Chapter Text
Jason wasn’t ok.
It took a long time to for him to admit that. Before, he was never allowed to be not ok: under Willis, on the streets, as Robin, in the League, as Red Hood. Not being ok was a weakness, and weakness meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant possible death. No, not possible death. It almost certainly meant death. Gotham was cruel to anyone who would show even a hint of weakness, no matter if they’re child or adult. So, Jason learned at too young an age, he wasn’t allowed to show anyone his weakness, his tears - only anger. Only violence and aggression and cruelty, forcing the world to accept that they can’t walk over him, that they can’t exploit him or hurt him.
But he kept hurting, and breaking, and suffering. No matter how much he showed his strength, no matter how much he hid his weakness: the world kept damaging him and exploiting him and so very slowly, he learned to live in a consistent state of torment plagued with fear for what the next day may bring.
His dreams began to bleed over into his waking mind, hallucinations afflicting his brain, clowns in the shadows and blood staining his hands no matter how hard he tries to scrub it off - scrubbing his hands red and raw, and yet the stain of blood has seeped into the very marrow of his bones and he can’t get it off! His skin is crawling, as if there’s ants beneath it trying to dig their way out, and sometimes it even feels like his skin is peeling and he has to itch and itch and itch to try to get it off, he needs to get it off!
Then sometimes, he’s just numb. He knows he should be in pain but it doesn’t quite process, he sees something that once made him happy but he no longer feels it. His heart becomes nothing more than a steady, mindless rhythm; beating but not living. He stops living. He sleeps, then wakes but no longer finding it in himself to get up, to push himself out of bed and get on about his day. He knows he should, every day, he tells himself he needs to get up, get moving, fight and live - but almost every day he can’t force himself to do so. He tells himself to move, he keeps trying to convince himself to move, move, move, but his mind can’t make his body move. It’s a disconnect, between mind and soul. He’s stuck in his own head, yelling at himself to move, to care, to feel all the passion he once did - but he can’t, he can’t feel, can’t move, can’t care - he’s yelling at himself to care but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t and it hurts, it hurts so much more than anything else. He’s gone toe-to-toe with Croc, and Slade, and the fucking Joker, he fought death and won but he can’t fucking - can’t do anything now. He starts hating himself more and more, because he’s uselessly stuck in bed, not even able to do what he knows he should, what he’s telling himself to do. He’s shameful, and embarrassing, and he’s supposed to be a bloody hero, so he should be able to at least function like a normal human being.
But he fucking can’t, because he broke. He’s broken.
He spoke silently to Alfred, the old man sitting with him in his apartment one day, tea made and set out for them both, and listened. Honest to god listened. No judgement, no snarky remarks or disappointed features. Then, Alfred told Jason about how some of his fellow service men got PTSD. He spoke about how some had depression, some had anxiety, and he talked about them not being OK, and them not being OK didn’t make them any weaker, but, rather, stronger. It made them stronger because mental illnesses aren’t weaknesses, and admitting they need help only showed their strength, their willing to continue their fight, continue to kick ass - as he put - to relearn how to cope and live. It’s terrifying to do, terrifying to know that everything that once was may not be the same ever again, but being willing to put oneself out there, to be willing to be so vulnerable - “Only the strongest can complete such a feat, Master Jason.” And he spoke how every day may be a fight, but some day the fight will be easier, “You’ll learn to live again, Master Jason. You’ll enjoy living again.” No more bad thoughts, no more thoughts of surrendering.
And that broke Jason, just a bit, maybe Alfred knew about how much worse it was, how much worse than what Jason made it out to be. He thought maybe Alfred knew of how he had those days he wanted to die. Those days where he held his gun for a bit longer than he needed to, those days he lost track of time staring at the liquor bottle that sat next to his medications, those days he sees the razor In the bathroom and remembers all the uses it could have - not just for shaving.
Alfred held him close and let him cry, promising to help. Promising to be there for him, forever and always.
Jason didn’t tell him about those… habits, though. He didn’t want Alfred to worry more than he must.
Alfred was right, though. He was not OK, and he needed to do something about it. So, he packed up his bags and left Gotham. Gotham, with the ghosts and blood and clowns. Gotham, with the memories of pain, and nightmares, and hate and Bats. It was the worst place for him to be.
So he left.
“What do you mean Jason is gone?” Damian was looking scandalized, eyes wide as he stared up at his older brother.
Dick was pacing quickly, tugging at his displaced hair, biting his lip between talking and eyes darting around because damnit all to hell, “I can’t find him, and all of his his apartments are empty, and he’s not picking up his cellphone and I can’t handle it! I can’t, why would he disappear like that? We were getting better! We even started going out to coffee together and - oh my god what if he was kidnapped? What if he’s hurt? We need to find him like, right now. Bruce, did you put a tracker on him? I know you’re creepy like that.”
The older man scowled, looking up at his oldest ward with a glare. “No. After you and Tim spoke with me about privacy, I stopped putting trackers on personal clothing, and he didn’t take any of the armor I did put the trackers in,” because Bats do need trackers, in any case, so that means Jason probably didn’t get caught as Red Hood, else they’d have tracked him by now. So it means he disappeared as Jason Todd, the civilian, and that’s a much more terrifying thought. Jason Todd doesn’t have the skills of Red Hood. He can’t be tracked. And he’s not even legally alive.
This is going to be hard. Especially since they don’t know how Jason disappeared, if it was willing or not, if he was kidnapped, or, god forbid, if he was murdered. Or, hopefully, he just went on a vacation and forgot to tell them - and Bruce was really wishing he didn’t listen to Dick and Tim’s lecture about respecting privacy. This wouldn’t be happening if he didn’t start respecting their privacy. Batman clenched his fists, jaw tensing with a long, slow breath, “Let’s contact his friends, Roy and Starfire first. Maybe he went to them.”
He didn’t. Damian knows he didn’t. Damian knows Jason, more than he’s been letting on. He remembers Jason from the League, and he knows Jason remembers him. They just… there hasn’t been an opportune time to bring it up. Besides, Jason believes Dick would be jealous Damian and Jason were so close, and Bruce would be worried Jason would influence Damian to murder again, or something of the kind. Personally, Damian thinks it’s a ridiculous assumption by this point, and that everyone would love their relationship and may even exploit it to get Jason back to the manner more often. Damian won’t deny, a few years prior the fears hay have been found, but by now, it’s simply paranoia.
Except, it’s more than paranoia. He knows his Ahki has been struggling. Thalia tried to help him in the league, and Damian remembers he had to stop sleeping with his brother since Jason’s night terrors would get so bad he’d wake fighting. He didn’t know the full extent then, but he knows it’s only been getting worse. He sees it in the growing paleness of Jason’s complexion, in the bags under his eyes, and in the way his hands had began to tremble. He’s asked, but Ahki, like the idiot he is, always brushes it off. Damian finally convinced Alfred to go over there to speak with him, knowing Alfred would help, unlike the other members of their family. Jason still gets too defensive with them to have any of those interactions be beneficial, and the family is a little pushy and ‘I-know-better-than-thou.’ It’d have been a disaster.
Apparently, Alfred talk was a disaster too, though, since Damian knows it was after that talk that Jason disappeared. So, Damian can only assume Jason is running from his emotions. Fortunately, that gives Damian a few places to begin his search: England and that Shakespearean theatre Jason loves, Paris and the catacombs, Australia and the Great Barrier Reef, or the Library of Trinity College in Dublin. But those places are predictable, and if Jason really wanted to disappear, he’d go someplace else… someplace new.
It hit Damian like a two hundred years old book. He knows exactly where Jason is going. Now, all he needs to do is escape without alerting the other bats to where he’s going. If he’s going to help his Ahki, he needs to make him know he can trust Damian, so no outting him to the bats, no making him feel like his trust is betrayed. He has to give Jason the choice to come back to the Bats on his own time, and not force their reunion. After all, according to Mother, giving others a choice gives them power, and the feeling of being in control. It’s good for them and their mental health, which is what Jason needs.
So, plan: escape Gotham. It’ll be easy as pie.
Jason was in El Ateneo Grand Splendid, a building in Argentina that started as a theater, but was turned into an absolutely stunning bookstore. He goes there every good day, sitting in one of the old theater boxes with a cup of tea and as many books as he can manage. It’s been good motive for getting him out of his bed, and out of the the little apartment he’s been renting. He’s left behind his Red Hood gear, his guns and knives - just in case - and came purely as a civilian. To heal. To try and heal, at least. Except, his demons seemed to follow him. Some days he still can’t get out of bed. He still hears the echo of laughter in his apartment, when he’s alone. He still sees eyes in the shadows, and some days he feels water against skin that’s followed by the feeling of drowning, of water stuck in his throat and choking him - and then he’s drowning in green all over again.
But he’s trying.
It was a better day though, and he spent it reading quietly in the library, sipping on his hot tea, nibbling some of the local food before he was forced to pack up and head back to the apartment. On good days, he tries to go back to the homestead as little as possible, the quiet - the isolation - it does no good. But alas, he can’t stay out forever. So when he opened the door, kicking off his shoes and setting down his leftover food on the counter, the very last person he expected to see was a child sitting on his couch. Not just any child, but the little baby bat. He froze.
“Dami, the hell are you doing here?”
The little boy tutted, staring up at his brother, “You didn’t notice me sitting here for a full thirty seconds, and that’s not to include the fact that I have been following you for the past day. You are getting soft.”
“No, I’m trying to work on my paranoia. Apparently, though, paranoia’s necessary.”
“For our… career, yes.” The boy stood, flipping over the back of the couch and making his way to Jason, “Ahki, you are running.”
Jason shuffled his feet, looking down at the ground. He let out a long, resigned sigh with a shake of his head, “Not running.”
“Then what?”
“You- I don’t want to bother you. You’re a kid. Go back to Gotham where you belong.”
Damian scowled, jumping up to stand on one of the barstools to properly look down at Jason, eyes narrowing, “I killed before I could walk. I, essentially, got a doctorate degree at the age of ten. I stop aliens and terrorists, and I once took down Superman. I am a child, biologically, but we both know I am anything but. However, I am your brother, no matter what, and I want to be here for you. So tell me, what is the issue?”
Oh. With a small blush, one Jason couldn’t hide, he finally looked up at Damian. Ok then, they’re doing this. Damian is his Habibi, his little brother, and he deserved to know the truth. Especially after Jason left without an explanation - without telling a soul. He wasn’t really thinking about it when he ran, how his absence may have effected them, how they could be worrying… but he also, kinda, didn’t think they would care. The little voices in his head that sounded too much like Joker (and Batman) fed his negativity, and self-loathing, and his doubts became loud, too loud, overpowering his rational side and all the positivity he has been working on. And that little, giant, screaming, laughing voice was shouting at him the bats didn’t care - they wouldn’t care if he just vanished.
It’s nice to know he’s maybe wrong.
“It’s bad, Dami. I - I was, am…” he took a deep breath, “أردت أن أموأردت أن أموت أريد أن أموت.*”
He watched as his baby brother’s mask broke, opening up to show how he hurt, brows drawn together in pain - in his shared pain and sympathy. He could practically feel Damian’s heart reach out to him, the way Damian twitched forward, hand reaching out to rest on his big brother’s arm, before he lost his control and leapt forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Jason’s shoulder and hugging him tight, “I will not leave you, Ahki. Not until you are better.”
Jason quickly returned the hug, holding Damian a bit too tightly, eyes watering and a slight, disbelieving smile on his lip. “God, Dami. You’re too good to me.”
“No, Ahki. I am not. I am merely your family, and supporting you as family should. You understand father and our other brothers would do the same, don’t you?”
Jason wants to say yes, but he doesn’t know. Not really. The loathing circling his head was too strong, and the emerald mist of rage and despair fogging his mind hid any positive thoughts he tried to force through. So, he merely bit his tongue and held Damian closer.
He wasn’t alone now, and that’s all that mattered.