#jasons jacket is based off of one i made patches pins and all

[emryarts]

Damn, wish he'd left them there...

Should i be working on artfight? Maybe so

However the brainworms are stronger and im actually the funniest person ever

Original from @t.willy2 on tiktok/insta

[mizmahlia]

What you don’t know, can’t hurt you.

I came across this amazing post about a headcanon (thanks to @blanddcheadcanons for posting such great content!) that Jason’s trip to the Lazarus Put made him immortal, but he doesn’t know it yet. And what you are about to read just sort of... happened.

A minor warning for injury applies; I mention blood a few times, but nothing more than that.

Here’s some more Jason Todd!

The fight raged for well over an hour before the last members of the League of Assassins who were still conscious disappeared into the pre-dawn darkness of Gotham. Tim leaned heavily on his staff, catching his breath while surveying the damage around them. His gaze darted back and forth across the deserted lot, taking a headcount.

He spotted Bruce at the south end of the lot working with Damian to secure several members who were awake, but incapacitated. Bruce was moving a little slower than usual but seemed alright otherwise. Damian was nursing an injured wrist and a bloody lip. He looked up and caught Tim’s eye, smiling tightly at their success, and Tim nodded in return. He had to fight the urge to cringe at the sight of Damian’s blood-stained grin. Hopefully he wasn’t missing any teeth.

Tim straightened and winced at the tightness in his back and shoulders. He’d be sore tomorrow, but he didn’t need stitches and he didn’t have any fractures or a concussion, so he considered that a win. He huffed a relieved sigh as he heard Dick walk up beside him.

“Hey, Red. I rounded up the few who tried to get out the back. You okay?” Dick laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, his touch comforting even through all the body armor. Tim nodded.

“Yeah. Batman and Robin are finishing up over there. They both appear to be fine. You might want to check Robin’s left wrist, though. He’s favoring it.” He continued watching Damian, noticing now how he wasn’t using his left arm much.

Dick frowned and looked around.

“Where’s Hood?”

Tim turned and looked at Dick.

“He wasn’t out back with you? I saw him disappear that way right after you did.”

“No, he wasn’t…”

They both turned when they heard someone approaching from behind.

“You guys miss me or something?” Jason was dragging two unconscious League members by their collars. He shouldered past Tim and Dick and dropped them unceremoniously in the middle of the lot. “These two tried to make it to the sewers a few blocks from here.”

Tim noticed the way Jason stood there, with his shoulders stooped and an arm wrapped around his torso. He looked sideways at Dick and their eyes met. Dick nodding slightly.

“You alright, Little Wing?”

Jason’s reply was strained and it immediately set them on edge.

“Been better. But, you know. I’ve also been worse.” He released the catch on his helmet and removed it before dropping it to the ground. The sound caught Bruce’s attention and he came over, Damian just a few steps behind.

“Not the time for death jokes, Hood,” Bruce said. He was working on his gauntlet screen, notifying Alfred to get the med bay ready.

Tim carefully opened Jason’s jacket to see a large patch of red spreading across his abdomen. 

“What the hell happened?”

Before Jason could reply, Dick was standing behind him, lifting his leather jacket away from his lower back. He sucked in a breath and looked back at Bruce.

“We need to get him to Alfred. Now.”

He ducked under Jason’s arm and Tim did the same on the opposite side.

“I tried to tell them I wasn’t a pin cushion, but I don’t think they heard me.” Jason tried to laugh. It came out as a strangled groan.

“You’ve been run through with a sword and you crack jokes? Seriously?” Dick shook his head, trying to walk faster. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was a little busy at the time. And I knew you’d find it, you mother hen.” Jason’s voice was a whisper at that point, full of equal parts pain and humor.

Tim just shook his head, his sore back protesting the weight of Jason’s frame.

“Let’s just get you to the car.”

Back in the med bay, Dick was tending to Damian and Tim was sitting in an ice bath. The three of them kept looking over at the curtain around the surgical table on which Jason lay. Alfred had banned them all from assisting, but Bruce ignored the order and helped when he could, starting IV’s for blood transfusions and saline, handing Alfred instruments and reading back vital signs.

“How’s he doing?” Bruce looked from Jason’s face to Alfred’s, looking for signs Alfred was nervous. There were none, much to his relief, but there were frown lines between his brows. “Alfred?”

Alfred shook his head and finished another set of sutures. He nodded to another packet of suture and Bruce handed it to him, carefully opening it and exposing the end of the synthetic thread.

“Master Jason was extremely lucky, sir. No major organs were pierced by the blade, but based on blood loss alone?” He shook his head again and finished another neat line of sutures. He didn’t anything for a moment, instead focusing on closing the last layer of Jason’s wound.

“Sir, as much it pains me to say, this young man should be dead,” Alfred said quietly and looked up at Bruce, maintaining eye contact. “And it’s not the first time I’ve had that thought as of late.”

Bruce didn’t say a word as he looked down at Jason’s face. He was so pale when they brought him in, but after Alfred managed to stop the bleeding and they got the transfusion started, his color improved almost immediately.

Too quickly, he thought. Much too quickly, despite his size and blood volume.

Alfred finished covering the wound with clean gauze, gently taping it in place. He removed his gloves and tenderly ran his fingers through Jason’s hair.

“Master Bruce,” he began, softly so they wouldn’t be overheard. “If there’s something you aren’t telling me about Jason’s health, I wish you would consider sharing it.”

Bruce glanced through a gap in the curtains, noticing Tim and Dick now standing just outside them.

“Jason will be fine, boys. Alfred’s finished closing the wounds. Would you two go prep a bed for him?”

Tim sighed at Bruce’s not at all subtle attempt to get them to disappear. Dick wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him away, saying something about a warm blanket and something to eat. Dick looked over Tim’s shoulder and back at Bruce, an eyebrow raised, but he said nothing. Bruce simply shook his head and waited until they were out of earshot.

“There’s something different about Jason’s ability to heal, Alfred. It’s..”

“Accelerated,” Alfred finished for him. “This is the third time I’ve treated him in as many months, and no matter the injury, it’s never as grave as it should be and he recovers days or weeks ahead of schedule. What would seriously injure or kill any one of you has nowhere near the same effect on Master Jason.”

Bruce nodded.

“I know. And I don’t think it’s as simple as he’s healing faster.” He looked up at the nearly empty bag of blood and turned off the drip for it, leaving only the saline drip to finish.

“The injuries he’s had lately, this one especially. I don’t think it would have killed him.”

Alfred’s face registered a rare look of surprise.

“Master Bruce, he lost over…”

“I know, but think of how he came back. The Lazarus Pit revived him, and look how long it kept Ra’s alive. I don’t think Jason’s rapid healing is what’s to blame here.”

“You don’t think…”

“You said it yourself. These injuries lately should have killed him. The only reason they haven’t isn’t because you treated him. You only minimized the damage his body had to repair.”

Alfred tried to speak and Bruce held up a hand.

“I don’t think he can die, Alfred.”

Bruce and Alfred looked at each other and then down at Jason. Bruce lowered his voice even further.

“And I don’t think Jason is aware of that yet.”