Brief summary: Jason Todd, a tough streetwise kid, replaced Dick Grayson and became the second Robin. His brash and violent nature led him into a trap where the Joker killed Jason. The recent DC comic events of Infinite Crisis explain cracks in the universe, caused by Superboy Prime, have caused Jason to be resurrected from his grave. Now as the deadly anti-hero named Red Hood, Jason has been declaring war on Gotham and his surrogate family. Takes place before and after the comic Teen Titans #29 when a jealous and vengeful Jason Todd attacks Tim Drake (Robin III) in Titans Tower.

Title: Ameagari. Japanese for “After the Rain”

All characters belong to DC comics. Lyrics from Sailor Moon by Naoko Takeuchi.

A-A-A

Tod nimmt Leute, die wir lieben

“Death takes people whom we love”

Jason walks back to his hidden compound and pulls up the metal chain that separates his world from the outside. The garage door opens up and he steps into the vast dark interior of his workspace, an abandoned Wayne Tech warehouse. Machine guns and various collections of artillery line the passing walls as he steps forward and removes his helmet. He carelessly tosses his jacket aside before taking a seat in front of his desk.

Four computer screens lay before him, their images glowing as they wash an eerie blue light over Jason’s face. He locks his fingers together and presses them to his mouth in deep thought, carefully surveying the profiles before him.

The first screen shows the vigilante known as Batman. Jason bears a heavy grudge towards his former mentor for not avenging his death. If only the sadistic Clown Prince of Crime were dead then Jason would feel he could live (or rest) in peace. But he cannot. He must cross the line dividing tolerance from oppression and defy Batman’s rigid ethics if it means saving Gotham City.

The next screen displays the bright red hair and freckled face of Barbara Gordon. Her keen green eyes are barely masked behind glistening gold spectacles. She lightly drums her fingertips on the side of her wheelchair while she continues to remain engrossed in her research. Jason resents her very little, having recalled the kindness that the former Batgirl once showed him. Although Oracle is now known for being one of the most brilliant computer analysts for the irritating self-righteous “good guys”, Jason believes it beneath him to attack a cripple.

More disdain is directed towards the aerialist Teen Wonder dubbed Nightwing who is caught in a death-defying stunt on the screen. His surrogate older brother has always been a source of admiration but now it has been twisted into misguided calculations in Jason’s mind, believing that Dick Grayson has betrayed him as well. Patience, he tells himself. He will confront Nightwing personally when the time comes.

The last screen causes Jason’s windpipe to block itself with rage. He hisses between his teeth at the newly modified Robin uniform worn on a spiky haired youth. He is young and untainted by the evils of the world and-unlike his predecessor-obediently listens to the orders and wishes of the Dark Knight. Jason guesses that he bathes too often and reads Dickens before bedtime.

Tim Drake, Robin number three. The baby of the Bat family.

Succeeding where Jason failed.

He will not allow that to happen.

“Timmy Timmy Timbo,” Jason says, twirling the razor sharp kris between his fingers. “You and I have a lot to talk about.”

Dressed in a doppelganger outfit from his own days as Robin, Jason rammed his fists into Tim’s stomach. The smaller youth sucked in a breath of pain before he was given a hard punch across the jaw. The duel around Titans Tower led them down stairs and through doorways.

“So you think you’re the World’s Greatest Detective, discovering Batman’s identity,” Jason sneered. “Some goddam stupid puzzle solved and you’re Robin. Congratulations. But you really don’t have what it takes to become a Boy Wonder.”

Tim backflipped away to stay out of harm’s way. He was a good martial artist but Tim knew that Jason was much faster, older, and stronger than he was. He had to keep his distance from this resurrected hero-turned-psychopath.

“I never meant to replace you,” he insisted.

“Could have fooled me,” came the answer. Tim blocked Jason with his bo staff. The older one grunted. “Good moves. But not good enough, Tiny Tim.” His hand clamped onto Tim’s wrist and he threw the boy across the room. Tim came to a rolling stop on one knee.

“Is that what this is about? You’re mad that I’m keeping it on after you died?” he demanded between gasps of breath.

“I’m disgusted that Batman settled for so little in a new partner.”

Tim dragged himself up, fingers curling around his staff. “You’re not the same person, Jason. You’ve become a murderer. Maybe Batman wouldn’t take you down, because he cared about you. But I will.”

Jason’s teeth were grinding against each other venomously. “You little brat,” he muttered. Jason slammed his entire body into Tim and they went crashing through the glass. Broken shards pierced their skin just before they landed harshly on the stone ground of the Hall of the Fallen Titans.

“You think you can stop ME?” he roared. Jason grabbed Tim’s leg and swung brutally, driving the Boy Wonder against the granite base of a statue. Stars winked inside of Tim’s throbbing head. He felt a hand curl around his hair, almost yanking it out by the roots, and lifting his bruised body up.

“You really believe you’re Robin? That you’ve won the right to wear that badge?”

Tim’s lips parted and he whispered weakly.

“…yes..”

Then he blacked out.

A-A-A

“kono kusari-kaketa chikyuu ni mo shini-kaketeru
hiru wa hi no hikari mayakashi darake
yoru wa tsuki to hoshi oroka na agaki
ningen domo no saigo no agaki no yosuga”

“Even on this rotten Earth, it is dying
Day is the sun's light full of deception
Night is the moon and stars-foolish struggle
The means of humans last struggle”

-Yami Koso Utsukushii

A-A-A

Raven’s POV

Donna helps Tim off the floor. He is shaking slightly from the colossal impact that has left him sore and badly bruised, but he is certainly alive. The boy mumbles that he lost conscience and lightly touches a hand to his chest. The badge of Robin has been torn off his uniform with bare hands.

The other Titans run into the mausoleum and freeze in their tracks when they see the writing on the wall. Garfield is bewildered by the return and Victor is also in shock. Donna glances down with regret, knowing Dick’s surrogate little brother has unleashed disgrace and hatred within the sanctity of the Tower.

Jason has left us with more than a few blood stains and shattered glass.

I have used my powers to heal Tim by reducing the swelling on his forehead and stopping the bleeding in his nose. Everyone hovers around him but Tim reassures them that he is all right. His wounds are many but he is strong in spirit. I know he will recover. Tim is loyal, brave, noble, and deeply committed to his friends. Yes, he is a good person.

My friends will forgive me but my attention is more distracted towards our attacker.

Why could I have not sense Tim’s life in danger? A heavy slumber prevented me from intervening and I discover the remains of a knockout drug still linger on my pillow. Jason must not have wanted me in his personal business. Either he fears my powers or respects me enough to disarm me without injury.

Even with perverted judgment, Jason still seeks to keep the playing field level on his grounds.

But I vaguely remember him when he wore the mask of Robin. My thoughts are distracted by a gasp of breath and a point of a finger. We all stand in our tracks and I feel everyone’s veins freeze with ice when they see the foreboding letters sprawled in front of us:

JASON TODD WAS HERE.

That was the message written in thick boiling angry crimson blood along the walls of the Fallen Titans.

His blood.

Jason, poor little Jason, what have you done to yourself?

I could smell the stench of the Lazarus Pit on his blood. Few comprehend just how treacherous its waters can truly be. They promise salvation and ultimate power for their victims but then drain them of all conscience and compassion. “Cursed are those who emerge from the Lazarus Pit”, Azar warned me. “They return with only half a soul”.

I am strongly reminded of the pagans of the underworld that seduced my mother Arella and tricked her into bearing Trigon’s seed.

Whether Jason willingly went into the pit or not, I do not know. The miracle of his return does not linger on the question of how death has been working backwards lately, but why Jason uses death to achieve his means.

I only know that he is brazenly wounded by the impression of being “replaced”. He is like a very small child who pushes down another boy in the sandbox, unable to share his world with anyone else.

Dick once mentioned that that his father worked for a criminal and his mother abandoned him. Raised without discipline, Jason grew up as a hostile compulsive adolescent who was unable to listen to authority. I warned him that his impatience would lead him astray. Azar forgive my words for whatever harm they have caused.

We have already lost so many of our friends: Tula, Kole, and Dove, just to name a few.

And Joseph. My sweet Joseph.

Heaven forbid that we lose another fallen soldier.

I sense Jason fleeing back towards his hometown of Gotham City. While the other Titans are getting Tim off to the medical wing, I harness my powers and teleport, allowing my instincts to guide me in finding Jason.

I pray that somehow he may listen to me.

A-A-A

“Nando koi ni ochite mo Itsumo umaku ikanakute...”

No matter how often I fall in love I can never do it successfully...

“Anata no sei ja nai no gomen ne Furihajimeta ame no sei yo”

It's not your fault, I am so sorry. It's the fault of the rain that started to fall

- Shinoraha Emi

The rain follows Jason wherever he goes. It beats down on his body without mercy. His footsteps are quick and rapid as he runs, splashing through puddles and jumping over the gutters. What a curse to be placed under the clouds and not the serene blue sky of earth.

I land in front of him, booted feet touching the concrete. Jason recoils for a second, skidding to a halt. His head is masked in a crimson metal helmet, the visage of this “Red Hood” completing his new uniform. Two small white holes are the only markings on his mask, blocking the world out from the eyes of Jason Todd.

“Get away from me, witch,” Jason cautions me in a gruff voice. “My fight isn’t with you.”

“I am not here to fight you, Jason,” I say in a calm voice. “I only want to know what troubles you, and why you despise us.”

A sneering sound emulates from the mask. “Despise me? You all hate me. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nightwing was toasting alongside that psychotic sick clown after I got blown up. And you all just love Timmy to death, don’t you?”

“You must know that is not the truth.”

“But you all forgot about me. If I been a Titan, things would be different.”

There is a twinge of regret in his voice. I must use that to get closer to him.

“We could never forget you, Jason. We can still help you, if only you will allow us.”

“What makes you think I need help?”

“You are scared..confused,” I caution him. “But it is not too late to change yourself.”

“I got beaten half to death, blown up, buried alive, and crawled out of a grave with my bare hands. That’s enough of a change for me,” he snaps.

“You wear a different mask but is it Jason Todd underneath all the same. Let the Titans help save you this time, as they saved me before from my father’s ways many times over..”

“I don’t want to be saved!” he thunders with a raised clenched fist. Something has pierced his iron barrier because his voice begins to tremble. “If Heaven can’t punish my enemies then it’s not worth being in.”

As I feared, his death has driven a wedge between him and his peers. I must get closer if I want to ease his pain, this torturous hostility that has left him frigid to the bone.

“Take of your mask,” I tell him.

“Why should I?”

I breathe deeply to keep my emotions in balance. Just because he loses control of himself does not give me an excuse to do the same.

“I want to see the eyes of Jason Todd.”

He does nothing.

It’s not your fault. It’s the rain’s fault.

“Jason…please,” I beg him softly.

He cocks his head to one side in amusement. “Fine,” he says flatly.

His hands come behind his head and there is a small hissing sound when he releases a mechanism. The helmet opens in the back and he easily lifts it up over his head. I am stunned for the moment. Is this the same former youth in the green and red uniform, this young adult in front of me?

I will not deny it; he is tall and very handsome by most female standards. But the muscles in his face are tight and rigid with hatred. There is insolence in every sinew of his mouth, pulled back into a sarcastic smile of sharp white teeth.

He smells like a man. His skin has been bronzed by the sun and gone from mountains to deserts to rainforest in a long enduring journey of vigorous training. Jason has tasted wine and women this time but neither can quench his thirst for vengeance.

I still cannot see his eyes. Under his helmet he has been wearing a bright red domino mask and the icy white slits in it confirm my suspicions.

Jason sees the shock on my face and his grim smirk broadens like a tiger. The raindrops slide down his face, bathing it in a glistening silver shower. He carelessly tosses wet jet-black bangs out of his face.

“What’d you expect? A ghost?”

His expression softens barely. He shifts his weight from one foot to another. “You were right about one thing, though. My temper was going to get me killed. And it did. ”

He is trying to place the blame on me this time. “I did not give you a prophecy, only advice as a friend.”

“Friends.” He spits the word out like a disgusting poison. “They are just a crutch for the weak.”

“No, friends are a balm to make you stronger.” I feel the warmth of Azarath and its soothing kindness rising up inside of me, pushing words out of my throat.

“I am your friend, Jason. Trust me.”

He turns his head aside. My words are simple but my voice remains steady and soft. I can feel his soul and it is bitter to the taste, dipped in wormwood and gall. It struggles in an effort to keep at bay, yet wants to be soothed from its bruises.

“I…I can’t,” he says, fumbling for an excuse. “I can’t trust anyone.”

My eyes lower and I begin to chant. My soul self rises up and materializes into the form of a black bird. I hear Jason gasp and drop his helmet. My powers flow forth like a strong current and the aura wraps itself around him swiftly, disarming him before he can run away.

“What the-Raven, stop it! Get away!” he shouts.

He is frightened. Not of me, but of what his soul has to bear: guilt, fear, regret, and shame. It is true that the inner demons are the most difficult to fight. If only he will let me share in his pain…

Because Gotham is not a sandbox and the world is not his playground.

I feel the strength of Azar rising up inside of me and pray that it is not out of wrath.

“Jason, if you are your own judge and jury..then are you not also your own executioner?”

This time my words have hit a sensitive spot. The soul-self winds around Jason and holds him in like a cocoon. At first he struggles to break free but slowly it dies down in the calm breathing tones that work their way into the chanting.

You are never alone. You are not forgotten.

“No, I was!” his voice cries out now, like a small child in the dark. This is the epitome of his hatred, the source of Jason’s anger. Fear, betrayal, anguish, and deceit. They were all fed into Jason’s young body and consumed without further knowledge of their destruction.

“I was alone and had to survive on the streets! Nobody cared if I lived or died.”

The secrets of his past begin to unwind before me and the barriers are dissolving. I see a skinny boy in ripped jeans trying to steal the tires off a car. The tall man in black notices him. He does not attack the boy, but questions him. Where are his parents? Does he live here? Can the boy get something to eat?

Time passes by faster now. Jason is thirteen years old and celebrating a holiday with his new guardian. The fireplace crackles merrily and a beautiful tree of ornaments glistens in a corner. He loves the new skateboard he has gotten but is overall overwhelmed with the generosity and wealth of Bruce Wayne.

It is becoming a blur of happy and frustrating times. Jason’s rage flares into a fire when he sees a man abuse a woman and he shoves the attacker off a roof. He beams with pride to see the Titans fighting to save their city. He frowns and pouts when orders are disobeyed because of his stubbornness.

Then comes the cataclysmic feeling, the one that rips his emotions apart with madness. The pain. The endless pain of metal striking against his head again and again. Jason tries to crawl away on his hands and feet but the sickly face of the Joker appears again, ruthlessly torturing Jason in a slow terrible death.

I see Jason as Robin, a bloodied mess dressed in rags of red and green lying among the ruins of a warehouse. The sight would make even the cruelest of men weep. He whimpers like a wounded kitten and weakly murmurs something that would melt a heart of stone:

“I don’t want to be loved if it means losing someone you care about.”

His eyes close and his head drops to the side. His last breath leaves his body.

Batman emerges from the shadows and grasps the boy’s wrist, not wanting to confirm the ramifications. But Jason has no pulse. He is dead. The man presses Jason’s head to his chest, holding him tightly as if he can restore life to the boy only by a father’s embrace. But Jason does not wake up.

I force myself to dissolve his anger, to make it one with me and remove his pain. But he stubbornly clings to the memories because they only fuel his purpose. Without them, the fire dies out. With a final breath I draw out his anger and it feels like I am pulling long thin shards of glass and thorns out of his soul. I tell him that Nightwing was broken hearted to learn that he died. I show him the memory of our leader who always could bring us victory in battle with great confidence but upon the death of a little brother, his world collapsed.

“You are part of a family that cannot be severed, not even by death itself.”

I know because I was once the same way. I swallow up the thick black vipers that have entrenched Jason, leaving him bare and alone with only his conscience. He must know that his violent ways cannot give him satisfaction. Only consolation remains. There is a grain of righteousness embedded within Jason and like a diamond it must be mined from very deep inside of him.

“You have a chance to live again. Go back to them, Jason. They will forgive you, if only you try.”

My hands come to his trembling face and I remove the red eye mask.

At last I release Jason of the soul self and it dissolves back into my body. His knees are shaking as he comes back into the world. His face is pale. His eyelids flutter twice before opening. This is the same thing I remember about Jason: his blue, blue eyes. There is lightning in his eyes now; white bits of lightning that illuminate the azure orbs in awe and wonder.

And in fear.

Jason touches a hand to his face and recoils when he realizes what I have done. “You, you’re playing mind tricks on me!” he accuses with a pointed finger at me.

This is not the result I had prayed for. “I was not trying to deceive you, only to bring forth your conscience. It speaks the truth.”

“W-What?”

“You care, Jason. There is still goodness inside of you. Just let go of your anger, just once, and you will be with family again.”

His face has gone from resentment to curiosity. Something warm and familiar glimmers at the edge of his eyes. He had been touched by loving kindness once before, his mind remembers. It begins to ascend with Jason as he rises up out of his self-made prison and closer to his friends. He takes a step forward towards me and for a split second, I see his hand reach out to me.

But then it retracts and I see the shadow cast back over his face.

This vulnerability is too much for him, to bare his insecurities and fears before others. Jason stubbornly calls it an illusion. He does not want to be like us, does not even feel like a real person. He wants to be without mercy or emotion but it has taken a strong impact on him. The backlash will hurt the most of all. Jason staggers backwards away from me.

“Leave me alone! All of you, just leave me alone!” he cries out.

He hurls the helmet at my feet and it goes off in a thunderous explosion. I’m engulfed in a wave of smoke clouds, almost tearing from the fumes. I wave my arms to fan the smoke away and it disperses like a phantom, leaving me to gasp between coughs. After the disappearance of the distraction, I notice that I am the only one in the alleyway.

Jason is gone.

A-A-A

“Arashi no naka o kakenukete

yume ga mienai Dark Night

hitoribotchi o dakishimenaide

ikazuchi yo hashire anata no moto e

soshite tsutaete

We believe you

ichiman boruto no

We believe you”

Running through the middle of a hurricane

In a completely dreamless dark night

Don't worry, we're with you. You are not all by yourself

Thunder and lightning, run away to you and they will explain

that we are all here for you,

We believe you

Let ten thousand bolts say it,

We believe you

-Makoto’s Star Single

The cemetery was wide and vast, the howling winds chilling the very air between iron gates. The steady cold drizzle of rain didn’t ruin Bruce Wayne’s immaculately combed black hair nor stain his tailored suit but it did leave an impression on his mood.

He gripped the handle of his umbrella and pulled his collar up a bit. Booted feet walked silently until they halted in place, just in front the he large white tombstones of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Bruce rested a hand on one of them and started to talk.

“I remember asking you if I was doing the right thing,” he began. “To know if I could lose myself in an endless chase to save the city but still be worthy of being called your son. I swore in your memory to eradicate the city of the crimes that took your very lives.”

Silence.

“It was different once I took in Dick Grayson. He was bright, cheerful, enthusiastic, and friendly. Suddenly, I felt like there was a family residing in the Manor again. I wanted to keep family alive for your sake.”

“I misjudged him and the others. They were much stronger than I expected and they fought with more valor than I credited them for. I had to let them go on their own ways. But I am proud of them, all of my sons.”

“One of them is angry with me and I can’t blame him. I brought him here, I gave him the costume to wear. My own downfall was underestimating his feelings. Everyone I know has lost someone they love. But Jason was so poor, so alone and fierce, that he had nothing to lose-except his life.”

“Now I understand what terrible pain a parent must feel when his child loathes him”.

“If I have ever caused you grief or shame, please forgive me. I never meant to dishonor you. I only hope that he can forgive me as well. Father…I..”

Bruce pleaded and fumbled for the right words.

“Father, I’m sorry.”

He stood there a long time watching the rain slide off the tombstones in silvery sheets. At last, Bruce turned around and left.

No more than ten minutes later a soaking wet young man ran into the graveyard. His boots were stained with mud and his ebony hair was plastered across his wet forehead. He finally came to a halt in front of a large statue of an angel with clasped hands. Below it was a grave: his own.

He slammed a fist into the granite base and cursed when the pain registered in his knuckles. The hand retreated into his jacket where he tried to nurse it by holding it.

“I thought I could see a better world, but I was wrong,” he said aloud. “Bruce hasn’t changed and neither have I. We’ll never see things the same way.”

He wiped the sopping bangs out of his cerulean eyes, just starting to brim with tears. His throat had become unnaturally tight and hot.

“Have I really made a terrible mistake? Is this why I had to come back?”

For the first time since he had returned, Jason wished he really was dead.

He rested his back against the stone pillar and slowly slid down until he was sitting up against it, back pressed to the base. The young man wrapped his arms around his legs and pulled his knees into his chest like a child. He buried his face into his kneecaps and listened to the sound of the rain beating a steady drum on his head and down his back.

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating it for a just a moment. Jason’s head jerked up and he blinked from the brilliance until he could see the whole graveyard is lit up green, gray, and yellow colors. But then the light died out and darkness replaced it. He heard a strange sound drifting across the haunted grounds like a mournful foghorn. It frightened him, the wailing sound begging to be heard.

It took Jason a moment to realize what the sound was.

He was crying.

Heaving sobs escaped Jason’s throat while salty hot tears mingled with the rain on his cheeks. In a few strained cracked words, he whispered something:

“Father, I’m sorry.”