When he wakes, he is alone.
It is dark, and cold, and he can't breathe. Images flash through his mind, disjointed, like an old movie with messed up film.
A?
Slam!
Or B?
Slam!
Forehand?
Slam!
Or backhand?
Slam!
The madman's face leers at him, and he feels it all over again. The blood, the bruises, the broken bones, the betrayal. The burning.
Up until the end, he believes that Batman will come for him. He believes that Batman will keep him safe, will protect him. In the last few moments, when he's not thinking about saving his mother, he's thinking about what to say to him when he arrives. How to apologize for not listening, how to promise to never, ever run off like that again, if only things will go back to the way they used to be.
Even as the bomb explodes, he believes that his father will come.
But he doesn't.
And now, in this cold, dark, unknown place, he is still alone.
He opens his mouth to scream, but barely a sound emerges. His vocal cords are raw, and his tongue dry as sand. It comes out as a soft rasp. "Bruce…" He begins to thrash in his confinement, seeking escape, any escape. "Bruce! Please!" The words rip from his throat, barely human-sounding. "Don't leave me in here!" His breathing quickens, and his hands fumble for something, anything to get him out of here. They fall on the buckle of his belt, and he tears it off, thrusting at the wood above him.
Soil falls all around him and he can't breathe.
By the time he reaches the surface, his hands are bloody, and his lungs are full of dirt. His clothes are torn, and he doesn't know where he is. He collapses on the ground, savoring the feeling of grass under his knees, no matter how much it irritates the cuts littering his body. He's not dying anymore, he doesn't think, and that's what's really important.
Shuddering and sobbing, he looks up, taking in the vague shapes around him. He doesn't know what they are, and he doesn't care. The one shape he wants to see is not among them. His thoughts run at speeds to rival the Flash, and none of them are good.
Bruce…
Bruce… where are you?
Why aren't you here?
Don't you still love me?
What did I do wrong?
Why don't you love me?
Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy?
He staggers to his feet, ignoring his muscles' screams of protest. He has somewhere to be, someone to find. He turns around and views his surroundings, trying to capture some sense of direction. What he gets is something else.
There is a tombstone behind him, bent and grey. Even in the dark, the name inscribed upon it is legible.
Jason Todd.
He blinks. Isn't that his name?
A?
Slam!
Or B?
Slam!
And he knows no more for a long time.
xXx
The next time he is aware of himself, he is drowning.
No. Nononononnonononononono. Not again!
He opens his mouth and tries to scream, but water flows in, choking him. Instinct takes hold, and he closes it again, but not before he's swallowed far too much of the liquid. Everything's becoming fuzzy again now, his will to fight fading. Would it be so bad to slip away again? The water, once icy, feels warm now, silken, like his bed back at the manor. To give in to it would be just like falling asleep…
No. Don't you dare.
This is not his own voice, but Bruce's, and his eyes snap open. He can't give up, he can't die again, not now! He needs to go home, to tell Bruce he's sorry, to promise to always listen from now on. Bruce is his reason to keep going. So he uses the last of his fading strength to look up and find the surface.
When he breaks it, there are so many things he wants to do. He wants to scream, to laugh, to cry, to smile, to run and never, ever stop. What he does instead is cough up a lung full of water, nearly slipping below the surface once again. He doesn't stop hacking until he's been hauled up to the shore.
"Breathe, Jason," a woman's voice orders, and he inhales instinctively at the authoritative tone, though the action sends him into another coughing fit. When he can look up, the face he sees is not the one he was expecting.
"Talia?"
She puts a finger to his lips. "Not here," she whispers. "All will be explained."
When she stands to leave, the only thing he can do is follow.
xXx
Escaping is almost too easy. He knocks out the guards by his door and continues down the hallway. He meets no one else, and even if he did, he'd just attack them as well.
Talia hasn't come to him yet, and for that he is grateful. He doesn't want to listen to her explanations and manipulations. He knows that the only reason that Talia al Ghul would bring him back from the grave would be to get to Bruce, and he won't let that happen.
But Talia al Ghul is an expert at getting what she wants, so he is leaving now, before she has the chance.
Truthfully, he doesn't know whether or not his return is a good thing. When he's not feeling oddly detached from everything, he is irrationally angry: at Bruce, at the Joker, at the whole world. This is coupled with an intense longing to be home again, though, so he doesn't mind. And least he knows that Bruce would've killed the Joker for what he did, so no one else would ever be hurt by that madman again.
He nods at this thought, even as he makes his way to what he hopes is a landing strip. Yes, the Joker will be gone. There was no way that Bruce would have let him live. Not after taking him away.
He does indeed find a landing strip. The few that are guarding it are as easy to take out as the ones at his room were, especially when he lets his rage take over. Funny, he reflects. Bruce always said that rage blinds you. If anything, I'm seeing more clearly. He smiles at this thought. He can't wait to get home and see him again, and get out on the streets with him and do what they do best.
He can't wait to be Robin.
When he takes off in the stolen airplane, that's the only thought in his mind.
xXx
When he sees him, he starts running.
He's in one of the darkest streets in Gotham City, the buildings looming around him, and drug addicts peppering the side of the road. He should probably be nervous; he's still wearing the clothes that Talia gave him, after all, and he doesn't have any of his equipment. But when he sees Batman, those thoughts fly out the window, because he knows that at last, he's found home again. It's taken too long, but here it is, right in front of him, wearing a black cape and cowl. He breaks into a wide grin, and he opens his mouth to call out, wondering what Bruce's reaction will be.
He won't believe it's me, at first. He'll take me back to the Cave to run a bunch of tests. Even when the DNA testing proves it's me, he won't believe it for a while. But then, he will, and he'll yell at me for being so reckless, and I'll apologize, and then Alfred'll come in with tea, and then things'll be…
He stops running, not believing what's in front of him.
...alright.
The figure that Batman is busy tying up isn't some random criminal, like he'd thought. Now that he is closer, he can see the green hair, the white face, the grin.
He can see the Joker.
He's just standing in the street now. If either of them look his way, they'll see him, but he doesn't care.
Because Batman is capturing the Joker.
The monster who killed him is still alive.
He sees red.
So, apparently, he's not worth enough for revenge to be taken. He's not worth enough for Batman to break his precious moral code for him. He's not worth enough.
He's not Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent, Bruce, he wants to say. He's the Joker. Barely even human. Please, take him out. Just him. Do it because... Because he took me away from you.
Please. I thought you cared.
He doesn't say it, though. He just stands there, in the middle of the street, both hoping that Batman will look his way and praying that he doesn't.
Things go from bad to worse.
A boy jumps down from a rooftop, dressed in yellow and green, with a shit-eating grin on his face.
He wants to puke.
"Took care of the thugs," the boy tells the bat. "You good?"
He seriously wants to puke.
"He won't be going anywhere," Batman states, gesturing toward the laughing clown. "Good work, Robin."
He's about to puke. How many times had he heard those words of praise from Batman?
Too few.
And now, there's this boy. This pretender. This... replacement. And the praise is his instead.
You have no right to that! he wants to scream. No right! I'm Robin, not you!
How long did it take you to replace me, Bruce? he wants to ask. How long for you to move on from me and find someone new?
And then, in the back of his mind: How long did it take you to find a new son?
Rain begins to fall, drenching his hair and clothes. He doesn't notice. As he watches, the boy smiles at Bruce, and Bruce… doesn't smile, exactly, but he comes close. Very close.
Tears mingle with the rain on his face, and slowly, so as not to draw any attention to himself, he steps backward into the darkness of a nearby alley.
And as he watches them deliver the Joker into custody, as he watches them drive away in the Batmobile, one final question echoes through his brain.
Did you even notice I was gone?
Jason turns and walks into the night. He doesn't look back.
He has no reason to.
A/N: I really, really shouldn't be writing this. I have another fic in another fandom that I should be working on. But here I am anyway.
Feedback welcome, as this is my first foray into the fandom. Just don't flame me, and thanks for reading.