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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 3 days ago

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thank you!! I really appreciate you taking the time to write that, and I’m glad you liked it !

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jason todd x reader, sequel to Outgoing Call

Big warnings for this one folks. Reader is an addict who relapses, there is a long stretch of fierce self-loathing. Please know yourself and what you can handle. Also, reader's father has died. Again, know yourself and what you can handle.

Also, vomit and swearing.

I don't know how long this is

——————

The night wind whips by as Jason races to Jess’ apartment, ripping through Gotham on his motorcycle. He hopes to god you're still there. He's got one eye on the road, the other on the speedometer. Squeezing the accelerator, he lets the dial tick up five, ten, fifteen miles per hour. He tears past cars and trucks, squeezes into tight spaces, takes turns dangerously fast. It's some of the most reckless biking he's ever done, but he doesn't care. The stakes are high, high in a way they haven't been before. High because this is his fault. Jason has to get to you before you relapse, before you hurt yourself too badly.

Most of his focus goes toward controlling the bike, but he reserves some for trying to figure out how to explain showing up unannounced at your friend's apartment 24 hours after he broke up with you. Over text.

And he only has to come get you because he knows from a bug Bruce placed in Jess' apartment that his text made you fall back into an alcohol habit he didn't know you had.

Jesus. He really fucked this one up.

Jason shakes his head. The excuse is a problem for later. He’ll think one up. Or he won't. It doesn't matter.

The road melts away under his tires, and soon he’s barreling up Jess’ street. He cuts the ignition, jumps off the bike, and scales the fire escape before he even realizes what he’s done. Crouching down, he peers through the windows. Fifth floor, west, rear apartment. Jason’s in the right place.

Through the first window, he has a view of Jess sitting in front of a computer, back facing Jason. He quickly moves onto the next. It’s a living room, empty, and the window is cracked open. Jason gently opens it further and slips inside, landing on the rug. He peers into the bathroom and then the kitchen of the shoebox apartment, but you’re not there. Shit. You must have already left.

He’s back through the window and on the street in seconds. You can’t have gone far, and Jason doesn’t have to guess where you went. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hastily types “bar” into Google Maps. You’re at the first one he walks into.

Jason takes a moment to get his bearings. It's a dive bar, and mostly empty. Only five barstools are occupied, including yours. You're talking to the bartender animatedly, an easy smile on your face. You seem relaxed. To Jason's dismay, there's already a drink in your hand.

Fuck. He's too late. He has to stop you before you do any more damage.

Steeling himself, Jason moves toward you, silently positioning himself on your left side. It takes you a couple of seconds to notice him, but when you do, your eyes travel up his body slowly. When they meet his own your face is mean, your mouth set into a sneer. "Hey, sweetheart," you drawl, tone hard. You bring the glass to your lips.

Jason reaches out to stop you, laying a hand on your wrist. "Baby, don't. Don't do this."

"Fuck you.”

He winces. Not like he doesn’t deserve it.

“Let me take you home,” he pleads with you. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

You turn away from him, let him wait out the silence. Jason sighs, looks to the bartender. “How much has she had to drink?”

The bartender eyes you warily. “Seven shots of vodka in the last twenty minutes, plus that whiskey sour in her hand.”

Fuck. Fuck. He has to get you out of here.

“Sweetheart, we gotta go home,” he tries again, pitching his voice low. “Let me take you back to your apartment.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spit at him. Again, you try to take a sip of your drink, but Jason’s arm keeps yours in place. “Get off me,” you hiss at him. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Uh, ma’am, do you know this guy? Do you want him here?” the bartender cuts in, eyeing Jason. “Because if not, I’m gonna have to call the police.”

Jason almost rolls his eyes. Trust his luck to find the one bartender in Gotham actually doing a good job.

The bartender looks at you expectantly. So does Jason. Depending on your answer, things could get complicated. But he’s not leaving without you.

You roll your eyes, then wave a hand at the bartender. “Don’t sic the cops on him, he’s just my ex,” you mutter. Jason swallows down the easy way ‘ex’ had rolled off your tongue. Can’t get upset about that now. The bartender nods, then moves toward another customer, giving you some privacy.

Jason tries a third time. “I’m cutting you off, doll. You’ve had too much, too fast. Let me take you home.”

You glare at him, jaw working. Eventually, you sigh. “You’re not going to leave me alone,” you grumble.

“I’m not going to leave you alone." He won't.

“Fine. Whatever.” You hop off the barstool, flagging the bartender down to close out your tab. “Let’s go home, sweetie!” you say with mock cheer.

Jason follows you outside, briefly checking to see if you had brought a coat with you. You hadn’t, and it’s cold. Cold enough that you’ll feel it with your bare arms and t-shirt. Silently, he shrugs off his jacket, offering it to you.

“Are you fucking serious?” you say in disgusted disbelief. “Don’t make me laugh, Jason.”

Jason sets his jaw, turns onto the street to hail a cab. It’s too far to walk, especially in the cold, and odds are you’re not going to get on the back of his bike.

He observes you from his peripheral vision as he waits. You stare sightlessly at the pavement, expression blank, but your hands are curled into fists and the hair on your arms is standing up. You’re stressed, or cold, or both. Not a lot Jason can do to help.

A taxi pulls up, and Jason gives the driver your address before opening the door for you. You roll your eyes at him but slide into the cab. Jason follows, pulling the door shut behind him. You’re pressed against the opposite window, as far from him as you can get in the close space. Jason makes a show of putting on his seatbelt. You roll your eyes at him a second time before copying.

The driver pulls away from the bar, and you set your gaze resolutely out your window. Jason shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what to do next. He’d gotten you out of the bar, but he can’t just drop you off at your apartment. What if you leave again, or god forbid you have some alcohol at home? No, he can’t leave you alone. He has to convince you to let him stay the night. How the hell he’s going to manage that, after he broke up with you, is beyond him.

Jason sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d really gone and made a mess for himself. Not to mention you.

“How did you find me?” Your voice slices into the silence of the cab. Jason’s not expecting you to talk, but he’s had time to think about this one. The bar was close to a safe house, the one he’d been pretending was his permanent apartment when you came over. The one you had seen through, apparently. “I was in the area, you know I’m just around the corner.”

You nod. “What were you doing at the bar?”

Jason holds his tongue. Here is an opportunity to lie again, to say that he just wanted to blow off some steam, or some other shit, and get you off his back. He chooses neither.

“I—I wanted to find you,” he admits. “I don’t know...how I knew,” he hedges, “but I was hoping you’d be there.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to—to talk.” You snort, turn back to the window. “Baby, please,” he starts, “I want to—”

“Stop.” You shake your head. “Stop.” Jason falls silent, stays that way until the cabbie reaches your building.

Immediately, you shuck off your seatbelt and slip out the door. Jason rushes to pay the driver and follow you, catching up by the time you’ve reached your lobby door. “This is your stop, Jason,” you say sharply.

He’s shaking his head before you’ve even finished. “Listen. I know. I know. But you’ve had a lot to drink, doll. Let me get you upstairs. Please. I want to make sure you’re okay.” This is unfair, and he knows it, but he can’t leave you alone.

You keep silent but step through your building's lobby and onto the elevator. Jason hits the button, and soon enough you’re on your floor, walking to your unit. Surprisingly, you don’t stop him from coming in, finding the click of the key of the lock and gently closing the door behind him.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say tiredly. “What do you want?”

He looks at you helplessly, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth as his words fail him. Sighing, you move toward your bedroom. Unthinking, Jason falls in step behind you, and you freeze, spear him with a look. “You’re a fool if you think I’m going to let you come in here again.”

Jason takes a deep breath. He's been dreading this. “Look, I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry but I—I can’t leave you like this. Please, baby, let me stay the night.”

“Why?” you say disdainfully. “You don’t care about me.”

Ouch.

“I know I said—what I said, but I was wrong. I was scared,” he admits.

You stare at him, narrowing your eyes, saying nothing. Jason takes it for the cue that it is.

“I was scared, and, and I’m scared now,” he says in a low voice. “You had a lot to drink, and on an empty stomach, doll.” And he has to make sure you don’t drink any more tonight. He has to.

You snort at him. “I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Jason keeps his eyes on yours. “Please,” he asks quietly. He’s not above begging, not for you. “Please let me stay the night.”

Staying still, you exhale slowly, breathing out through your nose. Your hard eyes don’t soften. “On the couch,” you order, then disappear into your bedroom.

Jason breathes a sigh of relief. At least now he can keep you safe.

—

You wake up in your bed.

There is no prelude. You don't get a soft, gradual ascent from your sleep. You aren't awake, and then you are.

Shame cloaks you like a vice.

More pressing, however, is the vomit you can taste in the back of your throat.

You stagger to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you and thumbing the lock. Your knees hit the cracked tile of the floor, the toilet lid smacks against the tank, and your face is in the bowl. You heave. The smell is vile, the retching tears your throat apart.

You cradle your head in your arms, elbows resting on the cool porcelain of the seat as your stomach empties itself. You don't move when it's over, although the smell fills your nose and the ends of your hair drip into the toilet.

Fuck. Fuck. You've gone and ruined it all.

Exhaling, you allow yourself to collapse to the floor, not bothering to flush. Curling your arms into your chest, you begin to sob. You'd gone and fucked it all up, just like you'd always known you would.

You knew, you knew, that you would end up back here. Sobriety was a sham. Everyone thought you could do it, but you're the one who has to sleep in your skin every night. You knew you didn't have it in you, that addiction was ground into your bones, a black hole emanating out from your center that you could never keep a lid on. You had always known that there was something awful inside of you that you would never quite be able to manage, and now here it was, crawling up your throat and spilling out into the toilet.

Quick as they started, your sobs leave you in a rush. You stay on the floor, smelling the vomit, staring at your bathroom ceiling. You were never going to be able to hack it.

The doorknob jiggles. "Baby?" Jason calls out cautiously.

"Don't."

That asshole. Of course he's still here, of course he gets to see you like this. It's not enough that he broke your heart over text, where at least you could hide, instead he has to show up in person and see what a mess he's made you.

The doorknob shakes again. “Baby, please—”

“Get out.” You squeeze your eyes shut. Please leave. Leave. Leaveleaveleave—

“No. Not until we talk,” he says stubbornly.

Fuck that. Suddenly, you’re furious, anger ripping through your gut. You greedily latch onto it, using it to distract from your self-loathing. That asshole thinks he can stay, thinks he has any right to be here, after what he did to you?

Fuck him.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” you snarl at him through the door.

“I’m not leaving,” he insists. You let out a shocked laugh, then inhale sharply, gritting your teeth.

Fine. Fine. Guess you’re doing this.

You pull yourself to your feet, survey your reflection in the mirror. Jason may have heard your retching, may have seen you at your lowest last night, but you will not, you will not let him see you like that now. You wash your face, run water over your hair to get the vomit out, brush your teeth. Flush the toilet. Your face is puffy but when your eyes are clear, you unlock the bathroom door and throw it open.

“What the fuck do you want?” you snap at him. As always, Jason looks gorgeous, even after spending a night on your couch. Hair a messy bedhead, clothes deliciously rumpled. You want him so bad it makes you sick. Then you think of your own appearance, last night’s clothes that reek of sweat sticking ugly to your skin, hair frizzy and unkempt, and you want to kill him. Fuck this motherfucker for looking so perfect while you look and feel like trash.

Jason holds something out to you. Pulling your eyes down, you realize he’s offering you a glass of water. You want to hurl it against the wall. Instead, you take it from him, turn, and dump it into the toilet. Handing it back, you stalk past him into the kitchen and get yourself a bottle of water. You’re not taking anything from him.

“Baby,” he follows. “Please, let me—”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Wait,” Jason says. “Wait. I want to—”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Sweetheart.” He starts to sound frustrated. Good. If he wants to stay, he's going to get the fight you're itching for. “Let me finish. I have to—”

“Get out of my apartment before I call the police.”

He’s angry now, you can see it on his face. You feel vicious. “You’re not listening. Listen, you have to listen to me.”

How dare he. “I don’t have to do anything!” you shout at him. “I don’t have to do anything for you, not after what you did to me!”

“I was wrong,” Jason presses on, raising his voice to talk over you. “I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said that, I was sc—”

“I don’t care!” you scream at him. “You ended it! It’s over!”

“I still care about you!” Jason shouts back, “I care about you, I’m telling you I made a mistake!”

“I don’t care what you think of me now! Too late! I don’t care anymore! You broke up with me!” You will yourself not to cry as your anger surges. “You made your bed, now lie in it!”

“I’m telling you I shouldn’t have done it, I’m telling you I was wrong, I’m trying to apologize! Why can’t you—”

"You can't just take it back! You already did it, it's too late, I don't want to—"

"Shut up!" Jason roars. "Shut up and listen to me, I'm trying to apologize!"

"No!" You stalk towards him, and something in your face makes him take a step back. "I don't owe you anything! You already said everything you need to say. You already hurt me, now I'm never going to trust you again!"

Jason looks like you've knocked the wind out of him. Some part of you grins cruelly. You want to do it again. "You hurt me, so I'm never going to trust you again."

Jason exhales, remains of his anger sliding off his face. You're still breathing heavily, glowering at him, waiting for what he’s going to say next.

"You're right," he says eventually, voice low. "You're right, you don't owe me anything. I—I'm sorry I yelled at you. You don't owe me anything."

You stare at him through narrowed eyes, coming down off your own fury. Jason isn't looking at you, he's looking at the floor, jaw flexing as he chews on the inside of his cheek. He looks...he looks upset.

You slam your eyes shut before you can register the thought. Who cares if he looks upset, you think to yourself harshly. Who cares? The motherfucker deserves it, after what he did. Still, the savagery that burned bright inside you dwindles to a candle with a single wick, threatening to go out entirely.

Maybe he's just tricking you, manipulating you, you try and remind yourself, but you don't really believe it. That was never Jason's style. You crack your eyes open. If anything, he looks even worse now, but he's still not looking at you, not analyzing you to gauge your reaction, to see if his words had any pull. He's not pleading with you anymore, either. Jason must really be upset. Now you have to figure out what to do with that.

You sigh, clearing your throat. Jason flinches and tries to school his expression into place before giving up and meeting your eyes. He doesn't say anything, waiting for you to make the next move. The ball is in your court.

You stare at him for several moments, trying to work out what to do. Jason stares back silently. "I'll leave," Jason says, voice cracking. You open your mouth, then close it, unsure of what to say. "Do you still want me to go?" Jason's face is a mess, but his brow is furrowed as he tries to figure you out, figure out what you want him to do.

You run a hand across your face. Damn it. Damn this asshole for the hold he has over you. The same idiocy that has you reaching for the bottle moves you to offer him another chance.

"I don't want to talk here," you whisper. Jason sucks in a breath, but you talk over him. "We can talk later. Another time."

"Today?"

You shake your head. "No. In a couple days. I'll text you." You leave yourself an out you can slither through if you need it. You won't give him anything else.

Jason's looks like he's going to argue, but you give him a warning look. He shuts himself down. "Okay," he says quietly. "Okay. I'll wait for your text."

You nod, exhausted. "Get out of my apartment," you say, but without heat. This time, Jason goes. You shut the door heavily behind him, then rest your shoulder against it as the tears start to fall. You bite your tongue sharp enough to draw blood to keep the sobs inside you.

Fuck him, you think again, but this time with despair instead of anger. Fuck him for sending you back to that place, for shoving you a thousand steps backward. You're faced again with how you slipped last night, self-loathing threatening to pull you under. But you're not on the bathroom floor anymore, and you realize that cleaning yourself up has put you back in control, if only slightly. You take a deep breath, reaching for the strategies you practiced with your therapist. You force yourself into positive self-talk. It’s okay, you resolutely assure yourself. It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everybody slips. This doesn’t have to mean the end. It doesn’t. It doesn’t mean you’re going to fall back head over heels into addiction. You’re not twenty-two anymore. You’re not…where you were, when things got really bad. When you broke yourself on the alcohol because you couldn’t tell when a bad habit became a crutch, couldn’t recognize when a few drinks here and there became active addiction. Your family is much closer now, your mom and your sister are back in touch and they know what you’re struggling with. Your friends and family have supported you before, they’ll do it again.

You put your face in your hands and take deep, measured breaths. You’ve pulled yourself out of active addiction before. You can do it again. That doesn't mean you'll have to, but you can. If you need to.

You stand up off the floor, pick up your water from where you left it on the counter. Take a long drink, then wipe your hand over your mouth. You can do this. You can do this. You can take a shower, find some breakfast, go to work in the morning, and move on. You can text Jason. Maybe.

But first, you need to get through the next fifteen minutes. You pick up your phone and call your mom.

—

Jason sits on a park bench, drumming his fingers anxiously on his thigh. He’s ten blocks south of your apartment, in one of those fancy new city parks Bruce had funded. It’s a cool, crisp fall day in Gotham, and Jason was supposed to meet you here thirteen minutes ago.

He’s been here for nearly thirty minutes. He was fifteen minutes early, nerves driving him out of his apartment and onto his bike. Since he left your place last week he’d waited anxiously for you to text him about meeting up, but after 72 hours of radio silence he’d nearly given up hope. Your text had almost come as a surprise, a terse message telling him when and where. Jason had fired back a reply instantly, he had no room left to be suave. He was just grateful you’d decided to give him a second chance.

And now here he was, searching for your face in the people that walk past, waiting again, hoping you didn’t stand him up.

But no, there you are, moving resolutely toward him with a face that gives nothing away. Jason stands almost before he decides to. As anxious as he is, he’s thrilled to see you again. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says, unable to stop the grin from splitting his face in half.

You nod. “Sorry I’m late.”

Jason waves you off, sitting back down. You eye him before sitting down carefully, perched just close enough to have a conversation with him but no closer. You look at him expectantly.

Right.

Jason takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I—I’m so sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have sent you that text.” He digs his fingernails into his palms. “I—I really care about you, and I got scared, and—”

“If you’re about to tell me that you were scared by how much you care about me, I’m walking out of here right now,” you interrupt with a warning. “I won’t be manipulated.”

“I’m, I’m not trying to manipulate you,” Jason says gently, afraid that you think he ever would. He lies to you when he has to, and he's not proud of it, but he’d never mess you around like that. “I’m not. I wouldn’t do that, doll. I’m telling the truth.” You stare at him, gaze hard. “Honest,” Jason adds, hoping you believe him.

“Are you saying you regret breaking up with me over text, or you regret breaking up with me?” you demand.

“I regret breaking up with you!” The words tumble out of Jason’s mouth. “I messed up, I was a fuckhead who got scared of my own feelings. Not trying to manipulate you,” he adds hurriedly. “Just telling the truth. It’s—it's been a long time since I’ve been serious with someone. Actually,” he takes another deep breath. “This is the only time I’ve been serious with someone. Being with you is the longest relationship I’ve been in to date.”

He stops here to see how you’re taking his words, and to give himself a break. He's doing so shockingly well at sharing his feelings with you, he's almost surprised.

He's glad he showed up for himself. You're worth it.

Jason peers over at you from his side of the bench, trying to gauge where you're at. Your eyes haven't softened, but the line of your mouth has loosened, jaw more relaxed. Jason pushes onward.

"I—I've got some shit, sweetheart," he says quietly, carefully. "I grew up in Crime Alley. My dad wasn't around, and my mother was a druggie. She died when I was ten." He closes his eyes. Jason is so far removed from that life, so distant from that distant past, but it doesn't get any easier to talk about. It's—it's hard. It's still hard.

"I went into...foster care," he says. He has to lie here, he can't chance you putting together the Jason Todd that went to live with Bruce Wayne and the Jason Todd that died tragically two years later. He isn't ready to tell you about that, not yet. He figures he's allowed this much. "At first, it was great with my foster father, but then...it wasn't. I ran away a few years later." Jason maneuvers around the snarled timeline. "I was on and off the streets for a bit there. I got into some...bad shit. But things are better now. I'm trying to be better," he finishes stubbornly. He is, despite what Bruce might say.

Jason can't get himself to look at you, not after depositing all that shit into your lap. Instead, he glares emptily into the horizon until you sigh, then clear your throat.

"Thank you for telling me that," you say evenly. Jason whips his head up to stare at you. "I appreciate you..." You pause, sucking on your teeth as you choose your words. "You giving me some background."

Jason is silent, still. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to breathe until you've finished. Until you tell him...what you want to do next.

If you're even considering staying with him, after all this.

You sigh again, swallow thickly. "I've...you're not the only one who has shit." You go silent, looking away. He waits patiently, guessing at what's coming.

"I'm a recovering alcoholic," you say, matter-of-fact. Jason winces, even though he already knew. Still, he has to ask.

"Does that mean...last night..." he trails off.

You look at him steadily. "Yeah. That's what that was."

"Fuck, princess, I'm...I'm so sorry," he says brokenly, guilt spilling out. "I'm so sorry I did that to you."

"Thanks," you say quietly. "Look, I, I want to explain. Uh..." you look away, blinking. "It got really bad when my Dad died. It was really sudden, car accident. Hit and run."

Shit. Jason grips the sleeves of his jacket, tension rippling through his forearms.

"My family just kind of...fell apart, after that. My sister and my mom got really distant, and I was away at college and I just...yeah." You suck in a breath. "A couple of years later, I got into a car accident. It was a DUI. I was okay, but it kind of...woke my sister and my mom up, I guess. They helped me recover."

Jason waits a couple of moments after you go silent, making sure you're finished. "Thank you for telling me," he says, copying you. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, that you lost your father like that," he says gently. "That...that sounds really bad."

You shrug. "We all have our shit, you know?" Yeah.

The two of you fall silent, chewing through your confessions. Jason runs a hand through his hair, across the back of his neck. He didn’t realize you were carrying all that on your shoulders. It makes him view you differently. You’re…tougher, than he thought. You’re made of stronger stuff. He needs someone like that, he thinks. Someone who might understand. Maybe the two of you are well-suited for each other.

That is, if you’re still willing to try.

He clears his throat, and you glance at him. “So, what, uh,” he coughs awkwardly. “What happens now?” Jason holds his breath.

You stare at him for a moment, eyes narrow. Then you sigh, slide over to him. “Now,” you let your shoulders bump against his, “you’re going to take me to the coffee shop across the street and buy me an overpriced latte. As an apology.”

Jason’s heart soars. “Not one of those stupid flavors,” he snorts through a grin.

“Yeah, one of those stupid flavors. It’s going to be a large, and I’m going to add, like, four extra flavor pumps, because you were being such an ass. And I’m getting a cookie.” You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to comment.

Jason stands up, offering you a hand. “Anything for you, doll.”

You accept his hand, but then surprise him, pulling hard enough to make him stumble, legs hitting the bench. He regains his balance as you laugh at him, hopping up. “That’s right,” you look at him meaningfully over your shoulder. “Anything for me.”

Raising his eyebrows, Jason nods at your challenge. Yeah. He can do that.

Satisfied, you slip your hand in his and lead him towards the coffee shop.

----

anyway. that was fun. i hope you had fun.

tagging: @candlewitch-cryptic @somenerdydancer

#jason todd #jason todd x reader

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 8 days ago

Text

This has a sequel now! wow wow!

Outgoing Call

A Jason Todd x reader story. It's funny, until it's not. Then it's angsty.

MDNI, NSFW, not smut but mature language. Excessive swearing, sexual situations, you know the drill. use of a slur, but in jest. content warnings for addiction.

I have no idea how long this is.

---

Jason doesn't want to be here. The stupid fucking pageantry of the Batcave gets on his nerves and sets his teeth on edge, always has. A whole-ass cave is fucking unnecessary, Jason makes do with a handful of safe houses—apartments really—and a storage unit. Bruce, sitting stoic at the computer in his full Batman getup and looking right at home among the exposed rock and towering ceilings that end in darkness, never seemed to know when to stop. It irritates Jason to no end.

Dick and Tim's blind chirping chatters angrily in his ears, and Jason considers putting on the helmet to block them out before he remembers he left it at his place. Damn. He’s going to have to experience this stupid meeting unfiltered.

Jason only realizes they're trying to get his attention when Dick taps him on the shoulder.

"You okay there, Little Wing?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and nudging an elbow into his gut. It's enough to make a swell of vomit claw its way up his throat. Jason swallows down with a grimace. "Yes, dickface," he snaps. "Just wondering when we're going to get this fucking show on the road."

Dick shrugs, and Jason's secretly glad he's not offended. He probably wouldn't be acting so much of a shit if he didn't go and overdo it at some unknown dive bar last night. It's possible Jason is mixing up his eager disgust with Batman and Co. and alcohol poisoning.

Like he isn't part of Batman and Co. Bruce grunts, and Dick and Tim refocus, alert. Jason does the same, then forces himself to relax. He ildly imagines shooting himself in the face.

"You know why you’re here," Bruce starts. Actually, Jason doesn't. He didn't read the report Bruce sent him, but whatever. He can figure it out with context clues.

"Oracle has a new lead on the cyber-crime case. She managed to override the suspect's phone and took control, creating an essential bug. It goes live in one minute."

Right. The hits on Gotham National Bank, GCPD, and the mayor’s office. Plus an attempt on Oracle's highly protected Batman case files. Jason doesn't know why he's here, he doesn't give a shit about this case. If the hacker manages to get into Bruce's stuff, he'll take them out to dinner himself.

"Do we have a name?" Tim asks.

"No, and no location either. The security on the phone is too tight, Oracle could only get outgoing calls. She'll silently trigger a call to a secure line. Our side is muted. We only have until the suspect realizes the call is ongoing."

Jason sighs, tries to settle in for the next few hours. He reluctantly takes a seat in front of the computer, furthest away from Bruce. Tim, teacher’s pet that he is, pulls out a notebook and pen. Bored, Jason thinks about what he's going to do when Bruce finally lets him off the leash. His thoughts go to your apartment, your bedroom, before he remembers that after last night, he's definitely not welcome there.

He slumps down in his seat. Oh well. It's for the best.

"Call goes live in three, two, one."

The cave is silent. There are a few gentle beeps as the call connects. Quiet, then, a subtle clacking of computer keys.

He catches Tim shoot Dick a look. Well, they're in.

The clacking continues uninterrupted for a few minutes. "Location still unknown," Dick murmurs. Suddenly, there is the sound of shifting fabric. The phone is in the perp's pocket, Jason thinks.

"You done in there?" someone calls. "I just cleaned my shower, don't get it all gross. You'd better not be shaving in there."

Location known. Perp's apartment. Tim all but flies to the computer. "Searching for voice recognition," he explains. Bruce nods.

"What? I can't hear you." The audio crackles, and then there's the sound of footsteps, the rain of a shower.

"I said, relax, I'm not shaving my pubes in your apartment, you asshole."

What the fuck? Jason stiffens, then internally recoils, trying not to sit at obvious rapt attention. He quickly surveys the room to see if he got away with it. Dick seems like he's trying not to laugh, and Tim looks mortified. He feels rather than sees Bruce shift minutely in his direction. Fuck. Fuck. He may have been made.

“Unknown person. Accomplice?” Tim mutters under his breath. “Attempting voice recognition.” As if Jason needs Tim’s tricks to recognize who's on the other end of the line.

"Good, I don't what that shit clogging my drain."

"It's just pubes, moron." Jason knows that voice, knows that tone, even on the phone, where he's been a million times over the past four months. He can imagine you rolling your eyes to match. "You have them too, you know, it's not just women.”

What the fuck are you doing in their perp's shower?

"Girl pubes are gross. I'll stick to men's, thanks."

Bruce's fingers move over the keys, gently moving Tim to the side. He's definitely writing out "homosexual" in the perp's file. If Jason had anything left to spare, he'd laugh out loud. But he's too busy furiously trying to figure out what you're doing there (and if you're in danger, and if he should be jealous) while keeping his reactions to himself. He doesn't need anybody knowing about his girlfriend.

Well. Ex-girlfriend, or at least soon to be.

"Speaking of men's pubes," the perp, starts, "how's Jason?"

Oh. Fuck. Jason's tongue shoots to the roof of his mouth. He doesn't think anybody noticed. Except Bruce. Maybe. He still might be in the clear. There are a lot of Jasons, but if you keep talking about him eventually Gotham's greatest detective is going to put two and two together.

He can almost taste vomit again as the thought crosses his mind. That would actually be really, really bad. Bruce wouldn't hesitate to use Jason's connection to you as a way to move forward on the case, Jason’s feelings be damned.

"He's okay. I mean, I think. I haven't seen him in a few days."

"Really? Is that weird, does he do that often?"

"Nah. Well, nah, yeah, he does it often," you say with a laugh. "It's fine, he always resurfaces." The trust evident in your voice grates against his skin, then settles warmly in his heart, then drops to his stomach. That was one of the things he liked most about you, that you didn't question his weird schedule or habits. Though he never allowed himself to think about what that might mean, how that meant you felt about him. It hurts more than he expected to hear it now, to have you connect the dots so clearly in front of him.

"What does Jason even look like? You've never actually told me." Shit.

"I dunno," you muse. "He's tall. Blue eyes, black hair.”

Jason hears Tim shift in his seat, feels Dick's eyes on him. Shit. Shit.

"You're bad at descriptions," the perp sniffs. "Here, let me find him. What's his last name?"

Your sheepish chuckle echoes through the cave. "Uh, I actually don't know."

The perp snorts. "Well, you're a goddamn idiot."

"Thanks, dipshit. His profile said Jason T."

Jason swears, swears, he doesn't react, but it doesn't matter. They know him too well. They have him. "Holy shit," Tim whispers. Dick lets out a low chuckle. "Putting yourself out there, Little Wing?"

Bruce clears his throat. "Name?" he asks Jason. Of course that's the only thing on his mind right now.

Jason shakes his head. "No fucking way," he snarls.

"Good enough," the perp answers. The sound of the shower fades as he walks back to the computer in what must be another room.

Soon the clack of computer keys crackles across the line. Jason braces himself. Let's see how dangerous this hacker really is.

Another comm line buzzes to life. "This is Oracle," Barbara announces. "Someone's putting out a search for Jason T, dipping into some private data. I swept everything out with your face and name."

At almost the same time-- "What the fuck kind of website are you on now?" you call from the shower.

"CCTV footage. GCPD and private contracts."

"Oracle," Bruce barks. "Any CCTV footage?" Jason wishes he were anywhere else. Surely, surely, he doesn't need to be here for this nightmare.

"GCPD footage is protected," she answers quickly. "Checking now. Wait--"

"Got it!" the perp sings. "Data breach," Oracle reports. "They got you, Hood."

"Noted," Bruce grunts. "Any connection between Jason and Red Hood?"

"Negative. Shutting them out now." Barbara's fingers fly over the keys.

If anything, the perp's are even faster. "Fuck, he's so hot. Holy shit. You didn't mention he's ripped. " Dick bumps Jason's shoulder, then easily dodges Jason's punch. "Red Hood," Bruce intones.

"Don't start," Jason threatens.

"Someone's trying to kick me out," perp calls to you. "I've got, maybe, fifteen seconds. Just enough time to zoom in on his ass."

The sound of the shower stops, plastic rustling as you pull back the curtain. "Yeah, zoom in on his ass."

"Wow. I hope you're fucking that shit up," the perp says. This is officially too much for Jason. He feels himself start to turn red.

There's the sound of footsteps again. Maybe it's in his head, but Jason feels like he recognizes it, the pad of your bare feet across the floor. "Don't worry. I'm eating that shit out every day of the week and twice on Sundays." Jason almost shits his pants as Tim sputters and Dick cackles.

"Quiet," Bruce commands. Jason wants to punch him.

"--disgusting," the perp is saying. "I can't believe you do that."

"I can't believe you don't," you shoot back. "Aren't fags supposed to love that?"

"Watch it," the perp warns. For a flash of a moment, Jason wonders if he's going to get angry at you, if you're in any danger. If he should rush in and save the day, if he has an excuse to see you again.

"Do you have to specify that in your Grindr profile?" you press on, delighted.

"Everyone's different, you cunt." The perp's voice is fond, and Jason relaxes slightly. "Speaking of which--" the line muffles and shakes for a moment. "I got a message I need to look at."

Grindr profile, Jason mentally notes. The sound is clearer now, the perp must have taken the phone out of his pocket. "Hm. I think this man needs a dick pic," the perp says thoughtfully. There's the metallic sound of fingers fumbling with a belt buckle.

"Christ, are you taking one now?" For the first time, Jason stops to wonder what your relationship is with this guy. Are you friends? Did you used to hook up? He tries to ignore the jealousy rising in his blood.

"Yeah," the perp sounds unconcerned. "Hurry up and get dressed, I can't get it up with a naked woman in the room."

Jason winces. He looks over at the others. Tim looks almost green in the face, and Dick is grimacing. This is quickly turning into porn audio, not exactly something he wants to listen to with Dick and Tim, much less Bruce. There's the sound of the phone being set down. Jason prays it's far enough away that it doesn't pick up what the perp is doing now.

"Do you want help?" you say after a moment. Tim gasps and whips his head toward Jason. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jason grits his teeth. He doesn't know what he did to deserve listening to you jerk someone off with his whole fucking family next to him.

Thankfully, thankfully, the perp snorts. "No!" he sneers as you cackle in the background. "I don't want your gross women hands anywhere near my dick." No past hook ups, then.

"You are so close to misogyny that if you're not careful it's going to smack you in the face."

"That's not what I want smacking me in the face," the perp sighs. "Hence, the dick pic."

"Well, you've got your work cut out for you,” you say. “You have the most hideous flaccid penis I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Shut up,” the perp snaps. “It’s normal!”

“Hit a nerve did I?” You’re clearly amused. It makes Jason miss you enough to shake his head. Ugh. Apparently the alcohol didn’t flush the sad out of him.

“C’mon, help me out here,” the perp says, ignoring you. “What do you think of when you want to flick your bean?”

“Jason,” you say instantly. It makes him grow warm, then sick.

“Wow, she’s got it bad for you,” Dick murmurs. Not for long. “Nice job, Little Wing.”

“I’m happy for you,” Tim pipes up. Jason scrubs a hand over his face. He can’t take much more of this.

“Yeah, I can see why. Can I think about him?”

“No!” you snap as the perp laughs. “Fine, I’ll just think about Nightwing’s sweet, sweet ass.”

Jason’s out of the hot seat. Finally. He looks at Dick, ready to give as good as he got. Unfortunately, Dick doesn’t look offended. He’s grinning, the arrogant ass.

“Okay, I’m good.” They hear the artificial sound of camera. “God, that took forever. Send.”

Dick’s phone pings, Grindr notification echoing through the cave.

“Holy shit,” Tim mutters. “This is the best and also worst day of my life. Can’t you two keep it in your pants?”

Dick shrugs, but he looks embarrassed. “Would you believe me if I told you it’s not for the case?”

Your voice on the line cuts across anyone who would answer. “An unsolicited dick pic?”

“Nah, he sent me one earlier. Wanna see?”

Tim sounds like he’s choking. Bruce’s jaw is working, but thank god he’s quiet. “Nah, dude. I’ll leave that for you,” you answer.

“Dick,” Bruce says lowly. Dick can’t meet his eyes. “You may have to cut off communication.”

“What? Why?” Dick protests. Bruce opens his mouth to answer, but you do it for him.

“Couldn’t you hack his phone from that? Have you ever done that before?” you wonder.

“No.” The perp is quick to answer. “That’s a line I won’t cross.”

“See? It’s fine!” Dick insists. Bruce grimaces, but doesn’t say anything. The sound of a phone going off saves Dick from further embarrassment. Jason wishes he could have caught their attention for longer. He needed a break.

“That’s you,” the perp says. “Can you see what it is?” you ask. “I’m still getting dressed.”

“Sure,” the perp says, floor creaking as he crosses the room. “It’s your mom. Want me to answer?”

“Yeah, what did she say?”

“She’s asking if she can call tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You can let her know.”

Jason hears rustling, the sound of you pulling your clothes on. He connects it to the sound of him doing the opposite, of tugging your clothes off and tossing them to the floor.

Damn. This is harder than he thought.

“You also have a text from Jason,” the perp offers.

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “I’ll read it later.”

Wait? You haven’t read it yet? Jason feels rooted to the floor. No wonder you said so many nice things about him.

Shit. Shit. He shuts his eyes. He knows what’s coming next.

“Dude,” the perp says. “Dude. I think he broke up with you.”

The cave is dead silent.

“What.” Your voice is flat. “What.”

Jason rests his forearms on his hands, head hanging down between his knees. When he sent you the breakup text, he didn’t think he would have to hear you react to it.

Maybe it’s what he deserves.

“He broke up with me over text?”

“Yeah.” The perp’s voice is gentle. “Yeah. Yeah, it looks like it.” The perp pauses. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” At least you have a good friend, even if he is a wanted criminal. Not like Jason isn't, too.

“What the fuck. What the fuck.” Jason’s never heard your voice sound like that. He feels familiar bile rise in his throat. “What did he say?”

“You want me to read it to you?” Dick shoots Jason an alarmed glance. Whatever. It’s not like he has any privacy left anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, read it to me. Actually, wait. How long is it? How many lines?”

There’s silence as the perp counts. “Four.”

“Four?!” you shriek. “Four?! That dumb motherfucker ended a four month relationship in four lines of text?”

“Jesus, Jason.” Tim mutters. Jason can’t even blame him.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Oh my god.” You’re seething. “Oh my god. I’m going to kill him.”

That’s fair.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to take the gun he thinks I don’t know he has taped under his mattress, and I’m going to shoot him in the penis!”

Dick bursts out laughing, but Jason has bigger problems. You found the gun?

“He’s got a gun taped under his mattress?” The perp asks, before Bruce adds “Jason, what does she know?”

“Nothing!” he yelps. “Nothing, I didn’t…” he trails off as your voice picks up again.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s some common criminal or something. His apartment’s definitely a safe house, there’s like, nothing in it and only non perishable foods. Whatever.”

“Dude, I think it’s more than whatever.” Jason agrees with the perp. You shouldn’t be with some common criminal. You shouldn’t even be with him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now! Because he dumped me! Over text!” Your shout rings hard in Jason's ears. “Read the text to me. Read the fucking text.”

Ugh. This fucking rips. Jason would brace himself, if he had anything left to brace.

“‘I’m sorry babe. We have to end it here. It’s not you, it’s me. Hope you had fun.’” It sounded worse read aloud.

“Damn, Jay. That’s low,” Tim comments.

"'It's not you, it's me?'' Dick says incredulously. "Seriously, Little Wing?"

Shockingly, Bruce clears his throat. "Jason--"

"Nope. No. You shut the fuck up right now." Jason's anger is so quick, and blissfully distracting. "You don't get to lecture me about anything, especially this shit."

It seems like, on the line, you're matching his energy, bar for bar. “‘It’s not you, it’s me’? Is he fucking serious?”

“As a heart attack, apparently.”

You let out a small scream. Honestly, Jason didn’t know you had it in you. “Holy shit. I’m so fucking angry.”

“I can see that,” the perp says carefully. “Do you need anything?”

You seem to ignore him. “Oh my god, I am going to read this man for filth. This dumb motherfucker thinks he’s Holden Caulfield.”

Jason opens his mouth, slack-jawed, dumbfounded, as the perp lets out a sharp laugh and Dick sniggers. “Okay, yeah. Let it out, babe.”

“This dumb motherfucker watches Fight Club and thinks it doesn’t apply to him.” You’re on a roll. “This dumb motherfucker holds up any spherical object, says ‘alas, poor yorick,’ and creams his fucking pants.”

Dick and Tim are practically rolling on the floor. Jason swears he sees Bruce crack a small smile.

"This dumb motherfucker is one homoerotic experience away from a Richard Siken poem."

"I like Siken," the perp says defensively. "Come on," you sneer. "'You're in the car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you he loves you, but he loves you,'? What the fuck does that mean? He won't tell you he loves you but he does? Screw that!"

You pause, heavy breathing echoing across the line. "'He won't tell you he loves you. Why couldn't Ja--" you cut yourself off quickly. "Fuck. Fuck."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, fingernails gripping his forearm with enough force to draw blood. He didn't realize this would upset you so much. He's done the in and out, three-month fling so many times it's hard to count. He gets close enough that the sex gets really good but not close enough that it gets messy. It's not supposed to be like this. Sure, he'd made an exception in your case, but he didn't think it would get so bad. He just couldn't help himself. You were too cute, and funny, and easy to be around. You had slid into his life like a hot knife through butter. The parts he was willing to show you, at least. Or maybe, the other parts too, he thinks, remembering your threat to shoot him with his own gun. You definitely don't have anything to do with the criminal underworld, and Jason would prefer to keep you on the surface of that. But maybe there was more than you could handle. You thought he was a common criminal, but you had stayed anyway.

And Jason's not a common criminal. Not that that's anything to take pride in, but still. He has finesse. And he's been playing by the rules enough lately that Bruce invited him back to his lair. That probably counts for something, somewhere.

And you clearly didn't mind criminals, if you were friendly enough with their perp to shower at his house and let him go through your phone. You definitely knew he was a hacker, you'd mentioned it enough times. Maybe--

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Fuck off, Jess," you snarl.

"Yes ma'am," the perp (Jess. Name acquired) says. "I'm sorry you're upset," he adds carefully.

Right. It doesn't matter what Jason learns about you now. He ended it, and the past is the past. It might take him a bit longer than usual, but he'll get over it. He hopes you do, too.

"Ahh!" You let out a shout, then go quiet. "I know. Thanks, Jess."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." The two of you stay quiet for several minutes. Jason wonders if he's going to have to endure hearing you cry over the phone.

"He doesn't seem like he was good for you," Jess offers.

"Fuck off." Beat. "I know. But why does everything have to be good for me? Why do I--ha." You let out an acidic laugh. "'You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting."

"'You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves,'" you and Jess recite together. "Point taken," Jess adds. Jason knows Mary Oliver's Wild Geese. He just didn't know you knew it, too.

A beat. "I don't think you get to make fun of him liking Shakespeare after that," Jess observes.

You laugh humorlessly. "I know. I know. I'm acting like I'm not a fucking dork over here, too." Dick is looking at Jason very cautiously. So is Bruce.

"What are you going to do?" Jess asks after several beats of silence.

"I'm going to pick up a drug habit, that's what I'm going to do. Now seems like a great time to become an alcoholic."

"Don't," Jess says fiercely. "Don't even joke about that. You can't go back there."

"I know," you say softly. "I know."

Jesus. Jason didn't even know you'd had issues with addiction in the past. If he did, maybe he would have...done things a little differently. He can't even look at his family, can't meet their eyes. Not when he knows he may have inadvertently sent you over the edge. Holy shit. He feels sick with himself. How could he have missed that you were a little bit fucked up, just like he was?

Jason is suddenly grateful you didn't read his stupid text last night, when he had first sent it. Thank fuck you were with Jess right now.

As if to echo Jason's thoughts, Jess snarls "No. No way am I going to let this insensitive, fucking prick set you back. Not when you've come so far. You can't let him ruin you. He's not worth it."

Jason agrees.

"But what if..." you say quietly. "What if he could tell, and that's why he ended it. That there's something...awful inside of me."

"No!" Jess shouts. "No! How could you say that? There's nothing--"

You let out a choked sob, cutting Jess off. "Fuck, I'm sorry," you say desperately, voice cracking. "I just--" Shit. Shit. You sound so...broken, Jason wants to take you in his arms, tell you he didn't mean it, tell you he's got his own shit and then some, but you're perfect, and maybe you'd even understand some of it. Maybe you had more in common than he'd thought.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Jason hears footsteps, hopefully Jess was going to put you in his arms, like Jason wants to but can't.

"It just feels like...like I always have to try twice as hard. Like I have to keep myself under surveillance, like I have to be so careful. Because if I slip, it's...it's all over. And it makes me feel like I'm not good enough."

Jason knows what that one feels like.

"Listen to me. Listen," Jess implores you. "You don't have to be perfect. It's okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone slips. Recovery is not a straight line. It's okay."

"I know," you say, voice resigned. "I know."

"And you're doing so well. Two years without touching anything! Even when you lost your job, and your sister got sick. You're so strong, sweetheart."

"Thanks," you say quietly.

The two of you stay silent for several minutes. It gives Jason more than enough time to consider his next move. Should he text you an apology? Is it too late for that? Does he still want to be with you? Yeah, no shit. His hangover is proof enough that he won't be able to get you out of his mind. And it sounds like you're more alike than either of you realized.

Suddenly, Jess's computer dings with an alert, disrupting the silence. There's a shift as Jess walks over. "Oh, shit," he murmurs. "I got in."

The tension in the cave ticks up even higher. "Oracle," Bruce says evenly, "brace for an attack."

"What happened?" you ask, voice still raw.

"I got into the GCPD protected records." Jess breathes. "Fuck yes. I'm going to dox the shit out of those crooked cops and the politicians Black Mask has in his pocket."

"He's out for blood," you comment with a shaky laugh.

"That motherfucker has it coming, after what he did to my father. If I can't get at Sionis directly, I'll chip away at his stupid empire until he's left with nothing." The floorboards creak as Jess settles himself at the computer. "Are you okay?" he offers distractedly. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I need to tune out, I have to--" he trails off, as the clicks of a keyboard start coming through across the line.

"Don't worry about it," you say, but Jason thinks, worries, you might be putting on a brave face.

"Okay. Okay. I'm going to put in headphones. I'm sorry sweetheart," Jess says again, "but this is the chance I've been waiting for."

"Don't worry," you say. "I get it. Do your thing."

Jess must put in headphones with the music blasting, because they can hear it faintly through the call line. The cave is alive as Bruce barks orders at Oracle while Tim all but shoves him out of the way, flinging himself down at the keyboard and getting to work blocking Jess out.

Whatever. Jason doesn't care, if anything, he cares less than he did before. He's all for getting rid of crooked cops, any hit to Black Mask is a win in his book. He's only still here because you're still on the line.

The call is silent, save for Jess clacking away. Finally, Jess' phone picks up your voice again.

"Fuck. Fuck. I can't fucking do this. I need a drink. I need a fucking drink," you mutter.

Jason rises to his feet, just as Dick says "I think you gotta go, Jaybird."

He knows that. His feet are already leading him towards his motorcycle. But where--?

"I've got a location," Tim whispers. Jason turns to him eagerly, but he's not even looking at him. He's looking at Bruce.

Jason's seething. If that asshole thinks he's going to beg and plead for this--

"Go ahead, Jay," Bruce says gently, seemingly without thinking twice. "We can handle him from here."

Gratitude flooding through him, Jason turns on his heel and moves. He's on his bike in what feels like seconds, speeding towards the location Tim had sent into the bike's GPS.

He just hopes he makes it to you before you're too far gone.

#jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n

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