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“Ready to go, champ?”
Bruce scheduled a doctor’s appointment for Jason today at the Thompkins Clinic in Park Row. A billionaire like Bruce Wayne could unquestionably afford the best medical care in the country, appointment or not. He doesn’t need to rely on free clinics for his kid’s physical, but Bruce is close friends with the head physician, Leslie Thompkins, he explained to Jason before making the appointment. She’s trustworthy. Jason will be more comfortable with her.
It’s been almost two full months since Jason moved into Wayne Manor and joined Bruce and Alfred’s strange little family. He’s been in formal training to become the new Robin since that first week, and things are going better than Jason could have ever imagined. If you’d told him a year ago that one day he’d get taken under the wing of his very own Daddy Warbucks and be in the running for the role of the second Boy Wonder, he’d think you were on drugs. He’s never been better in his life.
When Bruce initially started the process to become Jason’s formal guardian, the first thing on the agenda was a proper physical to ensure that Jason was healthy after so many years fending for himself on the streets. He’s long overdue.
Anyone with eyes can deduce that Jason is behind where he should be, health-wise. Years of starvation and chainsmoking have stunted his growth severely. He was a sick child even before he landed himself alone on the streets, thanks to his mother’s drug dependence when she was pregnant with him. He was held back from the start.
Bruce has been urging Jason to see a doctor since he first took him in, but Jason isn’t keen on trusting strangers, and for good reason. The only adults in the world Jason trusts are Alfred and Bruce, and sometimes, even then, he still flinches whenever Bruce moves toward him too suddenly. Jason doesn’t want some random doctor feeling him up, trying to poke him with all kinds of sharp tools.
Getting him to agree to today’s physical took the persuasion skills of Bruce and Alfred combined, plus lots of bribery via vintage novels. Jason still drags his feet the whole way downstairs to Bruce’s car, worrying at the sleeve of his hoodie. It’s three sizes too big. He still feels naked.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Jay,” Bruce tells him during the drive, prompted by Jason’s ceaselessly bouncing knee. “It’s just a routine checkup. Dr. Thompkins will give us some advice on how to get your weight back up, maybe get you up to date on your vaccinations. We can go to McDonald’s afterward, if you’d like.”
Jason’s leg won’t stop shaking, but he manages a small smirk. “Alfred’s going to freak.”
“I think he’ll forgive us just this once.”
It doesn’t help Jason feel any less anxious, but it’s easier walking into the clinic with Bruce at his back. Bruce does all the talking with the receptionist, who ushers them into an exam room right away. Rich guy perks, Jason supposes. No having to sit in the waiting room with the normal folks. Jason remembers the time a guy stabbed him with a sharpened soup can lid for a few dollars last year. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, but it became infected to the point where he knew it wouldn’t get better on its own. The ER visit took hours.
Jason had to camp out in a crowded waiting room filled with dozens of other dirt-broke people with all kinds of diseases and disfigurements. It was rough out on the streets—especially in a place like Crime Alley. After the three-hour wait, Jason finally got the antibiotics he came for and a tetanus shot. That was the last time Jason got his blood tested. He’d quietly confessed to the nurse about his other job, apart from knocking off car parts.
He had to keep himself fed on the streets somehow, and there was an overabundance of creeps in Gotham who were willing to pay a kid a few dollars for a blowjob or some more. Jason couldn’t exactly run to the corner store and buy a pack of condoms without turning heads. He was just a kid. He’s still just a kid.
His STD screening came up clean, thankfully, but that was over a year ago. Jason has done a lot more since then.
Leslie shows up after a blessedly short wait, greeting Bruce and introducing herself to Jason. “So you’re the new kid, huh? I heard you tried to steal the tires off the Batmobile. Ballsy move.” There’s a teasing lift at the corner of her mouth.
Still wary, Jason just looks up at Bruce, who answers for him. “He did more than try. Jason here managed to make off with two of them before getting caught. He’s a tough kid. After some more training—”
“Don’t you dare start talking to me about child soldiers in my own damn hospital, Bruce. The only reason I’m being polite to you right now is because there’s a kid present. You’re lucky I didn’t lobotomize you in your sleep the first time you went out dressed in a fucking bat costume.”
Wisely, Bruce doesn’t try to defend himself. Jason thinks he might like this Leslie Thompkins.
“Hop on up, kiddo,” Leslie says, patting the medical cot. “How is Dick doing?” she asks Bruce while she starts pulling out drawers and grabbing whatever tools she’ll need. Jason tries not to pay attention, focusing instead on a painting of a creek hung on the far wall to distract himself.
Bruce doesn’t leave Jason’s side the whole time, which helps. Leslie goes through the same routine Jason remembers from the few checkups he got when he was a kid, back before his dad stopped being able to afford insurance. She measures his height and weight, confirming Bruce’s fear that Jason is severely malnourished, and, while he has gained a small amount of meat on his bones since he got on Alfred’s meal schedule, it isn’t close to where he needs to be. She rattles off a list of vitamins and supplements for Bruce to pick up after they’re done here.
Leslie frowns when she listens to Jason’s chest. “Your lungs sound atrocious. Are you a smoker?”
“Only sometimes.”
“He goes through about a pack a week,” Bruce answers. “Alfred and I have been trying to get him to quit.”
Jason bites his lip, feeling the back of his neck flush with shame. He thought he was so subtle about the secret smoke sessions on the balcony.
Leslie fixes Jason with a stern look. “You’re killing your lungs by doing that. You know that, right? Every cigarette you smoke cuts your life expectancy in half.”
Jason scoffs. “That’s not true.”
“No, but I’m your doctor, and you are way too young to ruin your life with sooty lungs. Wait until your mid-twenties to self-destruct like the rest of us.” She gestures to Bruce, who makes an offended noise. “You’re on nicotine patches, starting today.”
Jason wrinkles his nose, but Leslie is already moving on. “How about family history? We haven’t been able to track down any formal medical records for you. Do you know if there were any illnesses your parents, maybe your grandparents had?”
“Mom and Dad were addicts, if that counts.”
“Jason’s parents are both deceased,” Bruce fills in so Jason doesn’t have to say it. “His father died in a prison brawl, and his mother died of a heroin overdose.”
“I’m very sorry for your losses, Jason. Do you remember if either of them had any significant health problems? Heart issues? Cancer?”
Jason thinks it over. “Mom was sick, towards the end. But…like, a different kind of sick than normal. I never really asked about it.” Jason knew what withdrawal looked like. The drugs ravaged his mother’s body until it finally took her away from him for good, but there was more to it in those last few months.
Catherine never talked about it with Jason. She went to her grave insisting that she was fine even when it was obvious that she wasn’t. That was how she’d always done it. She sheltered Jason from the truth in whatever ways she could, calling the heroin “Mom’s special medicine” and claiming she just had a cold whenever he found her passed out on the floor.
She coughed a lot over those last months of her life. She became weak, barely leaving their shoebox apartment even just to get the mail. She shivered when the weather was warm, and she got all these weird sores everywhere. Some days she was too feeble to get out of bed.
Jason remembers Catherine yelling at one of her dealers once, throwing stuff at him. Jason had been hiding under the kitchen sink, so he couldn’t hear most of the conversation, but she screamed at the man that this was all his fault, him and his dirty needles.
Jason swallows down the lump that’s swelled in his throat. “The drugs got to her before the sickness could do anything.”
Leslie hums, jotting something in her notes. “I’ll reach out to some of the clinics in the area, see if they have any records that could help. In the meantime, you’re definitely going to need to get caught up on a few vaccinations. When was the last time you went to the doctor?”
Jason wrings his hands in his lap, pulling at the hoodie sleeve that’s definitely been stretched beyond repair by now. Alfred is going to kill him when he sees it. “Dunno. A year ago, give or take.”
“Do you remember if you were immunized at all? Did you get blood drawn?”
Jason looks at the floor. He’s trying to make it look like he’s just thinking hard, but he’s stalling. He can’t just say it, even though he knows Leslie should be looped in on the truth. He can’t leave here today without an STD test, and probably more. He has no idea what all needs to be done, but he can’t say it with Bruce standing right next to him. He’s been letting Jason live in his house. What’s he going to think when he finds out the truth about how dirty his latest charity case orphan has let himself become?
“Oh, Bruce,” Leslie says suddenly, tapping her forehead with the butt of her pen like she’s had an epiphany. “Before I forget, will you run out and ask the receptionist to print you out that list of dieticians before she goes on her lunch break? It might take a few minutes for the printer to boot up. I’ll call you back in when we need you.”
It’s not subtle. Bruce has to figure out that he’s being shooed away, but he just looks down at Jason, who nods his assent. He squeezes Jason’s shoulder. “I’ll be right outside.”
After the door has shut behind him, Leslie faces Jason with a world-weary set to her shoulders. She’s been doing this job for a long time. Jason doubts this is even the worst thing she’ll have heard all week, but shame floods through him all the same. She sits down on her rolling stool, making herself a full head shorter than Jason on the high cot. “Better?”
Jason bites his lip. “I got a tetanus shot a year ago. I don’t remember getting anything else, but I think my mom took me for a flu shot in first grade. They were free at the clinic.”
Leslie scribbles down some more notes on her clipboard. “So you’ll be needing a meningitis vaccine and a Tdap booster, to start. A flu booster, too, just in case. We’ll work on the rest after we try getting ahold of your medical records again.”
Jason keeps his gaze trained on the creek painting instead of looking at Leslie when he asks, “Are you gonna do a blood test for anything?”
Leslie pauses, scrutinizing him. “I was planning on it, yes. I wanted to check up on your iron levels, among other things. Is there anything else in particular you think you should be tested for?”
Biting his tongue so hard he tastes blood, Jason nods.
“I can run a full STI panel, if you believe that’s something you need. Is it?” At Jason’s second nod, Leslie sighs. “Would you like to tell me about it?”
“It’s not bad,” Jason says. He can’t have her getting all panicked and calling CPS or something. He can’t get taken out of Bruce’s home, not when he’s just started to feel safe. He won’t lose his new family just because he had to do some unsavory things once to survive. “It was a long time ago. I needed money, and the working girls showed me how. I haven’t done it since Bruce found me.”
“And do you feel safe with Bruce?” Leslie asks, which takes Jason by surprise. “Has he given you any indication that you might be put in that kind of…situation, again?”
Jason stiffens, insulted on Bruce’s behalf. “‘Course not. Bruce would never touch me.” He’s the only man Jason has lived with since his dad went to jail who hasn’t even tried.
The foster families Jason got shipped around to following Catherine’s death never should have been allowed to become foster families in the first place. It didn’t take long for Jason to come to the conclusion that a life spent fending for himself in Crime Alley would still be more bearable than having to stay up every night listening for footsteps creeping towards his bedroom.
“Okay,” Leslie says, relaxing. “Good. Because if Bruce ever did do something to make you feel uncomfortable, you know you could tell me about it, right? Your safety is my top priority, Jason.”
“I thought Bruce was your friend.”
“And you’re my patient. That trumps everything, do you understand?” At Jason’s clammed-up nod, Leslie gives him a tight smile, trying to be comforting. “Now, you don’t have to tell me any details that you don’t want to, but is it okay if I ask you a few questions? Just the parts that have to do with your physical health.”
“I guess so.”
“How many sexual partners have you had in the last six months?”
“I guess…nine?” Jason has to consider it for a second. “Some of ‘em might not count. I dunno. Kind of ten, but kind of nine.”
No one can say that Leslie Thompkins isn’t good at her job. Her poker face is impenetrable, even though Jason can see the pity in her eyes. “Did any of them use protection?”
Jason grimaces. “No.”
“None of them?”
“None of ‘em.”
Leslie exhales deeply and moves on. “Have you noticed any symptoms? Pain, irritation, anything that might make you think you were sick?”
Jason shakes his head. “I was tested the same time I got the tetanus shot, and they said I was clean. I haven’t noticed anything weird since then.” Then— “I got kinda sick a few months back, if that counts? Felt like the flu and went away after a week. I didn’t go to the doctor or anything for it, but I feel fine now.”
Leslie jots down some more notes before she gives him another tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Jason, for trusting me with this. So, in addition to your other vaccines, we’re going to include a PrEP injection and a preventative round of antibiotics, just to be safe until your results come back.”
Jason picks at a thread in his stretched-out sleeve. “Are you gonna tell Bruce?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
Bruce doesn’t need to know any of this. It might be fine, anyway. The blood test could turn up perfectly clean, and Jason will have ruined his reputation with the only family he has left for no reason. “I don’t want him to know.”
“My lips are sealed, then. I won’t push you to do anything you aren’t okay with. But you know, Jason, it might make you feel better if Bruce knew what was going on. He could help. There are plenty of resources out there for kids like you who have been through things they shouldn’t have.”
“I’m fine,” Jason says, and he wills it to be true. “I just want to get all this over with and forget about it.”
True to her word, Leslie respects his wishes and carries through the rest of his physical without another word about his past. When she starts prepping needles, Jason’s palms begin to sweat. He’s too old to be nervous about getting a shot, but… “Can Bruce come back in?” he asks before he can lose his nerve.
Leslie pokes her head out the door to call for Bruce, who shows up seconds later. “Everything okay in here?”
“Just a few shots and a blood draw,” Leslie explains, gesturing to the spot beside Jason. She starts swabbing his upper arm with alcohol. “Make yourself useful and hold his hand, will you?”
Jason scowls. “I don’t need you to hold my hand.” He just…would feel more comfortable having Bruce close by, is all. He’s not a little kid. He can handle a few pricks.
Bruce sits next to Jason on the cot anyway and talks his ear off about unimportant things, like Batman’s latest Killer Croc case. Leslie is quick and efficient with the vaccinations. She doesn’t go out of her way to explain what each one is for, and Bruce is too busy distracting Jason to ask. Bruce trusts her, so he must not need the clarification the way he would if it were anyone else.
Then Leslie collects a few vials of blood, lets Jason pick from an assortment of Justice League band-aids, and promises to have the results for them in a week or so.
As promised, Bruce takes Jason to McDonald’s after. They chow down on burgers while sitting on the hood of the car like the first time they met. Back then, Jason couldn’t finish a meal too fast without blowing chunks. Now, thanks to Alfred’s unwavering dedication to his mission of making Jason healthy again, his body has been out of starvation mode for weeks. Most days, Jason can actually enjoy his food without scarfing it down like he’ll never get another scrap again. Today is not one of those days, unfortunately. He picks at his food like it’s made of mud.
“That wasn’t too bad, right?” Bruce says. “I told you Dr. Thompkins was a nice lady. She practically raised me.”
“Yeah,” Jason says absently. He’s only finished half of his burger, his stomach churning too much for more than a few bites.
“Is everything okay? You’re quiet.”
“I’m fine. My arm just hurts.” It is sore from all the shots, but the pain is a distant concern compared to the unease swirling in Jason’s gut every time he remembers the pending blood test results.
Bruce hums. “You don’t have to tell me everything that you told Dr. Thompkins, if that’s what you’re concerned about. You have a right to your privacy.” He says it so casually that it takes a few seconds for Jason to realize what he’s referring to.
Jason’s stomach drops. “I didn’t tell her anything. What’d she say to you?” Jason was there the whole time with Leslie and Bruce until they left the clinic. There wasn’t a private moment wherein Leslie could have spilled the beans to Bruce about the tests, but what if? Isn’t doctor-patient confidentiality a thing? She promised.
“She didn’t tell me anything,” Bruce reassures Jason before the panic can reach a peak. “I would never betray your trust like that, and neither would she.”
“Oh.” Jason still doesn’t fully relax.
“But,” Bruce presses, “if there was something bothering you that you wanted to get off your chest, you know I’d listen, right? I would never judge you for anything you have to say.”
Jason sips at his milkshake so he has an excuse not to meet Bruce’s eyes. “We didn’t talk about anything. I’m fine.” His blood test results will come in sooner or later, and he can put that whole ugly mess behind him. Jason has come too far to risk losing everything he has over a few—many—mistakes made by a desperate kid who just wanted to survive.
Bruce finds Jason in his reading corner at the back of the manor’s library one week later. “Sorry to interrupt your book, Jay. Dr. Thompkins called,” Bruce says, a strange furrow in his brow. If Jason didn’t know any better, he’d think Bruce was afraid. “She wants us to come down to the clinic as soon as possible. Get your shoes on.”
The whole drive to the clinic, Jason’s stomach is in knots. Cancer, right? It’s got to be cancer. She wouldn’t need to meet with them so urgently if it were something minor. Or an STD? One of the bad ones? Jason read somewhere that people went crazy from syphilis back in the old days. Is he going to go crazy, too? Is he going to die?
Don’t catastrophize, Jason reminds himself. It might not be anything bad. Maybe his iron levels are in the gutter, or he’s got low glucose. Something fixable.
Bruce hasn’t said a word since they left the manor, as trapped in his own head as Jason is about what news Leslie could possibly have for them. Jason wants so badly to ask if Bruce has suspicions about what this could be regarding, but the bile sitting at the back of Jason’s throat keeps him from making a peep.
Leslie sits them both down in her office immediately after they arrive. “I’m not going to mince words,” she says as soon as they’re settled. “Jason, your blood test results came back. I’m sorry. You’re HIV-positive.”
Time stops moving.
Leslie, ever the professional, plows right on before the bombshell has had time to settle. Jason doesn’t need her to explain what HIV is to him. He’s well aware. He’s watched and read depictions of the illness before, in novels and musicals, most of them tragedies because sickness always ends in tragedy. Like terminal cancer, or an oncoming train while you’re stuck in the middle of the tracks. No escape. No happy endings.
It was a cautionary tale on the streets. The prostitutes who took Jason under their wings gave him advice on how to avoid contracting anything permanent, and how to recognize the symptoms if he did catch something. It lurked in drug dens and passed from addict to addict when they couldn’t afford a clean needle.
He can feel Leslie and Bruce’s stares burning his skin. Leslie’s mouth is moving, but Jason’s ears ring too loudly for him to hear her properly.
He remembers his mother’s slow, painful decline. The coughs, the shakes, the fear. The drugs she’d shoot up to try and take her mind off it. She acted like the sickness didn’t exist, even though they both knew it did. Jason just didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t want to ask and have to face the reality that she was dying. If they didn’t talk about it, they could pretend everything was fine. Catherine was just fine.
She was fine until the day she died, collapsed on the bathroom floor with vomit in her hair and a needle in her arm.
Dirty needles. Unprotected sex. Jason knew better.
He did this to himself. He knew what the consequences would be if he continued living the way he was, but Jason told himself he didn’t have a choice. He needed that money. And now he’s going to die just like his mother, thanks to his own fucking stupidity.
“Jason?” Bruce’s hand is touching Jason’s shoulder. His dirty shirt, tainted by his filthy skin. “Jay, lad, can you hear me?”
Jason’s mouth is dry, but he forces out a numb, “Am I going to die?”
“No,” Bruce says too quickly. “Of course not. We have options.” He looks desperately at Leslie. “There are options, aren’t there?”
Leslie tips her head in agreement. “HIV has a far better survival rate now than it did back in the day. There is no known cure yet, but there are treatments we can try. Medicine has advanced a great deal since the height of the AIDS epidemic. It isn’t automatically a death sentence.”
It should be reassuring, but it isn’t. Jason isn’t some gullible kid. He may be young, but he was forced to grow up quickly. “I knew a guy on the streets,” he says hollowly, digging his nails into his clammy palms. “He was gay. He got AIDS from a hookup. He—he died a few winters back. Checked himself into the hospital when he got sick, and he never came back out.”
Jason should have gone to the doctor sooner. He should have gotten regular physicals like the better-off prostitutes did. It would have taken money he couldn’t afford to lose, but it would have been worth it to skip a few meals if it meant he would live. How could he have been so stupid? Jason always knew this was a possibility. He just never thought it would happen to him.
“I don’t wanna die,” Jason whispers.
“We caught it early,” Leslie says, like that can give him any kind of hope. “We’re going to keep a close eye on it and do what we can to keep the illness from progressing further. I’ve already devised an initial treatment plan, but it’s going to be hard. You’re going to be put on daily antiretroviral therapy to keep your immune system in check, and you’ll be needing regular checkups to monitor your T-cell count.”
“Whatever he needs,” Bruce says resolutely.
“I won’t lie to you, Jason,” Leslie presses on, folding her hands on the desk. “With your immune system compromised, even the most minor illnesses can be potentially life-threatening if we aren’t careful. That means taking your medication every day. It means going to doctor’s appointments even if you don’t want to. This isn’t something that you can ignore. It’s going to take discipline to stay on top of your treatments and keep the virus in check.”
Bruce squeezes Jason’s shoulder. “I assume we’ll be needing to find a specialist?”
“I’ve already made some calls,” Leslie confirms. “There’s also the matter of minimizing the risk to others. You’ll need to be diligent about keeping the virus from spreading, Jason,” she says seriously. “Even something as small as a paper cut could potentially pass it on to someone else, so you will have to be very careful. Do you understand?”
You’re dirty. She won’t say it so explicitly. Neither of them will, but Jason can read between the lines. Jason has already destroyed his own life. They can’t have him fucking up further by letting his poison touch anyone else.
“It’s not going to be easy, Jason,” Leslie goes on. “I want to make that clear. It’s okay to be scared. I know this is a lot to take in at once. You have a long, hard road ahead of you, but I want to make it clear that you are not dying. Plenty of people with HIV go on to live long and fulfilling lives. You have access to the best medical care money can buy, and you have a strong support system, which already puts you ahead of the curve.”
“So, what are the next steps?” Bruce asks. Right to business, typical Batman-style. He’s never been one to shy away from a problem, futile as it is. He’ll fight for every hopeless cause until his dying breath.
They leave the clinic an hour later with a stack of pamphlets covering HIV management and resources for emotional support groups that Jason will definitely not be attending. Bruce has a long list tucked into his pocket with the contact information for the slew of specialists Leslie looked into on their behalf. First a dietician, and now this? Jason has never had so many people invested in his health before, and it’s not even justified if he’s already ruined anyway. He doesn’t know why they bother trying at all.
Leslie provided Jason with a collection of medications to start with until they find a specialist, along with instructions on his new drug regimen. This one twice a day; this one only once a day in the morning; this one might react negatively with this one, so try this one instead…Jason doesn’t know how he’s going to do this for the rest of his life. He’s only had the diagnosis for a couple of hours, and already he’s overwhelmed beyond what he thought was possible.
Jason can’t bring himself to glance over at Bruce the whole way home, not knowing what kind of judgment will be waiting for him in the man’s eyes. Leslie didn’t break Jason’s confidence by detailing exactly how Jason contracted the virus, but Bruce isn’t called the world’s greatest detective for nothing. Anyone can connect the dots.
Jason can kiss any chance of being Robin goodbye—there’s no doubt about that. No vigilante wants a partner who’s diseased, inside and out. The Boy Wonder is supposed to be a hero. He’s a beacon of hope for the citizens of Gotham. Nobody wants to be saved by some AIDS-ridden punk who sold his body because he was too desperate to consider the potential consequences of his actions.
Jason hurries upstairs to his room as soon as they’re in the house. He has no interest in being present for the conversation when Bruce has to break the news to Alfred. Jason can’t bear to watch the old man’s heart break.
He feels gross. Jason has always had an undercurrent of filth in him, but now it’s real. It has a name.
Jason lies in his bed, trying to think back and determine when he must have contracted it. There were so many opportunities, so many clients who could have given it to him, it’s impossible to pick out a single moment. It’s entirely possible that he’s already passed it on to other people. He kind of hopes he did. None of those men deserve to get away with what they did without suffering the consequences, but…what about the other hookers they’ve already turned their leery gaze onto now that Jason is out of the picture? Jason could be ruining innocent lives without even knowing it. He’s a fucking plague.
Sometime in the late afternoon, Bruce knocks on Jason’s door. He lets himself in. “Hey, there, chum. How are you holding up?” Jason shrugs wordlessly. “It’s nearly five,” Bruce offers. “Time for afternoon training, if you’re feeling up to it. No pressure. We can reschedule if you’d rather rest today.”
He’s trying so hard to make it seem like everything is still normal. Jason almost feels bad for the guy. There’s no smoothing over the awkwardness now, no matter how hard either of them tries. They both know the ugly truth.
“You can cut the act,” Jason says, saving Bruce the trouble. “You don’t have to spare my feelings or anything.”
Bruce frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I’m done, aren’t I? I can’t be Robin anymore, obviously. It’s okay, really. I’m fine with it.”
He’s not fine with it, but Jason knows better than to go where he’s not wanted. It will kill him to have to give this up. For a minute there, Jason Todd was nearly part of a family again. He had a purpose.
Bruce steps further into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. “Nothing has changed, Jay. Of course Robin is still yours if you want it.”
Jason sits up, curling up with his arms wrapped around his knees. “How? You can’t let me out in the field when I’m not even…I’m too…” He looks down at his hands like termites are crawling on them. It makes no sense, but he can feel the sickness inside of him. He feels it eating away at him, tainting his body. Like he’s radioactive.
“We will have to take more precautions than before,” Bruce agrees. “My top priority will always be your safety, but you are still the same person you were before, Jay. I know you have what it takes to be Robin. Your diagnosis doesn’t have to change anything if you don’t want it to.”
Jason rolls his eyes. Either Bruce is lying for Jason’s sake, or he really is as naive as the tabloids all say he is. A hopeless optimist to the end.
Bruce comes over and takes a seat on the edge of Jason’s bed, a safe distance away from Jason. Probably afraid he’ll catch the disease if he comes any closer, not that Jason can blame him.
“I didn’t want to pry,” Bruce starts slowly. “Your business is your business. I would never force you to discuss anything you weren’t comfortable talking about, but in light of recent developments, I think we should have a conversation about it. About…what happened to you before we met.”
Jason curls in on himself tighter, a tiny ball on top of the comforter. “Nothing happened.”
“Jay.” Bruce’s voice is gentler than Jason has ever heard it before. “It’s all right, lad. You aren’t in any trouble. It’s okay that you don’t want to talk about it. I wouldn’t either, if I were in your position. But as your guardian, it’s my job to keep you safe from whomever may have hurt you in the past.”
“No one hurt me.”
The sympathy in Bruce’s eyes makes Jason want to cry. “Someone took advantage of you, didn’t they?”
“No.” Jason clenches his eyes shut tight so he doesn’t have to see that stupid sympathetic expression again. He doesn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy. “No one hurt me, okay? I did it for money. It was my fault.” He chose this fate. He welcomed it right in.
It will be Jason’s own fault if this damn disease kills him, just like it tried to kill his mother. He never stood a chance.
“You’re a child, Jason.” Bruce tries and fails to catch Jason’s eye. “It could never be your fault, do you understand me? You were just trying to survive.”
Jason tries to hold the tears back, but this whole day has been such a dumpster fire that he can’t contain it any longer. A tear slips out, followed by another, and another. “It’s so stupid,” he mutters into his hands. “I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t—I didn’t know what else to do. I should’ve been smarter. I don’t—” He laughs out a sob. “I don’t even know who it was. There were too many. I fuckin’ deserve this.”
“Don’t say that. You didn’t deserve any of it, do you hear me?” Bruce gingerly removes Jason’s hands from his tear-soaked face so he’s forced to look Bruce in the eyes, see the earnestness there. “Those people took advantage of you. They knew it was wrong, and they did it anyway. They are to blame, and Batman and Robin will bring every last one of those men to justice, I promise. They won’t get away with this. We won’t let them hurt anyone else.”
Jason shakes his head miserably. “I’m no one’s idea of a hero. If they knew all the shit I’ve done…” Jason Todd is not the kind of person anyone would pick for a hero. He’s done bad things, dirty things. Heroes don’t do the things Jason’s done. They don’t let dozens of grown fucking men—
“You’re wrong,” Bruce says, leaving no room for debate. “That is exactly what makes you a hero. You are someone who keeps fighting despite everything that’s tried to hold you back. That’s what Robin is. It’s about hope. I chose you for my partner, Jay, and that hasn’t changed. The job is yours for as long as you want it.”
Jason almost can’t trust it. “You mean it?”
“I mean it.” And to prove it, Bruce sidles closer and wraps his arms around Jason in a crushing hug.
Jason fights him at first, tries to push him away. “Wait, you shouldn’t—I’m not—” His breath hitches. “I’m dirty.”
Bruce only draws Jason closer, not even hesitating. “You’re not dirty, Jason. You’re my son. You’re Robin.” He doesn't pull away, even when Jason buries his face in Bruce's shoulder and his tears begin to soak through Bruce's shirt. "Everything is going to be okay, sweetheart. No one is going to hurt you again," he promises. "Not on my watch."