27. The Lost Days
Jason took Dora's right hand and passed his fingers over the burn scar on her wrist. He burrowed his face in her palm. She caressed his stubbly cheek.
"Every scar tells a story," he said.
"I want to hear them all," Dora said.
Jason smiled and kissed her palm. "We'd be here all night. Let me get something cooking and I'll tell you a few."
He walked to the kitchen, leaving his shirt and shoes behind. Without a belt, his jeans hung low on his hips. Dora noticed yet even more scars across his back, and she shuddered. She wasn't any less attracted to him because of his disfigured skin. She was just concerned... and curious.
Something else occurred to her as followed Jason into the kitchen. "Does Bruce know you're back?"
Jason grunted while rummaging through the refrigerator. He pulled out some vegetables and sealed plastic bowls, tossing them on the counter with a bit more force than necessary.
"I'm guessing no." Dora stacked the containers more neatly.
"Good place to start though. Things between Bruce and me were sour the last time we spoke. Eight years doesn't make a difference to the note we left on. He's one of the reason I stayed gone."
Dora wondered, Was I not a good enough reason to come back? "Was it really that bad?"
Jason popped open a container and sniffed the diced broccoli inside. "Bruce is as dead to me as I am to him. He doesn't know I'm back." Jason set down the container and eyed Dora with a cold look he'd never given her before. It was... discomforting. "No one, except you and Ma, knows I'm back. And I'd like it to stay that way. Alfred, Dick, Barbara... They all cannot know."
Dora leaned back against the counter, fidgeting with a drawer handle. She had told Rochelle all about Jason. "I won't tell. I lost touch with your family and friends after you 'died.' I had nothing in common with them other than you."
Jason lowered his head, shaking it. His hand gripped the refrigerator door handle tightly, his knuckles turning white. "I tried to deny it, but I had nothing in common with them either. Looking back, I realize I was never supposed to be a part of their world. I didn't belong there. Their privilege, their rules, their holier than thou bullshit. I gave it an honest try, but eventually I got sick of it. It's part of the reason why I left and why I stayed gone. Also why I'm here now." He reached into the fridge and pulled out a container of ground beef. "This still good? There's no date on it."
Dora nodded. "Then Rochelle must've packed it today. What are you making?"
Jason was now in the pantry, pulling out hamburger buns. "Spinach burgers and steamed veggies."
Dora arched an eyebrow. To her bar owner side, it might appear like a low effort and bland meal, but to her nurse side, she saw that it was a practical and lean meal, the kind athletes-in-training ate to cut weight, but maintain muscle. A diet regimen like that would explain why Jason was so strong, yet still so lean and agile.
Rummaging through the spice rack with determination, Jason didn't look like he wanted help preparing the meal, so Dora just hopped up on the counter and watched him work. It was kind of sexy, now that she thought about it, that he could cook... it was basic, but still.
"I'm not a saint like you, Dora. Eight years ago, the last time you saw me before I disappeared, I didn't go to the Middle East with the Wayne Foundation to help the people affected by the war."
"You lied," Dora said, her tone even. She already suspected he had.
"I didn't lie. I… just didn't tell you the whole truth." He parted out the beef patties and sprinkled seasoning over them, his jaw clenching. "I went to Qurac to find my mother."
Dora didn't understand. "But your mom died here in Gotham. I was with you; I went to her service."
Jason shook his head. "It's complicated, so let me explain. Back when we were sixteen, and I was living with Bruce, your mom gave me a box of stuff my mom left behind in our old apartment upstairs." He looked up at the ceiling, nostalgia flitting across his face for a moment. "Inside the box were old family photos, papers, some useless heirlooms... But my original birth certificate was in there... and it said that Catherine Todd was not my mother."
Dora's eyes widened.
Placing a saucepan on the burner, Jason continued, "At the time, I thought it explained why she always neglected me. Why she always chose drugs and booze and hooking rather than raising me, being my mother."
Scowling, Dora didn't think that was fair. She had worked with addicts before at the Clinic. "Jason, addiction makes people do stupid things. She wasn't in control of herself... I'm sure if she hadn't—" She stopped talking, seeing a look in Jason's face that meant she wouldn't be able to convince him. "If Catherine wasn't your natural mother, then who was?"
"That's the thing. The papers were water-damaged. Your building has a leaky roof—"
"Ugh," Dora grunted, her pride a little hurt. "Don't remind me."
Jason smirked dryly. "Sorry, but my birth certificate was water-damaged. The ink of my birth mother's name was splotched out. All I could make out was that her name started with the letter S. Common knowledge was that my dad was a hound back in his day, and his little black book was in that box of heirlooms... So fast forward a bit through some amateur detective work, and I found myself a possible suspect."
"Suspect? Odd way to refer to someone who could be your mother," Dora said.
"Yes, a suspect," Jason said coldly, slapping the hamburger patties on the griddle a little too hard. "Suspected of the crime of giving birth to me, then abandoning me."
He couldn't hold Dora's gaze. There was too much shock in her face.
"Look, I just wanted answers, okay? The woman I found was named Sheila Haywood, the heiress to a pretty rich family. She was also a doctor helping people affected by the war between Qurac and Bialya. At first, I was like, 'how can someone as selfless and altruistic as this woman be my birth mother? How could she abandon me? How the hell did she get involved with my dad? He was a drug dealer and a henchman. She didn't seem his type.'
"But then I thought harder about it. Catherine came from a well-off background too and was set to be some yuppy one-percenter before she met my dad. He started out as a dealer for the preppy kids on the Upper East Side. My dad got Catherine hooked on dope, her family disowned her, and the rest is basically Sid and Nancy. I thought that maybe this woman Sheila had a similar story, and had rolled around with my dad, but got a wakeup call when she turned up pregnant with me. I connected dots and figured it was likely that Sheila paid off Catherine and my dad to take me in. Addicts would do anything for money. One-percenters would pay anything to preserve their reputations."
Dora was a little shocked. She already knew that Jason came from a broken home, but he never knew that his mom was from a affluent family and that his dad had basically ruined her life. It was literally the horror story teachers tell kids in school so they don't do drugs. But taking money to say someone else's kid is your own? It was a cynical theory, but it was plausible if nothing else. Unqualified people took in foster kids just for the money all the time in Gotham. Heck, it wasn't uncommon for birth mothers to pay foster parents child support. The city's social services were crap and didn't do much to prevent that type of exploitation.
Jason flipped the burger patties on the griddle. "So I learned Sheila Haywood was on assignment in Qurac. I wanted to meet her, but I knew Bruce would never let me go into the middle of a war-torn country, even with good intentions. And especially after the fight we had just had... so... I simply lied to him and ran away."
Dora had always thought that Bruce Wayne's support had been too good to be true. While she admired the man's good intentions, in the few instances she had met and talked to him, he sometimes came off as disingenuous. She always got an uncertain feeling of something when she looked him in the eye—a rigid sternness that didn't match the rest of his expression. It was like looking at a statue.
Jason was nothing like Wayne's previous ward, Dick Grayson, who was charming, amiable, and easy-going. Jason instead was brazen, stubborn, and defiant. Pitting two adamant, unyielding wills like Bruce and Jason against each other in a pseudo-father/son, mentor/pupil relationship was bound to be volatile. It was now too easy to imagine a falling out between them. It was easy to understand why Jason was desperate to find an alternative parental figure.
But at that time, Dora and Jason were at the height of their romance. Dora was only sixteen, yet still ready to double down on everything with him.
"Bruce I understand, but why did you lie to me?" she asked him. "You told me you were going with the Wayne Foundation to volunteer famine relief, but you didn't need to tell me that story. A mission to find your natural mother? Jay, I would have supported you every step of the way."
Jason met her eyes and endured her righteous glare. "I know, Dora, but please understand... I hid the truth from you because... I was ashamed. He went to the sink to wash his hands.
"What do you mean? Ashamed of what?"
He dried his hands. "I was ashamed at how angry I was. Of how much I resented Catherine—of how much I resented Sheila too. Both of them abandoned me. I had so much... anger and... and..." He wrung the towel in his hands. Dora could hear the fabric straining.
"I had so much hatred inside me, Dora, I'm sorry. I didn't want to go to Qurac to reunite with my birth mother. I wanted to go there to confront her, to start something. I knew how close you were to your own family, how you doted on your sister Carla, how much you adored your dad, how you worshiped your grandmother, and how hard you tried to get along with your mom, despite how judgmental she was." Jason shook his head. "You could forgive your mom for her faults, but I couldn't forgive mine, either of them. Couldn't forgive my dad either. Couldn't even forgive Bruce. I hated everyone in my world… but you." He grabbed her hand and rubbed her knuckles. "I didn't want you to see that ugly side of me, the one filled with hate, resentment, and anger toward my own family. You… had already broken up with me once over that, remember?"
Dora nodded, recalling Jason's downward spiral into crimes with innocent victims. "Stealing from me and Leslie... I can forgive that, Jason. I have forgiven you for that. You were just a kid, both your parents had just died, and you bouncing around foster homes. We all have an angry ugly side, it's part of what makes us human. When we're hurt, we try to protect ourselves. That's why I took you back, back then." She slid off the counter and hugged him. "No matter what you felt, what you were going through, I would've been there for you, Jason."
He squeezed her tightly and kissed her forehead. "I wish I'd been smart enough to realize that back then, but... it wouldn't have mattered." He pulled away.
"What do you mean?"
Going back to the stove, Jason checked on the food. "Long story short, it turned out Sheila Haywood was not my birth mother. She was just another criminal contact in my dad's black book. She was actually in Qurac to smuggle weapons into the warzone, using the relief effort as a front."
Dora couldn't believe it. Every parental figure Jason had ever had let him down. "Then who is your natural mother?"
"Catherine Todd was my birth mother all along. The water-damage on my birth certificate blotted out her name, but what I thought was an initial letter S was just a smudged up C." Jason lowered the heat on the burners. "My mother, the woman he gave birth to me, really did choose drugs over me. It reaffirmed everything. Made it hurt again, fresh but a thousand times worse."
Dora contemplated that for a moment. Something was missing. "Wait, but... then what happened? How did you... 'die?'"
Jason grabbed a couple plates. "While trying to find Sheila Haywood, I dug too deep into her criminal operations. When I approached her to ask about my birth, she realized I knew too much. She handed me off to the terrorists she was working for."
Jason paused setting their places, closing his eyes. His body trembled for a moment, his jaw clenching. She could see the veins in his temples pulsating. "They tortured me within an inch of my life. Laughing while they did it."
Dora's gaze went back to his torso, roaming over the scars there, remembering what he had said. Broken ribs. Crowbar. Qurac. Eight years ago.
Jason's eyes stayed closed, clenching, while his muscles bulged in tension as he recalled the scene. "They contacted Bruce for a ransom."
As he opened his eyes, Dora recoiled. She could almost see fire in them.
"He did nothing," Jason growled.
CRACK.
The plate Jason was holding in his hands shattered. "They locked me in a building full of Quracki supplies and blew it up."
"Jason," Dora said, rubbing his arm, trying to soothe him.
He looked down at the broken dinnerware he was holding, as if he had just been teleported back to reality from whatever hell he was imagining.
"Sorry." He let go of the broken ceramic with trembling hands. Thankfully, he hadn't cut himself. Dora grabbed a hand broom and started sweeping up the shards.
"We can take a break if you want. You don't have to keep going," Dora offered. As much as she wanted to hold Jason to his word and find out what happened to him the past eight years... she didn't want to trigger another episode of what was obviously post-traumatic stress.
"It's okay, just let me finish up here," Jason said. He spent the next few minutes putting together the food he had cooked, while Dora spent the time cleaning up the broken plate off the floor.
When she was done, Jason presented Dora with a hamburger stacked with spinach, tomato, and cheese, with a side of steamed carrots, green beans, peppers, and broccoli.
Dora didn't realize how hungry she was until her stomach panged just looking at the meal in front of her, however lean and practical it was. Their little tussle before this conversation had worked up an appetite bigger than she thought. She picked up the burger and had a bite.
Her eyes widened. It was perfectly cooked, not too well done, not too rare. Juicy, without being pink and bloody. The savory seasoning offset the bland, neutral taste of the spinach and tomato.
They ate quietly for a few minutes, their minds too occupied with their own thoughts of the past for the silence between them to be awkward.
Eventually, as Dora finished her burger and started on the steamed veggies, she stole a glance at Jason. She couldn't help but look down at the massive burn scar on his chest. Having taken some counseling courses in college, Dora knew a technique for helping someone process traumatic memories. It was reminding them how they overcame the trauma, how they rebounded, how it did not defeat them, but instead made the stronger. Remembering from that angle might help Jason continue the story.
"How did you survive?" she finally asked, swallowing her bite. "Being locked in an exploding building, I mean?"
"I barely survived," Jason said, then chewed on his food for several moments, gathering his thoughts. "That explosion was bad. Bad enough for the local M.E.s and even Bruce to misidentify some other body in the rumble as mine. Bad enough that surviving gave me these burns." He indicated the scorched white skin on his chest. "And severe brain trauma."
Dora almost choked on her food. "Wait, you mean you didn't escape the blast? You actually took the full force of it?"
"Yeah, I did." Jason tilted his head forward and parted his hair a few centimeters behind his forehead. The scar that bisected his eyebrow and stretched across his forehead ended about an inch behind his hairline. Dora noticed that the roots of his bangs were white, meaning the trauma changed his hair color. He must have dyed his fringe black to match the rest of his hair.
Jason tossed back his hair to cover the scar again. "The explosion literally scrambled my brain and pulverized my bones.
"But I survived. I was in a vegetative state for months. I wasn't dead, but I wasn't alive either. Doctors said I had minimal brain function... but…
"Dora, I dreamed.
"I was trapped in my own mind. I relived my memories—a dozen times over. The best, but especially the worst. All that I loved, and all that I resented as well. I was in and out of hell. It felt like drowning, and the only thing that even resembled a breath of air were memories of you... but also... revenge. . . I dreamt of making those terrorists pay for taking all that away from me."
The food on Jason's plate was half-eaten, but Dora could tell by how he stared at the wall over her shoulder that he wasn't hungry anymore. She picked up their plates and trashed the leftovers.
Thinking about what he said, something didn't sit right with Dora. "Are you sure you were in a vegetative state?" she asked. "A coma is one thing, but a vegetative state means the patient is almost brain-dead. People hardly ever recover from that. And those that do, don't ever function normally again."
"Well, nobody expected me to recover," Jason continued. "But an organization found me and used some whacky Eastern medicine on me. Some homeopathic remedies they said was arcane magic, if you want to believe it. Science or magic, whatever it was, it worked. Not saying there wasn't a fair bit of physical therapy involved, but I eventually recovered, and then some. Clean bill of health."
Dora was always a skeptic when it came to homeopathy, but she knew there have been fringe studies that backed up the effectiveness of traditional Eastern medicine. "What was this organization?" Dora put the dishes in the sink.
Jason went to the fridge and pulled out some cans of soda. "They called themselves the League of Assassins."
Dora paused, her finger just about to bend the soda can's tab. "The League of what?"
"Assassins," Jason said clearly. "The Hashashin. The League of Shadows. The Faceless Men. Ever played Assassin's Creed? Watched John Wick? Those guys. They're real."
Dora was shaken.
Everyone and their grandma had heard urban legends surrounding the League of Assassins, a group of hitmen responsible for the mysterious deaths of high-profile, highly-influential individuals, whether it be politicians, businessmen, crime-lords, or celebrities—all over the world, all throughout history, since the Crusades. But only crackpot tin-foil hat wearing conspiracy theorists still believed they existed today. With the Justice League as vigilant as it was, it was hard to believe they would let such a covert and pervasive organization of murderers exist. Yet...
If the Green Lantern Corps and HIVE and Martians and Kryptonians and Atlanteans and Amazons existed, then why couldn't the League of Assassins?
"The League of Assassins helped you recover from brain trauma?" Dora finally asked, deciding to go with his premise. "If everything people say about them is true, then why would they want to help you?"
"I was a prime candidate for their organization. In their eyes, I was screwed over and nearly killed by the corrupt status quo they make their mission to topple. I was a John Doe, someone who everyone believed was already dead. No name, no history, no attachments," Jason said. "I wasn't like Dick, who everyone knew was the son of famous circus performers and Bruce Wayne's heir apparent. Bruce legally adopted Dick, toted him around like a lapdog for the better part of a decade. Instead, Bruce fostered me in relative secrecy, and for less than two years. Nobody knew or even cared who I was."
"I cared," Dora said quietly.
"I know that now, but the League led me to believe otherwise," Jason grunted in frustration, drilling a finger into his temple. "That's how they make you buy into their ideology, their dogma. They isolate you. Make you believe attachments are selfish. Offer you a fresh start, a new life with a noble purpose, surrounded by people that believe the same. In the righteous mission."
"Sounds like a cult," Dora said.
Jason huffed. "That's exactly what it fucking was. They're zealots. The grunts and rank-and-file, anyway. I didn't stay with them for long, but I kept in contact with some of the more open-minded officers that didn't drink all the Kool-Aid. Or served it up as a means to an end."
It was starting to make sense now. If the rumors about the League of Assassins were true, and Jason had been recruited... "The League... They turned you into the Red Hood?"
"They didn't turn me into anything. They helped me see the world with open eyes. Yes, they kill people, but only those too powerful and corrupt, only people who profit on the misery of others. They're vigilantes like me, but a whole network, one that spans the world, on every continent, in every country. Far more efficient and precise than the Justice League, who always seem to worry about aliens and New Gods and other bullshit. The true threat to the world is itself, its own corruption.
"The League's members taught me almost everything I know, and what they couldn't teach, they outsourced. I traveled the world, in deep cover, learning from career criminals how they do what they do, while dismantling them from the inside. I learned martial arts, guns, vehicles, chemicals, explosives, theft, torture, assassination, racketeering, extortion, smuggling, money laundering... all from people I would eventually destroy."
Dora studied the countless scars on Jason's rugged torso again. He was basically saying that every single teacher he ever had, he had betrayed. Years undercover in the criminal underworld were etched into his skin. "So what you're doing in Gotham... You've done elsewhere too?"
"Not to this scale, not on my own."
"But you're not part of the League anymore?"
Jason smiled. "Have you ever known me to bow to authority? Especially the kind that wants blind mindless zealots as followers? No fucking way. Once I felt I learned everything I could, I left."
"They don't sound like the type of group someone can just quit."
"You're right, not everybody can, but they knew better than to try and stop me. They trained me after all."
"So then. that's how you got all those scars... and learned how to fight." And how to kill. Dora swallowed, but she continued. "But what exactly led you to become the Red Hood? The name is vaguely familiar. I mean, I know there was a Red Hood Gang active in Gotham about 15 years ago, but..."
"I was a member for a while when I was kid," Jason said. "The thing about the Red Hood Gang is that it comes and goes. Throughout Gotham's history, a version of the Red Hood Gang pops up every so often when people want it to. There's also no leader. Anyone could be the Red Hood, it was a title. Members traded off wearing the cowl every job. If someone died wearing the Red Hood, someone else would take their place, propagating the myth that the Red Hood was immortal, that he could not die. Urban folklore says the gang is supposed to represent how gangs in Gotham will never be stamped out." Jason took a sip of his soda. "I stole that idea, spun it, and made it mine. The Red Hood was not a man, it was a symbol, an idea. And you can't kill an idea. Anyone with a red hoodie or hat can push and spread it.
"Red is the color of life and warmth, Dora, of love and anger, of fire and blood. It's the color of revolution, of defying corrupt authority-"
"... which doesn't happen without bloodshed," Dora finished for him. "You sound like a..."
"... terrorist?" Jason arched an eyebrow.
Dora hesitated.
"Yeah," Jason said, "ever noticed that all revolutionaries are called terrorists by their oppressors?"
That hit a sore spot for Dora. "You blow things up, Jason! I've lost count how many buildings you've razed to the ground! Not to mention how you like to cut off people's heads just to send a message! That's the very fucking definition of terrorism!"
Jason gave Dora a calm, steely look. "Did you hear me deny it?"
Dora gulped.
"Some people need a healthy dose of fear as a wake up call. Do you understand?" Jason asked her. "Batman doesn't scare them. I do."
Dora couldn't meet his eyes.
Jason put down his drink and walked over to her. Dora froze, but the moment his hands touched her arms, she melted into him. His touch began to soothe the anxious conflict in her heart.
"Look, Dee," he said, his chin resting softly on her forehead. "I came back to Gotham hoping to save it. I didn't expect to run into you." Jason lowered his eyes to hers. "I honestly hoped you would've moved on and left this godforsaken city behind, especially after that fucking earthquake. I thought you'd become a doctor somewhere else—like Star City, as far as you can get from Gotham."
"I could never leave, Jason. My family is here." She reached up and cupped his cheek. "You had the same chance. You were away from Gotham for eight years… but you came back. It's the same reason why I can't leave. There are people worth taking care of here."
Jason smiled, a glint in his eyes. "See, that's what I love about you."
Dora bit her lip but held his gaze. Don't say that, Jason. Not yet.
Jason silently seemed to accept that. Dora knew Jason; at least this much of him hadn't changed since the last time they were together. He didn't care if she loved him as long she knew that he loved her.
For Jason, that much was enough. For now.
A sudden thought popped into Dora's head. She cleared her throat and pulled away. She walked out of the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" Jason called out to her.
"I'm going to check out what you did to my car." She picked up his jacket from the floor and tossed it to him, trying to put a playful smirk on her lips. "You better not have fucked it up, Jay."
Notes
Long author's note ahead!
This chapter draws heavily from "Red Hood: The Lost Days," hence the title. I tried to tweak and spin a few things to make it align with my DC universe (designated Earth-R109, fyi).
It was also pretty fun to point out that the League of Assassins from DC, the ones from Assassin's Creed, and the Continental from John Wick are all based on the same real life organization called the Hashashin, or the Order of Assassins. Look them up, they're real.
Also, a few people on this site and others have asked me what my fancast/faceclaims are for the characters, so here we go.
Jason Todd is played by Jensen Ackles, because who else? When I write Jason, I'm always hearing his voice. Can't help it. I'm sure for most of us, the Under the Red Hood movie sucked us into this fandom. Curran Walters from Titans is a decent Jason, but only as Robin, not Red Hood. Both are legit fans of Red Hood, tho.
The only other person I've considered to play Jason in my head is Alex Hogh Anderson, who stars as Ivar in Vikings. Look him up. He plays that a lot like I imagine Jason: sarcastic, aloof, and self-righteous, but also dark, intense, and ready to snap when pushed. Plus he's got the cold blue eyes I keep mentioning Dora likes, lol.
Dora Silva is played by your pick of either Gina Rodriguez or Bixton Midnight. I picked both because their Latin ethnicity, short statures, and body types match Dora's in my head. Gina Rodriguez is the wholesome pick. She's the actress that plays Jane the Virgin, and exudes the stressed-out hard-working lost-in-love nerd vibe. Bonus, she's Puerto Rican, which aligns with Dora's Santa Priscan ethnicity. The less wholesome pick is Bixton Midnight, a pin-up model and Suicide Girl from my hometown who rocks her glasses and has a bunch of tattoos. She evokes Dora's more confident, darker, and sexier side. Decide which plays Dora in your imagination.
I can continue fancasting the minor characters in my next author's note, if you'd like. Just let me know who you're curious about in the comments.
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