#hurt jason todd

[ao3statistics]

Here you go! The charts resulting from the poll!

Date of creation: 05.01.2024

The second chart is the more detailed version including more tags.

I excluded the meta tag "Hurt Jason Todd" (more than 2000 tags) because its subtags are already on the chart.

I assume no guarantee or liability for the completeness, correctness and accuracy of this chart despite my best efforts.

Includes fanfictions in all languages available on Ao3, NOT English only.

More charts will follow. :)

Want to have a chart for different pairings, headcanons etc. in your favourite fandom? Send me an ask!

[forgotten-daydreamer]

The spin-off to and when I wake up, let me be is here!

Please, let me know what you think about let me be with the stars so far. Chapter 2 (/2) will be posted on the 8th!

[charlieeenby]

you put me in the ground, i ain't done

chapter 3: two's and three's

jason comes home

warnings and tags: talon Dick Grayson, miscommunication, lying, good sibling Dick, angry Jason, hurt Jason

title from i ain't done by the crane wives

Talon was curled around Tim when they head a sound. Sitting up, they listened closely.

“Talon?” Tim questioned softly.

“Noise.”

“Do you know what it was?”

Talon shook their head no, still listening.

As they went to put their head back down, they heard it again, and this time, Tim reacted as well. Talon pulled out their knife and tugged Tim closer.

There was a series of thuds, then the doors to the den flew open, revealing Bruce and a man in a red helmet that Talon quickly identified as the Red Hood.

Hissing, Talon tucked Tim behind them, glaring at Red Hood. Their hiss made Hood stop and look over at them.

“What the fuck?” he yelled out, staring at Talon. “You fucking replaced me!”

Talon was confused. They had never met Red Hood. How could they have replaced him? “Don’t know you.” they said.

Hood froze.

“What?”

“Don’t know you, can’t replace you.” Talon said, still very confused.

That made Hood turn back to Bruce. “You didn’t tell them?” he yelled.

Bruce winced. “It wasn’t necessary for them to know.” he said and Talon frowned.

“Know what?”

Hood reached up and pulled his helmet off and then peeled of his mask. Talon stared at his face. They knew that face.

That was Jason’s face.

“Jason?” they asked softly.

“Yeah, that’s me-oof!” Jason yelped when Talon grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Mine. My Jason.” black tears ran down Talon’s face, one of their hands coming up and petting Jason’s hair. He was back. Their Jason was back. He was home.

“I’m here, T, I’m here.” Jason whispered against Talon’s neck.

Talon dragged Jason over to the couch they’d been sitting on with Tim. They shoved Jason down and sat between Jason and Tim, pulling them both close, humming and purring.

“Talon, what’s happening?” Tim whispered.

“My Jason is home. My Jason and my Tim. Mine, mine, mine.”

“Just go with it, kid.” Jason said. “They get like this when they’re worried and happy.”

“I know, but I don’t – I don’t know what’s going on.” Tim said.

“How did you end up here?”

“Talon found me and then after they ran into me a few times, they brought me here and said I was staying.”

Jason snorted. “Sounds about right. Kinda did the same thing to me.”

“First baby bird.” Talon said, and Jason smiled. “Not replaced. Second baby bird. Both my baby birds.” Talon needed Jason to understand that. “Both mine.”

Jason shifted so he could press his forehead and nose to Talon’s. Then he nuzzled their noses together. “I know, T. Shoulda known you’d never replace me.”

“My Jason.” Talon murmured. Then they turned and pressed a kiss to Tim’s forehead. Tim preferred forehead kisses to the nuzzling Jason preferred. “My Tim.”

“T, I don’t mean to alarm you, but I thought Jason...died.” Tim said hesitantly.

Jason snorted. “I did. But I came bak, got dumped in a Lazarus Pit. The League of Shadows trained me and sent me back here so I could take over Gotham.”

Talon huffed. They didn’t like that and what they knew of the League of Shadows wasn’t good. “Stay here now. Not allowed to leave. Stay.” they pulled their baby birds closer, anxiety creeping up their throat. “Stay.”

Tim shifted, tucking into Talon’s side. Jason pressed his face against the junction of Talon’s shoulder and neck, like he had a child. Talon hugged them tightly.

Bruce shifted in the doorway. “Talon-”

“No. Baby birds stay.” Talon growled, cutting him off. “Mine.”

For a moment, Bruce considered arguing, but decided that he wanted all three of them to be here and he’d missed Jason. So he sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

Jason was acting weird. And Talon hated it. Their little wing was too jumpy and skittish, startled by every little noise. They tried to make him feel safer, but it never seemed to work the way they wanted. It would either make it worse, or it only worked for a short period of time.

Talon slipped into the kitchen, grabbed Jason’s favorite snack, and then left the manor, using the sewers to get to Jason’s apartment.

They wished Jason would stay at the manor, but he seemed very angry at Bruce, so Talon respected Jason’s decision.

It took a while for them to arrive, but when they did, they easily scaled the fire escape, and tapped gently on the window, and waited.

Jason appeared a moment later, frowning. His frown softened but didn’t disappear. He slid the window open. “T, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Snacks.” Talon said, holding up the box they had with them.

That made Jason’s frown return. “You came all the way here for...snacks?”

“No. Time.” Talon frowned. “Time together.” they said, after finding the right words.

Jason blinked. “You came here to spend time with me?”

“Yes. And snacks.” Talon said, waiting for Jason to smile. He always did before he died when Talon brought him food, especially his favorite snack.

He didn’t smile.

Talon tilted their head. “Talon leave?” they asked, not sure what to do now.

Jason sighed. “T, it’s just, it’s not a great time, okay?”

“Okay. Later?”

“Later what?”

Talon frowned. “Time together later.”

“Sure.” Jason said, but Talon didn’t like his tone. But they didn’t want to upset Jason more than they seemed to have already. So they nodded.

“Okay. Talon loves Jason.”

“Love you too, T.”

Talon set the box on the floor under the window, then pulled back and waved. Jason waved, then slid the window shut.

As Talon started to move away, they heard the window’s lock snap into place.

Their heart snapped as well.

[waytoobusyao3]

fic list!!!

below are links/small descriptions of all my jason todd works!!

-save me (get me the hell out of here) series: jason todd has recently befriended the waynes, but they soon discover their new member is in danger

-two player game : our favorite batman and dead robin play a dangerous game, whether they want to or not

-little lion man : bruce is prepared for almost anything, a custody battle is not one of them

-eclipsed echoes: a symphony of shadows: batfam in the walking dead universe!

-this is your fault : scarecrow catches jason and dick and has some chilling interrogation techniques

-inbred : jason talks to the family about talia

-clearly, ive not learned my lesson even now : being the son of batman and superman was one thing, being the only one without powers though? kinda fucked up

please go give some love!!!

[bopsie1421]

Hello,

I have been trying to find a fic I read awhile back. It was batfam and they were dealing with anger toxin and then most of the batfam (Bruce, dick, Tim, damien, cass, and steph) get affected and they start fighting each other and Jason. He has to lock each of them in the batfam cells and then make the antidote, he started to inject them and Batman tried to kill him again.

I remember it being on ao3 but I cant seem to find it. Thanks in advance!!

[to-the-stars8]

The Worst Attribute to a Lonely Life

Summary; Jason Todd, according to himself, is the worst person alive.

A/N; This chapter doesn't mention self-harm, but it is somewhat alluded to. So, please proceed with caution before you go on reading. A little note to the people who may be able to relate to this, I love you and keep going strong.

Jason’s worst attribute and most remarkable accomplishment was the fact that no one hated him as much as he hated himself, which left little to no room for him to care for others’ opinions. This, mixed with the fact that he was mostly alone in life, left him in what he would usually call the perfect situation. He could do his own thing and figure out life the way he wanted. After spending years with this ingrained thought in his head, he’d grown comfortable with it. There was no one else to disappoint if it was just him and the little tumor of hate. Sometimes, even, he’d grown to be comforted by the fact that no one else disliked himself as much as he already did. 

Then, there were the nights he wanted to be angry at the universe for feeling this way.

It was an odd, calm kind of rage—The kind that couldn’t be satiated with violence or therapy, no matter how much he wanted to scream that it just wasn’t fucking fair. This feeling was something that came out of the yearning to be held by someone who could ward off the world for a few hours while he was reminded that he deserved to be there. 

The nights when he was visited by this feeling, he’d do nothing because that’s all that sounded right. Everything became too much and not enough at the same time as he would lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sense of emptiness in him. 

He’d wish he wasn’t himself, but someone else—someone luckier. Jason pictured Dick going home to Kori, or Tim having Bernard in his corner whenever he needed him. They had people who looked forward to seeing them and were missed.

Maybe if he believed in that manifestation bullshit Dick talked about, he’d wish for a life where someone would be there in his corner, who looked forward to seeing him, and smiled when his name popped up on their phone. A life that wasn’t embedded in blue isolation but instead with the pink warmth of love. Then again, out of spite, he wouldn’t dare utter those dreams to the universe because the last thing he wanted was to be its’ joke. He’d been laughed into an early grave once, he couldn’t do it again. 

In these moments, Jason would wonder if he was even meant to come back. Yet, if there was a way to find the answer to that question, he wasn’t too sure he’d want to know. 

He’d blink back the tears and draw in a breath, turning to lay on his side as he tried to think about literally anything else. The hate in him would tell him it was for the best, no one could ever love someone as bad as him. As far as Jason was concerned, he was the worst person in the world—Nothing could change that.

Jason would learn to like the cycle of this kind of torture. 

He’d drown himself in work the next day, and forget about his feelings the night before they began to slowly creep back. Eventually, this feeling would find him again on a lonely night and he’d question his existence yet again. Nothing ever came from it other than the deepening emptiness that this hatred left behind. 

Jason would get through it, he told himself he had to, just like he had all the other times before. 

[wrencatte]

Tim and Stephanie stage a rescue for Red Hood. Only to find that things are a lot worse than they thought.

Magic!Jason, Competent!Jason, hurt!Jason, Worried/Protective!Tim, Worried/Protective!Stephanie. Cameos from Babs, Cass, and Duke.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Library of Ashes

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Jason takes an interest in the family business (Gotham’s oldest library) when he stumbles upon a secret collection of journals, photo albums, and a book written by his mother.

Chapters: 6/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Kate Kane, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Lonnie Machin, Original Character(s)

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Library AU, No Capes AU, World Travel, Jason Todd-centric, Third Person POV, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd Has Issues, Angst, Mystery, Mentioned Catherine Todd, Mentioned Willis Todd, Mentioned Sheila Haywood, Claustrophobic Jason Todd

Chapter Six: Speakeasy

That night, Jason dreamt of Sanaa. He dreamt of her hands on his chest. Sweating under the moonlight as he stifled his moans. Their chemistry was so strong that they didn’t pass the back patio. A massive wave washed over them, and Jason woke up with a hand on the front of his shorts and a hole in his chest where his heart used to be. He shuddered and cursed. “Naa, please,” Jason muttered as he slipped his shorts off and walked them to the hamper. 

Music was the only thing that comforted him. The silence was an unbearable curse. He showered, dressed, and made breakfast in the dark. 

The music he picked for the day was sad. His heart needed to grieve. Sanaa sowed the seeds of dance and music into his soul. It kept him alive. He emailed everyone their tasks for the day while he ate. His head throbbed. Tim replied almost immediately. Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning into the pressure building behind his eyes. “For fuck’s sake,” Jason whispered. He shut the laptop and called Tim on the landline. 

“Hello?” Tim answered on the first ring. “What about the book  donation box and the shipment of new—?”

“Yes… All of that is important, but I’ve got a headache. Can we do small talk first?” Jason mumbled. 

“Good morning,” Tim replied, “You okay?” 

“I’m not… How are you?” Jason asked. 

Tim cleared his throat. “Um… I—. I’m fine. Do you want to talk about—?”

“No. I just figured I’d be honest. It’s nice to know you’re doing alright. Why are you awake so early?” Jason asked. 

“Couldn’t sleep. I just—. I wasn’t trying to replace you—.” 

“I know. I don’t hate you. I never did… I resented you for a while because we’re so different, but I never hated you. I want you to work with me for the next couple of days,” Jason stated, “And if you can do a coffee run and bring some aspirin that’d be great, too.”

“Anything specific?” Tim questioned. 

“Three shots of espresso and maybe chocolate… I don’t know. I don’t really care,” Jason replied. Tim hung up, leaving Jason to his thoughts. 

**

When Tim arrived, Jason took an aspirin and started sipping his coffee. “Jason, what are we gonna do about the book donation box and the new shipment of classics?” Tim questioned. 

“Dick’s on the donation box. I’ve got Barbara and Stephanie on classics,” Jason answered as he dug through another set of diaries and journals. “Some of these should be turned in to the police. I think I’ll make a police pile.”

“I heard you were engaged,” Tim whispered. 

“I was. She passed away,” Jason explained. Tim frowned.

“Do you have any pictures of her?” Tim questioned. Jason smiled as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to show Tim. He showed Tim a picture of Sanaa with her best friend.

“My fiance, Sanaa, is the one on the right. The other one is her best friend, Margaret,” Jason explained before swiping to the next picture. Jason had his arms wrapped around her shoulders and chest, resting his chin atop her head as they smiled for the camera. “I look at these pictures all the time. I look at them all the time.” 

“You never would’ve come home, huh?” Tim asked. 

Jason shook his head. “I don’t think I would’ve,” Jason answered. 

“Do you think you’ll leave again once you can?” Tim questioned in reply. 

Jason softened. It didn’t seem like Tim had a strong opinion either way. “I might… Why? Are you thinking about getting out of town?” Jason smiled. 

“Listen, if you know a good place, I’m all ears,” Tim joked. 

“Costa Rica is nice. You could probably use the sun,” Jason teased. 

Tim rolled his eyes as he laughed. “How many places have you been to?” Tim questioned. 

“Fifteen,” Jason replied as he squinted at a map in one of the journals. “See anything interesting over there?” 

“Yeah… A very detailed diary entry about a sexual encounter with a younger man,” Tim replied. Jason leaned forward. 

“How much younger?” Jason asked. 

“She’s sixty-three. He’s forty-five,” Tim replied, “ And she’s limber .” 

Jason shook his head and laughed. “Next entry?” Jason asked.

“Same guy, different day… Yeah, I should not be reading this,” Tim replied as he set it aside. 

For the next two hours, it was like that. Jason studied the book of building plans for the library, and Tim made a run for lunch. He didn’t say anything about it, figuring that the plans were incorrect. He wanted to look into it, but he refused to look crazy in front of Tim or anyone else if his hunch was wrong. Even after their shift at the library ended, Jason walked around the building, searching for made-up rooms. What he thought to be made-up. 

Jason’s floor had four apartment-style living spaces. He lived in the biggest apartment, and the other three were otherwise unoccupied. Sometimes, Bruce’s friends would visit and stay in the smaller ones, but they usually used those rooms for storage. According to the plans, one of the apartments had a bedroom with a false wall in the closet. He used one of the hallway keys at the furthest apartment on the left to enter. 

The closet wall felt hollow when he knocked on it, but it didn’t turn with a simple push. Jason stepped back, taking a deep breath before putting his back into it. The wall gave, and Jason almost fell to the ground on the other side of the wall. It was a beautiful setup. The back edge of the apartment had a second elevator beside the bar, and Jason picked up a glass decanter, removing the stopper as he smelled the orange peels in the curaçao. It was an older bottle. He set it on the counter, and he took the elevator down to a secret basement. Jason looked around until he found the bookcase by a large, carved table. Gotham Secret Library. Stacks of books were left dusty and untouched. Handbound books. Books with hand-painted marbled edges. Books with resin, dried flower covers. It was a gorgeous library for the creative people of Gotham. 

And then Jason realized a set of problems. Who would Jason share his secret with? And how long would it take to go through the secret library on his own? The most recent items came from around the nineties. After hours of sifting through the books on the table, Jason stumbled across family court papers with his name and his parents’ names. And his grandparents’ names. Julia and George Haywood. People he never knew existed. And their address. An address that he knew well. He must’ve passed by their house a million times growing up. It made his stomach sick. He wondered if things would’ve been different if they raised him. He wondered if they loved him. 

But his thoughts were interrupted by a phone call. “Hey, Tim,” Jason whispered.

“Where are you?” Tim questioned. “I went back to your apartment to get the box for the police, and you weren’t there.”

“Oh, I went to pick up my prescription,” Jason lied. He couldn’t tell the truth. Not yet, anyway. Maybe this secret was meant to be his and his alone.

[ffaelix]

on cold, grey nights | jason todd angst

written for one of my friend's bday, cross posted on wattpad (wearyminds) and ao3 (ffaelix)

The Gotham night was cold and unforgiving, the air so thick with mist it felt like breathing in shards of ice. Jason Todd, clad in his crimson Red Hood attire, perched on the edge of a rooftop, his eyes scanning the shadowy streets below. He had been out here for hours, searching for any sign of trouble, but all he found was the echo of his own breaths.

A sudden gust of wind sent a shiver down his spine, and Jason tightened his grip on the grappling hook at his side. His teeth chattered slightly, and he knew he was pushing his limits. The cold was seeping into his bones, turning him numb. But he couldn't just go home, not when the city needed him. The weight of his responsibility was as heavy as the chill in the air.

Through the fog, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A shadowy figure stumbled down an alley, and Jason's instincts took over. He launched himself off the rooftop, his figure looking similar to a fiery comet against the grey sky. He landed silently on the wet pavement, his boots barely making a sound. The figure was hunched over, struggling under the weight of what appeared to be a stolen bag. Without a moment's hesitation, Jason closed in, ready to deal out his brand of justice.

But as he got closer, the figure's labored breathing and erratic steps gave him pause. This wasn't the confident gait of a seasoned criminal, but the desperate shuffle of someone in distress. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks - this wasn't a thief; it was a civilian caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He approached with caution, not wanting to spook them into a panic. "You okay down there?" he called out, his voice muffled by the cold.

The figure looked up, revealing a young woman with wide, terrified eyes. She clutched the bag to her chest, her teeth chattering as violently as his. "Please," she stuttered, "please don't hurt me." The bag slipped from her grasp, revealing not loot but a collection of soggy blankets and meager supplies. The gravity of the situation dawned on him - she was just trying to survive the night.

Jason's heart sank. He was about to offer her help when a coughing fit took hold of him, his body betraying his good intentions. He stumbled, the cold finally overwhelming him. The woman's expression shifted from fear to concern, and she took a tentative step forward. "You're freezing," she said, her voice cracking with the cold. "You need to get out of here."

With a grim nod, Jason knew she was right. He couldn't risk his health any further. The homeless shelter was a few blocks away, a beacon of warmth and safety in this harsh night. He took the lead, guiding her through the maze of alleys with a new urgency. Each step was heavier than the last, his legs feeling like they were made of lead. The fog thickened, making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead, but he pushed on, driven by the need to get her somewhere safe.

Finally, the lights of the shelter emerged through the mist like a mirage. The woman's eyes lit up with hope, and she picked up her pace. They stumbled through the doors, the warmth hitting them like a tidal wave. The shelter was crowded, a sea of weary faces greeting them with a mix of suspicion and pity. Jason helped the woman to the front desk, his teeth still chattering uncontrollably.

The shelter worker, a kind-faced woman with a no-nonsense air, took one look at him and immediately frowned. "You're in no state to be out there," she scolded, her eyes assessing his condition with a practiced gaze. "You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death."

Jason nodded, reassuring the young woman that he would be okay. "I'll be fine," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You get some rest here." She hesitated, looking back at him with a mix of gratitude and concern, but he gave her a gentle nudge towards the warmth of the shelter. With a nod, she allowed herself to be led away, disappearing into the sea of bodies seeking refuge from the biting cold.

Once she was out of sight, Jason's legs gave out, and he slumped against the wall. The warmth of the shelter was a stark contrast to the icy grip the night had on him, but it was too late. His body had reached its breaking point. He knew he needed to get somewhere warm, fast, or the hypothermia would claim him. With a grimace, he pushed himself away from the safety of the shelter and stumbled into the alley.

The fog had thickened, turning the alley into a labyrinth of shadows and mist. He managed a few steps before the world began to spin, the cold seizing his muscles in a vice-like grip. He reached for the wall to steady himself, his fingertips brushing against the damp bricks before everything went black.

...

Dick Grayson, perched high above the streets as Nightwing, had noticed the sudden stillness in the alley, the absence of the crimson figure he had been keeping tabs on from afar. His stomach lurched as he swung into action, descending with a grace that belied his urgency. He found Jason slumped against the wall, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. "Jase," he whispered, his voice filled with concern as he felt for a pulse. It was faint but steady.

The cold had set in, and Dick knew he had to act quickly. First, he scouted out the area to see if it was free of trouble. Then, he carefully peeled the sodden mask from half of Jason's face, revealing the shivering form beneath. The younger man's skin was almost translucent, the stark blue of his lips a stark reminder of the danger he was in. Dick's eyes narrowed, his mind racing as he scanned the area for any sign of trouble a second time.

After seeing the alley was clear, he slung Jason's arm over his shoulders, hoisting him upright. The weight was surprising, but Dick had been in similar situations before. He knew the drill - get him warm, get him dry, and get him medical attention if necessary. They staggered through the fog, the alley's cobblestones slippery under their boots. Each step was a battle against the cold and the fog, but Dick's determination was unyielding.

The alley opened up into a slightly wider street, and Dick caught a glimpse of the Bat-Signal piercing the misty sky. The symbol was a beacon of hope, a reminder that they were never truly alone in their fight. But there was no time to revel in the sight. He had to get Jason somewhere warm before hypothermia claimed him completely. Dick's thoughts raced as he considered his options. The nearest safehouse was too far, and taking him to the Batcave would risk alerting Alfred to their condition.

But maybe it was a good thing if Alfred knew. The elderly butler had seen them through countless scrapes, and his medical expertise was unmatched. Plus, the warmth of the manor's embrace would be a comfort to Jason, a stark contrast to the biting chill of the night. The decision made, Dick adjusted his grip and started to make his way towards the manor.

The journey felt like an eternity, each step a battle against the cold that clung to them like a second skin. Dick could feel the hypothermia's icy claws digging deeper into Jason's body, and he quickened his pace, trying to ignore the burning in his own muscles. The fog grew thicker, the streetlights swimming in a sea of mist that made the world around them seem unreal, like a nightmare from which they couldn't wake.

Finally, the imposing silhouette of Wayne Manor loomed ahead, a bastion of warmth and safety amidst the cold. Dick stumbled through the secret entrance, the warmth of the house enveloping them like a warm blanket. The sudden change in temperature made him gasp, and he knew Jason must be feeling it too, even in his unconscious state.

He half-carried, half-dragged his younger brother through the corridors, his heart racing with every beat. The manor was eerily quiet, the usual bustle of activity stilled by the late hour. Dick hoped Alfred was still up, waiting for their return. He knew the butler would be furious to see Jason in such a state, but that was a lecture they could deal with later. For now, all that mattered was getting him warm.

As they approached the kitchen, a flicker of light spilled into the hallway, guiding them like a lighthouse beam. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, and Dick's stomach rumbled despite the gravity of the situation. Tim Drake sat at the island, his eyes bloodshot and his hair sticking up in every direction. The youngest Robin looked up from his textbook, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. "Dick?" he called out, his voice heavy with sleep.

Tim's gaze fell upon Jason, and his eyes widened. He jumped to his feet, the coffee mug clattering against the countertop. "What happened?" he demanded, the exhaustion in his voice giving way to alarm. Dick could only manage a tired nod before the words came tumbling out. "Hypothermia. I found him in an alley."

Tim didn't waste any time. He set aside his book and took Jason's other arm, helping Dick support his weight. "Let's get him to Alfred," he said firmly, already moving towards the stairs that led to the medical bay. Dick followed, his legs feeling like they were made of jelly. The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, but it wasn't enough to banish the chill that had settled into Jason's bones.

They stumbled into the medical bay, the room bathed in a soft, sterile light. Alfred Pennyworth looked up from his paperwork, his expression one of mild irritation that quickly morphed into alarm. "Master Dick," he began, his voice stern, before his eyes fell upon Jason. "Bring him here," he instructed, his tone switching to one of calm urgency.

Tim helped lay Jason on the examination table, the older man's eyes scanning him with a medical precision that was as comforting as it was alarming. Dick hovered nearby, feeling utterly useless as Alfred began to strip the wet, cold clothes from his brother's body. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the chill that still clung to Jason's skin, a testament to how dangerously cold he had been.

Tim's gaze flickered between the two of them, his mind racing. "How could he be so stupid?" he muttered, more to himself than to Dick. "Out there in this weather, without even a proper plan."

Dick offered a weak smile, his own guilt mirroring Tim's frustration. "He's always had a bit of a hero complex," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "But he's also incredibly selfless."

Tim nodded, his expression softening slightly. "I know," he said, his voice quieter now. "But sometimes I worry he'll push himself too far."

Alfred's gaze met Dick's, a silent understanding passing between them. They had all seen the lengths Jason would go to protect the innocent, often at the cost of his own well-being. It was a trait they both admired and feared in him. The butler turned back to his patient, his movements swift and efficient as he wrapped Jason in warm blankets and began to check his vitals. "We need to warm him up gradually," Alfred said, his eyes never leaving the monitors. "Too fast, and it could be dangerous."

Dick was already stripping off his damp clothes, replacing them with a set of Alfred's spare pajamas that the butler kept in the medical bay for just such emergencies. The fabric was soft and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, wet material he had been wearing. He slid into the bed next to Jason, his body heat seeping into the other man's side. Tim did the same, his own pajamas a slightly less dignified affair of Carebear-themed shirt and sleep shorts.

They lay there in silence, their bodies pressed together to provide what warmth they could. Dick felt the cold radiating from Jason's skin, a stark reminder of the battle they were fighting. He could feel the steady rhythm of Tim's heartbeat through the mattress, a comforting presence in the otherwise tense room.

"Nice PJs, Tim," Dick murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet. "I didn't know you were a Carebear fan."

Tim rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile playing on his lips despite the gravity of the situation. "Shut up, Dick," he said, though there was no real heat behind his words. He tucked one of the blankets around Jason more securely, ensuring that the heat they were generating was trapped. "Bruce found them in a thrift store and thought they'd be funny. They're surprisingly comfortable."

Dick chuckled, the sound a little forced, but it helped break the tension. "Well, if Bruce approved, I guess they're officially cool," he said, his hand finding Tim's under the blankets, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Tim's hand was cold, but it was already starting to warm up against his own.

They lay there for what felt like hours, their combined body heat gradually seeping into Jason's frigid form. Dick felt the cold in his own bones begin to dissipate, the warmth of Tim's body a comforting presence beside him. They were a makeshift family, bound by a shared history and a commitment to a cause that was greater than any one of them. The quiet hum of the medical equipment filled the room, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the lengths they would go to protect it.

Then, a sudden shift in the air. Jason stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, they were unfocused, glazed over with the haze of unconsciousness. But then, they fixed on Tim, and a weak smile ghosted across his face. "You're...really wearing...Carebear pajamas?" he managed, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Tim rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged at his lips was genuine. "Shut up, Jase," he said, his voice thick with relief. "You're going to be okay."

Dick felt his own chest tighten at the words. "You're not dying on me," he murmured, his hand still clutching Jason's. "Not like this."

Tim's eyes were wet, but he didn't bother to wipe away the tears. "You hear that, Jase?" he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're not going anywhere."

Jason's eyes remained closed, but a faint smile played on his lips. "Love...you...both," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Dick felt a lump form in his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. It wasn't often that Jason showed his softer side, but when he did, it was like a punch to the gut. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning and a bond that had been forged in the fires of Gotham's streets.

Tim's hand tightened around Dick's, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the moment. They had all lost so much, endured so much pain together, but here they were, a trio of misfits, bound by a love that was as fierce as it was complicated. For a brief second, the tension in the room dissipated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the blankets surrounding them.

The three of them lay there, their breathing synchronized as the warmth of their bodies slowly brought Jason back from the brink. Dick felt the tension in Jason's muscles ease, the shivering subsiding into the gentle rise and fall of deep sleep. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room, a metronome keeping time with their collective sigh of relief.

Tim's eyes remained on Jason, his gaze unwavering as he held onto his hand. Dick knew the feeling, the need to reassure themselves that their brother was truly okay. But exhaustion was tugging at the edges of his consciousness, the weight of the night's events making his eyelids feel like lead. He could feel the warmth of Tim's body beside him, the younger man's breathing evening out as he too succumbed to sleep.

The room grew quiet, the only sounds the soft snores of the three of them and the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. The warmth of their bodies had created a bubble of comfort around Jason, the cold a distant memory as they all fell into a deep slumber. The medical bay was no longer a stark reminder of the dangers they faced but a sanctuary where they could find peace, if only for a brief while.

As the night gave way to a cold, grey dawn, Alfred entered the room, his expression a mix of relief and concern. He had been notified of their arrival by the security system and had been waiting anxiously for any signs of movement. He checked the monitors, his eyes lingering on the steady rise and fall of Jason's chest. Satisfied that the crisis had passed, he covered them with an additional blanket, his gaze lingering on the trio before he retreated to his own quarters.

.

thanks for reading!!

[iriswords]

Febuwhump Day 19 - “You deserve this”

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here    

tw: victim blaming

Fandom: Batman

Words: 1716

Jason comes back to the Cave after a smooth night of patrol. But his good mood doesn’t last, shot down by his family’s unusually hurtful words. 

-- 

“I fucking hate Scarecrow wannabes,” grumbles Jason as he slams his foot in the chest of one of said wannabes. 

“That makes two of us,” Nightwing chimes in cheerfully. 

Scarecrow is annoying and dangerous enough by himself, Gotham doesn’t also need delusional men who know nothing about chemistry, and fancy themselves brilliant and misunderstood doctors when in reality all they do is risk poisoning the people they test their products on. 

The fight dies down soon enough, the goons nowhere near skilled enough to pose a real challenge to Nightwing and the Red Hood. All their toxin has been contained, too; the two vigilantes arrived before the goons had the time to release it in the city. The only close call they had was a thug who had tried to inject the product in Jason while he was fighting someone else, but Jason had sent him to the ground before the syringe could get too close to his skin.

“Batman is waiting for us with the Batmobile,” says Nightwing as they finish tying the goons’ wrists, all ready to be picked up by the police. “You’re coming back to the Cave with us?”

Jason considers the offer. He has been on better terms with the whole family these days, and though their relationship still isn’t perfect, all of them are making efforts to improve it. 

“Sure,” he says. 

 “Are you sure you got them all?” is the first thing Batman says when Nightwing and Jason enter the Batmobile. Jason cannot tell if he is imagining the underlying disappointment in his voice or not. 

“All of them,” answers Nightwing from the front seat, which he stole from Jason. At the back of the car, Jason remains quiet as his skin prickles with a strange unease. Maybe he should have just gone back to his safehouse. Maybe he is pushing his luck and this night will end badly, and his relationship with the family will be ruined. 

“And the toxin?” continues Batman. “Did you contain all of it?” 

Nightwing scoffs. “There wasn’t even a need for containing, B. Really, they didn’t stand a chance. We only got one close call with Jason, but we handled it.” Jason barely listens as Dick explains what the close call was. 

“Of course,” replies Batman when Dick finishes his explanation. His voice drips with unusual disdain. “Figures Hood would find a way to get close calls even in the easiest situations.”

Anger simmers under Jason’s skin, tinted Lazarus green, but he reigns it in and doesn’t reply to Batman’s taunt. 

The rest of the ride passes in silence. Jason doesn’t even know what he did wrong. He hasn’t killed anyone in months, hasn’t gotten into an argument with any member of the family, hasn’t ignored them just because he didn’t feel like dealing with them. Yet he cannot shake the feeling that Bruce is angry at him and that it is all his fault. It always is, after all, isn’t it? It’s Jason’s own fault if he got killed, it’s his fault if he doesn’t get along with the family, his fault if he and Bruce have screaming matches so often. His fault, his fault, his fault. 

Batman stops the car in the Cave, and Jason gets out immediately, putting on a mask of indifference. Tim and Damian are already in the Cave, bickering, as always, though it has been less heated lately and more good-hearted. Cass watches them silently, perched on the back of a chair. Jason nods at her when he catches her gaze, and heads for the showers. If Bruce is angry at him, the less time spent in his company, the better. Once he’s showered, Jason can go upstairs and see if Alfred made any cookies. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” asks Bruce. 

Jason stops in his tracks and turns around. It is indeed him Bruce is talking to, the man’s face free of the cowl and his features carved into anger. 

“Showering,” answers Jason, his voice as level as possible. The boy inside him, the one who died too young and was never avenged, shrinks in fear learned in Crime Alley. The other part of him, the one tainted by the Pit, surges up and urges him to violence and vitriol. Jason listens to neither. He stands his ground as he waits for Bruce to spit out what is bothering him. 

“Do you really think I’m going to let you go and shower without debriefing after that mess of a night?”

Jason rolls his eyes, but the Pit seeps into his veins drop by drop. “It was nowhere near a mess. Actually, it even went very smoothly. I don’t know why you’re being dramatic.” 

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m berating you because you never do anything right.” 

Jason hardens his face so his emotions cannot show. Under his armor, Bruce’s words are like a tempest, ravaging all the hard-won progress Jason had made to defeat his self-doubt and self-hatred. “Is that so?” he asks. 

“Father is right, Todd,” answers Damian in the stead of his father. His snippy, holier-than-thou voice grates on Jason’s nerves, but, again, the words aim too close to his heart. “You always find a way to ruin everything. Cases, relationships, families. Your own life. It is your fault if you died, after all.”

And the thing is, Jason knows this. He knows. But no one has ever told him, no one has ever accused him of his own torture and death, and he cannot handle it. He takes a stumbling step back, his eyes fleeting between the members of his family. They look at him distantly, their faces twisted in similar expressions of faint disgust, akin to the one people wear when they spot a nasty bug. 

“That’s not— I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” says Dick. “You’ve always been a hothead, always acting before thinking. Too impulsive, too abrasive, too stupid. And so entitled. You stole Robin from me and you still had the guts to think yourself better than me. You deserved your death.”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Jason falls to his knees. His family comes closer to him, crowding him, like predators watching their prey and waiting for it to keel over so they can eat it whole. This cannot be real. It can’t.

“And then you came back,” continues Tim. His voice is loaded with venom, his eyes alight with hatred. “You came back and everything good in you stayed in your grave. You came back and all the wrong parts surged up. And god knows there are many wrong parts to you. You are made only of wrongness, now, Jason. And yet, somehow, you thought you had the right to try and take Robin away from me too. You couldn’t even keep yourself alive but you think you could keep Robin? Do you know how much you hurt me? Do you know how terrified I was?” Tim leans forward, his cold and slender fingers pressing against Jason’s chin. “Do you know how much of a monster you’ve become?” 

Jason chokes on a sob, his breath rattling in his lungs. It isn’t true. It isn’t real. This is all in his mind, and he’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. He looks up at his family, his eyes frantically searching for any form of support. They fall on Cass, standing amidst the others. Cass, who hasn’t said a word. Jason’s hopes shatter when his sister opens her mouth. “Murderer,” she says. “Traitor. Better dead than alive.” 

Jason can’t stay here. He needs to get out before he does something stupid. Before their hatred kills him. He pushes himself to his feet shakily, but his family grabs onto him, their hands like claws digging into his arms. He cries harder and struggles against their grip. 

“You should have stayed dead,” they chant, “you shouldn’t have come back.” 

“Please, stop,” he begs them. “I’m sorry, I’ll go. You won’t see me ever again. But please, stop.” They don’t listen to him, tugging harder on his arms to bring him back down to the ground.

“I never loved you, Jason,” says Bruce, and it is the last straw. Jason falls back against Dick’s chest, his limbs limp like that of a puppet. Tears stream down his face and soak the hem of his shirt. Something sharp pricks the skin on his neck. The last thing he hears is his family’s chant. 

You should have stayed dead. You shouldn’t have come back. 

 Jason wakes up on a cot in the Medbay. Hushed voices stream to him from somewhere in the room. Jason doesn’t open his eyes. Maybe if he pretends to still be asleep they’ll leave him alone. Maybe then he’ll be able to sneak out and never come back. Tears push past his closed eyelids and Jason prays no one is paying attention to him. He cannot handle their words right now, cannot know how pathetic they find him.

“Jay?” asks Bruce, shooting his hopes down. “Are you awake? Is there something wrong?”

Jason turns his face away and presses it against his pillow. “Please,” he says. “Don’t. I’ll go, I promise. I’ll leave. You won’t see me again.  Just don’t start again, please.” 

A large hand cards through his hair. More tears escape Jason’s eyes. The hand is far too gentle for the words that were thrown at him earlier. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jaylad. You were injected with a toxin, but it’s out of your system, now. We’re not quite certain about what you saw but you were… upset, to say the least.” 

Jason opens his eyes and turns to Bruce, whose face bears nothing but genuineness. 

“A toxin?”

“It turns out the goon with the syringe did get you,” says Dick softly. All of Jason’s siblings are looking at him with solemn worry. Jason looks down at his hands, his throat closing up. 

“So you don’t hate me?” he asks in a whisper. 

“Is that what you saw?” replies Bruce, and engulfs Jason in a hug. His siblings pile up on the bed and Alfred arrives at the same time with a plate full of freshly baked cookies. His family spends the rest of the day convincing him they love him. 

@febuwhump

[gothamstodd]

safety in numbers (2215 words) by gothamstodd Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon & Jason Todd Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Sleep Deprivation, Blood and Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd are Siblings, Jason Todd-centric, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, And He Gets One!, in spirit.., Bad Things Happen Bingo, Jason Todd Whump, Medical Inaccuracies Series: Part 5 of bad things happen bingo Summary: Jason is tired, but there's no rest when everyone in the alley is relying on him, when he can't relax into his bed because what if something happens or someone comes to hurt him and he's not alert to face it?

" Rough patrol?" Oracle's distorted voice comes through with just a touch of static in Jason's busted comm.

He forces back a childish whine of distaste, "What can I do for you, Oracle?" He asks instead, gingerly swinging his leg over the windowsill, stabilizing his swollen knee with a shaking hand, "In the market for some intel? You know it'll cost you." He doesn't bother holding back a hiss of discomfort as he drops down to the distressed hardwood of his safe house.

" Not quite. " Barbara says cautiously, " I'm checking in ."

"Checking in?" Jason asks, raising an incredulous eyebrow beneath his hood. He limps into the kitchen, dragging his useless leg behind himself.

" You've been out every night for the past six weeks. No breaks, sunset to sunrise. Are you even sleeping?"

Jason grits his teeth, tugging off the helmet and letting it clatter onto the counter in front of him. Since when do you care? He wants to say, I don't take breaks .

"Bats are nocturnal, you know that, Barbie." He goes for instead, forcing a false grin into his voice.

She makes a disapproving sound, " You took some hits tonight ."

[ao3statistics]

This is self-made. Date of creation: 25.03.2024

I feel like this was long overdue. I'm gonna post my favourite Jason Todd tags soon.

Includes all tags directly connected to "Jason Todd".

Shiptags and character tags were NOT included.

Please note that "Good Older Sibling Jason Todd" is a subtag of "Jason Todd Has a Sibling" which is a subtag of both "Older Sibling Jason Todd" and "Good Sibling Jason Todd". The results for the subtags are therefore included in the two last mentioned tags but I decided to include them in the chart nonetheless.

I assume no guarantee or liability for the completeness, correctness and accuracy of this chart despite my best efforts.

Includes fanfictions in all languages available on Ao3, NOT English only.

More charts will follow. :)

Want to have a chart for different pairings, headcanons etc. in your favourite fandom? Send me an ask!

Mood:

Also, Thanksgiving with Jason I presume?:

[forgotten-daydreamer]

This only having 2/3 chapters so far, yet passing +100 kudos in just four days? You guys make my heart melt 🥺 thank you!! I'll update within two days.

Edit: finally complete!

[holy-obsession-batman]

people people trade proposal: my bookmarked halluci-Jason fics for yours. I crave MORRRE

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2976550

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317911

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35050426

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40126626

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50025805

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34845475

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34728310

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55100455

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53898520

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54633559

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60104137

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42859761

when the dying place is lonely

[wellensittich01]

Dick 9 times out of 10 failing to hide a severe injury from the rest of the batfam because without fail when he’s tired or drugged or generally not firing on all cylinders his native accent comes out as thick as the day he met Bruce.

- - -

Bruce: Dick come down for a check up I saw you take that hit for Tim.

Dick, halfway towards the cave exit and still going, in the quietest voice possible: im fine

Bruce: Say squirrel and you can leave.

Dick:

Bruce:

Jason:

Tim:

Damien:

Dick: …skweeerrehl.

Jason: Get him boys.

[blancheludis]

Whumptober 2024, Day 24: collapsed building

Fandom: DCU, Batman Characters: Tim Drake & Jason Todd Tags. Hurt Jason, Panic Attack, Collapsed Building, Injuries, Hospital, Protective Tim, Bruce is Not A Good Parent, Brothers, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

"Where are we going?" Jason asks when they are out of the hospital and he realizes they missed the turn to the Manor twice.

Tim glances at him briefly, something shifty in the way takes his time to reply. His hands tighten around the wheel. Quietly, he offers, "My home."

"You moved out?" Jason asks, surprised.

"Two weeks ago." Jason's memory is a bit fuzzy, considering he had emergency surgery and spent a lot of time drifting in and out of consciousness. It could have been two weeks ago that that building collapsed on him and Tim got him out. Surely that is just a coincidence.

---

Jason has been here before. Darkness presses in all around him and the air is heavy with dust, clogging his lungs. Something is pinning down his midsection and he cannot see his legs, cannot feel the right one, either. Jagged pieces of rock and metal cluster around him, leaving a small pocket for his torso and head, but not enough to sit up, not enough to see anything other than debris. His helmet is cracked, but he cannot blame his lovely surroundings on messed up night vision. He knows what it feels like to be buried.

His chest constricts, which has nothing to do with anything physical holding him down and everything with panic shooting through him, stealing what little air he managed to get into his body.

He cannot move. He cannot see. He cannot breathe. He cannot think.

Distantly, he hears laughter. Crazed and loud, coming and going, one moment directly in his ear, the other far away but causing the building to shake. Metal rings out against metal, against stone, against flesh.

"No," Jason wants to say, a denial and a cry for help all in one, but he cannot hear anything other than Joker laughing and grave dirt piling up around him.

One of his arms is pinned out of his sight. The other flares with pain when he struggles to bring it up, to push against the stone encasing him. The pain pierces the fog in his brain a little, enough to think that, maybe, it is not the smartest idea to try and make the building around him move. But then his fingertips catch on something rough, the nail and skin breaking in his mad scratching and he is back in his grave, back to suffocating.

Darkness closes in, tugging at him. He wants to let go, wants to be anywhere but here, anything but buried once again. He has been taught to fight, though, not to give up.

So, Jason fights.

---

"-ood - hear me?" a voice rings out, weak and staticky.

Jason closes his eyes against it. He thought he heard voices in that burning warehouse, too, thought Bruce would come to his rescue. Nobody ever comes. Not for the likes of him. Every Crime Alley brat knows they are on their own. Jason just needed a bit longer to understand that lesson.

"Red Hood - you. We - longer."

The voice ebbs and flows. He knows it, even through the weak connection, although he cannot put a name to it. He is not entirely sure he wants to. Few people in his life would search for him, almost none of them good.

"We're coming - hear - not."

Are they coming or not? Jason thinks and laughs. Something shifts inside him as he breaks out into a coughing fit. And then something shifts around him, creaking ominously, pressing in closer.

He pushes against the stone. Pushes and pushes and pushes. Nothing happens.

His night vision is failing, greying out more and more. Or perhaps that is just his eyes. He does not want to close them, does not want to die here.

Well, Jason has rarely ever gotten what he wants.

---

Jason wakes up. His body feels like it is floating, wrapped up in something soft and warm. He does not trust it.

Before he opens his eyes, he feels into himself, feels the pressure on his chest and something throbbing in his abdomen. He tenses his legs and - sharp pain shoots through him, piercing the cloudy haze. Then another when he moves his right arm. He does feel all of his limbs, though. Pain is good. Pain means he survived more or less intact. For now, at least.

"Jason," someone calls, dissipating the low ringing in his ears.

Blinking his eyes open, the world needs a long moment to come into focus. He hears the beeping of the heart monitor before he can see it. Feels the hand on his arms before he realizes the voice was real.

Or, perhaps, he has really vivid hallucinations, because that is Tim Drake sitting at the side of his bed, his hair greasy and unkempt in a way he never is, an oversized sweater making him seem even smaller. Of all the people in the world, though, why would he hallucinate Tim? He has less reason to be here than Bruce. Less reason than all the rest of the batfamily put together.

Jason opens his mouth to say something, even if he has no idea what. He does not get past one mangled sound, scraping up the raw insides of his throat.

The upper part of the bed moves, pushing him into more of a sitting position. Then something hits against his lips. A straw. Water. It hurts, going down, but the coolness also soothes.

"Are you with me?" Tim holds the glass close, waiting. His tone is gentle, even in its exhaustion.

"What happened?" Jason asks, or some close approximation of it.

Tim seems to understand him nonetheless. "Remember the bank robbery? Well, the bank collapsed on you." He hesitates, his eyes flicking away for a moment. "We got you out, but you're pretty messed up."

We, he says, but Jason sees only him. He has no idea who we could be. Surely not Bruce. The old man would be glad if a bank finally did him in.

With effort, he pushes down all thoughts about Bruce. Only madness lies that way and he has had his fair share of that. Gritting his teeth, Jason asks, "Damage?"

Tim smiles, although it is a small, bitter thing, devoid of all humour. "Nothing permanent," he reassures dryly. "Well, we're almost matching now, since you lost a part of your spleen. And they had to patch up a few other holes in your insides and drain the blood out of your lungs." He shrugs, although his eyes are intent, never leaving Jason. "Other than that, a concussion, a few broken ribs, broken right arm and leg, broken hip. Your spine's intact. You're looking at a lot of time for recovery and rehab."

That last part comes out hesitantly, as if Tim knows that Jason will not stay down willingly as soon as he gets out of here. He cannot, really. Even if he has given up on his grand plan to bring Batman to heel, he has responsibilities. Red Hood needs to protect his people, even if he has no one to protect him in turn. Almost no one.

"What are you doing here?" It comes out more suspicious than intended, but Tim does not seem offended. He just looks tired. Jason does not know how long he has been out, but if he had surgery, it must have been a while. Somehow, he doubts Tim went home during that time, even if he cannot explain why.

Tim watches him, his face eerily blank, and Jason is sure he will get nothing but lies out of him. But then something shifts. Tim's shoulders slump and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I was close to the bank. When it came down -" He clenches his jaw and, just briefly, looks like Bruce when he gets angry. "You weren't answering your comms."

Jason never does. They are not a team. He is not a bat. He is just the remnant of a failed experiment. Silence on his end has never bothered anyone before.

"So what?" Jason scoffs, aiming for dismissal but falling painfully flat. "Good riddance, right?"

"No." Tim's vehemence is a surprise. This is the most fire he has shown since Jason woke up. The most life.  "Bruce is -" He exhales audibly. "You're his son."

Tim's entire posture screams that this is somehow important. He is leaning forward in his seat, his back in a rigid line, hands clenched around the sleeves of his hoodie. Even his face, which he usually has under ironclad control, is tense.

That is the only thing that keeps Jason from laughing. Instead, he says, his voice rough, "Not anymore."

Maybe he never really was, either. Things were frayed for a while even before Jason got himself murdered.

Dick told him that Bruce fell into a hole after Jason's death, that grief claimed him and almost pushed him past the point of no return. He cannot believe it, though, because Bruce never showed even a hint of relief that Jason came back. Perhaps he grieved the stupid kid Jason once was. Perhaps he grieved the possibilities that died with him. Grief out of love should look different, though. It should not hurt the person that left. 

"Yes, you are," Tim argues, almost beseeching. "He chose you. That should mean something."

Something about that feels off, a slight nagging in the back of Jason's mind. He is too out of it, too tired to chase it, however. Thinking about Bruce never does him any good. All expectations he had were crushed, all hope for nothing.

Jason drops his eyes and looks at the iv in the back of his hand instead, curls his wrist to feel it move. "You should know that Bruce forces the world into a specific mould," he says slowly, trying to put into words what he himself is struggling to believe. "Everything that doesn't fit gets cut off. I don't fit."

It hurts but it is the truth. There is no hiding from it. Jason came back wrong and they all drew their lines in the sand.

Tim reaches out, his hand appearing in Jason's line of view only to falter and drop to the bed like a forgotten tool. His voice, however, is strong, when he says, "You're my brother, then."

The words hit like a punch against his broken ribs. shifting something inside him that is already barely holding together.

"It doesn't work that way, Replacement." The name tastes bitter on his tongue. Tim and he are by no means friends, but Jason does not hate him anymore, either. He knows he was wrong to. He can admit that now.

Tim snorts and, when Jason looks up at him, smiles briefly, just a twitch of his lips. "Actually, legally, it does."

"Legally," Jason drawls, aiming to punch back, “I'm dead."

"But not really. We -" Tim shrugs, forces the movement to seem casual. Any other time, it might have been believable. "That doesn't matter right now. You need to get better."

Everything hurts, even through the pain medication he is certainly receiving. A building fell on him and his body will not let him forget it soon.

Still, he says, "If it hasn't killed me yet, it won't." Because that is true, too. Death is an old friend of Jason's. Despite everything, he does not seem eager to claim him.

Withdrawing slightly, Tim's posture becomes a close facsimile of his usual unbothered grace. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

Jason has not a single idea what he is supposed to do with that. Under the collapsed building, he thought he would never wake up. He definitely did not think he would wake up to someone sitting at his bedside or that this someone could ever be Tim. None of this makes sense. He would think Tim is a hallucination, but Jason would never imagine him this unkempt, this defeated.

"Go home, Tim," Jason all but orders. Whatever this is, it is just an interlude, a misstep. They are nothing to each other beyond having both been Robin once.

Something dark flits over Tim's face, there and gone again before Jason could hope to catch it.

"I'm going to get a nurse," Tim declares and gets up, reaching for the bed to steady himself. "They'll want to have a look at you, now that you're awake. Don't you dare move out of this bed until I'm back."

Those are the magic words to make Jason want to rip out the iv and jump out of the window. He would not get far with two of his limbs in casts. He knows that. He almost wants to try, anyway.

"You're not my keeper," he says instead, sullen, trying to push Tim away.

And Tim just smiles at him, small but genuine. "It looks like you need one."

---

A week passes in which Jason drifts in and out of sleep. The doctors keep telling him he is doing good progress. Inexplicably, Tim remains faithfully at his side almost constantly, only leaving when the staff tells him to or when Jason has examinations.

When the doctor tells them that Jason will be moved out of the ICU, Tim looks more relieved than Jason.

"Good," Tim says and follows after the doctor when she leaves.

Jason expects that to be it. For some reason, Tim stayed with him, working when Jason was sleeping, and bullying him into eating and drinking when he was not. Now that he is out of immediate danger, Tim must be done with him. Why would he not? It is time to return to the Manor. To the comfort of his own room and Alfred's cooking and perhaps even Bruce's presence. Still, a part of Jason stings at the obvious relief in Tim's tone.

Before he can examine that closer, however, he hears slightly raised voices outside of his door. Tim and the doctor.

"We advise against checking him out at this point," the doctor says with all the fraying patience of someone who should be used by now to patients who want too much too quickly.

"I know. I heard you," Tim replies dryly but with steel underneath the words. "And if anything changes, I'll bring him right back."

They are talking about him, Jason realizes. Specifically, Tim talks about getting Jason out of here. Which is what he wants, of course, but had expected to deal with himself.

"This isn't a hotel," the doctor snaps. "You can't just come and go as you want."

"Are you saying you won't treat him if it becomes necessary just because he felt unsafe and needed to get out?" Tim asks in a tone he must have learned from one of WE's lawyers. "I'm just asking, so we can choose another hospital next time."

"Sir. Who even are you?" The doctor's exasperation makes Jason smile, despite being as confused as her. "You left most of his details blank when -"

"I'm his brother," Tim says with all the icy conviction of someone used to getting their way. This time, it hits harder than when he told Jason the same thing. People say all kinds of lies in private. But there is no hesitation in his tone as he declares Jason family to everybody who is around to hear it. "And we value our privacy. Please finish whatever paperwork you need. We have to make a trip to the pharmacy before we can go home."

After that, everything goes quickly. A nurse comes in to free Jason from all the monitoring equipment and the iv. Then she tells him how to handle the casts and which movements he should avoid. The doctor, looking very much put out, explains his lingering issues and how he should deal with them as well as which medication he should use. Through it all, Tim stands at Jason's bedside, radiating smugness and exhaustion in equal measure, probably listening more closely than Jason does himself.

They help Jason into a wheelchair, ready to be rid of their particular strand of annoying.  Tim pushes Jason outside and leaves him sitting in a spot of sunlight as he goes to get the car. And then they are on their way home. Probably to Wayne Manor, which Jason wants to fight against. He can take care of himself. He does not want to deal with Bruce's anger and Damian's contempt and Alfred's coddling. He wants to crawl into his own bed and forget the feeling of being buried.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks a few blocks away from the hospital. He does not look at Tim but watches the streets outside.

"You are my brother," Tim repeats, daring Jason to argue. Which, of course, he does.

"I tried to -"

"I remember," Tim cuts him off, gentle despite the memory of Titan's Tower hanging in the air. "Guess what, you're not special. Damian tried to kill me, too. Doesn't mean I have to return the favour." His tone remains light, like it does not matter that their family is unbelievably messed up.

Jason does not know what to say to that. He does not think there is anything appropriate he could say. Tim is strange, always has been, more logic-driven than the rest of them, and a master of pushing anything else down and out of sight. He does not want Tim to suddenly remember that he should hate Jason, that he has a thousand reasons not to help him.

Instead, he keeps looking out the window, a nauseating mix of emotions turning in his stomach that he decides against examining too closely.

After they have missed their turn twice, Jason looks at Tim. "This is not the way to the Manor."

"No," Tim scoffs, half-amused, half-incredulous. "Didn't think you'd want to go there."

That is true, of course, although he did not expect Tim to care. And they are not going towards Crime Alley, either, so there goes the idea that Tim will just deposit Jason in one of his safehouses.

"Then where are we going?"

Tim glances at him briefly, something shifty in the way takes his time to reply. His hands tighten around the wheel. Quietly, he offers, "My home."

"You moved out?" Jason asks, surprised and yet also not.

"Yep," Tim says, popping the p like a gunshot and then does not elaborate. If he wants to make it sound like no big deal, he is not succeeding.

---

They park underneath some modern apartment building in downtown Gotham, as far away from Crime Alley and Bristol as possible.

As if he has done so a hundred times before, Tim gets the wheelchair out of the trunk and unfolds it before helping Jason into it, all without saying a single word. There is a lot of grunting on Jason's part and a quiet look of concentration on Tim’s face. But Jason has a feeling Tim is not in the mood to answer questions, even if Jason is burning with them.

They take an elevator to the penthouse - of course - but when they get out, there are people coming and going, carrying boxes and furniture.

There is only one door, however, and Jason has to ask, "You sure you got the correct address? Seems like someone's moving in."

Tim glares at him, but even that lacks heat. He is really going out of his way to not argue with Jason.

"Is the guest room ready?" Tim asks one of the passing men, who does not seem surprised to see a kid walk around like he owns the place, pushing someone in a wheelchair who looks like he has been run over by a train. Or had a building collapse on him. Jason hopes they are paid enough not to care.

"Yes. The doc said she'd be back in an hour, but everything should be up and running."

Tim inclines his head with a tired smile. "Thank you."

They keep moving. The apartment is still rather empty, but as they pass several doors, Jason catches glimpses of half-built furniture, of blinding white rooms slowly being filled.

Suspicion rises in Jason and he twists to look at Tim. "When did you move out of the Manor?"

The smallest twitch pulls at Tim's lips, not really amused, but at least a break from his suffocating professionalism. "Two weeks ago," he admits, sounding slightly sheepish. "I crashed in one of your safehouses when the hospital had enough and threw me out."

Jason's thoughts are racing. None of this makes sense. The timeline is pretty mangled up in his head, considering he spent days more or less unconscious. Two weeks ago could have been the robbery. Two weeks ago could have been when he was hospitalised. He does not remember anything else that could be an explanation. Jason might not be very involved with the bats but he surely would have heard about a breaking-point argument between Bruce and his prodigal son. But Jason cannot be the reason, either.

"Why?" he demands, sharper than he intended, but he really does not like not knowing what is going on. "You had a fight with B and then decided to latch onto me when I couldn't say no?"

Tim stills, just briefly, but noticeably enough. Finally, he says, "Something like that."

Jason's hand flies to the brakes of the wheelchair. Once they come to a stop, he twirls around, looking up at Tim with a glare. "No, Tim," he snaps, almost an accusation. "Tell me."

And Tim looks back at him, still enough that Jason knows he is anything but calm inside. It does not do anything to get rid of his sudden suspicions.

Haltingly, Tim offers, "I had a fight with B over whether or not you need our help. He agreed to disagree and left." He shrugs, although there is nothing casual in the gesture. "I didn't."

The rumbling pain underneath Jason's sternum is wholly unappreciated. He knows Bruce has given up on him. He knows Bruce would have preferred he stayed dead instead of coming back like this. He knows they are not family anymore. Yet, he can never really accept that, can never really get over the instinctive sense of betrayal and loss.

"So, what?" he pushes, wants to be angry about it. "You moved out for me?"

"Not just for you." Pointedly, Tim resumes pushing the wheelchair until they get to a sunny room that looks, if not friendly, at least complete. "I had them make up the guestroom first, since you won't be able to move around easily. Tell me if something's missing. Tam helped organize most of the furniture."

The room is made up tastefully, coloured in gentle blues. But the walls are bare and it is all too shiny, too clean.

"It looks like it's out of a magazine," Jason says as if he cares about any of that. As if anything is important other than finding out what got into Tim. What had him leave his home only to spend time with Jason of all people, rescuing him, even.

"It probably is," Tim admits easily. "I didn't give her much time."

No, he apparently did not. "Two weeks to furnish an entire apartment," Jason says flatly, trying and failing to hide his growing confusion.

Tim shows himself entirely unaffected. As if there is nothing to it, he says, "And to find the apartment."

Jason stares, but there is no getting past Tim's facade. "You're serious."

Finally, a hint of irritation pulls at Tim's expression. "Don't flatter yourself, Jason. This has been a long time coming. You've just been a convenient catalyst."

Things have not been going well for years now in the Wayne family. Probably not since Jason died. But Tim is the one person amongst all of them who always seems to be in control, to have his shit together. He makes juggling work and patrol and being a Wayne look easy, even if he might lack a healthy social life. They all do, though.

"Why?" Jason asks, even though he is not entirely sure he will like the answer.

"Because Bruce is suffocating. And once he's made up his mind about something, there's no arguing with him," bursts out of Tim. Then he straightens, pulls his expression back into something calm. "You're family, Jason," he says and sounds like he means every word. "He doesn't get to change that."

"That's not -"

That is as far as Jason gets before Tim talks right over him.

"Yes, it is," Tim insists, not a hint of doubt showing. "Because you were right, I was your replacement, and it was only ever meant to be temporary. I used to be glad that it wasn't, but not if being family hinges on so many conditions."

Tim does not sound bitter about calling himself a replacement, but his expression cracks at the end, as if the thought of their family not sticking together for the sake of being a family is a worse crime than expecting to be discarded as soon as someone better comes along.

The thing is, Jason understands that. He did not believe Bruce had good intentions when he was first picked up from the streets. He did not think someone could help him just like that or that they could grow into family. To have that thrown back at him when he needed his father most is a wound he will never completely get over, no matter how much he buries himself in anger and work. Perhaps it was naive to believe that Bruce would do better with the children that came after Jason. That Bruce could get over himself, over his own trauma.

He understands Tim, but that does not mean he is ready to be pulled back into this entire mess. He barely got out the first time. Not alive, at least.

"So, you decided to kidnap me and make up a happy family of our own?" Jason asks, more an accusation than an honest question.

Tim turns away from him towards the bed and pulls at the blanket, attempting to fix something that is already perfect. "Don't make it sound creepy," he says, keeping his face hidden. "I can bring you back to the hospital right now."

Jason does not look away even for a moment as he replies, "I can just go home."

There is just the tiniest hint of a wince. More a tensing of Tim's neck and shoulders. It is enough. It tells Jason all he needs to know. Right now, Tim needs him just as much as Jason has needed someone a hundred times before.

"And die in the middle of the night with no one noticing?" Tim scoffs, quickly regaining his balance. Out of all of the Wayne children, he is the best at this game.

Jason tries to cross his arms but abandons the movement when he remembers the cast, jarring his broken bone. "I've been told I'm stable," he says, keeping the jolt of pain out of his voice.

Finally, Tim looks back at him, his mask reassembled. "Yeah, until you have the next nightmare and jump out the window during a panic attack."

Jason does not remember his rescue, does not remember being cut out of the collapsed building, but he guesses it was ugly. Caught between his broken body and the phantom weight of grave dirt in his lungs, there is no way Jason went quietly. And Tim was there to witness it all.

He wants to lash out, to demand answers about what happened, to push down the memory as far as it can go. Instead, he says, so flat it is almost sharp again, "It's not your job to save me. I can save myself."

"But do we have to?" For a moment, Tim sounds so vulnerable that Jason is taken aback, that he almost overhears the we. "Anyway, I'm not locking you up. You're free to go whenever." But I don't want you to, hangs in the air, unspoken but heard. "You'll miss Alfred's cooking."

"Alfred?" Jason asks, surprised, craning his neck as if Alfred is going to come around the corner any moment now. In the privacy of his mind, he can admit that he would not mind that.

Still, he does not miss the way Tim relaxes, almost as if he thinks this battle is won. It is not. Jason will get answers, and if he does not like them, he will talk to Bruce, his own issues be damned.

"He terrorized the poor movers into building the kitchen just right," Tim explains, then smirks. "Politely, of course."

Of course. Alfred is nothing but polite. That has never stopped him from getting what he wants. On the contrary.

Jason briefly closes his eyes and just breathes. Then, he lets reality back in. "All right."

Tim freezes. "What?"

"All right, I'll stay," Jason says, like he never put up a fight. "For now. Honestly, everything hurts, and I'll gladly not make pharmacy runs myself."

Something unclenches visibly in Tim, although he tries to hide it. His expression warms, as he steps back towards the wheelchair. "Into bed with you, then," he orders with audible cheer. "Leslie will come by later, and you will do everything she says."

Tim pushes the wheelchair to the edge of the bed and clicks the brakes into place, but then he takes a step back, allowing Jason to do this on his own terms. That, perhaps more than any words before, let Jason make his decision. He is still not sure what to make of the funny feeling inside of him when Tim called him brother, but maybe it is not a bad thing. At the very least, he can let his bones mend in comparable luxury. That is it.

But then Tim lingers in the door, looking him over with concern and he does not even try to hide it.

"You've got a bell," he says and points to Jason's side. "Use it if you need anything."

There are a hundred jokes Jason could make here, a hundred opportunities to abuse this. Instead, he finds the small button that has been carefully put on the nightstand and shows it to Tim.

"Thank you," Jason says, honestly and careful about it. He means more than just the bell, and they both know it.

Tim twitches, uncomfortable but also pleased. "You're welcome."

And, perhaps, Jason really is.