Chapter Text
Jason knew his dad was odd.
Sure, he had his faults – but he wasn't a bad father. Compared to other alley kids, frankly, his dad was a saint. He never raised his hand at him. Rarely, if ever, did he yell at him. Scolding happened, but always in a manner that Jason never felt scared of what he might do.
No, rather, he was odd in the sense that he was clearly not from Gotham. Was he rugged – yes. But not in a ‘Gotham is hell, but it's my hell,’ but more in a, ‘I'm tired, don't perceive me,’ way. Which in itself is weird, because most people don't move to Gotham willingly, that's insane.
But his dad did.
He's tried asking, but it always ends in a brisk, “just felt like moving here, that's all.”
Jason calls bullshit.
But in the end, he never really got an answer.
August 16th, 20XX.
Henry William Todd is incarcerated for second-degree murder. Fifteen years, chance for parole with best behavior.
His mom sobs hysterically, “Willis wouldn't do that, he's a good man, damn it!” She's dragged out of court soon after.
In the end, Jason is the only one standing on his dad’s side when the verdict is read.
His dad avoids eye contact, perhaps ashamed to be seen being dragged away in front of his son.
That day, August 16th, is the last time Jason sees his father, during his tenth birthday.
It takes some getting used to, but Jason eventually learns the way of the streets—enough not to get himself killed, at least. For over a year, he has been pickpocketing, doing the occasional odd job, and stealing for some cash.
Is he proud? No, but it's like his old man would say during his fits of sleep talking, “let's chew some gum and fight some scum.” It just happens that he's become said scum…
But his mom and he need the money, so he's sure his dad would understand. It's not like he was a saint either, but who is in Gotham?
Speaking of his mom, today, in a rare occurrence, his mom is somewhat conscious from her drug haze. Well conscious enough that she's able to pick up the home phone when it rings before he can.
“Hello?”
A pause.
Then she smiles. Smiles a smile he hasn't seen in a long time. And only one person has been able to do that.
“ –I miss you, baby…. Yes, he's here?” Jason blinks in confusion as she turns toward him, laughing softly at something the caller says. “I understand, love,” she whispers. Next thing he knows, she’s handing the phone to him.
“Jason?” It's been a year, but that's not long enough for Jason to forget that voice.
“Dad,” Jason grips the phone tightly, emotions run rampant throughout his body. Some anger, some sadness, and maybe some jealousy.
A chuckle sounds from the other end. “How’ve you been, kid? Haven’t been causing your mom trouble, have you?”
“Nuh uh,” Jason replies quickly, shaking his head even though his dad can’t see him.
“Good, good,” his dad says earnestly. He hears rustling on the other end, “I don't have much phone time left, kid – used the last of my money for this, but I wanted to wish you a belated birthday.” In the background, he hears what is probably an officer yell to hurry up, “Live long and happy, even if you have to forget me.”
“I would never!” He practically shouts, thinking the idea is absurd. What a bizarre thing to say.
He could imagine the smile his dad was giving, “That's good to know – love you too. And tell your mom the same.” Then the line goes dead.
Jason holds the phone line a bit longer.
“Jason?” His mom asks, worried.
He places the phone down and smiles at his mom, “Sorry, just thinking.” His eyes move to the calendar he managed to get,
August 18th.
Jason missed his birthday.
“You don't have to be here, Robin,” Batman tells him before they enter the police station. One might even say Batman is worried.
Alas, Jason is fourteen and rolls his eyes at the hero, “It's not like he'll recognize me.” He answers more sulky than he would like to admit.
Batman gives him a look, but doesn't push the matter.
When Jason walks into the interrogation room, his first thought isn't necessarily excitement. Would anyone be happy in this situation?
It's been almost four years since he's seen his father. Two years have passed since he lost contact after running away from the system. And a year since his dad signed away his rights to Bruce. The last one stung more than he would like to admit. Like his dad could have at least asked to call him before signing away his rights, even if Jason was the one to request it from Bruce.
Now here he is, Robin costume and all, watching his father behind a one-way mirror. Bittersweet doesn’t begin to cover it.
His father, well, looks like a mess. Overgrown hair hides most of his face. A patchy beard clings to his jaw. The chains on his wrists and ankles seem excessive in his opinion. The orange jumpsuit, surprisingly, isn't baggy, which means he isn't likely to be starved, at least. All in all, his dad looks like shit.
B pats him on the shoulder, signaling that he needs to focus, before they make their way towards the other side of the glass.
His dad doesn't even bother to look up from his position, muttering words to himself instead. Okay, so maybe the cellar has made his father slightly insane.
“Henry ‘Willis’ Todd, formerly Hart,” Batman’s voice echoes through the room, deep and controlled. The muttering stops. “I’ve got some questions for you.”
Silence.
Batman takes it as confirmation to continue. “Your previous ties to Two-Face put you high on the list of potential contacts for our current suspect—”
Jason tunes him out, studying his father. The blond hair had dulled to a rusty brown, and his hands – one bandaged, one scarred – tell stories Jason doesn’t know.
He catches the tail end of Batman’s sentence, “ – your connection to Mr. Afton.”
Willis scoffs without looking up. “I’m no narc, Batman.”
Batman frowns. “And I’m no cop.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Willis’s gaze stays locked on his chains.
Jason rolls his eyes. “C’mon, old man, just tell us where the drugs are and you’ll be on your way.”
“Robin,” Batman warns sharply.
Oops.
Weirdly, that seems to trigger something. Willis stiffens, then slowly looks up. Two pairs of the same blue eyes meet.
He opens his mouth, closes it again, speechless. Finally, he manages one word,
“No.”
Jason tilts his head. “No?”
Before either of them can react, Willis lunges forward. The chains jerk him back, clattering violently.
“You bastard!” he shouts as alarms blare and red lights flash. Officers rush in as he thrashes, yelling —
“He’s just a kid!”
Moments later, they tackle him, pinning him down before dragging him from the room.
His last words echo after him, raw and broken,
“I didn’t want this for you!”
