Chapter Text
Don’t tell him.
I know you you know who I am. You’ve known since you picked up the envelope from the Manor steps, addressed to you in my handwriting with a stamp that would not be too out of character for me to use. I assume you inhaled sharply as you picked it up in shock, if you were to notice it at first, that is. If I am not buried under bills, ads, junk, and magazines. I hope you notice the letter before you start your tea, I truly do not wish a broken cup on you. But maybe you have already had your tea and it was peaceful, without distractions. The postman’s schedule could have changed while I was out away gone dead.
Yes, that is the root of the concern. I don’t mean to bring up the subject at such an hour, at any hour, especially without warning you, but it is the first thing that would come to your mind. I think. (I know a lot of what you do, but not what goes on inside your mind. You are a very special person, Alfred. And you’re so dear to me.)
So me, writing to you, has probably revealed that I am not dead, and I miss you. I do. Your insight. Your guidance. Your company. Your support. I have been alive for some time now (if you would call the first parts of my resurrection a life). I am not a clone or imitator of any sort. For better or for worse, I am me. And I miss you.
Sorry for all of this. I just wanted to let you know.
I love you.
Jason T.
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I wasn’t going to write again.
How rude. I know. But I couldn’t risk him. I hope you’ll respect that. You’ll understand that. I won’t put a return address on this letter either way. (I think I may sometime soon. I feel my resolve weakening every morning because I have a Little Trouble that I could definitely use your guidance on, though I most definitely do not want to bother you with that currently. )
Nevertheless, I wrote another letter (as you can so clearly see without needing to be the World’s Best Grea a detective). I actually wrote many. I hope you don’t mind, Alf, but you’ve been somewhat of a journal for me to confide in. Yet, here I am, bringing the letters to light. Or at least, this one. Because I have this issue (one of many but coming back is not a researched process): I can’t really remember much.
I remember some. I remember yesterday and the day before. I remember how the first years of my life had me carrying this overwhelming feeling of loneliness. I remember actions too. How to read. Write. Fight. And I remember you. It’s such a grounding connection to have and helps in ways I could not possibly put into words.
So thank you. For being so memorable.
I love you.
Jason T.
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I miss the good and bad.
However, I feel as though when I write to you (whether I send the letter or not) I am always detailing and complaining about my struggles. Sometimes that’s not always the case. So as art reflects life, I should properly outline some current good times.
For example, today I got a cat. This would not be your idea of good news (nor would it have been mine hours earlier) but the cat is truly a pleasure. Anyways, I don’t think I could get away from it. The Little Trouble clung onto it with such furry, and after leaving everything, having a cat only felt right. More positive happenings, we named the cat after you. Mind you, it is a very sophisticated cat and you should be honored. My Little Trouble, I think, has just heard me talk about you too much, honestly. When thinking about a name, the letters were then pointed out. Alfred is a great addition to our household. He is very protective and brings much needed company to the place.
Sometimes good does happen. It’s an interesting world.
I love you.
Jason T.
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You must have a ton of questions.
I do too. (Who wouldn’t?) Because I was dead. For sure. And now. I’m not and that doesn’t usually happen. I’m not the same as before. I’m not the little boy you loved knew. And that’s like dying in a way. I know that part of me will never come back.
Other parts have. Time has given me the ability to find my name, your name, and the urge to call the dump of a city Gotham, home. Still, I will not be the same.
Hopefully I’m not unrecognizable. I know I grew over these years because I feel so uncomfortable in my body. I trip over my own feet more times than I’d admit to and I ‘m surprised whenever my extended arm hits the ceiling. My hair is different . My eyes are different. It’s more than physically too.
I don’t remember much (as you may recall from my other babbling mess of a letter) so I cannot bring to mind past events to help decision-making. Therefore, (I have to assume) I think different. I behave different. I react different. And there’s this side-effect of being back. It’s an infection (a metaphorical type I believe) that dips into my emotions and covers them with such a specific shade of color I would rather be purged from this world. It makes me become someone I think I should regret. If I was the same different person.
So you can’t tell him. But I hope you don’t mind me telling you.
I love you.
Jason Todd
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Last times I didn’t put a return address, since then you would be likely to write back (as polite as you are).
But now, maybe it’s because I drank a little too much tonight, or because I remembered too much in my dream last night, or maybe because I enrolled the Little Trouble in class today. And after that, I feel like I could do anything.
Damn, I am removing all the booze from this house. I don’t know why any is here.
This time. I think I want a return letter.
I love you.
Jason Todd