#Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn’t die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 19/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake, Donna Troy

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tag: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter Nineteen: Fourth

For the next two months, Tim woke me up in the early parts of the morning to train. Bruce assumed that Tim took my physical therapy super seriously, so I let him believe that. I got out of bed every morning to run on the treadmill while Tim ran the drills that I gave him. Barbara stressed that I wouldn’t be as fast or as strong as I used to be, but I didn’t need to be. I just needed to be smarter than Bruce. 

Tim on the other hand learned fast, and he taught me a few things about myself. Sparring with him made me better. And it made Barbara suspicious. 

“How many months do we have left?” Tim asked. 

“October, Tim. And I think I’m gonna be late coming home from Barbara’s tonight,” I replied, “What are you gonna do while I’m gone? Go to Ives’ place?” 

“Um… No, I’m gonna go to the hospital and see Dad—.” 

I grabbed his arm. “Can you give him that box upstairs in my room? It’s from both of us,” I requested. 

“You want me to lie?” Tim asked. 

“Nope. I took ten dollars from your wallet for express shipping,” I half-joked. Tim playfully punched my shoulder. “I’ll buy lunch next week.” 

Tim stood in the gym with me, shifting his weight from left to right. “Did you need the money—?” Tim hugged me. It almost knocked me off balance, but I held firm. I figured he thought about his mom and needed something to hold onto for comfort. He didn’t talk about her, but I could tell it still hurt. I think that part of me was shut off. I didn’t grieve when I should’ve and now that part of my heart is missing. I keep trying to fill it with Tim’s grief but nothing can take up that space. I would’ve given anything to be able to cry for my moms or my dad. I could only cry for Tim, but it didn’t fix anything inside of me. I squeezed him tight, and he let go. 

“I might spend the night at the hospital,” Tim whispered. 

“Okay… If you don’t see me tonight, I’ll send you a text,” I replied. We didn’t have to talk about it. Besides, I had to shift my focus to a vigilante tagger foiling Cluemaster’s most recent heists… And I had a pretty good idea of where to find the culprit. I had to do it alone to prove to myself I could still do this. It had nothing to do with my plans. I just needed this as a confidence boost. 

**

After training with Barbara, I took a shower and headed straight for a suburban neighborhood in Gotham. I watched the house for almost an hour before watching a girl speed off on a motorbike. I couldn’t keep up with her on foot, but Tim had this crazy idea about me skating to compensate for my speed deficit. 

I thought it was stupid when he suggested it, but it was a huge improvement. I was right behind her until we got to a cluster of buildings. I watched her enter a building, and I took the old way up. I almost forgot how cold it was scaling buildings. The air whipped past, hurting my exposed wrists, but I kept at it. By the time I got up there, she was there with a brick. And the thing is, no matter how much the incident slowed me down, my hands were as fast as ever. I caught her wrist and squeezed until she dropped it. “I’m not here to fight. I think we’re a lot alike, Stephanie,” I stated. She moved in for a headbutt, but I was a little too tall for her, so it didn’t land quite right and she hit my chin. 

“Ouch! Jesus!” Stephanie winced as she clutched her forehead. She stumbled and landed on her butt, which gave me time to level with her. My chin hurt, but she didn’t have a lot of leverage on that headbutt. She really hurt herself more than she hurt me. 

I crouched in front of her. “Can I talk now?” I asked. 

“What do you want?” Stephanie questioned. 

“I wanna help you put your dad in jail… If that’s what you want. I just—. I need someone like you. Someone they’d underestimate, someone tough—. Can you take the mask off? I wanna make sure you’re not hurt too bad,” I requested. She sighed and took the mask off, and I checked her for signs of a concussion. 

Stephanie reached for my mask, and I flinched before letting her take it off. She took a good look at my face, and I got a good look at hers. “What do you need me for?” Stephanie asked. Her voice was serious as she watched my eyes. 

“I want to show my dad that I’m not broken… And you want to show your dad that you’re not like him. You’re the kind of person I’d trust with my life… But it’s not me that I want you to look after,” I whispered. Stephanie was the perfect person to look after Tim. I stared at the red mark my chin left on her forehead and frowned as I took an ice pack out of my belt. “Here.”

“Thanks… What are you asking me?” Stephanie replied. 

“Um… I want you to follow my brother on Halloween. I want you to make sure nobody hurts him. That’s all I’m asking… And I’ll do everything in my power to get your father put away,” I promised. 

She held eye contact with me the entire time. “What’s so special about me?” Stephanie asked. 

“What isn’t special about you?” I asked in reply. All I saw when I looked in her eyes was Catherine. I could see hurt, but I also saw hope. I couldn’t tell her that, though. I had to tell her something else. Something true but not as personal. “I know you’re a good person. That’s why I have to tell you my name. I’m Jason, and I know how it feels to be betrayed. Say you’ll let me help you.” 

“My dad might get out after he gets caught—.”

“Stephanie, I know how the justice system works in Gotham. I’m telling you right now, I’m not going anywhere. If you tell me now you want me to help, I’ll help as long as I’m able,” I interrupted. 

“Call me Steph… And give me five seconds. We’ll go and get something to eat… Talk details,” Steph smiled as she pinched my cheek. 

“My treat,” I replied. 

Steph pulled her mask back on and clicked her tongue as she pointed finger guns at me. “Wait. You said you’d help me? Who are you?” Steph asked. 

“I used to be somebody,” I replied without thinking. It almost upset me to hear the words come out of my mouth. 

 “You’re still somebody… But that doesn’t answer my question. Who are you? And why do you think you can help me?” Steph asked. She smiled a half-smile as she returned my ice pack. 

“I don’t really know who I am… But I—. I know I can help you if you let me. How about we grab something to eat while you tell me about your dad’s plans?” I asked. 

“Sure,” Steph whispered as I pulled my mask back on.

[stars-and-branches]

Headcanon that Jason has chronic pain, that when he wakes up in the middle of the night from a ptsd nightmare he can still feel the cracks in his bones and the burns on his skin. Can still feel the splinters under his nails.

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

Thinking about disabled AK!Jason tonite with a disabled s/o

Let's be fr this man could/should be an ambulatory wheelchair user but he won't because he doesn't know that's a thing and wouldn't think he deserved it. If you're an ambulatory wheelchair user maybe one day you manage to lovingly bully him into just TRYING it and it is life changing

He uses his ambulatory energy to do Red Hood shit nbd

if he doesn't use a wheelchair he's got at least 2 braces--shoulder and knee

Baby has chronic pain, arthritis, chronic migraines from being beaten

Missing some teeth too

take this boy to your neuro or your ortho!!!! he is totally unaware he does not need to live like this. better living through chemistry

let's get him some therapy too

you WILL have to go to his drs appointments with him. mans WILL freak the fuck out for ANY medical procedure, has very serious medical abuse trauma. if he can see how your drs help you he is much more likely to go if he can see that you are benefiting from your providers and that they haven't harmed you

if you're scared of drs he will FULLY stand behind you. probably not that healthy tbh but he gets it

having a special Migraine Protocol for each of you (it's basically just a snack and a drink, blue light filter glasses, a sleep mask with headphones for that special Migraine Playlist)

make your own pain scales and talk through frequency of pain bc when you have constant or near constant pain it fucks up your ability to quantify it so making your own pain scale is helpful (he probably uses shakespeare plays or authors. like a 5 for jason is twilight, because you can see some problems but it's fun and fluffy but when you start looking closer OH NO SO MANY PROBLEMS)

pain meters on a wall near the kitchen so you can know what you're working with

CBD patches

the AK suit is basically a giant brace/mobility aid so you help him figure out how to adapt it for his red hood persona, how to make it lighter and allow for greater ROM

will remind you to do physical therapy

resistance bands ALL OVER THE HOUSE

learning bodywork techniques

AT LEAST once a week using a special oil or lotion to work into some of his bigger scars to make the tissue more mobile

giving him a back/neck/scalp/face massage

after a while obvi that's a lot of trust he's putting in you

NOT deep tissue. don't hurt him more. you can have effective therapeutic massage without hurting a person

trager work involves basically shaking a limb and letting the weight of the muscle do all the work but it feels weird the first time and he'd just start laughing at you

specially if you do his glutes

but it feels really nice so he stops laughing and it does help his lower body pain

putting magnesium lotion on each other's neck and shoulders

start to ask each other "are you angry or in pain?"

hand massages

teaching him to stop pushing through the pain

one of his knees is basically bone on bone so you always know when the weather is changing

if u both have bad knees u just don't even when the weather is changing. take some pain meds, use your topical pain reliever of choice, prop those joints up and snuggle in bed. watch a youtube series or he can read to you

heated blankets as heating pads supremacy

occasionally he'll be in pain and the kind of pain where you feel like you're going insane, so as a distraction he will go online and buy a bunch of weird pain-relieving gadgets and you'll spend a week trying them out

(sometimes his pain fog shopping spree is blind boxes, or nail polish, or statement shirts)

all of his siblings know to come to your place if they get beat tf up because your medicine cabinet is UNreal

you're about to give cass or steph a Controlled Substance Pain Reliever and you pause "this is technically drug dealing, isn't it? dOn'T teLL rEd hOOD" jason is literally patching them up right next to you

soft blankets

reminding each other it's ok to take it slow

he's constantly tearing into the other rogues for not having ADA accessible lairs (except Ivy who successfully argued that the plants make it ADA accessible which will do. FOR NOW.)

[roseredsnow]

That moment when there's not a fic of your comfort character with your current specific problem.

Tomophobic (fear of invasive medical procedures) Jason Todd anyone? Please?

[jasontoddweek2025]

Jason Todd Week 2025 - January

Rules | Playlist | Playlist Guide | AO3 Collection | Discord

Jason Todd Week 2025 will run January 6th - 12th this January!

There will be two aspects to this event:

The main part is the prompt challenges. There are three prompts per day. The first is a word prompt, the second is a general trope, and the last is a fandom-specific prompt. You can use one, two, or three of them—it's up to you! Each prompt also has a song corresponding to it in the playlist. A playlist guide will be out shortly so that you can know what songs there are if you don't use Spotify.

If you post on Tumblr, you can use the tag #jasontoddweek2025. There's also an AO3 collection (Jason_Todd_Week_2025).

For your filtering, this blog will tag reblogs with #reblogs, the day, the prompt(s), media type, any non-Jason characters, any romantic or sexual ships (with full character name/full character name), and any warnings. Anything explicit will be tagged #explicit. Example: #reblogs #day 6 #scars #enemy to caretaker #fic #tim drake #gun violence. Please filter out tags you don’t want to see.

Because I am not able to read/see every work posted (due to time constraints and personal boundaries), some warnings or characters may be untagged if they are not in the original post’s tags.

The secondary aspect is another opportunity to participate if you don't feel comfortable creating art, writing, or other media. Each day of the week, there will be a be an open-ended question about your opinions/ideas related to Jason Todd that you can respond to. For example, "What is your favorite Jason Todd headcanon?"

Feel free to join the Discord!

Prompts Day 1: Drive | Time Travel | The Batmobile Tires Day 2: Joker | Chronic Pain | Fear Toxin Day 3: Monster | Supernatural AU | League of Assassins Day 4: Grave | Buried Alive | Immortal Jason Todd Day 5: Family | No Capes AU | Jason is a Literature Nerd Day 6: Scars | Enemy to Caretaker | Red Hood and the Outlaws Day 7: Return | Outsider POV | Crime Alley Substitute Prompts: Lifeline, Royalty AU, Reverse Robins

[julymusings]

Jason "California Sober" Todd who 100% smokes weed to take the edge off, per your suggestion. He tries it and it's such a game-changer. It feels like a cheat code. Constant soreness and/or chronic pain paired with PTSD— you know he's blazing it almost every night after he gets in from patrol. How else is he supposed to fall asleep? He sits out on the fire escape after stripping his armor and dressing any wounds, head leaned back against the brick wall and eyes closed with the blunt between his fingers. A pleasant numbing sensation flows through his body as his muscles loosen and the heaviness in his bones subsides. His mind clears of all unwanted thoughts and memories, the perpetual static in his head quieting enough for him to pass out for a solid 6-7 hours.

He does his research, familiarizing himself with the science. He knows Indica is better for winding down after a long night, and Sativa is helpful when he needs that extra push to get out of bed. (Both have their aphrodisiacal benefits too, he discovers, but he tries to focus his research on pain relief, no matter how much that subtopic intrigues him.) He tries several CBD oils until he finds the perfect concentration and strain blend for his muscle and joint pain. Oil massages become a staple of your routine. When the pain is too much, you lie him on his stomach in bed, straddling his hips as he makes a pillow with his arms. After warming the oil between your palms, you knead his shoulders and back, working out the knots and alleviating the tension. Multiple times he's fallen asleep mid-massage, something that is so sweet to you that you end the night with a kiss to his bare back, right between his shoulder blades, before draping a blanket over him and turning off the lights. Sometimes it takes all your weight channeled into one elbow to achieve adequate pressure, and he's gritting his teeth and squeezing the comforter as you press hard on his back, but the cooling effect of the oil matched with the sudden lightness of his muscles makes it all worth it for him.

(The squirming and high-pitched, breathy noises he tries so hard to suppress when you work your way down to his thighs make it all worth it for you, too.)

During a routine grocery trip, while he's busied with the spice racks, you wander further down the aisle when a specific row of boxes catches your eye— brownie mix. After doing the necessary research, you prepare the cannabis butter in advance, hoping to use it very soon. But with vigilante life getting in the way, it stays in the freezer for a few weeks before you finally find the time.

Cut to your next date night where you're rained in by classic Gotham weather, full on one of his home-cooked meals, and a little too excited by having him home with you tonight. You crack the eggs and stir in the powder and he watches over the butter on the stove, ensuring it doesn't exceed the temperature restriction while he melts it. You sit on the floor in front of the oven while the brownies bake, lightly massaging his stiff neck as you wait. They come out delicious, of course, and you spend the evening lazily making out in your relaxed high (clearly his research paid off) and ending the night in each other's arms where he has the best sleep of his life— they were so good you barely made it to the bed, just passing out on top of the covers. Unfortunately, as knocked out as you were, neither of you had the clarity to notice Steph and Tim climbing through the window in search of spare tactical gear and helping themselves to the leftovers on the counter. Suffice it to say, after a string of long, angry voicemails from Alfred about why his siblings came home giggly and spaced out with the urge to eat Bruce out of house and home, you and Jason decide it's best to stick to rolling up.

this idea came to me in honor of.....

yayyy!! ty LMFAOO

(pausing my hiatus for 5 minutes to post this before dropping off the grid again. my finals aren't done yet but i sure am.)

disclaimer this is not me telling you that weed will solve all your problems. idek anything about weed this is just stuff that came up upon a quick google search

[freakingholland]

freakingholland's batboys headcanons part 1

A/N: Hi cuties! After posting some dc comics related imagines over the last couple of years I've decided to finally post a list of my own headcanons for batboys! Just a disclaimer - these are based on multiple dc related media (comics, shows, fan-made content) as well as just my imagination. I do not mean any harm with these! Also if you agree/disagree with these let me know in the comments/asks/rbs because I'm super intrested in what you guys think and your own fanons! Stay whelmed xx questions/ideas here! - rules here my AO3 archive is here If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland masterlist

Dick Grayson (25-29ish yo)

Wears contacts all the time when he’s out. His sight used to be perfect up until puberty. Only wears prescription glasses when he knows he’ll spend the entire day wearing sunglasses – has prescription on them (he does have an emergency pair of regular glasses though).

Has a deep set of dimples. More visible when he’s a dehydrated raisin of a human being. He has a special bottle for just water to force himself to drink more.

Is left handed. His siblings bother him for that matter when he accidentally elbows somebody while eating.

Is “silently” addicted to energy drinks. Has tried to switch to other beverages but ultimately always goes back to energy drinks.

Sings in the shower, has a genuinely good singing voice. Pretends to be shy when people suggest doing karaoke.

Has chronic wrist pain due to a bad fracture.

Is a minimalist. Hates clutter and frequently gets rid of things like clothes, unnecessary gadgets, kitchen utensils etc.

Loves rock climbing and bouldering.

Has pockmarks on his cheeks. Had tried different products to make them fade away, but gave up and accepted his fate.

Uses a lot of post-it notes around his apartment.

Jason Todd (22-24ish yo)

Jason is the only one with brown eyes. You cannot convince me otherwise. Don’t try to.

He’s the best cook out of all the guys. Finds it very therapeutic. Genuinely enjoys making meals especially if others can stop by for dinner or pick up his food. (always makes me think of those pics of him and Dick in the kitchen in Gotham Knights!)

Has type 1 diabetes, uses a pump. (As mentioned here!)

Has a private library stamp for his book collection because any time someone visits him, somebody borrows (steals) books from him.

Plays the violin, self-taught as an adult. It’s his “safe” hobby that convinces his neighbours that he’s just a regular guy.

Has a full arm tattoo sleeve, it’s his way of dealing with body dysmorphia and body image issues. His tattoos include book references, fav movie characters and different symbols for all of the siblings (not their super hero stuff though, for safety reasons).

Has reading glasses. (As mentioned here!)

Hates arugula, loves Italian cuisine. He is not afraid of carbs (his glucose monitor states otherwise) and makes noodles often.

Has wavy hair but doesn’t use proper products for his texture.

Has veryyy straight teeth naturally. Others are jealous.

Tim Drake (20-21ish yo)

Journals. Even when he’s severely sleep deprived. It’s his way of dealing with heavy stuff, but also his archive in case he goes missing.

Has a nintendo switch. Doesn’t really use it but he knows that Damian steals it that’s why he keeps it instead of selling it.

Has a proper skin care routine. It includes dying his hair dark every 4 weeks cause he has gray hairs due to stress.

Uses ktape regularly. Struggles with chronic back pain and uses a foam roller.

Is vegan. Doesn’t try to convince other peeps to switch to veganism knowing that they are barely capable of making food for themselves. Will make an exception and eat meat if it’s a meal prepared by somebody close to him.

Is a huge music fan, listens to music often. Mostly metal, but also pop, rap. Doesn’t really discriminate music genres.

Loves playing board games. Is the type to bring board games to social meetings of sorts in case people want to play.

Has a very pleasant, contagious laugh. Rarely laughs out loud, but those who know his laugh try hard to make him laugh for that matter.

Has really sparse facial hair. Would like to grow out a stache or beard but cannot.

Blushes very easily. Doesn’t like it. Despises cold temperatures for that matter.

[arandomao3user]

As an Ao3 author, I love giving headcanons that'd probably anger a certain side of the Batman fandom, but I personally don't care because it makes great angst and, again, I'm an Ao3 author and chronically ill!

First up! Dick Grayson, I like the idea of him having ADHD, of course, BUT... joint hypermobility syndrome.

(Joint Hypermobility Syndrome: Joint hypermobility syndrome is a connective tissue disorder. Thick bands of tissue (ligaments) hold your joints together and keep them from moving too much or too far out of range. In people with joint hypermobility syndrome, those ligaments are loose or weak. If you have joints that are more flexible than normal and it causes you pain, you may have joint hypermobility syndrome.)

Chronic pain fits him, don't ask, because as the eldest child with chronic pain and hypermobiltiy syndrome, trust, he has that look in his eye that he's been walking on swollen knees for the past twelve hours, had three mental breakdowns, and is still pushing through because SOMEBODY has to deal with this bull.

That's also the reason he wears freakin' spandex-- only, it's for compression! He wears compression items to help with swelling and pain TRUST, and let me have this because the math maths (it probably doesn't, but let me have this.)

He's got chronic fatigue, he's gotten used to popping dislocated joints back into place, Bruce was so confused how he dislocated and sprained so many bones so quickly when out as Robin. It's genetic, of course, Bruce finds. But he has money, and Dick powers through it all! Till he develops arthritis in his early thirties/ late twenties and actually hates everything because WHAT AND WHY--

---

Next up! JASON TODD! I have no proof, evidence, and it doesn't have to make sense but I like giving him asthma sometimes for the angst potential of if he didn't have it, he wouldn't have died in the explosion.

He didn't die from said explosion, nor JUST the smoke inhalation, but because he had an asthma attack, on the ground, bones broken, unable to breath because his inhaler did NOT survive the blast, if he even had it on him.

And that's why he wears helmet with so, so many filters in it now...

Also, being a street kid who struggles to even get his medication that keeps him alive? Peak angst, being to poor to afford your medication because the American healthcare system is actually trashy garbage.

R.I.P. Jason Todd, you would've loved clean air--

---

ANEMIC TIM DRAKE! But I up you, Tim Drake with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS)

(POTS: Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS) is a condition that causes your heart to beat faster than normal when you transition from sitting or lying down to standing up. It’s a type of orthostatic intolerance.)

Read ONE SINGLE FIC/ SERIES with this and I've loved it since because what do you mean he randomly falls asleep anywhere? No, forget your canon, he passed out and people think he just fell asleep... NOpe, he passed out, sorry random lady he was on a date with!

(The majority of people are AFAM but we aren't ready for my trans Tim headcanons yet either.)

(You’re at a higher risk of developing POTS after experiencing the following stressors:

Significant illnesses, such as viral illnesses like mononucleosis or serious infections.

Physical trauma, such as a head injury.)

Ngl, my dude gets a LOT of physical trauma (and mental--) also, losing a spleen? Surgery and at risk of viral illnesses? I'm sorry, but I need him to suffer more because I like when Tim Drake suffers horribly.

Now, despite having this condition, I am no expert, but also his caffiene/ energy drink addiction is from chronic fatigue, he shouldn't drink it, it's not healthy or good for him, but he stopped caring between the spleen loss and whatever the "Drake" run he did was because what even was that name?--

---

Damian is autistic and I will DIE ON THAT HILL--

No, I won't explain and you can't make me.

---

[insonniacaotica]

Batfamily damn good ao3 tags pt.4

This is a list of ao3 tags about batfamily that I think deserve to be used more (semi-serious list)

Canon tags:

• Supportive Batfamily (DCU) (It's criminal how little this tag is used) • Stephanie Brown Loves Waffles (Do it for the crack fanfiction) • Alfred Pennyworth is Bruce Wayne's Parent (Not exactly a rare tag but still less than 500 fanfics. And I love it, so...) • Alfred Pennyworth Tries to Be a Good Parent (Here, THIS is a rare tag. Alfred trying, failing and trying again to raise a little Bruce… my heart can't take it) • Tim Drake Has Chronic Pain (Honestly? I'm a bad person) • Jason Todd's Love Language is Cooking (I'm weak for love languages) • Dick Grayson Loves His Family (The fact that it's a tag is so sweet) • Dick Grayson Sings (I will die on this hill) • Bruce Wayne Can't Cook (Canonical, practically) • Unimpressed Damian Wayne (Damian just being Damian) • College Graduate Jason Todd (I'm weak, weak, weak) • Jason Todd's Autopsy Scars (Imagine: you read some fluff and then autopsy scars are mentioned. And you… you cry, what else can you do?) • Bruce Wayne Has Too Many Kids (The fact that it's a canonical tag makes my day better)

Fanon/not yet canon tags (tags that I have used or seen around on ao3 but that are not recognized as canonical tags):

• Jason Todd calls Duke Thomas "Narrows" (I think I made this tag up but in comics it HAPPENS so yes, it's a tag now) • Smart Duke Thomas (Our boy is so cool) • Demon Hunter Bruce Wayne (Okay I'm biased but come on… COME ON) • Robin is magic (I thought it was a canon tag but IT IS NOT) • Workaholic Barbara Gordon (You see why this should be a tag, right? There is also a wfa episode for this!) • Coffee Lover Barbara Gordon (My girl needs her coffee)

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Phantom Grin

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Bruce Wayne visits his son's grave on the night of his resurrection. Will it change Jason's fate, or is it all simply inevitable?

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd is Disabled, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Resurrected Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Get Along

Chapter One: Moonlight Promise

It'd been nearly ten months since the night Jason dug himself out of his own grave. Bruce sat by Jason's bedside, reading to him. Most days, Bruce read to him. When some of Jason's broken bones healed up, Bruce would hold his hand. He tried not to think too hard about the night it happened. The thought of Jason's broken body reaching out to him from the grave made his stomach turn. "I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way," Bruce read in a soft voice. Bruce listened carefully to the rhythm of the machines, making sure Jason's vitals were in order. Jason's heart rate often slowed depending on what Bruce read to him. He could tell that Jason loved poetry, or at least he thought Jason did.

Bruce squeezed Jason's hand gently. "Jason, I have to go earlier today," Bruce whispered, "But we'll finish The Highwayman when I come back. And I'll tell you about Clark's visit... Maybe when I come back, you can—." Bruce's phone rang, and he sighed. "Jason, I promise I'll make things up to you." He stood up and rested a gentle hand on Jason's forehead.

His phone continued to ring, and Jason opened his eyes. Bruce froze. "Jason?" he asked. Jason kept his eyes open for a few breaths before closing them once more. Bruce sat back down and brushed a knuckle against Jason's cheek. "Attaboy," Bruce whispered gently.

Bruce's phone rang again. "I'm not going anywhere... I'm just gonna answer this," Bruce whispered.

He answered the phone, and Dick immediately started apologizing. "I know you asked me not to call—."

"He opened his eyes... Just for a second," Bruce interrupted.

Dick didn't reply immediately. Instead, he made a soft noise. "Do you-. Did it seem like—?" Dick couldn't find the words.

Bruce sat with the phone between his ear and his shoulder. He squeezed Jason's hand. "He's never done it before. He opened his eyes and—. It was like he was trying to wake up," Bruce whispered, "Do you want to speak to him?"

Dick took a deep breath. "Put me on speaker," Dick whispered.

"Jason, I'm putting Dick on speaker," Bruce whispered. He let go of Jason's hand and set the phone on Jason's bedside.

"Good morning, Jason," Dick whispered, "I'm gonna come and see you pretty soon. I might get you something new to listen to. I know your birthday's coming up in August." Jason lay there, his eyes closed, and Bruce moved Jason's bangs out of his face. He didn't want to cut Jason's hair, not yet. In the months since Jason's resurrection, his height and hair were the only things that changed. It was the only way he could cope with the thought of Jason's condition.

Bruce stayed for an hour more and left in time for sundown. He'd be back later that night, but not as Bruce Wayne. Bruce always came at night in the middle of his patrol to make sure Jason didn't suddenly awaken in the night. He even hid motion sensors around Jason's hospital bed so that he'd know the comings and goings of the nurses. Leaving Jason was always hard. In the days following the incident where Jason first opened his eyes, Bruce started to see more and more movement in Jason. Sometimes Jason would open his eyes, other times, Jason would involuntarily grin when Bruce would touch his face. By the end of the year, Jason started responding to simple commands.

One afternoon, Bruce sat in the manor, eating dinner and talking to Dick. "He's gonna wake up any day now," Bruce whispered.

"And what are you gonna do about Tim?" Dick asked.

"Tim can have whatever he wants. He can be whatever he wants... Once Jason's able to come home," Bruce paused for a moment, "Jason'll need my full attention." He picked over his dinner.

Dick looked at him and furrowed his brows. "Gotham needs Batman—."

"And Jason needs me," Bruce raised his voice, "Had I been Bruce more often with Jason, maybe he wouldn't have died in the first place. I need to be there for him. I need to take care of—."

"And I'm not saying you're wrong, but from what I'm hearing in your voice, it sounds like you're calling it quits," Dick interrupted.

"Not permanently. I'm just prioritizing Jason for once," Bruce whispered, "Don't you think he deserves to be put first for once?"

Dick froze. He knew Bruce loved Jason, but he never thought that Bruce would ever set aside his priorities for anything or anyone. "I'm not judging you. I know you love Jason. I love Jason too... I just-. You don't have to do this alone. We're a family, and we're all willing to help in whatever way we can," Dick reassured him, "Maybe it's time you stop thinking you can do all this alone. Don't you think?"

"I can't let him down this time. I can't," Bruce whispered as he took a sip of water. "I should go check on him again soon."

"How many hours would you say you spend at the hospital?" Dick asked.

"Well, since he's gone from comatose to being in a vegetative state... Three hours in the daytime, on and off for two hours at night," Bruce replied. Dick tapped his fingertips on the table. "Yes, I'm thinking about going right now. You should think about coming with me."

Dick nodded. "I'll come along tomorrow before I leave," Dick replied, "No use in asking if you're staying for dessert, huh?" Bruce got up and took his plate to the kitchen.

Bruce's phone beeped, and he checked his phone. "I gotta go to the hospital—."

"What's wrong?" Dick asked.

"He's awake," Bruce replied as he rushed past Dick to the car. Dick followed closely behind.

"Is he okay?" Dick asked. Bruce handed Dick his phone, and when Dick saw what was going on, he pushed his hair back in distress. "Okay, I'm sorry for saying you were crazy for installing the motion sensor cameras."

[luvrodite]

lover, be good to me. jason todd [3.4k]

synopsis. in the third summer of your love, you get sick.

cw. gn!reader, sickfic, mental health issues, descriptions of weight fluctuation, angst, hurt/comfort. medication. this one is a bit heavy so please exercise discretion. written from the perspective of chronic illness but nothing is specified beyond discussion of mental health symptoms.

There’s a ghost that lives in your home.

This thing lives between you and Jason, a haunting in every room, a presence you can’t not feel. You feel its baleful eyes on you in dreams and upon waking, strongest in the winter, when the East Coast chill sinks its teeth into your arms hard enough to reach bone. 

It goes like this: sometime in the third summer of your love, you get sick. There isn’t anything to point to what it is exactly, only that one June morning you don’t get out of bed. It’s nothing until it is, the next several weeks spent making a home in the four walls of your shared bedroom. 

A flip switches seemingly overnight, and you’re further from your lover than you’ve ever been. 

Jason - and the part of you that knows better, dormant now, buried beneath the rubble - watches in mute horror as you bring yourself to ruin. The desire to be good, the control you’ve held over yourself, slips free of your grasp in seconds. Invisible threads are picked at until you’re frayed at the ends and your beloved home, this reprieve the two of you had as good as built from the ground up, falls victim to it. 

You pick fights. You slam doors and hide in the bathroom for hours on end. You want to scream yourself hoarse, your fingers itching for violence, longing to shatter something if only to give life to this sickness that lives in you, as if by breaking, you’ll cast it out. The exorcism does not come, but a cloying feeling sits beneath your skin, strangling, blood sitting stagnant in your veins and rotting. 

There are moments of clarity, when you lift your head from the haze and the gravity of all you’ve done barrels into you like a freight train. Those do not last long, invisible hands pulling you back under before you can correct your course. It's as though you take the backseat, replaced by something entirely that takes the controls, watching in mute horror as you destroy everything around you.

Jason gives it back just as good but even then, even in the anger, there’s something else in his eyes. You catalogue it, feeling as though your very soul has split – it’s the you from before that weeps at this, reaching out for your lover in prostration, begging for forgiveness. The being that lives in you now, volatile, ever shifting like a burning flame, burns too bright to feel shame. He is there, and he loves you – enough to bear the brunt of your pain, apparently. Shards of shrapnel, your anger is explosive and shatters everything in its wake. It cares not for sentiment, for history and love. You hurt, and it is blinding. 

The doctor’s appointment is booked far later than it ought to be, after weeks of tumultuousness that have left a dour cover over your home, seeping through the cracks in the walls and into the surrounding apartments. Your neighbours must loathe you. You’re too detached, too selfish to care.

The night before is the most clear headed you’ve felt all month, haze lifting as if to show you – look what you’ve done, look at all you’ve wrought. The devastation floors you, the grief you’ve caused to the one you love most curdles your blood and you weep in Jason’s arms. Knelt before him, you press your wet face into his lap. 

I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll try to be better, I’m sorry. 

You can barely breathe through your tears, broken hearted, sure you must be dying. Has anyone ever felt such grief, you wonder, and the thought is immediately followed by a tidal wave of self loathing. Selfish, so focused on your own misgivings. This is no way to live.

He tells you he loves you and it feels like a kindness you don’t deserve. Too good a man for you, an exhaustion from the last month lines his features. The thought terrifies you, that you’ve veered too close to the precipice of forever splintering him, that under your hand he knows other, less gentle things. Yours has not been a peaceful love as of late, and you wonder if this will be the straw that breaks his back.

In the waiting room, his hand finds yours. A good man, one you do not deserve. He doesn’t let go. Not when your name is called, not when you tell your doctor what’s been happening.

You hope, foolish, desperate thing that you are, that they’ll offer a quick fix. It’s laughable, but the soft turn of the doctor’s gaze makes your stomach twist. So begins the year of doctor’s visits.

You become very familiar with waiting rooms, sterile rooms and the low buzz of the news channel playing on TVs, pale walls and water coolers, paper cups shredded in your lap. 

The first shrink you talk to is, at first, the answer to all your problems – Jason balks at it, in the beginning, and you hear him muttering to his brother on the phone but he doesn’t breathe a word of it to you. If it helps you, that’s all that matters. The man listens. He understands how hard things are and how your hurt is poisoning you. He makes the right noises and his cardigan lends him an air of sincerity, brown eyes framed by thick glasses that in the glare of the light feel kind, almost like kinship.

You’re desperate for a solution, even if it means taking the prescription pills that after about a week, leave you with hands that shake violently anytime you raise them, shedding too much weight, way too fast. The insomnia comes next, and then the pills that are meant to fix that. Orange, smaller than the nail on your little finger. The tremors do not go away, but in settles a new drowsiness, bringing with it vivid dreams that feel terrifyingly lifelike. You wake in a sheen of sweat to the already awake gaze of your boyfriend, eyes wide and wary, hands finding yours in the dark, whispering reassurances when you cry again. 

How many tears have you spent this year, and how many have you subjected him to?

His kindness feels like a balm over your jagged edges, and you shake your head when he first tentatively suggests that the medicine isn’t working. You’re determined to stick to your vow. You love him, you need to get better. You can’t keep living like this, can’t do the fits of rage, can’t do the mood changes. You can’t keep hurting the both of you.

Still, sleep evades you, a cruel thing dancing out of reach even when you’re told to double down on the dose. The dreams only worsen, virulent hues of fluorescent greens and red, blood and viscera on your hands. 

It feels like a condemnation when Jason mutters one night, after you’ve woken from yet another dream, body stiff with fright and reaching out for him, less hesitant now in the face of your tears, “This isn’t working.”

Bitterly, you find you can’t argue with him. Worse, you’ve shelled out a horrifying amount of money simply to vent to a yes-man. The pills are disposed of in the morning and another appointment scheduled.

Back in the waiting rooms, back to discussing other, not-shrink options, Jason’s hand finds yours once more. You watch the news, watch tired parents wrangle their sick children, watch the colourful plastic toys. 

“I hate this,” you whisper, leaning into his side. 

You’ve been unwell for a month and then some, by now. The waiting room feels like a taunt – you are sick, you are suffering. The sickness festering in you, the rot you can’t explain, makes you feel smaller than ever, frail in a way you haven’t known before. 

Before, you used to like that Jason was so much bigger than you, that he could protect you. This, though, he cannot save you from, a fact you’re sure frustrates him just as much as your weakness does you. There is the anger, of course, but there is also fear. What is to become of you now? Your life, through your failing health, has been torn from you. You feel robbed, feel a distinctly you-shaped loss in your frame that leaves you teetering on a precipice. How quickly things had taken a turn, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Jason sighs, turning to press his mouth against your hairline. “I know. I know, baby.”

You’re sent off with forms for another blood test. Maybe it’s something different, and there burns a beacon of hope. It is also entirely possible you’ll spend another six months on medication that doesn’t work. 

You don’t care for this. There is a hopelessness and vulnerability to feeling sick that you do not care for, catching sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror and doctor’s office scales and fluctuating weight – you begin to turn your head away from the numbers at this point like you're being stuck by a needle, meeting your lover’s eye while the doctor takes his notes and finding comfort in teal irises, in the small grin he gives you when you’ve done something he thinks to be brave. You don’t care for any of it, but you must. For him. 

He hasn’t breathed a word of contention to you – a good man – but you know it weighs on him. You’ve woken once or twice in the night to find him watching over you, something in his eyes like he fears you’ll slip away, a hand always in yours, or holding you close to him. 

Guilt, ever-cutting, roils in your stomach. The anger cedes these days to make way for it, and your eyes burn, shame becoming a familiar friend.

“I’ve put you through the wringer, haven’t I?” you whisper on one of these nights. He blinks, unaware you’ve woken, and it speaks to how tired he must be that he’d not noticed, too lost in his thoughts to feel your eyes on him.

He cradles your jaw tenderly with one hand, kissing your temple. “No more than I’ve worried you.”

It’s true that you’ve faced your own set of troubles with him. Still, it feels distinctly different – his anger had been the product of fear, a genuine terror at the thought of letting you get too close. There’s decay in you, one you aren’t sure has entirely left, despite your placidity these days. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologise and he narrows his eyes, but you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “You’re a good man.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles. “Obviously I’m going to fuckin’ look after you.”

Do I deserve it? You think.

“Wish you’d let me do the same for you,” you whisper, instead. It’s a truth you’ve often spoken, but feels like a lie in this moment, a deflection of your feelings. Guilt, once more, settles on your tongue, cloying against your tastebuds.

He kisses you sweetly, and you wonder if he can taste it. Something in the slant of his lips tells you he knows. How could he not? Once, twice, he brushes his mouth over yours. Chaste, loving. “Just get better. Then, maybe. I’ll consider it.”

Your eyes burn, fear like the tide, washing in once more. “What if–” your breath hitches, a lump forming in your throat.

“What?” His voice is soft, encouraging.

“What if it isn’t–if I don’t–” you can’t make out the words. The pad of his fingers brush over your lips.

“You will,” Jason whispers, voice thick. His eyes are bright in the dark, you realise, horrifyingly, sapphires covered in a sheen of liquid. “You will, ‘cause you promised me. And I’m holding you to it.”

You hear it for what it is – I’m here. I’m here and I’m not letting go of you. Don’t let go of me.

He’s asked for so little. Good men are rare to find in Gotham and you’ve got the best of them. You reach up and clutch his wrist, hands turning until your fingers slot comfortably between each other. 

“Okay,” you tell him, and you know he knows. I’m going to get better. 

The diagnosis comes eventually. In your relief, there is also bitterness. Another step forward, it still feels entirely too late. It should have come before, you think. Before you’d taken a sledgehammer to your love, before you’d fractured yourself and Jason from the inside out, before you’d put scars where there had been none, invisible lacerations lining the walls of your chest.

The medication – pills, pills, always pills – is difficult to adjust to at first. It leaves you short of breath, and more anxious, reaching for Jason to ground you. You cry a lot and though it isn’t anything new, there’s a misery in Jason’s eyes that only makes you weep more. You want to be okay again. You want to smile at him without the weight of all you’ve done, without knowing you’ve made him cry when he thinks you’re asleep, tears bleeding silently into the space of the pillowcase above your head. You want to go back so bad it makes your hands shake.

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Jason, on his side, brushes a finger over the swell of your cheek.

“Can I say something.”

You hum, sliding your eyes over to him. He gives you a tentative smile - the barest quirk of his lips. 

“Maybe I’m being hopeful, I don’t know,” he mutters, eyes tracing the slope of your nose. “Tell me to shut up if I start talking too much.”

This bashfulness makes you laugh a little. It’s so much like before, and you ache for it. For a moment, you can pretend nothing bad has happened, that the two of you are just in love and home. 

(You wonder if you will always be reaching for before. If you’ll ever get it back, if you’ll always long for it. You wonder if Jason does too.)

“What?” you breathe out.

“Think the meds are working.”

Your breathing shallows and you blink at Jason. Hope is a fickle thing, and it feels tremulous, dancing just before your fingers, as if coaxing you to reach out. You trust him more than anyone in the world, but you’re scared to hope. “What?”

His knuckle brushes over your cheek. “You don’t look as tired.”

You avert your eyes. “Maybe I’m just sleeping better.” Tell me. I’m selfish, I know, but tell me I’m doing better. I need to hear it from you.

He shakes his head, and you quietly marvel at the bloom of pleasure in his face, a contentment you haven’t seen in months in the crease around his eyes. “It’s not that.”

The doctor confirms this when you go back a few weeks later and Jason, so like himself for a brief moment, meets your eyes over the man’s head and mouths, I told you. You bite back a grin, still wary, barely out of the woods. 

“You’ve gained weight,” the doctor says when he gets you on the scale, and he sounds so pleased the sound shoots straight through to your heart, flintstone striking a light, kindling hope for the first time in months. You look down to the numbers flashing back at you, to your lover – but he’s already watching you, eyes creased in silent pleasure. 

You are the last to accept this tentative beginning to peace, to healing, but he waits for you at the threshold, hand outstretched. 

There is no tangible evidence of the destruction you’ve wrought in your home but it lingers, even as you begin the slow crawl out of the woods. You see it in the lines of your lover’s face. There are corners of the room you cannot bear to look at for the first few months following your appointment, too reminiscent of words you’d bellowed in a rage induced haze, captive to your own body. 

This history is one too fresh, too tender to accept just yet, wounds still pink and raw. You cannot face yourself yet. There is too much to do, too much work to do, too much at stake to jeapordise if you slip and fall now.

But Jason is a good man. Much better than you think you deserve – but he’s said the same about you, so perhaps…just maybe…you think it might even out. 

He doesn’t shy away from the worst bits of you, the ugliness you’ve bared to him does not run him off, not like how you flinch from it. You made a promise. I’m holding you to it. He’s hard to shake off, but you don’t want him to. You’re thankful, even, for the dog teeth he’s sunken into your forearm, bound together in blood.

There is grief in beginning to heal. 

Perhaps heal is not the right word, and yet there is no other for this, overcoming the last few months feels like it ought to be called healing. But this is a forever thing. You will know this deficiency for the rest of your life, will know doctor’s appointments and bloodwork – strictly cautionary, we need to make sure the dose is right so we can adjust it accordingly. 

There is grief in finding your footing. It lingers, the horror of falling victim to a biological response – that your mind should so easily be lost, it feels indicative of something greater, a weakness you need to cut out at the root. Jason shakes his head when you voice this one night – you are only ever honest like this under the cover of darkness, sleep softened and gentle enough to be frank with him. 

“You’re not weak.” He says this with love in his voice, but a thread of steel weaves through his words. “Don’t fucking say that. You’re here. That counts for a fucking lot.”

He tugs you closer and you feel it again, that fear that grips his heart. Like you might dissolve in his arms in the middle of the night. 

“I feel better–than before,” you tell him, peering up at him, eyes burning. You press a hand to your heart. “But I still feel it. It’s still here.”

He presses his forehead against yours. “I know.”

And you suppose he would know. “Is it gonna be like this forever?”

He takes a moment to think, and you have to tuck yourself into his neck to hide your tears. Raw – this year has left you raw. You’ve spent a fountain of tears, but they’re yet to run out. You find solace in the hollow of his throat; if you could, you think you would attach yourself there permanently.

“Yes, but no.” You make a questioning noise and he smooths a hand down your back. “‘S gonna be different, now. Not always going to be bad, or good, just – different.”

“Different.” The word fits oddly in your mouth, and whether it’s the late hour or your grief, you can’t make sense of it. He shudders out a breath, weary, and you press closer.

“Yeah,” he whispers into your hair. 

“I just–” you swallow with some difficulty, a lump in your throat. What is there to say that you haven’t already? “I hate this.”

His lips twitch into a tired, sympathetic grin. “I know, baby.”

Silence follows his words, where you mull over all that there is to say, sorting through the jumble of words in your head. You shift until there’s a little room between the two of you, looking up at him.

“Hey.”

He hums, and you feel his hand raise from your back to cup the back of your neck, thumb sweeping over your nape gently. 

“I’m gonna –” your breath hitches, stumbling over the words. “I’m gonna be good, I’ll – I’ll be better. I promise.”

And he knows you’re not talking about your health. This is a forever thing, after all. Your words point to the hidden cracks in the walls, the foundation of your home and heart – I’ll be better. 

Tourmaline eyes crack open a little wider to look at you, tired, but hopeful. “I know, baby. We’ll be alright.”

Ah. Of course he knows. You grin tremulously up at him and press forward to smudge a kiss against his jaw, breathing your promise once more against his skin, hoping it takes root. 

Jason waits at the threshold of your new normal, arm outstretched, knowing you’d join him eventually. He’d known, of course he had – every inch of your soul was his. He holds his hand out. 

Out of the woods, you take it.

fin.

this fic has been in my drafts since 2022 and it always felt too vulnerable to write and finish. like there needed to be a big ceremony about it. this fic is incredibly personal to me, and i always thought i had to be 'ready' to finally finish it, whatever 'ready' means. but it's a sunday night and the semester begins tomorrow, and i'm writing this in bed listening to whatever my spotify plays for me. i'm not sure if this will make sense to anyone but i hope it makes you feel something regardless.

this is a love letter to myself first and foremost, because i'm no longer afraid of reopening an old wound!! i carry her with me always and i love her and i'm taking care of her. i love her and i love you.

[b3ach-bunn7]

Saw your request for story ideas!

Jason with a fibromyalgic reader. He really never has to fear them they will never have the strength to over power him. Only if you want to and are comfortable

(Pinky promise this is sent in by a fibromyalgic)

Hey, I really hope I wrote this as you hoped for! I tried my best to read up on the condition before, and I hope I did you justice!

DEPOLLUTE ME

You’re weaker than Jason, but it just makes him love you even more

—————————————————————————-

Jason Todd is a man of principles. Doing what he does, a vigilante, he has to be. Dick had told him when he'd emerged as Redhood, that it didn’t work to do what you want. That, despite what he’d like to believe, Jason was privileged to have the strength and talent that he did, and it was people like them who abused it, that were the reason they were doing this in the first place.

Whatever. Dick always wants to be the smartest guy in the room, Jason thinks. These principles, though, are why he was so scared of you at first. Maybe not of you, but to be with you.

Because the problem with you is that he’s completely not scared of you. And it's all because of your condition, which makes him feel even shittier than he already does about jt.

Fibromyalgia. That’s what it’s called, the condition he’d stayed up two nights in a row reading all he could about. Books and NHS information pages. Anything to learn everything about you. You’d told him about it on your fifth date, the one he’d planned to ask you to be his girlfriend. A chronic illness, that caused pain, fatigue, headaches.

“I just- It doesn’t hinder me much. I just need you to know before this gets serious. That you’ll probably be looking after me more than the average girlfriend.” You’d said, eyes cast down to the half eaten food on your plate.

“That doesn’t bother me. It- I’ve got some mobility issues too, in my arm. Got shot once.” Jason winces at the repsponse he’d given you. Like the two were even remotely similar.

You’d smiled slightly. “It’s a little worse than that. It’s a chronic illness. It’s sort of like.. constant pain in my body? Makes my muscles stiffer, amongst other things. And it makes me sort of.. weaker, I guess. Physically.”

The two of you had talked about it for a while, before you’d changed the subject. He’d asked you to be his girlfriend still, under the porch light at your doorway, and you said yes.

It’s why he’s in your apartment right now. You’d given him a key (despite him being perfectly capable of using the window) and never seem phased in the slightest when he’s sprawled on your couch reading when you’re not there. He loves those things the most about his relationship with you. You’d carved a place for him in your life and it felt so effortless. Like you didn’t even need to think about making an extra portion at dinner or leaving a change of clothes out even after you fall asleep, because you know he always finishes his work late.

Weaker. That’s the word you used to describe yourself. And in a way, Jason loves it.

It’s only something he’d admit to you, or maybe months into forced therapy sessions, but Jason Todd is scared. He’s scared of a lot of things, contrary to what he lets other people see. He’s scared he’ll lose the handful of people he’s come to love. He’s scared that one day he’ll fight another fight he won’t win. He’s scared that one day he might wake up and he’s back there, Arkham Asylum, with that sorry excuse of a human being with him. But worst of all, he’s scared of people. Not an overwhelming fear, nothing he can’t fight through in an instance, but. He just never knows who he can trust. Who he can be vulnerable around.

And Jason isn’t weak by any means. Not that he likes to brag, but most of his body mass is muscle, ones you’ve seen, abs you’d run your hands across under his bedsheets. He can defend himself, he knows he can. He just doesn’t want to have that fear looming over his head all the time. Because it can happen. It happened once.

It had already taken so long for him to even let you in. And it was so easy. You were so perfect. So pretty, so sweet. Jason was half sure you were lying about your condition, because there was no way somebody in constant pain, 24/7, was so kind. So nice. Had patience for how long it took him to warm up to you, to let you touch him without him breaking your hands.

It was like a miracle. One he was so cruelly happy for. It was like somebody had taken all the fears he had in every relationship and eradicated them. There was no world where you could hurt him like so many others had done before. You were incapable of it. He could let his guard down completely and he’d be fine.

And he felt guilty for it at first. Of course he did. Like he was benefiting from something that caused you pain. He’d told you, but like with everything, you were perfect. You’d only laughed,

“It’s okay.” You’d snorted, amused at his apologetic face. It had been uttered in the dark of your bedroom, his arms wrapped around your waist, your back pressed into his chest.

“I don’t really mind.” You fiddled absentmindedly with his fingers, traced the calluses on his palms. “Kinda like it, actually. Most people use it as an excuse to like me less. You’re doing the opposite.”

So he doesn’t feel guilty anymore. Maybe slightly, but that little smile you give him, he hates to say it melts him enough that he doesn’t care.

The sound of the door creaking open drags his attention away from his thoughts. He looks up and there you are. Bundled in a scarf and gloves and a hat. You told him that the cold sometimes made it worse, and the winter weather was cruel. Your eyes light up when you see him sitting on the couch. You bound over, throwing the discarded book on his lap away, and sitting down.

“Hey.” You grin.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You lay down next to him and Jason moves, let you settle slowly down next to him, a hand carding through your hair. You ramble about your day and he listens.

[butwhyduh]

Chronic pain days

Jason Todd x reader

No warning. Fluff. As someone having a chronic pain flare up with trigeminal nerve pain, this is for the chronic pain babes. Jason has a pain flare.

The precipitation was in the awkward place between rain and snow where it was occasionally water but other times ice. The glass of the thin windows in Jason’s apartment were foggy as you washed dishes. He was sitting under a hot water bottle on his hip at the moment. This weather was a chronic pain flare nightmare waiting to happen and having fought the night before was not helping.

Jason used to curse the pain that always seemed to clutch at him when he came back to life. It wasn’t fair to die in that much pain and come back the same to live with even more. His fingers hurt when he didn’t wear gloves. His back ached. And his hip hurt.

He had multiple tests and scans run. Chronic pain probably related to nerve damage of being beat so badly. Even his voice would occasionally hurt. Likely from damage of screaming so much. His hip showed the healing of dozens of micro fractures. It was the best thing they could come up with. Sorry, here is something for pain. The last thing he wanted was to live on pain medication.

“Jay, are you hungry?” You asked again. He looked at you.

“Uh yeah. Sorry,” he replied before standing up. He limped for a second before the muscles stretched enough to allow normal range of motion. He walked up behind you as you scrubbed a pan.

“If you’re hungry, I could eat,” he answered before reaching up to brush a curl clinging to the back of your neck back into your hair clip. You shivered with a grin at his delicate touches.

“Anything you want babes. I know you’re hurting,” you replied. He sighed while running his hands down your arms.

“Can’t hide that from you, hu?”

“Rather you didn’t try to hide it. But I get it,” you said drying your hands off. Jason pulled you into a hug and you hugged him back trying to avoid his pain spots. Though on the worst days, his pain was everywhere.

“Lay with me?” He begged.

“Yeah let’s get cozy,” you replied letting him pull you into bed. You laid down and Jason arranged you both to best be comfortable. His head rested in the crook of your neck and he had a pillow propped just right for his hip.

“Let’s order in and not move,” he mumbled into your hair before kissing your cheek. “Wanna stay in with you all day.”

“That’s a plan,” you replied. You kissed his temple. “Let’s listen to an audiobook.”

The rest of the afternoon consisted of cuddles, hot water bottles, tea, and Chinese food.

[heroesriseandfall]

Jason Todd & Chronic Pain

I scrounged for the panels I know from Rebirth about Jason still having lingering pain and injuries from when the Joker killed him. We know Jason had substantial injuries and brain damage when he was resurrected, and Talia healed that with the Lazarus pit. But here’s some I know of being mentioned even after Talia healed him with the Lazarus pit.

The first I know of is when evil future Batman Tim targeted Jason’s hip because of a Joker-related injury that he claimed would eventually become debilitating for Jason. This move does take Jason out of the fight so it definitely seems like evil Tim successfully aggravated the injury.

Detective Comics #968 (Jan 2018) — earlier in #966 Batman Tim also mentioned future Jason would eventually lose an eye and a leg while fighting assassins.

More recently, regular, not-evil Tim referenced it while evaluating how to fight a Clayface Jason mimic:

Tim Drake: Robin #3 (Jan 2023) — Tim says the pit brought Jason back, which has sometimes been a thing. Originally Jason was only healed by the pit after he’d already been resurrected by something else.

This next one was black label, so it may or may not be canon (the creative team claims “it’s up to reader interpretation” and disagree on whether they personally think it is canon). I’m not a fan of the comic but it did pretty clearly indicate Jason had chronic pain from the Joker:

Batman: Three Jokers #2 (Nov 2020)

(There might be more than these—my reading of post flashpoint comics is kinda random and incomplete compared to my reading of post-Crisis. In post-Crisis though I think they mainly put emphasis on Jason’s destabilized mental health and didn’t really bring up physical aspects IIRC. His brain damage seemed healed and yet he seemed more affected after the pit than other one-time-in-the-pit characters like Dinah Lance or Cass Cain were.)

They haven’t bothered explaining how the pit didn’t heal them so far as I know (the pits kinda work to authorial convenience anyway). My route is usually to blame any weird Jason stuff on the strange, multiversal circumstances of his resurrection, but versions of his origin where he’s only brought back by the pit might not jive with that (which includes some Rebirth IIRC).

In any case, I do hope more writers pick up on this more and I love to see when it’s expanded upon a bit in fandom. I would already consider Jason’s mental health to be a disabling issue for him but it’s neat sometimes to have writers recognize chronic pain-related issues among DC characters. (I’d love to also see more expansion of Bruce mentioning he experienced chronic pain…it pops up every so often but rarely if ever in depth.)

Alt text is copied and expanded upon under read more below.

ID 1: Two panels from Detective Comics #968 showing Jason Todd as Red Hood leaping to fight evil future Batman Tim Drake. Jason says, “Sorry, Timmy, I don’t believe in Santa Claus.” Batman Tim slams his staff directly into Jason’s right hip joint, sending him flying back, and says, “Jason. In a few years you were going to learn that one of your bones never set right after the Joker killed you. There’s a growing debilitating bone spur in your hip joint. There, I found it for you you’re welcome.” They’re both in the batcave.

ID 2: A cropped panel from Tim Drake: Robin #3 showing a red narration box for Tim Drake which says: “The Lazarus Pit may have brought Jason back from the dead, but he’s still sensitive where The Joker killed him.”

ID 3: A comic page from Batman: Three Jokers #2. A Joker leans in Jason Todd’s face, looking intense and serious. The Joker says, “Who is the Joker, really? We’re going to find out.” The word “out” is written in an extended sing-songy way. The Jokers put Jason’s Red Hood helmet over his head but they’ve decorated it with a wide Joker-style grin. The two Jokers laugh, then one says, “We’ve spent considerable time trying to best answer that question: who is the Joker? We found that judge. A serial killer. A surgeon. All rather predictable and uninspiring. And then there’s you. Tell me something. Why would you put on that helmet and call yourself Red Hood after what we did?” Jason, who is sitting naked tied to the wooden chair, says, “Come on. Is every one of you copycats gonna ask me the same thing? It’s a joke.” One of the Jokers holds up a crowbar as the other says, “A joke? We left you with brain damage and permanent nerve pain. Physical and emotional trauma so severe that the only relief you ever find is when you inflict pain on others.” The Joker holds the crowbar by Jason’s head. “You and me, boy…..We’re more alike than you’d care to admit.”

ID 4: A comic page from Batman: Three Jokers #2 showing Jason Todd with no shirt on and small bandages on various parts of his arms and face. He looks at a calendar on a wall and reads the crossed out days that have physical therapy sessions written on them. He sees a stack of various healing and exercise books. The top book is titled Chronic Pain Management by Dr. D. Kresan. He picks it up. Barbara Gordon as Batgirl enters a different, dark room through a window.

ID 5: A comic page from Batman: Three Jokers #2 showing Barbara Gordon as Batgirl entering her own bedroom. She says, “Jason?” She sees a book on her bed titled “Chronic Pain Management” by Dr. D. Kresan. Jason says, “Barbara?” and walks out of the attached bathroom with only a towel around his waist. Babs says, “I figured you’d left.” Jason says, “I hope it’s okay I used the shower and I…I didn’t mean to go through your things. The closet door was open and that book looked…useful.” Babs says, “It was. Are you okay?” Jason has small bandages and bruises on his face as he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay.” Babs looks concerned. Jason continues saying, “What the Joker said…about how I’ve been on the path to being like them for years…they’re not wrong. I don’t want to be like them though. I really don’t. You believe that, right?” Babs says, “I’m willing to.” Then Jason says, “Can I ask you something?”

[chosokamosbf]

(N)SFW JASON TODD / RED HOOD HCs.

☆ 18+ only/no minors.

WARNINGs: 18+, gn (gender non-implied)! reader, daddy/mommy kink, mentions of abuse (jason nor reader are doing it), minor mention of blood, sub/dom, pain play, fear play, "prey/predator," brat taming, reader is referred to as "prince(ss)" and "sweetheart" once.

WORD COUNT: 900-ish+

Based on canon, I firmly believe he's on the ace spectrum, specifically demisexual. And even then, he rarely experiences sexual attraction at all for his partners. This isn't because he doesn't love them (enough) or any other assumptions similar to that; it just doesn't happen much.

Furthermore, as much as he'll indulge you here and there if you do, (sexual) intimate moments with Jason would be far and few between, making them all the more important to him.

He's a switch, leaning on dom and top. Mostly because he likes the control and is more comfortable that way. Getting him to be submissive instead is a gradual endeavor. He doesn't hate it; it just takes a lot of patience and trust.

First and foremost on actual kinks, I think Jason has a thing for "daddy," both on the receiving and giving ends. He likes the title, and he's definitely the type to whisper something like, "C'mere, sweetheart. Give daddy a kiss." in even private, innocuous moments just to mess with you.

(Note: I don't think he'd have as much of a mommy kink because—y'know.)

Rough sex is a top favorite of his. This goes hand in hand with play wrestling as a form of foreplay, breathing heavily down on his partner just to continue that energy into bed with sweat-slick bodies. It's less about "winning," and more about being allowed to confide in someone in a way and the fun that can come with it. He wouldn't be against being the sub in this situation either, even if his partner is weaker than him, because he knows how important control can be in bed, so he'll let them win. Sometimes. He trusts you, and he wants you both to feel good.

Degradation/praise wise, he'll give either out depending on the moment. He's going to tease and utter dirty shit like, "C'mooon, prince(ss). You're sounding like a real whore for someone who didn't want it a couple minutes ago—" if you tried to struggle against. It depends more on the moment than position because he could be pounding into you and huffing out praise right next to your ear with what little air he's catching, to riding you, telling you to keep up while his head is already thrown back.

He enjoys pegging a lot, but as always, it's going to take some convincing to get him to comply.

Brat taming is another go-to of his, along with sub/dom. On the other end, it seems to be a near equal opposite—he's not into it, and it can get uncomfortable real fast. There's a few times he'll indulge himself, and they're all after more intense days to sort of solidify the trust he has in you. You're not going to hurt him; he's still in control in a way.

He doesn't seem like he'd like being on the receiving end of any sort of pain play. He already deals with chronic pain on a day-to-day basis. To have it overwhelm one of the few aspects of intimacy that he loves and simultaneously take his head off things for once just doesn't seem like it'd be enjoyable for him. No, on the giving end—

(Note: I'm not into pain play myself, nor do I even know what even makes it enjoyable for people, so I'll be segmenting this with fear play and "prey/predator.")

It wouldn't be something he'd ever bring up, far from it, but if it's what you like, he'll gladly take a knife in a steady hand to softly trace it down from your stomach to your underwear. In a smile almost cruel, he'd drag it across just enough so a few drops could be licked back up if you asked nicely enough again.

Jason knows you're just asking for it if you're weaker than him and bring up the idea of a different kind of foreplay. He'd pick a place, somewhere with a lot of spots you could try to hide away and run to (an abandoned office of sorts is the best go; he's not going to risk infections).  Just for him to stalk, pin you down with ease. If the spot he found his little prey in isn't satisfactory (or clean) enough, he'd have no qualms settling you over his shoulder like a sack and manhandling you where he wants it.

He definitely isn't going to go too far, though. As well-trained as he is, he's going to be especially attentive after any scenes involving that. Sadism isn't a big one for him. He'll enjoy it in the moment but then feel real guilty afterwards, so, just as a reminder, aftercare goes both ways.

I don't know why some people think he's into "dark" (ex. pedo stuff such as ageplay and actual rape.) kinks when he's canonically and literally has hunted down murdered several (sexual) abusers before. If you try to break boundaries, he's going to be reconsidering the relationship, and quite possibly if he even knew you as a person.

On a lighter note, consent is a big thing for him, and he's also big on aftercare. A go-to would be a bath for the both of you (stuffing the sheets in the washer right before and bandaging any "scratches" if need be.), then cuddling. Depending on whether he has the energy, he'll pop something in the microwave real quick. (Takeout is usually a last resort because the last thing he wants while enjoying the afterglow with a partner is social interaction with a stranger.)

If you wear make-up and it gets ruined by the end, like in the latter part of the previous section, if he can, he's going to help you wipe off the mess and maybe help you reapply it as a form of care.

[punkeropercyjackson]

🍫Zuko headcanons🍫

🍫Multiracial asian but mainly japanese ancestry.It's confirmed in one of the novel's there was a cultural unification in-universe so as a biracial latina,i'm taking this as mixed-coding

🍫Trans man who dosen't mind dipping his toes into femininity when asked(usually by Aang)but generally strongly perfers masculinity in his presentation.His egg cracked in his toddler years and due to his societal position,getting t and surgeries was very easy and his top surgery scars are dragon wing shaped

🍫Also sorry short king Zuko nation but i'm a 2nd tallest member of The Gaang Zuko truther.Katara is 6'7 and Zuko is 6'4(and goes without saying she uses it to tease him and calls him 'Squirt' and he sputters and yells at her every time)

🍫Autistic with anxiety,bpd,npd and ptsd.That no masking game rbf is iconic and he also has chronic pain and fatigue and uses a tricked up cane Sokka made him that's also a sword and goes with saying he's legally blind in his scar eye

🍫Tradgoth.Emo Zuko is fake and so is punk Zuko and grunge Zuko and literally any non-goth Zuko and i'm including poser goth Zuko.In a modern au he'd walk around looking like Spencer's ate him up then vomited him out into an empty grave he dug his own way out of Jason Todd style and a cunti maximus.He would also listen to death rock,Korn and breakcore,slander Hot Topic,encourage diy and online store shopping,play pirated horror games(and Animal Crossing),collect lost media items,do deepdive research into urban legends as a special interest,attend moshes,skateboard and do piercings for neighbourhood kids who ask him(including Aang🫶🏽)

🍫Fat/Dad bod.Give that guy some REAL thickness,none of that dehydrated bodybuilder bullshit.It was caused by him eating a lot more and a lot healthier,both from his healing arc with a new enviorment that's actually good for him and to sustain himself in training and Aang also has some chub going on but from the start of the series and he helps Zuko know there's nothing wrong with big builds and Zuko has pretty much no body insecurities as a result just like he does(it dispelling fears of resembling Ozai as he got older certainly didn't hurt)

🍫Katara and him are honorary siblings and she's his way cooler little sister figure and he's her older brother only she can bully 2:Electric Boogalo.I like to think they make matching friendship bracelets with eachother's aesthetics(so a sea themed one for Zuko and a gothic themed one for Katara)and Zuko convinces Katara to emotionally rely on him even if she'll never see him as a dad like Aang and Toph do and it eventually works

🍫He also is the reason she discovered cat cafes and she goes to them bi-monthly now as comfort and to unwind from all her constant activism.Zuko's a huge fan of cat cafes too and they were safe spaces for him pre-banishment and one of the first thing's he did when the war ended was go to one again.Whoever Zuko is dating is given cat cafe punch cards by him as one of the ultimate romantic gestures in his mind(he right though)

🍫Calls Aang 'My Sunshine',a nickname that fits his sunny personality but also to say he gave him the strength he needed to connect to his own power to save himself by bringing the sun back into his life in his hand,extended to him to give him a chance even when he was too caught up to see he had one.Less setimentally,he also calls him 'Mittens'

🍫Bites as affection,little nibbles or straight up enough for the other person to bleed depending on how cool they are with it.He asks and establishes consent first obvs even in the former cases

🍫Boba is the only kind of tea he likes.Don't @ me with 'he spit it out when Iroh invented it and had him try it',he was just surprised at the tapioca balls.His favorite flavors are brown sugar,cotton candy,funfetti,berrymix and oreo

🍫SUPER physically affectionate with Aang and it started one sided on his part but Zuko soon starting instigating it too instead of tolerating it to enjoying it about two years into their friendship.If he goes too long without an Aang hug he finds it upsetting and it pisses him off

🍫Very into gems,odd rocks,seashells,etc and has a secret stockpile in his room

🍫Pretty long hair,all the way down to his hips and perfers it out of his face,in a back of the head ponytail or half-up in a bun with the rest loose

🍫Always knew he was bi subconciously but didn't realize it until he was 16.He's that one tweet-'I'm probably a faggot x2 combo but i got a quest so idrc about that rn'

🍫Modern au Zuko is obsessed with PushPops.Don't question it,just know i'm right and may figure out a way to canonize them to core Atla

🍫Apologized to Azula and rebuilt a relathionship with her as soon as he released her from prison as The Gaaang were struck with how broken and not 'too far gone' she is.It took a long time and so much fucking work but The Fire Siblings finally felt comfortable seeing eachother as family and acting as not legit beefy but healthy siblings

🍫Has a voice tic where he constantly sounds angry and can't control it and he has to learn to tell people so they don't mistake it for lashing out at them

🍫Likes wearing long sleeves for that flap stim and drumming his fingers but to create a musical sound rather than for the sake it of as a stim too.Crushing stims are a Zuko trademark

🍫'Why does Zuko call you babygirl?''Aang,how about we just stop talking for a little while?' < every Zuko ship

🍫Dangly lemon quartz material dragon earrings

🍫Adores Choose Your Own Adventure comics and books!!He loves choosing his own destiny alright /lh /pos