightwing looked at him, expression impassive. 

“Any injuries? The one that slammed into you seemed to-”

“The fucker was just heavy , didn’t expect it, is all.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine, really.” He tried to keep the edge of his voice, tried to play nice when his body was screaming. 

“Maybe you could come-” 

“Dickhead, I’m fucking fine!” Nightwings open expression, eyes slightly wide and mouth open in almost a silent plea, fell at the snap. Jason let out a low sigh.

“All I need is a little sleep, and I’ll be all better, alright?” Well, that wasn’t a complete lie, but he hoped it was reassuring. By the tension dropping from Nightwings shoulder, it at least didn’t make him more sceptical. “Are we done?” He turned towards Batman.

“Yes. We’ll debrief tomorrow to see if there are any loose ends.” The man replied. His tone level, his face carefully blank. What Jason would give to read that look again. But Red Hood didn’t question, he just nodded. He didn’t need to know. He didn’t want to know. (Didn’t need to wait for a Thank you, that would never come.) He turned and grappled onto the nearby rooftop. 

Jason didn’t remember the trip home. All he felt was pain and gasps wracking through his body as he struggled to pull the trigger on the grappling gun again and again and again. Numbness had crept onto his side, making the fire a low distant ember. Shivers shot through his spine, through his arms and legs and hands and feet. He almost couldn’t unlock his security measures, rip open the window and tumble through his window. His vision was focused on a single point as he dragged himself across his cold floor and onto even colder tile. He slowly shed his jacket, his upper armor, until his side was free from the sticky, warm fabric. It was growing red. Red like his side, drenched. Red like his hands, drops clinging onto skin. 

Find his medkit, take the needle and thread while his hands trembled. Cotton filled his head, and he didn’t register the pain or the burning or the cold as he methodically thread the needle into his skin. Prick, thread, tighten, repeat. Over and over and over. It was strangely calming, but he was not sure if that was because of the repetitive motion or because of the blood loss. Either way, he finished everything off with a knot before sliding onto his back. He stared at the ceiling until the darkness at the edge of his vision consumed him whole.

5 hours later a scream tore from his throat.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Dickhead: hey, u still alive n kicking?

Jason: Haven't crawled out of anymore graves, if that’s what you’re asking

Dickhead: hilarious

Jason: I know. 

Dickhead: u up for food?

Jason: Already ate, maybe next time.

Dickhead: aaaalright, i’ll hold you too that

Jason: Wasn’t a promise

Dickhead: sure it wasnt 

Good soldiers don’t go to pity parties.

—----------------------------------------------------------

With the initial takedown being done and over with, their fragile truce would probably be thrown away with it. The world kept spinning, he supposed. People moved on, teams broke apart and Crime Alley kept being what many considered the bottom of the barrel. The Red Hood couldn’t stop simply because the Bats no longer had any use of him. (But god did it hurt).

The scream tore through the night and he was off running before he could think twice about it. Another night, another mugging in Gotham. He ran across the rooftops, ignoring the throbbing at his side, the burning in his lungs. Three nights had been enough before he had to get out of his safehouse before he started to hear laughter and ticking and smoke filling his lungs. He could handle pain. He could handle anything when it came to this job.

He peered into the darkness of the alley, perched on the rooftop’s edge. The figure pressed against the wall, the larger, taller shape caging them in. Well, he couldn’t have that. He dropped silently, his knee connecting with the thief's face as he did. The figure stumbled back with a yell, while the shape behind him cried out in fear. 

“Didn’t your parents teach you some manners?” He quipped, not knowing if he was thankful or bitter that the mugger slowly got up. “I suggest you stay down, buddy.”

“Fuck you!” The man, he was pretty sure it was a man, yelled with a launch. Jason’s body hummed at the challenge, easily raising his fists while dodging the attack. 

“Original,” He hummed while he kept dancing around the man, who tried to swipe at him with a small switchblade. Not the most exciting fight he’d been in, but he’d really needed to let out some pent up frustrations. Dodge, weave and strike. Again and again and again, until he reared back to make one final hit to the man's neck.

“ Hood! ” Something in his helmet shouted, bouncing around his ears loud enough and sudden enough for the man to take a swipe up across his right arm. He let out a curse and quickly hit him hard enough in the head that he crumbled. What now? What would the Bats want? As far as he was concerned, no new bodies had shown up. The takedown had gone smoothly, he’d been calm at the cave at the debrief. He’d been at home, until tonight. What the fuck was it ? 

“ What ?” He barked, hoping the tone hid the way his chest started to squeeze. He dropped to a crouch as he started to tie up the mugger. Calm down, calm down, calm down-

“ Wow, you’re snippy today.” Red robin let out a small laugh, just his fucking luck.

“You interrupted me, mid fight , to yell at me through a commline we never use .” Jason sighed, he really hoped his irritation showed. "Excuse me for being weary.”

“ Well I’m trying to follow your demands, so suit yourself.”

He paused as he stood up. What was the brat talking about? What demands had he done now? “Right.” He said instead, no way was he going to ask what the other was talking about. 

“ So. I have a case, right, that involves a new drug ring being established by some small-time gang. Really a couple of nobodies, but they’re remarkably good at hiding. And they have been-” 

Jason tuned him out. Why would Red Robin call him up to discuss a random case he had been working on. Why would he care about that? Most of all, why had he interrupted mid patrol with this information, instead of using a goddamned phone? 

“- connections to Black Mask, but that thread was kind of thin so it didn’t lead anywhere. My theory is that they are trying to hide from Mask’s operation instead of working with him, you know? So-”

Jason couldn’t keep up with Batman’s god damned family sometimes (His family, not Jason’s-). At one moment they were kind-of-forced-to work together, begrudgingly, on both sides. To put aside their differences and get along and not kill each other on sight. Wasn’t that supposed to be it? But then Nightwing had acted concerned and now Red fucking Robin was talking in his ears like the kid didn’t flinch everytime he heard Jason’s voice. 

“ - the Alley. So, I was wondering if I had permission to enter and check it out?”

What?

“What?” This, Jason had not expected. Not that he expected him to have a bat talk to him willingly, but to have a Bat listen to his demands. Were they still working together? Were they expecting Jason to still keep their truce? Hopefully Red thought he was irritated that he asked, not that he was confused about the question. Confused about fucking everything, really.

“Well, you wanted us to ask for permission right? This would really help me solve this. I just need to check this building, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

They’d asked. They still wanted to work with him. To follow his requests he thought only applied to that one, single job. Apparently he’d been wrong? God damn it hi- Batman’s family really drove him up the wall sometimes. But if the truce still held, he could help. Especially if it was a simple stakeout. Hopefully it was simple (when were things ever). Good soldiers helped, right? They followed orders.

“Fucking, fine. But if you encounter any other larger organisations, especially tied directly to the Alley, let me know.”

“Alright! Roger that, Hood. I’ll be in touch.”
With a simple click, the commline cut off and he was once again surrounded by the sound of honking cars and talking pedestrians. When he turned around, the person the mugger had attacked was long gone. With a sigh, Jason grappled onto the roof. He really needed to fucking sleep.

—----------------------------------------------------------

What Jason thought would be a one time thing, a job they were forced to work on because he held onto Crime Alley with his bare claws and teeth, turned out to be an invitation. Not that he actually knew that that’s what it had been. Maybe that’s what left him nauseous. The freefall that had been the end of the truce and the sudden safety net that caught him proving him, surprisingly, wrong. The sudden change in his routine, that now involved more than himself, his guns and his thoughts. Now he had Bats calling him up a few nights a week, to either ask for help or to offer their own assistance.

It was strange, really. Jason didn’t really know fully how he had to react most of the time. Because from his standpoint, everything was a sort of transaction. Information for information. Favors for favors. They’d gone from barely tolerating him to a sort of colleague relationship, where they would call him up whenever they felt like it, whatever he was doing be damned. A relationship that seemed to be growing to expand to more and more of the Bats. Sure, he knew Nightwing before ( barely, you barely knew him ), and he at least thought Dick could tolerate him. Damian was a touchy subject he’d rather not get into. But all the others he either barely knew or had hurt in some way shape or form. The strange groundwork of trust left his head spinning. Because he’d never expected to get it. Had expected to be on their dont-engage-don't-talk-about list until they either grew bored of being shunned from Crime Alley (not like they cared about the people) or he went off again and was put on their number 1 hit list.

It left him alight with nerves whenever anyone hopped onto his commline. It left him freefalling into a sea of uncertainty when he was standing next to any one of them. Because certainly, certainly , they couldn’t actually trust him? Not after everything he had done. The body bags he’d filled. It’s what he wanted. God it’s what he has wanted and more, to be brought into the ropes and yet. And yet . Perhaps it was him that couldn’t trust them. Maybe he couldn’t fully trust himself either.

Jason stared at the clock on the wall, seated on his couch with a hastily cup of tea in his hands and bundled up in a blanket. 04.21 . 

Three hours.

He let out a sigh as he took a sip. The echo of laughter kept bouncing round and round and round his head. The pains of old ugly scars alight with fire. His throat so sore he was not sure he could speak if he wanted to. New wounds from being too slow, too tired, throbbed with a dull flicker. These days he never felt really rested.

They shouldn’t trust Jason Todd. No person should ever trust Jason Todd. But Robin, the Good Soldier. Red Hood, the obedient mutt. The helping hand, who didn’t lash out, who didn’t speak his mind. Who listened to orders and didn’t kill and used rubber bullets. Who was silent when needed and helpful where it counted. Perhaps, he could be given an olive branch.

—----------------------------------------------------------

They hurt kids. They hurt fucking kids .

The anger in his veins sung with promised violence as he leapt across the rooftops. Batman, Nightwing and Robin ran in front of him, he could barely make out the shapes and colors. They didn’t matter. What mattered was finding the kids that had been taken, stolen and sold , like fucking cattle. Like some sort of goods or things. He would not allow them to be hurt when he could do something about it. No child, in Crime Alley or not, would be hurt on his watch. 

As soon as the abandoned apartment building was in sight, Jason leapt and crashed through one of the windows with his guns already drawn. His body hummed with unreleased energy. His limbs arched with the need to hurt, to draw blood. 

“ Hood!” He heard someone yell at him through the comms, maybe in annoyance, most likely in anger. That didn’t matter, they hurt kids. The people in front of him fell too easily to be in any way satisfactory. Somehow, he managed to reign himself in to just kneecaps and arms, but the control was slipping away in the surge of his anger. Anger that filled him with unrestrained energy. Anger that made his vision taint with green green green-

Ignoring any other protest that came through the comms, he kept on advancing. From what they had gathered, the children were in some of the lower floors. He’d been sent in to be a distraction with Nightwing, while the other extracted the children and Red Robin was lookout for any anomalies. Red Hood could be a distraction. He could be a fucking explotion if they needed. He could rip and tear and hit until nothing stood in between him and those children. Jason had always been good at violence. He had Crime Alley in his bones and his father in his blood after all. 

There was one more man left on this floor where he’d torn through in fury and fire. He didn’t need his guns right now, he needed information. He grabbed the man and slammed him into the hallway wall, loose wallpaper shook loose by the impact. The yell that tore through the man left his anger alight. 

Hurt him , his mind whispered, hurt them all

“Where are they?” He snarled in the face of his prey, the scum who looked at him with wide terrified eyes, and ugly harsh breaths.

“P-please, please I don’t-” 

A snap echoed in the hall, followed by a ragged, horrid scream. Jason now held the man’s broken arm in his iron grip, leaning in closer to his face. His face was open in terror, salt and snot running down his skin. “ Where are they ?”

“I- I don’t- I don’t know!” 

“Either you tell me , or I’m going to break every bone in your body.”  He followed his threat by squeezing the arm in his hold, watching the man almost crumble from the supposed pain he was in. If the screaming was anything to go by, the loud ugly sobs, the pleading I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t-

“Hood!” Someone grabbed his shoulder roughly and yanked him back, causing him to let go of the form who immediately fell onto the ground. He spun, hand already on his holster, when he faltered at the sight of black and blue. “He’s had enough.” Nightwing said, almost with a tone of anger. Than, as if to make him more reasonable, added:  “The kids are on the third floor.”

Jason said nothing, simply walked to a window and dropped down. He ignored Nightwings protests, he ignored the voices across his comms. The kids needed him. They hurt kids. The anger came back in full force. Like the scum with the broken arm had thrown even more gasoline onto a barely contained inferno. A wildfire that consumed every single person that was on that third floor. He shot knees, struck heads, twisted shoulders and threw people onto the hard wooden floor. He raged and burned until he stood by the door that held what he had to protect and threw it open. 

Usually kids would immediately clench that fire in him. He could never be angry in the face of such eyes, such innocence. The need to protect, to hold, to help outweighed any anger he might have felt. But there were not only kids in that room. Because standing over six, hurt, crying kids , stood a man with a gun. With a raised fist. Jason shot first and asked questions after. The man fell with a swift bullet to his knee, the kids let out a choir of terrified cries, and his heart almost broke in two. Immediately he took off his helmet, holstered his guns and took quick, long strides to reach them. Hands held up and face, hopefully, open and less threatening. 

“Hey, shhh, hey I’m sorry I scared ya, kiddoes,” He crouched down a few feet from them, making sure to keep his distance. They looked so scared, their eyes filled with tears, salt and soot covering their cheeks. Some had bruises. Fresh ones . And he had to hold himself back from launching at the man groaning on the floor.

“We’re here to help, alright? Batman and Robin are here, they’re going to get you out of here. Does that sound good?” Jason hoped he sounded as gentle as he wanted, open and honest and calm, despite the building rage as he saw flashes of red against some of the kids' skin. He waited for them to nod, not everybody did, but those who were beginning to calm down from their panic.

“Okay, that’s good. Can you all go together into the hallway? Batman should be right there, I promise it’s safe.”

“O-okay, Mr H-Hood,” One of them managed to get out through fast, hitched breaths. He thanked whatever gods existed that they trusted him, that his reputation preceded him, that the Alley kids knew him enough to have that hope. The ones who were a bit more calm grabbed those who were still sobbing (The sounds stabbed him repeatedly through the heart), and quickly made their way out into the hallway. He turned to follow when a groan reminded him of the scum on the ground. With his clenched fist, with his missing belt and knife in his holster.

The calm he’d managed to settle into snapped immediately, like a thin rope cut with a knife. Green surged into his vision, his body hummed as he stood and stalked towards the man on the ground. The man whose eyes widened, mouth opening in an unsung plea as Jason whipped out his gun and shot both his arms in quick succession. 

“I thought all you fuckers knew.” Two more shots rang out, burrowing into the man's legs as he cried out. “You don’t hurt kids under my watch. ”

Red Hood had remarkable control. Red Hood could follow Batman's orders and morals. 

Jason Todd was but a man. A man who was very, very angry. His fists ached with every hit he landed. His blood thundered in his head with every splatter he watched paint the floor. The old wall. The screams and whimpers and choked breaths were like music ringing into his ears. This should have felt like retribution. This should have felt like justice. Jason just felt anger. Anger and violence and the need to hurt. Like they hurt those kids. Like they hit those kids. It felt just as fucking good. 

Being thrown off and stumbling into a wall felt less good. His anger surged at the whiplash, but he held himself back from reaching for his gun when he spotted the large, looming dark shape.

“Cave. Now . Go with Red Robin.” Batman didn’t yell, but it might as well have been at the tone, the anger that shimmered underneath the surface, the silence that echoed after he’d spoken. 

“Are they safe?” He snapped back.

“Yes. Now go.”

Jason brushed past him, shoulder shoving into him on the way out. It didn’t feel as much as his fist ached or body shook.

—----------------------------------------------------------

“You were out of line!” Batman yelled, as he paced around in front of him. Like his rage couldn’t quite hold him down. His cowl was down, yet Jason couldn’t read his expression. Not anymore. Not when whatever it was was directed onto him . He could feel the other Bats watching, yet no one wanted to step between Batman and his prey. After all, why would they intervene and help the failure?

“They hurt kids, B! They were going to sell them-!” He tried to fight back, because reeling from the thrum of battle he was still Jason Tood, failure, timebomb, barely human, whose anger never really went away. 

“That does not give you a reason to beat a man while he is down!” Batman said, silencing him of further arguments to raise. This was Batman, not Bruce, despite the cowl being off. The expression, the tone and the hard eyes made of stone were all the Dark Knight rising to the challenge. “That was simply unnecessary in the face of the mission. You could have knocked him out or, god forbid, left him alone for any one of us to deal with.”

Jason wanted to argue. God did he want to let loose whatever horrible, wretched thing that was building in his chest. To let it wash over the other. To watch his expression fall, to watch his composure break. To get through Batman and rip out the man underneath to get him to simply understand his anger and his hurt and his blood. But Bruce had never cared enough to ever look past his violence and, by association, all his failures. Evident by the glass case that was staring at him. A mockery of a memorial. His mask stared at him with haunted, empty, sockets. Taunting him, reminding him of what he’d done. Batman’s greatest failure Engraved in gold against the test of time.

Soldiers didn’t rage. Soldiers didn’t ache. Soldiers didn’t cry or plead or want. 

Robin

A good soldier 

“We do not hurt people more than necessary. You know that. You can’t hurt them just because you are angry.”

Like you hurt them when you were angry , he wanted to throw back in his face. Like you put them in the hospital when you failed me , his mind hissed in retribution. The words never left his mind, instead sinking into his chest and making it that much harder to breathe. Settling like poison in his lungs. Soldiers followed orders. Soldiers didn’t speak out of turn. 

“It won’t make us any different than any of them. Any one of the men that hurt those kids tonight, just because they could.” 

Tonight he was Jason Todd. The failure. The mistake. The corpse that crawled out of the ground. The one that came back twisted and wrong. The man filled with nothing but anger and hate and unsung justice. The man who never could do anything right. 

“This will not happen again. It’s not what we do.”

Red Hood had to be obedient. He had to shut the fuck up and listen. He had to be patient. He had to follow instructions. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, topple this trust he’d been given. (Because he couldn’t go back to wherever he’d been before.)

“Are we clear?”

Red Hood was a good soldier. 

“Yes.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------

Dickhead: hey, u up for train surfing with me tonight?

Jason: Have a case already going on.

Dickhead: n it cant wait? you know i beat u last time

Jason: Next time.

Dickhead: im keeping u to that!

—----------------------------------------------------------

One hour. Two hours. One hours. Zero hours. Zero hours.

Jason watched the clock from his bed, tangled in the sheets, holding him in place like some sort of cage. His heart was beating out of his chest, new wounds throbbed across his body, and yet his head was horrifyingly empty. Cotton filled the spaces in between his brain, eyes watching the arms on the clock move one second at a time. 

00:31

00:22

00:14

watching the little red numbers count down- HAHAHAHHA- round and round and round his head- smoke in his lungs-

It was no use falling asleep tonight. Not when the memories bleed into the space he already occupied, eyes wide awake and staring at the clock. The ticking slowly filling the silence of the rooms, the laughter in the back of his mind.

“What hurts more?”

hahahahaha

“Forehand?”

hahahahahahahahahahahahahah

“Or backhand?”

hahahahHAHAHAHAHA-

Could he move, Jason would be halfway across the Alley. Saving the working girls from unwanted activity, keeping the children safe, putting scum back in blackgate. But the blankets had him tied.

The ropes burned into his wrist- fire and aching throbbed into his bones- his shattered bones- CRACK

His head was empty except for the flashes of memories. He watched the clock as if he was in another room. Another time. Filled with pain and fire and thick smoke that curled deep into him. Classic Marlboro red. Red like what painted the floor underneath him.

Zero hours. One hour. Zero hours. Zero-

—----------------------------------------------------------

Timbers: hey so alfred is making chili dogs tonight if you felt like stopping by or something

Jason: How did you get my number?

Timbers: dinner, yes or no?

Jason: Already ate, Timbers

Timbers: ill tell him youll want leftovers

Jason: Not needed, but appreciate the gesture

Timbers: you cant say no to alfreds food, you monster

Jason: Fine

Jason: Stop texting me

Timbers: youre welcome

—----------------------------------------------------------

“Father was asking if you could lend your assistance, we suspect that Maroni is moving a large shipment soon.”

Jason didn’t know what he had done to be stuck on patrol with the demon brat of all people, but he wanted nothing more than to punt his head into a nearby wall. Because the kid was annoying ( not because his heart ached with something unfamiliar and open). A demon brat who was currently trying to hide a large cut on his leg. 

“Why can’t “Father” ask me himself? Is the big bat still mad at me?” He said, adding an eyeroll even though the kid couldn’t see it under his helmet. Something told him he could still figure it out, based on the scowl he received.

“Tt. Father is busy with many other things. I figured I could ask for him instead.” Robin crossed his arms over his chest. 

“If I’m needed, sure baby bird.” 

“I am no baby! I am above such small creatures!”

“Sure you are.”

“Do not insult me, Hood! It will do you no good.”

“It’s not an insult if it’s true though, I’m just speaking facts here.” He ruffled the kids hair, easily dodging the swipe of the katana that followed, the strike would have taken off his hand in one clean sweep had he not. 

“Silence! We must focus back onto our patrol, you large buffoon.” Robin huffed and turned to walk away, only to let out a loud squawk as Jason took him under his shoulders and lifted him up.

“Not with that leg you won’t, come on, back home with you.”

“I will skin you alive if you do not unhand me, Hood!”

“You can surely try.”

—----------------------------------------------------------

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick-

God maybe he was going off the rails. He stared at the broken glass on the floor, the batteries flung halfway across the room, the little red line stopped in its place. He should not be hearing that. It should have stopped .

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick-

Red numbers across his vision-

His knuckles were warm and sticky. Whenever he flexed his hands it felt like something straining, a dull throb traveling up to his wrists, across his bones. 

Sometimes Jason wished he’d stayed dead. 

Death had been simple. Death had been the end, followed by a long, blissful rest. The scary part had already happened, the pain had been in the past and Jason had accepted it with open arms. That was so long ago. 

When was the last time he’d rested? Got a good, full night's sleep? 

Never , his mind helped Not since you came back broken.

Twisted and marked with these horrid memories. The flashes across his mind, the laughter in his ears that would not shut up-

The aches in his body that never quite went away, even after swirling green left his mind clearer than ever. That would come back, creeping over his limbs and seizing his lungs so that he never could take a full, deep breath until it eventually receded in the back of his mind. But never truly went away, not really. 

His eyes slumped and he stumbled back into his couch. He’d have to clean this up in the morning. He had to eat something in the morning too. But the smell of something frying left him reeling and he had no energy to go outside aside patrol. That was a problem for future Jason. 

Current Jason sat and stared at the broken clock laying useless on the ground.

He couldn’t help but see himself in the reflection of the broken glass.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Really, he should have figured it would all go to shit. When did things ever go right in this world? Especially for Jason fucking Todd? Nothing. 

It started simple enough. But simple was never that simple when it came to this family (not that he was a part of the family). The plan was to stop Maroni’s large shipment of some new weapons he had somehow acquired. Weapons that would end up on the streets, or the hands of his own men, and either option was any good. Two large trucks, with two smaller pick-ups both on front and behind. Classic formation, easy to plan around.

Batman would come in from behind on the Batmobile, with Robin as backup,, to try and both distract and lead the vehicles away from the main road and into an abandoned section of the docks. The shipment was already heading that way, but the plan was to drive them away from the drop point and into an area that was less frequented. Spoiler, Nightwing and Signal would go on their bikes by the side of the transport and help with this endeavor. 

That left him with Red Robin, standing across a rooftop in the docks, watching from afar at the incoming array of vehicles. Distantly he could see people hanging out of the trucks and pick-ups to try and shoot at his fam- coworkers. This was were he would shine, aiming the sniper scope at their hands or shoulders with a grin.

“Just don’t hit them in the head.” Timbers quipped from where he was preparing his gear. 

“What am I? Stupid?” He replied with a mutter, pulling the trigger and watching with growing satisfaction one of the goons' gun fly out of their hand with a wordless cry. The silence made him glance at Tim to his side. He was watching him with an unimpressed look, eyebrow raised and arms crossed over the symbol above his chest. His look was screaming, Oh really? Do you really want me to answer that?

“Quit with that look. I ain’t dumb.” Jason muttered and shot another hand, followed by someone's shoulder. Despite being rubber bullets they probably hurt like a bitch at his distance. “Get back to hovering around.”

“I am making sure they are going the right way .” 

“So, hovering, got it.”

“You are insufferable sometimes.”

“Awww, thank you, that really warms my heart.” Another squeeze of his finger, another man yelling out in pain. He pulled up his gun and sat up on his knees. “They’re getting close.”
“Thanks, I absolutely did not notice that.” Tim replied with a tone that just screamed he was rolling his eyes. Sarcastic little shit. 

“Less snarky, more action Red. Let’s go.”

It was almost too simple. Despite the initial hours of gathering the information and planning the route and who would do what, nothing had gone wrong yet. It made something tingle up Jason’s spine, cold and frightening. Why was it too easy? Perhaps it was the life long feeling of always having to look over his shoulder. The paranoia creeping into his mind at every situation. Over analysing and overthinking every little minute thing. 

Of course Jason had to fucking jinx it. 

They’d finally reached the designated area, now the plan was to slow the trucks down to handle this quietly. Apparently Maronis guys never learned how to be subtle about anything. They did learn, however, to take anyone down with them. One of the trucks suddenly swerved to the side, nearly crashing into Nightwing’s bike. Ignoring the spike of worry that shot through him, Jason was already moving. But no one could have stopped the truck from crashing through one of the abandoned, old warehouses. They could at least plan, because only one side of the truck scraped against the damaged bricks while they maneuvered through an exploded opening in the wall. The other tuck went the other way down a narrow alley, successfully dividing their attention. 

“Red Robin, Red Hood, Nightwing, warehouse. The others, with me.” Batman called out on the commline, “ Oracle, keep eyes on them.”
“Roger that,” Jason replied, amongst the chorus of acknowledgements that rang out, already dropping into the ceiling of the building. 

“Wing, go to the right. I’ll come from behind.” He heard Tim, voice strained in held back irritation. Trying to hold onto some semblance of the original plan, most likely. Though he was sure the little genius would be quick to turn the situation into their favour. “ Hood-”

“Be loud and annoying?” He supplied, feeling himself grin at the boy’s sigh.

“It’s what you do best!” Nightwing called out, probably sporting a cheeky grin on top of it. 

“Just be careful , alright?”

“I’m always careful.” 

That was only a half lie. Jason was good at coming up with things on the spot, asses the situation that was in front of him and act accordingly. He wasn’t sure Batman would have predicted this many people, slowly staggering out of the open truck. Well, he had a job to do. He was not going to complain. “Who’s ready to get their ass kicked?” 

It started well. It always started well, what with the element of surprise and all. And usually, usually , when people saw a man built like a fridge, two guns blazing and a mask gleaming with dark red, well they tended to be just a little terrified. It helped, but his persona and reputation could only do so much in the face of this many people. He really hoped the others would join in soon.

His body was already aching from the days without rest he’d gone, and the small hits and knife slashes were not helping in the matter. Thankfully he soon saw a flash of black and blue, and let his shoulders drop a little in relief. But he could not rest. He could not slow.

But his body loved to betray him. Slowly but surely his limbs became heavy. Aching, burning , seizing his muscles. Eyelids turned to lead, stones tied to his ankles and his head was slowly beginning to fill with cotton. He was not fast enough to dodge the knife, grunting in barely felt pain as it slipped between his armor and sunk into his left arm. Fuck. Fuck. His left hand immediately holstered his gun. Thank god Timbers decided to join the fun right then. Not that it helped the fire-burning-fire that was spreading throughout his shoulder. At the shaking that was making it hard to aim with his functioning arm, to dodge bullet sprays. Keep going, damn it. 

Jason knew he should have rested better. Jason knew he was not thinking clearly, relying on his body’s ability to stay alive. Jason knew he should have gone to Leslie to dress his multitude of new wounds. Jason also knew this would have happened despite all of that. The hand that lifted as he turned around, aimed at the flurry of red and yellow and black that was unleashed on the other side of the room. He had his back turned. Tim had his back turned. Fuck that. Fuck no. 

The gunshot was loud in his ears, louder than the air rushing by, than his own heartbeat. In the edge of his vision, he saw Red Robin twist around to look his way, eyes widening in fear. The kid shouldn’t be worried about him, really. He was the one who’d almost gotten shot.  

A cough suddenly escaped Jason, making him frown. Nausea built in his gut, spreading into his lungs, making him start to cough a lot more. Sticky and thick and warm spilled across his lips, making the bile in his throat almost rise to the challenge. He took a step, and suddenly the world was tilted to the side. Suddenly his body hit something solid and hard. What- was he laying down? No, no no no he had to get up. He couldn’t lay down on the job, Good soldiers didn’t slack off. Good soldiers didn’t lay still while work needed to be done. 

“Hood!”

His arms fell from under him when he tried to rise. Dark red splatters painted the floor under him. Tick-Tick-Tick- Red numbers across his vision- No, no he wasn’t there. He- where was he?  

Darkness swam in his vision, watching his hand red-sticky-redredredred- reach towards his gun. When had he dropped his gun? That was stupid off him. God Batman would lay into him whenever he got here. He should stand up- he had to STAND UP . A fire was building in his side, slowly but surely, making his head swim. When did he get two hands? Hands- what was he doing again? 

Hood- Hood you- get up!- 

He couldn’t hear anything despite the horrid ringing, ringing, ringing, in his ears. His head filled with cotton. If he wasn’t careful, he could simply float , float out of whatever was holding him down. His eyes started drooping. He was so, so tired. His nights had been filled with so much anger and pain and terror, that he always dreaded when patrol ended and he’d been left alone in his cold, empty safehouse. His bed was too chilling, the blankets tossed off so he wouldn’t get tangled and trapped. 

Jason didn’t feel that sinking pit in his stomach anymore. A small smile painted his face at the realization. Finally, he could finally get some sleep. Just close his eyes and drift away into endless oblivion. A small sigh past blood stained lips. 

Please- B!- down- Hood!-

He wondered if he’d blissfully dream of nothing. 

JASON-

—----------------------------------------------------------

Jason could not breathe. His lungs did no longer exist. Twisted and balled up into oblivion and thrown out the window. Fear clawed up into his chest instead. His entire body was locked in place. His limbs would not listen, they would not let up at his eternal cries. Run, run get out, get safe, run.

Through his blurred vision he could only watch the broken plate on the ground. The spilled food on the ground. The juice that slowly poured out of his glass. Bruce was going to kill him.

He’d been so good. He had behaved. He’d started doing well in school. He’d stayed out of the way. Now that would be over. Why would Bruce want someone who broke his things and wasted his food? He wasted Alfred’s leftovers. 

From the corner of his vision he saw someone crouch, and suddenly the whimpers and cries and hiccups he’d desperately tried to hold back suddenly escaped. He couldn’t stop the ugly, gut wrenching sounds as he bent over slightly. 

“-son- ylad- look at me- can you look-” 

Whatever the shadow was trying to say couldn’t get through the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his head. The sound of broken pleas of please dont hurt me and runrunrunRUNRUN

Suddenly there was a weight on his shoulder, and Jason stumbled back and into something hard and solid. A gasp escaped, finally, like he had been burned. He waited for the pain, for the sting, for the deep rooted ache. But it never came. Confused, he lifted his eyes and met wide, open blues. 

He looked terrified.

Why was Bruce Scared?

“I’m sorry- dn’t have touched you- breathe Jayl- breathe with me.”

Breathing. Right he needed to breathe. But his head swam and his chest burned and his lungs were gone-

“-hand on- chest? I promise I won’t hurt you, Jayl- please-” 

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to fall into Bruce’s arms and cry and sob until he couldn’t. But he was so scared. So scared he was going to die-  

Maybe Bruce wouldn’t hurt him, maybe he’d have to show a little bit of trust. But Willis had thrown him into the counter when he’d wasted food and he couldn’t- he couldn’t- 

Maybe he could. One step at a time. To just, trust. With a frantic nod, he reached out one hand to land on Bruce’s chest. The man seemed to understand, staying crouched where he was, simply placing a loose hand on top of his own. The fear loosened its grip slightly. 

Breathe in four. Hold for four. Release for four. Again. 

Breathe in four. Hold for four. Release for four. Again

Four. Four. Four. Again

Until the world slowly swam back into focus. Until he could take a deep, full breath without breaking down in sobs. Until the fear lessened to a churn in his gut, not a claw ripping open his chest and leaving him bleeding and raw.

“Are you with me?” Bruce asked. He sounded so gentle, speaking in low soft tones. Jason felt like bursting into tears again. 

“ ‘M sorry.” He managed to choke out. Bruce simply let out a hum, shifting his hand a bit.

“Would you…like a hug?” The awkward stare, the small pause, the question, all made Jason let out a small little giggle. Bruce looked even more confused, which made his laughs raise in volume.

“I- you don’t have too-”

“You-” Jason paused, looking down at the broken mess he had left, “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? No, of course not, Jay. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

“But- but I broke your plate! I- I wasted food!” He was not sure why he was protesting, why the confusion mixed with anger. 

“That’s okay, Jason. Accidents happen, it’s normal.”

“But- but I-” He shut his mouth, feeling the burning start behind his eyes again. 

“How about this,” Bruce softly interrupted, squeezing his hand around Jason smaller one, “We clean this up, heat up some new leftovers, and then we can go watch something in the lounge. Sound good?”

“You…you don’t want to send me away?” 

Bruce’s whole entire expression fell. Something akin to sadness painting his features, making his eyes appear a much deeper, endless blue. “Jay-” 

Something at the tone made his entire body ache. Before he knew it he was launching himself at the other and strong arms immediately wrapped around him. Embraced in warmth and safe and trust Jason spilled tears he thought were already used up.

“Jason, I want you to listen to me, okay?”

He could only manage a nod, clinging tighter. His mind hissed at him to let go, to run, but he just burrowed deeper into the soft sweater. Bruce seemed to cling to him tighter, arms squeezing around him. 

“No matter what happens. This will always be your home. You will always have a place here. No broken plate will ever change that, okay?”

“You- you promise?” 

“I promise.”

—----------------------------------------------------------

The first thing he noticed was the steady beep-beep-beep- filling his head, accompanied by the feeling of softly floating. For a moment, he thought he was having yet another dream. He was prepared for laughter and smoke and pain , but nothing happened. He simply continued to float, slowly but surely coming back to his senses. Like the faint smell of hand sanitiser and, strangely, coffee. Or the tingly feeling trapped in his body, like all of his limbs had fallen asleep at the same time. Or the scratchy fabric brushing against his bare arms. Or the strange object inside his arm. Wait a minute.

Jason cracked open his eyes, wincing at the blinding light that immediately made something begin to pound the inside of his skull. He backpedaled with a groan, squeezing his eyes together, but the brightness didn’t go away, instead dancing in the darkness of his vision. Nausea suddenly built, rising in his chest, and he had to take a deep breath to not throw up all over himself. His body felt like it had been run over with a truck and then dumped in the harbor to drown for good measure. He turned his head downward, very slowly, like it was filled with lead, before opening his eyes. His bare chest greeted him, wrapped tightly in bandages in various places. What the fuck had happened?

He blinked and turned to the right, only to feel the nausea rise like a tidal wave. He reached up with his left hand, ignoring the faint feeling of pain that spiked across his body, to hold onto his mouth. Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, get that away from me NOW-

Rage and confusion and hurt flooded his system, making his head dizzy as he abruptly sat up. But nothing could clench the absolute panic that wrapped around him. He couldn’t breathe, he needed it out get OUT-

He didn’t feel it when he ripped out the IV in his arm, ignored how his vision swam as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed he previously had laid upon. He’d felt this floaty feeling before once, that made pain a distant memory and thinking just a little harder, when he’d become Robin. He’d cried and thrown up for hours after. They fucking put him on painkillers. Who they were wasn't clear at the moment, but given how he wasn’t tied down, and there was no window or sunlight on site, he figured he was neither kidnapped or in a  hospital. One look around confirmed this was the Bats fucking med-bay. Great. Just fucking great.

Jason quickly got to his feet, grabbing the edge of the bed as they protested from his weight. The pounding in his head grew steadily, accompanied by a slow but steady ringing. He ignored it all, and stumbled away from the cot to try and search for his things. His left side started to burn, his limbs shaking so bad he almost fell over, but Jason would not let himself be taken down by a measly injury. He needed to get to his safehouse. He couldn’t be seen like this. He needed to be seen as strong, not useless. If he was useless and broken then he couldn’t help anymore. When he was feeling like this, he wasn’t Red Hood but simply Jason. His fam- the Bats hated Jason. If they didn’t, they would after they saw him. After they-

“-son. Jason!-”

He spun before he could think, his fist connecting with something warm and solid. He immediately reared back, almost stumbling into one of the walls before he caught himself. Tim was standing a few feet away, with a hand held up to his nose. Fuck. Fuck. He hurt Tim, again. He beat him, again. 

Guilt tried to crawl up into his chest, but his panic quickly pushed it down. No, no he needed to get out. Bru- Batman would kill him. 

“Where are my things?” Jason managed to get out through his teeth, gritted in pain and held back cries. 

“Fuck- sorry, shouldn’t have snuck up on you.” Tim muttered instead, ignoring his question. It left his heart beating just a tad faster, fear gripping his throat now. 

“My. Things. Where?” He spit out.

“Jason, I’m not letting you take your things.” Tim said, confusion making his eyebrows pinch together. “You need to lie down-”
“Fuck off! What I need- I need- I can’t be here.” With every word he spoke, it was getting harder and harder to just breathe. 

“Jason, you were shot, ” Tim took a step closer to him, slowly but surely, “You need to rest, you idiot. I can’t just let you leave-”

Panic gripped him so hard he couldn’t hinder his movements. He grabbed the boy by his collar and slammed him against the wall, “Where the fuck are my things, Tim!?”

Jason thought Tim would cower, would turn to putty in his hands and flinch at his yelling. Instead he just leveled him with an unimpressed, yet worried , expression while he closed his hand over Jason’s own trembling fist. “I can’t, you need to stay.”
He let go of the shirt and ripped his hand away, taking a few stumbling steps back. A part of him wanted to yell, to throw something at a wall, to punch anything . But he still couldn’t breathe and something gripped his throat and he simply wanted to get out get away- He turned quickly and began to make his way to look for his own shit. If Tim was going to be an annoying piece of shit he didn’t need his help.

He heard the other try to grab him, but he quickly dodged and kept on going, holding back a hiss of pain as the fire in his side flared up. Tim didn't try to grab him again, but followed him around instead. Jason would rather the other tackle him than silently following him, typing something on his phone. He figured it was some alert, which made him speed up. Logically, his clothing and his armour was being washed, if he’d actually been shot they’d been filled with blood and dirt. But his guns would be in one of the lockers (doubtful, since his last one had been taken over) or in storage behind lock and key where the others kept their gear. He turned towards the room connecting where they changed, where they grabbed all their gadgets and weapons for patrol. 

Tim cursed behind him, trying to plead with stern Jason, Jason and Lay down, you idiot. Come back. He ignored it all and kept going, almost reaching his destination when rushed steps flew down the stairs. Shit. He made to launch into the room when Tim stepped in front of him.

“You little shit!-”
“Jason!” Dick called out, a strange tone of fear in his voice. He was not dealing with Dick , especially if he was worried about Tim. 

He tried to dodge past the younger boy, but he simply followed his movements and, as gently as he could, used Jason’s momentum to steer him away from the opening. 

“Fuck off, Tim!” He yelled, anger joining whatever was holding his lungs hostage, but the other just raised an eyebrow at him. Snarky little shit. God, damn it. 

“Jason! Be careful,” Dick called out, much closer than before. He spun around to see the other just twenty feet away, followed by a swarm of people. The one who was keeping up though, was fucking Bruce. He needed to get out.  

“He’s not made of glass, jesus.” He snapped back, stumbling back some more steps beside the rows of costumes, while his eyes darted around to anything he could use. He saw a metal pipe and grabbed it before he could do anything else. 

“I was talking about you,” Dick replied with a frown, slowing his steps and holding out his hands. “Come on, Little wing, you need to lay down again-”

“What, so you can shoot me up with more drugs? Fuck that, I can take care of myself, thank you.” The words left before he could think. His head was still fuzzy, the ringing ever present, bouncing round and round and round his head. His whole being shook, sweat coating his brow and cheeks and neck and back- He remembered when Catherine would lay, coated in sweat and shivers and tears, whenever she came back from floating too high. It made him want to claw his skin off, it made him want to rip open and let his blood spill to get it out-

“Jason-” And oh that was Bruce . Not Batman, demanding attention but his d- 

“Shut up.” He snapped, beginning to scratch the itch across his arms, lungs squeezed shut so he couldn’t breathe . 

To his credit, Bruce did hesitate. As if considering the words, as if wanting to listen and not say anything else. But Bruce wasn’t known for his listening skills, especially when Jason was involved. “Jason,” It was almost a plea, it was almost an apology, “Come back to bed.”

“I can’t- I need to go , I need-”

“Jason, give me your hands.” 

The words made him stumble back, “No. Don’t touch me.”

“Come back and rest, Jay- You were shot, you-”

“I can take care of myself!” 

“You can’t take care of a gunshot by yourself!” Dick said, worry bleeding into his words, his expression open and a little angry. 

“As if I haven’t done it before, Dickhead,” He snapped back, but it didn’t have the heat he wanted. He was just tired and shaking and slowly starting to feel the pain come back across his side. They kept advancing, and he kept tripping over his feet to get away, panic holding his lungs in an iron grip. He couldn’t do this.

“Jason,” Bruce said, and oh, that wasn’t Bruce. That was Batman , that was an order. Something about it made rage and fury fill his chest. Roaring over the panic that held him. 

“No, shut up! You don’t get to order me around, I’m not fucking Robin anymore Bruce!” Jason suddenly stalked forward a step, hand tightening against the pipe, but caught himself before he could do something stupid like launch at the other. Fear calmed his anger for a moment, and suddenly he realised he had snapped at Batman . Red Hood would never. Red hood was calm and listened and followed orders.

But Jason- Jason’s head was filled with fog. His limbs felt heavy and shaky, like they would force him to the ground with his head bowed. His side burned, slowly and steadily growing in size. He kept seeing his fist connecting with Tim’s face. He kept imagining his mother, as she smiled at him with glassed over eyes. He kept looking over to that stupid case. 

Red Hood was a soldier, a machine, a mutt. 

Jason Todd was something akin to a corpse wearing human skin.

Red Hood was obedient. Red Hood could hold his tongue in the face of Batman.

Jason Todd was brought back in green, sickly fire and blood across his knuckles, something foul where his heart once sat.  

Red Hood felt nothing.

Jason Todd felt everything. 

“Jason-” It was softer this time, more like a plea than a demand. 

( You already fucked it up , his mind whispered, make him hurt, make them bleed )

“I don’t understand what you want from me!” Jason yelled. Suddenly his lungs filled again, not with the stale air of the cave but something like poison, like smoke and fire.

“I just want you to rest ,” Bruce started to sound a bit agitated, eyebrows drawn together. 

“Why can’t you let me rest at home ? Instead of keeping me here ?” He questioned, “And don’t give me some bullshit excuse that I was shot, Bruce , I’ve dealt with worse on my own.” 

“Is it that hard to believe I want you to be safe? That I want to help?” 

“ Yes! ” 

“Well I do,” Bruce said, like that solved all of their problems. Like something so simple erased every mistake, every action. 

“Well good for you. But I want to go home ,” Jason replied, instead of yelling every profanity at the man. 

“This is-” Bruce hesitated, pain flashing across his features, “This could be your home, Jason.” 

“Stop it,” It came out more as more of a whisper, quiet and frail in the face of the man in front of him. They couldn’t promise that. They didn’t mean that . They’d take it away at the first sign of him losing control. 

“You know you’re always welcome here-” 

“Stop! Just fucking- just stop . Stop pretending that I somehow fit into any of this. Into this cave, into that house, into your fucking family!” 

“Jason,” Dick’s voice was laced with anguish, “Jason, this is your family.”

He couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up. That made his lungs burn. It echoed the laugh that was always present in the back of his mind. Frightening and horrid. “What? You finally want to play family? Now that you have better brothers ? That don’t take your place and you’re forced to hang out with? That you don’t hate-?” 

“That’s enough, Jason,” Bru- Batman , cut in. Dick’s blue eyes glistened in the cave’s light, face open and devastated .

“What? It’s not like I’m lying. It’s not like we were an actual family!”

“Just because we fought doesn’t mean we didn’t care about each other, or cared about you .” Batman melted away, and Bruce’s guarded exterior came back in full force. “We do .”
“You don’t! Stop bullshiting!” 

“Of course I care about you!”

“Why? You have no fucking obligation to?!” 

“I am your father ,” Bruce exclaimed, face pinched in anger, eyes filled with something . Something Jason didn’t want to fucking look at.  

“ You’re not my father! ”

The silence in the cave was deafening, and suddenly he was thrust back to the first time he’d set foot in the cave since he’d come back. How every trace of him had been erased. How his home was no longer his own. How he never really fit back into these walls and those arms without cutting out every rotten part of him first. And how even then, he kept bleeding over every surface until it was left tinted and messy and wrong. Jason Todd was never meant for any of this. He was too broken to ever fit again. It was time he gave it up. He ignored the expressions of everyone staring at him, watching him fall apart, watching him snap and bite. It was fine. It was inevitable.

“My father was a deadbeat drunk who kept on fighting the world until it made him bite the fucking bullet.” 

“Jason-” Bruce whispered, and Jason ignored it all. 

”And then you came along. A-and I wanted you to be mine so badly that it hurt. I thought- I thought, no matter what, I would at least have that. I guess I was wrong all this time. Figured the jokes on me.” 

“Jay,” Bruce said, his voice so quiet he almost didn’t catch it. And oh, if that didn’t make something break inside of him. “Jay, you’re still my son . I adopted you, you can’t and won’t ever not be my son.”

“Oh quit your fucking bullshit. We both know that’s a lie. Your “son” died in that fucking warehouse . Those papers mean jack shit.” 

Bruce’s whole being almost shook in held back restraint, stormy blue eyes shining with so much emotion Jason was almost taken aback. He figured bringing up his death would bring back painful memories. Make him hurt .

“I was never your son. All I ever was was to you, was a good fucking soldier. The shiny new toy you lost and got back broken and damaged and wrong .” Jason clutched his chest, the feeling of suffocation coming back in the wake of his anger. He expected protest, He expected yelling. When he got neither, he lifted his gaze and saw Bruce look at the case. The fucking case. Standing behind him like a monument to all the things that Jason Todd had been. Reminding him of all the things he wasn’t, now. 

laughter and ringing- bouncing round and round and round his head- fire and burning-

“What hurts more?”

“Yeah,” Jason let out a strained chuckle, “Don’t think I didn’t notice that. Really, I didn’t know what I expected.”

“I-I didn’t-”

“Putting up a reminder of your failure. Of the violent Robin, who got himself killed . Who was reckless and weak.” Jason’s hand tightened around the pipe, his knuckles turning white. “Don’t be like the second Robin, you probably said. Be better than the failure. Follow the rules or you’re going to die like Jason.”

“Jason-”

“Jason got killed because he didn’t listen, you have to follow orders. Jason was too reckless, you need to think ahead. Jason got tortured for hours and hours by the Joker because he wasn’t strong enough to get out-”

“Jason!” 

“Tell me I’m wrong! Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m a fucking liar!” He yelled. Yelled because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to say anything else. If he didn’t, the burning in his eyes would coat his cheeks in salt. Bruce was silent in front of him, face pinched in anger and hurt, fists shaking. “Tell me you’ve ever seen me as anything more than the soldier you failed .” 

“I saw you as my son!-”

“Stop lying to ME!” Jason yelled. He couldn’t breathe through the smoke in his lungs. His head was killing him, pounding through whatever fog that still left him reeling and dizzy. He needed to hit something. He needed to do anything besides trying and failing to get air in his lungs, trying to hold his chest together from breaking open. He threw his arm to the side and felt a sick sense of satisfaction when it impacted with the case. Though it was short lived as the sound of glass shattering echoed throughout his head, silencing all other thoughts. His Robin mask stared at him, free and unrestrained. 

Are you happy? , it seemed to ask, Are you proud of yourself?
No , he thought, the dull noise of a pipe clattering in the back of his head, I’m sorry

Jason’s hands were too rough for the fabric as he clutched the suit. Looking through a blurry vision at the different hastily made seems and flecks of blood. Every line of thread he brushed with his thumb brought with it an ache. Every red stain made him wince as the pain flared. He thought he would hear ticking or laughter or feel every hit. Instead it was as if a layer of dull aching had spread over him and the silence in the large space was too loud in his head. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel anything except throbbing, he couldn’t breath. He felt like if he let go of his suit he’d crumble. He clutched it to his chest, squeezing his arms around it so fiercely his left side stung. 

“I just wanted to be useful.” His whisper seemed too loud in the cave, like a gunshot, his hitched breaths echoing after it like a sick melody. “I was fine being useful, I didn’t need to be your son. I-I don’t care if I was a failure, I can be good now. I can be what you wanted.” 

“Jay- no, no you don’t- I don’t need you to be useful.” Bruce said, and his face was pinched and his eyes were shining with something and Jason could feel the fear coming back. 

“No. No I can be. Bruce, I- I have to be” Jason didn’t care if it sounded like he was starting to plead at this point. If Bruce didn’t need him, if Batman didn’t need him, that meant he’d go back. Back to lonely patrols, of always looking over his shoulders for a towering figure. Back to being broken and thrown aside. Back to being alone , oh so alone. 

“Jason- Jaylad, why don’t you come here so you can go back to rest.” Bruce took a step towards him, and he took a couple of quick steps back, arms holding onto the fabric tighter. 

“I just want to be useful! That’s all I want. To just make you understand- I’m not broken anymore! I promise- I can work. I can be on patrol. Please just-“ Jason begged, because he needed to show him. Needed to prove he could still help. That he was better than the kid he’d been, than the murderer that had come crawling back. That the Red Hood was obedient and good and that they didn’t need to throw him aside because of Jason Todd. 

“Jason, you have to breathe-” and that wasn’t Bruce, it was far calmer and gentle.

“Please— I don’t want to be cast aside again- B please just let me help.” His head started to swim, black spots slowly starting to dance in front of his vision. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. But that didn’t matter because if B didn’t need him anymore than that meant he really was beyond repair. That Jason Todd, no matter how hard he tried, how hard he fought, could never be anything more than a failure. His knees hit something solid, but that didn’t matter because Bruce didn’t need him. 

“Jason,” Bruce said, and he couldn’t tell if he was angry or disappointed or- or- he saw him take a step towards him and he scrambled back, with a quiet frantic chorus of I’m sorry, I’m sorry

Suddenly there was pressure on top of his chest, through the broken and bloody suit in his hands. The same gentle voice carried from before, much closer “Jason, can yo- my- eath-?” 

“I-I can’t be alone again B. I can’t- I can’t-” Jason didn’t care if he died of suffocation. Jason didn’t care about anything anymore because he was going to be alone . “ Please- ”

The voice kept speaking. He could feel the rumbling against his side where he was leaning against- he was sitting against- It didn't really matter. He didn’t hear what the other said, but he didn’t think he wanted to know. Didn’t know if he could handle the biting, disappointed tone. Of falling apart so easily in front of them all. Proving just how weak he actually was. All he could focus on was the rumbling, the warmth pressed against his chest, the air clawing at his throat. Whatever he was leaning against was real and warm and breathing . Up…and down. Up…and down. Slow and steady, and suddenly through his panic he could recognize the pattern. 

Breathe in four seconds. Hold for four seconds. Exhale for four seconds. 

Breathe in. Hold. Exhale.

Four. Four. Four.

Again and again and again. 

It was easier said and done to try and follow it. His breath kept catching and his throat stung whenever air passed through. The urge to claw at it was strong but that meant he’d have to let go of the fabric and he couldn’t- he couldn’t . The gentle voice gently shushed him, a pressure beginning to build on his head, moving around his hair. He latched onto the sensation immediately, reminding him so much of his mother that he wanted to weep. It almost made a sob escape his already hitched breaths, but he held it back, instead letting out a long- long exhale. 

In. Hold. Breathe out. 

Again and again and again.

Jason’s whole body felt jittery and alight with nerves. Shivers kept running up his spine, across his shoulder and up his neck to the base of his skull. Sweat coated his brow, and something sticky clung to his cheeks. His ears were still ringing, but above the horrid noise he could hear a soft, slow stream of You’re okay, You’re okay, Just breathe . His mouth tasted like ash. Soot and smoke and iron and he wanted nothing more than to throw up to replace the tastes, but he could barely move. Underneath his palms he felt the rough, reinforced fabric of his suit. His old suit. He slowly let it go and felt across his t-shirt instead when his panic almost returned. His side was warm, something was tangled in his hair, and his breath kept bouncing back on his own lips.

Four in. Hold four. Four out.  

Sometimes Jason wished he’d stayed dead. He was just- so tired. An exhaustion that was burrowed so deep in his bones he didn’t know if it would ever let him go. Maybe it had made him its home. Maybe it, too, needed someone to hold it. He closed his eyes, his heavy, heavy eyes, and just let his body slump. Distantly he could feel the burning in the side of his abdomen. The ache that had settled in his upper left arm, almost by his shoulder. It should have left him gritting his teeth through the pain, but next to his exhaustion it was miniscule. It would have to wait. Everything would have to wait. Whatever had set him off, whatever had spun his words. Right now he was slipping, and he would gladly fall into whatever darkness awaited. 

Jason Todd was so, so tired. 

There was a pressure on his forehead.

Rest up now, Little wing. You’ll be okay.

Oh, how he wanted to believe