The small diner on the corner of a nameless street in Central City wasn't much to look at, but it had everything Willis Todd needed—cheap coffee, greasy food, and a steady stream of people coming and going. No one paid much attention to him, just another face among the forgotten. That's how Willis liked it. It was safer that way, safer for him to stay invisible.
He sat in a corner booth, the morning sun cutting through the grimy windows, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. He sipped his black coffee—bitter, just the way he liked it—and picked up the newspaper the waitress had left on the counter. He wasn't much for the news these days, but old habits died hard.
Flipping through the pages, his eyes barely skimmed over the headlines. Economic downturn. Metahuman activity spikes. Usual garbage. It was all noise to him. That was until a headline caught his attention, freezing him in place.
"BRUCE WAYNE'S YOUNGEST SON ATTACKED IN BRUTAL ASSAULT."
His grip tightened on the paper, and his heart stuttered. The words blurred slightly as his mind raced to catch up with what he was reading. He slowly lowered his coffee cup, eyes fixating on the article.
There, beneath the bold letters, was a picture of Bruce Wayne—older now, sharper, yet still carrying that aristocratic air Willis had always hated. Next to him, a blurry photo of the boy, the same one Willis had seen a few years back when he'd dared to look at what his old life had become. Jason.
Except the boy wasn't his anymore, was he? He'd given that up the day he disappeared, leaving behind everything—his debts, his mistakes, and his son. Willis had convinced himself for years that Jason was better off without him, that living with Bruce Wayne had given the kid opportunities Willis could never have offered. But now, staring at the headline, a surge of anger and guilt twisted in his gut.
He scanned the article, his pulse quickening.
"Jason Wayne, the youngest son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, was found in critical condition after an attack in Gotham. Sources close to the family indicate the boy suffered severe injuries and is currently undergoing treatment. Gotham City Police remain tight-lipped about the details surrounding the incident."
Willis gripped the paper so hard it crumpled in his hands. "Jason Wayne." The name sounded foreign, wrong. That wasn't Jason's name. His boy was a Todd, not a Wayne.
His mind spiraled back to the last time he'd seen Jason. The kid had been tough even then, scrappy, with fire in his eyes. But Bruce Wayne had come along, taken him away, polished him up, and turned him into something else, something better than Willis Todd ever could.
A bitter laugh escaped Willis's lips as he stared at the words on the crumpled page. Jason Wayne. It sounded wrong in every way, like a betrayal. His boy, his son, had been turned into someone else—someone molded by wealth, power, and privilege. All the things Willis had fought against his whole life. But what good had it done him? He had run, disappeared into the cracks of the world, while Jason had been lifted up, given a life Willis could never provide.
And now… this.
Willis leaned back in the booth, trying to wrap his mind around the article in front of him. Jason had been attacked. Brutally, from the sound of it. The words critical condition echoed in his mind, sending a wave of cold panic through him that he wasn't used to. Willis had always been good at shutting down emotions when things got bad, compartmentalizing pain and regret. But this was different. This was his son.
He looked around the diner, the low hum of conversation and clinking dishes fading into the background. His grip on the paper tightened again as he went over the details in the article, what little there was. No real information, no suspects, just the fact that Jason had been found hurt—badly—and that Bruce Wayne's security and connections had kept the press from digging too deeply. That damn billionaire could control anything, even information.
But why? Why had Jason been attacked? Was this just Gotham doing what Gotham always did, swallowing up the people who lived there? Or was it something more? Willis's instincts told him there was more to this story than what was on the surface, and those instincts had never failed him before.
He had been on the run for years now, laying low, avoiding the kinds of people who wanted him dead. And there had been plenty of them. He'd gotten tangled up with all the wrong kinds of people—people who didn't care who they hurt as long as they got what they wanted. But he'd stayed hidden, made sure no one knew he was still breathing. So why now? Why had this happened to Jason?
A gnawing suspicion took hold in his chest, but he tried to push it down. There was no way his enemies could have found out about Jason, right? He'd never told anyone where his kid had ended up. He'd barely allowed himself to check up on Jason from a distance, afraid that if he got too close, he'd be dragged back into the life he'd left behind.
But the timing… it felt wrong.
Willis swallowed, the weight of guilt and dread settling heavy in his gut. Could this attack on Jason be about him? Could his old enemies have figured out Jason was his kid and decided to use him as a pawn, some twisted way of getting back at him? The idea clawed at him, refusing to let go. If Jason had been hurt because of his past, because of debts he hadn't paid or deals gone wrong… Willis couldn't live with that. He wouldn't.
His hands trembled slightly as he folded the newspaper, slipping it into his jacket pocket. The thought of heading back to Gotham had never crossed his mind before now. He had written that chapter of his life off long ago, determined to stay away from the city that had chewed him up and spit him out. But now… now he had no choice.
He couldn't let this go. He had to know what happened to Jason, had to find out if his past had finally caught up with him. And if it had… if someone had hurt his boy because of him… Willis would make them pay. He had been a lot of things in his life, but he wasn't going to stand by while his son—his only son—suffered for his mistakes.
Without another thought, Willis threw some crumpled bills onto the table and stood up, his movements sharp and determined. The waitress glanced over as he left, but Willis barely noticed. His mind was already racing ahead, trying to figure out his next move. Going back to Gotham after all these years wouldn't be easy, but he didn't care. He had to find Jason.
He stepped outside, the cold air hitting him hard as he started walking down the street. His breath formed little clouds in front of him as he went, each step taking him closer to the decision he didn't want to make but knew he had to.
Jason Wayne. The name felt like a slap every time it crossed his mind. Bruce Wayne had taken his boy, raised him like he was his own, and now Willis was left with nothing but anger and regret. But if this was about him—if his past had come back to haunt Jason—then it didn't matter who raised him. Jason was still his son.
Willis stopped at the corner, looking out over the busy street. Central City had been a refuge, a place where he could disappear, but now it felt suffocating. Gotham was calling him back, and this time, he couldn't ignore it.
"I'm coming, Jason," Willis muttered under his breath, his jaw set with determination. "I won't let this slide. I won't let them hurt you anymore."
With that, he turned, heading back toward his apartment to pack. He'd need to make arrangements, find a way back to Gotham without drawing too much attention. But one thing was certain—he wasn't staying hidden any longer.
Gotham had taken enough from him. It wasn't going to take his son. Not again.
Willis hurried back to the dingy apartment he had been calling home for the last few years. The building was falling apart, the kind of place people lived when they had no other options. Willis had kept his head down, never drawing attention, always paying his rent in cash and keeping his interactions to a bare minimum. He had survived by being invisible, blending into the cracks of Central City, and staying far away from anything that might drag him back into the chaos of Gotham.
But now, he was throwing all of that away.
As he unlocked the door to his apartment, his mind raced with a plan. He needed to be smart about this—getting back into Gotham wasn't going to be easy. There were people there who would recognize him, people who still had scores to settle. He had burned more than a few bridges on his way out of town, and it wasn't like he could just stroll back in without consequence. But for Jason? He'd take that risk.
Inside the apartment, Willis grabbed an old duffel bag from the closet and started packing. He didn't have much, just a few changes of clothes and some essentials. His hand brushed against the small stash of cash he kept hidden in an envelope taped to the back of the closet wall. He tore it free, shoving the money into his pocket. He'd need every bit of it to get himself to Gotham without attracting too much attention.
As he packed, his thoughts kept returning to Jason, to that headline in the newspaper. The anger simmered just beneath the surface, hot and sharp. The kid had been living the high life, or so Willis had thought. Living in Wayne Manor, with that billionaire father figure and all the opportunities money could buy. Willis had convinced himself that Jason was better off without him—that the boy had escaped the miserable life Willis had led.
But what good had all that wealth done now? Jason had still ended up hurt, and badly, from the sound of it.
Willis zipped up the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, casting a final glance around the apartment. He wouldn't be coming back here. Once he was in Gotham, one way or another, his life was going to change. He could feel it in his gut.
Leaving the apartment behind, Willis headed for the bus station. He needed to stay off the grid as much as possible—no trains, no flights. It had to be the bus, and even that was a risk. But Gotham wasn't far, and if he timed things right, he could be there by tomorrow morning. He walked quickly, his mind racing with the possibilities of what he might find when he got there.
What if Jason didn't want to see him? What if the kid hated him for abandoning him? Willis had never been much of a father; he knew that. He'd left when things got too dangerous, when his debts and enemies started closing in. And by the time he realized what he had lost, it was too late—Jason was gone, taken in by Bruce Wayne, the man who had probably poisoned his son against him.
But that didn't matter now. Whatever anger or resentment Jason had for him, it didn't change the fact that he was hurt. Willis didn't know what kind of game his enemies were playing, but if they had targeted Jason because of him, then Willis owed it to his son to make things right. He'd make whoever was responsible for this pay, one way or another.
The bus station was crowded, the usual mix of travelers milling about, waiting for their rides. Willis bought a ticket for the next bus to Gotham, paying in cash, as always. The cashier barely glanced at him as he slid the crumpled bills across the counter. Willis stuffed the ticket into his jacket pocket and found a bench in the far corner of the station to sit and wait.
As he sat there, watching the people move around him, the reality of what he was doing began to sink in. He was heading back to Gotham—back to the city he had sworn he'd never return to. A place full of danger, of memories he'd rather forget, of people who wanted him dead. And yet, despite the fear gnawing at him, something deeper pushed him forward.
Jason was his son. No matter how many years had passed, no matter how far Willis had run, that fact hadn't changed. And if Jason was in danger because of him, if his past had finally caught up to them both, then Willis couldn't sit by and do nothing.
The bus pulled up to the platform, and Willis stood, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He boarded without hesitation, finding a seat at the back, away from prying eyes. As the bus rumbled to life and pulled away from the station, the skyline of Central City faded into the distance.
He didn't know what he would find in Gotham. He didn't know if Jason would even speak to him, let alone forgive him. But none of that mattered right now. All that mattered was finding the people responsible for hurting his boy and making sure they paid the price.
Willis stared out the window as the bus sped down the highway, his mind racing. The city he had once called home was waiting for him, and for the first time in years, he wasn't afraid to face it.
Whatever it took, he would make this righ