#red hood ficlet

[incorrectbatfamandfriends]

Headcanon that since Jason can’t go out with his family publicly, what he does instead is show up in random disguises.

Bruce is chatting up some socialites at a gala, talking about the joys of fatherhood and how rewarding it is. Meanwhile he made eye contact with Jason disguised as a waiter twenty minutes ago, and is currently trying to stop his eye from twitching.

Dick is speaking to a third grade class as a part of the Bludhaven Police department outreach program, except when he walks in Jason is sitting behind the teachers desk, playing the role of substitute.

Babs can’t help but stare when Jason hands her a coffee from behind the counter of her favorite coffee shop. (His name tag reads Peter, and for a second she thinks she’s actually lost it).

Tim walks into Wayne Towers one day and on his way in, he waves to his secretary- lo and behold Marjorie has been replaced by Jason. It takes him three hours to notice.

Cass walks into ballet class to discover her teacher had to take a sick day- his replacement is Jason in a beret who talks in a terrible French accent the entire class, only to drop it at the very end to talk in a thick New Jersey accent. Her entire class talks about it for weeks.

Stephanie hails a cab on her way home one night, only to find Jason driving. She’s not sure how he pulled it off or how he got a cab, but her mind is effectively blown.

Duke is on a school trip to the natural history museum, and when the tour guide introduces himself, Duke can’t help but role his eyes. Jason gives a surprisingly good tour, even throwing in some tidbits about a robbery that went down just last week that the Signal stopped.

Damian’s encounter happens when he’s with Jon in metropolis. He’s watching Jon play baseball, and when Jon steps up to bat, he can’t help but notice a the umpire looks a little familiar.

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[cloakedsparrow]

Dick: Okay, I think we’re gonna have to do ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’.

Jason: Yeah. It’s tropey but it works.

Dick: Exactly. Wanna flip for Bad Cop?

Jason: You’re kidding.

Dick: Or we could play Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock?

Jason: Dude, I can’t be Good Cop. I kill people, remember? You can’t kill people and be Good Cop.

Dick: Those were traffickers and mob lieutenants. These are Rogue goons.

Jason: What, like that matters?

Dick: Yes, that matters. They don’t care that you took out some mobsters. They care that you revived the Joker after beating him to death and then let him go.

Jason: I didn’t revive him, I just didn’t let him die yet! And I didn’t let him go either! That was Batman! I was gonna kill the psycho!

Dick: Yeah, well, you still kept him alive and the goons probably know it. Just like they know I was happy to leave him dead when I killed him.

Jason: What?

Dick: You heard me.

Jason: You…?

Dick: Killed the Joker? Yes. I thought he killed Timmy and then when I confronted him, he said your name and…I didn’t stop hitting him until he choked on his own blood.

Jason: Then…how is he still alive?

Dick: Batman revived him.

Jason Fucking what?

Dick: Yeah.

Jason: Well, now I definitely can’t be Good Cop. I’m way to pissed for that shit.

Dick: Well, so am I.

Jason: Fuck.

Dick: Fuck.

Jason: So now whadda we do? Try to beat it outta him?

Dick: No, he'll lock down. That's why I suggested "Good Cop, Bad Cop" to begin with.

Jason: So we need a Good Cop.

Dick: Okay, I’m gonna call Timmy and see if he can come play Good Cop.

Jason: Good plan.

Dick [talking into a secure (& Batman-proof) phone]: Hey, Robin, you busy?

Tim [on speakerphone]: Kinda, yeah. What’s going on? You sound weird.

Dick: Hood and I need to get some intel from a goon, and we’re thinking “Good Cop, Bad Cop” is the way to go but neither of us can pull off Good Cop right now.

Tim: Shit. I’m in Bangkok right now-

Jason: The fuck are you doing in Bangkok?

Tim: Speedy needed help with a thing.

Dick: In Bangkok?

Tim: No. She’s in Korea.

Jason: So, again, why the fuck are you in Bangkok?

Tim: Because Lady Shiva’s here and she’s perfect for what Speedy needs, so I’m calling in a favor she owes me.

Dick: You’re calling in a favor from Lady Shiva because Speedy needs help with a thing in Korea.

Tim: Yep. You got it.

Dick: No, that’s- You say that like it doesn’t require any further-

Tim: Can you hang on for a second? There’s an assassin tailing me.

Dick: Shit. Do you need us to send someone out there?

Jason; Starfire should be done with her thing by now. She's not on your shit list, right?

Tim: No, I like Kori. But I’m good now. My assassin got the other assassin.

Dick: You have an assassin?

Tim: Kinda? She defected from the League of Assassins and is up for hire but she always gives me priority since she feels like she owes me a life-debt.

Dick: Again, you sound like you think that statement doesn’t require any further explanation.

Jason: So you hired your assassin buddy to kill the other assassin?

Tim: What? No. Of course not. She didn’t kill him. We’ll question him later. She never kills on my jobs since she knows I don’t like it.

Dick: What about other jobs?

Tim: That’s her business. We aren’t all control freaks, you know.

Dick: That’s-

Jason: That’s good, Little Red. Good that you have healthy boundaries.

Dick: I have healthy boundaries.

Jason: Sure you do.

Tim: Okay, you’re gonna have to argue that on your own. I’m supposed to help my friends out with something after I get Shiva to help Speedy, but I have to handle this interrogation first. So how about I just send my friends the twenty-five plans I drew up and ask Bunker if he minds helping you out before he joins us? He should be able to get inside Gotham in less than ten minutes.

Jason: Oh, Bunker’s perfect for Good Cop.

Tim: Right? They’ll spill everything and probably give him their grandma’s secret family recipes on top of it.

Dick: Wait. Back it up. You have twenty-five plans drawn up? What are you guys up against?

Tim: Nothing we can’t handle. Young Justice figures, why even bother with a plan B if you aren’t gonna cover the whole alphabet?

Jason: There’s twenty-six letters in the alphabet, Little Red.

Tim: Yeah, but plan Z is always the same, so we don’t bother listing it anymore.

Dick: Is it ‘get an adult’?

Tim: Of course not.

Jason: When you were a Teen Titan, how often did you call in an adult when you probably should have?

Dick: Okay, that’s fair.

Jason: So what’s plan Z?

Tim: ‘Fuck it, we ball’.

Dick: That’s not a pl-

Jason: That’s perfect. I love it.

Dick: No. Don’t encourage him.

Tim: Thanks, Red. So do you want me to ask Bunker about helping you? I’m kinda on a time crunch now.

Jason: Yes, please.

Tim: Okay. He’s on the way. Is there anything else?

Dick: Whe-

Jason: No, we’re good. Have fun storming the castle!

Tim: ‘Kay, bye!

Jason: Bye!

Dick: The fuck-

Jason: Bunker and I can handle the interrogation here and Timmy and his assassin friend are gonna be busy with an interrogation there for a bit. If you take off now, you can probably catch up with him and go all big brother like you’re dying to.

Dick: You sure?

Jason: Yeah, I’m sure me and Bunker can handle this asshole.

Dick: Thank you.

Jason: Yeah, well, you did kill the Joker. That’s gotta count for something, right?

Dick: I’ll tell you all about it after I make sure Timmy doesn’t get himself killed or lose another organ.

Jason: I’ll hold you to- Timmy lost an organ?

Dick [already calling Kori to get him to Tim]: Later. I’m on a time crunch now!

Jason: I’m holding you to that!

Jason: *sighs* No one in this family knows how to share.

[psyscha]

Part 2 of my LBM Jason piece, where complex feelings are had.

Part 1

The fic!

[everwalldigan]

I love me some delicious miscommunications so:

Bruce and Jason standing off (again) after a mission actually gone right and Bruce is looking constipated trying to articulate how proud he is while Jason’s just pissed as fuck that he accidentally followed the bats’ rules and

Jason, fuming, thinking to himself: Bruce must be behind this, he MANIPULATED me into playing by the rules the asshole I didn’t even get to shoot ANYBODY today im never teaming up with them again my reputation is ruined people are gonna think I’ve gone SOFT

Bruce, going through five stages of grief just trying to find a way to say that he’s proud of Jason without him getting decked in the face and Jason running away: today showed me that you will always be your father’s son (he means himself)

Jason, thoughts immediately going to Willis because Bruce would obviously never address him as his son: actually fuck you, fuck you never speak to me again I can’t believe I was stupid enough to agree to this what the hell is wrong with you

So, on one hand. now you have Bruce face palming because he’s sure he articulated himself in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted so Jason obviously wants nothing to do with him and oh great they’re back to not speaking terms but hey at least Jason didn’t shoot at him so he obviously understood what he meant, right?? Right????

Meanwhile on the other hand Jason is capital H Hurt and so so angry about it because what the actual fuck. He’s TRYING to reform but obviously nothing will ever be enough for golden standards Bruce so he should just go back to at least beating criminals within an inch of their lives because he wasn’t going to prove Bruce right no matter how much he wants to take those pieces of shit off the streets permanently.

And of course, because both of them would rather shoot themselves in the foot than, I don’t know, talk, it results in a huge falling out and Jason’s “shoot at the Bats on sight” rule is back, until one day just happens to trap Bruce and Jason together in a warehouse rigged to explode. They accidentally went after the same gang and got themselves captured instead in the confusion. So Jason’s watching Bruce frantically trying to dismantle the bomb while sitting back casually taunting him like

Jason: you know damn well your cape’s gonna protect you from most of the explosion and the whole building is deserted by now, why are you trying so hard? The only one who’ll bite the dust is Willis’ son, fitting ending isn’t it? Always his son until the very end, you said it yourself!

And holy mothers of all fuckups Batman, there hasn’t been miscommunication this bad since the aftermath of the Tower of Babel

Bruce, turning around with the dismantled bomb in his hand, actively inventing new stages of grief: I was referring to myself actually.

[14muffinz]

had a small dp x dc red hood thing that i wrote during class last week. figured i might as well share it

~~

“Uh… boss?” One of his men hesitantly pipes up. Another one elbows him, but he keeps going. “What are you drinking?”

Jason lowers his water bottle and stares at the green, glowing ectoplasm inside. It does not at all look like something that one could consume without coming to their (second) untimely demise. “Gatorade?”

“What flavour?” Someone else blurts.

He considers it.

“Contaminated.”

He walks away.

[phantobats]

Since Lee has infected me with Jaime x Jason brainrot, I have come back with a small fluffy piece of Jaime patching Jason up:

Jaime had barely settled in for the night when the knock on his door sent a ripple of unease through him. It was Jason—he could tell from the rhythm of the knock—but there was something different about it tonight, softer, almost hesitant. When Jaime opened the door, his heart stuttered.

Jason stood there, battered and bruised, his red helmet clutched under one arm, his leather jacket torn in several places, and his hands bloodied. The normally unbreakable Red Hood looked worn, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion and pain.

“Hey, Blue,” Jason rasped, forcing a smirk despite the clear strain. “Ran into a bit of trouble.”

“¡Dios mío, Jason!” Jaime’s voice trembled with concern as he closed the distance between them, his arms instinctively wrapping around Jason’s waist to steady him. “What happened? You look—” His voice caught in his throat as he took in the full extent of Jason’s injuries. “You look like you went through hell.”

Jason’s attempt at a grin faltered, replaced by a weary shrug. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, cariño. Just another night in Gotham.”

Jaime’s brow furrowed as he helped Jason inside, the warmth of the apartment quickly replacing the cold Gotham night. “No más excusas, amor. You’re letting me take care of this. Come on.” His voice held a softness that Jason could never resist, even when he was stubborn enough to pretend he didn’t need help.

Guiding Jason towards the bathroom, Jaime kept an arm securely around his waist. The weight of Jason’s injuries seemed heavier than usual tonight, like it wasn’t just his body that was battered, but something deeper. As they reached the bright light of the bathroom, the full extent of Jason’s bruises and cuts became heartbreakingly clear—dark purple swelling beneath his ribs, a fresh gash across his eyebrow, and more scars forming from what must have been a brutal patrol.

Jaime turned on the faucet, letting warm water flow into the tub, its soft hiss filling the room. “Sit down, por favor. You’re a mess, and I’m not letting you get away without a proper bath.” His voice was gentle but resolute, a mixture of worry and tenderness threaded through every word. As Jason sat on the edge of the tub, Jaime kneeled beside him, unfastening the buckles of his torn jacket and peeling it away from his body with care.

Jason winced as the leather slid off his bruised shoulders, but he stayed quiet, watching Jaime with an unreadable expression. “You don’t have to do all this,” he muttered, though the usual bite in his words was softened by something warmer. “I’m not that fragile.”

Jaime’s hands paused, his eyes meeting Jason’s with a softness that made Jason’s breath hitch. “You may not be fragile, but you’re mine. And I worry about you, corazón,” he murmured, brushing a thumb lightly over Jason’s jaw before turning back to the task at hand. “I can’t just stand by when you come to me looking like this.”

The warm water continued to rise, filling the room with the scent of lavender, an oil Jaime had poured in despite knowing Jason would poke fun at it later. As the tub filled, Jaime helped Jason ease out of the rest of his suit, his movements tender and deliberate, careful not to aggravate any of his wounds.

“Lavender?” Jason arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the hint of a smirk. “Really, Blue?”

Jaime chuckled softly, his fingers brushing lightly over a particularly dark bruise. “Sí. You need it. It’ll help you relax. Besides,” he added, a playful lilt in his voice, “I like when you smell nice.”

A genuine smile tugged at Jason’s lips, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You spoil me, you know that?”

Jaime dipped a cloth into the warm water, wringing it out before gently running it over Jason’s bruised skin. “Alguien tiene que hacerlo. You won’t take care of yourself,” he said softly, though the playful reprimand was laced with affection. His touch was featherlight, wiping away the grime and blood of the night with care, as though he could somehow wash away all of Jason’s pain.

Jason closed his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back, letting the warmth of the bath and the comfort of Jaime’s touch soothe him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled under his breath, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the air like a whisper of something fragile.

“Shh,” Jaime responded, his fingers threading through Jason’s damp hair, massaging his scalp with soft, rhythmic strokes. “Don’t say that. Eres mi vida, Jason. You deserve every bit of care I give you.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Jason’s temple. “You’ve been fighting for so long, but you don’t have to fight me, ¿entiendes?”

Jason’s hand found Jaime’s, his thumb brushing over the knuckles as his heart swelled with a quiet ache he didn’t know how to put into words. “I’m trying,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I just… I’m not used to this.”

Jaime’s smile was soft, almost sad, as he continued tending to the bruises on Jason’s chest, his hands moving with the practiced ease of someone who had done this many times before. “You don’t have to be used to it yet. Just let me take care of you.”

As Jaime worked, Jason felt the weight of the night gradually lift from his chest. The bruises and cuts still stung, but they felt lighter now, as though Jaime’s touch had smoothed over the edges of his pain. His body relaxed under the soothing warmth of the water, the scent of lavender wrapping around him like a cocoon.

“You know,” Jason said quietly after a few moments, his voice softened by the drowsy comfort of the bath, “I always thought I didn’t need this—someone to patch me up, someone who worries.” He opened his eyes, looking at Jaime with a rare vulnerability. “But you… you make it hard not to want it.”

Jaime’s heart fluttered at the words, his chest tightening with a mixture of love and tenderness. He leaned forward, cupping Jason’s cheek in his hand as he pressed a kiss to his lips—gentle, slow, and full of quiet promises. “That’s because you do need it, Jay. And I’m here.”

Jason’s eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping his lips as he melted into the kiss, his hand resting on Jaime’s, grounding himself in the warmth of his touch. “Lucky me, huh?” he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve got the best guy looking out for me.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jaime teased softly, brushing his thumb over Jason’s cheekbone before pulling back slightly. “But next time, try not to make me worry so much, yeah?”

Jason chuckled, the sound low and soft as it reverberated through his chest. “I’ll try, bebé. No promises, but I’ll try.”

Satisfied with that, Jaime helped him out of the tub, wrapping him in a towel before guiding him to bed. As Jason sank into the mattress, Jaime slipped in beside him, curling into his side, his head resting on Jason’s chest. Jason’s arms instinctively wrapped around him, holding him close as his thumb idly stroked Jaime’s back.

“Te quiero, Jaime,” Jason whispered into the quiet, his voice filled with a rare, unguarded warmth.

Jaime smiled against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to Jason’s skin. “Te quiero también, Jay. Now rest, mi amor. You’re safe.”

And as the night settled around them, Jason let himself finally believe it—safe, in Jaime’s arms, where the world and its weight couldn’t touch him.

[brucewaynehater101]

The gravel digs into his knees. Normally, his armor would protect him from the small pebbles, but it's been torn away in the struggle.

There's a hazy fog. Remnants of a smoke bomb and the fire from a burning building. The smell, burnt rubber and cinders, are no longer muted by his filters. Those broke in the fight as well.

His hands grip into the gauntlet. Some of his fingers are broken or lacking parts of his gloves. Still, he tries to dig into the other's arm.

His muscles strain as his breathing comes out choked. He's scrambling for air, for room to talk.

Lenses stare impassively down at him, the barest twist of a snarl indicating the other man's resentment. Batman is trying to remain "professional" and "unemotional," but he's failing. Failing is all he does.

Blood, dirt, and ash cling to Jason's tongue as he wets his lips. He peels his mouth open in an effort to talk.

"You didn't try."

Batman growls and shakes the other with the grip he has in his collar. It causes Red Hood to gasp for breath. "You're a criminal. A failure."

A mirthless, choked laugh escapes Jason. "You didn't try to save me."

There's a tsk from the Dark Knight. "You need to pay for what you've done."

Red Hood's fingers twitch. Whether that's for a gun or a cigarette, not even the man himself knows. "You've tried to save all of your enemies. What makes me so different?"

"I took you in. I raised you to be better than this. I shouldn't have bothered."

It's strategically unsound. An idiotic, heedless action. It's reckless.

But Jason's tired. He tilts his head up to peer at the starless sky. He leaves his neck bare and vulnerable for attack. As he speaks, it's more reflective and desolate than any type of response to Batman.

"Is that it? You love me too much to save me?"

[ultimate-marysue]

I want a situation where the robins are fighting together. One of those really messed up villain team ups, maybe they have to work together to save Batman, whatever. The important part is: things are looking bad. There's no back up coming (Nightwing and Red Hood were their back up!) and Damian is the only thing standing between the civilians and the bad guys.

He is terrified, not that he'd ever admit to it, and he knows he needs to be focused on the fight if he wants to win it. There's only one problem: most of those civilians are kids. They are crying, screaming, and having lost all hope. They know Robin will do all that he can to save them, but Robin is a tiny kid, just like them, and he is scared too.

An image comes to mind, of times long past. He'd been way past his curfew, looking at the bat computer he was forbidden from using. It wasn't his fault really, father and Drake hadn't come back at their expected time and he just wanted to check if his assistance was required. After all, he was far better trained than Drake. Maybe that'd be the night father understood and asked him to step in.

The CCTV footage he managed to access from Oracle showed a gnarly fight between Robin and Killer Croc in the middle of the street. That was the first time Damian ever saw Robin in action. It was way different than how he moved in the training mats; he was unnecessarily flashy, cocky even, equally concerned with sassing and hitting his opponent. Robin's smile as he ran circles around the rogue could light up a city.

It had been sloppy at best, but there's a reason why it came to mind right that moment. That fight had been an equally tiny Robin against an immensely larger monster, but all the civilians in frame had been cheering Drake on, forgetting the danger they were in.

Looking at a particularly snotty toddler that looked like he had peed himself in fear, Damian made his choice. It could bite him in the ass for all he cared, he knew that Spoiler would be done soon and coming to his aid. So Damian gave his best smile, straightening up, and insulted the rogue's costuming choices.

The fight was hard, harder than what it needed to be, as Damian balanced blocks and dodges with scathing remarks about his enemy's face, career or the unlikely relations of his mother. It wasn't his usual ruthless effectiveness nor his venomous insults. For the first time he was purposefully putting on a show, despite his own fear. It was hard, keeping up his flashiness while trying to not die, but soon enough he was rewarded but cheering when the hit coming his way barely missed him. So he kept going.

Eventually Spoiler joined him, with her own commentary on the rogue's alleged romantic life (or lack thereof), before Red Hood finished him off with some sort of reference that was missed on Damian. By the end he was breathing hard, absolutely exhausted, when he felt Brown's arm around his shoulder. "Keep up" she whispered as she turned them both towards the crowd. Red Robin was already helping the civilians, while Nightwing helped Red Hood securing the rogue, both of them having finished their own fight.

He lifted a little girl from the rubble, and she giggled merrily as if she hadn't been crying ten minutes ago there were still tear tracks in her soot stained cheeks.

"You were so cool!" She stated, almost matter of fact, "Kevin thought you were gonna get your ass kicked but I knew you'd win."

She said that last part petulantly, staring at another kid wearing a Batman t-shirt. The boy looked a bit ashamed, and Damian couldn't help the derisive t-t that escaped him.

"Obviously, as if that bumbling buffoon had any chance against me."

The girl nodded sagely "I know, Robin always wins."

Damian sat her down next to what looked like some very frazzled preschool teachers, not bothering to correct her. Robin didn't always win, that was absolutely nonsensical. Yet...she had sounded so sure of herself. As if it was a very well known fact and her friend was just being silly.

He was struck down from his reverie by a firm hand settling on his shoulder. He looked up to a beaming Nightwing "Nicely done out there, Robin." Damian wanted to protest, to pretend like he hadn't done anything special and that this was just a regular Tuesday for him. Instead, he dumbly nodded, his chest feeling warm from the praise.

"...and then he said 'I honestly pity your mother, carrying a waste of oxygen for nine months! It was hilarious you should have seen it!" Spoiler was loudly reporting his juvenile jabs to a very amused Red Robin as Red Hood barked out a laugh.

Damian feigned disinterest, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious for his half baked attempts at annoying his enemy. He caught Red Robin's stare, and before he could look away he saw his brother give him a proud smile and a thumbs up.

"Everyone is being so obtusely cheery today," he sneered, "maybe we should check the water supply."

"I can't blame them baby bat, you did your job too well today," Dick laughed "Robin always makes people smile."

It was said fondly, and Damian could feel the love Dick had for the mantle he'd created and everyone to ever wear it. Robin looked back at the gaggle of preschooler he had saved, most of them cheerfully waving their little hands at him. He waved back, smile on his face.

He had always known he was destined for greatness.When Richard bestowed Robin upon him, he knew he would be a great vigilante. But today he realized there was a difference between being a hero and being Robin. It was nice to know, he made a pretty great Robin too.

[bruciemilf]

If jaime and jason were already dating pre Jason's death, how would jaime react to jason coming back

HOHO. I bring you; Arkham Knight! Ex boyfriend! Jason/superhero/honorary robin in training Jaime. :)

I’m asking on my hands and knees, the first time Jaime and jason meet (they’re fighting ^^^) Jaime having his thighs locked around Jason’s rib cage. Yes, he gets his back slammed into the ground and groans, but if Khaji’s let loose, they’ll never know who’s inside that hunk of metal.

AK Jason panting (so he IS human, then) “you may be tiny, but you’re tough”

“Tiny? I could break your spine!”

“Yeah, doll, and Batman’d break your neck. Face it. I got you right where I want you, pretty boy.”

The first thing Jason smells when rising from Lazarus’ gut is the sizzling of flesh. It’s acrid, stale meat turning back to spoiled remains. It clings to him for months.

Jaime? The little fuck still smells like mango and honey glazed blueberries, and something electric that defies the capacity of word.

And it’s everywhere. It sticks into his shirts, into his family, into his skin, piercing the material of everything. His hand curls grips Jaime’s cheeks, pouting up those pretty lips.

“Still stealing my soap, huh?”

Jason takes his time counting Jaime’s eyelashes, and burns the details into his mind. How they fluttered once, then twice.

Then, those cinnamon whiskey eyes widening in grief stricken disbelief. It’s like watching Jason die twice. The only thing he regrets is letting Jaime go too early.

[incorrectbatfamandfriends]

The absolute angst of Jason coming back and seeing Tim interacting with Dick and realizing just how close they are. They do stuff together, all the time, stuff Dick never did for Jason no matter how much he begged. He’s put off with it- doesn’t want anything to do with Dick. He died and Dick got a new perfect little brother he actually liked. Hell, he even comes to Sunday Dinner- something not even Alfred could convince him to do when Jason was still alive the first time.

It gets worse as the others show up- Dick showers them with affection. If they question whether they belong or not, it’ll never be because of Dick. No, Tim, Damian, Cass, and Duke will never know the Dick he knew.

But he doesn’t know that the reason Dick tries so hard is because of him. He felt he’d failed Jason- and when he died he left this gaping hole in Dick’s life. So yeah, he shows up to Damian’s Art Shows, and takes Tim skateboarding, never misses Cass’s ballet performances, and drives Duke four hours to see his favorite band. And yeah he’s at every single Sunday dinner, even if him and Bruce are at each others throats- he shows up and he sits down, and he listens to his siblings as they tell him what’s going on in their lives. Because of Jason.

[oh23]

Merry Christmas: Cecilia's Gingerbread Cookies

Like all vigilantes, Nightwing too had a favorite civilian.

Aunty Cecilia had been a sassy Gothamite-to-her-core shopkeeper when Dick was a teen, and even at the ripe young age of 67, she was as sassy as ever.

"Nightwing!" She crooned as he somersaulted to her entrance. "Oh, I didn't know you had an older brother."

Dick stopped with his mouth open in a festive greeting. "I- what?"

Cecilia waved her cane behind Dick, and he turned.

"Red Hood???" Dick was bewildered. Where the absolute hell did he even come from? "What?? Are you doing here?? You should be-" Then he paused and whirled back to the old lady. "HE'S NOT MY - OLDER BROTHER. WHAT?"

"Is she the lady you bring those gingerbread cookies from?" Jason spoke up from behind him.

Cecilia crooned again, saying words that sounded awfully like 'come in come in,'

"Don't mind if I do," Jason went inside, his boots already unlaced and placed neatly beside the door.

"What the fuck??" Dick exclaimed, following his brother as she shut the door behind him. "Cecilia- that's my- he's not my older brother-"

Jason tsk-ed at his baffled exclamation. "It's not nice to lie, young man."

Cecilia nodded too. "No shame in being the youngest my dear,"

"THE YOUNGEST?" Dick sputtered.

"He has always been a big liar," Jason shook his head in disappointment. "Now, ma'am, where might one find the source of this jolly fragrance in your home?"

"Oh just in the kitchen-" Cecilia shoved Jason into a room. "Help yourself dear,"

She turned to Dick, who was still standing at her doorstep.

"You know," She smiled. "You always did give me youngest child energy."

A loud laugh, followed by a choke resonated from within the house.

Dick put a hand on his face. "I swear to god,"

[cloakedsparrow]

Red Hood climbs up onto a roof with the intention of watching some drug smugglers below, only to find Robin, crouched in the perfect hiding space Jason had noticed. The boy is eating fries from a curled down Batburgers bag and sipping a Riddler Shake.

Jason: What are you doing here, Boy Wonder?

Tim: Probably the same thing you are. Spying on criminals.

Jason: ...

Tim: Want some fries? They're Jokerized, just to warn you.

Jason: Why?

Tim: Kon-El got some to try the last time he sneaked into Gotham and it turns out they're really good.

Jason: No, why would you offer me fries?

Tim: I have enough to share and I can always buy more?

Jason: Why are you being nice to me?

Tim: I'm offering fries, not a kidney. Why wouldn't I?

Jason: Because of the knife to the throat or, you know, that time I beat you within an inch of your life?

Tim: ...

Jason: ...

Tim: What the fuck was your time as Robin like?

Jason: The fuck?

Tim: A mentally unstable individual violently attacked me because he was scared or mad at Batman. That's like a bi-monthly occurrence for me, minimum. At least you were really insane and want to get better now-

Jason: I never said I wanted to stop killing.

Tim: I said get better. You want to be in control of yourself instead of being all Lazarus crazy, right?

Jason: Yes. But that doesn't mean I won't kill.

Tim: That's still wanting to get better. You think half the rouges who rotate through Arkham are actually trying to get better by even that much?

Jason: No.

Tim: Me, either. So that makes you an improvement over the usual. Plus, you know, the trauma from being murdered and all.

Jason: That's not an excuse to attack a kid.

Tim: No, but it's an explanation, which, again, is better than the usual. And you're showing signs of genuine remorse. That's huge around here. How often do we get that?

Jason: Anyone ever tell you your standards are kinda fucked up?

Tim: They'd have to pay closer attention for that.

Jason: Fucking what?

Tim: Doesn't matter. It's not like you're going to talk to anyone and even if you did, who'd believe you?

Jason: ...

Tim: So, you want some fries?

Jason: Yeah, sure.

Jason: These are good.

Tim: Right?

Jason: Is this nori?

Tim: Uh-huh; with paprika, kosher salt, and msg. I think there might be something else in there, but I haven't been able to place it.

Jason: Potato starch.

Tim: Oh, that makes sense.

Jason: I am definitely Jokerizing my fries from now on.

Tim: Try them with the Riddler Shake, too. The mint really compliments them.

Jason: I'll do that.

Tim: Wait. Doesn't that guy work for Black Mask?

Jason: Yes, he does.

Tim: So...want to pull a World's Finest?

Jason: A what?

Tim: You know, a team-up?

Jason: You-? Fucking- You know what? Sure. Let's pull a World's Finest. *under his breath* Little freak.

[plaudiusplants]

Listen I'm sorry if I've posted this before but in my defense I just tried to check and the tumblr search thing sucks :(

It's only in my head but a groundhogs day kind of thing where Someone Important is mad at the way Jason deals with his anger and jealousy so he has to keep doing the day over until he understands that Tim is a) not his replacement and b) a whole-ass child person inside that Robin suit and doesn't deserve to be beaten within an inch of his life (or harder, depending on the loop!)

The first day of the loop, he notices things that are just kind of weird. The same person gives him the same greeting at the same store, the same bat-alerts go off as yesterday saying that Tim is the only person in the tower. At first he wonders how Bruce could let him out again so soon, and then he spots something that he realizes is the same as yesterday; a newspaper or something. Maybe yesterday didn't happen like he thinks it did? Maybe it was just a very vivid dream? Anyway, there's a replacement who needs to be shown his place and by golly Jason will show him the light

I could see it being The Timeline as an entity, maybe a future version of Jason who wants one version of himself to have a shot at being friends with Tim sooner (without attempted murder hanging over them lmao)

The second day of the loop, Jason knows for sure this is the same day over again. He tries deliberately to change something just to see what will happen. He half-convinces himself that Tim engineered this so he heads to Titans Tower early and for the next few loops he alternates between beating Tim half to death, beating him fully to death, and trying to figure out what he's meant to do to get out of the loop

It takes longer than he anticipated to convince the Bats that he's in a time loop because he's already the crime lord that knows a disturbing amount of things about them, why wouldn't he know weird things like how the Batmobile needs gas today? It takes him a full week to accept the fact that he's going to need to take off his helmet for them to get anywhere with this conversation, and then it takes him many more loops to actually take his helmet off and get anywhere with that conversation

Somewhere in the middle of his umpteenth loop, he asks Tim why he's helping. Jason had explained…… too many times… what happened on that original day, and Tim is fully aware of the fact that Robin, his hero, his older brother who was younger than Tim is now when he died, has successfully murdered him in multiple loops and has beaten him into a coma at least twice as often. Tim says that Jason is still his hero, his Robin

Jason has to spend a few loops Thinking about things after that

On his final loop, he breaks into Titans Tower once more. He leaves the helmet and his guns in Gotham. He tells Tim what happened, from the beginning, because Tim has to be able to make a choice here, he has to be able to choose Jason as his brother and his friend, despite everything, and, Jason thinks, he has to be able to not choose Jason.

Tim is just happy to have his favourite older brother that he'd never met back in the family! He convinces himself that now that Jason's back Bruce won't need Tim anymore but Jason holds onto Tim tighter than Bruce or Dick realized he needed to be held and Tim finally relaxes

[starry-bi-sky]

I had a thought, dear However scary About that night The bugs and the dirt Why were you digging? What did you bury Before those hands pulled me From the earth? I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

-------- an extension of this excerpt because I've been thinking of Femme Danny and Jason all week. It's mildly suggestive, but that's really the only heads up needed. --------

Music blaring, bass heavy in her ears, Danny finds him in a ditch at the bottom of the bluff. She was leaving the observatory, and she nearly misses him as she turns out onto the last stretch of road leading back into the city.

She catches sight of him, just barely. A glimpse in the corner of her eye; something reflecting on the light. She thinks it's a deer at first, and instinctual terror that only the idiocy of a deer denting her car can give her, strikes her hard. There's no one behind her, so she slams the breaks.

Her car stops; there's no deer. She looks and looks, but there's no deer, no deer buddy — they always come in pairs. But something still catches her eye; light reflecting off leather, in the ditch below just a few feet in front of her.

"What the fuck is that?" Slips out of her mouth before she can really think it through, and she's pulling off to the shoulder, wheels crunching gravel, before she thinks that through either.

Danny's climbing out of her car within seconds, putting it in park and hitting her hazards as her door clicks open and she stands up on the ledge. The trees block the sky, and there is no moon beholden to brighten the land, only the dull light of the stars and the brights of her car.

There's a man in a ditch. And he's not moving. From the distance, Danny's not sure if he's breathing.

She breathes out for him; "Fuck." She's running around the front of her car, not thinking it through. Her feet crunch the gravel, bugs buzzing at her ears, and she's sliding down the small hill into the ditch to reach his side.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead." Repeats in mantra under her breath, she can smell blood; heavy and iron, mixing with the dirt and the grass. Her hands find his side, Danny rolls him over onto his back. Her fingers find his pulse, and she breathes relief. He's alive.

—---------

Danny finds no less than two — no, three guns, four knives, and an actual, goddamn shiv on the half-dead ditch man. But not a single ID or wallet.

The man reeks of danger, even in his unconscious state it lingers on him like a rich cologne. It's the human instinct to be curious, and maybe it's the blood and dirt that tells her he's bad news. Common sense, naturally.

She doesn't know what to do with him. Danny wants to help him, but the ghostly part of her, the one that seeks safety above all else — for herself, for her loved ones. Because growing up in a house of weapons on the tables for sticky, pudgy fingers to play with, and food that needs killing twice, and labs full of half-broken beakers and radioactive substances spilling onto the floor robbed her of it entirely, — tells her to leave him.

He's dangerous. Her core hums cold, freezing the tips of her fingers, making her ears ring. She forgets to breathe, her hands going numb. Leave him for the coyotes to find; for the bugs to feast on; for the mud to swallow whole. Leave him for the land. Nobody carries this many weapons on them unless—

He groans. In only the light from her high beams, his cracked lips split and makes a noise of pain. His chest rises, shuddery and slow, and he doesn't wake. The man slips back down into unconsciousness. But he's alive.

He's alive.

Danny exhales. It's springtime, wreathed in life. It's cold; he's cold. But alive. She shakes the chill from her fingers, resolution warms her lungs.

Carrying him up to her car isn't easy — dressed like fucking Dean Winchester and wearing half as many layers, the man is probably two hundred pounds. But she's been working out and taking boxing classes since sophomore year of high school. She throws him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and hikes them both up the hill.

She drives them home. Don't ask her why she didn't take them to the hospital; she can't give an answer. Not one that makes sense. She knows enough first aid to fix almost anything he might have.

Danny blasts the heat and turns the music on low; switches to something softer, more comforting, in case he wakes up. She kicks the passenger seat back far enough so that if he does, he's reclined comfortably.

He doesn't wake up, she can't keep her eyes off him anyways.

—---------

Danny lays him on the couch in her house. He gets blood and mud on the fabric, and she'll need to get a new one because of it. But she takes off his boots, strips him of his shirt and jackets, and flies to the bathroom to get her first aid kit.

He doesn't wake up the entire time she's putting stitches in his side. Nothing is broken, but he's bruised and cut. Some get band-aids, others get bandages.

The man has half as many scars as Danny does. Stabs, cuts, a few burns here and there. Danny has those too, but she doubts the man has been impaled before like she has. The luck of ghosts that they can't die by mortal means. Or curse, depending on how you look at it.

(There's a thin scar on his throat, like someone tried to slice it open. She sees it while she's stitching up a laceration near his collarbone, and Danny can't stop herself from huffing.)

("We match." She murmurs, joking dry and ingenuine. She doubts anyone's survived a botched decapitation like she has. At least his scar is thin and hard to see. That wasn't a good night for her; she had to sew it closed herself, alone out of refusal to let her friends help.)

When she's done, she collapses into the recliner beside him, and falls asleep. She slips in and out of dreams all night.

—---------

When she wakes up, the man is staring at her, sitting up on the couch like an animal listening for the predator nearby. It's a good thing she hid his weapons in the floorboards when they arrived. She stares back at him, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

He's handsome. She thinks, and wakes up fully.

—---------

His name is Jason Todd, he doesn't remember who he is.

That's... a problem.

—---------

She makes them both food, and she'll never stop appreciating the fact that she no longer needs to fight her fridge before the food inside lets her eat. She hasn't lived with her parents in years, and yet the awe still hits her some days.

"I thought I told you to stay seated." She frowns when Jason Todd enters her kitchen, a hand hovering over his bandaged side. They're both tense; awkward and wrong-footed. Off-kilter. It's not a surprise to her. He's amnesiac, she's a stranger.

Jason Todd blinks at her, leaning against the doorframe. From her periphery, he shrugs, only to suck in his teeth in pained regret moments later. "I got bored." He tells her.

"Well, I don't have painkillers," Danny retorts, cheek comes easy to her. Too easy, sometimes. "if you tear your stitches then I'm giving you a rag to bite into while I redo them."

Well, if anything, it gets a snort from him.

—---------

"So, do I have a shirt, or did you just find a half-naked, half-dead man in the woods and decide to take him home?" Jason Todd asks her from the table a few minutes later. She can see, even standing a few feet away, the gooseflesh rising bumps against his skin.

Her cheeks color pink, and she moves to the hallway. "You have a shirt," she says, "you have two actually, and a jacket. I threw the shirts in the wash because they were filthy."

The jacket was leather, so during the night, when she woke up from her many bouts of restless sleep, she got up and cleaned it by hand. "I would've done the same with your jeans, but I can take a half-dead man home," she opens the dryer and pulls out the shirts, "but I draw the line at taking off his pants when he's unconscious."

It gets a short laugh out of him; harsh and brief, and it makes her relax, just a little. Laughter meant just enough comfort to not be tense... most of the time. She returns to his side and drapes the still-warm clothes onto the table.

"What if my legs were hurt?" He asks her, raising an eyebrow even as he reached for the first shirt.

"Then that is called an exception to the rule, ditch man."

—---------

He stays with her. He has nowhere to go — and trust her, they looked. Or they tried to. But he has no social media that shows up under the name ‘Jason Todd’. Oh, there are Jason Todds, but none that match the way he looks — none of them his age, none of them with black hair and blue eyes, no white streak in the curls at the front.  

Well, there was one possible candidate. A Jason Todd-Wayne, infamous adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. But he died the same year Danny did, and unlike her, he didn’t come back. 

“Great.” Jason Todd sighs heavy, “I match with a dead kid.”

“I’m honestly kind of impressed.” Danny tells him, frowning despite her laughing disbelief. She scrolls through every social media she can find, and he just doesn’t show up. There are no warrants out for his arrests, no celebrity interviews with him in it, no missing news reports matching his description. Nothing. “How do you not have any socials? You’re like a ghost.” And she knows a thing or two about ghosts.

It’s equally as suspicious as it is impressive. Who are you, Jason Todd? She wonders, looking over to him.  

He merely shrugs, careful of his injuries, and slumps into his chair. “Don’t ask me, I don’t remember.” 

She gives him the guest room, and they go out and buy him clothes with what budget she can afford. She drags him to a thrift store first, to every thrift store in the city, and they come back with a decent enough haul that he has clothes for at least two weeks. 

—---------

“Danny, what is that?” 

She takes a long sip of her drink, Jason lingering at her side like a shadow. “A smoothie, Tucker.” She says, deadpan like it's the most obvious thing in the world as she slides into their favorite booth with practiced ease. “You know this, I always get one on Fridays.” 

Jason follows her easily, slow and careful, mindful of his sides. He’s back to awkward, tense, acting like an outside looking in. Like he’s not quite sure what to do in the face of her friends. They’ve been together for a week now, and she asked him if he wanted to meet Sam and Tucker with her. 

(“You’ve been cooped up here all week.” She says when he asks her why, her hands shifting the purse at her shoulder. In shorts and a tank-top her scars lay on display for the world to see, and while she's long since shed the worst of her self-consciousness, it still creeps up on her. She can feel his eyes on them, even after a week. “Some fresh air and a change of scenery might do you some good. Maybe even jog that noggin of yours.”) 

Sam and Tucker stare at her, expressions unreading on their faces. Their eyes flick to Jason at her side, and then back to her. Danny takes another longer sip of her drink, and when she lets go with an obnoxious smack, she jerks her head to Jason. “Oh,” she says like an afterthought, an impish smile shadowing over her lips. “This is Jason, I found him in a ditch on Sunday.” 

"You what!?"

—---------

She doesn’t know how it happens. It sneaks up on her like sunlight creeping across the grass, melting away the morning dew and warming the dirt. She loves him. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him. It’s a terrible, choking thing. Wonderfully beautiful, melting her from the inside out. 

She loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

It’s greater than anything she’s felt before. Different from when she nearly dated Valerie in high school — but so, so similar to it at the same time. Warm in its certainty, in its similarity, burning in its difference. 

Danny doesn’t even realize it until half a year living with him, maybe just a little bit longer. But she realizes when she comes downstairs in the early dredges of the morning, sleep clinging to her lashes and sunlight unfurling through the windows, and finds him in the kitchen making food already. 

It’s not the first time she’s woken up to him doing this. But it’s, for some reason, only now that it hits her how fucking domestic it is. With music playing soft through the speaker of his used phone, barefoot in nothing but sweatpants, and humming along under his breath. He’s gotten so comfortable here; he laughs easier now, smiles easier. It was like watching a flower bloom in real time. 

And the sunlight cards through his hair like fingers, caressing over his face in that loving way it does when it wants someone to see the breathless beauty of their eyes. 

Something constricts in Danny’s chest, tight, fond, wanting. Mine, her mind whispers, faint and distant, and knocking the air from her lungs like a fucking train. Her fingers curl tight around the stairway rails, she has half a mind to crack it in two. 

Then he turns and sees her, he always notices her quickly, and Jason smiles at her. 

Somehow, Danny manages to smile back smiling with the ease of breathing, even when her mouth runs dry.

(If she kisses him, will she taste sugar? She hopes not — white sugar is unfilling, sweet but with nothing else to it. If she tastes Jason Todd, she hopes she tastes caramel.) 

—---------

“Want to go throw axes with me?” Danny asks, draping over the back of the couch and hanging her arms off Jason’s shoulders. Her hand finds his hair, and her fingers tangle with the dark curls. She can smell his shampoo when she hooks her chin on the top of his head.

Jason stills, a book in hand — he’s always got a book, and Danny’s never had much artistic talent but she always want s to find a pencil, maybe some charcoals, and sketch the sight down on paper. Memory isn’t enough, she needs it burned into something tangible. She wants to burn everything he does onto paper, wants to remember every little thing about him.

Then he hums, questioning and low, and Danny tries not to shiver with greed to hear it again. She hums back, her next inhale clearing her head. “Well, it’s not just me, but Sam and Tucker too. A new bar opened up downtown and we were gonna check it out, and we have enough time to add another person to the reservation.” 

A silence, thick and thoughtful. Jason tilts his head back to look up at her, and she removes her chin and hand to look down at him. Her hair curtains over them both, locking her into his eyes — impossibly blue, and beautifully so, with teal lining the iris. 

He wears his thoughts on his sleeve, his brows furrowed and mouth puckered in lighthearted thoughtfulness. Quit making me want to kiss you, Danny thinks, and forces her eyes to remain on his face. Idly, her hands trace over his shirt, rising slowly to drag the back of her nail over his collarbone. 

Jason shudders, sighs out slow, and smiles easily. “Sure, what time are we leaving?”   

—---------

Danny sighs as if she aches; she does. Her fingers find Jason Todd’s hair, soft and slipping between her fingers like silk. He’s so close to her face she can feel his breath on her lips, it’s driving her crazy with it. 

“My god.” She murmurs, her voice slipping out without her consent as her fingers drop from his hair to trace featherlight touches down his temples, down his jaw. His eyes haven’t left hers, half-lidded they are, and heavy, staring at her like he might just swallow her whole. 

Please do, she thinks, tilting her head to the side to slot their noses next to each other. His hands tighten at her waist, fingers digging through her hoodie into her skin. He hums, questioningly, low and rumbling like a thunderstorm on the horizon. As if he can’t trust his voice to say something instead. 

Danny chokes on nothing’s heat and runs her thumb over his bottom lip, the flesh catching briefly on her nail. She can’t think straight with him so close to her. Not when he’s so close she can smell his cologne, not when he’s so close she can lean down and sink her teeth into his throat and leave a bruise. She should, it might clear her head. 

Instead, she sighs again, her mouth so close to his that she brushes over his lips when she says; “You’re divine.” 

In the end, she doesn’t need to think about leaving bruises on his throat, because Jason closes that centimeters’ worth of distance between each other and kisses her like he needs air. 

—---------

“Do you have to go, love?” Arms snake around her waist, slipping easily over her dress, and Danny laughs, soft and easy, as Jason pulls her flush against his chest and drops his head into the crook over her shoulder. He dwarfs her in the mirror, capable of curling around her entirely, and she raises a gloved hand to rake her fingers through his soft hair.

Danny hums deeply, tilting to bare her throat as Jason starts pressing kisses to the skin. “Vlad will be upset if I don’t show up.” She wasn’t sure of the importance of this party, but Vlad had promised her a hefty bribe to show up, and call her greedy but damn if she wasn’t going to turn it down.  

Teeth bite gentle at the underside of her jaw, and Danny laughs out of surprise. Jason smiles, indenting it into her skin, and his hand finds the slit of her dress and covers the burn scar on the outside of her thigh. “What about running late?” He asks, something impish in his tone. “I’ve never seen you wear this one; you look good in red.” 

Danny laughs again, turns her head to catch his lips against hers, and kisses him long and sweet. “Yes, he’ll be mad if I’m late.” She says when she pulls back. 

He pouts, and really, how else is Danny supposed to react other than kiss him again? So she does, happily. “Wake me up when you get back,” Jason murmurs against her mouth, chasing after her, “I want to help you undress.” 

—---------

Some days, death creeps up on her, and the phantom pains of it render her coiled into a ball in her bed. She wakes up at three am burning, her starburst scars rooting down to her bones to remind her of the feeling of being torn apart by the atoms and stitched back together again. 

Danny can feel her heart beating in her ears, fast and panicked like she ran a marathon, filling her mouth with iron and the urge to cough out her lungs. There’s a scream stuck in the back of her throat like a spider sac, and she writhes with her head in her arms for what feels like an hour before she forces herself out of bed, mind half-muddled like a zombie. 

Jason is still asleep, Danny doesn’t have half the mind to be grateful, she shuffles herself down into the garage and grabs a compressed canister from the fridge, hidden in a false shelf. She might not keep ectoplasm in the kitchen, but she does in the garage. 

She returns on second nature to the bathroom. She locks the door, shuts the drain, and runs the water to boiling, and doesn’t stop the faucet until the water reaches the little drain in the wall beneath that prevents overflow. The compressed canister cracks open with a hiss, and Danny dumps what’s probably an ounce of ectoplasm into the steaming water.

The effect is instantaneous, the water swirling and turning bright with ectoplasm all the way down. It’s diluted, and Danny only remembers to take off her sleep shirt before she slips into the water. 

Relief sinks into her, and chases away the worst of the pain. She sighs, she can breathe again, and dunks her head beneath the water. 

Then doesn’t get out until she’s freezing again and nearly peeling with wrinkles. 

(She goes downstairs when she’s changed into dry clothes and her hair is damp, and then collapses into Jason’s lap. Her face finds the crook of his neck, and Danny slumps, arms wrapping around his neck.)

(Jason’s hands find her waist, and his thumbs rub circles into her side, slipping under her shirt to run over the raised skin of the burn there. “What’s wrong?” He asks, murmuring low and close to her ear.)

(“Phantom pains.” Danny mumbles.)

(“Where?”)

(“Everywhere.”) 

—---------

When Danny returns home after finding Jason again, she feels numb, she feels cold. Her engagement ring is heavy on her finger and she feels like an outsider looking in when she looks down at it. 

She can’t get the way he looked at her out of her mind. It’s seared into her brain. 

Her back hits the door, and slowly she slides down it, a sob building in her throat. Her lip curling, her heart aching, her heart breaking. Too many questions inside her head for her to try and sort through them, but one is prevalent; Jason Todd is a liar.  

Danny shrieks his name so loud that she breaks her ceiling lights, and takes out the power throughout the entire block. There are dogs howling, cars wailing outside. There’s broken glass beneath her, scattered across the ground, cutting into her palms, and she hurts so much she wants to take the biggest shard and shred herself into ribbons. 

—---------

The memory fades away back into its small star-shape, and floats back up to the ceiling of her lair’s observatory. Danny watches it go, something small and aching still in her chest. Two weeks since she moved into the Zone, and she hates that she still loves him. She loves that she still loves him. 

She hates that she still misses him. She still visits Sam and Tucker, but Amity Park is tainted with the memory of Jason Todd; she needs away from it for a little while. Maybe a long while. She’s not too sure right now, she just needs to stay away. Somewhere where she can’t run into him. 

Danny pulls down another star to watch another memory again. One where they're dancing.

[timdrakegf]

chances ♟️ jason todd

jason todd x gn! reader

tw : none

wc : 294 // unedited

The rain came in sheets over Gotham City, a relentless torrent that seemed to melt away the night's misdeeds, leaving only echoes of muttered secrets in its wake. Beneath the darkness, the city took on a new identity, a foreboding labyrinth of shadows and steel.

You stood on a fire escape, your shadow blending with the dripping wrought iron, peering down on the gloomy streets below. His eyes focused on the horizon as the city skyline faded into a polluted haze.

His words, when they came, were carried away on the wind, swallowed by the relentless drumming of rain against metal. Yet, in the silence between them, there lingered a language all their own, spoken in the subtle gestures and shared glances that bridged the divide between them.

The faint glow of lamps in the distance created fragmented patterns on the smooth pavement below, highlighting the city's deeper corners where danger lurked like a predator at night. But on the fire escape, there was a sense of refuge, a little reprieve from the carnage that raged beyond their vantage point.

You turn towards Jason, a sad smile pulling at your lips as you shake your head. Tears go unshed in the corners of your eyes and his reflect the same kind of sadness. “That’s the thing Jason, you did once.”

He knew he did. He had to. Because you used to wait up for him every night, you used to bite your nails down to the skin when Red Hoos would swing into the scene and the news would joke through the punches he took and the blood he shed.

“Please.” He pleads, eyes droopy with sleep deprivation. “Let me fix this.”

“I can’t Jason.”

“Just-”

His voices sounds like blood soaked parchment whipping through the wind and rain.

“You can’t.”