Bruce sat in his bedroom with his head in his hands. Another month has slowly passed by. Things between he and Jason have remained unchanged. He had hoped to make progress with him by now, but for whatever reason, it just wasn't happening. Bruce truly thought that if he restored Jason's identity, that Jason would de-evolve and become his true self. But it just wasn't happening. It seemed that with every effort Bruce made, that Jason resented him even more for it.
Since Bruce had brought Jason back to Wayne Manor he had restored his natural voice. It had changed from what Bruce remembered. The voice Bruce recalled had been that of a child, if a teen. The voice that now spoke to him with spite, was that of a grown man. It was as if the years of transition had been stolen from Bruce. Jason wasn't a child anymore and Bruce wished that he had matured under his wing instead of the Joker's.
In the months of captivity Bruce has also had several of the Joker's tattoos on Jason's body removed by laser. However, they seemed to actually do very little to resurrect Jason. He never seemed to bat an eyelash when he would wake from sedation to realize one was no longer there. Bruce had hoped for more. He had hoped, at the very least, to see a glimpse of Jason becoming himself again. However though, it didn't work out that way.
But all of that was merely child's play. Bruce had tracked down the plastic surgeon the Joker had hired to transform Jason into him. Then, feature by feature, Jason's physical appearance was restored, with the exception of the white skin and green hair. But it did very little to alter his behavior. Nor did it make him resent Bruce any less.
The surgeries all involved a degree of pain for Jason. But due to his past history with drugs, Bruce didn't want to rock the boat. Relations between the two of them were tense enough. Some of the procedures left Jason moaning in pain for days. Many times Bruce wanted to rescue his brother from his agony. It was hard to remember to do the right thing when Jason was obviously suffering.
All Bruce wanted to do was give Jason his life back. Jason was so lost in so many ways. He had pretended and pretended so long that the fantasy had become real to him. So much so that Bruce was starting to wonder if Alfred had been right all along when he said that the Jason they knew was dead. But Bruce didn't want to accept that. He cared too much for Jason to accept that. Jason and Alfred were all he had in the world.
He simply wanted Jason to be his brother. He wanted the kind of relationship that brothers were supposed to have. He wanted Jason to trust him, and in return be able to trust him back. He wanted them to be able to believe in one another as they had before everything happened. But those simple wishes seemed more impossible than they even had a month ago.
"Master Bruce," comes Alfred's voice, "Do you intend to stay in your bedroom all day?" He walks into Bruce's room with a tray of food.
Bruce raises his head to glance at the window. He hadn't even realized that it was daylight. Alfred sits the tray down on the table next to him. Bruce glances to it with half drunk, bloodshot eyes. It wasn't a breakfast tray. It was lunch. Bruce sighs to himself as he realizes how long he has been in this prone position of despair. His hand reaches out over the tray and instead retrieved the glass of bourbon.
"I'd say you've had enough sir," Alfred raises an eyebrow at him, "You really should have something to eat."
Like a defiant teen, Bruce rolls his eyes and brings the glass to his lips. He takes a drink and looks up at Alfred. "He hates me Alfred. He's all I have, and he fucking hates me." Bruce then brings the glass to his mouth once more.
"I see sir, and are you trying to gain his respects through bourbon? Perhaps another bottle will make him come to his senses. Shall I fetch you another bottle sir? Perhaps something a bit more aged?" Alfred asks with a sarcasm Bruce can't help but notice.
Bruce snorts with a lopsided grin, "If it were so easy I'd drink every bottle in Wayne Manor."
"You would more than likely succumb to alcohol poisoning," Alfred notes.
Bruce sighs again, "With every detail of J that I strip away from Jason, he becomes more of a stranger. Everything I try does no good. Nothing seems to work," he says as his head rests in his hands once again. "I'm starting to see that you were right about our Jason being dead."
Alfred looks down at his hands, "Being right brings me no satisfaction," he says softly.
"What am I supposed to do? Do I release him and let him reek havoc on the city?" Bruce wonders aloud.
"I don't think that would be much good for anyone sir," Alfred shakes his head.
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Bruce nearly pleads with him.
"I can't answer that for you Master Bruce," he answers and picks up the almost empty bottle of bourbon from the table, and sits it on the tray. "However, perhaps if you gave him a few liberties, he might not be so apt to resist your help."
"What do you mean? Let him walk around Wayne Manor freely?" Bruce sits up straight. "I suppose I could fit him with an ankle monitor. I could keep track of him, sure. But I don't know if I could win a fight with him if he decided to engage me."
"Are you certain that it would come to that?" Alfred asks him.
"No, but I have to be prepared for that possibility," Bruce explains.
"Perhaps. But there is a chance that vif you show him a sign of good faith, that he shall give you one in return," Alfred picks up the tray and excuses himself from Bruce's bedroom.
Bruce stands and sweeps his hand through his hair. Maybe Alfred was right. Maybe if he extended an olive branch out to Jason, Jason wouldn't go crazy and try to escape or attack him. But Bruce did have to prepare himself for all possibilities of his actions. He needed a way to subdue Jason if it came down to that.
Bruce makes his way down to the bat cave. He can feel Jason's cold blue eyes fall on him. They narrow at Bruce, and those ghastly silver teeth clench tight in anger. Bruce slowly approaches the glass. He looks down and shoves his hands into his pants pockets.
"I've been doing some thinking," he says as he hesitates for a moment, "I feel as though you might benefit from having a few liberties."
Bruce watches as Jason's red lips go back down over his metallic teeth. "What kind of liberties?" He asks Bruce. His sudden interest was quite evident to Bruce.
"I was thinking you might like to have access to the gym. If that goes well, and you deem yourself trustworthy, perhaps I will extend other liberties as well." Bruce watches as a sly smile creeps over Jason's lips. It definitely didn't make him seem trustworthy.
"You should be worried about what I'll do with your liberties," he tells Bruce.
"I'm giving you an opportunity, what you do with it is entirely up to you," Bruce says as he turns and crosses over to his desk. He slides out a drawer and reaches into it. He pulls out an ankle monitor and plugs it into the bat computer to program it.
"An ankle monitor?" Jason smirks, "As if I can't outrun you. And I could do that as a child."
"That's why I've fitted it with a tazer. Any time you step out of bounds it will emit a charge to you that would restart a normal persons heart," Bruce cuts his eyes over at Jason.
"Does that even up the odds for you Brucey?" Jason grins.
"Don't call me that," Bruce scolds.
"Why? Was that one of J's little pet names for you?" Jason teases, hoping to rile Bruce.
"None of your damn business," he mumbles and goes back over to the glass cell. He lays the ankle monitor in the drawer and pushes it through to Jason.
Jason retrieves it from the drawer and looks it over. "So what kind of boundaries come with this thing? Where are my parameters Master Bruce?"
Bruce rolls his eyes, "For now, just the batcave and the ajoined gym."
Jason bends over and slaps the monitor around his ankle. "Twenty exta feet is worth it I suppose." He stands and shrugs at Bruce, "You gonna let me out or what?"
Bruce points a stern finger at him. "Don't make me regret this."
Jason just stares at him impatiently and waits for him to open the door. "The door Bruce."
Bruce pushes a button and the door opens. Jason slips our if the cell, making sure to brush past Bruce in a threatening way. He knew he was stronger and faster than the cowl'd crusader. And Bruce knew it too.
Bruce follows Jason to the gym at just a few paces behind him. Jason enters the gym and pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the treadmill. He crosses over to the barbell hand weights and reaches for a pair. His attention is caught by his reflection. It's the first time he's seen his own reflection after all of the surgeries. He seemed to be taken back for a moment as his lips part.
"Everything ok?" Bruce asks him.
Jason blinks, "Yeah, everything is fine," he looks down with a nod and lifts the weights off the rack. He starts to curl them.
"Well, I'll just leave you to it then," Bruce says as he turns to leave, "Take your time."
"Thanks," Jason says and looks to his reflection again the second after Bruce leaves the room.
Jason approaches the mirror and sits the weights down at his feet. His hand goes to his face. He slightly turns his face from side to side. He lifts his chin and lowers it. He had almost completely forgotten what the sight of his own face looked like. But while the features of Jason Todd were restored, the true color of his flesh and red hair were not. They never would be again thanks to the chemicals that infect his blood.
Jason's head drops with a sigh. He wasn't the Joker anymore. But he wasn't exactly Jason Todd either. It was confusing for Jason. It was as if he had forgotten his own thoughts and feelings. He became the Joker. Completely. Fully. Wholly. But what if the thoughts and feelings of his imitation were his as well? 8f only he could remember the person he was before. It almost felt like he had amnesia or something.
His fists ball and he fights the urge to drive his fist through the mirror. But he soon abandon's the impulse when he thinks of how many stitches it would likely create. Somehow, it wasn't worth that. Jason's had enough pain to last him ten lifetimes, or so he thinks. His fingers slide into his wavy and unkempt green hair. He fists the strands. His knuckles quiver from how tightly they clench.
"Pull it together kid," he mumbles. He could still hear J's voice in his head saying it. He breathes deeply ase tries to regain his composure. "Pull it the fuck together," he sighs and slowly lowers his hands. He looks at the odd reflection in the mirror. "You've got this. You can do this. Snap our of it and pull it together."