From the very beginning, Bruce knew Jason faced abuse in his childhood. All the symptoms were there and he had carefully noted it in his file, along with Jason's telling tendencies of staying just out of arm's reach of anyone else in the room, hiding away food, and questioning every single act of kindness towards him. Bruce thought he'd understood what that meant. He'd had no idea. Knowing something happened was nothing to experiencing it, and no one who hadn't experienced it could truly understand what it meant.
Jason's very first memory was of his drunk father screaming in the pit of an apartment he grew up in.
"I work all night and this is the shit I come home to?!"
Willis Todd was larger than life and angry, and Jason knew to stay out of his way when he got like this, because nothing good ever happened when his father was drunk. Unfortunately though, he couldn't go hide away while his father was focused on his mother. He couldn't just leave her.
Jason flinched and quickly ducked behind the couch as his father threw a dish against the wall, sending ceramic shards flying.
"Will, please calm down. You're drunk," his mother begged and Jason stood tensely, fear coursing through him as his father grabbed his belt.
"Shut up, you stupid bitch!" Willis shouted, using his belt to hit his mother. She cried out, but he kept striking her. Jason flinched as his mother cried, curling in on herself and shielding her head and face. He needed to do something, but he didn't know what to do. He had to be careful, because if he moved wrong, his father would only hit her more.
"You and the boy are worthless! What good are you? What do you do?"
Jason shook, terrified and frozen as his mother got angry and shoved at his father. "Leave him out of this! He's only four! He's just a child!"
"Shut up!" he struck out with a fist, catching her on the side of the face. Pure terror streaked through Jason as her eyes rolled back and she crumpled to the floor.
"No!" Jason shouted as she fell, bolting forward as his father kept striking her unconscious body with the belt. He threw himself between his mother and his father's belt as the absolute terror refused to let him go. What if she didn't wake up? What if she was dead? Jason cried as the belt hit him instead, but he didn't move. He stayed braced over his mother, shielding her body as his father continued to beat him.
Jason had a dozen similar memories, but as he grew, he got bolder—interfering earlier, purposefully drawing his father's attention away from his mother and onto himself. Those memories were more painful, but he hadn't been quite as afraid. As long as his father was focused on him, then his mother was safer.
When Willis Todd was arrested for armed robbery and carted off to prison, Jason held his mother's hand as she sobbed, unable to tell if she was crying out of sorrow or relief.
Their troubles didn't end with Willis Todd's incarceration. Money was a lot tighter after his father was arrested, and it was only a few months later that his mother first fainted while trudging up the several flights of stairs to their tiny little apartment. Jason wasn't sure what exactly it was, but she went to the local clinic one day and came back pale and crying. She was sick. She needed a lot of medicine and it was expensive, she explained to Jason that night. But it would be okay, because they'd work it out, she told him. They went to bed hungry, and that night Jason snuck out of the bed he shared with his mother and grabbed the pill bottle out of her purse. He stiffened when he saw the price on the bottle, but he remembered the name, the price, and the clinic she got it from.
The next day, Jason stole for the first time.
He didn't really want to be a criminal, he decided early on. His father had worked for Two-Face, and Jason didn't want to be like him. But he didn't want to abandon his mother and he didn't want to be mean or a drunk. But he and his mother needed a place to live, they needed food, and his mother needed medicine. Even with the medicine, she seemed to be getting sicker and she was almost always in pain.
Jason stole more, landing himself on the wrong side of the police and criminals alike. He didn't like it, but he did what he had to do. He learned where he could, picking up the tricks of the trade and doing his absolute best to avoid being pulled into a gang. He couldn't afford for that to happen. He knew what happened to kids that got trapped in gangs and his mother needed him. She didn't have anyone else.
He discovered quickly that he was a pretty decent pick pocket, and though he couldn't do much with the credit cards he got a hold of, he kept the cash and there was a guy who'd give him cash for the credit cards and drivers licenses. Jason didn't know what he did with them, but he didn't care. It wasn't his problem.
He came back late one night, feeling like he could relax for a few days. Rent was due in the morning, but Jason had scrounged up enough cash and he and his mom had enough food for a couple more days. He could take it easy for a day or so. Maybe study for his science test he had on Friday. When he got home, his mother was lying on the couch and Sherri from the floor below them was pushing a needle into her arm. "The heroin will help," she promised softly. "Just relax and let it work. I'll tell my dealer to drop by in a couple of days."
"Thanks, Sherri," Jason's mother spoke.
Sherri set the needle aside and squeezed his mother's hands before she stood up. She patted Jason's shoulder on the way out. Jason moved over to the couch and crouched down by his mother's head.
"Jason," she smiled at him, expression easing in a way he hadn't seen in a long time. The drugs were starting to work already.
"We made rent," he told her.
Her smile flickered a little and she reached out, gathering him in her arms. "Oh Jason. I'm so sorry," she said, sounding tearful.
"What's wrong?" he asked, worried suddenly. Maybe part of the rent money had gone to the heroin. Maybe he needed to go back out, and make sure they had enough by tomorrow. He tried to pull away, but his mother didn't let him.
"I'm so sorry," she said again, holding him tight against her. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I never wanted you to have to worry about it."
Jason relaxed a little and hugged her back. "It's okay, Mom. Don't worry; we're going to be okay. How do you feel?"
"Good," she said, a little dreamily. "I feel good."
Jason nodded against her shoulder and added heroin to the list of things they needed money for. If it helped, if it meant his mother wasn't in constant pain, then he was going to make sure she got it.
Jason quickly moved up to more dangerous crimes. After some practice, he got pretty good at jacking tires, and there was decent money in it if he could find the good ones. He learned a lot from older kids and anyone who'd give him a tip. Jason was a fast study, because he had to be. He also took risks.
"You tried to cheat me?!" the large, bulky man snarled, holding Jason up by his throat and slamming him back into the brick wall. "How dare you, you little shit!"
"No! I'm sorry! I won't do it again!" Jason gasped against the hand nearly crushing his windpipe. Joshua "Nickles" Nichols was a brute of a man, but he was arrogant when it came to the street kids. He thought he was a lot scarier than he really was, and Jason knew he could do a decent job convincing the man he was way too scared to ever try a scam on him again.
The man dropped Jason, only to kick him across the room, snatch him back up, and slam him into the brick wall again. Jason scrabbled at the hand around his throat, purely for show. It was just a distraction to make Nickles focus on the pin while Jason slipped his hand in the man's jacket and snagged his wallet.
"You know, Todd," the man breathed close, nicotine heavy on his breath. "There's a lot of people who'd love a pair of blue eyes as pretty as yours. You cross me again, I'll sell you. You understand me?"
"Yes sir! Sorry sir!" Jason gasped, clutching at the hand.
The man threw Jason out of his office and back into the dirty alley before slamming the door. Jason landed roughly on his left wrist and grunted in pain as he heard a crack. He gave himself a moment to breathe through the pain. Damn it, that was going to be a bitch for weeks.
"All that worth the man's wallet?" one of the older kids asked, leaning over him with a skeptical look on his face. "You already got a decent payout for the tires. Did you have to piss him off too?"
Jason tossed out a grin he only sort of felt before pushing himself up off the ground, "Yep. Nickles keeps a ton of cash on him and my mom needs medicine." He said, pulling out the wad of cash and tucking it away before tossing the wallet down the storm drain.
"You need to be careful, kid. If he catches you, he will sell you off. And if he doesn't catch you, he still does the best tire deals around. You don't want to burn that bridge just cause you got a little greedy."
"Yeah, yeah," Jason said, but he'd taken the risk and the risk had paid off. No one could convince him it'd been a bad move at the moment. Not when he got what he needed. "Later, G," Jason said, stiffly waving to the older boy. His wrist ached sharply and throbbed steadily as he moved to the clinic. Dr. Thompkins stayed open late on Tuesdays, and Jason knocked on the door.
"What happened to you?" Dr. Thompkins asked with a frown as Jason moved into the small, dingy lobby of the hole in the wall clinic.
"Got in a fight at school," Jason lied easily. "Tommy Murphy is a giant asshole."
"Watch your language," she told him firmly.
"Whatever," Jason shrugged, digging the proper amount of cash out of his pocket. "Mom's not feeling great. I told her I'd pick up her medicine."
Dr. Thompkins frowned a little, but accepted the cash. "How's her appetite?"
Jason's jaw tightened a little. "I'm working on it."
Dr. Thompkins sighed heavily, but nodded. "Let me know if things get any worse."
Jason nodded and Dr. Thompkins held the bottle of pills out towards his left hand. Jason tucked it back a little behind his hip and took the pill bottle with his right, but as soon he did, Dr. Thompkins snagged his left arm, making Jason hiss and twitch in her grip.
"This looks broken, Jason," she frowned down at his wrist.
"It's fine," he said, trying to jerk it out of her grasp, and gasping in pain when it didn't work.
"Stop that. You're going to make it worse. Come on to the back and I'll set it for you," she said, pulling him by his arm.
Jason resisted. "I don't have money for that."
She sighed. "This one's on the house, Jason. Come on. Let's get that wrist in cast."
Jason faltered. "You sure?"
"I'm not letting you run around with a broken wrist," she said, rolling her eyes.
Jason relented. Dr. Thompkins gave him a shot of anesthesia, put his wrist in a cast, and gave him strict instructions on how to care for it before sending him on his way. Jason then stopped by a 24-hour convenience store to buy cans of soup and other cheap meals. At nearly one in the morning, he trudged up three flights of stairs and headed to his apartment.
"Jason," his neighbor's voice came through her open door. Jason peaked in and she smiled. "I've been waiting for you to get home. Come on in; I've got a birthday treat for you," Lena smiled wide. She was dark-skinned and pretty despite the large, dark bruise on the side of her face. It was making her right eye swell slightly.
"It's not my birthday anymore," Jason replied with an easy shrug. Not that it had been much of a birthday to start with, seeing as how he'd spent the majority of it scamming for money and now, even though his wrist was numb, the rest of his body ached from the roughing up he got from Nickles—the price he'd had to pay to get close enough to grab his fat wallet. But now Jason was sitting pretty for the next couple weeks, so it was definitely worth it.
"You haven't gone to sleep yet. Still your birthday. Come on," Lena smiled, ushering him into her living room. Jason followed, dropping the groceries just inside the door before moving to her couch. On the coffee table was a cupcake with a single candle in it and a can of Sprite.
"Happy Birthday, JJ," Lena smiled warmly, lighting the candle. "Make a wish."
Jason wished his mom would miraculously get better before blowing out the candle. He then looked at Lena. "You can't call me JJ anymore. I'm nine now," he declared authoritatively, licking the icing off the candle before taking a huge bite of the cupcake.
Lena smiled at him fondly. "You sure are. Proper grownup now, aren't you?"
Jason nodded, taking another bite of the cupcake. "Thanks, Lena. This is awesome."
"You're welcome, Jay. Happy birthday."
Jason nodded and finished his cupcake before giving the bruise on the side of her face a hard look. "Who did that?"
Lena's expression darkened. "Travers."
"Bastard," Jason scowled.
Lena nodded. "He's no longer a client. If you see him around here…" she trailed off.
"Call the cops, yeah," Jason said, nodding because he knew the drill. "Sure thing." Lena gave him a grateful smile, and he changed the subject. "She leave the apartment today?"
Lena frowned again. "She was going to, I think, but then her dealer came by. She was pretty bad off. Sorry, Jay."
Jason's fists clenched in worry. Even with the medicine, she just seemed to be getting worse all the time. At least the drugs meant she was in less pain. "I need to go make sure she eats something," he said standing up stiffly, rolling his shoulders a bit to try and alleviate the ache.
"Okay, stop by before you go to school in the morning. I'll give you some coffee. I'm not working for the next few days, so it won't be too early. Johns don't like a smashed up face."
"You could still sleep in though," Jason argued, not liking the idea that she'd be getting up early just to help him out.
"Just come by and see me," she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.
Jason nodded and headed into his apartment where his mother was laid out on the large, ancient couch, needle still in her arm. He put the groceries away and put soup on the stove to heat, then he moved over to his mother, gently pulling the needle out of her arm.
She stirred. "Jason, darling, where have you been?" she asked with a sleepy smile.
"Got your medicine and some food. Think you can eat?"
She frowned a little. "I don't know, Jay."
"Just some soup. Not a lot," he told her, checking her hands. They were cold so he went and got the blanket from the bed, draping it over her.
"What happened to your hand?" she asked, frowning in concern as she ran fingers over the cast.
"Fell off the fire escape," Jason lied. "Don't worry. Doc Thompkins fixed it up."
"Jason, I've been telling you for years to stop playing on the fire escape," she scolded, mustering up a tiny bit of energy. "It's rusty and dangerous and now you're hurt."
"'M fine, mom. Promise," Jason said, tucking the blanket around her. He dished out two bowls of soup before handing one bowl to his mom along with her medicine and a glass of water. "Eat as much of the soup as you can and drink all the water," he told her.
She only got through half the bowl before she was falling asleep so Jason set it aside and tucked her into the couch. She didn't seem up to moving to the bed at the moment.
"I love you, Jason," she told him softly.
"Love you too, Mom," he replied before moving to put away the dishes.
A week later, he came home from school and found her on the floor of the bathroom, eyes wide open and staring lifelessly ahead, needle in her arm. Jason went to Lena, she called the cops, and Jason was moved into a group home. A group home that was forcing most of the kids into underage prostitution. Jason broke the nose of the man who was running it and he and the rest of the children ran, setting the place ablaze before they left. Jason had been there less than 24 hours before he was out living on the street. He couldn't go back to school. They'd call the cops, and there was no way in hell he trusted them. Not after all those kids in the group home. There was no telling how much worse the next place he was sent would be, and there was no way Jason would risk it. He decided to take his chances on the streets.
The first winter was completely brutal. Jason thought he knew how to go hungry before, but that was nothing compared to being on the streets. He had to be a lot more careful—if he even looked homeless, people often called the police, and it was the kind cops who stuck you in a group home. Crooked cops would do much worse, and there were plenty of those in Crime Alley. It meant he couldn't trust kindness from a stranger without running the risk of ending up with the cops. Most people meant well; they didn't want kids living on the streets in the middle of winter, but they just didn't understand. Jason tried not to hold it against them when that limited his food options. He had to look decently put together to get food in legal ways, and depending on how his luck was going, that wasn't always possible.
He stole more, and he got better at it. He had to, because he still didn't want to end up in a gang, and it was surprisingly hard to remain a free agent when living on the streets of Crime Alley. But through sweat, and blood, and tears, he managed. He built himself as much of a life as he could; he found himself bolt holes, he stole money, clothes, food, tires, whatever it took. He swiped books to read, he learned the streets and alleyways of Gotham, he learned all the major players, and he learned which cops would hand him off to a crime boss as payment and which ones would naively try to help him by passing him off to social services. He stayed away from all of them. For three years, he survived, despite close calls of nearly freezing to death or nearly being murdered in an alleyway. It was insanely difficult, but he survived.
And then he got cocky.
Stealing the tires off the Batmobile was the first thought that crossed Jason's mind when he saw the car sitting in the alley. His second thought was that he was out of his damned mind for even considering it. His third thought was about how much money he'd get for those tires, and then he was moving before he could talk himself out of it. He'd had a run of bad luck lately, and he could use a decent payout. He'd already had to skip a few meals for a few days and it was getting colder at night. It was crazy, and he didn't even want to imagine what the Batman would do to him if he got caught, but he needed this.
Jason jacked the car up quickly and rolled under the car, inspecting the area around the wheel. He didn't for a second think the thing wasn't protected by some sort of booby traps. It was the Batman, after all. He'd jacked enough tires to recognize things that shouldn't be there, and he cut some wires quickly before he got to work pulling the tire off the car. He was about to pull off the fourth tire when a shadow fell over him.
He jumped away quickly, but Batman was fast and he was strong. He had Jason by the scruff of his neck, holding him out of arms' length before he could get away. Jason's heart hammered in his chest, and he kicked out, catching Batman's chest. He might as well have been kicking a brick wall.
"Let go of me!" Jason said, fear curling in his gut. He'd never heard anything about the Batman hurting kids, but this was Gotham City. He wouldn't be surprised.
"What are you doing?" the Batman growled, and holy shit, he sounded terrifying. Still, Jason had never backed down from a fight in his life.
"Stealing your tires, what's it look like?" Jason retorted angrily. "Aren't you supposed to be some sort of detective or something?"
Batman's lip curled and it made him look even more terrifying. Jason was definitely going to get himself killed. "My traps?" he growled out.
"Need some work," Jason retorted, jutting his chin out. "I'll give you some pointers if you don't kill me," he offered, damn proud that the words came out strong and not terrified.
Batman considered him and Jason squared his jaw and stared him down, scowl firmly in place to cover his terror. "What's your name?" Batman finally asked.
"Jason."
"Last name?"
Jason ground his teeth and Batman got in his face a little. He barely held in the flinch. "You were stealing my tires, Jason," he reminded in a threat.
"Todd," Jason spat furiously. "My name is Jason Todd."
"Where's your parents, Jason?"
"Dead," he snapped angrily, because if Batman wasn't going to kill him he was going to hand him over to the system and that was possibly worse.
"Where do you live?"
"None of your damn business."
His stomach growled, sort of breaking the moment. Jason scowled and tried again to twist out of Batman's grasp. Of course, it was completely pointless.
Batman considered him. "I'll make you a deal," he said after a few moments of tense silence in which Jason fought to keep scowling and not fidget. "You answer my questions, I buy you a hot meal. And I won't kill you," he added as an afterthought.
Jason twitched at the thought of food. It'd been days since he'd had anything more than scraps and it was so tempting. If he agreed and Batman did stick him back in the system, then he could just bolt again, he reasoned to himself. He could probably bolt before they even got him settled somewhere.
"Yeah, fine," he retorted sulkily.
Batman slapped a pair of cuffs on him before setting him back down. "Hey! What the hell is this for?" Jason demanded, and he thought briefly about running but Batman was between him and the only way out of the alley.
"Try to slip them," Batman instructed, and Jason tried, feeling them tighten on his wrists as he wriggled them. He then pulled a lock pick out of his pocket and quickly tried to pick it with his teeth. The lock clicked, but instead of unlocking, the cuffs tightened again.
"What the hell?" Jason asked, staring at the cuffs in confusion and more than a little curiosity. Batman did something to adjust them back so they were a little more comfortable, but still too tight to slip.
"Now that we've established you can't pick them or slip them, I suggest you stick around if you want them off," Batman stated.
And that was a pretty handy trick, Jason decided grumpily. "Yeah, fine, you win, cheater," he grumbled, leaning up against the Batmobile in a bit of a sulk. His heart had stopped hammering quite as hard, but he was still pretty wary, unsure whether Batman was just trying to make him complacent with the promise of food.
"Where do you live?" Batman asked again as he began quickly and efficiently putting back the tires, but not before checking the wires that Jason had snipped.
"Alley a couple blocks down from here right now," Jason retorted, scuffing his shoe on the pavement a little.
"How long have you been on the street?"
"Couple years."
"Why aren't you in a foster home?"
Jason snorted. Adults. They didn't know anything. "Was sent to a group home after my mom died. Trust me; I'm much better off."
Batman gave him a shrewd look as he began putting the third tire back on. When he was done, he opened the passenger door of the Batmobile and ordered. "Get in."
Jason hesitated for only a moment before grabbing his beat-up backpack and doing what he was told. It could very well be a trap, but it was a pretty damn tempting one. And if Batman kept his word, well, who the hell got to ride in the Batmobile and then live to tell about it?
Batman made good on his promise for a hot meal and, after a bit of arguing, decided to drop Jason off at the home of a guy that owed Batman a favor. Jason was supposed to stay with Bruce Wayne for a few days while Batman decided what to do with him. Jason was far from crazy about the idea, but Batman was really damn good at backing people into a corner. With great reluctance and a heavy dose of wariness, Jason let himself be led to a bedroom by the butler. He let himself get a hot shower and changed into an old pair of pajamas that were a little too big for him, but were still too small to belong to an adult. And then he stood alone in the middle of the huge bedroom with the huge bed and he closed his eyes and shook a little bit.
They were a good ways outside of the city. It was really the main reason Jason hadn't already taken off. Yeah, he could get back into Gotham, but it'd be a hell of a hike, and he didn't want to do it if he didn't have to. Bruce Wayne wasn't home, from what the butler said, but he'd be back before morning. Jason's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he took a deep breath and tried to push the panic out of his chest. Jason didn't trust adults. He especially didn't trust rich adults. The more money a person had, the more dangerous they were and the less they could be trusted. Bruce Wayne had a hell of a lot of money, which meant he was probably one of the least trustworthy adults in Gotham. What kind of man owed Batman a favor anyway? Or was it Batman who owed Bruce Wayne a favor? Maybe that's what Jason was; payment for a favor. It was a possibility. Crooked cops traded punk street kids to mob bosses for favors all the time. Sometimes it was because the kids showed potential and could be indoctrinated into the crime family and turned into loyal little soldiers. Sometimes the reasons were much worse. Jason had worked very hard to avoid that kind of fate, yet here he stood, being traded as a favor between Batman and Bruce fucking Wayne.
He took a deep steadying breath before moving to the bedroom door and locking it. It didn't really mean anything; Wayne or the butler probably had keys and could get it open easily. Jason moved a chair in front of the door then moved swiftly to the large windows. Swinging one open, he judged the distance to the ground. It'd be a long fall, and if he broke his ankle or his leg he'd be absolutely screwed. But there was a large tree and with a good jump Jason would be able to make it and use the tree to get down. Then he could take off onto the grounds and lose anyone after him in the woods. He knew the direction back into the city. If he was lucky, he could make it. If he was unlucky… well, he didn't really want to think about that.
Jason left the window open and laid some pillows out under the blankets so that it looked like a body resting in the bed. He slipped his shoes and hoodie back on, made sure he had all his stuff in his backpack, and then he crawled under the bed, positioning himself so that he had a clear view of the door. If anyone did try to get in, the door hitting the chair would wake him and then he could bolt to the window and make his escape before anyone had a chance to stop him. It would work. He'd be okay.
It still took him several hours to fall into a very uneasy sleep.
Things changed once Jason found out that Batman was Bruce Wayne—once Bruce offered him a chance at Robin. During his time as Robin, there were only brief moments of pain and fear, both from times Jason was exposed to Scarecrow's fear toxin. Not even the times he got hurt in a fight or training seemed to be enough to warrant attention. Instead of a near constant barrage of memories of Jason struggling to survive, running, hiding, freezing, seeking shelter from torrential downpours and flashes of lightning or mounds of snow, facing off criminals and cops alike who had problems with him, taking beatings and making it away… instead of all of that pain, there was nothing. They were mostly blank years, which meant the next substantial memory was Ethiopia with the Joker. It was the worst memory by far.
And yet, as horribly awful as being completely betrayed by his birth mother was, as absolutely agonizing as being beaten almost to death by the Joker was, his awful laugh echoing in Jason's ears as he giddily beat him with a crowbar… as gut wrenching as it was to watch the timer tick down on the bomb, to know Bruce wasn't coming for him in time and to feel that resignation and despair… as terrible as all of that was, what came after was somehow worse.
Jason gasped awake to complete blackness and a world full of pain. Every ounce of his body screamed in agony, every single bit of him felt broken, and he cried out from the sudden force of it after the complete nothingness he'd been swimming in before. He gasped and shook and it took him several moments to gather himself, to force the pain to the back of his mind so he could even think. But he couldn't see anything. He didn't think he'd ever been in such complete blackness in his life, and Jason quickly shifted his arms up to check for a blindfold. Walls stopped him. His hands shook as they reached out in the blackness, testing the space, feeling along the walls. They were so close and soft under his fingertips. The air felt thin and stale and the walls were all around him, closing him in tightly. There was even a damn pillow beneath his head.
His lungs seized as it clicked in place in his mind. Coffin. He was in a fucking coffin.
As soon as that realization settled deep into his bones, the panic he'd been desperately trying to keep at bay seized control and Jason screamed, pounding on the padded lid above him. "BATMAN!"
It echoed in the small space, ringing in his ears. There was no give to the lid closing him in, and he could hear nothing outside of the walls of the coffin. It was total blackness, and total silence besides his loud, panicked breaths.
God, he was in a coffin. He was trapped in a fucking coffin. His entire body shook in more terror than he'd ever felt in his life.
He clamped down on his emotions quickly. He could feel himself starting to hyperventilate, and that was beyond bad. He couldn't afford that, trapped as he was. There wasn't enough air for that kind of panic. He needed to get control of himself now.
"Calm," he coached himself as his shaking hands immediately started searching his body and the space around him for any kind of tools. "Gotta stay calm. Easy breaths." But he wasn't in his uniform. He was in a damn suit and tie. He'd been dressed up for a funeral and there was nothing in his pockets, nothing in the coffin with him that was even remotely useful.
"Shit, fuck, shit," his voice shook and his hands trembled more as he continued to feel around him frantically. The air was already feeling thin. "Come on, Todd, think. Gotta be something. Use your damn head," he coached himself. His fingers skidded across his belt, and he immediately unbuckled it and yanked it off. It was the only thing he had.
Keep it together, he thought, trying to conserve oxygen. He counted his breaths, keeping them slow and measured as he frantically started ripping at the padding above him with the belt buckle, adrenaline lending him strength. The padding ripped away fairly easily, but the wood underneath was much more difficult. Jason was absolutely determined though. He was not going to die in this coffin. He was going to get out.
He didn't know what was happening. The last thing he remembered was the timer of the bomb ticking down to zero. Was it some kind of trick? Was it the Joker's plan all along to knock him out and bury him in a coffin? Did Bruce know? Where the fuck was he?
Jason used the belt buckle and his fingers to claw viciously at the wood above his hands, scraping his fingers raw in the process. He refused to stop, even when he broke through and dirt began to trickle onto his face. It was moist and he jerked his head to the side, shoving his fingers through the small space. He clenched his eyes shut and took in a few steady breaths before he filled his lungs as deep as they could go and wrenched the wood apart with all his strength, shoving himself up as he went.
Wet soil immediately surrounded his senses, pushing in at his eyes, mouth, nose, and ears. The panic immediately doubled in intensity and Jason desperately prayed that he wasn't far under, even as he forced his way through, clawing upwards and shoving himself up with as much power as he could muster. His lungs burned and it was pure hell as he thrashed and moved as quickly and efficiently as he could, panic and soil closing in on him from all sides. He couldn't move quickly enough, he had no idea if he was even making progress, and for a long, pained moment, Jason was positive he was going to die there, suffocated by the soil with no one ever even knowing. Then, as blackness was beginning to wrap itself around Jason's mind, one hand broke the surface of the ground, reaching into air. With a final burst of hope and adrenaline, Jason surged up, dragging himself out of the ground.
His mind blinked out even as he gasped in oxygen, and for a few moments, Jason just lay there, half in the ground, gasping in air and clinging to consciousness. It took several long minutes to drag himself into some sort of mental awareness, and even what he managed was fuzzy and incomplete. With the fading of the terror and the adrenaline, his mind was left muted, and he dragged himself completely out of the ground, barely taking notice of the rain or the fact it was night. He could at least see in the moonlight, and he shook and shuddered as he realized he was in an actual cemetery. A statue angel stood guardian of the grave Jason crawled out of, engraved on its base the words: Here Lies Jason Todd.
He shook and gagged, spitting out mud before he shoved his way away from the grave, forcing his way to the left, and hopefully out of the damn cemetery.
He'd been…
He was…
Bruce. He needed Bruce. Bruce would help him. Bruce would fix his body, make the pain go away. He needed to find Bruce.
His mind muted further. He fought to make himself focus, to look for signs of a road, to think things through, but he was so tired. Everything hurt and he could feel the edges of unconsciousness creeping around the corners of his mind. He shoved it ruthlessly away and forced his legs to keep moving.
Bruce.
When his mind sparked back into some semblance of awareness, he was distantly surprised to find himself on a road. There was a car in front of him, headlights nearly blinding him as men got out and moved towards him.
Jason collapsed, unable to keep his feet any longer.
"Bruce," he murmured with all the strength he could get out. "Bruce Wayne. Call—call Bruce Wayne," he managed out of pure desperation. The blackness was closing in again, but he tried his absolute best to shove it away. He had to get to Bruce. He had to.
The men were speaking, but he was having a hard time grasping it.
"What's your name?"
"—covered in mud. Look at his nose and ears. Must have been lying in it."
"What's in that direction?"
"Cemetery. Look at his fingers—"
"—call him."
"—said Bruce Wayne—"
Jason's eyes rolled back in his head. They were going to do it. They were going to contact Bruce. He let the blackness take him.
The next memories were a jumble of fear and pain and confusion and everything was disjointed. The only coherent thoughts in Jason's head were the occasional desperate demands for Bruce. But Bruce never came.
Jason came back to himself gasping and drowning in a lake of glowing green liquid. It attacked him from the inside out, drowning his lungs, dragging him back to the feeling of the wet earth as he forced himself from his own grave. The liquid pushed in all around him, pouring through his nose and mouth, flooding into his veins, wrapping its claws around his soul. He felt like he was being consumed from the inside out in thick, liquid fire, and his mind erupted to screaming and singing in equal parts. He couldn't take it—he shoved himself up and forward, determined to get out of the burning liquid. His hands broke the surface and hit rock. He gripped it tight and dragged himself out of the pit of flames.
The screaming and singing in his brain didn't stop and, even though he was out and on solid ground, all Jason could see was green.
He screamed in rage and pain, animalistic fury coursing through his veins, drowning out every coherent thought.
He wasn't sure how long it lasted, but eventually coherent thought and feeling returned as the green melted away from his vision. He was in a cave lit by numerous fiery torches. The liquid he'd carried out with him on his skin had pooled around him on the dirt floor leaving his bare skin dry in its absence. Nothing hurt—nothing but his mind at least. He felt whole and well for the first time in a long time, but only physically. His mind was still screaming and singing in tandem, fear and rage through his veins.
"Welcome back, Jason," a smooth, lightly accented voice spoke.
Jason jerked up to see Ra's al Ghul walking towards him, flanked by four of his assassins.
Fury overwhelmed Jason and he snarled in rage. Ra's al Ghul. He was the reason Bruce hadn't come for him, he realized with sudden clarity. Hatred boiled in his veins. "Where's Batman?!"
"Your old mentor abandoned you, left you to die and buried you in the ground, Jason. You were dead almost a year and he did nothing. He no longer deserves your loyalty. You will serve me instead," Ra's spoke smoothly.
"Like hell I will," Jason snapped, dragging himself to his feet. "I won't do shit for you, Ra's."
"I believe you mean, Master," Ra's replied calmly.
Jason's vision literally bled red with rage. "Never."
"Very well," he spoke, signaling to his assassins. Before Jason could react, all four of them were bearing down on him. He snarled and fought back, but they were skilled and he was outnumbered and completely naked with absolutely no tools at his disposal. They secured him quickly. "You'll learn soon enough, young bat."
Jason fought them every step of the way as they dragged him out of the cave holding the Lazarus Pit and through a huge, maze like compound, Ra's leading the way. Eventually they reached a room where Jason was strung up and beat with a whip before they dumped him in a cell.
He couldn't escape.
He tried for sure, and was beaten every time, but Ra's was all too familiar with Batman and his tactics. He knew everything that Jason knew, and he took the necessary precautions to make it impossible for him to escape. Jason was blindfolded and shackled whenever he was moved about the compound, and the only time he wasn't was when he was in his cell or in one of the large training rooms where he was allowed weapons for his training. The rooms were always guarded with dozens of assassins though, and he was usually worked so thoroughly he could barely stand by the time they were through. Still, Jason didn't stop trying to escape and he didn't stop mouthing off to Ra's. He was Jason Todd and he served no one. Not even Batman, and that wouldn't change no matter how many beatings he got or no matter how many times they injected him. And god, that injection was so much worse than the beatings.
They called it Prometheus and they used it way too often. He didn't know how long it had been, but it felt as if the fire had been running through his veins for years. It couldn't have been more than hours though. Jason knew he was currently strapped to a table convulsing and choking on his own gasping breaths. He knew it'd be over eventually, but before that happened it would rise and fall like waves. There were brief periods where the pain faded and coherent thought returned. That was usually when Ra's started in on his dogma—Bruce didn't deserve Jason's loyalty; he'd abandoned Jason, left him for dead, hadn't even given him the tools in which to really take care of himself. Ra's had taught him so much more—shown him what he needed to be able to survive. Jason would be so much better off serving Ra's. Ra's would take care of him, blah blah blah.
And yeah, maybe Ra's was right. Maybe Bruce didn't deserve his loyalty. Bruce had buried him, Bruce didn't even know he was alive and suffering. It'd been almost two years already and Bruce hadn't come for him. Again. So yeah, Bruce didn't deserve his loyalty, but Ra's sure as fuck didn't either. Not after all this shit. Jason would die again before he served Ra's, he was certain. He was pretty sure it was coming soon, even, based on the impatience that had been rolling off Ra's in waves lately. That impatience was a victory to Jason, even if it did make the beatings more painful. Jason was just a punk kid, but he was getting to a 700 year old immortal asshole. There was something immensely gratifying in that. He tried to focus on that as the fire tore through his blood, making every nerve ending scream.
Jason had been through this many times already. He knew by the time it was completely over, he'd be bruised and bloody where the restraints had cut into his body from all his thrashing, and he knew that by the time they dropped him in his cell he'd sleep like the dead for hours. The only plus being he'd sleep far too deeply to even dream. For now though, it was just a few minutes of coherence—a tiny break from the agony.
Voices cut through his awareness as he came back to himself. His body still shook, but it wasn't the violent convulsions. He realized his eyes had been open, and he let them shut as he took a much needed break, glad that the voices weren't speaking directly to him. He didn't feel like listening to Ra's go on and on and on right now.
"It's been nearly two years and I don't think his spirit is anymore broken than when he first came out of the Lazarus Pit," a feminine voice spoke smoothly. Jason recognized the voice as Ra's' daughter, Talia. She'd been present for a lot of his training sessions. She'd even trained him some. She was a good teacher—Jason preferred her to Ra's.
"His strength would be a valuable asset," Ra's spoke, but even he didn't sound convinced anymore.
"It is strength if you have his loyalty. Without it, it is obstinance."
"Perhaps you're right," Ra's spoke and Jason kept his eyes closed settling himself in the knowledge that he was probably going to be executed soon. He didn't care as much as he probably should.
"When you're finished with him, perhaps you can lend him to me. I think I might have use for him," Talia said calmly.
"Perhaps," Ra's replied. "If you dispose of him properly when you're done with him."
"Are you finished with him then?" she asked.
"Not just yet," Ra's replied, and Jason listened to him leave the room.
The next thing he knew there was a gentle hand at the side of his face. "Open your eyes," Talia spoke to him softly.
The hand felt like agony as the drug wreaked havoc on his nerve endings, but Jason was so used to pain now that it didn't mark much of a change. He opened his eyes and looked up at Talia's face. Her expression was gentle.
"Remain strong a little longer, Jason," she told him kindly. "Don't give in."
"Not even a danger," Jason retorted and his voice sounded like someone had ground down his vocal chords.
Talia smiled, amused and pleased. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm going to get you from my father, Jason. Then you will be free."
"What's that gonna cost me?" he rasped, because he'd never trusted a handout in his entire life.
"Nothing. Consider it payment for the suffering you've endured at my father's hands. I will give you your freedom, hide you from my father, return you to Gotham if you wish, or continue your training and grant you the means and the resources to do whatever it is you wish."
Jason's expression must have made his skepticism clear, because she smiled. "Not a good enough reason? How about I might owe your father a favor. Or, perhaps, I want your father to owe me a favor."
Now that last one Jason did believe.
She smiled at him and spoke gently. "Just a little while longer Jason."
He squeezed his eyes shut as the pain surged again. By the time the agony and the convulsing started back in earnest, she was gone.
Bruce jolted back into the present with a strangled shout.
"Steady," J'onn's deep voice rumbled as his hand gripped Bruce's shoulder. They were the only two people in the Cave, and Bruce was immensely grateful for that fact as he struggled to get control of his emotions. "It'll pass," J'onn spoke again.
Bruce jerked to his feet and immediately began to pace about the cave, completely overwhelmed and unable to sit still in the face of it.
"I know," J'onn spoke sympathetically. "I apologize. If I had been able to separate the feelings from the memory, I would have."
"No," Bruce said immediately, voice hoarse. "No, I needed to… no."
J'onn's expression was grim. "As you can imagine, Kal-el was unwilling to let Jason be imprisoned after what we experienced through his mind. He spoke to a tribunal on Jason's behalf and he was granted a pardon with the condition that he refrain from further killing. So far, he has kept his end of the deal."
Bruce could still feel phantom rage from the Lazarus Pit. He could feel how wholly it had consumed Jason. Perhaps the most dangerous part of the Pit was that it hadn't felt foreign. Jason hadn't realized he'd been influenced—the rage and the hate had felt so natural, a response to the hell he'd been through even. It had felt like a part of him, not a separate thing that had invaded his body. Bruce could still feel the shadows of it in his mind and it was suddenly so clear how his son had ended up on his path of revenge. He could see with the last memory the wheels Talia had set in motion, and he knew she had made good on her promise, rescued him from her father, and then she had set Jason up against them.
The timeline fit—Tim was well established as Robin by the time Ra's gave up on Jason and Talia had yet to drop Damian on Bruce's doorstep. With how her father had spent two years priming Jason against Bruce, all she would have had to do was show him he'd been forgotten, show him he'd been replaced, and Jason's fury would have taken direction—had taken direction, focusing on Tim. Just like Talia wanted.
Bruce felt rage bubble up and burst within his soul. She had done this, acted out against his children, allowed her father to keep and torture Bruce's son for two years. And he hadn't even known—hadn't even known that Jason was alive and suffering. And yet, despite that, he still owed her Jason's life, because Ra's would have executed him. She had kept her word and hidden Jason from her father, given him the means and resources to further his training and continue on his own. And he hated how much he owed her for that. And even though she had used Jason, she still hadn't failed him as thoroughly as he had.
Bruce collapsed back in his chair trying to force the memories of pain to the back of his mind. Jason had been betrayed and abandoned by every parent he'd ever had, including Bruce. Talia was probably a breath of fresh air in comparison. She had used him, yes, but she'd made sure he was well prepared and given him all she could. She knew his life wouldn't be in danger— there was no way Bruce would ever kill Jason, no matter what he did. And despite what she had said, he knew Talia well enough to know that she really had been trying to give him recompense for what he'd suffered at Ra's' hand. It just conveniently played into her plans as well. He was willing to bet that if he ever had managed to capture Jason, Talia would have broken him out of Arkham within the day. Compared to Sheila Haywood, she was practically a saint.
And god, that was another thing. Even after his birth mother had betrayed him, Jason had tried his best to save her. Jason's death hadn't been his fault. He'd been lured in by his mother; he'd been trying to save her. Bruce would have done the same. They all would have done the same. Jason, with his well-earned abandonment issues, hadn't stood a chance. And then she turned him over to the Joker. Bruce was momentarily intensely satisfied that the woman was dead.
Which brought him to the Joker. "J'onn," he spoke, voice still rough. His hands were even trembling minutely. "I need you to do something for me. I need you to monitor Arkham from the Watchtower. If the Joker gets free anytime soon… send Superman," he ordered. It was like the immediate aftermath of Jason's death all over again. All Bruce wanted to do was grab the clown and grind every bone in his body brutally to dust. He couldn't though, no matter how badly he wanted to. He couldn't because if he went away for murder, then what happened to Gotham? What happened to his children then?
"I understand," J'onn nodded. "It will be done."
"Thank you," Bruce replied quietly.
"You should take time to process this," J'onn cautioned. "What you just experienced was not easy. Like Jason and the other Outlaws, you will need some recovery time. I would caution against hasty decisions until you feel yourself again."
Bruce nodded, but his mind was already drifting back to Jason's memories and all the things he hadn't been prepared to see. He hadn't had any idea what all Jason had already been through when he took him in. He hadn't been at all what Jason needed. He'd been so naïve.
"I will leave you now. I believe Superman is heading back to Metropolis. Please inform him of my departure."
Bruce nodded, barely paying attention to J'onn as he left the cave.