Chapter Text
What’s done is done.
What’s in the past, stays in the past.
That’s what floated around the back of Jason’s mind, at all times. A silent reminder, that he’d rather leave his old life from before he died, behind. Sure, he was better than before, (before meaning when he had been trying to kill everyone), but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it. Perhaps the real Jason Todd really did die in that warehouse that night, perhaps what lifted out of the Lazarus Pit really wasn’t him, not the same Jason.
He still had all his old memories, but he didn’t bring them up much, he didn’t like remembering it. Though some memories might’ve been better than others. Maybe once in a while he thought back to some of them, the good ones. Not of him being Robin, no. Ones where he had truly felt human, like the kid that he was. Ones that made him feel normal. Memories he might’ve thought of when he was trapped in that warehouse, with that crowbar slamming against his ribs. Maybe there were a few people he thought of when he was crawling towards that door, that deceiving, locked door.
He’d rather not though.
He reminded himself over and over, whenever those came back, what’s done, is done.
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The scraping sound echoed throughout the room before it ceased, the knife Jason held now sharpened to his liking. He looked it over a bit more, making sure it was good at every angle.
Dick leaned against the door frame behind him with his arms crossed, being unusually quiet now. Tim was leaning against the wall, the conversation they had all been having just moments prior having died out. By ‘conversation they had all been having’, it means Dick and Tim were the ones talking to each other and a mostly unresponsive Jason, who gave a few nods and comments every so often, acting like he was listening even though he wasn’t, for the most part at least.
The silence lasted a bit longer, though Jason had hoped it would be for longer, even hoped that Dick and Tim would soon get bored and walk out the room and just leave Jason alone.
“So, Jason..” Dick began, shifting on his feet a bit as he looked over at Tim, who now had his eyes glued to his screen. “I know you kinda, like- don’t like talking about this, but I was thinking a few days ago-.. What ever happened to that girl you were dating.. Like back in high school-?” Dick asked cautiously, looking back at where Jason sat faced away from him and Tim.
Dick, Tim, and just about everybody else, knew that Jason didn’t like talking about his past, he didn’t bring it up once and he refused to go to therapy. As he thought moving on and pretending it just ‘never happened’, was enough therapy for him. Jason was predictable but also unpredictable in most cases.
He could put his guard up and kick Dick and Tim out of the room and refuse to talk to them for a bit, or, he could turn around and throw a punch at Dick. (which happened every so often when Dick really felt like prying.)
Jason looked over his shoulder at Dick, almost in a silent glare. He seemed to tense for a bit, but if he had, it was gone in a moment. He looked back down at the blade in his hands. “I don’t know and I don’t care. She’s probably out living her life. A new and normal life.” Jason replied indifferently, eyes looking down to the assortment of weapons in front of him, clearly not wanting to continue the conversation.
Maybe Jason had a quick flash of a memory in his mind, of you, but he pushed it away. Not wanting to go down that path.
Dick looked back at Tim, who was typing away at his phone, doing whatever.
There was silence in the room for a moment or two, and Dick looked like he was about to say something else, before Tim piped up for the first time in a bit. “Found her. This is her Instagram.” Tim spoke as he walked over to Jason, holding out his phone for him to see. Jason’s eyes flickered over the page. You seemed to post frequently. From what he was looking at, you looked only a few years older, despite the fact that it had been quite longer since he had last seen you, but it was clear time had treated you well. Though as quickly as he looked at the screen (quicker than he would like to admit), he looked away.
He stood up, cracking his back before grabbing his blades and a few guns he had there, stuffing them all inside his duffel bag. “Whatever. Like I said, I really don’t care.” Jason says coldly, crossing the room and nudging past Dick, who was still leaned against the frame of the door.
He walked down the hall, Jason didn’t want to think about it anymore, but he couldn’t help it.
He scolded himself for acting out how he did. He didn’t care about you. Not anymore, that part of his life was over, he had left that behind. Or so he tried to convince himself as he threw on his leather jacket and his helmet, revving up his bike.
Some things were best left alone, he repeated in his head like a mantra. This was stupid, why was he even thinking about this so much?
It didn’t matter. You didn’t matter. You were just a memory, a fragment of his old self that died in that warehouse that night. Maybe he thought of you then, when that bomb had ticked down, when he had finally accepted his fate. Maybe he had thought of you a bit after he had come back to life, when the air had been forcefully shoved back into his hollow chest.
Now, it was different. Or at least he wanted it to be. He didn’t need his old memories, his past.
It was just dead weight now.
But no matter how much he told himself that, his mind kept drifting back to you. How you looked almost the same as you did when you were young. Your smooth skin and warm, happy eyes. Even if he wanted to, it would never be the same.
It would be selfish to show himself again, you should live your life. You shouldn’t be stuck to bare the burden of knowing he was now alive again. Your first boyfriend,
Jason Todd.