#i am a fckng clown in a circus and i must inflict my terrible performance upon the world

[morverenmaybewrites]

Imagine Eurydice!Jason Todd and Orpheus!Reader

Inspired by this wonderful post by @bloodtypemoss Can you just imagine Jason being trapped in the bowels of Arkham Asylum again, perhaps as an act of vengeance by Scarecrow? Can you imagine him with fear toxin pumping through his veins instead of the snake venom that killed Eurydice? And it is almost like death, being trapped in the place he had tried to escape for so long? Certainly, it's a form of hell. He can even pick out the stains on the floor where he had bled so long ago. Here, was where he woke up to find that the Joker had broken his leg, the bone sticking out of his flesh, and the pain pulsing in him like a heartbeat. Here, was where he had first broken and begged for the pain to stop, despite initially promising to himself that he would not give Joker the satisfaction. Here, was where the Joker had pressed a burning brand on his face, marking him forever. It is almost like death, and God does Jason wish it was the real thing.

Can you imagine the reader as unarmed as Orpheus, and yet equally as unafraid?

Perhaps, like Orpheus, they do not know what they will encounter, only that their beloved is waiting for them: at the point where the darkness ends, at the final step down those spiraling stairs, at the end of the world. And what greets them isn't the god and goddess of the underworld, there is no three-headed beast to bar their path. There is only a man, left alone in the dark, waiting to die. Fear is not as final as death, but when Jason looks up at you, his eyes glassy with memories you think that it is almost enough. This may be what kills him, if you do not pull him out.

And it is not his name, dripping from your lips like tears, that breaks through the haze nor your hands gently cupping his face. Instead, it is something old and silly and nameless: a lullaby you once heard from a woman in East End. You remember how you used to hum it to him, wordless, when he lay on your lap, sleepless with nightmares. And you wonder if Jason remembers it, too. Perhaps like Eurydice, whose memories trickle back to her as she rises from the underworld, your voice is what breaks him out of it. These thoughts filter through his mind like fragments, like raindrops collected in one's cupped palms. That his name is Jason Todd. That he did not die that night in Arkham Asylum. That he is loved. And this time, it is enough. But his eyes are still blinded with toxins, and his bones feel heavy with the weight of memory. Like Eurydice, he will need you to lead him out. But it is enough, it is more than enough. He rises. And he follows.