#jason died and tasted the blood still on his throat

[depressedtheatrekiddo]

(Spoilers? Issues 1-8 of Blue Beetle (2006), it's just a little screaming and analysis so yeah that <3)

Me when Jaime Reyes is expected to know everything and is tossed around to become something he never asked for, given no explanations and is only a teen *screams into the void*

It's worse that he hasn't really died. That he was just gone. That his family and friends mourned him. Because it's been a year.

Because he's the same. He's the same but his relationships with the people he loves, the people he believes he knows, those will forever be complicated.

His parents support him. But his mom doesn't believe it's his son at first and his dad tells him it's the grieve, he talks about the ideals you create when someone dies. But he didn't die. How do you overcome the expectation of who you were when you believe you're still you? And oh, aren't they different from how did you remember? Was there white hair there? Why do you wear a cane dad?Why's your smile so sad? I'm here, right?

Because Mili keeps feeling weird, because that's her big brother, right? He calls her Munchkin and she hugs him when he cries. Because that's her brother. But she also runs away when he appears or when he tries to hug her. He is, right? He has to be. And she keeps bothering him playfully, they both do. Because they're still siblings.

And the worst is when he looks at his friends. You believe they're the same. They believe you are too. But between laughs Paco will say that "they were there when you weren't". And looking at Brenda will remind you of who her aunt is, you haven't lied at her before, not about something like that.

And then you feel like Jaime Reyes is taken from you. That the home where you were still yourself is being taken from you too. You're shoved into being the Blue Beetle. You want to help the people, to do good. But you know nothing and you have homework to do. And you just want them to look at you like before.

[brucewaynehater101]

Tim with hannaki disease

spending his childhood choking on flowers

Barely able to breathe rejection after rejection

Jason is attacking him at the tower and he can’t stop coughing out flowers

when dick gives Damian Robin, Tim leaves the cave spitting out petals

imagine if he died of suffocation during the Bruce quest

Fuck. I love hanahaki disease.

Tw: death, blood, asphyxiation, fictional disease, dead body description, gore

For those of y'all unaware, it's a completely fictional disease where having unrequited love results in the person growing flowers in their chest. It's usually romantic, but I prefer the platonic versons (especially child-parent angst, holy fuck).

I've seen two types of hanahaki:

The love is actually unrequited

The person only perceives the love as being unrequited

Either way, the progression is as follows:

Person coughs up one petal

They start coughing up more and usually blood

They cough up an entire blossom

They die trying to cough up the entire flower (blossom and stem)

There are four outcomes to hanahaki disease, depending on what rules you are working with:

Love becomes requited

Person dies

They have a surgery to remove their ability to have feelings

They lose (voluntarily or not) their memories about their unrequited love

Some people play with flower meanings of the petals being coughed up. I fucking love those versions so much.

Let's get into the AU! The timeline is mine to fuck around with, so excuse any non-canon progressions.

~~~~

Tim has chronic hanahaki disease from his parents. They visit often enough to quell the worst symptoms and mitigate the damage, but they don't stick around enough (or show enough constant attention) for the petals to go away.

Janet once asked Tim if he'd like to get the surgery. Tim said no. Janet respected that choice and never asked again even though Tim was like nine at the time. It also becomes a fear of his. He wakes up in cold sweat at the phantom idea of just not being able to love anyone. It terrifies him, even if the feeling of asphyxiation is the only other option.

When Janet dies and Tim becomes Robin, he does his best to hide his condition from Bruce. It worsens, from the way Tim adores and loves the Bats, but Tim manages.

It's a rough few years, but slowly, the ice begins to melt. The Waynes show Tim more and more affection. YJ also shower him in so much care to the point that Tim has days of uninterrupted breathing.

It's a novel but welcome feeling.

Jack waking up from the coma complicates shit. His condition worsens again, but it's manageable.

Until Tim's sixteenth birthday.

The teen will never admit, but that test nearly fucking killed him. Bruce never finds out how close he was to killing his Robin, but Tim knows. He'll never forget how thorns scraped along his throat at the idea that he can't trust anyone. He'll never rid himself of the intimate knowledge of how blossoms taste in his mouth and the sickly sweet smell of blood mixed with flower petals.

Tim has to quit Robin, for his safety, health, and as a "fuck you" to Bruce, but realizes he can't keep in contact with Dick, Alfred, or Barbara without it. He can't contact his team.

He has to go back, so he does.

Tim's not sure if it's better or worse that Bruce didn't know about the hanahaki. If the man did, would he still have done the test? Due to him never showing remorse or guilt for his actions, the teen doesn't know.

The question pesters him even when his dad finds out about Robin.

It plagues him through Steph becoming Robin and dying.

It festers into his bones when, while wearing those same damn colors, he hears his father die.

That is one or many reasons "Uncle Eddie" was created.

Tim can't quite trust Bruce, but he finds himself still loving the father-like figure in his life. He finds himself forgiving him. He leans into the hair ruffles, shoulder pats, and gruff words of affection. He lets himself be loved.

Then, an undead asshole in a gleaming red bucket comes to kick Tim's ass. The teen can't help but laugh at the way his life bounces between breathing and dying at the drop of a hat.

He's just barely able to hide the flowers from both Red Hood and the Titans.

A little assassin appears, and each attack brings a petal.

Each new death hampers Tim's ability to breathe. Tim tries, but it's so fucking hard. How is he supposed to live without them?

With the ticklish scrape of petals, Tim doesn't think he's supposed to.

Bruce isn't dead. Tim knows, with every fiber of his being, that Bruce can't be dead. Tim won't survive if he is.

Even if Tim loses everything, even if these damn fucking flowers consume him, at least his death will have a purpose.

That's what he tells himself as he lies in a pool of blood beneath the stars. The sand at his back is soft in comparison to the stem piercing his throat and tongue. The sound of his choking is joined by the bubbling wheezing of Pru.

Ra's peers down at the body already set with rigor mortis. Tim's jaw is pried apart by a bouquet of yellow carnations dripping in blood.

The demon head hums at the sight, a dangerous gleam to his eyes. With the flick of a hand, two assassins grab the young detective's corpse. The other three bodies are taken as well.

Tim's eyes fling open as the teen gasps for air.

It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong. He's empty.

He's surrounded in green.

Oh fuck.

For awhile, Tim just soaks in the soft expansion of his lungs. He marvels at their capability.

He can't remember a time when he's been able to breathe so easily. It's enchanting and allots the teen a giddy sort of relief.

Through the destruction of both the Spiders and the LoA, he finds himself taking small moments to just breathe. It's a simple joy he can't help but partake in.

Tim logically knows there's a price. His breaths cost him, though he doesn't know their price. He should be dead and buried within the flowers.

He is neither.

He is alive. He is free (from the petals. It takes him a little bit to become free of Ra's).

Tim brushes aside these valid and alarming concerns to focus on his goals: escape, take down Ra's, and derail whatever retaliation occurs.

So that's what Tim does. He ignores the insistent sense of wrongness and focuses on the task at hand. He coordinates his friends and family. He faces down Ra's. He gets kicked out of a window.

With a grim smile, his body goes lax and his eyes flutter shut

He's done.

When Tim springs up from unconsciousness, Steph's voice reassures him he's safe. She tells him he's in the batcave.

The tension to bleeds from his body as Damian mutters a demand. Tim's eyes dart from Robin to Batgirl to Batman (Dick) to Alfred.

That sinking feeling of wrongness returns.

Dick's eyes are trained on the teen as he asks Tim, "How did you know I'll be there to save you?"

It's obvious the man is worried. It's obvious he's so fucking glad he caught his younger brother.

The lie falls from Tim's lips as smooth as any truth, "You're my brother, Dick. You'll always be there for me."

Dick's face brightens with fond relief.

Tim watches. He observes the reactions of his older brother. He catalogs the effect of his words on the man he's admired and loved for thirteen years.

He notes all of this.

And he feels nothing.

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

Jason knows

Before he died Dick didn't give him the time of day Nevermind when he came back.

He won't ever voice it how scared he was when Dick found him how years later he still wakes up tasting burning flesh and blood on his tongue.

How when he dragged himself home sobbing terrified his pants were damp. Fear was only half the reason he kept his mouth shut shame more so.

He learned though never went after Tim again.

He might consider Dick his brother but it's no secret how the hierarchy goes. Bruce hasn't decided shit for a long time Dick is the one who decides has favor. Who can sleep at the manor or who can hide under his wings. The only exception is Tim.

Jason might be more mad if he didn't regret what he had done if he didn't think he deserved the burns. 

When he found out Damian had went after the third Robin he expected the same another Robin taken down by the first.

Unlike he there wasn't a consequence issued but he saw the anger in Dicks face knew Damian was right along him with none of Dicks trust.

How Tim could do anything.

Breaks Dicks shit fights with Bruce drop out of fucking school hell even killed people. Dick just cleaned up the mess.

He's safe as long as he leaves Tim alone could do whatever and expect Nightwing to cover. As long as he doesn't touch the actual brother.

He wants to be mad maybe even green but he gets it. Knows his choice if it was between Tim or Dick.

The brother who threw him away or the one who sends cases and cleans up his mess.

The one who when he found out about the scar on his throat gave him contingencies. He loves Dick even the demon Brat most days but they aren't Tim.

"Really Dickhead cause I would trade you all in for a fucking penny"

Tim and Dick look he never was the best liar but only Tim knows.

Because unlike Dick he doesn't hide it and at the end of the day he knows where to put his money.

The better Detective. The better Robin.

If shit goes down he wants to win and who better than Tim Drake.

[fandonnavyce]

Jason in Wonderland - Part 3

Who Are You?

Part 1, Part 2, AO3

“Not all who wander are lost.” Gotham smiled. It was cruel. It was uncaring. It was welcoming.

“A̵̍̑͜r̶̞̳͋e ̸͍͜͝ÿ̶̢̥́o̸u No̸̖̯̽t̴͘ Họ̸̅̅m̸̿ẻ̸̩͘?̷̅ M̴̢͙̜͇͓̂̑̉͝͝¥̶̖͙͖͇̳̃̿͑́͠ Sð̶͓͚̟̟͚͗̅̃̋̒ñ̸(Mine, mine, MINE)(My-Twice-Born)(My Red Knight)(My Beloved Bloody Butcherbird).”

“Your Son?” Jason tasted the name, the title, on the tip of his tongue.

Gotham smiled. Gleaming white teeth, straight and perfect, sparkled. ‘Dangerous’, Jason's instincts murmured.

“My Dear Robin,” she called.

Jason blanched.

“I am Not Robin.”

Gotham smirked.

“I am Not Robin,” Jason protested vehemently. Gotham gave an arched brow.

“My Son, My Robin, My Knight. Blood Red Shrike, Redbreast Bright. My Son, My Robin, My Knight.”

Gotham sang.

“O’ Robin. Wast Robin not borne from mine own very flesh? Didst thee not nurse on mine own blood and tears, teethed on mine own bones. Sleepeth and swaddled under mine own night skies blanket? Hath I not raised Robin on mine own streets?

O’ Robin. Didst Robin’s first steps not tread in milk-teeth sneakers upon mine own broken back? First words not chirped to mine own visage, in mine own ears With a chick’s cheeping?

O’ Robin.

With downy feathers of red, green, and gold didst Robin’s first flight not beginneth                      with a leap into mine own arms?

And after thee wast Lost to me on distant shores Forsaken Son, didst thee not Returneth to me? Thou art Walk Against Death as my Red Knight When you crawled out from Death’s Hold and Birthed yourself from my soil bed Wast thee not then Born Again? O’ My Darling Robin

O’ Son of Gotham Son of Catherine, Son of Sheila, Son of Willis, Son of Bruce, Scion of Alfred, Scion of Wayne. Jason Peter Todd, Gotham runs in thy veins. It’s in thy blood. I’m in the marrow of thy bones. Tis in thy DNA

If You, who left and returned to my bosom, If You, with me in your lungs, vanquishes those that prey on the humblest, are not My Robin then… Who Are You?

If ye, Who didst turn a Circus Child’s erstwhile boots and infant wings Into a Gotham Legacy, art not Robin mine then…

Ẃ̸̰h̵̞͎̓̔o̷̪͌̀ Aṛ̴̽t̷̛̖͉̾ T̴̩͍̿ḫ̴̇o̷̙̼̔ù̸̜̊?”

Jason’s mind blanked. Suddenly Red Hood, a name Jason had ripped off that blight on Gotham. That he wore second-hand. That he executed, ruled, and governed with, suddenly seemed ill-fitting, (too small) and unsuited (wretched) relative to everything else he had been. Bright, Wonderful, Magic. (I’m Robin and being Robin gives me Magic)

“I, I, I hardly know” Jason replied. “But I know I'm much changed from then, since when I was Robin.”

“What do you mean by that? Explain yourself Ṙ̵̳͊ob̵͛͝ḯ̵̙͕̍n.”

Jason shook his head. “I can't explain Myself beyond that I'm hardly Robin anymore. I don't even know how I, myself, came back from Death, you see.”

“I don't see,” said Gotham.

To Gotham, Robin was Robin was Robin was Robin was Robin.

“I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly.” Jason answered politely, “I don't understand Myself. Only that being so different is maddening.”

“It is not,” said Gotham. A Spirit born from the minds of thousands across generations; Gotham was Gotham was Gotham, no matter the skin or time the City wears.

“Surely, being like one kind of person then being like a totally different kind, whilst still being treated like they're the same. Is that not strange?”

“No.”

Jason scowled, frustrated at his failure to get his point across, and at Gotham’s refusal to see his way.

“Robin died!” Jason ground out, “Robin died with broken wings, a busted skull, choking on smoke, and with fire eating away at my flesh.” Jason gasped for air, “Robin died! And when I came back, I wasn’t Robin, I WAS MAD!!!”

Doubling over, Jason keened. His throat choked. His skin itched. His chest burned. Frustrated, desperate fingers clutched and dug for absent relief. His head SCREAMED!

Then he felt a gentle kiss upon his brow. A Mother’s Benediction. Jason gasped. Frantically, he rubbed away the welling tears of relief at the sudden calm.

“What was that?!” Jason demanded in quiet, seething, wide-eyed disbelief.

“You seemed to have developed a hypersensitive autoimmune response. Recollections of your demise seemed to have triggered an anaphylactic shock on an ectobiological scale. Your hybrid ectobiology are causing seizures that are, despite overt superficial similarities, of a state atypical of a Ghost’s Death Day because of- ”

“Speak plain english!” cried the Butcherbird to his Lady Gotham. “I don’t know the meaning of half those long words, and, what’s more, I don’t believe you do either!” Jason breathed heavily in the silence. Gotham’s eyes are hooded, as garnet hair flutters and writhes upon her bare shoulders.

“You had an allergic reaction. At the very core of you.” Then with a wave of her black gloved hand, the scene blurs.

...

Jason stands on a rooftop with a gargoyle for company and two others:

Gotham’s Dark Knight and Robin Boy Wonder.

The Dark Knight is an amorphous spiked shadow-blob from the neck down and a facsimile of a horned shadowy head with a pair of white beaming eyes from the neck up.

Boy Wonder meanwhile is a five foot nothing dark haired kid dressed in a colourful top, a bright yellow cape, and green booty shorts with matching pixie boots. His indistinct youthful features behind the domino mask place him anywhere between the ages of 8 and twice that.

“Holy macaroni, you’re in rough shape!”

“Hmm”

Jason blue-screens.

“Did we break his brain?”

“Hnn”

“Should we-”

“Who are you?” Jason interrupted. Jason already knew. But he just wanted them to say it.

Whispers rasped from the rustling wind.

  “I am Vengeance . I am The Night .”

  The Dark Knight’s shroud flared to impossible, intimidating heights.

 “ I’m Batman.” 

Jason felt his skin break out into goosebumps as he stared up into the night sky dominated by Gotham’s Dark Knight.

“AND I'M ROBIN!”

Like a bright firework bang, Robin shone high in the sky.

Fwip, fwip, fwip, fwip.

An iconic dazzling quadruple flip splashed against the sky. Robin gracefully danced with gravity to finish with a beautiful descent. The moves were Dick Grayson.

But that was a rough Gotham brogue - kenned from the mouths of street alley rats.

[demonic0angel]

Chapter 1 of somehow whatever's eternal in me knows whatever's eternal in you

A figure staggered within the darkness, groaning. Dressed in a muddied suit and holding bloodied hands to himself, he looked like a drunk and messy young man that had crashed a wedding and gotten into a fight.

Or perhaps, more accurately, a boy that just dug out of his own grave. 

The figure wobbled a few more steps before he collapsed upon the ground. Just a few steps ahead, the shadows opened and a tall figure walked out of it, gloom still clinging onto their form. The taller person, distinctly dressed in sharp fashion with a feminine silhouette, paused at seeing the body on the ground before coming closer, the sound of heels echoing in the night. 

The woman stopped at the head of the unconscious figure. Then gently, she bent down and attempted to haul him up with a hand around his wrist. 

She clicked her tongue when she felt his weight. Then she shifted and the unconscious figure was cradled within her arms. 

Anyone seeing this scene would've felt like they were watching something from a thriller. 

The woman was abnormally tall and in the darkness, it looked like it was kidnapping. The unconscious figure's legs swung at her elbows. 

The shadows curled around her ankles and shoulders, tendrils curiously exploring the person in its master's arms. Her hair, faint in the deep night, looked like blood dripping onto the ground.

The woman hummed in contemplation and then she sank into the shadows.

A car drove by. If it had been faster, the people inside would've caught a glimpse of the woman leaving or maybe even saved the boy themselves. Instead, they continued to drive peacefully, their lives unaffected by what could've been.

The night was still once more, without a single soul.

————

Jason didn't know when he woke up. One moment, it had seemed as though all he felt was pain and loss and loneliness, and then the next, he found himself sitting at a dinner table with a beautiful girl setting a plate of roast vegetables and a beef broth in front of him. 

"Jazz?" He slurred. The girl, with the name Jazz floating somewhere in his brain, paused and tilted her head. Her hair was a beautiful red, even darker and richer than Barbara's but only a shade or two lighter than Aunt Kate's. It drew his eyes towards her, making him unable to look away as his vision blurred in and out of focus.

Wait, who was Barbara? Or Aunt Kate in the first place?

"Welcome back. Are you ready to tell me your name now?" She asked. Her voice sounded like it was meant to be used sweetly but it was instead completely and utterly dead without intonation. 

"... Jason," he murmured, as a heavy fog began to set in his mind. 

Without a warning, he was pulled back under into the fog. 

He woke up again to the tall girl speaking with a collection of people. To him, they looked like green  blobs. Before he could even say anything, he sank back into darkness. 

The next time he snapped to awareness, the girl, Jazz, was tipping a cup of lightly glowing green water into his mouth. He choked on it as alarm finally struck him, the taste of something sweet and carbonated making his tastebuds tingle. 

Ruthlessly, Jazz's hand shot out like an arrow and pinched his nose, forcing him to swallow all of it. He gagged with the taste of some sort of bizarre energy drink sliding down his throat. He coughed as a handkerchief wiped the corner of his lips.

He looked at Jazz pitifully, unable to muster resentment as he stared at her face and all he felt was gratitude and affection. 

But why? 

Jason couldn't answer this question. 

"Jazz?" He croaked. "What was that?"

The fog in his brain did not creep up on him, as his eyes adjusted to sudden alertness. It was as if he was sunken underwater and then suddenly, he was brought to air, to bright sunlight and warm winds. He felt better than he had ever felt before. 

"That was diluted ectoplasm. I figured since you already died once, ectoplasm wouldn't have a negative effect on your recovery and I was right. The introduction of ectoplasm to your body system seems to have a positive influence."

Something about what she said didn't sound right. 

"I died?"

"Yes." She stood up, towering over him for a moment as she reached to pick up a pen and clipboard on the other side of the medical cot. "What do you remember?"

"I-I... I know your name somehow... my name is... Jason? Jason. Jason Todd. I don't think I should be telling you this for some reason."

She hummed.

"What do you know about Gotham?"

"That's where I lived." He blurted before he reached up to rub at his head, where a headache was beginning to build.

Jazz wrote something on a clipboard. 

"I see that memories are still escaping you. Just one more thing. What do you remember about your death?"

The room descended into silence. 

Jason's breath quickened as his heart raced. He couldn't remember. Was it because he couldn't? Or because he didn't want to? Something about the memory scared him, carving the hole inside of him deeper and deeper until he was scratching at the skin of his hands, unable to resist the feeling of suffocation, of feeling like his skin was too tight for his body and he was going to explode into little pieces if he didn't escape. 

Calloused hands wrapped around his wrists and he flinched as he looked up. 

Jazz's aqua green eyes stared at him cooly. From what he had seen, her expression had never even changed. It was a blank canvas of porcelain beauty. She was young too, a teenager, like him. 

Jason gulped and flushed at the weight of her gaze.

"Calm down." She said, her thumbs brushing over the side of his wrists before she pulled away. "I apologize for the fright. Are you hungry?"

Jason nodded silently, embarrassed by his outburst. Jazz stood up again and put the pen and clipboard away before she reached over to help Jason to his feet. Awkward at the fact that he had to accept her help, he pushed her hands away and walked on his own.

Her eyes widened just a tad in surprise, making Jason preen before she turned and began walking, gesturing for him to follow. Jason looked at his surroundings as he followed behind her silently. 

They were inside of a large but abandoned warehouse, which was filled with towers and shelves of boxes. There was no sounds of other people, only the two of them. 

Jason spent a moment just staring at Jazz's tall back before he had to look away, his cheeks warming. 

Ah, no wonder he felt nothing but adoration for her. 

The fog came back and took him under once more.

The next time he left the fog, he was lying on a mattress as Jazz read to him. They were in the corner of the warehouse, with Jason's mattress pushed against the wall. When he exhaled and then sat up, she stopped reading and turned to look at him. 

"Back again?" She closed the book.

It was 'The Little Prince', by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. 

Jason groaned. "When will this end?! I— I can't seem to stay awake." He tried to lower his voice at the end, ashamed of the fact that he raised it in the first place in front of her. 

Jazz blinked slowly. "Recovery will be slow. Your body is recovering from atrophy and your mind and soul is recovering from death. You will get better."

Jason clutched at the thick blankets that pooled at his legs. 

"Why... Why are you helping me?"

Jazz blinked again and then turned towards the open area in front of them, staring into space in thought. "I... don't know. I saw you on the ground and I just wanted to help you." She turned back to him and looked into his eyes.Jason blushed. 

God, she was so pretty.

"What do you want to do?" 'With me? In life? In general?' Went unspoken. 

"I am going to take over Gotham City," she said. "I need the city for reasons I won't tell you. You don't need to help me. Just don't stop me."

Jason was pulled under again before he could answer. 

When he awake again, his mind felt clear than ever. He gave a soft, "Hi," to Jazz, who sat against the wall with a laptop in her lap. She clicked on a few keys before she answered without turning. 

"Hello, Jason. How do you feel?"

"Surprisingly, great." He stretched and smiled at her. She was now watching him with keen eyes and it made him blush a little. She tilted her head and then nodded, closing her laptop. 

"Jason, what would you like to do after you recover?"

Jason stared. "What?"

"I have funds, but I can acquire more if you need it if you have a specific goal in mind. You were a billionaire's son before you died. Tell me and I'll help you."

Jason blinked and thought to himself briefly before he spoke. "I don't... I don't remember my past life. Everything is still blurry to me. I— I'd like to stay with you until then. Will that be allowed?"

Jazz's shoulders slumped for a moment and Jason was happy to see that it was from relief.

Did she also grow to like him from their time spent together? 

"Alright," she said. "Recovering will take at least four years. I will help you in every way I can. In return, you will offer me any information you know and not stand in my way, understand? I know that your home was Gotham but I need that city." 

Even without the pleading tone in her voice, he probably would've done it anyways. 

"Of course," he said, nodding firmly as he gave her a smile when she turned to look at him. "I will support your goals no matter what."

She gave a sweet, sad smile, the first emotion he saw from her. It made her look young and cute, less like a carved marble statue and more like the young girl he expected. "I sure hope so." 

For the next few months, Jason trained under Jazz as his memory slowly returned to him. 

Both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, she had allies that could help him. He was pleased that they were able to teach him. He was bewildered because none of them were alive. She had answered nearly all of his questions when he asked, of course, which also surprised him because he had expected secrets from her. 

For example, her shadows were sentient. They were some sort of ectoplasm-using spirit creature she formed a contract with. In exchange for power and servitude, she offered energy from her own reserves as well as any sacrifices the spirit needed.  

She also explained what the fuck ectoplasm was. 

"Ectoplasm is a substance that makes up all ghosts, or ecto-entities, as the government would say," she had sneered at this, "It has resurrective qualities and radioactive properties that are beneficial for all existences that are touched by death."

"And I'm touched by death?"

"You've been dead, Jason. You've been touched and consumed by death but now you're regurgitated and reborn. That has consequences." She had said, patient as ever. 

Because of Jazz's interventions, his healing came quickly. She taught him about ghosts and everything that existed within the Infinite Realms.

Her allies were all beings from the Ghost Zone and they were happy to train him at Jazz's request. 

There were a few that refused to meet him, but for the most part, he had a multitude of tutors in the form of ghosts. Sometimes, they would "overshadow" him and the knowledge of what they wanted him to learn would come naturally. Other times, they would teach him without the usage of their powers and Jason could almost pretend that he was in the Batcave, with its echoing words and cold temperatures, and not with ghosts. 

He didn't see Jazz very often. It was something he absolutely despised. She was usually away and if Jason ever asked, she would answer that she was making plans for the future. Of course, she was always purposefully vague but she never ignored him or left his questions unanswered. It was a habit of hers that reminded him of Batman. It made him nostalgic and annoyed all over but because it was Jazz doing it, he just found it mostly endearing. 

In the meantime, he trained with ghosts and learned anything that Batman hadn't taught him.

Batman.

The Knight of Gotham. 

B.

Bruce Wayne.

The Prince of Gotham.

Dad.

Jason had perhaps the biggest and most embarrassing meltdown in existence when he recovered the memory of Bruce Wayne, Batman, being his dad, especially when he soon gained the memory of his death too. He had cried and screamed when he remembered how Joker had tortured him with a crowbar, when he remembered the betrayal of his birthmother, when he remembered the pain and the tears and the damnable hope—

Jazz had held him throughout it all. Had held him while he begged the heavens for answers, for why he was still alive, for why the Joker had killed him, and for why Bruce never came back for him. 

Even when he had pushed her away, she held no grudge against him. 

Instead, she had quietly reassured him that he was strong for surviving, that he deserved to be saved, and that he was cared for and cherished. 

It was like she was reaching inside of him and plucking the strings of his heart. 

Jazz was radiant. Like the sun compared to the street rat that was Jason. 

Sometimes, it bewildered him how the shadows heeded her call and obeyed her like she was one of them when to him, it just made so much more sense if she had the ability to control light and warmth instead. 

Despite her cool demeanor, she was gentle and kind. She, despite now being called a supervillain by the media and populace, was a better person than Jason had ever been as Robin.

Sometimes, he imagined what it would've been like before he had died and if they had met during that time.

Jason could only dream. He probably would've skipped patrols and faced Batman's wrath for leaving behind his post to flirt with Jazz.

He smiled at the thought but then frowned again. 

Bruce. His dad.

Why didn't he come back for him?

How come someone like Jazz found him on accident while his dad was still out there, oblivious to the fact that his son was still alive?

Didn't he visit his parents' graves every week? How come he didn't know Jason was still alive? It had been months. 

He bit his lip. 

Whatever. 

Jason shook his head to get rid of his thoughts and refocused on going through his sets of sword moves. He paused when he sensed eyes on him, but the tingle of ectoplasm didn't cause goosebumps on his skin. He turned, and stared at a woman with caramel skin and dark hair. She stared at him back, with an expression like she hadn't expected him to react.

"What the fuck?" He said. 

"Language." She scolded and then began to walk closer to him. 

Jason immediately swung his sword and snarled when he saw how expertly she dodged. "How'd you get in here?! What did you do?!"

Jazz had told him that the warehouse was located somewhere in California. She got to the other side of the US through her shadows, and so she has reassured him with the usage of technology and ghost powers, that he was safe. 

Clearly, whatever this random woman had done, she had the ability to bypass the security. 

The woman paused. "Jason, how are you alive? Does Bruce know?"

"What are you talking about?" He hesitated at the mention of Bruce's name and she took the opportunity to dart forward and then knock the sword out of his hand, a sleek dagger pressing itself against Jason's throat. Jason froze. 

He had been careless. 

It seemed as though Bruce would remain one of his weaknesses. 

The woman used her other hand to pat his cheek and touch his hair. He grimaced and resisted the urge to bite into her palm as she fingered the white strand of hair on his head. Apparently, when Jazz had been healing him with ectoplasm, it had grown in overnight. She could only explain it by saying that she knew others who received the same experience of growing white hair after accidents involving ectoplasm. 

The point was, that hair strand had come from ectoplasm and it was also something that came from Jazz and he hated anyone touching it. 

"Hands off of me." He finally had enough and slapped the hand away. 

He moved backwards, wary and very, very careful. He could sense no other presence but that didn't mean anything. If this woman had gotten this far within the warehouse, who knew who else could've followed her inside?

The woman sighed and looked at him mournfully with emerald eyes. "Oh, Jason. How were you resurrected?"

"How do you know my name?!"

She smiled a little. "My name is Talia al Ghul. And Batman and I are meant to be."

He stared at her, taking another wary step back. "You're delusional."

She frowned.  

Jason took another step back and asked, "How did you get in here?"

"We've been keeping an eye on you for awhile now. When we found that your grave was disturbed, we sought to find out who did it. To think that it could've been you yourself... how are you alive?"

He snarled, glancing at his sword that laid on the ground some distance away. "None of your business."

Goosebumps suddenly rose from his skin as the surface beneath his feet became soft for just a moment. In an instant, he knew that Jazz had come, and he straightened, just as he felt a hand slide onto his shoulder. He resisted the urge to look behind him. 

He knew who it was. 

"Hello. What is your business here?"

Talia was silent, her expression sullen and frustrated before she bowed, a small motion with no real respect behind it. Jason grit his teeth and resisted the urge to berate her. 

"Greetings. I am Talia al Ghul and I had received news of Jason Todd's revival a few weeks ago. I tracked him down here, to meet him. Were you the one who resurrected him?"

"No," Jazz answered. "I only helped him recover his memories."

"Hm. Does Bruce know about this?"

Jason glared at Talia. "Why does he need to know?"

"He's your father, isn't he?" She put her hands on her hips. "He deserves to know."

"Fuck you." Jason snapped. He clenched his fists. How dare she act as if she knew the relationship between them? As if she had a hand in how Jason would approach Bruce? As if she could control him and what he did?

"Jason," Jazz said, and her voice immediately snapped him out of his rage. He calmed, taking a deep breath and letting the hand on his shoulder ground him firmly. Her shadows curled around his ankles, a comforting shackle. 

He didn't want Jazz to think less of him. 

So he shut up as Jazz started to talk. "If that's all, please leave. Jason doesn't wish to meet Bruce and that is all. Respect his wishes."

Talia hummed, crossing her arms as she rested a finger on her lips. Then she said carefully, "How about I take Jason off your hands?"

Jason froze. "What?" Then he processed the words and then snarled. "What?!"

Talia continued, "I want to help him. If you allow me to take him, I will train him to the best of my abilities. You saved him for a reason, no? I can bring him back to you, in one piece, unharmed and taught."

Jazz only said, "It will be Jason's decision. And frankly, I don't trust you. I don't even know you. You came into this warehouse and demanded Jason. How do I know you're not lying?"

"Because I love Bruce. And I wouldn't purposefully hurt one of his children. I will do whatever it takes for Jason's fullest potential." Talia argued. 

Jason felt like he was vibrating out of his skin. Immediately, he said, "No. I'm not going."

Talia frowned. "You don't want to learn?

"I have no need for training from a woman I don't even know or trust." He snapped. 

"If you come with me, you will grow more powerful. Someone who can stand by that girl's side. You love her, don't you?" Talia gestured to Jazz. "If you come and train with me, I guarantee that you will be able to fight alongside her."

Both Jazz and Jason stiffened in unison. 

Then Jazz said firmly, "Jason, you don't have to do it for me."

Cheeks growing warm, Jason pushed through the feeling of humiliation from being outed from his crush and then said, "I still don't trust you."

"Then what would make you trust me? Believe me when I say that I just want to help."

Jazz spoke up. "Promise me by the name of the Ancients. If they approve, I'll allow Jason's training."

Jason glowered as Talia was lead through making some sort of verbal binding vow by Jazz.

"I swear, by the name and power of the Ancients, that I will guide and teach Jason Peter Todd to the best of my abilities and the goodness of my heart. May my afterlife and future be condemned if I ever break this promise."

With that, Jazz seemed satisfied and both women turned to look at him for his answer.

Jason looked down at the ground and then nodded. 

After that, Jason was instructed to pack up, because he'd be leaving right away. A small part of him wanted Jazz to ask him to stay, to ask him to not leave her but she didn't say a word as she packed his belongings into a suitcase. 

There were little belongings that he possessed, but all of them had come from Jazz. She sat there, on the floor, as she folded his clothes and Jason ached with the force of his need to stay with her, to hold her hand and look her in the eyes, and confess his feelings for her. But he couldn't.

Not while she still had things to do. 

She didn’t need distractions from someone like him. He saw how she was starting to help Gotham. She was doing good. Whatever she needed to do, he would only hinder her if he was at where he was right now. 

He bit back the protests he had about leaving because he liked the thought of becoming stronger, strong enough to help Jazz achieve her goal. After all, he did want to do this. Just not away from her. 

She still hadn't said a word about Talia's admittance of his crush on her and he had not denied it.

He shoved his books into the suitcase and met her gaze when she set her hand on top of his. 

"What about your socks? You won't have room."

"You can keep them. You like them because they're warmer, no?" He asked, not needing an answer to an obvious question. Her fingers and feet went colder than normal. He was the opposite, having always had a warm body and a hot temperature. 

The two of them were suited for each other, he thought longingly. 

She chewed on her bottom lip and he looked away, unable to handle the look on her face, unless he wanted to start hoping. 

"Jason," she said finally, "come back to me safely. If anything happens... I want to know, so I can help."

"Of course," he replied instantly as he turned back to face her and his breath caught in his lungs as she leaned forward and placed a short kiss on his cheek. She pulled back and smiled shyly, a rare display of emotion as she fidgeted with the ends of her hair. Her shadow formed a heart behind her, almost making him laugh. 

Jason flushed, cheeks warm and chest tight with all sorts of butterflies and worms all wriggling into his heart to burrow their way into his feelings. 

"I'll wait for you." She said, and Jason almost burst into an explosion of confetti and love confessions.

"Okay," he said dumbly. 

That would be the last time they spoke before Talia would whisk him away.

————

Training was hard.

The League of Shadows were brutal and deadly, and although they didn't treat him any less because of his age or background, they almost seemed crueler when they were reminded of the fact that Talia had been the one to bring him to the League. 

When Jason had the time to stop training and had the chance to use the internet, he would sometimes see Jazz on the news, where she could be seen escaping the cameras after decimating gangs and getting rid of corrupt officials. Sometimes, he would catch her on Blüdhaven news channels too, where he would see her jump over the rooftops of Gotham's sister city and away from Nightwing, though that was rare because she almost never crossed the border of Gotham's city to another. 

All of the news channels and papers didn't know what to think of her, especially because she was way more open in front of interviewers and cameras than Batman. Thousands of news titles crossed Jason's feed every time he tried searching up anything about Gotham. 

'Mysterious Redhead Takes Down Gotham Drug Cartel! Not One of Batman's?'

'Exclusive Interview with Commissioner Gordon: RedHead Vigilante is Not One of Us!'

'Black Mask, Scarecrow, Bane: Captured By Redhead!'

Thank goodness for the fact that ectoplasm corrupted footage and audio. Otherwise, Jason would've had many heart attacks from the possible identity reveals alone, especially because she never wore a mask. 

Jason was sure that Bruce was ripping his hair out to try and discover who Jazz was. Jason knew that the new Robin would help Batman, but he wondered if Dick was going to help him look into it, or if he still hadn't reconciled with Bruce. 

He... kind of missed Dick, despite how distant he had been sometimes. 

He deeply mourned the loss of what could've been a brotherly relationship and felt bitterly jealous over the new Robin, but he didn't focus on his feelings. He trained with swords and weapons that Batman had never taught him and although he faced assassination attempts every week, it was worth it.

He didn't need to be Batman's son, or Robin. 

He would just be himself and try to help Jazz as much as he could, just like she had helped him.

Talia taught him to the best of her abilities and when he successfully completed all of her lessons, she brought him to the All-Caste under her recommendation. While she was kind, she certainly wasn't gentle and also wasn't afraid to break a few bones to make him learn his lesson. Ducra, the leader of the All-Caste, was even worse, but thankfully, it didn't feel like straight up abuse and his suffering was beginning to feel worth it. 

He felt like everything had been going well at the League of Shadows, especially because he was progressing quickly under Talia and Ducra's tutelage. 

But everything changed when Ra's al Ghul pushed him into the Lazarus Pits in some sort of misguided attempt to heal him from death or even possible assassination. 

Death would've been kinder.

Torture would've been wanted.

Even rejection from Batman and Jazz would've been more gentle than the pain that tore through his limbs and bones, that broke him down and recreated him, that changed him. 

When he finally broke through the hold the Pits had on him and pulled himself out, it was as if his mind had fractured underneath the pressure of corrupted ectoplasm flooding his poor, unbroken body. 

There was almost nothing to heal but perhaps the effects of malnourishment and half-healed wounds from previous training.

It was hardly enough for the Pits to be able to do anything with.

And so it took from his head.

————

Green and red clouded his vision. 

What was he doing again?

His hands were slick and warm. He felt heavy. Like his clothes were wet and he was weighed down.

Red. Red, red, red, red.

This wasn't the red that he fell in love with though.

Where was that bright red that flew alongside green and yellow? Where was that red that colored books and cakes and Christmas gifts? Where was the red that belonged to her?

Jason was pulled back under the red and green. 

————

When he woke again, Jason awoke to the memory of another Robin flying through Gotham. He remembered learning that Batman had another Robin, not one that was him, not one that had already flown to Blüdhaven, not one that had been his son. 

No, this Robin had come out of nowhere, taking his place within the family. He had replaced him. 

His dad had replaced him so easily. 

Did he mean nothing?

This time, he welcomed the red and green. 

————

When he awoke again, it was to the taste of sweet, strange soda, like an energy drink that had been left out in the sun and fermented into a sugary sludge that was like electricity solidified. 

He blinked blearily, nuzzling the cool skin underneath his cheek. Jazz cradled his head to her chest closely, tipping another gulp of pure ectoplasm into his mouth. Even if the taste made him want to gag, like eating staticky gummy worms after only eating stale pretzels for years, he drank it all.

His mind told him that whatever Jazz wanted, whatever she did to him, she would do it to help him. 

Like a tide to the moon, like a moth to candlelight, like Icarus to the sun, he would follow her lead. 

He closed his eyes and drank. 

Finally, when he finished drinking all of the ectoplasm, she pulled the cup away and cradled his face. 

His mind was quiet, like a lulling ocean. He couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything but her touch. 

"Jason. How are you feeling?"

He didn't respond. He stared through half lidded eyes at her face, once again memorizing her details into his mind. 

Jason drank in the sight of her like a thirsty man within a desert oasis.

The news cameras could not capture her beauty. She had aged in the last three years. Her baby fat had been washed away, revealing a beautiful woman. Jason ached the force of his love for her. Time had only strengthened the love in him, not lessened its fire. 

The worry in her eyes intensified and she brushed back his hair, pressing her hand against his head. He blinked slowly, dazedly, as she continued to fret over him. 

"... Jazz?" He finally croaked and she breathed a sigh of relief before holding him close.

He was met with a face full of her hair but he didn't mind. Her worry was more than worth it for him. 

"Jason." She breathed. "I was so scared. I heard of how Ra's al Ghul used the Pits on you. Talia wasn't there to stop him and— ugh. You're making me so needlessly worried." She pulled back and stared at him. "Idiot."

How did an insult sound so indulgent and loving?

Jason's lips pulled into a slow smile. "Yours."

She looked downward and away, but her pale cheeks couldn't hide the flush. 

Jazz gained enough composure and finally turned around, her face set in the same blank mask as always, if it wasn't for the little twinkle in her eyes. She hugged him again and said, "I'm sorry I couldn't have been there for you. I'm here now. I expect that your training was satisfactory? It's been almost three years after all."

He hummed. "Water, please."

"Ah! That's right, yes, water." She fumbled adorably and then fed him a cup of water, washing away the taste of undiluted, raw ectoplasm.

Jason cleared his throat when he finished and said, "It's been great. I trained with the All-Caste when I wasn't training with the League. They're an independent group of people that train to help protect the world from the supernatural. I've learned a lot from them." A hint of pride entered his voice. 

"Talia treated me pretty well. What Ra's al Ghul did wasn't her fault."

Jazz's eyebrows furrowed. "Yes, I am aware. You only arrived a few days ago. She has apologized quite thoroughly and was the one who sent you to me. It seems because of your... swim, that the League of Shadows is in disarray and chaos. She gave me her greatest treasure to compensate for the danger to your life."

Jason blinked. "You know, you've grown more expressive over the years, huh?"

Jazz returned the blink and then put a hand to her face. She paused, as if trying to understand what he meant before she said, "I... wasn't always like this. I've only just started smiling around you."

Then she clicked her mouth shut and turned away. 

Jason resisted the urge to tease her and changed the subject, "What's Talia's greatest treasure?"

Jazz turned back slowly, wary amusement in her eyes even while her expression was blank. "I'll show you."

She turned to the side and called out, "Damian!"

A boy leapt down from the ceiling and crossed his arms, glaring at Jason. 

Jason's jaw dropped. He hadn't noticed him at all! Looking at him further, Jason was even more gobsmacked. 

The boy looked exactly like Bruce Wayne as a kid. 

Minus the dark skin and green eyes, of course. 

Jason turned back to Jazz and his expression must've said a lot because she only nodded and said, "This is Damian al Ghul, son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne."

Damian clicked his tongue and glared at her ferociously. "Remember all of my titles, wench. I am the heir to the League of Shadows and son of Batman, the true blood heir, unlike the rest of the inferior Robins."

Jason felt a hot fury pierce through him, red and green tinting the edges of his vision again. "Wench?! Watch your tongue, brat!"

"Why should I? I have no idea what Mother was thinking, sending me to mix with the rift-raft." Damian snorted to himself. "You're nothing but a weakling that succumbed to Pit Madness. I have no respect for you and I refuse to obey the word of a pathetic failure like you. Mother should've dropped me off to Father, not any of you."

Jason's rage, for some reason, decided to slow and simmer down. He still had to resist the urge to move away from Jazz's lap and strangle the damn kid though, but he refrained. 

"I don't care what you call me, but treat Jazz with respect." 

Damon rolled his eyes again. "As if I care for some inbred, useless woman."

Jazz wrapped her arms around his shoulders to hold him back from killing the damn kid.

"Damian," Jazz said soothingly, "your mother brought you here to protect you. There is no need to lash out."

Damian bristled. "I do not need protection! I have been trained from birth to kill and I can certainly protect myself! Far better than the two of you can even do, you abominable weaklings! Once I leave this place, I will go and see my father, Batman!"

Jason resisted the urge to beat the crap out of the kid. He forced back the colors that were clouding his vision again with a careful breath. 

Jazz exhaled through her nose. "You're still a child. And I can assure you, you will be safe here." She turned and looked down at Jason. "Hungry?"

Jason grumbled but got to his feet, nodding as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. His clothes had changed from what he had last remembered wearing. He was now clad in a pair of sweatpants and a cotton t-shirt. Jazz stepped in front of him and she gestured Damian to follow as she lead the two of them to another room.

Damian sneered but followed along. 

Jason looked around, vaguely surprised at where he was. 

Jazz had somehow upgraded the warehouse from before to a high-end apartment, one with lofty rooms, high ceilings, and wide windows. There was sparse furniture within any of the rooms Jason peeked inside of, but it looked less intentional and more like she just forgot to go shopping for it. Blob ghosts bounced along the floor, some curiously approaching them as Jazz walked past them. 

Standing within the space, Jason felt a clawing from within him, like a caged monster that didn't feel suited to such a nice and clean area. 

Jazz was suited to this place though. She was clean and lovely and deserved all of the luxuries in the world.

Jazz lead the both of the dining room, where she set Damian to her left and Jason to her right, facing each other before she left to cook the food. 

"Be good," she said and Jason melted a little before nodding. 

He wanted to be good for her. For her, he'd do anything. 

Jason idly picked at his nails. Underneath his nails was a dark brown stain, like blood, and Jason pursed his lips, uncomfortable at the thought that he had been killing others, before he looked up to see Damian watching him with a brooding expression, one that would cross Bruce's face many times in the future. 

Jason didn't say anything, just looking away, although he noticed the triumphant look on Damian's face.

God, this kid was so bratty, but for some reason, it was kind of adorable.

They sat in silence for a long time, at least half an hour as Jazz prepared the food. Jason was tempted to stand and help her— he loved working together with her in the kitchen because it reminded him of when he was young and Alfred taught him recipes within the Wayne Manor kitchen— but he decided to settle and stay at the dining table to watch over Damian. 

Finally, Jason grew bored and he folded his hands in his lap, leaned back, and said, "So. Talia sent you here, huh? What for?"

"It's League business. You have no right and no need to know." Damian said haughtily. 

Jason gave a snort. "So you don't know, huh? Typical."

Damian rose to the bait and growled, standing up as he placed his hands on the table and leaned to snarl at Jason's face.

"Shut your mouth, you filthy—"

"Dinner's ready," Jazz said, her voice its usual flatness. She set bowls of rice in front of them and said, "Eat."

Damian glared the bowl of pilaf. Jazz left to bring back three more bowls of salad and when she returned, Damian opened his mouth to complain. "My mother never should've brought me here. If I am forced to eat peasant food, then I would rather die." 

Jazz stared at him with a blank expression before she said, "Alright. You don't have to eat it. Sit there until we finish."

Then she began to eat. Jason hid his smile and followed her lead, putting a spoonful of flavorful rice pilaf into his mouth after a few careful blows. He gave an exaggerated moan and swallowed his food before he turned to Jazz and said, "It's delicious. Have you been practicing?"

Jazz' face softened for a moment, and she said, "Yeah, I have been. Do you like it?"

"It's great!" Jason beamed. 

Damian's expression had darkened dangerously. 

In one smooth motion, he took the provided fork that Jazz gave and pounced at her. Jason had a knee jerk reaction to the sight, nearly lunging forward to block Jazz when the shadows around her shot out and tightly wrapped around Damian, who made an undignified noise and screamed in rage. The shadows curled around his shoulders, arms, and legs, black tendrils wrapping around his hand and tugging him backwards as she struggled. The fork dropped to the table and Damian made a noise that was halfway between a sob and a snarl.

Jazz waved a hand and the shadows retreated, letting Damian slump onto the table. Jazz steadied him with careful hands and she asked, "Are you alright—?" before her breath hitched. 

Jason's blood began to roar in his ears. 

Red began to stain the table with thick droplets. 

Damian twisted the fork into Jazz's side and she gave a small gasp at the pain. 

Green and red clouded his vision and Jason shook with the urge to kill that damn brat. 

"You fucking bastard!" Jason snarled. He wasn't armed but if that vermin was going to use cutlery to hurt Jazz, he didn't mind returning the favor and using his spoon to kill him. 

"Jason," Jazz said monotonously. He didn't care though, and he surged forward to grab Damian by the back of his shirt, swinging him off the table and tossing him towards the wall.

"Jason." 

He couldn't hear her through the rage and bloodlust clogging his chest. Damian got to his feet and smirked, though a hint of fear entered his eyes. 

"Tt. If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get," he said. "I heard you were a failed Robin before. Perhaps I should kill you and bring you to Batman as proof of my prowess."

"I'm going to tear you apart." Jason's voice rumbled with his fury. "You're nothing but a weak, pathetic little brat who can't even appreciate kindness when it's given to you. 

"Jason! Enough!"

He moved forward but then a strong grip held his wrist back. He pulled his hand forward to throw them off but halted when he saw Jazz's cool expression. Her eyebrows dipped on her forehead, the only sign of her agitation.

The moment he registered her eyes on him, all anger left him like a deflated balloon. He quieted, ashamed and red faced, hunching in on himself as he looked away from her accusing gaze. 

"Jason." 

"He attacked you." Jason said weakly.

Jazz raised an eyebrow. "I'm fine. It's all healed now, wanna see?" She lifted the edges of the torn hole in her shirt to reveal smooth skin that was tacky with dried blood underneath. 

Jason bit his lips. "Sorry."

"Not to me, Jason. Say sorry to Damian."

He could practically sense Damian's conflicting arrogance and confusion. 

As fair as always, however, she turned to Damian and said, "You will also apologize to Jason for aggravating him. Your mother brought you to us for protection. While you are under my care, you will not hurt another person in my protection, understand? Apologize to each other."

Jason lifted his eyes and Jazz stared at him with familiar turquoise eyes. Her gaze held no anger, no judgement. She was as a calm as a lake and steady as the mountains. Unlike Bruce, she wouldn't cast him out for stupid mistakes. 

He ignored the pain in his heart from the thought of his ex-dad and turned to Damian, who was back to glowering. 

"I'm sorry for attacking you."

"You should be." Damian spat.

The air around them chilled enough for Damian to notice and stare at Jazz, wide eyed. She loomed over him, expression blank and emotionless. Her body language and face revealed none of her emotions and yet the two boys could sense that she was very displeased.

Damian clicked his tongue and then said, "I... apologize," the word 'apologize' sounded like it had been strangled out of him, "for attacking your... keeper. And I apologize for provoking you as well."

"Apology accepted," Jason replied dryly. 

Damian huffed out of his nose and then pointed the fork he had attacked Jazz with at her. "Tell me, witch, how did you heal yourself? Mother never told me you were not human."

Before Jason could even snap a reply at him for daring to point a fork at Jazz and insulting her, she plucked the fork out of his fingers and pocketed it. "I have accelerated healing."

She sighed down at the spilled food on the table and then said, "I will prepare another dish and more utensils. Sit and eat this time."

Damian huffed again and crossed his arms. 

Jason grimaced and sat back down, picking up his spoon again. 

Well, even if it was infested with a pest, at least he was back home and with Jazz. 

————

Unfortunately, the pest kind of grew on him. 

Damian was kind of cute in a tiny-baby-animal-who-has-rabies kind of way. He was absolutely feral and quick to violence but he was also intelligent and clever, even when more often than not, he used his wits to find more and more creative ways to insult Jason and Jazz, like the way they dressed, the way they are, then the house they lived in, the blob ghosts that found their homes around them, and then even the way they breathed.

Jason had to wonder to himself, 'Was this what having a little brother felt like?'

But then he realized that no, having a little brother probably didn't require this much murderous intent and assassination attempts. In fact, because of how many attempts there were, Jazz had to move the dining table to the kitchen just so she could keep an eye on them without having to use her shadows, which Jazz tried not to use often on Damian because of how he was frightened he was of it. 

Damian, of course, attached himself to Jazz the moment he began to recognize her power and also grew to like the shadows, which often coiled his ankles like a languid dog. 

Jason would've been jealous if he wasn't already aware of how cuddly those shadows were. 

"Why can't I come with you?!" Damian demanded the next time Jazz went to leave to finish more business in Gotham.

Jason looked up from his college books. After some time, Jazz had convinced him to take online college courses. He was currently on his way to earning his English degree with a small minor in law. 

Damian looked at him for assistance but Jason just looked back down. He pretended to write a few notes as Damian sulked and tugged futilely on Jazz's coat. 

"Jazlyn!" Damian protested again.��

That was something new too.

Jazz wasn't just Jazz. She was Jazlyn Nightingale now. 

He didn’t mind. He figured that Jason Nightingale didn't sound too bad. 

He was once again interrupted out of his daydream when Jazz spoke up. 

"Damian—" she sighed, but Jason interrupted her. 

"You should let him go with you." Jason said, giving a reassuring smile when both of them looked at him with wide eyes. 

Damian gave him an astonished look but then looked at Jazz with a smirk, confident that since Jason was backing him up, Jazz would naturally fall in line. 

It was kind of cute how he thought Jason had some measure of control over Jazz.

Jazz sighed again. "Damian, you won't be able to keep up."

"I'm fast enough and I'm strong enough! I'm far more capable than you believe, Jazlyn." He crossed his arms and glared at her. 

Jason gave a snort. He took off his reading glasses and said, "Jazz, just let him go with you. The more excuses you give, the more you're just treating him like a child."

She hesitated and then finally caved. "I'm sorry, Damian. I didn't mean to treat you like a child."

Damian clicked his tongue but he still looked pleased at the fact that he was allowed to go, blushing a little as Jazz patted him on the head in apology. He quickly pulled his head away, hissing like a cat. 

Jason hid a smile at the cute sight. 

Whatever, he'd help the brat just this once. 

Jazz went to find a suitable uniform for Damian to wear but had to promise him that she'd make a better and more fitted outfit for him for the next time he'd go with her. Jazz looked resigned to her fate but agreed. 

Damian laid himself over the back of the couch in an undignified pose, the kind that would've made himself angry to see some weeks ago, before he began to poke Jason's shoulder.

"Yes, Damian?" 

"What do you want to eat? I will endeavor to bring it home so I can repay you for your assistance." He said grouchily. 

Jason burst out laughing. "You're so weird!"

Damian scowled, cheeks turning pink. "Do you want it or not?!"

"Yes, yes," Jason said, still chuckling to himself, "Can you bring me some sushi? I've been craving it."

"What kind?" Damian asked begrudgingly. 

They discussed sushi flavors until Jazz finally returned with a small uniform and a cloak. Damian took the clothes with skeptical eyes before he looked at Jazz. "Where did you get these?" 

"The Ghost Zone." 

Damian wrinkled his nose but obediently went into the bathroom to change. Jazz took Damian's spot, elbows pressing against the back of the couch as she stared at Jason. Jason resisted the urge to turn and stare at her unless he wanted to be blinded further but really —did it even matter when the last thing he would see would be Jazz?— and continued to work on his paper. As he was looking up peer reviews, there was the touch of fingers against his scalp before nails scratched lightly on his head, tugging at knotted curls.

Jason twitched and then promptly melted, leaning back into Jazz's hands. 

"You haven't brushed your hair today." She murmured. The shadow she cast wriggled and they pooled into his lap, into the shape of an inky dog. He scratched the sentient darkness, the both of them nearly rumbling with pleasure as Jazz threaded her fingers into his hair. Blob ghosts trailed closer, nuzzling against Jason's legs, their cool and smooth skin making his own tingle. 

Damian returned, wearing the dark colored uniform. It was red and black and though it didn't fit him perfectly, it was perfect in making him look like a miniature assassin. A blob ghost sat on his shoulder, half way over his head. Jazz moved away from Jason as her hands smoothed over the cape and gently pushed off the blob ghost. 

"Come, Damian. On the way, I'll tell you the boundaries I have set."

"We will discuss them." Damian said sternly. 

Jazz chuckled, a small smile breaking her doll face. "Of course." Jason stood up as Jazz's shadows formed a dark abyss on the floor. Before the two could step off and teleport into Gotham's belly, Jason opened his arms.

"No hug before you go?"

The two of them paused and then turned in his direction, one with a blank expression, the other with offended bewilderment. 

Jazz stepped closer and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. His insides melted and flowed down to his feet, turning his knees wobbly and sticking him to the floor. 

Damian glared at him. "Don't be presumptious, weakling. I have no need for physical affecttion."

"Damian." Jazz sighed, but then shook her head and guided him to the hole her shadows created. He dodged the hand that came to his shoulder but didn't say another word. 

Jason grinned, not minding too much, and chirped, "Bye! Kick ass, you hear me?"

Jazz gave a lazy salute and then the both of them jumped into the shadows. 

Later, when the two of them came back, Damian was carrying a bag of an assortment of sushi, cheeks flushed with exhilaration as he babbled and rambled about patrolling with Jazz. Even when they were eating, he couldn't stop talking about his patrol. 

"And then she took down those worthless criminals with a single wave of her hand! Her hand-to-hand needed some work, it was simply atrocious but we met Batman and his Robin when they attempted to intercept our fight. Of course, they were too weak and pathetic to capture to us, but Batman's skills are admirable. Mother was correct in guessing that he was a warrior. Robin... wasn't that bad, but I'm still far more superior."

Jason laughed. "You were always nagging us to bring you to Batman. You don't want to go with him?"

Damian hesitated, glancing at Jazz, who picked up a piece of sashimi and dipped it in soy sauce. She didn't react to either of them as Jason also turned to stare, her expression serene and also more content than usual. It seemed that to her, the patrol had also went well. 

Damian gained the courage and then said, "I asked him what he thought of the criminals in Gotham running free and why he didn't just kill them. His reasoning was wrong. He is a naive fool, if he thinks that just keeping them in a room with a hole to the outside to be freed again will solve the problem of crime in Gotham."

"Murder is wrong," Jazz spoke up before Jason could say anything. "But the way Batman thinks and acts isn't all that great either. There are limits and boundaries. His way of fighting crime isn't enough."

Curiously, Jason asked her, "Are you a means kinda person or an ends kinda person?"

Damian blinked, wrinkling his nose. "Is that an English idiom?"

To distract himself, Jason placed a roll of sushi in Damian's plate, who scowled. His hand clutched around his chopsticks like he was about to stick them in Jason. "Yeah, the quote is 'the ends justifies the means'. It means that the results outweigh the methods you use to get there."

Jazz nodded absently. Then she ate another piece of sushi, quiet. 

Damian interrupted his staring. "Then I believe that the ends justify the means. The result is what matters! Who cares about who gets hurt along the way?"

Jason rolled his eyes. Damian was smart, but he had never seen outside of the white-and-black world of the League of Shadows. "First of all—"

Jazz put down her chopsticks. They made a clinking noise against the plate, silencing Damian and Jason. 

"I am both an ends and means kind of person. It is important to push towards your goal and attempt to accomplish it through any means necessary. But it doesn't mean you should lose yourself, your ideals, or the people you love along the way. Damian, think of it like this. Would you like to lose everything you have just to fulfill your objective?"

Damian grit his teeth. A look of reluctant respect crossed his face before he lowered his head and said, "No."

Jazz smiled softly. "You're a good child, Damian. You will continue to grow and learn."

"I am not a child." He spat. 

"It's alright to be one. No one will judge you and this place is safe. After all, you saw how I handled Batman and Robin, no? Now are you two finished eating?"

Damian just stared at her, silent, before Jazz reached over and ruffled his hair. Damian allowed it for a moment, before he then pulled his head away and bent it over his plate to eat. Jason's eyebrows rose and he met Jazz's eyes, who also looked surprised and most of all, pleased. 

They went to bed without a fight that night and for once, Jason didn't feel like he would have to worry too much about Damian sneaking into his room to kill him. 

The next morning, Damian hadn't even attempted to stab Jason's hand with a fork when Jason placed a plate of waffles in front of him. He also took the bottle of maple syrup that was always placed in front of him but had never actually been used by him. 

"Whoa," Jason teased. "Maple syrup? Careful, you might start becoming one of us plebeians." 

"Silence, Todd," Damian grouched. "It is too early for your nonsense. I demand blueberry waffles!" He bent under the table to feed a blob ghost a piece of waffle. 

Another uncommon thing to see, Damian asking for small things like a different flavor of waffles. 

Jason smiled, opening the fridge to pull out a pack of blueberries to wash them. "Coming right up. Want blueberry syrup and whipped cream with it?" He also pulled out a carton of heavy whipping cream and the blueberry syrup that Jason had made on a bored night. 

Damian hesitated. Then he asked, "May I... May I try it?"

Jason grinned. "Sure." 

Jazz walked into the kitchen and paused. "What happened?"

"We're having blueberry waffles, but there are also plain waffles too, if you want them."

She tilted her head. Then she nodded and said, "I want blueberry waffles."

When Jason was finished cooking them, he plated the waffles with an abundance of homemade whipped cream, blueberry syrup, and more blueberries. He himself took the now cold plain waffles, topping them with the same ingredients. 

"Jason, you didn't want blueberry waffles?" Jazz asked, eyebrows pinched slightly.

He smiled, heart all fuzzy as he stared at the picture of them all in the kitchen, eating together. 

Like a family.

God, it made his heart hurt at the thought of it. 

"Nah, it's okay."

Jazz stared at him before she scooped up an untouched waffle and piled it on top of his plate. "Here." 

She turned to stare at Damian, who turned away. Apparently, he had done enough nice things for the day. 

Jason laughed. "It's alright, thanks." 

Later that evening, as Jazz prepared for another trip to Gotham to see the aftermath of her actions the night before, Jason stood by and watched them prepare. 

"So how about a hug before you go?" He asked, when Jazz's shadows opened another portal and they looked ready to leave. 

Jazz didn't even hesitate to turn and take a few steps to kiss him on the cheek. Jason's face reddened and he smiled widely. 

Damian chewed on the inside of his cheek and then darted forward to wrap thin arms around Jason's waist. "Goodbye," he said shortly. Then he skittered his way back to Jazz, unconsciously hiding behind her height.

Jason waved goodbye. Jazz returned the gesture while Damian turned his back on him. 

When they left, Jason decided to prep for his own plans. 

No matter how much he was beginning to love his life with Jazz and Damian, he knew there was only one way for the red and green to leave the edges of his vision. 

————

Damian continued to patrol with Jazz. It was obvious that his hero worship that had surrounded Batman changed to Jazz. And Jazz wasn't any different because she loved spoiling him, despite how surprising it seemed with her blank expression that contrasted with her motherly personality. She hadn't said much as to why, but she had mentioned a little brother once to Jason when they had lived in the warehouse, so he assumed that it was the reason why Jazz adored Damian so much. 

Likewise, Damian returned that devotion and he and Jason had been teaching Jazz better hand-to-hand combat, which she had lacked because she depended on her master over weaponry and her shadows. 

It was a quiet night when the two left again to get rid of more of the scum that clogged Gotham. 

Jason stared at the empty space that they had been standing in for a moment, before he then picked up his college books and began to put them away. He quickly cleaned up the house, ushered the blob ghosts into their playpen, and then began to dress in a reconnaissance outfit he fashioned out of stolen Kevlar and leather. 

His stomach churned with nerves but he had to do this. 

He had been running across Gotham rooftops in secret for some time, but he was only barely reaching his goal. Jazz knew, of course she did because she tracked both Jason and Damian with a piece of their shadow, but she didn't interfere, nor did she know exactly what Jason was doing. All she had said to him was, "Be careful," on a late night before she went to patrol with Damian. 

She was amazing. 

If she knew what he was doing, she probably would've talked him out of it. But Jason couldn't let that happen. He didn't want to be talked out of this. 

He needed to get Batman's attention and then get him to kill the Joker. It was the only way Jason could recover from the green and red in his vision, he knew it. 

Jason pulled up the hood from his outfit and picked up his personal pet blob ghost, one that was colored turquoise that was the color of Jazz's eyes, and then threw himself out the window, shooting the grapple hook before he could bludgeon his brains across the concrete streets. The blob ghost sat on his shoulder, its ectoplasm humming an unidentifiable soul song. He darted across the roofs and then finally stopped at the abandoned theme park, where his tracker ended. 

Some weeks ago, he had placed a tracker within a box of cargo that Jazz and Damian hadn't caught onto yet. 

No matter how much they patrolled Gotham, they wouldn't know how she worked. Not like how Jason did, who was born and raised within the depths of Gotham's bowels. 

Said cargo had actually been weapons that had been smuggled into Gotham for the Joker. Jason had watched it get transported to him and now he was ready. 

He knew how to get Bruce's attention. He just needed to pique his curiosity without provoking him. 

So Jason sent a syringe of Jason's blood and a tuff of Joker's hair in a package, in a way that only a select few within the family would be able to recognize. He waited for Bruce as he watched Damian and Jazz through his phone. The two of them had sometimes allowed him to tag along their patrols as their guy in the chair and he took advantage of that now to see where they were and how they were faring. 

Jazz had hidden Damian within her shadows while she ran away from the newest Robin. The newest Robin was apparently the smartest one out of Jason and Dick. Jason was quick to notice that he was quick, wily, and skilled. Damian had begrudgingly admitted that he was a good fighter as well, while Jazz had only mentioned how tired he seemed. 

Jason refocused and hacked into Bruce's comms, watching the little beacon that crept closer to his hiding spot. 

Surely, he had seen the results of whatever tests Alfred had taken on the blood and hair. 

The Joker wiggled from where he was sitting. Jason sent him a glare that couldn't exactly be seen from under his hood. Still, the Joker recognized it and his eyes crinkled in an ugly manner as he seemingly grinned from underneath the duct tape covering his mouth.

God, Jason wanted to just kill him then and there but he shook his head to disperse the red and green that clouded his vision.

He wanted to cause a scene. 

He wanted it to be dramatic.

He wanted the whole world to see what choice Batman would make. 

Would he choose his resurrected son? Or would he choose the famous mass murderer and killer of his own son, the Joker?

The answer was so obvious, and yet why did Jason doubt Bruce? 

Surely, all he needed was a push.

Yes, that was the only reason why Bruce hadn't killed the Joker. 

All he had was that stupid hope. And so Jason waited, watching Jazz and Damian dodge and fight against Robin. Damian taunted the newest Robin with, "Struggling? Dance, you worm," before Jazz sighed and used her shadows to cover Damian and pull him back into the shadows again, flipping over several batarangs. 

The moment Jason sensed Batman's presence, he pocketed his phone into the blob ghost that peacefully sat on the side and stood up. 

Batman kicked down the door and glared at Jason. "You. Why do you have Jason's blood? Who are you?" He snapped. 

Jason hummed, a mask sliding onto his personality, just as easy as outfitting himself as the righteous and heroic Robin. "Isn't it obvious?"

He reached over and grabbed the Joker's hair, wrenching his head backwards as Jason threw a gun towards Batman, who flinched backwards when it clattered on the floor. 

"You're supposed to catch it, y'know." Jason snarked. "Here's the deal, B. Either you kill the Joker or I will. Make a choice. Only two of us are coming out of here alive."

"... you don't have to do this." Batman said. He tilted his head slightly, just the smallest amount like he was shifting on his feet but Jason knew better. His guess was confirmed correct when Batman tensed and then glared at him. 

"Can't talk to Oracle?" He asked.

"What did you do?!" Batman snarled. 

Jason shrugged carelessly before pressing the gun to the Joker's temple. "You don't get to call for backup. Decide, here and now. The only way to stop me is to kill me. Like I said, only two of us are leaving here alive."

Batman didn't move. 

Why wasn't he moving?

Did he think that Jason was joking? Why was he hesitating?

Why the fuck was he hesitating?

Would he actually choose the Joker over him? His own son? The Batman, hero of Gotham, would actually choose to save a killer rather than help stop millions of future crimes and avenge past deaths? 

Just why did Jason have to suffer? All for Batman to reject him another time and choose his own fucking murderer over him?

Millions of thoughts passed Jason's mind in less than a second and yet all of them only made him agrier and feeling worse than ever. Suddenly agitated, Jason's hands twitched from the urge to just pull the trigger but before he could say a word, a batarang flew towards him. 

He couldn't dodge as the sharp points of the batarang scraped past the flesh of his throat, a sharp blinding pain shocking him enough that he let go of the Joker and his gun. 

Jason collapsed on the floor as he pressed a gloved hand to his bleeding throat. 

No, no, no, no!

Why? Why, why, why?

What made him so unloveable that his dad just tried to kill him?

Why didn't Batman choose the Joker? 

Why didn't Bruce pick him?

Batman moved forward to grab the Joker again, leaving Jason on the floor, gasping and clutching at his throat. 

Blood roared in his ears and flooded his tongue. Red and green entered his vision again and Jason gave a wretched scream, gagging past the taste of metal. 

Why?

His blob ghost bounced over to him and covered his hand in an attempt to cover the bleeding, the presence of ectoplasm already helping to form a scab but Jason couldn't let himself heal as he shook his head from the force of his thoughts that screamed at him. 

Red and green pervaded his senses, like coppery blood and cloying ectoplasm. 

Before he could even think, the blob ghost stretched itself and covered him, blocking the sudden explosion that shattered the windows around him and imploded the walls outward. The floor he was on crashed onto lower ground but the blob ghost protected him from that too. 

The shock from the explosion and falling against the ground floor finally kicked him back to proper survival instincts, pulling him out of his wallowing. 

Jason couldn't think. He ran home, panting with exhaustion and bleeding from his throat. He had field dressing held to his neck as he ran, the rain making his escape slippery and his hands too wet to keep the field dressing dry. The blob ghost was shoved into his pocket.  He would thank it with pets and more ectoplasm later, when he could finally think. For now, he just needed to keep running, to escape from Batman. 

But Bruce didn't follow him. 

No, he was tending to the Joker after he tried to kill his own son. 

When Jason stumbled into the penthouse, wet with blood and rain and wobbly kneed, he was greeted with Damian's snide remarks. 

"Tt, Todd, if you were going to sneak out, at least have the decency to get back home before us— Todd! You're bleeding!"

"What?! Jason? Jason!" Jazz cried out and she ran out from one of the rooms with her shadow surfing along a medical kit behind her. "What happened?"

Jason, helplessly, began to cry. Thick tears began to fill in his eyes as the pain, both physical and emotional and mental, finally registered in him, the numbness being chased away with an overwhelming feeling of misery.

Everything in him ached with pain. 

"Todd?! What is the matter? I demand answers! Who must I kill?!" 

The moment he felt Jazz wrap her arms around him, he fell into them and began to sob. 

With the full weight of his body, Jazz was forced to sit on the floor as Jason's body began to shake with whimpering cries. 

His face felt sticky and hot and he couldn't help but grab at his chest, as if he was trying to tear open his ribs to pull out his aching, hurt heart. 

It wasn't fair. 

It wasn't fair! 

Why did it seem like Bruce loved the Joker more than him? 

Jason couldn't breathe.

His breaths came out fast and hurried, burning his throat as he began to claw at his skin. In one fluid motion, Jaz grabbed his wrists and pulled him forward, so he was forced to hug her to stop tearing at his wound. If he had been coherent, he would've felt the cool carress of Jazz's shadows that cleaned and bandaged his throat. 

But he couldn't. 

He couldn't feel anything as he started to hyperventilate and panic covered his thinking with a thick haze. 

Why? Why, why, why, why?

Didn't Bruce love him? 

Jason hiccuped and buried his face in Jazz's shoulder, inhaling the scent of vanilla and darkness, a smell similar to wet earth and salty beach sand. A hand stroked down his spine as Damian curled against his side, arms wrapped around his waist as he struggled to comfort Jason. 

Jason sniffled and pulled away from Jazz to grab Damian, tugging him closer before he pressed the both of them into Jazz, as if when he focused enough, he could dig them both into her skin and live within the comfort of her strength and protection without parting from her. 

Jazz pet his hair, humming an off tune song as Damian laid limply on Jason's lap, a silent and steady presence. 

"Jason? What happened?"

The words spilled from Jason like a gushing faucet. He couldn't help but cry further, too distraught to be embarrassed by the whimpering cries that left him as he shakily told Jazz and Damian what he had done.

He had gone behind their backs to go and seek out the Joker on his own and had tried to trick Batman into killing him. But Batman had refused. He had even struck him with a batarang that had cut through his throat. 

Batman never missed and he had surely guessed Jason's identity. 

He had chosen to kill his own son over the Joker. 

Jason sobbed. If he could see, he would've seen how both Jazz and Damian shared a frantic glance before Jazz gathered Jason further in her arms and Damian pressed his face against his arm, not knowing to do but wanting to help regardless.

Jason's cries eventually slowed and he blearily tucked his face into Damian's hair, holding onto him gently. 

Damian couldn't get hurt. Not like how Jason was hurt. He wouldn't let it happen. 

Even if Jason had to rip apart Gotham and sink it into the bay with his own hands, he would make sure Damian and Jazz were kept safe. 

His heart was shuddering from pain and fear and hurt but the sudden determination to make up his mistake to the two of them was so strong that it was almost dizzying. 

Color stained the edges of his sight. 

He snarled wordlessly to himself as he held the two of them closer to himself. 

Jason eventually fell asleep, the green and red still tinting his vision. 

————

When Jason woke up, he was on his bed. 

The blob ghost that traveled with him was in his arms, nibbling on his clothes. He gave it a few pats, watching it bounce as he blinked to try and moisten his dry eyes. Everything in him felt sore and sticky, like a child smacked him a few times on a wall and then dunked him in a vat of glue. 

He drank water from the water bottle on his desk and looked at the silent and unmoving blob ghost that was still laying on his bed. “Hey, do you know where Jazz and Damian are?”

It bounced once and then jumped into the air, where it spun in a circle to beckon Jason to follow. The blob ghost floated through the door and Jason followed it to the living room, where both Damian and Jazz were looking at the same tablet, squished together in an armchair. Jazz’s shadows curled around them lazily, having taken the form of a small wolf pup. 

They both looked up when they noticed Jason. 

“Are you alright?” Jazz asked. 

Jason tried to give her a small smile, but it didn’t exactly work. He was pretty sure he was grimacing at her instead. “I feel better after sleeping.” He flopped onto the couch and Damian pulled himself from Jazz’s embrace to go and sit next to him. 

“Todd, how long have you been sneaking out?” He demanded. 

“For awhile now. Maybe a few months? Jazz knew about it.” Jason resigned himself to the questioning. He met Jazz’s gaze, which held no judgement. She looked tired, he realized, and he hated to see it. 

Damian gave a betrayed look to Jazz, who sighed. “Sorry, Damian. I tracked Jason leaving the house a couple of times but I didn’t think it was important. This place isn’t a prison, so I didn't mind him leaving as long as he was safe.”

Damian scowled harder and kicked Jason’s side. “Whatever. We investigated what happened and a warehouse from the East End exploded just yesterday, decimating an entire block. Batman was also seen fleeing and the Joker is back in the Asylum. Whatever you tried to do to force Batman to kill the Joker, you failed.”

“I know! I know, okay?!” Jason snapped, suddenly furious. 

Who was Damian to tell him his failures? He got it, alright?

He was unloved. 

That was just a fact. 

“Jason,” Jazz said, briefly snapping him out of his fury. “What were you thinking?”

“I've been thinking of how the Joker is still alive and Batman has done nothing about it." He clenched his fists. "He needs to pay!"

Jazz tilted her head. "Who has to pay?"

Jason faltered. For a moment, he also wondered who he wanted to suffer most before he said determinedly, "Both of them! Batman is a hypocrite who would let the murderer of his son run free while he chases after someone like you, who actually does good!"

Jazz gave a small, embarrassed chuckle. "Not really."

Even Damian snorted. "How so? Everyone knows of your feats in reducing the crime rates in that vile city!" He said. "Batman couldn't do anything in decades but you are single-handedly lowering the amount of violence in that city in only a few years!" 

Jason felt a surge of extremely misplaced pride. 

Jazz blushed but then turned to Jason and said, "Jason, you never told me you felt this way. How long has this been going on?”

Jason paused and then looked away. 

How could he tell her?

She was beautiful and radiant and kind. Not like him, who was ugly and horrible and cruel. 

He didn't want her to know the thoughts in his head, the thoughts that sang of death and revenge and murder.

He didn't want her to drive him away like Bruce had done. 

There was a rustle of clothing and then a hand gripped his chin, tugging on his face. He squeaked and was met with Jazz's towering height as she stared down at him, eyes wide and intense with green. She had left her seat and crossed the living room to get to him, shadows underneath her writhing slowly. 

"Jason. When did you start feeling this way?"

Jason didn't pull away from Jazz's grip. Her hands would never willingly or knowingly hurt him and his body knew this, relaxing within the palms of her hand before he shrugged and mumbled, "I don't know. I've always thought like this."

It pained him to admit just how spiteful he was to her. 

She wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye, humming. Then she turned her head back to address Damian. "Damian, you once told me that Jason has succumbed to Pit Madness before, no? Tell me about the Pit."

"The Pits are natural holes of Lazarus water that rises from the Earth's ley lines. Its history is unknown but Grandfather has used them many times to revive and rejuvenate himself. Pit Madness is one of its largest side effects. It causes irrational anger and fear, paranoia, and bipolar moods."

"Thank you, Damian." Damian preened and Jazz turned back to Jason, squishing his face between her gloved fingers gently. "If you've been suffering, why haven't you told me?"

Her thumb rubbed underneath his eyes again. Jason blinked, peering at her through his eyelashes. 

The room was quiet before Jason muttered, "I didn't want you to worry."

"I've been worrying regardless. You came back to me from the League drowning from fluid within your lungs and smelling like rot. I thought that the ectoplasm had cleared you, but I see that you haven't been honest with me about your symptoms."

Jason practically wilted. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lie—"

"I'm not angry, Jason." She soothed. "I wish you had been honest, but I am not angry. I don’t think you should attempt this again.”

A sudden surge of anger washed over Jason. "Why not?! Is it because I'm too dangerous?" He pulled his face away from her hands and spat, "The Joker needs to be dead! I need to see Bruce kill that son of a bitch with his own hands!"

Jazz asked, "Why?" And Jason exploded. 

"He killed me! He tortured me and he's the reason why I'm dead! But I'm Bruce's son— and he won't even avenge me?! He lets that damn killer run free but he should've died! Four fucking years ago— the day he found my corpse! He lets a murderer run free and he needs to pay!"

His breaths came quicker at the memory of Batman hurting him —slitting his throat and leaving him to die— but he shook his head and recovered quickly as Jazz questioned him further. 

"But why? Why do you need Bruce to do it for you?" 

Perhaps if the green and red wasn't invading his vision, he would've realized that Jazz was evaluating him, goading him on for more answers as she and Damian shared glances between them. But he was so enraged, he had stood up from the couch, tossing pillows to the floor as he paced, unable to stop his own raving and shouting.

"Because he's my dad! And I would've done the same for him! So why didn't he do it for me?" He paused in his pacing, hurt stabbing through his chest like knives. Why didn't Bruce love him enough? The rage came back quickly though, and he continued, "The both of them need to pay. I'll never rest and recover if the Joker is still alive— you can't make me!" 

“I see.” She said. “Tell me, Jason, would getting rid of the Joker get rid of your Pit Madness?”

He grabbed her wrists to look her into the eyes and show her just how serious he was. Her expression was blank but Jason couldn’t calm down the fire roaring in his heart, green and red dotting his vision again. 

“Yes. Killing the Joker is my obsession. You can’t stop me from killing him. Even if I have to confront Batman again.”

Jazz tilted her head, her hair blocking the edges of his vision with red, red, red. 

"... that's fine. Damian, would you please?"

"Gladly." 

The next thing Jason saw was darkness, with Damian standing over him. 

Damn it all. 

He hadn't noticed the brat sneaking up on him. 

Jason woke up again with a sore neck and darkness outside of his window, evident by his desk lamp being the only light within the room. 

Immediately, he sat up and whirled around, where Damian and Jazz sat at his desk, idling around. Damian was poking a mysterious new box placed atop his desk like a smug cat, while Jazz was thumbing through Jason's annotations in his books, completely engrossed. 

"... you knocked me out." Jason said almost accusingly, making them look up at him. 

Damian rolled his eyes. "You were hysterical. We did what we had to."

Jason resisted the urge to snap at him and looked at Jazz, who was staring at him with a blank expression, her shoulders slumped and eyes drooping with exhaustion. Guilt gnawed at his chest and he ducked his head. 

"How long was I out?" He asked. He was tired of feeling sorry of how he acted. 

It was just who Jason was. 

Irritable, cruel, mean Jason who couldn't hold back his ugly temper, even in front of the woman he loved. 

"Six hours. We have a present for you." Jazz picked up the box and presented it to Jason. Jason glowered at the sight of it, a thread of irritation coursing through him but he didn't want to disregard Jazz's gift so he reluctantly picked it up. He ignored Damian's eager lean over his shoulder and he unwrapped the pretentious looking ribbon and pulled the lid off.

He stared into the eyes of the Joker, disoriented.

He turned and sputtered, "W-What?"

He was beginning to feel dizzy. 

Jazz smiled somewhat shakily. "You said it yourself, right? You won’t recover until he’s dead. Damian and I took him back from the Asylum. And I thought it was rather tasteless, but Damian has a video of what we did to the Joker too."

Gleefully, Damian crooned, "I tortured him for you. With a crowbar and everything. So cheer up, yes? You're polluting our home with your needless anguish. We have avenged you, so be glad."

Jason wanted to throw up.

He stared at Joker's dead eyes and his frozen frown from rigor mortis. 

It was as if a weight floated off of his shoulders, freeing him from his earthly tethers. 

'We have avenged you.'

He had just wanted to hear a version of those words from his father. He just wanted to know that someone loved him enough to avenge him. He just wanted to know that he was remembered and cherished and loved so badly by someone that they would take a life for him. 

And now. He received the greatest gift of all. 

Jason's eyes began to fill with tears again. "... thank you," he croaked. 

"Oh Jason..." Jazz murmured and she sat on the edge of the bed, pushing away the box that held the Joker's head, to brush away the liquid relief that ran down Jason's cheeks. Damian scoffed but didn't wriggle away when Jason wrapped an arm around him. 

"Crybaby," he muttered and Jason laughed wetly. 

Jason cried from relief and the amount of feelings and adoration he felt for Jazz and Damian. Jazz continued to brush away tears with her thumbs as she leaned over to lay small kisses over Jason's face and hair. 

Jason wanted to melt. 

He wanted to melt and die from the amount of love he felt. He felt full in all sorts of ways, as if everything was perfect and he was floating off to heaven and he was nothing but a vessel for the sheer devotion he was suddenly feeling. Everything felt warm and soft and if someone tried to cut him open right now, he didn't know if he would bleed pink hearts or if he would be invulnerable. 

When Jason finally stopped crying, the shadows brought him tissues and Damian was drawing mindless shapes on his thighs, leaning against him silently. Jazz still had his face in her hands and even if she twisted his head off right now, he probably would've still opened the gates of heaven for her. 

"Feeling okay?" She asked softly. 

"I love you both so much." He said as sincerely as he could. He placed a hand on Damian's head, ignoring his stiff body, and another on Jazz's wrist. "Thank you. So much. I... I don't think I can..."

"No payment necessary, Jay." Jazz said sweetly. 

"Easy for you to say. I demand that you bake cookies for me. I want chocolate chip, triple chocolate, ginger snaps, crinkle cookies, peanut butter cookies, the ones with jam inside of them, lemon cookies—"

"Whatever you want," Jason replied easily. 

If Damian wanted a thousand different types of cookies, who was Jason to deny him? In fact, if Damian wanted Jason to blot out the sun, Jason was inclined to create a blackhole and simply wipe out the entire universe along with it. 

Jazz chuckled. "I like Jason's cookies too." Her gaze turned serious and she then murmured, "Jason. Remember when you told me that you would help me take over Gotham?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll need your help soon. Getting rid of the Joker was last on my to-do list. After this, I'm finally confronting Batman head on and if need to be, removing him from Gotham entirely before I take over." Both Jason and Damian tensed. 

Jazz's gaze was serious. "So is your offer still open?"

||||||||||

Timeline is iffy *eyes DC with disdain* but Jazz is one year older than Jason. But Angel, you say! How was Jazz only 16 in the beginning and already a budding supervillain? 🤷 For any of you worried, Batman is not the villain! This was not intended to make Batman abusive (he's just a shitty father) This is Jason's POV, so he's the antagonist rn, but I promise, Batman isn't all bad! If you can't tell, Damian is my favorite *attempts to pet his hair but the hair gel is in the way* Please comment!! I worked really hard!! This is most likely the bulkiest chapter out of the whole fic. If there are any mistakes, feel free to tell me (gently) Here is what Jazz Fenton looks like in this AU Next up: Jason reunites with all of his siblings and maybe we learn more of Jazz's real goal?

[002yb]

Ik this is dickjay Nation but uhhhhh 👀👀 sladejay (maybe "exes") because it would make Dick soooooo mad lol

‘Dickjay nation’ omg. You’re kind of not wrong though hahahaha. A lovely ship, but for now: sladejay (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

Some sort of UtRH!AU where Jason specifically asks that Deathstroke keep Dick tied up in Bludhaven. It's a very personal request and Jason trusts Slade to follow through. He needs his confrontation with Bruce and Joker to go uninterrupted.

And Deathstroke agrees. Of course he does. Jason is his babygirl, after all.

Only Jason's plea quickly turns from being about Jason to being about Deathstroke and his vendetta against Dick.

Which leads to catastrophe that Jason wasn't anticipating. Namely: Bludhaven being nuked. Only this time? Zero evacuation, all casualties.

And Jason knows that Deathstroke is a little unhinged. So is Jason, but the severity of the attack would blindside Jason so thoroughly. Because he recognizes the devastation that just happened.

For all their grief, Jason would have believed the animosity with Deathstroke and Dick to be more performative than anything. But this? The nuking, the fallout? It's too much. It had nothing to do with Jason and everything to do with Deathstroke. Slade made it about him.

Just -- the whole of Bludhaven? Infested with criminals as it is, there were innocents there. Children. Runaways. People that needed help…

And Jason has to go into his spat with Bruce knowing this catastrophy is entirely on him. A low level of panic running through him and making Jason erratic because Jason just killed so many people the way he was killed - the way Joker killed him and Bruce left him to die. An explosion; fire and smoke and collapsing buildings. Jason should have died then. He still can. He should go help; he can't leave though, because he's been stuck in this place waiting for Bruce for a lifetime.

Chose him. Someone chose him. Make it alright because Jason is suffocating (smoke in his lungs, dirt in his face, and lazarus choking him violating him killing him).

Traumatized boy has a bad day, basically.

Anyway, Jason's confrontation with Bruce still goes poorly and all Jason feels is a helpless rage.

No one chose him - Bruce chose Joker, Deathstroke chose himself and -- no. Jason chose himself. And now a city of people are dead for it. And maybe some of them needed to be purged, but all the others?

Jason has so much blood on his hands. He's drowning in it every time he fights to swallow back his screams.

Love it when Jason gets catty and mean in his grief, but also? He is compassionate through and through. This isn't the justice he wanted. Not for himself - not for the people like him.

Only he did, didn't he? A mercy killing.

It's the only reason Jason wanted Deathstroke to go to Dick. To stop his intervention; to hold him back, to make him stand down because Jason -- he knows Dick would kill for him. Dick has tried to before (surprise Jason knows about Dick beating the Joker!AU!?). But Jason - what? Needed that from Bruce? Couldn't accept it from Dick because that would mean being saved and Jason was anticipating... Jason bites his tongue and tastes blood and holds fast to his neck.

Slade seeks Jason out after everything. The vision of smug triumph and Jason loses it on him. Raging because of all Jason's losses and having to see Slade smile like they mean shit all

It's a vicious lashing out. It's Jason shoving Slade back, unprovoked, and screaming as best as his torn throat will allow. An ugly rasp and painful gasps.

Slade gets impatient about it, restraining Jason by his wrists and shoving him back against the wall. Keeping Jason pinned despite how Jason fights him. And Slade's voice is even as he tries to talk Jason down, but Jason keeps fighting him so Slade snaps, as well. Snarling at Jason because 'you asked for this.'

Regret hits Jason in an instant. For everything. Everything.

He mourns the children, but Slade wouldn't understand the loss, would he?

Slade doesn't appreciate the lack of gratitude or the personal attack. If Jason wants to make it personal though, Slade will give as good as he gets.

And he doesn't believe it, but he says it anyway: 'you deserved it. all of it.'

There's a cruelty in that which cuts too deep. And Jason has been cut one too many times.

They fight. It's not much of one because Jason is beaten already. Blood bleeds through the bandages at his throat, sopping through torn and sloppy stitches. There's still water in Jason's lungs, shrapnel in his chest and grief and anguish heavy in his heart.

Slade doesn't so much retaliate as he restrains. Because for mad as he is, he's not there to hurt Jason past how he already apparently has.

It ends with Jason forced to his knees on the floor, bent over and pressed into a makeshift cot. Body trembling as he breaks for all the loss that happened in a single night.

He shouldn't have come back. He should've let himself suffocate in that fucking coffin. Good riddance. Good fucking riddance.

'Why did you ask me to intervene if this is how you were going to act?'

'Because he would have chosen me.'

'So would I.'

'You didn't.'

Slade and Jason being on two different pages for the first time since they fell into a tumultuous relationship. They're both damaged, both a little fucked in the head. What they need and what they give are incompatible in that moment and Slade might adore this boy - but he doesn't have the capacity to put together broken things. And Jason might be at a point in his life where he doesn't want to be put together at all.

'You're a child.' Slade would sneer. 'Looking to be saved by heroes.'

'So kill me! That's what you do, huh!?' Just such a low point. Drawing in all of Slade's personal failures and mixing them with Jason's own hopelessness. 'So do it. Do it!'

But of course Slade doesn't. He pushes away. He leaves.

And Jason picks up his pieces on his own.

Something about messy breakups and the struggle with age differences and loving someone but not in the way they need and the responsibility of someone else's mental health and the line on those expectations and just. Tragedy all around.

For real, I love sladejay as a comedic ship I don't know what the heck this was I didn't even get to jealous!Dick Grayson I'm (」°ロ°)」 but this is so long already ahahahaha hopefully this is...fine? It's new! I'll get better with more exposure/practice hahahaha.

[rubydubydoo122]

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

“You’ve been a bad boy.” The Joker was looking down at him, with a smile that was too wide, “You must be punished! Prepare yourself for a severe spanking, young man, but let me tell you right from the start,” He lifted the crowbar that was in his hands, and the singsong-y tone dropped into a growl “This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me.”

The feeling of numbness spread throughout his ribs before white hot pain took it’s place. The crow bar kept coming down, “What hurts more? A” crack,  “or B?” thwack, “Forehand,” pop, “Or Backhand?” 

There was a ringing forming in his ears, but the laughter was more unsettling. The joker crouched down and pulled his head up by the hair, “A little louder lambchop, I think you may have a collapsed lung.” There was more laughing. Why couldn’t the laughing stop?

He gathered up the metallic tasting bile and aimed the spit at the Laugh. 

Suddenly his nose was making contact with the floor. Hard.  

“Now that was rude. The first boy blunder had some manners.” The crowbar kept coming down, and the Laughter wouldn’t stop. 

Maybe if he closed his eyes it would.

“Jason! You’re still alive!” 

But it hurt. Everything hurts. He could feel the blood pounding in his head, and did he still have his right arm?

He looked up to see a blonde woman tied to a mast. Mom.

“The bomb, Jason! Deactivate it!”

He looked down at his hands, and could barely see straight. “ …in no… shape.. To- to handle…that” But he crawled over to mom. His hip and arm burned with every movement, but he had to get to her, “..gotta get you…outta here” He almost cried out when he stood up, vision dimming before reaching for the bonds around her, “...I’ll… I’ll save you… mom..” The beeping got louder and louder, “You’re free… go… run for it…” As long as his mom was safe.

But then everything got really bright, and really hot– it burned. Everything burned.

Then, nothing. 

Darkness. 

But he woke up. 

In a box, lined with silk…and he was in a suit… 

He was in a coffin.

This had to be some sort of sick joke. 

He pounded on the lid, hoping it would push up, “Batman?” He pounded harder, “Batman!” 

He checked his pockets for something, anything. He tore the buckle off of his belt and started tearing at the silk “Bruce?” he could feel the coffin running out of air, “Dad?” He dug at the wood, ignoring the pain as splinters dug into his nails and hands, “Dad? DAD!” 

He felt cold wet dirt cover his hand, and rain on his face until there was no room to breathe, and dirt was filling his mouth. He was suffocating.

He shot up, 

The Joker.

But he wasn’t in a wearhouse. He wasn’t in a coffin. 

Bruce came running in, “Jason!” 

Jason stared at the jagged scars that tore down his fingers. He had gotten them from clawing out of a grave . His hands started to shake.

No. no. That couldn’t be. It was just a dream. 

But the Joker stuff had to have been real. That had to have been how it went down. He could feel the phantom pains. His ears started to ring.

Which one hurt more?

The mattress started to morph to the weight of Bruce sitting down, “Jay, Lad, talk to me.”

Even though he was covered in sweat, he felt cold, and his heart was still pounding against his chest. His throat started to constrict, and his prickled “I- I-” he shook his head. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t breathe.

Why was he in a coffin? Did the Joker put him in there after the warehouse blew up? He- he couldn’t’ve died. How would he be here if he did? 

“Jason, you need to breathe.” Bruce’s hand supported his right hand from the bottom, “In…” Bruce gently folded each of Jason’s fingers until his hand was in a fist, “and out…” he traced each finger while unraveling them. “In…” Thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky, “and out…” Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb.

Jason dried his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, “I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for things you can’t control.” Bruce shifted so he wasn’t going to slide off the edge, “Do you want to talk about it or…” 

Jason shook his head and leaned into Bruce. He was safe. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

Bruce reached for the book Jason had placed on his nightstand, To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, and started reading. 

Jason tried. He tried really hard to listen to the words Bruce was saying, but all he could think about was his nightmare. All he could picture was that crowbar coming down over and over again. All he could feel was nails breaking against wood. 

Bruce closed the book and shifted so he was sitting next to Jason and leaning against the backboard. “I have bad nightmares too.” he paused to glance over at Jason, “And it’s not just after a Scarecrow attack. Sometimes, it’s to the point where I can’t sleep for the next couple of days, until Alfred forces me to tell him what’s wrong. Usually it’s easier to sleep after that.” Bruce pulled the blanket over Jason’s shoulders, “You don’t have to tell me, but this one seems… like it spooked you more.”

Jason buried his head into Bruce’s shirt, “A couple of nights ago I had a dream about the Lazarus pit, I had a dream about… the Joker.” The arm Bruce had around him tightened, “And it– I don’t think it was just a dream, I– I think they were both memories? I read part of the file, and I know the Joker hurt me badly. I just didn’t realize–” He cut himself off, “And, and I had to be brave, for her, for my mom, even though she gave me up to him. You probably already knew that, if it was a memory, but the Joker wasn’t that… he wasn’t that scary before, and his laugh. It’s like he’s in the walls. I can still hear it.

“And then the dream changed. And I was in a coffin. And I don’t think that this part was real because it was a nice coffin, and I don’t think the Joker or-or any rogue for that matter would splurge on a coffin. And I couldn’t get out, and I tried, really really hard to get out, I even used my buckle and everything, because that was the only thing I could use, and even though I broke through the coffin, I still drowned in dirt.” He felt Bruce go still, so he continued to ramble, “And last night, I had another dream, and I know this one wasn’t a memory like the first two, because I was trying to get you to kill the Joker. And, and I was scared, I was so scared of that monster and I just wanted him gone, and I wanted you to..to protect me from him, but–” his voice cracked and a fresh wave of tears started to fall, “It was so messed up . I know you would never do it. And I hate my subconsciousness for coming up with it, but… you chose the Joker over me. ” The last part came out barely louder than a whisper. 

Jason could hear how fast Bruce’s heart was beating, “Oh.”

“I just… I just wish I could close my eyes without being assaulted by the Joker’s face, or the green of the Lazarus pit, or a memory I’m not supposed to have, because they’re- they’re creating scenarios even worse than the memories and I just want them to stop .”

“I know. I know. Me too.” Bruce took in a deep breath, “I, uh, I still have nightmares of the day I found you in that warehouse.” Bruce’s eyes looked glossy, “when I found you, you were—“ Bruce snapped his jaw shut. 

“It was after the explosion. Right?”

Bruce nodded, but he didn’t expand upon it. Still, it was a lot more emotional vulnerability than Jason was expecting. 

“I’m sorry.”

Bruce pulled him in tighter. “I’ve never blamed you.”

Neither of them went back to bed after that, but it was obvious to Jason that everyone in the house heard him screaming, because everyone was more somber today. Despite that, there was always someone in the same room as him. And everyone was keeping a close eye on him. Like he would suddenly burst into flames.

Maybe the magic would wear off today.

Still didn’t mean he was fine with being watched. His nightmares kinda put Jason in a mood where he just wanted to be left alone.

Alfred was out shopping, and Bruce disappeared again, so he told Dick he would hang out with Tim, told Tim he would hang out with Cass, told Cass he would hang out with Duke, told Duke he would hang out with Damian, and told Damian he would hang out with Dick. Then locked himself in his room.

He started digging through the drawers for his old vest. The one he’s had since he was on the streets. It’s been a long time since the vest actually fit , but it reminded him of a time when the only things he had were the clothes on his back. Sometimes he took comfort in that. It might’ve been dusty after all the years in storage, but that didn’t matter to Jason. 

There was something weighing down the pocket. Oh? His phone? It probably wasn’t his current phone because Bruce usually gets him a new one every year, which is unnecessary, but hey, it’s Bruce. He’s rich.

He turned it on, and was somewhat surprised it wasn’t completely out of battery, but also not really because everything in this room seemed to have been abandoned. He opened up the phone and saw that there was a red dot on the upper right corner of the phone app. 

Maybe the voicemails didn’t really mean anything anymore, but sometimes it’s just too satisfying to clear out everything. He flopped on his bed

The oldest one was from April 24th 2018. From Alfred. He pressed play.

“Hello, Master Jason. I have just found the note that you left me, and I would urge you to come back to the manor. I apologize for seemingly conspiring with Master Bruce, though I think we should have this conversation face to face. Or at the very least, call me back. Goodbye.” 

For all of Alfred’s stoicism, he sounded genuinely worried.

The next call was on the same day but from Bruce.

“Jason, Alfred just called me.” there was an audible sigh, “I just need you to get back to the manor. The Joker’s on the loose and I- I need to deal with him first, but I also really need to have a conversation with you. I know learning about the loss of your father was tough, and then Gloria Stanson was a hard loss, and the way you’re treating the criminals we face is to make sure that never happens again– I just, I don’t want to see you get hurt. Get home safe.”

Suddenly the memory of a woman hanging in the middle of her living room burned in his brain. A woman he promised they would protect and bring justice to her, but the man who- who raped her ended up walking free with less than a slap on his wrist.

And to make things worse, Bruce thought he had killed Fellipe Garzona, which he hadn’t done. Maybe he hadn’t done anything to save him, but he didn’t push him off the balcony. 

The next three voicemails were from Dick, May 4th, 2018

“Greetings Jason.” It was in a bad ET impression “ The Titans and I just came back and I heard your voicemail, and woah– long lost mother? I think you just upgraded from sidekick to main character. Call me when you get the chance, I want to know all the details. We can trade stories.”

“Hey, little wing. I’ve gotten some updates on the things that have happened on Earth in the past couple of months, and I’m pretty sure Danny, the little shit, is giving me false information. Can you just…call me back?”

“Ok, Alright, I understand I can be a bit of an asshole sometimes, but this isn’t funny, Jason. I just got off the phone with Alfred, and I don’t know how you roped him into a joke as sick as this one. You-you can’t be dead.”

Jason almost snorted out loud. Huh, Dick was really falling for it. So why did he have a sinking feeling in his stomach?

The next one was from Dick again, but on May 5th, 2018

“Bruce didn’t even call me to tell me what happened. He didn’t even leave a message. He didn’t even tell me about–”   Dick cut himself off. Bruce…didn’t tell Dick that Jason had gotten beaten up by the Joker? There was a shuttery breath on the other side, “I know you won’t hear this. Fuck, I’m staring at your grave. I shouldn’t– this is dumb.” The call was cut off.

You can’t be dead.

He can’t be dead. He feels very alive right now. And the Lazarus pit can’t bring people back from the dead.

I’m staring at your grave.

The feeling of wood scraping against his fingers and nails… and it was an expensive coffin. Something only someone with money could buy.

His stomach twisted.

Constantine said something about Dimensional ripples…

The next one was from Alfred, on August 16th, 2018. Their birthday.

“Happy Birthday, my boy. I know you would have woken up before me, made breakfast for everyone, and somehow gotten me to join. You would have helped me make the cake. A strawberry one, because you preferred the tartness of the fresh fruit over the bitterness of chocolate.” There was a wet laugh, “We would have blown out the candles together, because you would refuse without me, and then you would ask me what my wish was.” There was a long pause, “I never usually tell you, but I guess I could tell you now.” There was a slight thud of something being put down on a table, “My true wish is for you to have– was for you to have made it to my age.” Jason felt his eyes begin to burn, “To see you get your driver's license, and participate in your school’s play. To watch you walk across the stage in a white cap and gown, and–” Alfred’s voice broke. He never breaks. “None of that can happen. Not anymore.” There was the sound of liquid splashing in the background, “So this is my wish. I know you are watching over us. I know you see how reckless Bruce has become. He is only Batman now. He’s alone too. He doesn’t care about himself anymore. I don’t- I do not want to have to put another son in the ground. Please make sure I don’t.” 

Jason set down his phone.

No.

He couldn’t have–

The ‘Y’ shaped scar. The autopsy scar. Only dead people get autopsies. His room hadn’t changed at all. Alfred, Bruce, and Dick all looked like they saw a ghost the moment they saw him. The grief he felt for Sheila Haywood felt much deeper because he wasn’t just mourning her. He was also mourning himself.

Jason grabbed a pair of earbuds, opened his window, and crawled out. His feet were on autopilot. 

The next one was from a random number, September 23rd, 2018.

“Hi, Robin- no shit, wait, Jason. Hi Jason. I didn’t expect your number to still be active. I, uh, I know you don’t really know me, but I’m Tim– Tim Drake. Your neighbor. You, uh, gave me your number at a Gala… and I don’t even know why I’m nervous! You won’t be listening to this! I just needed to say my thoughts out loud.” there was the static-y sound of someone blowing into the mic, “Ok, I dunno if I believe in heaven or the afterlife or whatever there is, but if you’re watching, you know Batman’s gotten… rough. Really rough. And Batman needs a Robin. To make sure the darkness doesn’t overtake him. So. I think… I think I’m going to go to Dick and tell him he has to be Robin again. Would that be intruding? Because technically, I don’t think I’m supposed to know, but…it’s for the greater good. So it’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. Wish me luck!”

Dick, September 25th, 2018.

“I- fuck. Ok. Ok. A kid just came over telling me that I have to be Robin again. Jason, I– I can’t be Robin again. It’s yours. I gave it to you.” He took a breath,  “I am not going to be Robin again. I feel comfortable in Nightwing. But if Bruce is running himself into the ground…Fuck.” There was the sound of something hard hitting skin, “There’s no Robin, no Batgirl, it’s just Batman… I’m back in Gotham because of this kid, he’s really smart, and skilled. He figured out all of our identities by the time he was nine . Can you believe that? And… you’re gonna laugh, but he flipped me over his shoulder. I think you would like him. He’s definitely got some snark to him, but he’s also thoughtful and…” He’s thinking of giving him Robin. “The kid’s right, Batman does need a Robin, but, I don’t want what happened to you to happen to him, but knowing the track record, once he realizes that I’m not going to be Robin… he’ll realize that there’s only one other person who could be it. And as much as I don’t like it, I know I can’t stop it. I’m going to be there for him in the way I couldn’t for you. But I know that I also can’t be there every single moment of every single day. So please. Look after him.”

Tim, September 25th, 2018

“Uh… nevermind, he’s still going to be Nightwing. But I got to see the Batcave. Which is sick… I guess. But my plan didn’t work. At least Nightwing is in Gotham. Things can only get better.”

Tim, October 12th, 2018

“Batman and Nightwing are in really big trouble. They were fighting Two-face and got trapped and I need to help them, and I never wanted this for myself. I don’t want to take your place, but Batman needs a Robin. And if Dick won’t be Robin again…” there was a sigh, “give me a sign that this is the right choice. If it’s not then I won’t, but if you’re spirit or whatever could just—“ there was the sound of something clattering in the background, “Holy shit! Ok. Ok! I won’t let you down. I promise.”

Alfred, October 13th, 2018. 

“Thank you for listening, Jason.” There was a long pause, “I miss you very dearly. And I hope you are at peace.”

Dick, November 20th, 2018.

“Hey, Jason.” He sounded tired. Less upbeat than he usually is. “I feel… I feel wrong. I feel horrible. Titans tower blew up a couple of days ago, but is it bad that that’s not really the thing that’s on my mind?” There was a long pause, “If you were… alive and right in front of me, I probably wouldn’t be telling you this, because you're my little brother, but you’ll never hear this.” There was the sound of something shifting in the background, “There was this shape shifter on the team. And I knew she had a crush on me, but I just ignored it. But- but she pretended to be Kory, and I didn’t know, and—“ Dick cut himself off “I enjoyed it at the time, but now I just feel sick.” 

Tim, February 12th, 2019. 

“Hey Jason. I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you in a while. I just… things have been busy. Superman died, but you’ve probably know that, and Batmans running himself into the ground. It’s like more and more things keep happening. Black mask tried to kill Bruce and Mr. Fox. There’s a killer who calls himself Metalhead, which is really… dumb. The guy could’ve picked a better name. And someone tried to kill Commissioner Gordon. But Bruce told me to help a new… ally. Jean-Paul Valley. Despite his name, he sadly does not have a French accent. He’s… hard to work with. He’s not really talkative, and he also can get really violent at times, but we’re making progress. Bruce isn’t letting me help him at all. There was a massive Arkham breakout. And he wouldn’t let me help. I just feel like I’m not doing my job as Robin. He’s tired, Jason. I can tell. But he wont let me help him. What am I supposed to do?”

Bruce, March 4th, 2019. 

“I’m sorry. I am so so sorry. I- Jason.” There was a shuddering breath in the background “My boy. My son. My sweet sweet boy.” No. No. Batman doesn’t cry. “You didn’t deserve it. It should’ve been me.”

He didn’t deserve it because it couldn’t have been true. He can’t be dead. 

He could see the cemetery. There’s no way he could find his...his grave. 

It was one of those tombstones with an angel.  

Here Lies Jason Todd 8/16/2002 - 4/27/2018

The ground started to tilt, and he sat down in the damp grass. 

He was dead. 

He died. 

Tim, March 30th, 2019. 

“Bruce broke his back, and he’s made Jean-Paul Valley be Batman. He can’t be Batman. He’s too rough. He doesn’t pull his punches. He won’t let me help him. And he’s a shit detective. I just… I just feel so lost. And kinda lonely. Dick is busy in New York. Fixing whatever mess happened with the Titans. Bruce and Alfred have gone to look for my Dad, and… I feel like it’s just me. Could you, maybe possibly, send help? Please. ”

Tim, April 17, 2019.

“Oh thank fuck.”

Dick, April 27, 2019.

“Hey, Jason. I just… wanted to tell you I’m sorry for not being there for you in the way that I should’ve been. I’m not going to mope, because you would punch me if I did, but I just wanted to tell you. Bruce made me fill in for being Batman, and I hated it, but now I’m back to being Nightwing. I moved to Bludhaven. It’s only 30 minutes away and they’re kinda like a mini Gotham. Bruce wants me to solve a bunch of murders over here. clean up the police force. Ya know the works.” There was a pause, “I miss you. I keep thinking about how maybe by this time, you would’ve become your own hero. Because Bruce can be annoying. You would’ve loved Tim. He isn’t afraid to tell Bruce when he’s wrong. If you did become your own hero, I would like to think you would’ve become Flamebird. Even though I know you wouldn’t go with Flamebird, I just think it suits you. You have- had, you had a fiery heart. You would protect those who needed it. You would hurt those who deserved it.” There was a long pause, “The Joker took Tim the other day, and I killed him. I killed the Joker. I wasn’t going to, but then he mentioned you, and he said he did the same to Tim, and I just.. I lost it.” Something crashed in the background, “Bruce brought him back too. So the Joker’s back in Arkham, and part of me hates Bruce for doing that, but also, I’m glad. I- having his blood on my hands… and I know you wouldn’t have wanted me to do it. You stopped Bruce from killing the Joker.” There was a dark laugh,  “Tim stopped me from fully shattering Joker’s skull.”

Dick, June 26th, 2019.

“Hey, Jay. I hallucinated you, so I’m probably doing really bad.” There was a sniffle “Donna’s gone. But you probably know that. Knowing you, you’ve probably been sticking to her like glue.

“It’s not– We were the first. I was the first kid to put on the cape. Back then it seemed like every hero was invincible. I felt invincible. You were the first kid to die. Because of a standard I set. Because of a mantle I made. And now Donna’s gone too. I was already Robin when she became Wondergirl. It was only acceptable to have a kid sidekick because of me. Give Donna a big hug for me. I’ll– I was about to say ‘see you soon’, but Alfred would be angry if I did.”

Tim, July 7th, 2019.

“Hey. I haven’t talked to you in a while. I’m sorry. It’s just that Clayface pretended to be you, and tried to kill me, and it… was weird, but it also got me wondering if you would actually be ok with me being Robin. Not that it really matters anymore. My dad sucks. He blackmailed Bruce into keeping me from being Robin. And to make it worse, guess who Bruce made the new Robin? My Ex. So Bruce sucks too. I guess I’ve gotta be a normal kid now.” 

Alfred, August 16th, 2019.

“Happy Birthday, my boy. I was going to bring a small cake to your grave, but your body is no longer there.” There was a sigh , “I am at your gargoyle. The one you used to brood at. Like a mini Bruce. It felt much more significant to you. You practically have a little brother now. And an Older sister, though she’s not much older than you. I know you’ve always wished for a sister. There’s also the new Robin. Both of you have similar backgrounds, and show your hearts on your sleeves, but that is about where the similarities end. Master Bruce may see you in her, but I don’t. I see you everytime I’m in the kitchen. I’ll be preparing supper, or breakfast, and ask you for something and suddenly remember you are not here. I keep your copies of Jane Austen’s books on the shelf in my room because she was your favorite. I feel your presence whenever I go to watch the plays in the theater. I even feel your presence up here.” A click of a lighter , “We’ll blow the candle out together. 1..2..3..” There was a pause, “My wish is still the same from last year. For you to be alive. Though, I am content with only seeing you in my memories and only feeling you in my heart.”

Dick, November 2nd, 2019.

The call started with crying, “Jason… something-something happened.” A sniff, “I said no. I-I told her to stop. And I can’t– I can still hear– I can still feel–” 

There was a hand on his shoulder. He knew that hand. “Bruce…”

The Hoover Dam of Jason’s emotions was already leaking, he was helpless to stop it from breaking. He had died. He was dead . He wasn’t there to help Bruce, or Dick. He wasn’t there to mentor Tim. He–

He didn’t finish his sophomore year. He didn't get to finish highschool. He didn’t perform in the musical, he didn’t write his college essay. He didn’t get to open acceptance letters with Bruce, he didn’t get to walk across the stage. 

He didn’t make it to college. 

He didn’t even make it to 16 .

Bruce sat down next to him, even though it would probably get mud all over his pants.

“I’m dead.” He didn’t dare look at Bruce, “Why– why didn’t you just tell me?” Jason’s chest felt tight, and his throat even tighter. The feeling only grew as the silence stretched for longer. 

“...I watched as that warehouse exploded. I was close enough where I could feel the heat, and smell the smoke. I had to dig through the rubble to get to you, but I was too late. I had to carry your body home.” Bruce’s voice was deep and growly.  It was his Batman voice. Emotionless. Meaning that he had too many that he didn’t want to show. 

You didn’t deserve it. It should’ve been me. 

Jason rested his head on Bruce’s shoulder. “It wasn't your fault. In the end, there just wasn’t enough time.” He thought about the dream. Sheila Haywood tried to open the door, but it was locked. They would’ve made it out if it wasn’t. “I know you tried your hardest to get there, I don’t blame you. We can’t save everyone.” Jason felt his lip quiver, because even though that was true, that didn’t make dealing with the people they did lose any easier.

“I love you so much, Jason. I- I can never bring myself to say it—“

“You just did, old man. And you don’t have to say it out loud. When it comes to emotions, you’ve always been a man of action. You hover, but give me space when I’m upset. You’re always asking me what you can get me, and give me everything you can, even your time. You spent months fighting for custody over me. And yeah, sometimes you push me away, but that’s only because you don’t want to see me get hurt. I know you love me. And I love you too, Dad.”

Bruce sucked in a breath, “I really need to talk to you when the magic wears off. I mean it to older you too.”

Jason just nodded, because it wasn’t really something for him to hear, it was for older him. He stood up, but immediately regretted it. His limbs felt like jelly, and colors morphed together like he was looking through a kaleidoscope. “Bruce… I think… the magic’s leaving…”

And everything went black.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Five Little Ducks

Fandom: DC Comics, Batman

Summary: Bruce finds a magically de-aged Jason.

Chapters: 13/13

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Zatanna Zatara

Additional Tags: De-Aged Jason Todd, Magic, Babysitting, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, POV Third Person, Bruce Wayne is Not Okay, Bruce Wayne Tries, Jason Todd Has Issues, Childhood Trauma, TW: Self Harm

Chapter Thirteen: The New Normal

Bruce woke up with a blade to his throat. “Jason—.”

“How’d you know it was me?” Jason whispered. He had a man’s voice, an angry man’s voice, but Bruce knew better.

“Because you’re scared,” Bruce whispered as he opened his eyes. They exchanged glances in the dark.

“You’re the one with a knife to your throat, and I’m the one who’s scared?” Jason asked.

“If you were mad, you would’ve gone for my eyes,” Bruce answered. Jason tightened the blade against Bruce’s neck, allowing the serrated edge to penetrate the skin. “Sit down, and let’s talk. It’s been a while… I missed you.”

Jason shook his head. “No, it’s a trick,” Jason whispered. Bruce touched Jason’s wrist gently.

“You don’t think I love you… And that hurts, doesn’t it?” Bruce asked. Jason pressed the blade further into Bruce’s flesh, drawing blood. Bruce didn’t flinch.

“Do you think this is funny?” Jason asked. Tears forced their way down Jason’s cheeks as he raised the knife above his head. Bruce let go of Jason’s wrist and stared into his eyes. They were a child’s eyes. Jason let out a sob involuntarily as the tears flooded down his face. “Fight back!” Jason screamed. Bruce didn’t move. Blood trickled down his neck as he watched Jason fight within himself.

“I wasn’t the same without you… If this is what it takes to prove I love you, then so be it, Jason. I’d do almost anything for you,” Bruce whispered. Jason let out a sickened scream like a wounded animal as he plunged the knife into Bruce’s shoulder.

“We should’ve died together! I passed away without ever knowing how you felt! If you loved me, you would’ve died with me!” Jason screamed. “Or you would’ve killed him!”

“I couldn’t kill Jo—. Him… because it would’ve made your death cheap. I don’t know how to fix it if I can outside of that, but part of me knew that I’d never be able to remember you as you were if I made it about him. I wanted to kill him… Hell, I still want to kill him for what he did to you, but I never would’ve grieved you properly. You deserved that at least—.”

“You didn’t grieve me. You replaced me. I was nothing more than another sidekick to you. You never cared about any of us… You didn’t care about me,” Jason spat. The words tasted sour to Bruce as he considered Jason’s words. Bruce didn’t want to fight. That was the mistake Bruce made back then. He never should’ve fought Jason.

“I love Tim and Dick… But you were special. I don’t think any two people were more made for each other as father and son as we were. Jason, I couldn’t love the same after you. I couldn’t breathe the same… Batman will never feel the same. I put on the cape and cowl, and I’m constantly haunted by the little boy I killed.

“I know you’re scared, but I’m here. It’s not too late to let me help you. We can fix this—.”

Jason pulled the blade from Bruce’s shoulder and backed away. “You didn’t want me anymore! You were gonna let me go with her! She was a stranger, and you were fully prepared to let me go with her… Like I didn’t mean anything to you,” Jason cried as he sank to the ground in a corner of the room. Bruce held his bleeding shoulder as he sat up and turned the light on.

“I thought it would keep you safe. I didn’t want you to leave, but I—. I was terrified about what would happen if you stayed with me… It’s all my fault,” Bruce admitted. Jason hid his face in his hands.

“I was scared, Bruce… Everything was falling apart, and I just—. I wanted something to hold onto,” Jason wept, “You weren’t there for me.”

“You’re right. I was too passive. When I saw you hurting, I backed away. I should’ve been stable. That’s all you needed,” Bruce replied as he approached Jason. “You loved all your parents, and we all failed you. Didn’t we? You loved Willis. I know you did… But he didn’t know how to let you be gentle. You loved Catherine, but drugs took her away from you… You loved Sheila, and she betrayed you… And you loved me, and I failed you in every way imaginable. I’m sorry.” Jason dropped the knife and looked up. Bruce nodded.

“I hate you so much,” Jason cried. Bruce nodded as he opened his arms. Jason struck Bruce across the face. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” Jason fought Bruce’s embrace until he realized Bruce wasn’t giving up. “I loved you, Bruce.”

“I love you too, Jason,” Bruce whispered, “Jason… You’re gonna be alright. I’m not gonna let go. I’m right here. Nothing else matters, I promise.”

Jason wept on Bruce’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m so tired,” Jason mumbled.

“I know…” Bruce held Jason until he fell asleep, and he tucked Jason into his bed. While Jason slept, Bruce patched himself up and sat by Jason’s bedside, pushing his hair back. “It’ll be alright. This wasn’t your fault. You’re gonna be okay,” Bruce whispered. Jason breathed heavily in his sleep as if he hadn’t slept in days. His chest heaved up and down quickly, and Bruce gave Jason’s scalp a gentle scratch. “You’re safe now. Don’t worry about anything. I’ve got you now.”

*

Bruce slept in the chair and awakened as Jason draped a blanket over the older man. Bruce looked up and smiled. “How’s your inner child?” Bruce smiled.

“You let me stab you in the shoulder,” Jason mumbled as he sat on Bruce’s bed crosslegged.

“I thought you were aiming for my throat,” Bruce whispered, “And you missed everything important.”

“I wasn’t aiming for anything important… I was thinking…” Jason chuckled, but his smile quickly faded. “You know about what happened when I was ten years old… What do you have to say about it?” Jason asked.

“Are you a baptized Catholic?” Bruce questioned. Jason smiled and nodded. “And we didn’t talk about why… Why’d you do it?”

“Things were awful at home. Mom and Dad were fighting all the time, and—. And I was tired of being the adult,” Jason replied, “I was only ever a kid when I was with you.”

“I’m glad I did one thing right,” Bruce grinned, “Oh, the haircut you had when you were eight… I liked it.”

“Funny,” Jason replied, “I learned a lot from this.”

“You remember all of it?” Bruce questioned. Jason nodded.

“Don’t tell anyone that I remember, okay? Except for Stephanie… Tell her I said she was one of the best moms I ever had,” Jason smiled.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me… And I’m grateful for the time I spent with you these past few weeks,” Bruce confessed, “But next time, can we do family therapy instead?” Jason laughed.

“I’ll never let you off that easy,” Jason whispered. The two men sat in the dark together, watching the sunrise outside Bruce’s bedroom window. “I don’t know how to move forward, Bruce.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out,” Bruce whispered.

[wrencatte]

SHDUFKSEHDBDKSS Well if I’m allowed to choose more, I’m gonna!

(Loved the hair one, I don’t have curly hair, but I somehow got the always-messy look too, except when shaved, and it’s so relatable!)

I would love to hear about Hourglass, Mourning Dove, and Vengeance and Ghosts Jason! (If that’s too much at once, just mourning dove?)

I won’t ask for more because other people should get a chance, but they all looked so good!

💜

Honestly, I don't even have anything for hourglass other than a phrase, but I can tell you it was going to be a(nother) mind-control fic, but more in line with the original persuasion because im not super satisfied with it. I'm contemplating not completing it since I/ve writing/written go for the throat.

but the other two!

mourning dove was an olllldddd time-travel concept! And Vengeance was...I think based off a tumblr post about ghosts and vengeance (hence the weird wip title)

mourning dove:

The Joker dies on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday morning. The sun rises. No one can see it past the perpetual fog that blankets Gotham this late into fall. People go about their business. And the Joker is found dead on the steps of the Gotham City Police Department’s Major Crimes Unit. Commissioner Gordan finds it – that wide, grotesque smile very, very carefully…shot off. Like someone had stuck a gun in the clown’s mouth and pulled the trigger. Enough of his face untouched to identify him. The back of his skull blown to bits. Jim covers his eyes with a hand, shoulders quivering, caught somewhere between relieved laughter and horrified laughter. The Joker is dead. The Joker is dead.

vengeance and ghosts

Jason drifts. He plans. He kills. He cleans the streets of Gotham. He taunts and goads Roman Sionis and can just taste that he’s on the edge of cracking. The Bat dogs his heels every night. Both too far and too close. Jason doesn’t sleep. He has to set a timer to eat. His mind moving too fast, hopping days and weeks and backtracking. He can’t lose the plot now. This is only the rising action. The story’s not done. Not yet. Years of training and planning didn’t prepare him for actually being in Gotham. His previous visit – a bomb under the batmobile. Too impersonal. Too revenge driven. This is supposed to be justice – is like a fever dream. And maybe he did have a fever. He came back to Talia, weak-kneed and unable to breathe, lungs constricting, eyes stinging. She’s not his mom. She’ll never be his mom – his mom is Catherine. Not Sheila. Not Talia. Catherine – But there’s still a softness to her that made her gather him up then and murmur poems against his hair until he stopped falling back to that warehouse. The funniest thing is – it’s never the actual warehouse that’s the problem. Not the Joker. Not the crowbar. Not that damn bomb. It’s the smell of nicotine and blond hair. It’s disinterested expression. It’s the betrayal. And he wonders why it hurts so much. He didn’t know her. She was only his mother in blood

[kirk-says-wah]

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧

This was requested on ao3. You can also read it here

REQUEST: Kirk/Lars hanahaki disease angst w/ happy ending?

Pairing: Kirk/Lars

TW: sick character

It started with a cough.

It wasn’t even that bad, just a permanent tickle in his throat that didn’t go away no matter how much he drank.

But it only took a few days for it to turn into a hacking cough, leaving him breathless. His housemates become concerned, because all he seems to be doing is coughing.

But it’s not a problem. Until it is.

He’s sitting with Jason, both of them playing their guitars, and Kirk coughs, grimacing at the way it scrapes at his chest.

Jason shoots him a look but Kirk just waves him off, going back to strumming his guitar.

They’re halfway through a song when Kirk feels it. It’s like something’s trying to pry its way out of his chest, up his throat, and he coughs, hard. He doubles over, eyes squeezing shut as he hacks, feeling his hand turn wet.

He heaves a breath, almost feeling like he’s vomiting as whatever it is pushes its way out of his throat and into his hand.

He breathes, finally, and opens his eyes.

His hand is dripping with blood, and there in the middle, is a flower petal.

Shit.

“Dude,” Jason exclaims, pushing his guitar to the side, eyes wide as he eyes Kirk’s hand.

Kirk grimaces, reaching over to grab a tissue, wiping his hand and bundling the flower up and throwing it in the trash.

“Why have you not said anything?” Jason asks, face still slack with shock.

Kirk sniffs, not really comprehending what’s happening.

“I didn’t know what was wrong.”

“Well apparently you’re in love,” Jason says, crossing his arms. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

At least, there’s one thing Kirk is sure about. It’s not a girl. In fact he knows exactly who it is. It’s the person who’s been stuck to his side for the past 5 years. The same person who he lives with and sees every day and he knows won’t love him back. Mostly because he’s a dude. And Lars isn’t gay.

He’s heard about this disease before, that either the other person loves him back or he dies.

He doesn’t like having that ultimatum hanging over his head; that he has to tell Lars to even have a chance at surviving. But he doesn’t see the point anyways. Lars will never love him back.

So he continues on, coughing up blood and flower petals until he’s bed ridden, can’t even move without flowers digging their graves in his lungs.

It hurts, hurts so fucking much, and he knows he’s going to die. Even when the other three get concerned and just tell him to let the other person know, he won’t. It wouldn’t be fair, and he just feels like he’s forcing the other person to like him.

He knows he’s only got a few days now, can hardly breathe, his breaths crackly and hot, blood speckled across his lips.

He’s half asleep when he realises he’s not alone.

He blinks his eyes open to see Lars sat on the bed watching him. He looks concerned, even sad? His eyes are wet and his bottom lip’s trembling. Kirk would sit up if he had the energy.

“I can’t bear to see you like this,” Lars says, breath hitching, reaching across to take one of Kirk’s limp hands in his own.

“Why don’t you just tell them? It’s not too late.”

Kirk coughs, tastes blood, lolls his head to look at Lars better. Lars’s crying softly now, hands clammy around Kirk’s own, and it kills Kirk not to just tell him. In fact, it practically is killing him.

“They’re not gonna love me back,” Kirk rasps, smacking his dry lips together.

Lars shakes his head with a sob, bending over at the middle.

“I can’t just sit here and watch you die,” he says, voice loud, and Kirk flinches.

“You have to,” Kirk says because it’s true. They have no other choice.

Lars makes a frustrated noise, moving to grip Kirk’s jaw between his fingers.

“I can’t fucking let you go,” he cries, face close now, and Kirk wants to move, wants to push Lars away, to stop taunting him. He can’t bare it. He swallows back the urge to cough.

Lars blinks his tears away, looking at the ceiling, before finally, his gaze settles back on Kirk with a deep breath.

“I-“ he starts, his fingers moves to thumb across Kirk’s chin. He’s so close, Kirk can practically feel his heart beat through his chest.

“I love you.”

It’s no more than a whisper, and Kirk doesn’t think he’s heard it right.

“What?”

Lars laughs wetly, inching away, but a surge of adrenaline makes Kirk hold him close, a hand on his shoulder.

Lars looks at him for a moment, unsure.

“I love you,” he repeats, and Kirk can feel the exact moment the disease halts.

He smiles and abruptly pulls Lars into a kiss. Lars gives a surprised yelp but kisses him back, hands flying to cup Kirk’s nape.

“I love you too,” Kirk says when they pull away, and Lars’s eyes widen.

“It was me? This whole time?”

Kirk just nods, not trusting his voice because he may not be dying anymore, but it’s gonna take him a long time to recover and he still feels like he’s on deaths door. Lars scoffs.

“And you didn’t think I’d love you back? Are you that stupid?”

Kirk ducks a little, but how was he supposed to know Lars loved him? As far as he was aware, Lars was straight.

“I’ve loved you since day one,” Lars says, pressing their foreheads together, thumbing away the tears that track down Kirk’s face.

Kirk just grins, pulling Lars back in for another kiss.

[senatushq]

NAME. Tors ( Lycaon ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3329 + & January 9th, 3000 + BCE GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Aspect. OCCUPATION. Artist FACE CLAIM. Jason Mamoa

biography

( tw gore, violence, murder, cannibalism, attempted suicide ) A kingdom, in exchange for flesh and blood. That was what the gods had offered him, so Lycaon built his throne upon the same sacred mountain he was born on. His ascension was not without blood shed; a wealth of corpses offered up in sacrifice so great in number they were spilling off the sides of the cliffs. His rule was quite impressive, dominating Arcadia before his influence spread to surrounding dominions. But it was never enough. What was a king to a god after all? A foolish king with a lust for power, it was only a matter of time before this drew the gaze of an evil eye.

 It started as a whisper that later turned into a scream. A voice that was not his own bounced around in his head; cold, dark tendrils casting shadows in his dreams. Lilith. The voice of the first demon played into his delusions of grandeur, goading him into taking more and more. The external influence sowed seeds of doubt in the mind of Lycaon. Was Ulthar truly all knowing? Because no matter how many bodies were piled up as sacrificial offerings to them, disease and meager harvests were still commonplace in his kingdom. After years of basking under the black moon in the subconscious realm of his dreams, the mad king of Arcadia finally devised a plan. Filled with spite, Lycaon hosted a grandiose feast that was sure to satisfy even the greediest of gods. With Ulthar seated at his table one of the servants placed a platter of meat in front of the divine. Meat from Lycaea's finest lamb, Lycaon boasted, watching with bated breath for the deity to take the first bite. On the platter before Ulthar was the roasted remains of Lycaon's son, Nyctimus. Lycaon had many sons, so many in fact that their abundance divorced Lycaon from any paternal instincts he might have felt towards the brood. He saw them more as property, their bodies belonged to him and he would be the one to choose where they die. Disgust turned to rage when Ulthar tasted the food in front of him. Lycaon's booming laughter caught in his throat as his body convulsed and began to transform into something far from human. It started in his bones, skeleton breaking apart and elongating. The soft tissues followed quickly, muscle and hair covered skin stretching over this new form. Screams erupted from the banquet hall as Lycaon turned to the noble who had been seated closest to him, wolf teeth ripping through the soft flesh of the man's neck with ease. The creature descended upon his guests, brutally killing whoever could not escape in time. In the rampage he turned on his own children once again, biting but not killing four of them. His curse was fated to spread, anyone who survived his bite would be doomed to walk the Earth as a feral monster. He was eventually chased from Lycaea, his subjects living out their lives in fear that the wolfman would return and finish what he had started.

 Centuries spent roaming the Otherworld left its mark on his psyche.  With barbarous cruelty he feasted upon slain foes to sustain his beastial form, seeming to only grow stronger with every life he cut short. Good or evil, guilty or innocent, Lycaon dispatched them equally. Anything that dared cross his path died in agony. The curiosity of the beings of the Otherworld was quickly defiled when they looked upon the pathways to find them splattered with mutilated corpses.  When Mneme and Melpomene restored his ability to return to a human body, it took a long time for the wolf to loosen its jaws that had ensnared his mind. If it was not for their magic, Lycaon would have killed them too in a blind rage. It was the only thing he knew. He had spent so long as a wolf at first he could not remember who he was or what his name was. Countless human life spans have passed and even now it is difficult to tell who is the one in direct control of Lycaon's corporeal form: a foolish king or a ravenous beast.

 He tried to start over, but this was not possible. The halfblooded king of Arcadia died when Ulthar transformed him into a monster, so he chose a new name for himself. Tors. The depths of the abyss he had ruminated in for so long was far too deep for him to ever resurface. He tried to forget, start a new family deep in the frozen North, but fate is cruel. Every single one of his children inherited his curse. And he had to bury every single one of them. As they grew old and weary, he stayed the same. Generations of his own blood lived and died before his eyes. Overcome with grief, he was robbed of his will to live. He had escaped the Otherworld, but was this life really worth living? Tors quickly discovered that blades could not pierce his skin and injuries that promised immediate death for others simply healed before his eyes. For years he searched for something that would bring about his end to no avail.

 I will be the first and the last of my kind.

 Whether it be the recent cataclysmic events or his own desire to insert himself in conflict, Tors found his path leading him back to Rome. It had been centuries since the last time he saw the city, he hardly recognized it when he arrived. It was difficult to contain his rage when he first saw how his children were being treated. Shackled by the senate and pushed to the outskirts of the city, one of the first species in Rome were treated like pests.  Lycaon intends on changing that. The time of the lycans has arrived.

personality

+ resilient, loyal, fearless – malicious, cruel, callous

played by chloe. cst. she/her.

[morganas-pendragons]

in loving memory of Jason Todd

we're going to follow the under the red hood plot for the sake of this fic, but this came to me in the shower as all good fics do! please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any Batboy fics. and hello to all you new followers. welcome. I hope you love it here! this follows the Grayson!sister plot!

tag: @darth-vaders-bitch

***

3 days ago...

"JJ." Jason freezes mid-step in his trek back to his bike parked in the shadows - because he wasn't about to step in and save the baby bat replacement without a reason to - and very slowly turns around to meet your gaze. He would've glared the person to death who dared to call him something so juvenile. Coming from the person he'd loved since he was 13, though... he was okay with it. "Thank you."

He swallows the knot in his throat as you scoop Tim up into your arms. Little Tim, his Replacement, who is still a child and only trusts you to be vulnerable around. He's hurt. He's a kid and he didn't deserve what those thugs had done to him.... and after all you'd endured since losing Jason all those years and then coming back again.. he'd give you this. He'd let Tim live if it made you happy.

"Anytime, darlin'." He replied softly.

"You asked me a question, before." Black gloves reach outward to envelop his wrist. "If I still loved you. Here's your answer."

You lay a thumb drive in his palm. It's small, barely bigger than his thumb, and labeled with the year he had died. He should toss it into the Gotham River and never entertain the answers that are on that flash drive. He should let you go. Let you move on. Clearly the Bats need you.

But not like he does.

No one had sang him a song since the song of the countdown in that god forsaken warehouse. What hurts more, A or B? Forehand, or back hand? ha HA hA Ha hA!

The taste of blood in his mouth, the broken domino. The way he'd been so convinced that Bruce would save him.

The way he felt nothing but warmth until Death took him.

Jason Todd refuses to forgive Bruce Wayne for the torture he put him through. Manipulating the child he'd take under his wing and give the moniker Robin. The boy who loved Neopolitan ice cream and English literature and cooking in the kitchens with Alfred. That version of him is dead, but even then... somehow, someway, you still find it in you to love him.

And that's the best song he's heard in years. It rings with joy and hope and everything he's seeking.

Upon return to his safe house, Jason nudged the door open with his hip and slipped inside. He was starving and needed a shower. Some sleep. Clean his guns and check his security system, make sure it's up to speed. Instead, Jason sits down on the ratty yellow couch that's ten years out of date and curls his legs beneath him as he plugs the thumb drive in.

A folder with the year he died and the words In Loving Memory of Jason Todd shows up. His stomach turns at the sight of those words as his brain reads them repeatedly. Jason had been under the impression when he'd woken up in the Pit and begun being trained by the League that no one had mourned him. Why would they? Why would you?

You wanted to know if I loved you. Here's your answer.

You can do this. Jason opens the folder and is greeted with half a dozen or more videos, most of which are you and only you. They seem to have been recorded in the middle of the night long after the rest of the Bats are asleep and Bruce isn't around to be nosy about why you would be using the Batcomputer at 4 am. That was exactly what you needed, and it had worked.

Jason clicked on the one week after video and waited.

***

One week after Jason died...

Camera opens onto a dark room. There's a single figure that emerges from the shadow, enveloped in a royal blue sweatshirt that's far too big on her, and they come to sit in the chair that is meant for a grown man.

Little Grayson stares at the camera of the Batcomputer and begins talking,

"It's been one week, JJ." You murmur. "One week since Bruce came home and said your body had been claimed by an explosion. That you were gone, and that he hadn't been fast enough to save you. I still don't know why you didn't just let me go with you... maybe I could've done something." Your fingers curl around the cuff of the sweatshirt sleeve tight enough to turn your knuckles white. "I had something I was going to ask you when you got back home... but today we finally buried you, and that question died on my lips when we put that body in the grave.

It doesn't feel right, letting you go. Part of me, the part in denial, says you're not really dead at all. But I know I'm naive. I've always been naive. It's part of the reason why Bruce won't let me go in the field now."

Jason snorts. That's typical.

"There were so many things I loved about you. Things that drove Dick and Alfred and Bruce nuts..." Soft laughter falls past your lips as you rest your head in your hand. "But I would not and will never change a thing about you. If you are really gone, Jason.... I hope you're at peace." Your eyes meet the camera, dark circles just beginning to form and red rimmed from crying. Jason knows then that his death will haunt you. That you will never be over the guilt that comes with it. "I hope you knew I love you."

Camera goes dark.

***

It takes him several hours to be able to gather the courage to open the next video. Once he does, dawn has just begun peeking over Gotham's skyline and there's a steaming cup of the tea Alfred got him hooked on years ago in front of him.

You're way too freaking domestic for a serial killer.

Shut up.

He snorts softly and opens the next video. Six week after his death, and it's evident.

***

Six Weeks After....

Camera opens, and this time it's to a very obvious fight. Bruce is the one at the computer at 4 AM and he has his back turned to the camera, chair cast out of the way to show both his form and that of the younger Grayson. The audio is garbled and distorted until Bruce disappears off camera alongside a flash of gray hair, and then Little Wing is settling back in the chair.

Your eyes are dark. Way darker then he's ever seen them, and there's an air of loathing and despair that settles around you like the cape Batman wears. Dark as night and even more suffocating.

"I don't know why I keep coming down here. Is this a way to torture myself? My penance for not doing enough for Jason?" Jason's chest constricts too tight and he rubs at the dip in his sternum to try to ease the ache there he cannot actually do anything about. It's a phantom pain. Pain he can feel from you. "JJ, you will always be the best thing that ever happened to me. Let's note that makes Dick really jealous... but he can shove off and keep all his regal titles and all the things the obnoxious and overprotective big brothers get to do. And he's such a good brother. I wish he saw himself that way." Your eyes meet the camera. "I wish you knew how we mourned you. Bruce has been acting so distant and cold and I haven't seen him cry a single time since he brought you home.. but I know he mourns. Or at least I'd like to think he does. Who knows anymore. But he is not my father. My father wouldn't berate me for not being able to let the boy I love go. I hope you see yourself the way I see you, if you ever see this." Laughter bubbles past your throat. It's so.. bitter. Like the thought of what you just said is so utterly ridiculous you cannot even begin to comprehend why you said it. "Idiot. Maybe he's right. Maybe I am stupid."

Jason pauses the video before it goes dark to gaze at you. Your hair is longer and unkempt, like you haven't found it in you to have the energy to brush your hair. You're wearing the same blue sweatshirt that Jason hasn't recognized until now is his. It's highly likely that you wouldn't let Alfred touch it because it smelled like him. Alfie, you sentimental sap.

His fingers graze your cheek. When he finds you back on patrol, he intends to give this back. This isn't something you just throw away. Even with The Replacement in the picture and your obvious dedication to the Bats, there's something stirring low in Jason's gut that tells him you love him just as much now as you did then.

And well.... Red Hood is allowed to love. He deserves to.

***

The last video in the six is not you, but Dick. Dick Grayson is sitting in the chair spinning himself around repeatedly as he gazes at a small lavender box in his hand.

"Hey Jay. I didn't realize until about a month and a half ago that Little Wing was still making these videos for you. I'm not entirely sure why. Truth be told I think it's because you were you and someone doesn't just get over you.... which is why it's me in here instead of the little one." He holds up the box and opens it. It's a ring. A promise ring Jason had secured long before his death in the hopes of one day, being able to give it to you wit ha promise that he would marry you. "And then I found this when I was helping Alfie clean your room. You hid it in your underwear drawer, you scoundrel." Jason would've been lying if he said that Dick's laugh that followed didn't make him warm. Dick had always had that gift about him.. comforting when he didn't even realize he was doing it. Just the sound of his laughter was enough. "And just so you know... you have my blessing. Marry my sibling." Dick leans forward and lays the box just in front of the camera. "And have the life you deserve."

The laptop lid slams shut and Jason is out the door before he can stop himself.

***

"So do you believe me-"

The two of you are standing on the rooftop under the Vicki Vale billboard when Jason throws the Red hood helmet to the side and fixes your eyes head-on. There is not a drop of hesitation or fear but acceptance. And that look on someone who has suffered as much as Jason Todd has is probably the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

He is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

"You kept the ring." You pull the promise ring from underneath your armor on the silver chain you'd gotten years beforehand. It kept it safe. Kept him safe, before you were the only one of the Bats who knew he was alive. "You kept the ring knowing you wanted to ask me something if you ever saw me again. I'm gonna ask you now."

Your whole world slows down as he sets himself on one knee and asks with all the confidence of a man finally allowing himself to accept love and be loved for the rest of his life.

Will you marry me?

[thepartyresponsible]

this one’s for @hargreeeves​, who asked for frank castle/roy harper for prompts 34 and 33. surprise! that’s arranged marriage and magic/fantasy.

so here’s an angsty but hopeful story about an arranged marriage that is actually an assassination plot. there are also werewolves, because nobody can stop me.

oliver queen’s not treated kindly here, so fair warning there.

                                                       - - -

There’s a gold ring around his finger, and a silver knife hidden under his shirt, and Roy long ago accepted that he would die in a war, but dying to start one feels wrong. His heart beats rabbit-quick all day, and the wolves watch like they’re waiting for him to run.

During the ceremony, Frank Castle stares at his chest like he can see through his clothes, through his skin, through his ribs, and, when he finally looks at Roy’s face, there’s a grim set to his mouth that makes Roy’s stomach twist and shrink in his belly.

He’s an archer and a soldier. He’s not an assassin.

But his people need an assassin, and Oliver sent Jason away months ago, so there’s nobody left to care what Roy is.

Archer, soldier, assassin. Husband, consort. None of it feels right. He could be anyone. Anyone could be him. He has a job to do, a war to start.

The wolves didn’t have a kingdom until Frank Castle won one for them. Once he’s gone, they won’t be able to hold it. This land used to be Oliver’s, and it will be again. A thousand acres of forest and farmland is not a terrible thing to die for. A handful of years ago, Roy almost died for nothing at all.

--

After the ceremony, there’s a feast. Someone pours wine for him, and he stares, remembers the taste, feels an ache in his throat like a closing fist. Back home, Oliver won’t keep a servant careless enough to pour wine in Roy’s cup.

Oliver should have warned them, he thinks. But what would possibly be the point of that?

When he lifts the cup, his hand is shaking just enough for the wine to ripple. He looks at it, promising and dark.

“Sorry,” Castle says. Low and quiet, surprising enough that Roy nearly loses his grip. “I forgot to tell them.” He takes the wine out of Roy’s hand, passes it back to the nearest servant. “Water,” he says, “for him.”

Roy studies the side of Castle’s face. Heavy brow, dark eyes. Nose crooked from breaks that didn’t heal well, jawline straight as the horizon.

Roy saw him once, during the war. He’d been bearded then, face a mask of dirt and ash and blood. Back then, Roy felt like he could see the wolf, like it was right there, barely contained under Castle’s skin.

It’s strange. A trick of the light, or a trick of the formless way Roy’s feeling. But now, when he looks at him, he can’t see the wolf at all.

 --

Nobody takes him to Castle’s rooms. He goes on his own, despite an awkward, stilted explanation from one of Castle’s advisors that it isn’t expected.

She’s not rude enough to tell him to his face that he isn’t wanted. Her manners are sweeter than he would’ve expected from a wolf, but he’s not sure she is one. The longer he stays, the more he begins to suspect that some of these people are still human.

If he had thought to expect other humans, he wouldn’t have expected the ones he finds. Unmarked, unafraid. They look him right in the eyes, just like the wolves, like their courage is catching, but they’ve kept their teeth to themselves.

He wonders about their loyalty, how far it stretches. But it’s not enough to change his plans. A silver knife will slit any throat. Wolves and humans, in the end, bleed the same.

Castle bled, he remembers. A silver-tipped arrow should’ve killed him, but Castle was back on the field within days.

Roy had been aiming for his heart. When he’s sober, he never misses. Back then, he was never sober. He could have saved them all from this, and he knows that. So it’s his own fault that he’s here now, alone.

He could’ve stayed with Jason. He could’ve stayed home. He could’ve lived until some other war came along to claim him, but he’s here.

He should’ve kept his grip on that cup of wine at dinner. Three years of water won’t matter by morning.

--

The wolves don’t keep guards posted outside their king’s rooms, but Castle looks up when the door opens, and Roy thinks, probably, they don’t need them. Castle watches with a flat stare as Roy closes the door and steps farther into the room.

He’s an archer, not an assassin. He waits for his targets to come into range. Every part of this is wrong.

He takes another step, keeps his hands at his sides.

Castle is sitting behind a desk, papers and books in front of him. He sets them aside.

One of them should say something. Roy, probably. Jason would know what to say. Jason would have a plan. But Roy is the plan.

If he could open his mouth, if he could say anything at all, maybe he could get Castle to come to him. If he came within range, there’s a chance Roy could kill him quietly. And if he does, he might make it to the stables. He could steal a horse, reach the border by dusk tomorrow, if they don’t chase him down.

Maybe he lives. But probably he doesn’t.

He stops walking when he reaches Castle’s desk. He doesn’t say anything.

Finally, Castle stands up. He’s not much taller than Roy, but he’s heavier, broader. Not built lean, like Roy. He could strangle him one-handed, but he’d have to get close to do it.

“I don’t think I deserve that,” Castle says, but Roy still can’t make himself talk. After a long moment, Castle tips his chin toward Roy’s hip. “I can smell the silver.”

Roy doesn’t say anything, and then Castle leans forward, and, between one heartbeat and the next, the knife is in Roy’s hand. He’s not an assassin, but he’s always been hard to kill.

Castle tilts his head. “War’s over,” he says, eyes moving from the knife to Roy’s face. “You really want to be responsible for the next one?”

But Roy never felt like this in wartime. Even in the worst of it, when they were burning bodies in stacks because they couldn’t bury them all, when wolves hunted them at night, when he hadn’t slept for days and hadn’t stopped drinking for weeks, when he was sprawled in mud, sure he was going to bleed to death, even then, he never felt like there was no way out. There was always room to fall back, maneuver, run. There was always a home to try for.

But there’s no way out of this room. There’s nowhere to go.

“Fine,” Castle says, with a sigh. “You do what you need to do.”

Roy’s an archer. He’s a soldier. He’s the adopted son of a king who lost land that he wants back. He’s a drunk, sometimes. He’s the man who almost killed Frank Castle.

What he isn’t, he’s realizing, is a murderer. But he doesn’t know what else there is to be.

He stabs the knife into the desk. As hard as he can, with all the strength he has. If he changes his mind later, he won’t be able to pry it loose in time.

He’s been a lot of things. He won’t be this.

“War’s over,” he says. For him, for Castle. For the wolves who watched him in the halls, and all the servants back home who chased him out of cellars. For the soldiers who survived. For Oliver, even if he doesn’t want it. “I need a drink.”

Frank Castle looks at him and then he pushes his cup across the desk, hand passing so close to the knife that Roy almost flinches for him. “You can have my water,” he says.

Roy nods. “Thank you.”

Water’s fine, he thinks. Maybe those three years will matter in the morning after all.

[ladykarmastrikeblog]

The funny thing about dying when you've already died before, when you've come back through some weird glitch in the universe and the universe already thinks you're dead? Sometimes death forgets.

Sometimes death doesn't come for you when it should.

Sometimes when you think you're taking your last breath, things just stop instead. Your heat beat stops. Your lungs quit working. Your brain slows and the blood in your veins goes sluggish. But the pain also stops.

And you're sure so very sure that you should be dead but you can still faintly think, and feel and hear and taste...

You taste blood on your tongue.

You hear murmurs of someone in the room, it's not Danny he stopped talking just a little while ago. It's those government jerks.

You feel it when they move you to a gurney, when they take those cuffs off and when you feel the movement of going down the hall.

Your eyes aren't open to see anything but the lights moving over head. Bright then darker then bright again. Where are they taking you?

Wherever it is it's cold and quiet. Dark too.

Or at least it was.

It's loud now. Shrill alarms sound, angry gurbled voices talk over it, someone yells an order and they leave. You're alone.

At least you thought you were alone. It takes a few minutes after the assholes leave when a hand, a cold cold hand, cups your cheek and rubs you with it's thumb. It's soft and it makes your skin tingle and..

Things start again. First your heart begins to beat, then your lungs fill and your blood starts flowing again.

Then your brain. Still on it's last thought. 'Familiar...Why does it sound so familiar..'

Jason opens his eyes, turns his head and tries to focus on the owner of the hand. It takes a moment but he can make out the dark hair, the soft glowing green eyes and the very heavy eyes bags. And the freckles, those damn freckles. Those spots that caught his attention the first time because it was so dark in that alleyway that he shouldn't have been able to see them at all. But he did. Were they glowing on their own or did they glow because the reflection of light from his eyes? Jason didn't know and didn't care but he knew those freckles.

"It's you.." to the man lying on his side on the gurney beside him as he sounded like Bruce after the old man gurgled gravel for an hour. His throat felt like it too. He tries to raise his arm to touch the man back but his muscles were both tight and made out of jello at the same time.

Danny smiles as he brings his other hand and brushes back Jason's white tuft. His nails felt like heaven on his scalp, so nice he would have whined if his throat felt up to it. There was a rumble in his chest however, that was new...and newer still was Danny echoing purr. And the continuing head scratches. And his rumbling chest continued (no he was not purring it's a rumble. Only cute people like Danny purred).

And then he realized that the alarms sounds were gone. The light were doing the warning pattern but the sounds were gone. They needed to leave before they asshats came back.

He needed to get up. So he pushes his sore body ( the sharp aching pain in his chest was gone, it was gone after weeks? Months? of being there always there) to sit up. Danny was doing his best to follow but the best he can do it lean on his arms and watch as Jason goes from sitting up to throwing his legs over the side of the gurney so he can stand. He feels wobbly, like he when he tries to leave the medbay before a sedative wares off but stable.

He can work with this.

He has to.

Danny's gurney isn't locked so he leans on to it and pushes it out the double door (it's morgue, they were in the morgue. Don't think about it now Jason you need to get out first.)

Short DPXDC Prompts #748

Hanahaki AU, Jason’s flowers are Blood Blossoms. No one knows why his affliction hurts him more than the average diseased person.

[shyestofhearts]

Shy!!! I hurt myself 😭😭😭

I was listening to my sad playlist and realized that my angst ridden Damian would stare out his bedroom window at night, unable to sleep, and resonate with NF’s Let You Down.

Land now my hand slipped.

Like, Damian most definitely leaves. He’s done it before when he was younger, but In my angst driven au, he leaves Robin behind for good. He had died a second time, at fourteen years old, but no one saved him this time. Damian was fighting him mother’s men once more, though this time without backup (a bit reminiscent of Jason, I know, I’m sorry!). Talia in this story is not good, not anymore. Maybe it was one too many dips in the Lazarus pit or a curse of running the League, I don’t know. Neither does Damian. It means nothing anymore that he is her son, her child He has refused her too many times, humiliated her by his stance against her plans, and she is over it. Over him.

He’s fighting for his life, but despite being an excellent warrior, he’s horribly outnumbered. He hears his father’s voice in the back of his head throughout the fighting, about how it’s wrong to kill people, that’s not what we do.

But each soldier he spares, attacks five times harder. There’s literally hundreds rushing at him.

He tries to think of an escape route, of someway to escape, but there’s no time, not when he’s so surrounded.

Eventually, if he wants to escape, to live, Damian will have to kill.

The worse part is, Talia knows this. She knew his inner turmoil, and how this would effect Damian when he finally got to a place where he could think for more than a second at a time.

And that’s how she kills him.

He’s so distraught in the fact that he’s killed again, that his father, his family would be ashamed of what he’s done, that he doesn’t even notice his mother in the shadows. He hates himself for having to fall back on killing, because it was a massacre, because it came so easily. Talia doesn’t even need to do much. As Damian is pacing, body aching while his mind spirals, blood soaking him from his head to his toes, Talia picks up his bloody discarded sword. When Damian turns again, Talia stabs him through the same place Heretic did.

She doesn’t wait for him to die before leaving, just “Tsk,” she shakes her head. “It’s shameful how easily this was,” Talia says, face disgusted, before walking away.

It takes about two months for Damian to come back. When he manages to tear himself back to the land of the living, he’s still broken, still in that cave. No one came for him, not even to retrieve his body. Death was weird this time, he wasn’t exactly in Hell, not like before. Or maybe it was a different type of Hell? It was empty, cold. Damian could still feel the shackles, so cold it burned his wrists and throat. His throat was dreadfully sore from screaming into that empty void. The worst part of that place is how he was able to wander—to leave.

“Should you find your way out,” Death chuckled into his ear one time, after Damian could practically taste the blood in his mouth from screaming so much, “I shall not stop you.” Death pulled on the chain around Damian’s neck choking him once more, “You’ve already know what this feels like, and now you shall never not know,”

Damian dragged his broken body all the way back to Gotham. He had worried what happened to his family, for them not to even retrieve him. But, when Damian finally returned to the BatCave, he found everyone else there.

There was no major crisis. No off-world mission. Nothing different from the usual, anyway.

They all stopped and glanced at him, before returning to work, and Damian couldn’t help but wonder if this was another Hell. Through raspy and voice strained, he asks Pennyworth for help patching him up. Alfred agrees, isn’t cold, but isn’t exactly enthusiastic about Damian’s return. Hs

Bruce eventually gives Damian his attention, when Alfred is baffled at how Damian is still alive with the gaping hole in his chest. One of his brothers makes a joke about always knowing Damian was heartless. Alfred begins stitching him up, and leaving to get more blood for a transfusion, when it is clear there is nothing more that he can do. His siblings stare in horrified awe. As if he were some animal on exhibit.

“Did you think you’d get away with it?” Bruce asks, and Damian can already see the tick in his father’s jaw. Damian knows before Bruce even finishes, he can hear the same disappointed disgust that his mother’s tone had before walking away.

“It’s not what it seems—” He’d try to defend himself, but Bruce turns back to computer and plays video feed of Damian killing without hesitation. Damian knows that this, too, is his Mother’s doing. The angling of the video, the lack of background.

But that doesn’t stop the hurt at seeing his family look at him like he was some sort of monster. That he was to harm them next.

“They we’re going to kill me!” Damian wishes he could scream, but it came out more as a whine, “I was just trying to escape—“

“You know we don’t kill!” Bruce grounds out, “Yet you deliberately disobeyed me, by going therein the first place, then threw away our values—one of the most important ones, all while dressed as Robin!”

Damian, maybe before would have fought, but he’s died twice as Robin. The first time he felt fire, and this last he felt the burn of ice. Staring at his ‘family’ he briefly wonders if the know, if they care, that he died. Looking at the hard looks around the room, he decides that they probably do not. He grips the Robin cape beside him, remembering how much he wanted this. How he hoped it could somehow bring him closer to the father he always wished to know.

He clutches it silently as Alfred returns and orders he lay down. Damian walks over to the designated cot, before stopping in front of Bruce, his father.

“Don’t worry,” Damian whispers, unable to speak louder, “I won’t do that again,”

“If you think,” Bruce says, as some else scoffs, “That we are letting you back—“

Damian drops takes off his worn domino mask, and drops the cape at his father’s feet, silencing him.

“I quit”

The cave went silent once more, as Damian walked back to his cot.

That was two years before he became emancipated, four years ago.

He is alone, now, in his apartment. His work as a translator has paid him enough to live comfortably, and he got it without being a Wayne or Al Ghul. His art sells well on the side, as well.

However, every birthday that rolls around his mother still sends her men after him, and each year she has them return in an urn. Each year his father and siblings call, inviting him holiday dinners. He declines, not wanting to be lectured on the value of every human’s life, besides his own.

Instead, he puts on his midnight armor, and goes to patrol his town. Black armored suit and hooded eye mask hide him, as criminals war one another to keep an ear out for Whispers. The vigilante who was once Robin, carrying a sword and leaving the only warning of a whisper.

Damian tried to avoid running into the Bats, especially when they want to act like they were so close. Like they didn’t just think he was a monster, a failure, as a let down

—🪡🧵

Sew I just woke up and now I'm crying aksjsjjajdjs

Also, because this is very important to me, I need to know if Damian took his animals with him when he left

[algumaideia]

@thegodswereneveronourside and @pjo-hoo-toa-freakazoid I thought you guys might like some angst Octavian.

And @zazzander thank you for the suggestion, trying to write something else helped me :)

...

Looking at Fulana, Octavian couldn't help but feel kinda hollow.

He hated, despised her. The way she mocked, bullied, and made fun of him constantly. A lot of times she was able to destroy his confidence and fill him with doubts, especially in the things he knew he was good at. And there were the moments she made him feel so miserable for not being capable of fighting. On many occasions Octavian felt like her sole propose on life was to harm him emotionally as much as possible.

Throughout the years he would dream time and time again about Fulana being gone, how his life would be more peaceful, easier, with less self-hatred.

Then why wasn't he happy that she was dead? Why didn't her death give him any good feeling? Why did he feel like throwing up? Like crying? It was his dream coming true, and he was terrible.

Fulana's corpse looked horrible. There was blood everywhere, she was full of wounds, there were some bites too, and her left ankle was clearly broken.

Fulana died fighting a monster, she sacrificed herself protecting the camp.She probably would go to the Elysium; it was an honorable death.

Honorable. It was like he was insulting her death by thinking like this. Octavian felt sick, this situation was tragic, dreadful. The blood, the injuries, the broken bone... those things were anything but honorable. To think of how noble her death was, seemed to be a way to take all the tragedy of it, to deny the revolting reality.

And then while looking at Fulana's injuries he realized that a lot more demigods would die like that in the following conflicts with the Titans. And he vomited.

It wasn't the bad taste or how the acid hurt his throat or the bad smell that made him feel worse. But the feeling that he was degrading her, her death.

Octavian was crying. He hugged himself trying to get some comfort. He hated her so much, but he only felt a terrible sadness about this situation.

...

"I heard that you found the body and there was vomit next to it"

Octavian didn't bother to look to Jason. He still could see Fulana. He wanted to scream, destroy something that wasn’t teddy bears, punch someone.

Jason sat down next to him and put his hand on Octavian's shoulder. Octavian wanted to push him away.

"Her death is not your fault, Tav" Jason said softly "Dying like that is just a part of a demigod's life. Besides she died protecting the camp, doing her duty as a member of the legion. She will be remembered as a hero. She definitely went to the Elysium. It is going to be okay."

Every word felt like a punch on Octavian's stomach. How could Jason say something like that? Haven't him seen her? How she was? Did he really believe on all that bullshit?

Octavian took a deep breath.

"We need to be more cautious."

"What?"

"We need to be more cautious, so this way less demigods will die. Maybe more people should go on missions, and no one should patrol alone... I'm gonna talk to Reyna so we can think about strategies-"

"Tav" Jason said a little harsh, was his friend in denial? "Demigods die like that all the time."

Octavian made eye contact with Jason for the first time. His expression showed his almost not controlled rage.

"We need to be more cautious, so less demigods will die."

And Octavian stood up and went away. He ignored Jason calling his name, he needed to be alone.

While walking around the camp and he couldn't stop thinking about how that kind of death would happen again and again and again and he couldn't do anything. So many of those demigods would die in that terrible way.... It was just so wrong. He felt kinda hollow again.