Of a Man and His Home

That's the thing about this city, once you were here, she’d never let you go. She’d seen many of her children stray, wander away to distant parts of the world seeking adventure, but they always returned. One way or another. They always knew where their home was. They could feel it in their bones, warmth washing over them as she welcomed them home. Even when they’d been gone for far too long, she would never turn her back on them. Instinctively, everyone knew this of the city. Knew that they would always have a place to belong, yet there were those that were reluctant to see it, to understand why she would always, always love them. No matter what. 

Jason knew this was a bad idea. His green eyes, glowing with anger, surveyed the town that he used to love. He could see the alley where he had grown up, the old dumpster that hid the entrance to his home. He thought about his old apartment, thought about his mom, dead by the curse of the city. The thought of calling that place home had always filled his mouth with bile, unsure if he even had a home anymore. Yet, the moment his foot touched the decrepit old earth of Gotham, he knew he was home. He shuddered. Home. What a strange concept. How does a dead man go home? Who would be left to welcome him? 

She knew the moment he returned. Not to her. No, it would take time. His home would be waiting when he was ready. It took years. She ached. Her child was in pain, a kind of pain that only his home would heal. She had kept it for him, hoping he would understand why. She knew when he was home. Knew before any of his other family, before any of the others that cared for him, she knew. She welcomed him, the wind blowing off the dock warming, embracing him in a hug she wished to give. She remembered him. Every moment. The scared child running through her alleys, hiding in her shadows, in her protection. She had protected him then. She would never stop. He was her child, and he had finally returned home. 

The streets were the same. Jason wasn’t sure how it was possible, to leave for years, and return to the same place, exactly the same. He was tempted to poke through his old alley, his old home, but the thought of seeing the ghost of the first person he couldn’t save, the first victim he couldn’t protect from death, drove him away. He could feel the streets humming under his feet, the old buildings coming to life around him, in a way they never did, never should, in Crime Alley. Yet, it was comforting. The Alley knew he didn’t belong here, that he wasn’t who he said he was. This home was no longer meant for him. 

She could feel his pain. It was evident in every step he took. He didn’t feel home. Perhaps she had changed. Perhaps the time had done her well, her shadows becoming lighter, her streets becoming cleaner. This would not suit him, he was used to the way she used to be. The dirt and the grime he had grown up with was gone and he did not feel at home in the clean and pristine. She understood. She had to show him. The darkness wasn’t gone. The Bats hadn’t protected her, not nearly the way that they thought. She still needed him. In a way she couldn’t before. A child cannot protect her. But he could. 

He couldn’t help it. The old rooftops felt like home. A home without the shine of the streets, a false face. From the rooftops he could see. Crime Alley hadn’t changed. Not at its heart. Gotham was just as filthy as she always had been. She had simply gotten better at hiding it. He saw the drugs change hands, hidden by the shadow of the new building on the corner. He saw the alleys, street lights only going so far to draw out the evils of the dark that hid there. He sat and watched. He wasn’t sure what he was watching for until he found it. The man looked at least twice the age of the poor girl he’d paid. Jason remembered girls like her. He always thought they were what this city was. A good embodiment of Gotham. Working, poor, doing what it took to survive, with no one to play hero, no one willing. Well, screw that, he thought. This is his home. He’s going to protect it. 

She knew it. She Knew it. He was still her child. Still the child that stayed with his mother, crying over her as she protected her from the cold of the night, even though she couldn’t feel it anymore. Still the boy that took too many risks, went where he had been told not to, to protect. He was right in a way. She was many things, but idle and rich were not any of them. She was rotten, dirty, pained, and broken. But now, she was protected. She knew he would. She could feel it. The righteous anger as his footsteps leaped across rooftops. The barely disguised look of familiarity in his eyes as he looked down at the scene that she couldn’t stop. But he could. He would. She knew it. 

Jason couldn’t stand rapists. He remembered his mothers face. Saw it in the woman, the girl really, that the man had pushed against the old alleyway. He remembered her tears, her screams, his old pillow doing little to blank out the sounds of pain from the only one who ever cared for him. Truly cared for him. Lies, something inside of him whispered. He pushed it aside, care was for later. Right now, Jason didn’t need care, he didn’t need the love of his mother. He needed his anger. The anger of his brother when he saw what Crime Alley had done to his brother. The anger of Talia, staring down her father, her hand pressed against her stomach protectively. The anger of Gotham, staring at its children, watching them hurt each other, powerless to help. 

He was wrong. She wasn’t powerless. She had brought him back. She welcomed him home. Showed him why. She had shown the light of justice on her darkness. She was trying. Ousting infestation wasn't easy but she was trying. She held the power of the Bats and now him. He was her power. She knew he would do what was right. He didn’t believe himself to be, but she could see it. For all his faults, for all his rough edges, for all his pain, he was her child. Born in her streets, raised in her filth, he knew. Her power lies with her children. She shows them, and they protect her. Just like him. 

He was supposed to leave it behind him. The vigilante was supposed to die with him. He supposed returned home awakened his instincts. The fight was over quick, the man lay bleeding out on the ground and the girl was sobbing in his arms. This was the care he remembered. Holding his mother, crying as she died. As she lamented him. Lamented their existence. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts of his past and focused on directing the girl home. She led him to another alley, blushing, ashamed, as he looked around. No blanket, no shelter from the biting wind of the Gotham night. He glanced back at her, ribs showing through the thin shirt she was wearing. She avoided his gaze. He was gonna regret this.

 Her streets felt lighter. Not only for the lack of the filth he had rightfully disposed of, but for his presence. She watched him lead the girl back through her streets, feeling the terror in her poor bones. Watched him lead her to his building, the one piece of the old streets that he called his own. Watched him protect the girl from the night, from all that the night would bring. Watched her break down again, watched him card his gloved fingers through her hair, whispering quiet assurances. He was wrong. She wasn’t powerless. She wasn’t vulnerable. At least for tonight, she was safe. She protected her children, no matter where they were, and tonight, they protected her.