Jason stared at the worn letter in his hand. The handwriting was jagged, familiar in a way that twisted his stomach into knots. He hadn't seen that script in years, not since before his life as Robin—before he'd taken his first steps toward becoming Red Hood.
"Jason, we need to talk. Meet me at the docks. 9 PM. I'm not asking for anything. I just want to talk."
Jason's jaw clenched as he tossed the letter onto the table in his living room. He didn't trust Willis—couldn't trust him. Too many memories of fists flying and his mother crying kept that from ever happening. Yet, curiosity gnawed at him. What could his father possibly want? What had dragged Willis out of the shadows of Jason's past now, of all times? He was suppose to be dead.
The clock ticked toward 8:30 PM. He still had time to back out, to toss on his helmet and disappear into the night instead. But something about the tone in the letter made Jason pause.
His father hadn't asked for money, or help, or anything that reeked of a setup. It was just to talk. Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a part of him that needed closure. Or, at least, to find out what the hell Willis Todd wanted after all these years.
Bruce probably already knew. The Batcave had ears everywhere, but Jason hoped, just this once, they'd give him space.
Grabbing his leather jacket, Jason headed toward the door. As he stepped into the cool Gotham night, he felt the familiar weight of his guns holstered beneath the jacket. He wasn't stupid. He didn't trust his father, not after the abuse Willis had inflicted on his mom—and on him. But he was curious, and that was enough to make him show up.
The docks were as grim as Jason remembered—quiet, rundown, with an ever-present mist rolling in from the water. His boots made soft thuds on the worn wooden planks as he scanned the area. Nothing looked out of place, but Jason's instincts were on high alert. He moved cautiously, staying in the shadows.
"Jason," came a gravelly voice from the darkness.
Jason stiffened. It was him.
Willis stepped out from behind a stack of crates, looking older, more weathered, but still the same. His eyes were tired, his face lined with regret. He held up his hands, a gesture Jason didn't miss.
"Don't come any closer," Jason warned, keeping his distance. "Say what you came to say."
Willis lowered his hands, nodding. "I know you don't trust me. Hell, I wouldn't trust me either. I just… I just needed to see you. To explain."
"Explain what? That you were a piece of shit who beat mom? That you weren't even man enough to hold a job so you found work with all the wrong people knowing damn well that put us all in danger."
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Willis said quietly. "I know I don't deserve it. But… I've changed. I've been clean for years now. I've been trying to make things right."
Jason scoffed, crossing his arms. "And you think showing up out of nowhere is gonna fix everything? You think one talk is gonna undo all the damage you did?"
"No." Willis's voice cracked. "I know it won't. But I had to try."
Jason's eyes narrowed, searching his father's face for signs of manipulation, for any hint that this was some kind of trap. But all he saw was a broken man, a shadow of the father he'd once known.
"You should've tried when Mom was still alive," Jason growled. The words burned like acid on his tongue. Willis flinched, and for a brief moment, Jason thought he saw something akin to pain in his father's eyes. But it was too late for sympathy. Too late for everything.
"I'm sorry, Jason. For everything. But I'm here now, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make amends. Even if that means you never forgive me."
Jason's heart pounded in his chest. Part of him wanted to scream, to punch Willis in the face and storm off. The other part of him—something deeper, buried under years of anger and hurt—wanted to believe him.
"I'll never forget what you did," Jason said, his voice cold. "But I'll hear you out. Once."
Willis nodded, his shoulders sagging in relief.
"Let's get this over with," Jason muttered, keeping his guard up. He wasn't sure what his father's endgame was, but he wasn't about to let his guard down. Not for Willis Todd. Not for anyone.
—-
Later, Jason sat in the corner booth of a diner on the edge of Gotham, staring out the window as the rain tapped softly against the glass. The diner was almost empty, save for a couple of late-night stragglers sipping on their coffee. It had been a week since their last encounter at the docks, and the entire time, Jason couldn't shake the feeling of conflict eating away at him. He wanted to believe Willis had changed, that maybe the man who had abandoned him and his mother was somehow different. But after everything he'd been through—after the abuse, the neglect, and the pain—it was impossible to let go of the distrust that had become second nature.
"Let's just get to the point. Why'd you ask me to meet you here?"
Willis sighed, rubbing his hands together nervously. "I… I wanted to ask for a second chance. I know I don't deserve it, and I know you've got every right to hate me. But I'm trying. I really am."
Jason's eyes narrowed. "You want a second chance? For what? To play 'Dad' after all these years? You think just because you've cleaned up your act, it erases everything?"
"No, I know it doesn't," Willis said, his voice shaking slightly. "But I've changed. I've been going to meetings, staying clean, trying to live right. I know I failed you, and your mother. But I don't want to die with this on my conscience. I want to make things right with you."
Jason's jaw tightened as he stared at the man in front of him. A part of him—the part that had always longed for a father's love—wanted to believe him. But the rest of him, the hardened, cynical side that had seen the worst of Gotham and survived it, couldn't trust so easily.
"I don't know if I can ever trust you," Jason said finally. "Not after everything. Not after what I saw you do to Mom. You don't just get a clean slate because you say you've changed."
Willis nodded, swallowing hard. "I understand. I do. But I'm asking you to give me a chance to prove it. I don't expect you to forgive me overnight. Hell, I don't even know if you ever will. But I need to try. For you. For me."
Jason looked away, his fists clenched under the table. He hated this feeling—the pull between wanting to believe that people could change and the deep-rooted belief that they couldn't. He had seen the ugliest parts of humanity, and it had left scars that ran deeper than any physical wound.
"I'll think about it," Jason muttered. "But don't expect me to just welcome you back into my life."
Willis nodded, looking more relieved than he had any right to. "That's all I can ask."
—-
Across the city, in the light of the Batcave, Bruce Wayne stood silently, staring at the screen in front of him. He had been tracking Jason ever since the first meeting with Willis at the docks. Seeing Jason with Willis was a sight that stirred something deep in Bruce's chest—an overprotectiveness that he could never quite shake when it came to Jason. He knew what kind of man Willis Todd had been. The abuse, the abandonment—it had shaped Jason's life in ways that Bruce had tried to undo for years. The last thing Jason needed was to reopen those wounds by letting Willis back in.
But what could Bruce do? He could easily confront Willis, force him to leave Gotham for good. But he knew how that would end. Jason would see it as interference, a violation of his trust, and Bruce couldn't afford to push Jason further away. Their relationship had been fragile enough as it was.
Alfred approached, his voice steady as always. "You seem troubled."
Bruce didn't respond at first, his eyes still on the screen. "I don't trust him, Alfred. Willis Todd doesn't deserve to be anywhere near Jason. But if I step in, I know Jason will hate me for it."
Alfred nodded knowingly. "Master Jason has always been independent. He values the freedom to make his own decisions, as you well know. Perhaps, in this case, the best course of action is to let him decide for himself. Even if it means watching from the sidelines."
Bruce's hands tightened into fists. Every instinct told him to protect Jason, to step in and put an end to whatever Willis was planning. But Alfred was right. Jason had to make this decision on his own.
"I can't just sit by and do nothing," Bruce muttered, more to himself than to Alfred.
"You won't be doing nothing, sir," Alfred replied. "You'll be trusting Master Jason to handle it. He's not the same boy he once was. He's grown into a man who can take care of himself."
Bruce exhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving the screen. "I know. But it doesn't make it any easier."
As he watched Jason and Willis talk, Bruce knew that this was one battle he couldn't fight for him. But if Willis Todd made one wrong move, Bruce would be there.
