A/N ...Well, it would seem my muse would only be providing me with Jason angst of some form or another... Fun!
Actually, the idea sort of came from the Song "Unsteady" By X Ambassadors... which is great and I would totally recommend listening to it!
Anyways, I want to thank Purplehood and Merrit for being huge helps during the writing of this one-shot. Honestly, they're like a... a lifeline or something. Thanks guys! :D
I also want to thank Phantomwolfblue who was gracious enough to give this a look over before I published this.
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or any of its characters. Alas.
/
The Manor is quiet at night.
It's always quiet actually, but night is when the silence sticks out the most to Jason.
He blames it on the fact that he grew up in Crime Alley, a place where there was never, and he means never, any silence, but he never quite got used to it.
It just serves as another reminder that he was never meant for a life like this.
That this is a place where he never belonged.
Sure, it may have felt like he did in the early days, so many years ago. Back when he was the lost boy from Crime Alley.
The one who convinced himself that he had a home here.
A family.
Now he knows better.
Too bad it only took the discovery that his murderer still lived to show him that Bruce was never the father to Jason he had thought he was.
That he never really cared.
Jason makes his way down the hall, past the suit of armor, past the portrait, past the shadows.
He reaches the grand staircase, overlooking the large sitting room. He reaches out with a shaky hand, grasping the banister and leans slowly forward.
He hasn't been inside the Manor since before he died, since before he was murdered, and he had just figured that the place would have changed in his absence.
It hasn't.
He grips the banister with both hands, taking it in.
The rather impressive chandelier is still there.
He remembers finding a way up there as a child, practically giving Alfred a heart attack.
"Jason, come down from there right now, or, so help me, I'm coming up there to get you." Bruce's commanding tone still rings in his ears.
"Like you could even make it up here, old man."
He smirks a little at the memory. Up to that point, he had never seen Bruce look so livid before in all his two months of living at the Manor.
If he's being completely honest with himself, the sight was actually a little bit terrifying.
And then Alfred, "Master Jason, please, come down from there…" Calm despite the displeasure and anxiety he no doubt felt upon seeing Jason perched up there so precariously.
"Come on, guys! I may not be Dick, but you don't get around on the streets if you ain't got something going for ya!"
The corners of his lips quirk upwards, as if he can still see the ghost of his former self dangling on that chandelier.
Come to think of it, he has no idea how it held his weight, but he was small back then. He must have been light enough that it was able to support him.
"Nightmare, Master Jason?"
Jason turns, shaken from his memories by a presence behind him. "Huh? Alfred?" He runs a hand through his hair and peers at Alfred from underneath scrunched eyebrows. "Um… what?"
"I was merely inquiring if nightmares were the reason for your being up at this hour of the night."
Jason winces, reminded that nightmares had indeed been an occurrence before how, but shakes his head. "No, nothing like that," he reassured him. "Just… nostalgia, I guess." He shrugs, leaning over the railing again. "Remembering old times." His gaze lifts up to the chandelier and he can't keep his voice from sounding wistful.
"You will always have a home here," Alfred reminds him gently. "You know that, don't you?"
Jason snorts, but can't help the yearning that builds in his chest. "It stopped being my home the moment Bruce let my killer walk free," he says tightly, not really willing to discuss that topic. Really, anything but that would be great, but Alfred is not deterred.
"Master Jason," Alfred says gently, but sternly, and Jason is silent, though he pointedly avoids making any eye contact, choosing instead to focus on the persian rug that adorns the floor in the sitting room.
The impressively sized window allows in enough moonlight for his eyes to follow the details and so he does.
"No matter what you might think, your death grieved him terribly. He blamed himself for what happened to you." He feels Alfred's hand on his shoulder. Jason tenses simply because he's not used to human contact.
Hasn't been for a long time.
"Why does everyone tell me that?" Jason grinds out, his grip on the banister tightening.
"Perhaps, young sir, it because it is the truth."
Jason sighs, shaking his head. He turns away from the bannister, but keeps his hand around it. "If he really cared, Alfred, you think he would have left up the suit?" he challenges.
Alfred sighs sadly. Oh, Bruce. If only you could see what you have done...
"Master Jason, you know why that's there…"
"Yeah," Jason cuts him off, not caring if he's being rude in doing so, "it's cause the old Jason Todd, the one he cared about is gone. He's never coming back. And this thing…" he gestures to himself, "this thing that came back isn't his son. Never will be." Jason turns away from him, unable to bear the pain in the old man's eyes and not wanting Alfred to see his own.
"I…" he begins, but stops before he's even gotten beyond one word, a thickness forming in his throat that he's unused to feeling.
And he doesn't know.
He just doesn't know anymore.
He raises his eyes to the crystal chandelier again and suddenly, he's overwhelmed with an almost physically painful longing to go back to those days.
It's stupid.
Jason knows that, but he still can't keep himself from wishing that he could.
He can feel the hot prick of tears behind his eyes and he lowers his head, both out of shame at his own weakness and to keep them hidden away from Alfred.
He gets the feeling that Alfred has not been fooled.
None of them had ever been very successful at keeping things a secret from the grandfatherly old man, be it Jason, Dick or even Bruce who was attempting to, but that's never stopped Jason from trying at the very least.
A child's laughter echoes faintly in his ear, forcing its way up from a pile of near forgotten memories. His own, from a long, long time ago, he realizes.
Had he ever really been that happy?
Jason really can't see how it could be possible.
It all seems so dream-like, so far away.
He clasps his hands together tightly, head still lowered.
"Master Jason…" He's not expecting the voice that comes from somewhere close behind him.
Damn it. He'd been so caught up in his own memories, his own emotions, his own feelings of weakness, that he'd come very, very close to forgetting Alfred's presence.
He forces himself to raise his head, but can't quite bring himself to face the butler.
"I'm fine, Alfred," he says and even manages to make it sound half-convincing, but, once again, he's never been very good at keeping things hidden from Alfred.
"No," Alfred begins, keeping his voice perfectly composed, but Jason knows him well enough to pick up on the concern that lies just beneath the surface, "you are not. And it would be much better for all involved, yourself especially, if you stopped lying to yourself."
Jason grits his teeth, hands separating from each other and clenching and unclenching into individual fists. He doesn't say anything at first, and the seconds tick by, as he tries to work out the right thing to say, or if he should say anything at all.
"I," he finally begins, but then his voice comes close to failing him, dropping to the point where it's almost beyond a whisper, "I can't."
Really, it's a wonder that Alfred had been able to catch that at all.
But there it is, unsatisfactory though it may be.
Can't.
He wonders what he even means by that word.
There's a pause and, for a second, Jason wonders if Alfred has given up on him, walked away and left him there to brood, not that Jason would blame him in the least, but then he realizes that he really has lost it.
Alfred has never, not ever, given up on any one of them. It's the one thing he actually knows he can count on and even leaves him wondering if maybe Alfred has gone off the deep end too.
Because Jason knows he's beyond saving at this point.
So why is he even trying?
"Master Jason…" Alfred starts speaking again and, damnit, why can't he just let things be? Jason doesn't want to talk. He doesn't want to bring up the past, but Alfred's next words surprise him the most.
With a sorrowful, and slightly exasperated, sigh, Alfred shakes his head, placing a comforting hand on Jason's shoulder. "You're too much like your father for your own good."
Jason knows he's not referring to Willis Todd.
Jason bristles slightly at that. He can't help it.
He's never taken all that well to being compared to Bruce.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he grinds out, fists clenching tightly.
"I believe you already know the answer to that, young sir," Alfred answers evenly.
Jason grunts, suspecting the answer to be something about how they're both "too stubborn to know what's good for them."
There's a moment of silence that neither one of them breaks and Jason finds his eyes drifting back to that same crystal chandelier.
This place had been home. He had thought it could stay that way forever.
It couldn't.
"Master Jason." Once again, Alfred's voice is what drags him from his thoughts and Jason is too weary to feel very angry, or even a little bit irritated. He's just… tired.
"I trust you are not considering leaving the manor so soon."
Jason freezes. He hadn't thought… had he really been considering to leave?
He's not sure, but he thinks… maybe he might have been.
He swallows, working his jaw.
"There's nothing left for me here," he finally whispers and, damn, he can't keep his eyes off of that crystal chandelier.
"On the contrary," Jason is surprised to feel a comforting hand on his shoulder as the butler steps up close behind him, "Master Jason, allow me to remind you that you still have… family here."
Jason is startled to hear the words spoken with such hesitance, as if Alfred is expecting to hear a vehement rejection of the very notion that they suggest.
But Jason seems willing to listen, or at the very least, he hasn't made a violent rebuttal as of yet, and so Alfred presses on before he can change his mind.
"Regardless of what you may think… you do have family here. A Family that loves you. I hope you know that...you can always come back here."
Jason takes a moment to let that sink in, before something in him seems to make up his mind and he shakes his head, almost regretfully. "No… I… I can't stay. At least… "
He can't stay.
He doesn't want to stay.
Not really.
But with Alfred here, it almost feels like… like maybe things… could go back. At least… he wants to believe that. Maybe.
"Perhaps you'd be willing to think about it then? There's a batch of chocolate chip cookies waiting in the kitchen that require some attention. They were intended for Master Bruce, but... seeing as it's unlikely that he'll have the time…" Alfred doesn't finish the sentence and instead looks to Jason, one eyebrow lifted in silent inquiry.
Jason manages a tired a smile at that, remembering all the times that Alfred had used cookies to coax him out of hiding after a particularly bad day.
"Thanks, Alfred." The gratitude is automatic. "I… That sounds great... actually." It sounds awkward… he's not used to things like this, hasn't been for a long time, maybe not ever, but sincere all the same.
Alfred's face seems to crumple with genuine relief and he smiles. "Lead the way then, Master Jason. Lead the way."
Jason is more than happy to do so.