Chapter Text
Stephanie Brown waited on the curb outside Morgan High School in the foggy morning air, two envelopes clutched to her chest. She was buzzing with excitement.
Bruce’s Range Rover pulled up thirty seconds later than usual and Steph almost lost her mind in her impatience. Before Jason could get out, Steph ducked into the backseat.
“Stephanie —“ Bruce started.
“One sec,” she said, grinning and shoving one of the envelopes at a confused Jason. “Merry Christmas.”
Jason quirked an eyebrow but accepted the gift. He flipped it over, and the writing on the front made him pause and look back at Steph, whose heart pounded in her chest.
“What’s this?” He whispered, barely audible.
“Open it up, dummy,” she said, bouncing.
Jason tore the envelope open. Already, there were tears in his eyes. “What’d you do? When did you do this?”
“What is it?” Bruce asked, angling himself so he could look over Jason’s shoulder.
“Early acceptance to Gotham City University,” Jason whispered. One moment he was in the front seat, staring at the acceptance letter, the next he had launched himself into the back, tackling Steph against the seat.
“You’re squishing me!” Steph squealed, but she was laughing, god, she had never laughed so hard.
Steph wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed even harder. To assert dominance. Definitely not because Jason Todd was her favorite person on the planet. For sure.
“What the fuck, Brown,” he said into her hair.
“You were having a shitty time,” she said, trying to shrug. “I used the essay you wrote about Hamlet.”
“What’s the other envelope?” Jason asked after a minute.
“Oh,” Steph said, grinning harder, somehow. “I got in too.”
“We’re going to college,” Jason whispered, like it was a secret or some other precious things. Like, if he said it too loudly it would be taken away.
“We’re going to college,” Steph said. Firmly. With certainty. With authority.
By the time they left the Range Rover, Jason’s eyes were red and they were five minutes late for first period. Steph didn’t care.
After school, Jason practically sprinted to the convenience store. Joy overrode apprehension, overrode fear, and he barrelled into the shop. There, sitting behind the register, was Mr. Singh.
He looked a little more drawn than he had been before, a few more gray hairs littered his hair and beard, but his face lit up just the same, when he saw Jason.
“Hey,” Jason said, grinning.
“Come here, let me look at you,” Mr. Singh said, grinning.
Jason brought himself within arm’s reach and Mr. Singh dragged a gentle hand over his short hair and then pulled him into a hug.
“Are you okay?” Jason whispered into Mr. Singh’s shoulder, after a long while. He smelled like curry and it was the best scent Jason could imagine.
“I am fine, thanks to you,” he whispered back. “Are you okay?”
“I got into GCU,” Jason said, because he didn’t know how to answer a question like that.
Mr. Singh pulled away, just enough to hold Jason by the shoulders and look him in the eyes. To smile.
“Of course you did,” he said, and a tear worked it’s way down his cheek.
It was only one tear, but that was all it took. In a matter of seconds they were both crying, and Mr. Singh pulled Jason close again.
“Your mother would be so proud of you, Jason.”
Jason laughed wetly, pulling away to drag a sleeve across his face. “She always wanted to go to college.”
“She always knew you would make it, she had every faith in the world that you could do it,” Mr. Singh whispered and there was a terrible, wonderful, unbearable kindness in his eyes. An unwavering fondness in his voice.
“Thank you,” Jason said and he hoped the man would know that he meant for everything.
“You should go tell Ella. Word got around, about Saint Monica’s. There are a lot of folks worried about you.”
Jason’s voice cracked when he said, “Oh yeah?”
“You are loved, Jason,” Mr. Singh said.
Jason managed to restrain himself from asking why?
He found Ella on her usual corner and she immediately burst into tears, flinging her arms around his neck.
“What did they do to your beautiful hair,” she lamented and Jason laughed and waited until she was ready to let go.
“Guess what?”
Ella pulled away and eyed him warily. “What?”
“I got into GCU,” he said it softly, like a secret.
Ella screamed and the other girls turned in alarm. She bounced in her stilettos, whirling to face the others and shouted, “Jason’s going to college!”
“Oh, my god,” Jason said, as what felt like half of the Alley descended upon him with hugs and kisses and exclamations.
It was late, by the time Jason managed to extract himself from the Alley and take the bus into Bristol. Late enough that the only person home was Alfred, and he had likely turned in for the night.
Jason wandered down to the Cave, Stephanie tucked into the crook of his arm, purring madly. He felt like an intruder in the cavernous space. Still, he pushed the feeling down, and dropped into the chair in front of the computer.
The screens were either off or locked and for a moment Jason considered going back upstairs. Then the main screen flipped on by itself, a message illuminated in icy blue text.
Oracle: Want to watch?
Jason hovered his fingers over the keyboard, considering.
Blue Jay: watch what?
Jason snorted at the code name.
Oracle: Found out what Mask had on Nakano (let’s just say I erased an trace of some very interesting photographs from the universe). The team is moving in on Mask.
“No shit,” Jason whispered.
Blue Jay: what kind of interesting are we talking?
Oracle: Nothing illegal, just bad for reelection
Blue Jay: patch me in, captain
Immediately, the chat shrunk into the corner of the screen and a video feed filled the remaining space, splitting into half a dozen little screens. Most of them were cowl footage, the others were cycling through camera footage Babs had hacked.
Jason watched the bats move with tactical efficiency through a warehouse. Through one feed, Jason watched Batman fight his way through a hallway, Spoiler at his back.
They weren’t the perfect pair, not the way Nightwing and Robin were, on the next screen over — but Steph held her own. She was good, Jason realized. Better than he’d given her credit for.
Jason watched as the two duos converged on an office where Black Mask was hastily grabbing his shit. He was, apparently, intending on fleeing out the window.
Batman shot his grapple at the man and he went down hard, laughing.
“Aw, come on, Bats,” he shouted, “tell Wayne it’s no hard feelings about the kid, I was just bored.”
Jason’s blood went cold and then all of the screens went black. Stephanie popped her head up, looking for the source of the shouting. She quickly gave up, falling back asleep in Jason's lap almost immediately.
Blue Jay: what the fuck, O
Oracle: That’s enough for tonight.
Blue Jay: what’s he talking about?
Oracle: He arranged the coup for the day he saw Bruce had an appointment with the Commissioner, just to mess with him. It has nothing to do with you personally.
Blue Jay: did he have anything to do with the kids at the hideout?
Oracle: No, sorry. That was just dumb luck, unfortunately.
Jason closed out of the chat, frowning. He didn’t need to know that both Two Face and Black Mask knew who he was. What was next, the Joker? Scarecrow?
He stayed in front of the computer, ignoring Babs, who was sending gifs of cats every few minutes, petting his real cat until the batmobile returned.
All Tim wanted was to take a long shower and go to bed. He didn’t want or expect Jason to be scowling in the Cave when they got back.
“What’re you doing up still?” Dick asked, giving Jason’s chair a little push, spinning him in a slow circle.
"Why are you sitting like a movie villain?" Tim asked. Jason looked down at the cat in his lap and then turned back to Dick.
“Got back late,” he said, grabbing the console to stop the spinning, “O asked if I wanted to watch.”
“Did she?” Bruce asked, shooting the computer a questioning look, like it was Babs incarnate. It wasn’t impossible, to think she was watching the Cave as they spoke, though, so it wasn’t completely ridiculous.
“Why the face?” Tim asked, without meaning to. He always had a terrible time filtering his thoughts when he was tired. Luckily, Jason didn’t seem to take offense.
“He didn’t have anything to do with the hideout?” Jason asked softly, more to himself than anyone else.
“Hmm?” Dick hummed, only half listening, already mostly out of his Nightwing suit. Bruce had disappeared down the hallway to the showers.
“There’s no conspiracy,” Jason continued. “No bad guy trying to target the kids. Something bad happened because sometimes bad things just happen?”
Dick was looking at him now, eyes concerned, mouth twisted. Tim blinked a few times, trying to process Jason’s disappointment.
“Did you want it to be a conspiracy?” Tim asked, sincere.
“No,” Jason said, then, after a moment, “Maybe. At least if it was a conspiracy it would mean something. It doesn’t mean anything? Either way, something bad happened but if it was part of some sick fuck’s master plan or whatever, at least it would mean that this isn’t status fucking quo.”
“You of all people know that’s just what it’s like,” Tim said. “But we’re trying to do something about it.”
It was a bit of a miscalculation on Tim’s part, bringing up Robin. He realized as soon as he said it.
“You shouldn’t be doing shit,” Jason muttered.
“I’m helping!”
“You’re twelve.”
Tim said, “Fourteen.” As if that was the important part. “Gods, Jason, you’re such a hypocrite sometimes.”
“Tim,” Dick said, almost a warning.
“Oh?” Jason challenged, a dangerous glint in his eye. Tim powered through. It helped that Jason's hands were full of cat.
“No, Dick, he literally went out during fucking Arkham breakouts to a warehouse of kids. He heard a familiar address on a police scanner and put three Joker goons in the hospital. He fought an orderly to protect a kid. You can’t say that’s a whole lot different from what I’m doing. At least I’m wearing fucking kevlar.”
“Oh,” Jason said, slouching severely in his chair, head tilted back so he was looking at the ceiling.
“I’m going to bed,” Dick said.
They watched him go and then Tim sighed, long and hard. “I just want to help people.”
“I know,” Jason sighed.
“I get that you feel like it’s different, because you don’t think you have a choice. But, Jason, I don’t have a choice either. I know I can do good things so I have to.”
Tim stared intently, unsure why he needed this win, why he needed Jason to understand. Jason continued to stare at the ceiling.
It was infuriating, being treated like a stupid little kid. Tim’s parents had instilled adult-like manners in him since he was old enough to walk. He was using formal greetings when he was in diapers, he knew fork etiquette when he was six, for fuck’s sake.
He didn’t need someone to infantilize him now, not when he didn’t need it. He didn’t want to be a kid, anymore. Tim had outgrown that a long time ago.
“Oh shit,” he said, eventually. Jason tucked his chin and raised an eyebrow. “You want to protect me, too.”
Jason scowled. “Hardly.”
“No, you totally do! You’re acting like I’m one of the kids at the hideout!”
Tim was grinning, now. Somehow, Jason slouched even further in his chair.
“I appreciate it, really,” Tim said, surprised to find he actually meant it. “But I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” Jason said, and he just sounded sad. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
Jason’s phone buzzed against the console and he grabbed it, almost an automatic response, but froze when he looked at the screen.
Tim was surprised, when Jason answered it with a soft, “Hello?”
“Who the hell is calling you at six in the morning? Christ, it’s six in the morning.”
Jason waved his hand and Tim shut up. Jason listened for a minute, frowning, before he hung up.
“Who was it?” Tim asked.
“Automated message,” he murmured, already standing up, Stephanie the cat gathered in his arms. “I’m going to sleep, goodnight.”
Tim blinked, surprised. “Did I do something?” He asked, mostly by accident.
Jason stopped just short of the stairs and came back to stand in front of him. “No, sorry, I just got a call that I have to pick up Willis’ ashes tomorrow or they’ll throw him away. So I’m going to sleep, for a bit.”
Jason was gone before Tim could say so much as an oh or, even better, sorry to hear that. He sat for a little while, before shuffling over to the showers.
Bruce and Jason drove to the crematorium. For the second time in as many months, Jason signed for one of his parents’ ashes and carried a too-small box outside.
This time he sat in the passenger seat of Bruce Wayne’s Range Rover and they drove to Gotham Harbor in silence.
Jason had not intended to bring Bruce. But then, he’d been about to leave and his feet took him to Bruce’s study and the words had tumbled out of his mouth (will you come with me?) and Bruce had closed his laptop and grabbed his keys (yes of course) before he even knew where their destination was.
It took Jason a while, to get out of the car. He sat, his father balanced on his knees, and stared out the windshield, ignoring the look Bruce was giving him.
We can have a funeral, if you want, Bruce had said, on the way to the crematorium. For both of them.
Jason had just shaken his head. It was selfish, probably, to not allow anyone else a chance to say goodbye. Unfortunately for everyone else, Jason was not willing to deal with any of those feelings, at the moment.
So they sat in silence on the damp wood, sharp air biting at their faces. Jason absentmindedly twirled a pocket knife. He was meant to open the box. He was meant to pour the ashes into the harbor.
The thing was, he had already done this. Had already said his goodbyes. But there was this box on his knees and it hadn’t entirely set in that it was his dad. That it was Willis Todd, because as far as Jason’s mind was concerned, Willis was still at the bottom of the harbor.
Jason stabbed the box and ignored the look Bruce was giving him and tore open the plastic bag inside and dumped it into the water.
There was a small jar in his pocket. He remembered the idea to keep a little bit of the ashes at the last minute and jerked the bag upright. Maybe a tablespoon of Willis remained in the bag and Jason stared at it.
It had made sense, to keep some of Catherine. Her love was easier to remember, her cruelty largely out of her hands.
He’d already let go of Willis, was the problem. Willis, and the Sunday morning cartoons and the ice cream and the laughing. Willis, and the man he could have been. Jason had let go of Willis a long, long time ago and had hardly even realized it.
Jason stared at the tablespoon of Willis and felt the jar in his pocket and he tried to decide. Hold on or let go? Hold on or let go? Hold on or let go?
There was a small part of him, that wasn’t sure he could ever actually let go of anything. Had he let go of Willis already, or was he holding on for dear life? Both options felt exactly the same, when he rolled them around his head.
Letting go, holding on, it all hurt the same, sometimes.
And god, he was angry. At Willis. At Catherine. At everything that had conspired to make Jason the way he was. At everything that had made his parents the way they were.
Even his anger had been declawed, though. It hardly registered. He’d grown so accustomed to its sharpness that it had been smoothed out like stones in the river and he hadn’t even noticed.
Jason wanted to throw the rest of his father into the harbor. He wanted to sift the pieces of Willis back out of the water. He wanted to jump in himself, sink to the bottom. Take one last family portrait. Follow the current wherever it was going.
(Hold on or let go? Hold on or let go? Hold on or let go?)
In the end, Jason decided that, maybe, it didn’t have to be one or the other. That, maybe, he didn’t have to decide right away. Maybe he could keep a part of his parents and still let them go.
He pulled the jar from his pocket and poured Willis in.
Bruce watched Jason out of the corner of his eye the entire drive home from the harbor. He watched Jason out of the corner of his eye a lot, lately.
It was ridiculous, that all Bruce could think at the moment was, something is wrong, because of course it was. Jason had just reintroduced Willis Todd to Gotham Harbor. Of course something was wrong.
But it was more than that. There was more than grief etched in the lines of Jason’s face.
“Jason,” Bruce said, eventually.
“You’re gonna change your mind,” Jason interrupted. He hadn’t looked at Bruce in nearly an hour, and he kept his eyes on the road ahead as he spoke.
“About what?” Bruce asked, even though he knew.
“Did your parents love you?”
Bruce pulled onto the shoulder, flicking on his hazards even though they were outside Gotham proper, now, and were unlikely to see another car.
“Yes,” Bruce said.
“How do you know?” Jason was still looking out the windshield. The car's hazards bounced off the slush on the road.
“I just knew.”
Finally, the boy looked over. “Did you know because they told you, or just because they were your parents?”
Bruce furrowed his brows. It had been a very long time since he had seen his parents and his memories were hazy at best. There were days where he couldn’t remember their faces, without looking at a photograph. Couldn’t remember their voices, without watching a video.
There was a bone deep ache, whenever he was confronted with the idea that he was forgetting them.
“They told me,” Bruce said, because he knew that much. “And they showed me. They did things that told me they loved me. They remembered the things I liked and disliked, they took care of me, they spent time with me, and they told me they loved me.”
Jason looked away, nodding, something clinical in the way he took in the answer.
“Jason, what’s wrong?”
“Well,” he said flatly, back to staring out the window, “I don’t think my parents knew how to love me, and I don’t think I know how to love people, and I don’t think I know how to be part of a family.”
Bruce tried to hide his frown. “I don’t think anyone just knows how to love.”
“Steph does,” Jason said immediately. “She’s always doing things to show people she loves them. She always knows what to do for people and everyone loves her.”
Bruce laughed, then, and Jason looked at him sharply. “I think she does things for other people because she’s afraid they won’t love her.”
Now Jason frowned. “That’s dumb.”
Bruce shrugged.
Jason hunched forward and drove the heels of his palms into his eyes. And then, without warning, he shoved the door open and got out of the car.
“Jason,” Bruce shouted, surprised, practically falling out of his door.
Jason was pacing up and down the shoulder, scrubbing his hands over his face.
“Jason,” Bruce repeated, softer.
“You don’t understand,” Jason said.
"What don't I understand," Bruce said gently, trying to covertly cut off Jason's vicious pacing.
"You're going to stop liking me." His eyes were wild, bloodshot and shiny and desperate. Bruce reached out slowly and snagged him by the shoulders. "You're gonna get tired of me. It'll get old, and some day you'll realize you don't like me."
"Jason," Bruce said slowly, softly, desperately. "I'm not going to stop liking you. I promise I won't."
"You don't know that." Jason pulled away. “Bruce, your parents are supposed to love you just because you exist. They’re supposed to know what you like and they’re supposed to tell you they love you. That’s the bare minimum, right?”
Bruce nodded helplessly.
“Then why didn’t mine do that?” He whispered. “Why couldn’t they do that for me?”
“I don’t know,” Bruce said.
Jason took another step back, pulling two jars from his pocket. They were small enough to both fit in the palm of his hand and Bruce realized, just in time, that they held Catherine and Willis’ ashes.
Just in time, because Jason reared back and made to pitch them into the nothingness on the side of the road. Bruce lunged forward and grabbed Jason’s elbow, trying to take the jars out of his hand but Jason fought back.
“Jason, Jason wait, you’ll regret this,” Bruce pleaded. “You’ll want these pieces of them one day.”
“I won’t. I don’t care,” Jason snapped, but there were tears on his face, so Bruce felt like he did care, actually. He cared a lot. “I don’t need them, I never needed them, why would I keep any part of them? All they ever did was hurt me.”
“I know they did,” Bruce soothed. “I know, but they loved you, too. I know you know that. You told me they did the best they could with what they had and it’s okay that it wasn’t enough, Jason, but don’t throw them away because you’re angry right now.”
Something in Jason's face broke at that and he dropped his arms to his sides. He let Bruce take the jars from him. He let Bruce pull him close.
Bruce wrapped his arms around shaking shoulders, hoping it would be enough. Hoping an embrace would say everything Bruce didn't have the words for.
He wouldn't get tired of him. He wouldn't stop liking him. He would find out what Jason liked and disliked, and he’d spend time with him, and he would tell him every day that he loved him. He didn't know how to say any of that out loud. He tried anyway.
“I’m not going to get tired of you,” Bruce said. "You're worth having around, I swear on everything I have. You're worth it."
And Jason cried until Bruce's shirt was wet and snotty and Bruce held on for dear life, afraid that if he let go, the boy would disappear entirely.
"I don't know how to do this," Jason choked out and Bruce shifted one of his hands to the back of Jason's head, fingers stroking his hair.
"I know," Bruce said into Jason's hair. "I know, I'm so sorry. It feels impossible, right now, but someday you'll wake up and realize that you have what you wanted, that it's real. Someday, you'll wake up and you'll realize that everything is okay. You just have to make it to someday."
"That was pretty fucking eloquent, old man," Jason sniffed and Bruce planted a kiss on the crown of his head.
"I have my moments."
They stood on the side of the road for a long while. Long enough that they both started to shiver and Bruce wished he’d worn his outside jacket instead of the one he wore when he knew he would be spending time in the car.
“Let’s go home,” Bruce whispered.
"Okay," Jason whispered back.