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so-hot-i-make-hell-jealous · 1 year

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Just a Presence by Your Side

TW: Implied depression, smoking, killing and death mentions

Jay and Dami fanfic, characters fully belong to DC

Jason Todd knew a bad day like he knew the back of his hand, and nothing even had to happen for him to notice.

He woke up feeling exhausted, even though for once, he'd actually gotten a decent amount of sleep. His mind felt blank, even though it was racing with thoughts. Mostly because it was a useless mantra of everything he didn't want to hear, all mixed together to create a recipe from hell that left a bitter taste on the edge of his tongue, left his stomach coiling into knots.

He swore and threw himself out of the bed, realising he couldn't sleep it off if he tried.

He forced himself into the shower, and he let the hot water relax muscles he didn't even know were tensed. But once he was done drying himself and dressing up, and the momentary bliss of being warm from his shower faded away, and he went back to feeling miserable again.

He looked up at his face in the mirror and wished he could recognise it. The image reflected back wasn't just that of a stranger, but of a monster, his mouth pulled into a dark scowl, the lines of his face terribly harsh. His skin was paler than usual, and an ugly scratch had made its way across the curve of his jaw. Ironically enough, it was from when he cut himself shaving last week, and it only served as a reminder of his incompetence.

An irritating Lazarus green seemed to line the edge of his vision, inking everything in, whispering thoughts of violent murder into his ears like a devil dripping poison into them from its tongue, forcing the venom down his throat, holding him down, so it stayed. He wasn't at the point of racing into his safe room and tearing the place down for the umpteenth time till his knuckles bled and he'd screamed his throat raw yet.

Guilt mixed itself with shame, and an infinite amount of reminders of his failure bored into his head. He remembered how he regretted even trying to steal from the damned Batman, trusting his mother, trying to take on the Joker, everything he'd ever done. He'd failed Bruce, failed Alfred (as far as Jason saw it), hell, he'd even failed that little boy bleeding to death in a vibrant-coloured costume, still hoping he'd make it out alive, still playing dress-up and thinking he was a hero. He hadn't healed, hadn't become better. He was still the same rash, hot-heated fool, although his innocence had shattered like glass, ironically just as fast as his ribcage had under the Joker's goddamn crowbar.

He was just a broken mess of scars, fury and decisions he regretted. He may have pretended he was so proud of his trail of bloodshed, indifferent of all the people he'd pushed away from him, but he was just tired of putting up a front all the time. There was no one Jason didn't want to see today more than. . .himself.

He'd really been meaning to quit, but the conditions were completely not in his favour, so he stood out on his balcony and lit a cigarette. Took in a long drag, exhaled and hoped the nicotine would work its magic.

By the time he'd heard the soft ruffle of fabric as the figure landed gracefully on his balcony, he'd already made it to his fifth cigarette.

Damian Al Ghul Wayne stood there, dressed in something casual for once; an emerald green hoodie that hung loosely off his slender frame, probably belonging to Dick. He raised one dark eyebrow at him disapprovingly.

"Tt. I wasn't aware anyone could have such an insatiable desire for lung cancer, Todd," he chided, and though his tone was snarky, it didn't have much bite.

"Go to hell, Demon Spawn," he shot back, fixing him with a death glare not unlike that of Bruce's.

Much to his horror, Damian laughed. There had to be something utterly wrong with him because the little brat never even let a smirk grace his lips. "I know you were practically born with a perpetual scowl on your face, and you can't help looking like a wet cat, albeit much less cute, but you seem to be actually upset today."

"And why the hell do you care?" he challenged, flicking the ash off his cigarette. "Why are you even here? Let's get this over with and tell me what you want from me."

The younger vigilante sighed and leaned back against the railing. "That last mission we went on together. It made me realise there's more to a simple-minded fool like you than meets the eye."

Involuntarily, Jason snorted as he relit another cigarette. "Lovely coming from you, short stack."

Damian flipped him a gesture Alfred would most definitely ground him for, and Bruce would make that disappointed 'hngh' noise he always reserved for when he wished to express his distaste. Jason had been on the receiving end of that for a stupid number of times that he'd memorised it.

"I am trying to say, you're not as self-centered as you so desperately try to showcase, Todd."

"Yeah, I'm actually a lot worse than that. So go ahead and tell Goldy that this 'brother-bonding' crap isn't gonna work between us," he snarled, taking in another long drag, trying to get the stupid green glow to fade from everything, trying to ignore whatever told him that Damian would be oh so easy to grab by the hair, his fingers could just wrap around his throat and choke all the life out of him without so much as a scream from the current Robin's lips.

"Grayson didn't tell me anything. I came on my own accord. And I get it, Todd. More than Grayson, more than Father ever would. You grew up trying to meet impossibly high standards. Trying to be the best thing they've ever seen. You tear yourself apart trying to please, and then you realise you still committed one too many atrocities in the process. You think I've never felt the Pit's rage myself?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

As much as he wished to say something snarky to shut the kid up, he realised his words held reason, felt familiar.

He continued. "I grew up with my hands soaked in the blood of others, to the point it turned to an addiction. No matter how much my ideals have changed, part of me still lusts for blood. Still feels it's right. I despise that part of me, but I can't deny it's still present. I cannot pretend the scars of the past do not exist when they still remain on my skin."

"Great. Wonderful. Nicely put. The hell am I supposed to do with that?" he spat, his jaw clenching and his fingers tightening around the cigarette.

"Maybe the means weren't the purest, but you've always fought for the better side. You've made mistakes, but your life has always been a fight for survival. I thought the way you died was just a cautionary tale of a foolhardy child's naivety, but you risked your life to save your mother's. You went up against the Joker. It was foolish, yes, but brave. You saved my life last time, when you could've so easily lost your own, when you fought so hard for it. You're not perfect, but you're not a bad person, Jason."

Then, it hit him like a kick to the ribs. He'd called him by his first name. Whatever the reason, it meant he was being completely sincere. He, Damian Al Ghul Wayne, one of the most blunt people to ever exist, was telling him he wasn't bad. The boy could spin a thread, sure. But that look in his eyes, a soft grass green that was worlds apart from the ugly Lazarus glow, couldn't be that of a liar's. Maybe the muscles of his face hadn't shown much emotion, but his eyes spoke volumes, the millions of words he knew he could hear.

"Goddamn it, kid. You're right." He seemed ro be telling himself that as threw his cigarette down, stamping on it with his foot.

"Of course I am, Todd. Learn from your superiors." He let his lip curve upwards with a lop-sided smirk.

He rolled his eyes. "Right. Wanna come inside? I do other things besides chainsmoke in my balcony. Who'd have thought?" He snorted in spite of himself.

"Tt. Let's hope you aren't as dull and lifeless as I assume, Todd."

He followed him inside, and they soon found themselves sprawled out on the couch, each of them reading a book of their choice. Dickens for Damian and Shakespeare for him. Jason could've sworn the green started to fade from his vision.

Sometimes, even when the world seemed to have twisted itself against you, the simple presence of another person, their warmth against your side, the few exchanged words between you could pull you out of a dark abyss of hopelessness. It wouldn't magically erase all the suffering, but at least, it felt like you could breathe, like you could live again.

Notes: I don't really know if in canon, Dami has actually had a soak in the Lazarus Pit, but here he has. I don't stick to canon that much anyway. This is my very first time posting a fanfic, so I hope neither of the boys are too ooc here!

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