Chapter Text
The strange thing about memory loss is that you don't remember the act of losing your memories unless something or someone triggers a reminder.
That's how Jason had been living for the past three years, give or take. Time had become a muffled, indistinct mess in his mind, making it impossible for him to know how much he'd truly lost and how much he was simply spending.
Life was simple in those first few days. He functioned on instinct alone. Hunger meant he ate; exhaustion meant he rested; heavy, stinging eyes meant he slept. He kept to the shadows, instinctively knowing that dark spaces were safe. No one would see him there. No one would look.
Then came the day every nerve in his body ignited, and he could feel more than just his basic needs. He felt gross, sticky with sweat. His hair was dirty and matted. Discomfort bloomed as he touched his face, finding something dry and crusty there. He knew, somehow, that water and soap would solve the problem.
Next came movement. He recognized his limbs and their purpose. He knew how to grab things with an outstretched hand, how to walk using his legs and feet. One foot in front of the other. Easy. He knew how to jump, using the pads of his feet to push off the ground. Jumping allowed him to reach the rooftops.
Rooftops were safe; he needed to be safe.
Another sense flickered to life as he stayed on the rooftops. Mindlessly, he looked down from his chosen resting spot and frowned. A fall from this height could hurt. Yes, he shouldn't fall. That would be bad and painful.
Cold was a bitch he wanted to choke and punch in the face.
Oh. That was new. Anger.
But who could fault his anger? He was cold, and he knew he needed warmth, but the solution eluded him.
He shivered a few more times before the thought surfaced: Blankets.
Jason frowned. Like soap, he had no idea where he would find such a thing.
Luckily, he found an industrial-sized ventilator on the roof of one building he scaled to find shelter. The air pouring from the rectangular appliance was warm, though suffocating.
Hmm. Jason stared at the source of warmth, but paused. He could stay warm here, but he knew he shouldn't get too close to that scary, big fan.
Yes. He should stay away, but close enough to still feel the machine's warmth.
That mindless haze of instincts and relearning basic functions continued for weeks before his brain settled, and he rediscovered words.
From then on, Jason spent his days walking around, asking for jobs and opportunities. No one offered him anything, and he understood why. He looked disgusting. Whatever he was wearing was torn and tattered beyond recognition.
He pondered this on top of another building.
Hygiene. Yes. That was important.
It took some time, rummaging through large dumpster bins behind supermarkets. He didn't know why, but Jason knew he should find clothes here.
He was proven right when the first lid he pulled open revealed fabrics in various colors. Though, he frowned, some were cut and tattered.
People were mean, he realized. Why would they intentionally destroy these? They weren't selling them anymore!
He learned annoyance.
After digging and rummaging, he found clothes that didn't fit perfectly but looked clean enough. Jason kept the red jacket he found; it was unfortunately too large, but he felt like crying at the thought of leaving it behind.
Hunger was easy enough to ignore, though food was hard to come by without money. Sometimes it hurt too much, but water would be fine for now.
He spent days just looking around, his feet aching, but at least he'd found shoes thick enough to shield his soles from the angry concrete.
A miracle came one day when he turned in a random direction and came face-to-face with an open Asian store with a sign plastered outside.
HIRING:
Part-timer. Work includes: cashiering, stocking, and evening shifts.
Just go inside.
Oh. Jason knew he could get money if he went inside.
That's how he found a job two months after waking up cold and wet.
The owner, Mrs. Lee, took one look at him and offered the empty space behind the store as his room. It was supposed to be another storage space, but it wasn't in use because the store was small enough to just have its stuff lying around.
Mrs. Lee gave him a thin mat, some pillows, and a blanket. Blanket! The fan from the cashier counter could be moved inside if the weather was particularly mean. And Mrs. Lee gave him permission to use the bathrooms in the store as a makeshift shower. Though, Jason had to improvise. There was no shower, just a faucet. He used a bucket to gather water and pour it over his body. He took a bar of soap and charged it to his pay, and then all of his problems were solved.
He had a blanket, soap, a shower, and now he didn't need to go up on buildings to be safe.
Yes, this is good.
…
Jason learned that Mrs. Lee was, in her own way, kind of scary. It wasn't the same kind of scary as some other people. Though she was two inches shorter than him, Jason still felt the need to cower before her red-rimmed glasses and the sharp arch of her thin eyebrows.
"You're too skinny," she said one day, regarding Jason with a flap of her folded fan. "You're not eating enough."
The next morning, a box of rice and stir-fried vegetables was thrust into Jason's hands.
"Eat it. Your bones are poking out. How are you going to carry all my boxes if you're as thin as a stick!"
He ate. Jason knew it was pointless to argue with Mrs. Lee; he would lose.
Jason loved the rice and vegetables. They were delicious, sparks of flavor bursting in his mouth with every chew. He decided he would help Mrs. Lee more as a thank you for the vegetables.
Time was slippery. Jason tried to track how long he'd been working with Mrs. Lee, but his mind would often shut down, unable to focus long enough to really know. So, instead of worrying about that, he focused on the proper color coordination of the potato chip packets in front of him.
Purple and green looked wrong beside each other, and just seeing the barbecue-flavored chips next to the sour cream ones sent Jason cowering behind the opposite shelf.
Yes. He paired the green with yellow and red. His mind settled then.
…
Jason was minding the counter one evening when the TV blared an emergency alert.
"GCPD just reported Joker's escape from Arkham—"
Jason's ears filled with static. Laughter and the clang of metal echoed in his head. He crouched behind the counter, covering his ears. The noise persisted; it wasn't coming from outside. It was inside his head.
Jason screamed.
Mrs. Lee found him moments later, crying and shaking beneath the counter. The woman understood without asking, yanking the TV plug and flipping the store sign to CLOSED.
She stayed close as Jason's chest heaved with sobs and ragged breaths. Mrs. Lee watched, her expression pinched and worried. She unfolded her fan and began to wave it back and forth, not for herself, but for Jason. The boy looked up, his red eyes staring at her, teary and wet from all the sobbing.
"I didn't ask questions before, and I won't now. I don't want to assume what happened to you, but I guess it was bad. You will not stay here tonight, and we will close the store to be safe. Come with me, Xiao Niu."
Mrs. Lee brought him to her house. It was small but warm. Jason was always cold anyway. He liked the warmth.
He learned that Mrs. Lee's husband had died years ago, and her only son was convicted of gang violence. She lived alone with her cat, Tian-Tian.
Jason stayed in her son's empty room, but he didn't sleep. He could still hear the laughter and the clanging metal, then something exploding. He was too scared to close his eyes, terrified that if he opened them again, the monster who was always laughing would be there.
Morning came, and Mrs. Lee made hand-cut noodles. They were warm and satisfying. Jason did not want to eat the fermented prawns, though.
"It will taste good if you add it to the broth!"
Jason shook his head and grimaced. The smell alone was enough to knock him out. "No, thank you."
"You Americans are too scared to try things. This will help with your digestion!"
Jason was sure his digestion was fine. He ate all of his soup and noodles, though; those were good.
…
The Joker was gone, but his laughter still echoed in Jason's head. He watched the news with rapt attention. "Batman and Robin have captured and foiled the Joker's latest plans."
He didn't know why those names made his head ache and his heart grow heavy. He watched as the news plastered the heroes on the screen. Batman was photographed beside a boy in colorful clothes.
Tears welled in Jason's eyes, unbidden and unexplained. His chest burned as he looked at the smiling picture of the child on TV. His heart pounded when they showed the bound figure of the Joker. But he felt weightless and profoundly sad when the man in the dark cape was put in the center.
Jason reached a hand to the screen, fingers grazing the grainy image, touching Batman's face from afar.
He didn't know why, but his heart ached and whispered, "Dad."
…
Soon, time did what it does best: it continued.
Jason was now acutely aware that it was unnatural not to remember his past, not to notice the gaping void where his memories should have been. He knew they were there, somewhere deep inside his head. Vague voices, fleeting impressions of objects and faces, the ghost of reactions and sensations from events long gone. It was as if those memories were wrapped in a fragile balloon; Jason could prod it, but the pain was too sharp, and he was terrified of what he might find when it finally burst.
So, Jason left it untouched. The balloon hung precariously in his mind, a silent, fragile barrier separating the 'before' from the 'now.'
Jason genuinely liked working at Mrs. Lee's store. He'd even made a few friends there. He got to spend time with Tian-Tian, though he remained convinced the cat harbored a deep, abiding hatred for him most of the time. And, perhaps most importantly, he got to spend time with Mrs. Lee.
Mrs. Lee was still scary, and much like Tian-Tian, she was prickly. But she still made Jason rice and vegetables, allowed him to use the store's bathroom for showering, and had even given him her son's old room as his own, so he no longer had to sleep behind the store. He helped her carry more than just the boxes of supplies; he carried her shopping bags, her burdens, her stories. Mrs. Lee would let him tag along whenever she went to the markets, teaching him how to haggle with vendors and pick the freshest produce. She taught Jason how to make hand-cut noodles and explained the secrets to a truly good broth. Egg drop soup became his new favorite, and he insisted it was better with toasted garlic than fresh ones. Mrs. Lee disagreed, huffing with annoyance, but she still made him a jar of toasted garlic, just for him.
He felt the need for answers dwindle into small embers, still there, still existing but not crackling with fire anymore.
Jason was content. He was happy.