AN: I own none of this. Thank you for reading and please review. This takes place in the same universe that I set up with my other Batman story, but you don't need to read that for this to make sense, although I would appreciate it if you did. Enjoy!

Chapter One

February 22nd, 2012

He had grown used to it. That swelling, bitter feeling of disappointment. It was hard not to, living on the streets like he did, always wondering if his father would come home to their shabby little brownstone or if he would finally be carried off to lands unknown under the pull of his constant drunken stupor. But as the cold blustered outside, pelting the already weary streets of Gotham with a bombardment of snow, he couldn't help but feel it pull at him again. The box was empty, the cardboard molded and rotten. He hadn't expected anything too exciting. After all, his father had just lost another job, the second one since the start of the year only a month before. But it had still been his birthday. And perhaps it wouldn't have been as bad if he hadn't been promised something, if his father hadn't lumbered home the night before telling Jason that there would be a present waiting for him when he woke up the next day. But instead, Jason Todd stood there, looking over the empty box and, despite it only being his sixteenth birthday, feeling much, much older.

The phone rang. Without looking, he knew it was the school, trying to warn his father that Jason hadn't shown up. But nobody at the house cared. Why would they. Jason had learned of the futility of school long ago, knowing full well that no matter how much he learned, no matter how much information in science and math he acquired, he would never be able to escape the black hole that was the Narrows of Gotham. He ignored the insistent ringing and turned to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. But as usual, the cupboards were bare, cobwebs snaking along the backs. Once again, his father had forgotten to go shopping. Maybe he was out there now, stopping by Mister Arthur's corner store for some essentials. Or, the more likely option, he was already at a bar, staring down at the bottom of a glass, spending time with his only real friends, beer and whiskey.

Jason's stomach rumbled and he knew that he would need food. He tossed on some clothes, draping his ill-fitting red coat over his shoulders and making a beeline for the door. He had no money, so he would have to be more... creative with how he got the food. Just as he placed his hand on the rusted, gilded doorknob, his cell phone rang in his pocket. With a sigh and a grumble, he fished it out and answered.

"Hey," he said, his arms slumping to the side.

"Jason," her voice was soft, filled with sincerity and care. "You… you aren't in school. I was just calling to-"

"I'm fine, Mia," Jason groaned.

"You say that now. But in a few years-"

"Things won't be any different. Things don't change in the Narrows."

He could hear Mia breathe heavily, just like she always did when she was frustrated with him, which was often. "They don't change because you won't let them," she said after a few moments of silence filled with the crackling static of the cell. "You're smart, Jason. If you just applied yourself-"

"There's no point, Mia," Jason made his way back over to the door. "I'm not making it out of this pit. 'Sides, I've got stuff to do."

"Just… don't do anything stupid. Okay?"

"You know I can't promise something like that."

"Love you."

The reply caught in his throat. It had been months since Mia had first said it to him, even longer since they started dating. But no matter how much time has past, things couldn't change for him.

"I said I loved you."

"Yeah," Jason scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he pulled the door open, cold, snowy air flushing in, hitting him like a brick wall. "You, too."

Jason had once heard that the Narrows had been a nice place to live, back before the Great Depression and all that came with it. That was when it earned the name "the Narrows", because the streets had become narrow with the homeless. Now, decades later, and things had barely changed. Dully colored tents lined the streets and men, women and children alike shuffled around behind rusted carts, wearing ragged clothes that couldn't have been warm enough for the blizzard esque weather that beat down on the streets of Gotham. Jason was lucky to have the apartment that he did, small and ramshackle as it may be. At least it was something.

It was warmer in Mister Arthur's store. Almost too warm, in fact. Putrid and misty air charged through the vents full force, whirring hurriedly. It was just enough for a pang of nostalgia to flutter down through Jason's stomach. He riffled through the racks filled with Doritos and Cheetos and any other type of "eetos" that could be found. For a moment, he peered over at the old spinner rack of comic books. He remembered the days when he used to come down with him mom and dad, spending hours looking at the old back issues of the Justice Society and the Green Lantern. But as he looked over at the glossy new piles of Booster Gold, he realized he would never be able to get back there, to that time when he felt safe and secure.

"Can I help you with something, Mister Todd?" Mister Arthur leaned against the counter, a broad smile painted under his hefty white mustache.

It would be so easy for him to walk out with a bag of chips under his coat. It would just be a bag of chips, after all. Would Mister Arthur even miss it? And how else was he supposed to get food? But he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was a voice, maybe some Jiminy Cricket or angel on his shoulder, telling him not to. Mister Arthur was a good person in a bad neighborhood, he didn't need anything else like that happening to him.

"Jason?" concern rose in Mister Arthur's voice. "Is everything okay?"

"I haven't eaten all day," Jason sighed, leaning on the other side of the counter. "And… I don't have any money. I don't know where my dad is, so…"

"Nonsense," Mister Arthur swished his hand in the air like he could bat the problem away as simply as he could a fly. "Take whatever you need. I can afford it."

"I… I couldn't do that, Mister Arthur."

"I insist," he rip a bag of Doritos from the rack and handed them over. "You need something. I'll get you something a little healthy, too. Go ahead and grab some fruit."

"Mister Arthur-"

"Please," his eyes turned stern, his voice lowered to a whisper. "I did the same thing for your mother when she was your age, too, you know. And after all she did for me… well, I guess I owe her a little."

The mention of his mother very nearly brought a tear to Jason's eye, but he choked it back. "Fine," he offered a dull smile as he took the bag. "Thanks."

"And if you need anything else," Mister Arthur nodded, "just ask."

Jason nabbed an apple and walked out, the bells on the door chiming as the cold weather brushed in, slashing at his bare face like a cruel knife. He bit into the apple, sweet juices running through his mouth as he swallowed hard. His feet crunched down into the snow as he placed each step ever so carefully, wary of any hidden ice that could take his feet out from under him. His stomach eased as he tossed the core into a nearby garbage can, and he began to turn back to his apartment when he heard a whisper coming from the shadows of a nearby alley.

"Jason," it called out in a hushed murmur, just barely loud enough to get his attention. "Jason," it called again, just to make sure his attention was grabbed.

"Dammit," Jason muttered, navigating his way through the crowded sidewalk so that he could make his way into the secluded alley.

"I've been looking for you all day," the tall, skinny man spoke while still cloaked in shadows, his face covered by a thick black hood, although Jason doubted it was because of the cold. "The boss has got a job for you."

"I already told him where he could stick it," Jason grumbled, shoving the bag of Doritos safely into his pocket. "I'm done with the Hellhound's drug running and weapons stealing. And you can tell him yourself, Dekker."

"Listen," Dekker stepped into the pale light, the weak haze of the sun cascading down his craggy features and eyes, which rested deeply set in his skull. He was young, only about ten years older than Jason, but with his firmly set jaw and weary look in his eyes, he seemed to be ancient. "The boss normally would've agreed. But, the Hellhounds… well, we've come under new management. An' we've gotta be moving merch if we wanna keep our jobs. Not to mention our heads."

"New management? What the hell does that mean?"

Dekker looked around nervously, his eyes darting from person to person as they passed on the street. "Last week… the Joker came in, killed nearly half our guys and said he was takin' us over from Falcone. He said the Roman was as good as dead an' would be outta Gotham in no time."

"The Joker? I thought you said-"

"I know," Dekker gave a stern look telling Jason to quiet down. "I know what I said. An' trust me, I don't like it either. These costume freaks an' clowns scare the hell outta me. But… it seems to be the way Gotham is goin'. So, we had two choices. Join up, or get run over. An' we weren't about to be run over."

"I'm not getting caught up in that," Jason began to walk away, taking uneasy steps back. "Joker's dangerous enough, but… working with him also means that we're bigger targets for the Bat. And I'm not getting caught by him."

"It's just a small job, kid," Dekker put his hands up in defense. "You go, you get things done, and you get out. And you get paid."

Jason grumbled to himself, although even he wasn't sure what he had said. But he knew he needed the money. He couldn't expect to keep getting free food from Mister Arthur. "What is it?" he asked reluctantly, the words slowly slipping from his mouth even as the purely logical part of his brain screamed at him not to let them out.

"There's this doctor nearby," a devious smile began to tear its way across Dekker's face. "Down by Park Row. Name's somethin' like-"

"Thompkins," Jason nodded. "Yeah. I know who you're talking about."

"Good. There are some… rumors that the Bat goes there sometimes to get fixed up. We need you to stake it out, see if these rumors are any good. You're not even doin' anything illegal. You just need to be our eyes an' ears for a little while, that's all."

"Are you friggin' crazy?"

"Look," Dekker hushed him. "You won't even attract his attention. As long as you stay hidden-"

"How am I supposed to stay hidden? It's effin' Batman! You really think I can sneak up on him?"

"Even if he does see you, he won't think anything of it. You'll just be another homeless kid that he passes. You think he's really gonna give a shit?"

He had a point. "When is it?" Jason sighed.

"Tonight. 'Round ten. Joker's got some big plan goin' on down in the Industrial District. He's gonna try to beat the Bat up as much as possible so that he comes runnin'. We just need you to see if that's where he runs to."

"Great," Jason said. "I'll be there."

"Good," Dekker smiled. "I knew I could count on you, kid."

Jason turned around and headed home. He didn't want to be seen with Dekker if possible. But when he turned around, Dekker had already vanished. Jason headed home, trudging through the dirty, grimy snow, tucking his head in his hood. Despite the short walk home, it felt as if it had taken months to get anywhere.

"I'm home," he kicked the snow of his boots as he walked through the door. The apartment was still empty. He tore off his coat, leaving it strewn across the beer-stained carpet and stumbled into the small living room. He collapsed on the couch, looking up at the pictures which hung precariously on the walls, as if they were all threatening to fall of and break into a million pieces.

"Officials are not sure when Finger will begin training with Metropolis," Jack Ryder sat behind his desk on the news as the TV flashed on. His black hair was combed neatly atop his head and he wore a crisp blue suit that looked like it would strangle Jason. "In other news, it has been months since the last reported sighting of the vigilante known as Robin with the mysterious Batman. In a report issued to GCN early this morning, Gotham City police Commissioner James Gordon promised that Robin was just-"

Jason muted the talking head on the television and picked up one of his old car magazines. He had always had a thing for cars that he couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was just the way they worked, the pure mechanics of it all. There was a certainty to it all. The gears and the parts would never let him down. He riffled through the pages, closely examining each car, all of them far more expensive than anything he could ever hope to afford. He lay there for hours, just admiring the craftsmanship that went into each and everyone of the cars. And then, there was a knock at the door.

Dad, Jason got up with a sigh. Must've forgotten his keys again.

He walked over to the door, his legs tired and his eyes sleepily threatening to slam shut. A weary hand stretched out and tugged at the doorknob. The hinges creaked like something out of an old horror movie as Jason stumbled back. His mouth began to curl into a complaint to his dad. He could feel it bubbling inside of him. Everything he had ever wanted to say. But then, just before the first sound could stumbled past his tongue, he realized it wasn't his dad at all.

"Happy birthday," Mia threw herself into his arms, a joyful smile etched onto her face. Her arms wrapped around Jason's throat like two cobras, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

"Mia," Jason smiled in return as her grip loosened. "School's out already?"

"Yeah," she brushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear. Her hazel eyes glowed, twinkling like no star in the sky could. "It's four."

"Damn," Jason chuckled as he scratched the back of his neck. "I… I must've fallen asleep. I didn't realize-"

"C'mon," Mia dragged him behind her as they ventured deeper into the apartment, past the cluttered bills that were scattered around the floor. "I… I couldn't afford to get you anything special, but… well, here." She fished a small rectangular black box from her leather purse.

"Mia," Jason grinned, taking it. "You… you didn't have to get me anything."

"Of course I did," Mia said. "It's your sixteenth birthday. Did you really think I wasn't going to get you a little something? I am your girlfriend, after all."

"I love hearing you say that," Jason leaned forward, kissing her.

"I know. And I love that you love it. Now c'mon," she pleaded, laughing with excitement. "I want to see what you think of it."

"Fine," Jason relented. Mia always got like this when she was excited. He tugged at the string wrapped around the box and lifted the lid off. "Mia. You… you didn't have to do this."

"It's just a little something," she lifted the old watch out. It was small, the leather band worn and the face stained yellow with age. "It's working again. I… I know how much this meant to you and your mom."

"Mia," Jason couldn't help but grin as he looked down at his grandfather's old watch. "Thank you so much. How… how much-"

"It doesn't matter," Mia said. "You always said you wanted to get that fixed so, that's what I did. I told the guy to keep as much of it the same as possible, so…"

"Well, thank you," Jason wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his tight embrace.

"But look," Mia bit her lip, pulling away. "I want you to start coming to school again. No, I need you to start coming to school again."

"Mia…"

"I know how you get about this, Jason," there was a sorrow hidden in her eyes. "I know you feel like this place is always going to pull you down. But, if you have any hope of getting out of the Narrows, getting out of Gotham, then you need a degree. You need a job. You need-"

"I have things I need to do here," he spoke softly as he tugged himself away. "I need to survive out here. I haven't seen my dad all day. He could be dead for all I know. And school isn't going to help with any of that."

"But you could move away from the Narrows. You could-"

"The Narrows is a black hole," he felt the words snap out of his mouth with venom in them, although he didn't mean it. "I'm not Bruce Wayne or Lex Luthor or Oswald Cobblepot or any of those other rich bastards that can do whatever they want. I don't have the luxury to have dreams because all this is is a nightmare. A big, dark, smothering nightmare that wants to choke the life out of me. And I want to change it. I want to do something, but if I let myself hope, then I become vulnerable. Then I become weak."

A poisonous cocktail of sadness and anger began to mix in the deep caverns behind her hazel eyes. "I know that, Jason. Trust me, I do. After everything I've been through, I know the shitty stuff that happens down here. I was thirteen when I had to start working on the corner, and I was fifteen when I learned that I couldn't work like that anymore because those sickos gave me a disease! Made my blood poison! But that was when I realized I had to do something with myself. I had to make the name Mia Dearden mean something. When are you going to learn that the name Jason Todd should mean something too?"

Deafening silence shuddered through the apartment. Jason swallowed hard, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but realizing that the strength wasn't there.

"Just come back, Jason," Mia's face had turned hard as stone, her eyes steady and firm. "Just try to do something. Try to be something. I love you too much to watch you get dragged down by this place."

"I…" his mouth felt dry, his mind went blank.

"For me, Jason," she wrapped small, nibble fingers around his callused hands. "For us."

For us.

The words echoed in his mind for the rest of the night. As the sun drifted slowly through the bleak, gray sky, they stayed, etched into his memories for what seemed like an eternity. He didn't remember what had happened next. A small muttered apology, maybe an empty promise? He knew that Mia left soon after, every step taken somber and heavy, like the weight of the world was pressing down on her shoulders. And then, things went back to normal. At least until the sky turned dark and night crept along, gnarled talons clenching at Gotham's throat.

Because night was when Gotham turned to a place of horrors.

And Jason couldn't help but notice that he was standing right in the middle of it.

The air had turned brisk, whipping painfully against him as he stood in the alley. It was paved with cracked cobblestone that would often grow full of moss and weeds in the blazing days of summer, but now it was just like every other street in Gotham, glazed with a near silver sheet of ice. They called the place Crime Alley, due to the fact that the Waynes, who had once been two of the most powerful people in Gotham, were murdered there. They had bled against the beaten road not far from where Jason stood. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, although it might have just been from the raging cold. He felt a smile creep its way across his face. Death was the great equalizer. Not even the Waynes, with all their money and influence, could escape it. Everyone felt the cold embrace of the afterlife at some point.

"We have this under control," Jason listened to the gruff sounding man, who he realized was Commissioner Gordon, over an old stereo. He needed to pay attention to the news. Whatever Joker was doing was happening, right now, not far away from where Jason stood.

"Is it true that the Joker threatened to kill the hostages if he saw the Batman?" the reporters voice was spry and youthful, although clearly she knew that Gordon wouldn't let up.

"I have no comment on that, Miss Vale," Gordon sighed, the stereo crackling. "But the people of Gotham need to know that the GCPD will take care of things. The Batman-"

"There he is," a slight whooshing sound was picked up by the stereo, although Jason could hardly hear it above the static. "This is Vicki Vale reporting from the Janus Cosmetics factory in the Industrial District where the Batman has just been spotted entering the building to save thirty workers that were taken hostage over an hour ago by the madman known as the Joker."

It was almost time.

The air grew colder as time wore on. The wind howled through the streets, over parked cars and ratty old tents. Jason stood there, waiting. He looked down at the watch, admiring it for the first time since Mia had handed it over. There was still a nick in the side. His mother had once said that it was from the time that Jason's grandfather had spent in the war.

"Your grandfather was the bravest man I have ever known," he remembered her smiling with glowing pride. "He had met your grandmother just weeks before being shipped off. But in that short time, they knew that they had an undying love for each other. So, on the day he left, she gave him this watch. She made him promise to bring it home with him. She said she wanted him to wear it on their wedding day. He took it to war with him. It traveled, sitting on his wrist as he went to the other side of the globe. And when he came back, he was still wearing it. Your grandmother and your grandfather got married and less than a year later, they had me."

"And then you had me with Dad," Jason remembered looking up with a wide smile on his face.

"Yeah," he hadn't noticed it then, but there was a sadness hidden somewhere in her eyes as she rubbed his head, tussling his stringy black hair.

"But then… how did Grandpa die?"

The question had seemed to linger in the air for a while as a tear began to form in the corner of his mother's eye. "He died a hero, sweety," she forced a grin onto her face, and Jason felt a false sense of ease wash over him. "He died a hero."

But years later, Jason had realized this was a lie. His grandfather didn't die a hero. He died an addict. He was wounded in the war, shot in the arm and left bleeding on the ground. The field medic, in a hurry as the soldiers around him were shot down senselessly, gave him a dose of morphine to ease the pain. Jason's grandfather took a dose of morphine every night until he returned home about a month later. By then, he couldn't control it. Ten years later, he overdosed on heroin. Another senseless death from a senseless war, his bravery forgotten.

"Get down," Gordon's voice shouted over the stereo, ripping Jason back to reality. An explosion cracked over the speakers.

"This is Vicki Vale for GCN," her voice now singed with worry. "If you're listening to this, then please, stay away from the Industrial District. It appears-"

There was cheering somewhere in the background, slowly rising until thunderous clapping boomed out. Jason thought he could hear Gordon mutter something in the distance. He was reading the Joker his rights. Batman won.

"Batman," Vale spoke, renewed enthuthiasm in her voice. "Vicki Vale for-"

"No comment," Batman's voice was rough, like gravel turning against stones. But there was something else. He was weary. He was hurt.

Batman would be coming. There was a feeling in Jason's gut that told him. He couldn't explain it, but somehow he knew.

He secured a spot tucked behind an old, rusty garbage can and kneeled down. The cold of the dirtied snow bit through his pant legs and his stomach twisted into knots. He tore the stereo from its spot in the snow and jabbed his finger into the off button, allowing silence to fill Crime Alley.

Snow began to shift from the sky, falling gracefully despite the city around it. Jason wrapped his arms around himself, hoping to preserve his warmth. It didn't help. He shuddered as he sat behind the garbage can, silently waiting for the Batman to finally appear. Snow slowly built up on his shoulders and piled up around him. He felt like his ears would freeze off, and the sounds of the usually bustling city grew duller and duller. Until he heard it.

The car.

The engine roared, grumbling like some beast. Headlights flooded through the alley, yellow light washing up against the walls before flickering off as the engine died down. Slowly, Jason peered around the side of the trash can, careful to stay hidden. His movements had become bitter and stiff in the cold, but he knew he needed to be fast. Still, he couldn't stop himself from marveling at the wonderful machine that now sat mere feet from him. Clearly, it was just a car, but also something so much more. It was sleek and bullet like, giving it a look as if it could cut through the air like a knife. The black paint glimmered in the distant and weak light of the moon. The front was built like a tank, strong and welded into the shape of a bat. Wings sat on the back, rising up high before curving down. The wheels were large, concealed by obsidian rims on the top. But there was something else about them, too. Anyone else may not have noticed it, but, Jason had always had a thing for cars.

Now that he saw it, the one flaw was glaringly obvious to him, screaming to be noticed and acted upon. The bolts were bare and could easily be taken out with the wheels themselves. He could remove the wheels, stop the Batmobile from moving at all. Then, he could call Dekker, let him know that the Batman would be vulnerable, if only for a second. Jason knew that he had no part in the war for Gotham's underworld, but if he could gain something from it, he was willing to do whatever he needed to.

Am I really going to steal the wheels from the Batmobile? He asked himself, teeth chattering from the cold. Yes, yes he would.

Batman emerged from the canopy, a centurion garbed in the darkness that strangled Gotham. Jason knew that he was just a man, but looking at him for the first time, looking at the ears which blended with the shadows, and the cape meshing into the Cimmerian shade, he looked like an actual bat, monstrous wings held aloof behind him, narrowed white eyes glaring into the night. But he was injured. He nearly collapsed out of the Batmobile with a pained grunt. Small droplets of blood spiraled down from gashes along his torso as he clutched at the raw flesh at his sides. His head darted around ferverously as he stumbled inside the ramshackle little clinic. And Jason got to work.

He fished out his old flip phone, snapping it open and putting in Dekker's number. "If I don't answer," his recorded voice came out over the speaker, "then I'm doin' something more important. So you can wait for the beep and leave me the f-" It beeped.

"Dekker," Jason started hyperventilating without realizing it as he made a mad dash over to the car. "Get the Hellhounds to Crime Alley. I've got an idea. It's a batshit crazy idea, but we are literally dealing with a bat right now, so it seems almost poetic." He nabbed his knife from his pocket and began peeling away at the metal with one hand. "Just hurry. And… bring weapons. Lots of weapons. We're gonna kill the Batman tonight."

He slammed his phone shut, killing the message. It was taking longer than he had thought to get the wheel free. Clearly, it wasn't as exposed as he had thought. Could it have been a ploy, just to catch someone in the act? He doubted it, but it didn't seem impossible. He managed to wiggle one of the wheels off, sending the Batmobile clunking down on the ground.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, hoping that no one heard.

He noticed something wrong with the wiring inside. Circuits had been fried in the battle with the Joker, which explained why no alarm had been triggered. Good, Jason couldn't help but smile. This plan, despite how crazy it was, might actually work.

The world seemed to go around him in a blur as he started working, cutting away at each of the bolts and finding bricks that were lying around to even the car out. He was on the last wheel when he heard it.

The clinic door creaked open.

It was light, hardly distinguishable, but it was there. It was definitely there.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jason turned slowly, his movements ridged as he looked up at the towering creature of the night. His jaw was set, his fists clenched, his brow furrowed in anger. Jason had made the Batman angry.

Jason felt his throat close up on itself, like a cave collapsing. "Oh," he smiled, not out of joy or laughter, but simply because he didn't know what else he could do. "Shit."