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Jason Todd died when Lily was fifteen.
She remembered it because she had been the same age as him, and her mom had taken the day off work after the news broke just to spend more time with her and her little brother, William, who had only been ten and hadn’t really understood why everyone was so upset about this kid.
“There are two people who actually help this city,” her mom had said, once. “And those people are Batman and Bruce Wayne. Without Batman stopping all those crazy villains and Bruce Wayne’s charities keeping everyone else alive, this whole island would have probably sank into the ocean years ago.”
Lily hadn’t thought about Jason Todd in years. His death was definitely one of the more publicized Joker-caused deaths, both because Jason was the son of Bruce Wayne and because somehow it had happened overseas, but it was also more than five years ago and Lily had a life of her own to worry about.
The only reason anybody knew the news was true was because it was front-page in the Gotham Gazette, and not, like, a tabloid.
Apparently the whole Wayne Family had shown up to the annual Winter Gala along with a man who was claiming to be Jason Todd, back from the dead.
Patricia Daggett was running out of time to be single. She was the daughter of a cousin of Roland Daggett, who ran the family business. Well, calling it the family business was probably an understatement: it was a multi-million dollar company that developed and produced cutting-edge skincare products. They only sold finished products to those who could afford special orders—Hollywood stars, and the like—but there was hardly a single mass produced skincare cream on the market whose maker didn’t source ingredients from Daggett Industries.
If she wanted to, Patricia would be able to get a job at Daggett Industries easily, but Patricia didn’t want to work. She wanted to coast on the family fortune and go dancing every weekend. Unfortunately for her, her mother had given her an ultimatum: either work, get a husband, or get cut off.
That was the only reason Patricia was looking forward to the Winter Gala at all this year. If she wanted to marry someone in the right tax bracket, this would be the place to find them, regardless of all the boring political posturing and small talk about what direction Gotham would be heading in the future.
People weren’t announced when they arrived anymore, not like they were in Patricia’s favorite period dramas, but anyone in the ballroom would have been hard-pressed to miss it whenever the Wayne family arrived. If you did miss it, then the quick whispers that flew around the room would quickly alert you.
There was always something to gossip about when it came to the Waynes, even though they kept only very specific company. Usually it started similarly, people nudging their friends and saying There’s someone new with the Waynes. It had happened with the black boy, all sorts of stifled nastiness about how colorful the family was getting, but most people shut up quick because nobody wanted a repeat of the Cassandra incident. When she had arrived, she had quickly been dubbed the “Princess of Gotham”, as Brucie’s only daughter, but all sorts of rumors had flown about regarding if she was deaf or mute or dumb or autistic, and one particular idiot had gotten drunk and asked Brucie to his face. The lawsuit was immediate. Before Cassandra, of course, were the whispers about little Damian, and if he would inherit the company since he was Bruce’s only biological son. Tim Wayne being the main shareholder had quelled most of those rumors, but particularly uptight businessmen still started them up now and again. Of course, Tim Wayne’s whole situation had been the talk of high society. People love a good tragedy, and his father being murdered (maybe in front of the boy, maybe not, Patricia wasn’t sure what was rumor versus fact in that case) had been more than enough to set the ball rolling. The custody issue on top of that had just been icing on the cake.
So obviously Patricia was curious, but it might be a new teenage adoptee, or perhaps a plus-one for Cassandra, which would really be interesting. Either way, her curiosity was enough that she broke away from her family and headed over towards the Wayne clan.
She saw the new man sooner than she expected to. He was of a height with Brucie, and almost as broad. He was in a bespoke suit like the rest of the Waynes, which led credence to the idea that he was a new adoptee, except that his face was weathered, and the white streak at the front of his hair went all the way down to the roots. Patricia was very good at spotting a dye-job, and this was not it. If he was a teenager, she would sell her favorite Chanel perfume.
She slid up next to Richie, who she had always been on decent terms with. She was two years younger than him, and quickly considered and then dismissed the idea of pursuing him as her mother-mandated husband. He was famously in some kind of on-again off-again with the Police Commissioner’s daughter. Pursuing him would be useless. She wrapped a delicate hand around his bicep anyway, leaning into him so that she could insinuate herself inside of the bubble the Waynes tended to form.
“Oh! Hi, Patricia,” Richie greeted her.
“Hi, Richie! I couldn’t help but notice your new friend here, I just had to come and introduce myself,” she said.
“New friend?” Richie asked. He was always a little thick, bless him. If she didn’t know he was adopted she would say it was genetic.
“Obviously she means me, Dickface,” the new man interjected. Brucie sighed deeply. Patricia just knew there had been some lecture akin to the ones she received as a teenager that had just been completely thrown out the window. God, she wished it were appropriate to laugh.
“Be nice,” Cassandra scolded. The new man rolled his eyes, then turned back to Patricia. He gave her a quick, incisive up-and-down look, then nodded to himself. Patricia felt weirdly like she had just been x-rayed.
“I think we’ve actually met before,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake. Patricia took it and shook on autopilot. “Patricia Daggett, right? Jason Todd.”
Patricia was glad that the handshake was already over, because she would have dropped his hand like a dead fish. That was simply not a name that was mentioned in front of Brucie Wayne, and she turned wide, horrified eyes in his direction.
Brucie Wayne snagged a glass from a passing waiter and took a long sip of champagne, then finally seemed to notice her staring.
“Sorry, did you say something?” he asked.
“She’s freaking out because I introduced myself,” the new man explained.
Brucie frowned. “Jason, we talked about this,” he said.
Patricia let go of Richie’s arm so she could approach the man-who-might-be-Jason. She had met Jason before, when he was just a little sprout of a teenage boy and she was a teenage girl with a crush on his older brother. They had not gotten along. She had daydreamed about punching him in the face so that he would leave her alone with Richie, and then had felt horrible guilt for it a month later when he was murdered.
“But how could you possibly be Jason Todd?” she blurted out, unthinking.
“Well, when my parents filled out the birth certificate, that’s what they decided to name me,” Fucking Jason Todd Apparently said.
“I… see. I’m sorry for my astonishment, it’s just that this was… rather unexpected,” Patricia said, pulling herself together. She turned to leave and placed her hand gently on Richie’s shoulder. “It was good to see you, Richie,” she said, and then went back towards her family.
Behind her, she heard several people laugh, and then the dry voice of Tim Wayne said “Well, that takes care of spreading that news, I guess.”
Her mother was going to lose her mind when she heard this!
After the various Prodigal Son Returns headlines that hit the news scene of Gotham after the annual Winter Gala (some written by herself), Vicki Vale knew that there must be more of a story to pursue. A boy doesn’t just disappear for eight years and then reappear in society for no reason!
When the Gotham Museum of the Arts hosted their bi-annual fundraising gala, Vicki was determined to be the society reporter on scene. If it had to do with art, then Gotham’s own collector Selina Kyle would be there. Where Selina Kyle went, Brucie Wayne went. It was Vicki’s hope that if Brucie was there, then Jason Todd would follow.
The night of the event, it seemed it paid off. The Waynes were known to be rather insular, even for one of Gotham’s old families, but art-focused events had ways of popping their typical bubble. Sure, they would still be in pairs, but that was still more vulnerable and therefore easier to interview.
She approached the two youngest first. Duke Thomas and Damian Wayne were admiring some sort of abstract painting done in multiple shades of red.
“Duke, Damian!” Vicki called as she approached. Damian glanced over his shoulder to see who had said his name and grimaced when he saw her. Ha! That probably shouldn’t fill her with glee, but if she didn’t like messing with rich people then she wouldn’t be working the society pages. “May I have a moment of your time?”
Duke looked around, probably searching the crowd for Brucie. Last Vicki had seen him, he was slipping around a corner with Selina Kyle, so she doubted Duke would find him.
“Sure, Ms. Vale, we can answer a few questions,” Duke said politely.
“I reserve the right to deny comment,” Damian declared. Great. Vicki started her recorder.
“Is the man who appeared with your family at the Winter Gala really Jason Todd, back from the dead?” Vicki asked.
“I mean, yeah,” Duke said.
“I know that many people are eager to believe my father is an imbecile, but contrary to popular belief he is not gullible. He had a DNA test done, obviously,” Damian contributed.
“Has it been an adjustment to have Jason back in the family?” Vicki asked.
“What do you mean? Jason has always been in the family,” Damian sneered.
“Yeah, Jason’s always been around,” Duke agreed. Vicki faltered. Her prepared questions didn’t help her if they answered with something like that.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, there is a large amount of fine art that I have yet to introduce Duke to, and I have limited time before this event ends in which to do it,” Damian said, grabbing his brother by the elbow. He pulled Duke away, and Duke shot a hasty, awkward wave over his shoulder at her.
Well.
She stopped her recorder and went to find the next pair of Waynes. Across the hall, she located Richie Grayson and Barbara Gordon, long-time girlfriend and daughter of Gotham City’s Police Commissioner.
“Richie! Have a minute for some questions?” she called out. He turned towards her with a laugh.
“Oh, I always have a minute for you, Ms. Vale,” he said.
“Don’t try that with me, young man, I’ve known you since you were tiny,” she half-joked, switching the recorder back on. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he agreed.
“Was the man seen with your family at the Winter Gala really Jason Todd, back from the dead?”
“Well, obviously he was never really dead, but that was definitely Jason,” Richie answered.
“Has it been an adjustment having Jason back in the family?” she asked.
“I’m not quite sure what you mean?” Richie said, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Jason’s always been part of the family.”
“Dick, my father is calling us,” Barbara interrupted.
“Ah, sorry, Ms. Vale, I have to go. But I think Tim was over by the block prints!” Richie said, waving. Barbara was already rolling away, and he hurried to catch up.
Vicki switched off her recorder testily. Ugh. Waynes!
She followed Richie’s tip and found Tim over by some lovely prints, along with his sister Cassandra and the man of the hour, Jason Todd himself.
“Vicki Vale for the Gotham Gazette, may I ask a few questions?” she asked, approaching their group. Cassandra smiled at her, but the two boys ignored her completely, apparently deep into an argument.
“It’s symbolic, you colossal jerk, the way it frames the negative space recontextualizes—” Tim said, emphatically.
“You wouldn’t know symbolism if it bit you on the nose!” Jason interjected. “Border art of the ocean barely counts as symbolism, the actual symbolism that this artist used is all in the color—”
“Boys,” Cassandra said. They both shut up immediately. Wow, what Vicki would do for a trick like that!
“Ah. Hi, Ms. Vale,” Tim greeted her, a sheepish expression taking over his face.
“Vicki Vale, huh? Nice to see you again,” Jason said.
“I have a few questions for the family, and then I have a separate set for Jason. Is that okay?”
“Sure. Do I need to wait my turn, or…”
“You can stick around for the family questions, don’t worry.”
“Ask away, then,” Tim said. Vicki switched on her recorder.
“Was the man at the Winter Gala really Jason Todd, back from the dead?”
“Yes,” Tim and Cassandra said in tandem. It was kind of cute.
“Alright, then. Has it been an adjustment to have Jason back in the family?”
Tim and Cassandra gave her identical looks that said she was an idiot. That was less cute.
“Jason’s always been here,” Tim said.
“An adjustment,” Cassandra echoed. “Yes. Adjusting to many brothers. Jason is one of my brothers.”
Jason laughed, not even bothering to be subtle about it. Vicki set her jaw, determined to press on, even if every Wayne apparently wanted to pretend that Jason had always been around.
“Jason Todd had a rather publicized funeral. Did the family bury an empty coffin without actually knowing that he was dead?” she asked.
“Ah, well, the explosion in Ethiopia was horrible, and we knew Jason had been nearby,” Tim explained. “Bruce only knew what the authorities told him. That’s all I really know.”
“That was before I joined the family,” Cassandra said, waving a dismissive hand.
“How long has the Wayne family known Jason was actually alive?”
“Ehh…” Tim drawled, sticking his hand in front of him and tilting it back and forth.
“Yes,” Cassandra said. “But also no.”
Jason started laughing even harder.
“Thank you,” Vicki said, trying not to grind her teeth. “Jason, may I ask you some questions now?”
Jason finally stopped laughing, theatrically wiping away tears that weren’t there.
“Sure, Vicki, I’d love to answer questions,” he said.
“Why make your public debut—or rather, re-debut—now?” Vicki asked.
“Ah, y’know. I can finally stand it again.”
Weird answer, but okay. Tim closed his eyes and looked as if he was praying for patience. Vicki wondered briefly if she should do the same.
“How did you survive the famous Joker bombing in Ethiopia?”
“Oh, I didn’t,” Jason replied. He held a completely straight face, but Vicki laughed anyway. Great. That answer would be unprintable.
“Where have you been all this time?” Vicki asked instead.
“Oh, I’m a good old world traveler,” Jason said, sounding actually enthusiastic. “I’ve spent time in Pakistan, China, a little time in Korea. Russia was super fun. Great money to be made in Russia.”
“Oh, what did you do there?” Vicki asked. It wasn’t part of the script, but whatever got her answers.
“Ah, y’know, a little of this, a little of that. Mostly contract work, but I did some freelancing, and I did a favor or two for a friend.”
Could this man get any more vague? Vicki was about ready to throw hands, despite the foot of height difference and probably over a hundred pound weight difference. She could bite him. Biting always worked.
“Contract work?” Vicki prodded.
“Yeah, contract work. Plenty of people looking to hire someone like me in Russia.”
“Any trade while you were there?” Tim asked, typing something into his phone rapidly.
“Nah, I didn’t start doing anything with trade until I got back to Europe. Even then, I just dabbled,” Jason answered.
“Damn,” Tim said. “Never mind then.” He didn’t slow or pause in his typing. Jason squinted at him suspiciously.
“What are you doing there, Timbo?”
“Nothing,” Tim insisted, still not looking away from his phone or pausing.
Jason looked between Tim and Vicki, and then finally looked at Cassandra, who shook her head firmly. Apparently this settled some unspoken question, because Jason turned his full attention back to Vicki.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Any more questions?”
“Are you happy to be back in Gotham?” Vicki asked, falling back on her script.
“Oh, yeah. Way more work here, especially in trade,” he answered. “But plenty of other work for me to do, too.”
“Yes, are you planning on getting involved in any of the charities run or supported by your father?”
“Oh, I’m already involved. I help do a lot of the decision making for the Martha Wayne Foundation, reaching out to higher-risk neighborhoods, things like that.”
Tim finally put his phone away, then abruptly turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Now that you’re back in Gotham, what are your future plans?”
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. I don’t do contract work anymore, but I still do plenty of freelance. I’m involved pretty heavily in trade. And of course, I love to help clean up the neighborhood,” Jason said. He smiled at her with teeth that were almost too white to be believable. Somehow it felt like a threat.
“Well, that’s good to hear!” Vicki said. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
She switched off her recorder.
Jennifer was booooored. Her mom and dad had dragged her to some dumb party for charity, but the party was full of adults and didn’t have anything to do. All adults ever did was talk to each other and eat the weird, bad snacks, and sometimes dance slowly to the really boring music that the band was playing.
Last week her best friend Alex had his birthday party, and there had been a bounce house. Jennifer bet if the charity party had a bounce house then it would be way more fun. She told this to her mom.
“Jennifer,” her mom said, scowling. “The point of a charity gala isn’t to have fun, it’s for people like us to network and for the charity to gather donations to their cause.”
“But I’m bored,” Jennifer complained.
“Then go find some other kids to bother. Don’t talk to any adults unless they talk to you first,” her mom said, waving her off. Jennifer took the permission and took off into the crowd at a brisk walk. She got the lecture on running the last time her parents had dragged her to one of these things.
She looked for other kids, but there weren’t very many. Finally, she spotted a boy a little older than her hanging out by the buffet table. She went up to him happily.
“Hi!” she said, extending her hand for a handshake like dad had taught her. “I’m Jennifer.”
“I’m Damian,” said the boy, shaking her hand once and then letting go.
“Mom told me to go find some other kids, so now I’m here,” Jennifer explained. “I’m eight years old and my favorite color is pink.”
“Okay? Why tell me that?” Damian asked.
“Because it’s how you make friends, duh. Tell me how old you are and what your favorite color is, and then we’ll be friends.”
Damian raised an eyebrow—just one, that was cool, Jennifer couldn’t do that!—but also he smiled, just a little bit.
“I’m thirteen years old and my favorite color is black,” Damian said.
“Okay we’re friends now!” Jennifer cheered. “That means we can talk to each other instead of all these boring adults.”
“You seem to be a worthwhile conversational partner,” Damian agreed. He used fancy words, but Jennifer knew them all so it was fine.
“What’s your favorite animal?” she asked.
They talked like that for a while (Damian knew a lot about animals) and eventually someone else came up to them. It was a tall man with big shoulders and a white streak in the front of his hair. Some of the teenagers that lived on Jennifer’s street had the same thing.
“I like your hair!” she called out as the man approached.
“Thanks,” he said. “I like yours too.” He turned his attention to Damian. “Who’s your new friend?”
“This is Jennifer. She is eight years old and her favorite animal is a parrot,” Damian answered.
“Oh, I see,” the man said. He held out his hand for a fistbump instead of a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Jennifer. I’m Jason, and my favorite animal is a dog.”
“I like dogs too!” Jennifer said, fistbumping Jason. “That means we’re friends now.”
“I hope so,” Jason said. “Because Damian is my brother, and I don’t want to dislike his friends.”
“You guys are brothers?” Jennifer asked. She would never have guessed! They looked super different.
“Yes, Jason and I are brothers,” Damian confirmed. “Our father and the rest of our siblings are also here tonight.”
“My mom and dad are here, but I don’t have any siblings.”
“That is probably a good thing,” Damian said seriously. Jason pushed his head a little, making his hair stick up funny on one side.
“You love us,” Jason declared.
“Hey!” Damian exclaimed. He reached up and smoothed his hair back down. “You see?” he asked Jennifer. She giggled, and Damian smiled at her even though he rolled his eyes at Jason.
A woman came up to their group, placing a hand on the back of Jason’s shoulder and standing beside him. He jumped away a little bit, like he hadn’t noticed her coming.
“Hey,” the lady said. “You wanna ditch the kids and do something fun?”
“Pass,” Jason replied.
“Aw, c’mon. I’d be way better company than your father’s runt of a bastard child,” the woman insisted. Damian visibly stiffened, hands clenched into fists, and Jennifer took a small step back as she felt the air go still and dangerous.
“How dare you insult me that way!” Damian yelled, the crowd around them falling quiet. “I am not a runt, and I am certainly not a bastard, either!”
“Where the hell is your mom, then?” the woman taunted, leaning over closer to Damian.
“I am sure that it is none of your business,” Damian growled.
Jason pushed the lady off of his shoulder and stood a little closer to his brother.
“Hey,” he started, in a voice that was pretending to be whispering but also not whispering at all. “I still have Deathstroke’s number, if you want that taken care of?”
The woman gasped theatrically, and the crowd murmured a little.
Damian scoffed. “I am perfectly capable of handling my issues without involving your contacts.”
“Just saying. Offer is open,” Jason shrugged.
Jennifer frowned and looked up at Jason. “Who’s Deathstroke?” she asked.
Her mother appeared at the front of the crowd quickly after that.
Frank was wasted. It was probably a bad idea, but he was sick of his dad’s shit and was gladly using the Mercy General Spring Fundraising Gala as an excuse. If they were gonna have an open bar, then Frank was gonna have some whiskey.
And, hey, if he got alcohol poisoning, then there were plenty of doctors in attendance!
As the night droned on he found himself wandering out of the rented ballroom to the garden area they kept. Probably for things like weddings, but it looked like he wasn’t the only one enjoying the fresh air.
“Jason Wayne, as I live and breathe,” Frank said—slurred maybe, whatever—walking over to join him where he leaned against the patio railing.
“Frank Temple,” Jason greeted him. “What brings you out here?”
“Just needed some air. Can’t go home before my dad is done. Whatever.”
“Oh, did you and your dad have a fight?”
“Jerk thinks I have to go to college before I can be CEO. Like, whatever, what can a business degree even teach me that dad hasn’t already?” Frank complained. “He’s so annoying.”
“Mm, yeah, I had a fight with my dad, too,” Jason commiserated.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, I told him that nowhere in Gotham is safe and we should always be armed, but he insisted that three guns, five knives, and three different kinds of poison was ‘overkill’ and would be ‘too obvious’, like, whatever. He wouldn’t let me in the car ‘till I agreed to only bring one knife,” Jason shared.
Frank stared at him a little.
“You have a knife?” he exclaimed.
“Took a minute,” Jason muttered. Then, louder. “Yeah, I have a knife. Wanna see?”
Frank weighed his options. People got murdered in Gotham a lot. But, also, people who were going to murder you probably didn’t tell you ahead of time. Plus knives were cool.
“Yeah, I wanna see,” Frank agreed. Jason reached a hand into his jacket and came back with a huge knife. Unconsciously, Frank leaned back a little.
The blade was seven inches long, easily, shining dully in the dim light that leaked out of the ballroom. The handle was wrapped in a black material that Frank was too drunk to identify.
It looked sharp.
“Neat, right?” Jason said. He slipped it back into his jacket, which looked completely normal. Where did it go? “I managed to sneak some arsenic in, too, but don’t tell Bruce.”
“I don’t think anyone would ever believe that this happened to me,” Frank admitted.
“Aw, Frank,” Jason cooed, clapping his shoulder with one large hand. “Now you’re getting it.”
There were all sorts of rumors flying about Jason Todd, and Hector was the only one brave enough to actually confirm anything. And he was going to confirm it!
He visited the main building of the Martha Wayne Foundation pretty regularly to take advantage of their services. The food bank there was always stocked, and his mom had started sending him up with a list on a fairly regular schedule because of that. There was lots of other stuff in the building, too. Group therapy, community outreach, free daycare. Jason Todd was usually running from one place to another, lending a hand wherever it was needed.
Hector thought he was pretty cool. He would dye his hair in a streak, too, like some of the other guys in his apartment block, but his mom said that it was stupid and refused to help him with the dye. He didn’t think he could do it on his own, so he let it be.
Luckily, Jason was right in the entrance when Hector swung by the Foundation that day.
“Jason!” Hector called out.
“Hector!” Jason called back. That was another thing, too: Jason remembered everybody’s name, even if he had only met them once. It was pretty impressive.
“Hey, man, the news is saying all sorts of crazy things about you all the time,” Hector said. “So I gotta ask: You kill anybody, man?”
Jason laughed a little, then locked eyes with Hector.
“Legally I shouldn’t answer that,” he said.
Holy shit.
That was totally a yes.
Late-night talk shows had a feast with the return of Jason Todd. Lily thought it was kind of stupid to still be talking about the guy six months later. Didn’t any of these people have lives to worry about? Lily was working in the mornings and going to class at night. She had to do laundry and remember to call her brother. Her mom’s birthday was coming up and they needed to plan the party. Her husband hadn’t fixed the sink in the bathroom so they had to brush their teeth in the kitchen until he could buy the part he needed. She was still paying hospital bills from giving birth and her daughter was nearly two. She needed to start researching daycare.
The TV droned on about Jason Todd.
“And have you seen the security footage? I mean, come on, that was basically a confession!” one lady wearing too much makeup exclaimed.
“Add that to the Gazette article from when he first came back and I think it’s pretty obvious what he was doing in Russia!” added the lady whose dress had too many sequins.
“All that the Waynes will say is that the rumors are ‘unsubstantiated’, or whatever, and you know the police are useless.”
“As always.”
“As always! Like, come on, people! Jason Todd obviously used to be some kind of killer!”
“No, girl, didn’t you read the article? He says there’s more work in Gotham, and who knows what he means by ‘trade’!”
“Jason Todd is a killer in plain sight and—”
The woman’s voice cut out as Lily switched off the TV, rolling her eyes. Honestly. Like Roman Sionis hadn’t literally been to Arkham Asylum. They still let him run his company! At least Jason Todd did charity work. If he was a murderer, he was probably the least dangerous murderer in Gotham. Really, Lily had bigger things to be worried about.