Chapter Text
If you asked Jason, He was never meant to last…
Gotham hadn’t raised him to.
It raised him to scrape, fight, steal, and run — To Survive.
Just enough to get by — just enough to not become another whisper in a bustling city.
Jason was never meant to live, but he sure as hell tried.
Perhaps this is why Jason looked into the shadows on that fateful day, and when it looked back, he welcomed it without a flinch.
For the first time, Jason saw and experienced what it could be like to live, not just survive—a feeling he never thought street rats like him got to feel. It was something he never found in his broken-down apartment on Park Row, a place where he can still hear the hum of ghosts in its walls, those of which never made it out.
One of those being his mother, Catherine, if he could even call her that anymore…
Even in his anger, he couldn’t continue that thought without disrespecting her sacrifices—her love. Catherine Todd didn’t have to be his mother, but she was. She had loved him in the only way she knew how. She was his provider, caretaker, and protector when no one else was. She was the only one to hold him together while his father vanished for days on end.
She had been everything to him once…especially when he was a kid. And maybe that’s why it hurt so much when she started slipping away.
Back then, he thought she was sick. Or that’s what she told him anyway, that the drugs were helping her, and that she needed them. Maybe, in some way, she did. But now that he was older, he couldn’t believe he had been so gullible to believe it; he should have seen it all for what it was. The random men who came by to “bring her medicine.” The way her body was slowly slowing down week after week—the constant drowsiness. The missed meals. The way her eyes stopped lighting up when they talked.
He knows now. But back then? He just wanted to believe she’d get better. That hope—that stubborn belief that things might turn around—was the last thing keeping him from falling off the edge.
His father, Willis Todd, hadn’t exactly helped with their situation. He was constantly in and out—mostly out—of their lives, offering little support beyond some unreliable financial scraps. Willis was a petty criminal who always found himself in a lot of trouble, always bringing it home with him too; the arguments, the fights. Those are things that Jason will never unhear, never unsee. Despite it all, Willis was still his dad, and when you are a kid, that means a lot more than it probably should have.
And when the knock came to our door, reality hit harder than he would like to admit.
Jason still remembers the look on her face when they told them Willis Todd was killed in prison. He doesn’t remember who said the words, only how cold the room felt afterward. He had never been much of a father, but he was gone, making sure he wasn’t forgotten; his whispers haunting the small rooms of their run-down apartment. And from that day on, things didn’t just get harder. They got meaner. The food ran out faster. The lights stayed off longer. That’s when surviving stopped being something Gotham taught him and became the only thing he knew how to do.
It didn’t take long after that for his mom to get worse. Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months. Time passed like nothing—just a haze of dim lights and colder nights.
They were just surviving. Nothing more.
He had only been nine when his dad died, and suddenly, he was the man of the house. Filling shoes he never chose to wear. Providing however he could for himself and his mom. Now, he was creeping toward ten. Still a kid—but already wondering when the next shoe would drop.
And with a cruel thing like time, he didn’t have to wait long. Before he knew it, his mom was gone. Time moves strangely when you're a kid—too fast, too quiet—and it always walks hand-in-hand with death. It was just a little while after his tenth birthday. He came home to a silent apartment, the front door unlocked, his mother’s bedroom door wide open.
Everything felt wrong in that stillness. Too still. Too quiet. And he knew. Even before he stepped inside, he knew.
After everything, all he had left was Gotham. No guardian. No roof. No food. Just the city. Without an adult, he couldn’t keep the apartment on unpaid rent. Couldn’t even buy his next meal. When Catherine passed, the city tried to step in—wanted to shove him into foster care, into the system. But Jason refused.
When they came, he did the only thing he knew to do: run, hide, survive.
Gotham’s streets had been rough. They didn't care that he used to have a home, or that his mom used to hum lullabies when the nights were too cold. He slept wherever he could—rooftops, alleys, fire escapes. Sometimes he’d even sneak into the sewers on rainy nights, curling up on the driest ground for warmth and sound sleep.
He had learned which dumpsters behind which diners had food that wasn’t too spoiled. Which bodega owners would look the other way if he swiped something small. Which corners to avoid if he didn’t want trouble. And he learned which trouble to run from—and which to fight.
He got faster. Quieter. Meaner.
Each day bled into the next. He lost track of the date. He didn’t even notice when his eleventh birthday passed him by.
Until one day, he saw a car. Not just any car, but the car. And for the first time in months, he smiled. Not because it was funny, but because it meant one night of good food and one night of cruising through the storm. So he waited. Watched. And when he was sure no one was looking…
He went for the tires.
The car was like nothing he’d ever seen up close—sleek, black, quiet even when parked. Just sitting in the alley, daring someone to try their luck. He didn’t know it was the Batmobile. All he knew was those tires could go for a few hundred bucks each, and he needed food. Warm clothes. And maybe a blanket that didn’t smell.
The alley was quiet, except for the gentle clicking of lug nuts loosening under Jason’s hand. He got halfway through the last tire when a shadow fell over him.
Jason didn’t hesitate. He swung.
The tire iron connected with something hard—armor, maybe, but it made a satisfying clang anyway. The shadow, the bat, barely grunted. This caused Jason to step back, iron still raised, when he realized he didn’t hurt it.
“Whoops,” Jason says quickly and stupidly before he breaks into a sprint.
The Bat didn’t move. Just watched him.
Jason had no idea that this interaction would change his life forever. Looking into the face of darkness and having it stare back at you…most kids would run. But he didn’t. Looking into the face of the shadows and taking them head-on was just the beginning.
Maybe Jason Todd could live, not just survive…