#Jasons empathy is based in ecto sensitivity

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

“How? How can you be sure he isn’t tricking you?” Batman growled, voice barely kept below his version of a scream.

painfearnonotagainpleasefearnonopainfearfearfearfear

“How?” Jason bit back, “The same goddamn way I knew that Willis was a coward who beat up on his girlfriend and kid ‘cause it made him feel big but who whimpered like a dog at the first sign of danger. That Catherine’s friend Luci who came by every Saturday was in love with her loooong before she broke down on the couch watching Thelma and Lois. That Catherine loved me more than almost anything. I know the way I know every goddamn bastard I’ve ever put a bullet in was never, ever gonna change because, fuck, there's a difference between regret and not wanting to die. The way I know just how much Alfie adores us all and all the fucking anger he’s been harboring under since nine years old is still right there under Dick’s witch hazel-soaked skin! He just got fucking guilty about it! I know...”

The wind swept in strong from the east, blowing a steady stream of rain against his face. Fuck the old bastard, didn't even have the decency to confront him when he was in costume. No, he just landed on his fucking roof at fuck all at night. Now he was standing there in a weathered old teeshirt, plaid flannel pants, and a pair of knit socks gifted to him by the old woman next door, all of which were growing progressively soaked.

“I know the same way I knew that day when you grabbed me, that Batman wasn't some fucking Cryptic, he was a sad, lonely little man and, hell, maybe I was feeling kinda sad an’ lonely too. I thought maybe, just maybe you’d get me, but it turns out your just some fucked up billionaire, and me? I’m a useless freak who can’t even fucking die right.”

Nonononopleasehowhelpsorrysorryhelp?

“Jason...”

shockhurtshockconfusedhelp?hELP?

“But Danny... He’s... He’s something else. The first time I met him I was pissed and looking to get blackout drunk. He went out of his way to calm me down and cheer me up, even though he was absolutely miserable. He just... Gets it. He makes me feel like person in a way that I haven't since I clawed my way out of that fucking grave. He knows what it's like to feel like a freak; to feel so goddamn helpless and useless and alone.

“Yeah, he’s dangerous. So am I. Hell, so are you. But he chooses every. single. fucking. day to be kind, even when he’s hurting. Yeah, he’s a sarcastic, petty bastard. I probably couldn't stand him if he wasn't. That doesn't change that he’s experienced the absolute worst humanity fucking offers at the hands of his parents and your buddies at the GiW and still only wants to keep everyone from the pain he’s suffered. I mean, the man’s been fucking vivisected! But he still wants to help; to be good for some godforsaken reason!

“You’re a genius, you can’t be a fucking idiot too. You know how to check for bias in fucking research. You know not to trust someone just ‘cause some fucking politicians got payed to think they’re a good idea. Danny doesn't deserve to be hunted like this. He’s just a person! Same as you or me or your stupid blue boy scout! Just...let this go. I know that phrase isn’t exactly one that fits through that tiny ass crack in your skull new ideas seep through, but please…

Let us feel like people together,”

A familiar clawed hand landed on Jason’s shoulder. He looked up, met not with a mask but the face of the man who had taken him in so long ago. He looked worn, exhausted in the way only those who’d seen far too much for their years could be.

SorrypleaseForgIvEmE “I’m sorry.” hUrtSorRypLEasesorry

Jason felt Bruce’s words more than he heard them, an overpowering rush of agony crashing into him like a hailstorm.

“I didn't mean... Didn't mean to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry.”

“……………………………………………………..The fuck…”

Jason had expected a lot. He had expected a fight, some overwrought, battle of will type bullshit. What he hadn’t expected, what he’d never expected since the first time he and Bruce had got in anything that could be considered a fight was for the old bastard to actually apologize. Hell, up until a few seconds ago Jason wasn’t sure it was even in his vocabulary. Suddenly he was enveloped in strong, armor-clad arms, the thick leather like material of a pitch black cape as warm and comforting as a worn childhood blanket.

“You don’t have a meta gene.” SorRoWgRieffaiLedfAiledhow

“Really,” he sopped tearily, “that’s what you’re gonna focus on here?”

“It’s true.”

(It’s all he could think to say)

Jason felt some small satisfaction in that he could at least give the single most irritating answer situationally possible.

“‘S not genetic, ‘s magic.”

“Hmrrr” whywhyfrustrationwhywhy

“Danny’s helping me with it.”

“Good.”

Now, if Jason hadn’t been expecting Bruce’s apology, it’s quite understandable that Bruce’s then proceeding to condone an unknown “helping” one of his children with something even remotely tasting of magic, especially something which had apparently been an ongoing issue hidden behind Bruce’s back which he still didn’t understand was almost enough to have Jason wondering if this was all a highly elaborate dream being used to trap him in his own subconscious. Still, Jason could smell Bruce’s cologne. It was something rich, probably from Dick and probably called something “deep bourbon dream”, not at all like the musty floral stuff he'd worn back when Jason could wear scaled shorts without a hint of irony.

( “It was my mother’s,”

“I found a bottle in her room before it was sealed shut. The smell always makes me feel safer; like she is still here to protect me when everything becomes too much. Don't know what I'll do when it runs out.”)

(An undersized boy, clinging tight to his father, his B, like a koala against the barrage of feelings pushing at his head. He’s safe here, in the dark, the smell of sweat and old perfume drowning the negative emotions he so easily forgets are not directed at him.)

“Look who needs to be checked for possible mental manipulation now.”

Jason tries for sarcastic but his words come out as soggy as his socks.

“Hmh,” he said, a soft grin poking the unwieldy corners of his face.

“Goddamnit I’m trying to be pissed at you right now.”

The two sat there for a long moment, both unwilling to be the first to break whatever fragile spell had tessered together the frayed corners of their relationship for them to have a moment like this. The rain was letting up. Heavy clouds held their breath at the seemingly impossible sight.

“‘Should probably go back in before I freeze off something important.”

Both stood. Bruce pulled his cowl back up in a clean motion and Jason made a feeble attempt to squeeze the rain out of his utterly soaked shirt. Still, he wiped it across his face, more or less clearing his vision and absolutely failing at playing off his reddened eye as yet another byproduct of the storm. Goddamn it, he hadn’t cried this much when he died. Then again that could just be because of the extreme heat and his stubborn refusal to cry in front of off-brand Crusty the Clown. Already Bats was halfway across the roof, the slick concrete meaningless in the wake of his decades of practice in getting the Hell outta dodge.

“Hey,” there was something fragile in Jason’s chest as he spoke, as if the wrong word could tumble out at any moment and break him, “Try not to die, ‘kay? It's not fun.”

Bats briefly paused, not even looking back as he nodded. Hesitationfearapreciationcarewhy?why?why? why?

“And tell Alfie to set an extra place for Sunday dinner!” Jason shouted, “‘Got someone special I’d like you all to meet!”

Empath

Jason Todd is an empath, something that probably no one would believe if they were told the story of Red Hood. It's not an ability he likes to brag about either, honestly, Jason hates it, as much as he hates being back from the dead, it makes him feel different, it makes him feel like he doesn't fit in.

It starts small, with a boy who feels his mother's pain and his father's rage. With a child who sees Batman and instead of a big scary bat feels layers and layers of sadness. It starts with Robin, feeling too much and wanting to change everything for the better.

He never tells Bruce, what good would it do? It's not a useful skill, sensing the Joker's madness didn't help to prevent his death. Feeling Bruce's despair wasn't enough to keep his eyes open.

It ends too quickly, too soon. Maybe for that reason he was given a second chance. One that Jason didn't want. Pit madness feels a thousand times stronger than it should, it pollutes his mind, it seeps into his heart and Jason hates it a little more every day.

Then, he meets Danny in a bar, full of smiles and biting comments but so so scared. He hears his silent pleas, his regrets, his desire to belong, to not be hated. And for the first time in a long time, Jason's heart breaks a little.

For the first time in a long time, the pits fall silent and give way to the confused feelings of the boy beside him.

Danny becomes part of the routine, Jason doesn't quite know how but the boy refuses to leave. He never asks about Red Hood, though the small flicker of doubt every time Jason leaves the apartment confirms that he knows. He never stops him, he just smiles and waits for him with a first aid kit under his arm, bandages his wounds and sleeps beside him.

Jason knows he is dangerous but can't help but love him as much as he can't help but feel the pain that accompanies the boy.

Then, his little home life is invaded by Bruce (worried, always worried, overly cautious), he warns him that Danny is a dangerous creature, warns him that he will hurt him. Jason can't help but snort.

Jason knows Danny isn't human, it's not something his ability tells him, it's just easy to deduce. But when Danny confesses it to him (scared, so so scared), he downplays it, tells him it's okay and he can go back to sleep. Danny doesn't fit into what's normal, but that's okay, he doesn't either.