#so when you refocus jasons anger onto joker

[oifaaa]

Like obviously there's a ton of reasons why jason just didnt kill joker in utrh or in any subsequent comics after, first and foremost being that he's dc's little cash cow, but I always did like the in universe explanation being that Jason himself doesn't want the joker to die

Not bc the joker is important to Jason in anyway shape or form quite the opposite in fact, joker dying wouldn't benefit Jason bc the joker doesnt matter to him outside of being a living constant reminder of Bruce's failure that can be used to hurt both himself and bruce, if jokers dead then the healing process can start and Jason doesn't want that he wants to be angry and hurt

So Jason doesn't go kill Joker to get revenge bc he already got his revenge when he beat Joker with a crowbar in utrh and killing the Joker himself wouldn't bring him any more catharsis since he doesn't really care about the clown outside of using him as a prop in his ongoing feud with Bruce

[kandoesfanfics-writes]

Hello I love your work Can I requested 16, jasonette, with a happy ending please? Have a nice day

Prompt 16: “I’m sorry, but…I don’t remember you.” Jasonette. 

This took forever and a day, and I do apologize. HOWEVER, I had to figure out how to make this happy at the end. Hope I did a good job with it.

—————————————————————————————————-

He felt like someone had twisted a knife into his chest as he looked down at her. He was holding her wrists, confused and frightened himself. He wasn’t sure who she was or what she wanted. The only thing he knew was she looked devastated, and was sobbing her pretty eyes out... and it made him want to cry, too, for some reason.

She was so tiny compared to his hulking frame of six feet, two inches. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder, stopping more at his sternum. She had black hair that fell loosely around her heart-shaped face, a cute button nose and a pair of soft-looking lips finished it off. 

Jason knew he wouldn’t sleep well for a while. Her eyes would haunt him. 

Those soft grey-blue eyes were full of anger, sorrow, and betrayal. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Those eyes were begging him to do something, but what? He didn’t know what he could do. He didn’t know how to make her feel better. He didn’t even know her.

But apparently she knew him.

“Jason… Jason, please! It’s me, Jase! It’s Marinette! Why are you looking at me like that?” Her begging voice was absolutely broken, garbled with sobs.

“I’m sorry… but I don’t remember you,” he told her softly. “I’m really sorry.”

He repeated over and over that he didn’t remember who she was, but all it did was make her look more desperate — and the more Jason’s heart shattered in his chest. 

He wasn’t sure why he was so affected by her tears. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to care about her. Jason hadn’t cared about anyone in years, save for maybe Dick.

“But Jason… Jase… Why did you stop answering me? Why are you pretending like you don’t know me? You were my best friend… I loved you. I loved you, Jason. Hell, I thought I still loved you! I was so excited to see you because I knew you, I love you!”

Jason winced, the ache in his chest growing.

“I’m sorry.  I’m really sorry…”

Eventually, the sobbing woman was pulled away by a black-haired woman with the most vicious looking eyes he’d ever seen. Her lips were pulled into a snarl as she addressed him, clearly not afraid of him despite being about a foot smaller than him. 

She gently wrapped her arms around Marinette and guided her away from him, which filled Jason with relief as well as extreme apprehension.

The dark-haired man was relieved — he no longer had to stop this foreign woman from hugging him, nor did he have to deal with her tears. But Jason was also apprehensive. This Marinette woman knew too much about him to be a stranger to him.

She knew he loved classic literature. She knew his favorite subject in school was English. She knew he wrote poetry. She knew he loved Alfred like his own grandfather, that Alfred had taught him to cook. She knew his favorite type of baked goods were conchas because they were sweet and slightly crispy. She knew that Dick had bought him the Lord of the Rings novels for his birthday (and Jason had cried over it). She also knew that he had a collection of works written by Edgar Allen Poe… and claimed to be the one to have given it to him for his twelfth birthday.

Jason could feel himself trembling a little bit as fear clawed at his chest. No one could have known that unless they talked to either Jason himself or Dick. Dick wasn’t there. Dick was in Bludhaven. Dick couldn’t have talked to her. 

He doubted that Bruce or Alfred would have told anyone private information like that either. 

He needed to go home. He needed to find that collection, needed to know the truth. 

Jason rushed past Bruce and the tide of people around him. He let his feet carry him towards the exit, forgotten voices ringing in his ears. He burst through the door, sprinting out into the busy street. 

He took a few gulps of air as he adjusted to the sunlight, his lungs burning as frigid air entered. Because he was looking frantically for a cab or anything else that could take him home, he could barely hear his name being shouted until a hand grabbed his wrist. 

Jason spun around, ready to fight. His other fist flew towards the person who grabbed him, but the person was faster than him. They had released his wrist and dodged his swing. 

"Jason, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?!" an annoyed voice snapped. "Bruce is going to call Dick at this rate!"

Jason blinked a few times before he was able to refocus. He noted the speaker had chin-length black hair and cobalt blue eyes. He recognized the face as his replacement, one Timothy Drake.

"Jason! What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jason shook his head violently, feeling his throat closing up. How could she have known all of that? How did she know him? Why didn't he remember her? Why couldn't he figure this out?

A horrible laughter rang in his ears.

Why can't you remember, Boy Blunder?

Why can't you remember, little bird?

Did Uncle J hit you too hard?

I know you're tougher than that!

C'mon, you're the Bat's junior detective! Can't you figure out anything?

Then again, you didn't realize your mummy dearest was working for Uncle J—

Then everything went black.

—————

When he woke up, a pair of concerned green eyes was gazing down at him.

Green eyes? No one in his family aside from him had green eyes. He blinked a few times before noting the person also had bright red hair. Confusion littered his thoughts as he struggled to remember where he was and what had happened. He tried to sit up, but two quick hands stopped him, gently pushing back down on his chest. 

“Easy there, Jay. You fainted on the sidewalk. Timmy and Diana brought you home, and I brought Dickie back home. We were really worried about you.” This voice was familiar. 

Ah, that would explain it.

Wally must have been visiting Dick in Bludhaven. Once Dick heard that something had happened to him, he must have asked the speedster to bring him back to Gotham. Wally, being Dick’s best friend, would have brought him without question. The only remaining question to be answered at the moment would be Dick’s whereabouts, and why Wally was the one sitting with him.

A few bangs and a crash later, his elder brother came barreling into the room. Dick was a mess, only in his pajamas and his hair an absolute mess. He looked stressed, dark bags under his eyes making him look like a raccoon. His familiar sky-blue eyes found Jason, and once he realized he was awake, Dick raced over to him.

“Little wing!” Dick breathed, hugging his little brother tight. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

Jason looked around in confusion as he spotted Tim and Diana walking into the room. Tim’s face was paler than normal and his eyes were narrowed, as if he were trying to solve the most difficult puzzle he’d ever encountered. Diana looked relieved to see him awake, giving him a gentle smile. They both waited for Dick to be done fussing over Jason to speak.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, Jason,” Diana said softly. “You gave Tim quite a scare when you fell on him.”

“Who was that woman, Jason?” Tim asked. “The one who tried to hug you. The one who was crying.”

Jason’s blood turned cold as he remembered just what he’d been thinking about before he spiralled.

“Dick, I need you to get something out of my old room,” he whispered. “I need you to get a book. The collection of Edgar Allen Poe’s works.”

“Little wing, are you sure? Don’t you want to rest—”

“Dick, the book. It’s important.”

Dick gave him a confused look but went to fetch the book. Once Dick had left the room, Jason turned his attention towards Tim.

“You’re tech-savvy, aren’t you, Tim? Do you think you could find records or traces of an old email account of mine? One I had before the Joker canned me?” Jason asked, trying to control his racing heart.

“...Depending on the server and whether or not they’ve wiped it, maybe,” Tim replied hesitantly, chewing on his lip. “I could try.”

“Please?”

Tim grabbed his laptop. For the next ten minutes, the only things audible were the tapping of keys on the keyboard and the blood roaring in his ears. Jason remained silent as he waited for Dick to return with his book. 

He needed to see it, needed to see the inside cover. The inside cover would, at the very least, give him a starting point to go off of. He didn’t need to panic just yet.

Dick came back a few moments later with the well-loved and worn book. He went to hand it to Jason, but paused as he noticed his brother’s hands were now shaking violently.

“Little wing...what’s wrong?”

“Dick, open the cover.”

“Jason—”

“Just open the fucking cover, Dick! Read to me what’s on the inside!”

Dick slowly opened the cover, not understanding what the hell was going on. Why would there be something on the inside cover? Did Jason write a note there? Was there something hidden or taped there? Did it have anything to do with what had happened to Jason earlier?

His eyes locked onto the message, written in red ink, and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Dear Jason, I hope this present gets to you on time. I don’t know how long it takes mail to get to Gotham from Paris, so I apologize if it’s late. I also hope this is the correct copy! I wanted to send you macrons, but Maman said that would be very hard and there’s lots of rules. You’ll have to come back to Paris again if you want more of our macrons. I miss you a lot. I hope I’ll get to see you again soon!

Happy twelfth birthday!

Love, Marinette.”

Jason covered his face with both hands and moaned.

“God, I did know her…”

Tim and Dick exchanged a look with each other before asking Jason about what had happened. Jason launched into his explanation of how the young woman had called his name and ran up to him. She’d tried to hug him, but Jason had grabbed her and not allowed her to touch him. She said her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and according to her, they had met when Bruce took him to Paris for a business trip.

“She knew personal details about me,” Jason choked. “I knew she couldn’t be a stranger because she knew stuff that only Dick would know about me. She told me she gave me that book for my birthday. She told me she wrote a note in it...and it’s there. It’s really there. I knew her… I knew her before the Joker killed me.”

“...That’s why she was crying,” Tim said quietly, putting the pieces together. “You didn’t remember her.”

Jason nodded, feeling his body go numb.

“I tried remembering. I tried, but I remembered him instead.” 

Dick gave Jason’s shoulder a comforting squeeze as he continued.

“I must have spiralled from there. Did you find my email, Tim?”

Tim nodded before replying, “You emailed back and forth for a few years. You have over forty emails from… from after you died.”

Jason gestured for the computer, and Tim handed it to him. He sat up more before looking at everyone in the room.

“Can I be left alone? I want to read these.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Dick asked, his eyebrows furrowing together. “What if another email sets you off again?”

“Then just one of you stay with me. I want to try to remember her. I need to.”

Tim saw the look on Dick’s face and quickly grabbed Wally’s arm. He gestured to Diana, and the three left Dick and Jason alone in the living room. Tim knew that Dick was going to try and dig into this, and he wanted to be nowhere near them when Jason exploded. He suggested that they all go get some cookies from Alfred, and that Diana should distract Bruce when he came home.

“Why is it so important that you remember her?” Dick asked quietly. “This could dig up things—”

“I have to, Dick.”

“Jason, you don’t have to do anything.”

“Yes, I do!”

“No, you don’t!”

“YOU WEREN’T THERE, DICK!”

The older man took a step back, slightly shocked about Jason’s outburst. He knew the young man had had an emotional night, but he wasn’t expecting this at all.

“You weren’t there,” Jason hissed. “You didn’t see her. She looked so betrayed, scared… sad. She looked like I’d ripped her heart out of her goddamn chest, Dick. Her friend glared at me when she led her away. She was sobbing, and it wasn’t fake. You can’t fake that shit.”

Tears stung his eyes as he barely managed to choke out his next words. “She said she loves me, Dick. She loves me, and I don’t remember who she is. I need to find out who she was to me. I feel like she was important. Really important.”

Dick fell silent. Jason watched his big brother rub his eyes and sigh in exhaustion, before sitting down beside him. He wrapped an arm around Jason’s shoulder in his brotherly way before telling him that he was here for him, no matter what the emails said.

Jason nodded grimly before going back to the beginning.

——————

It didn’t work.

He still couldn’t recall who Marinette Dupain-Cheng was.

Reading their emails felt like reading through someone else’s letters, not his. 

He couldn’t recall inside jokes that they had shared. 

He couldn’t recall the events that they had shared together. 

He couldn’t recall the emotions attached to the emails. 

She felt like someone completely separate from him, as if the Jason Todd who existed before the Joker’s crowbar was someone completely separate from the Jason after. 

But he knew more about her.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was kind.

She was supportive.

She was creative.

She was intelligent.

She was a problem solver.

She was the kind of person Jason Todd had always respected, the one who put others' needs before her own. She was the one who came to save the day. She was the one who would come up with a creative solution to a seemingly impossible problem. She was the one who would listen to your concerns genuinely and soothe your fears. She was the person who loved so fiercely no matter how many times her heart had been hurt.

The Jason Todd that was here and now could not remember who Marinette Dupain-Cheng was, but he wanted to change that.

And damn whoever came in his way. 

Tim had hunted down her phone number and gave it to him. The only thing left to do now was for Jason to call her. He hoped he could still make this right. 

From her emails, Marinette did seem like a good person, and Jason couldn’t help but feel terrible that he’d hurt her. He knew he couldn’t get his memories back, but he could make new ones. Hopefully, she’d give him the chance to do that.

He held his cellphone in a vice grip as it rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello...my name is Jason Todd. When I was fifteen years old, I was in a car accident that nearly killed me. I lost… I lost a good chunk of my memories of things that had happened before that. I found your note in my book… and I found our emails.”

Jason could hear the intake of breath on the other end of the phone. He could also hear muffled sounds, and he prayed that she wasn’t crying again.

“I’m really sorry, Marinette. I don’t remember you, and I can’t get those memories back. The only thing I can do is apologize and hope that you’ll let me make new memories with you,” he said, his voice strained. 

“I’m sorry I dropped off the face of the earth. I’m sorry that we had to meet this way. I’m sorry that I still don’t remember you even after reading all of our emails… but I want to change that.”

“How? How can you change that?” Her broken voice replied.

“By seeing you again. This… this isn’t going to be easy,” he warned her. “This is going to be hard. But you are a good person. You answered my emails with such kindness and compassion. You always took care to think about my needs and feelings — you’re the kind of person I’d want as a friend. I want to restart, if you’re willing.”

A broken sob echoed on the other end before a watery voice replied, “Hi...my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m twenty years old. I work for Style Queen in New York City as an apprentice designer.”

A smile broke out on Jason’s face as he said, “Hi, Marinette. My name is Jason Todd. I’m twenty-one years old. I work freelance security in Gotham City. It’s very nice to meet you.”

[unavenged-robin]

Congrats on 2k followers!! For the prompt, can you do one in which Jason is told that Dick did kill the Joker? It doesn't matter who tells him

Gratuitous traumatized!Dick+Jason to the rescue for the both of you.

He gets there in time to hear the thud, but not to prevent it. Too late. The story of Jason’s life summarized in two words.

It’s useless to run now, so he walks. Stops in his track only to observe the pool of blood and rain dripping from the sidewalk and onto the street, a pink, syrupy river that goes to die into an open manhole and right into the sewers, carrying away every bit of garbage it finds along the way. Not a nice view, but it's still easier than looking at his brother's bent form, the familiar shape of the Nightwing’s insignia stretched into a desperate curve of contracted muscles and quivering shoulders.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jason doesn’t even know if it’s true or not, but he would bet on it anyway. Because this is Nightwing. This is Dick Grayson. So it could only be an accident. Even if there’s so much blood. Even if the guy’s face is so devastated that Jason can barely guess what he used to look like. One of the Joker’s henchmen maybe, if the white grease paint is of any indication.

“I know.”

It’s Dick’s voice but it doesn’t sound like it. It doesn’t even sound like the Nightwing’s voice Dick sometimes uses as a mock of the Batman’s growl. It’s a deep, cavernous vibrations, and it doesn’t sound like anything Jason’s ever heard before, not coming out of his oldest brother’s mouth, at least. Anger he’s familiar with. Pain too. This? This is too broken for him to handle.

“Then get up. The ambulance is on its way, and so is GCPD.”

Dick's face is hidden behind his hands. The blue of his finger-stripes is tainted with red stains around the knuckles. Jason swallows and takes a step forward anyway.

“He’s still alive, Dick. It looks worse than it is.”

“I know.”

Sitting on the ground with his leg pulled to his chest, and all alone under the pouring rain, Dick looks so small to actually make Jason feel uncomfortable by looking at him. He’s been taller than Dick for years now, but the feeling of the first Robin towering over him never really went away with time, no matter how many inches he gained over him. So this thing here, this can’t be happening. Because this is not right.

He crouches down in front of his brother, puts an hand over his shoulder and squeezes hard.

“Dick, for the sake of Bruce’s pointy ears. That shithead is still alive and it’s not your fault he fell while you were fighting. Get your fat ass up.”

The corner of Dick’s mouth - the only part that Jason can see of his face - twitches in what could almost look like a smile.

“That’s how I killed him.”

“I just told you-”

Dick shakes his head.

“Not him.”

Jason pauses. Debates with himself if he should humor Dick or just grab him, throw him over his shoulder and drag him back to the cave, where gentler, more expert and patient hands can take care of him and his traumatised rambling. If this were Tim or Damian, the choice would be simpler. But an unwilling Nightwing is a little harder to carry, even for the Red Hood.

“Then who?”, Jason asks. “Who the hell did you kill?”

“The Joker.”

Okay, Jason thinks. And for a moment he feels like his blood is flowing backwards because what the fuck, honestly.

“Okay”, he repeats out loud, gripping Dick by his elbow and preparing himself to pull. “Now please, get up.”

Dick shakes his head again and this time he lets his hands fall from his face. The two white lens of his domino are pointed at Jason now, and under the streetlights they look hollow, like doll’s eyes.

“I thought he had killed Tim”, Dick explain slowly. “He hadn’t. But I lost it anyway. Like tonight, with him.”

Jason swallows again.

“You would never-”

Dick's head snaps like a guitar string.

“After you? After Barbara?”, the words are angry, almost accusing, and Jason’s hands are suddenly so heavy he can barely lift them. But the sirens are getting closer and closer every passing minute, and Gordon may have a few more concerns than Jason has about the current circumstances.

“You need to get up”, he insists then, because the rule is that only one member of the family at a time can lose their shit over past trauma. Jason will have to wait for his turn.

“Bruce fixed it”, Dick continues instead, still unmoving. “But even after that. The first time he laid a finger on Damian I thought-”

Jason slaps him hard enough across the mouth to send Dick’s head flying over his shoulder, and the sound of kevlar gauntlets over the bare skin is a full, satisfying one. He grabs a handful of Dick’s wet hair and pulls hard enough to hurt.

“I don’t care”, he growls into his brother’s face. “I really don’t give a shit about your latent homicidal pulses, Grayson. But if you don’t get a move I may decide to indulge mine. Understood?”

Behind the lens, Dick’s eyes seem to struggle to refocus on him.

“You slapped me.”

He sounds so offended Jason actually snorts.

“Say it as it is, Grayson. I bitch-slapped you”, he corrects him. He gives Dick’s arm another pull. “Can you stand?”

Dick blinks, then looks down at his feet.

“...I think so.”

It takes some maneuvering, but together they manage to get him to stand. It’s still weird, Jason thinks, having to be there for him like this. Stabs and broken ribs are one thing, but emotional collapses are one kind of wound they’re very little familiar with, at least when it comes to others.

He puts his brother’s arm around his neck and starts dragging him away from the dark alley. He feels Dick trying to turn around to look at the man still lying on the sidewalk and tugs him closer into his side.

“My bike’s that way”, he mutters under his breath.

Dick hesitates a moment, then starts limping along. They manage to cross the street and slide into another alley without attracting too much attention. Behind them, the ambulance stops with a long screeching of brakes.

“I’m sorry”, Dick says eventually, after a long silence filled only by the sound of the rain. “I should know better than freeze like that in the middle of the street.”

Jason doesn’t answer. An hour ago, he wouldn’t have believed that such a thing could even happen in the first place.

“I’m also sorry for what I said. For how I said it”, Dick continues, sounding unsure. “I guess you didn’t need to-”

“You'll tell me that story again another night”, Jason cuts him off, because he doesn’t have the mental strength to deal with that too. “With a six-pack of beer in between us and a few bottles of wine as witnesses.”

Dick laughs into his ear and that, finally, does sound like his voice.

“Done.”