The Reds And The Robins

1) The Lion, The Pit and The Soldier

When he woke up, it didn't feel like he had slept. The bone-deep exhaustion clung to him like feathers to tar, and he tried to shake it off. He had been trained better than this, he thought, and then paused. What did he mean he'd been trained? His head began to hurt and he stopped thinking about it. He didn't have time for confusion, he was hardly a person. Then, he gathered himself and realised his discomfort. He heard his ragged breathing, and then felt his arms pinned to his side. Against a coffin.

He was buried alive. Classic Gothamite moment.

He inhaled, trying desperately not to cry. He was just a kid, a kid in the ground, and crying would use his oxygen- he inhaled again, beginning to scrabble with the top of the coffin. The lid was solid, fuck, it was so solid, and he began wriggling to scratch at the top of it. Over and over again, he scraped at the wood, trying to keep his breathing shallow. If Dick was here- who was Dick? Who was he? Did it matter? He scraped again, trying desperately to think ahead. Once he broke through, dirt would begin pouring in, so he needed an opening big enough to wriggle through. He sobbed, as lightly as he could, scratching at the coffin once more and feeling his fingernails wear away. Gasping, and not crying, he'd survived... Well...

He wasn't sure. With finally enough space to loosen his belt, he used the belt buckle to break away at the wood, cursing Bruce's expensive taste in coffins. Who was Bruce? It didn't matter. He jabbed the top of the coffin again, and again, and again, and again. The awful scratch of the wood echoed terribly, and he tried to breathe again, shallowly but sharply. The cracking of the wood finally came, splintering. Dirt finally came spilling in, and he pulled his shirt up to preserve air as he tried to clamber up through the earth.

The dirt was wet. It was something he never thought he'd take into account, but the damp cold against his skin was somewhat reassuring. The dirt was alive. He was alive. He climbed to the top of the dirt desperately, finally collapsing on top of the grave next to the headstone. He sucked in air greedily, breathing once more. He turned to the headstone, engraved in dreadful letters.

RIP JASON TODD

A GREAT BROTHER,

AND A GREAT SON.

Oh. *Oh.* He was Jason Todd. He was Jason Todd, and he was dead minutes ago. He peered back in the hole, now upturned, and saw the shattered centre of the coffin. He was Jason Todd, and his coffin was broken, and he was broken. He kicked the headstone. It didn't move. The only thing about him forged in permanence was his fucking gravestone. He kicked it again for good measure and began wandering towards wherever it felt Gotham would be. (He knew he was from Gotham more than he knew his own name. Gotham had a way of sticking to someone.)

He didn't know how long he was walking for. Jason Todd was a fit man, but he was also a child and he was also exhausted, limbs stiff from the disuse over several weeks. He didn't know how long it had been when he finally slept. Even then, he didn't know how long it had been when Talia Al-Ghul rescued/kidnapped him. Weeks passed once more as Jason relished in cold showers penetrating the ever-present gloom of death. The League, ever practical, did not allow warm showers, but Jason wasn't certain he'd take them regardless. The League was training him. He didn't really know why. His mind was still in tatters from being whacked around by a crowbar repeatedly. Eventually, Talia tired of this and then all he knew was green.

The water was warm. Jason wasn't sure why that was what he latched onto, but the water was warm and it made him forget he was alive and he hated it. His pain was gone. He had had so much pain for so much time that its absence was almost cruel. He'd grown by the time he was allowed out. He was tall, and well-built, without the scrawniness that whispered of his past malnourishment. It didn't feel like he belonged to Crime Alley any more, like his past had been cut off completely.

Sometimes it felt that he was more anger than man, now. He bled infrequently, but every time he was terrified that the red would turn green. His eyes, once an innocent blue, once the same colour as Dick's suit, was now a sickening green. Jason had been forever changed by Talia Al-Ghul, and however much he had hated himself before he now despised himself with a level of intention. But then, he met Damian entirely by accident. Jason had been wandering aimlessly between training sessions, now restless in a way that made him miss the exhaustion of post-death. He was still getting used to a shifted centre of mass, and had banged into two counters before the little child came out of his room.

"What's going on?" He snapped. Anyone else could've read this as rudeness, but not an ex-Crime Alley kid. Not a child that had, too, used his anger to mask his fear. "Sorry, I'm just walking."

"You are in the areas of the Heir to the Demon's Head."

"Yeah, well, that's by accident."

"Accidents are not tolerated." The Heir sniffed.

"Mine seem to be. Well, it was an accident that I died and Talia seems fine with that, so..."

"Oh. Todd." He scoffed, and suddenly the brat seemed less defensive but also almost... Jealous.

"Yeah. Look, kid, I don't know where I am. I can't sleep, to be honest, so, point me in the direction out of here and..."

"I can't sleep either."

"Okay?"

"Entertain me." The child demanded. Jason glanced at the clock, to see the hands were pointing to one am. "Fine. You got any books?"

"None in English."

"Very well, I'm not very proficient in Arabic yet I'm afraid. How's your English?"

"Impeccable."

"Ideal."

Jason fished out the pocket-sized Pride and Prejudice from his pocket (for the pocket-sized Heir to Ra's Al Ghul) and began to read, flicking through pages as they both settled on the floor. Damian did not speak again, quickly falling asleep despite his obvious attempts to stifle yawns. When he fell asleep, Jason startled. Because that furrowed brow, that dark hair, that trust that was so easy because his assessment of character was so good...

That was Bruce Wayne, through and through.