the subway - j. todd
masterlist! dc masterlist!
jason todd x fem!reader
genre: angst
the subway - chappel roan
summary: Twenty years after the incidents of "Devoted Little Thing", Jason stumbles across a little girl on the subway who looks suspiciously like someone he used to love.
-
non-canon (one-shot) possible ending for my other fic "devoted little thing" linked above. contains spoilers!!! (not too many direct spoilers but it won't really hit the same if you haven't read the fic)
warnings: none
-
Jason Todd gave up killing. He abandoned crime, chasing down druglords, and put the Red Hood to rest years ago. Along the pale skin of his features, lines have begun to spread like vines. The white tips of his hair were beginning to look like they belonged there, matching the grey peppering his dark locks. As much as his middle-aged body allowed him, Jason still worked out. Just to tell his age to suck it.
He wakes up a little more grateful every single day, remembering who he used to be, how he got to where he was, and the tiny little world he’s created around himself. Jason has no one he considers a friend. Odd people he sees every now and then who recognize him. Like the manager of a convenience store he frequents.
Forty-three―pushing forty-four―was an age he never considered living. Little Jason thought he’d be dead or rich. This Jason knows life a little bit better. It wears him down slowly each day, but he tries to think about how lucky he is to be alive. Despite how lonely, despite how dreary some days seem, he’s alive and he’s lucky to be.
After all this time, all this turmoil life has thrown at him, he’s beginning to learn how to make peace with himself. With his past, his trauma. He finds love in the little things since his greatest love is no longer with him. Not his greatest love, but his only love.
You.
The idea of you still haunted him every night, every morning.
It happened one night―a night when he was still young and stupid and stubborn. He’d been fighting a gang. Carelessly. Arrogantly. And it nearly cost him his life. Like an idiot, he’d stumbled to the rooftop across from your apartment, red mask cracked and clothes ripped apart, drenched in crimson. He watched you through your window as you snoozed on the couch, petting a tiny grey cat. A soothing romance played on the television, subtitles on as always.
Seeing you there in your tiny life, with your tiny cat and cheesy romance movie was all it took for him to realize you deserved better. Always had. And he could never be that for you, no matter how hard he tried. Thinking back on it now, it was a little bit of truth and loads of self doubt. Jason could’ve changed. He did, two decades down the line.
Which…is why he had to go. You didn’t deserve to wait that long for someone to fix themselves up. He stopped delivering mint chocolate to your balcony. Stopped leaving obvious signs that he was watching, though he still was. For months, for years, you continued to search for him. Countless nights, he watched silently on another rooftop as you cried. You’d call Bruce or Dick, sometimes Alfred, and sob about how you missed him.
Jason couldn’t be the man you needed.
And, as time wore on, you healed more. So did he. Jason stopped visiting as often, but would check in often. One visit a week became once every two weeks, then once a month. He forced himself to stay away, to keep himself occupied with healing his failing body instead of watching you. Forced himself to let you live your life.
Jason’s logic, still to this day: If I can forget her, she can forget me.
For twenty years, it’s seemed to work. Though it wasn’t so much ‘forgetting’ as it was ‘ignoring’ the pull in his chest, leading him to places he knew you’d be. As time drew on, the pull got duller, never leaving but eventually quieting.
His joy came from listening to music on the subway, frequent visits to a small gym across from the ratty apartment he was renting. It came from his grocery shopping, and when he could spare a dollar, his joy came from the classic novels he’d buy from the thrift store. Things nobody wanted. When he had more than an extra dollar? Maybe a new (second-hand) pair of jeans or a t-shirt.
But mostly he loved novels.
He thought fondly of one of his last visits―was it sixteen years ago? When he was twenty-six and you were twenty-four. Jason’s injury took him out of crime fighting, so he’d left Red Hood behind already by the time he stalked to your apartment. That’s when he saw a young man there. Perhaps around his age, if not just a year younger. And you were smiling.
Jason wanted to blame the tug of jealousy on old feelings. That it was natural to feel that way about an old flame. You were no old flame, however. You were his life, his love, his soulmate. And he was allowing himself to let you go. To give you peace.
He hated peace. He did not want to go quietly. But your smile told him to stay silent, to keep his distance, to let you live the life you deserve. After seeing you dance around the living room, your hand delicately clutched in this strange man’s, Jason never returned. Moved across the city, choked on his feelings until he was able to swallow them down, and reduced you to a mere thought. A fleeting memory.
The subway ride home is packed today. Jason is barely able to squeeze his broad shoulders into the middle of the cart. Briefcases knock against his knees. Grumpy office workers sneer as he weasels past them.
The clunking rails rattle his eardrums, and it’s only then that Jason realizes he’s forgotten his headphones. The one thing he cherished more than novels. Maybe just as much.
His phone was dead anyway. He felt no more than a boy, cheeks puffing out with annoyance.
Hot bodies, sweaty from Gotham’s rare mid-summer heat, shove through the crowd to exit. As the subway goes deeper into the city, more and more people get off, clearing out. His shoulders relax as he’s finally able to take a deep breath in.
Broody as always, Jason resists the urge to roll his eyes.
Standing up, he feels his head begin to droop. Still, all the seats are taken up. So Jason simply bows his head and shuts his eyes, keeping his body awake but allowing rest to consume his mind, if only for a few seconds before some children begin sniffling on the bus. At first, he thinks the kids are having an allergic reaction to something.
Then he cracks a tired eye open to find a child right next to him. She stares at him with wide eyes and pouty lips. She, unlike the rest of the children, is not crying.
Jason makes a funny face to the child as the mother across the train cart shushes her sobbing kid.
The child beneath him laughs. The sound sparkles, and suddenly he doesn’t feel so lonely anymore. It’s moments like this that convince him he might not be such a bad person. Despite everything he’s gone, he can still make a child laugh.
Crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes crinkle with a smile.
The child laughs again. Jason’s eyes go wide when he takes in the girl’s smile―really takes it in. Those eyes, strikingly perfect. They curl up at the edges with a wide grin. And the color, startingly similar to…
Jason looks up a little too late―maybe his reflexes are rusty after all this time―and catches the mother’s eye. She’s hustling over towards him, grabbing her daughter’s wrist and tugging her back.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters. “Emma, let’s go.” She tugs her daughter back.
Jason hears your voice and the world stops.
Suddenly, he’s a teen again. You’re scolding him, patching him up and stitching his wounds together. Then he’s in his early twenties, stubborn as ever. Supposed to be dead yet he’s following your every move, yearning for your touch more than ever before.
It’s you. This baby girl―Emma―is yours. He knows those eyes. He’d know them anywhere. And that laugh, that smile. It was yours. All yours.
His stomach is doing backflips and it feels like everything has come down to this moment. All rationality leaves his mind and he reaches forward, stumbling but catching himself as the subway lurches.
“Excuse―Jason?” your name on his lips. Dammit, it’s like the first time all over again. The first time he saw you as a child when Bruce brought you home. First time since being thrown into the Lazarus Pit, first time since losing you.
Words leave him. The wind takes them away as the subway gains speed again. “I…hi.”
Your eyes widen, just like how your daughter’s did. And for a moment, he thinks you’re about to cry. But, as if you’re skilled in hiding your emotions (you always have been), you suck in a deep breath and smile. “Jason,” you repeat. “It’s…it’s been…”
A long time? Forever? Eternity? Too long? What should he say? What are you going to say? The world is his oyster. This moment is his oyster, his everything. Anything is possible right now. A wedding, a fresh start. This is his chance to show you what a good and honest man he’s become.
His heart beats erratically in his chest. But then…it goes quiet. The heat in his cheeks recedes as he takes in the moment in full.
Children. You have children. Two. The young girl, Emma, and an eight-year-old boy who clings to your leg timidly. And there’s a ring on your finger. Glittering diamond. Flashy, and nothing he would ever be able to afford.
Thrown back in time, rage fuels him. You’re his. How could you do this? How could you…how could he have allowed you to be happy without him?
But maturity strangles his thoughts. Jason knows why he forced himself to let you be happy without him. He knows you’re probably thriving without him. But he can’t help but think that your eyes look a little tired, a little worn down from life. So do his, though. Who was he to judge?
And, from the looks of it, you seem to have been crying, too.
The little boy has puffy eyes and a frown as tears continue to stream down his cheeks. Hastily, as if remembering you left something important on your seat, you hurry back. Not before asking Jason to come sit with you. Hesitantly, he does.
He feels like a giant as Emma clings to his leg, curious. You still trust him, even with your child. After all these years. You don’t make a move to pull Emma away when she crawls into his lap as he sits across from you.
Jason notices a kennel on the seat beside you. Inside, a tiny storm-grey cat purrs tiredly, his whiskers silver from age.
“He’s…” Jason, baffled, points to the cat. “He’s still alive?”
You smile. “Wilco?” Then tears begin to rise in your sleepy eyes. “We’re actually going to put him down today.”
Something in Jason shatters. He never liked the cat. Was pretty sure the cat didn’t like him in return. Always hissing, ratting him out when he was on your balcony. But Jason remembered how fond you were of Wilco. Probably still are, given how long he’s lived. What would that be now? Twenty years old?
This cat has always seemed to be here when he was around. Always present whenever you two were meeting in secret. And a part of him is just a little saddened to know today is his last day.
“I’m…I’m sorry.”
You wave it off. “No, I’m sorry. How…gosh, how are you Jason? It’s been years.” The softness in your voice tells him you’ve been thinking of him too. There’s something yearning in you. He can sense it. Beautiful, wilting, lonely. “I don’t mean to make the mood all dark. It’s just a sad time for us all.” You run a hand down your little boy’s hair.
“I’ve been good.” He has been good, but why does it suddenly feel like a lie? Taking care of his body, eating well, he has a place all by himself and an unbreakable routine. Looking at you, it all feels meaningless. Damn pointless. Everything is pointless without you. Why did it take him so long to remember that? “How about you?” He can’t resist―Jason glances down at the ring on your finger.
You notice and smile gently. “I’ve been good. Better than today. I’m far away from the life we would’ve lived together,” you joke.
To him, it’s not a joke. You couldn’t be further. You were a detective―one of the best Bruce had ever worked with. It’s not that motherhood had reduced you to less of a person, but…he could see it in your eyes. If you had chosen to have children with a different man or lived a life pursuing what you wanted, would you be happier?
These children…the way you clung to them, Jason could tell you loved them so dearly. They were your world and there was nothing wrong about it. But you had once been a girl with dreams, too. It wasn’t your children that crushed them. It was the man that you married.
You were content, not happy. Just like Jason. It takes everything in him not to swoop you up and take you and your kids away.
The lines creasing your face aren’t deep enough. You should have smile lines and crows feet from laughing. Jason would’ve made it his goal to give you wrinkles, to make you laugh so much he could permanently see your smile.
Emma tugs on Jason’s thick finger.
You and Jason begin to catch up. Talk about where you live, what you do. Trust is rekindled. And, as the ride pulls on, it’s like nothing ever changed. Almost.
There’s still a bit of unspoken tension. Still a bit of resentment and remorse from both parties. And it’s only broken when your eyes flicker up to meet his and you ask, “What happened, Jason?”
“What?”
“Why did you leave?”
He doesn’t know what to say. Especially in front of your kids. But Jason takes a deep breath and lets calm wash over him. “I’m sorry. I just…I wasn’t right for you.”
“Then why didn’t you come back when you were right for me?”
Sadness sinks inside of him. “Because you didn’t deserve to wait on someone who wasn’t ready.”
“What if I wanted to wait?”
“Then why didn’t you?” The words come out harsher than he intends them to. He watches you recoil with hurt, and suddenly he’s stumbling over himself like a child. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to turn this around. I just…”
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrogate you.”
He can’t help but feel a little forgotten despite what you’re saying. Whether or not you wanted to, you were occupied most days. With kids, work, and friends. You were the only thing on his mind. All day everyday. Though he tried not to admit it to himself most of the time.
“Mama?” Emma asks. She finally gives into her curiosity. “Who is this? You said we don’t talk to strangers.”
You smile softly as Emma continues tugging at Jason’s hoodie. “He’s not a stranger. You just haven’t met him yet. He’s one of my old friends. He’s your Uncle Jason.” It rolls off the tongue painfully easily. As if you’ve spoken about him before. Perhaps you have.
Uncle Jason hits him like a brick. He’s not the one. He’s never been the one and fate knew that.
But he smiles through the agony of knowing that and asks, “And what are your names?”
Emma reintroduces herself, smiling with a few teeth missing. Though the timid little boy does not speak from beside you.
“Sorry,” you whisper. “He’s just a little shy.” You pet his hair and smile like he’s the world. Not as if he’s more special than Emma, but like there’s something about him you’re keeping just for yourself. “His…his name is Peter.”
Peter.
Peter.
Jason’s gaze clashes with yours. He sees the unspoken words. Hears them hanging in the air.
“He’s named after you,” he swears he hears that from your mouth. But it’s all in your eyes. Jason Peter Todd.
And Jason realizes what he lost. Not just you. But Emma and Peter as well. You slipped through his fingers like loose thread. You were oxygen and he was a flame. And, like a selfish bastard, he ate you up and suffocated himself.
If he changed sooner, what could this have been?
These children could’ve had his nose and your lips. Peter would’ve inherited his stocky, broad frame. Emma his sharp cheekbones and blue-black hair. But instead, these children wore the features of a different man. A man who didn’t wait.
Wilco purrs inside his kennel. Jason meets the tiny cat’s eyes. They’re clouded over from cataracts.
He can’t take it anymore. He should run away. Leave you so he can sprint to his apartment and fall apart like he always does when the thought of you gets a little too close. If it weren’t for Emma and Peter, he’d pull you in and kiss you right there. Tell you he loves you, has always loved you. Adores all your new curves and the lines and blooming age spots from years under the sun.
He’d convince you he could love better than your husband. Somehow.
But instead of whisking you away, instead of sweeping you off your feet, Jason sits there like a big dumb idiot, Emma still toying with the strings of his black hoodie, a naive smile pulled across her face. He watches your face, studies the new features like it might be the last time he sees you.
And it is.
Because after this, Jason Todd is running to his apartment and packing his things. He’s leaving Gotham City, the place that raised him, tortured him, and then gave him the most beautiful thing ever.
“This is my stop,” he lies as the subway comes to a stop. “It was nice seeing you again. Really nice seeing you again.” So many things were left unsaid. So many questions left unanswered.
“Oh,” you say. “Yeah. It…it was nice seeing you, too.” You jump to your feet and pull him into a hug. The action makes his heart stop. Your arms feel like a blanket. You’re warm; the warmest thing he’s had around him in the past twenty years. Hot tears prickle his eyes.
Jason daringly wraps his arms around you. He squeezes. You squeeze harder.
“You’re my best friend,” you whisper into his ear, quiet enough so the kids don’t hear.
He can’t help himself, tugging you closer. And he wishes he could say the words on the tip of his tongue. I love you. I will always love you. But if he says them, he might never leave. Might just plop right down into his seat and ask you to start a family.
And, given how vulnerable you seem right now, you might just say yes.
But Jason can’t do that. Not to the kids. Not to you.
So he forces himself to rip away from you. The letter he wrote to you comes flooding back. His promise to watch you, watch your children, ensure you’re all safe.
Maybe you’d be safer away from him.
Probably.
“It was really nice seeing you,” he repeats. Desperately, Jason ignores the hurt in your eyes. The way you’re silently begging him to say something, to ask you to stay. Anything.
“Of course,” you mutter. “We should…get together sometime.”
This time, Jason forces himself to be honest. “I don’t think so.” Despite the kids watching, he presses a light, platonic kiss to your forehead. It says everything he needs it to.
I love you, but I’m going to let you let me go for good now. I won’t be back. Just because I won’t be back, doesn’t mean I won’t still love you. I hope you live your best life. That your kids become everything we wished we could’ve. I wish them every success and love in life, and you especially.
And when he finally tears himself away and leaves, you get the end of the message.
The doors close and the subway takes off. Emma takes Wilco out of his cage and holds him up to the window, waving his little paw. Jason waves back, knowing that once the cat dies, he’ll be out of the picture too. It seems that you know this as well, because you sit down and stare, eyes empty as the day you lost him.
I’m sorry, he wants to scream. I can’t do it. I can’t love you knowing you’re not mine anymore. I’m selfish and I’m stupid and I’m slow. I love you, and I’m sorry that I do. I wish you could hate me, I wish you could forget me. But I can’t bring myself to hurt you anymore.
Jason is three stops away from his apartment. A long walk for him, but he needed to get off that damn rollercoaster.
The subway takes off.
Jason sighs.
He’s okay walking. There’s nowhere you went that he didn’t follow when you two were younger.
Who knows? Maybe now that he’s not searching for you, the walk will be longer.
