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bluejaysandblackbats · 3 months

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The Spin Out

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: Jason Todd returns to Gotham after three years for the final time to win enough money to pay off Sheila's debts.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Sheila Haywood, Original Character(s), Bruce Wayne

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character

Additional Tags: Street Racing AU, No Capes AU, Jason Todd-centric, Hurt Jason Todd, Bad Parent Sheila Haywood, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Organized Crime, Jason Todd has PTSD, Jason Todd has Trust Issues, Jason Todd is Not Okay, Good Person Jason Todd, Stalker Bruce Wayne, Family Issues, Secret Identities, Secrets, Angst

Chapter One: Cigs

Jason neatly folded his clothes, watching his mother pace, smoking a cigarette. “Jason, it’s too dangerous. There has to be something-.”

“Nope. I’ll be home before the summer holiday ends,” Jason interrupted. He stood, gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek, snagged her cigarette, and sat on the foot of his bed. “I’ll take the boat out as far as Florida and drive the rest of the way to Jersey. I only need to stay long enough to get a hundred grand. Can you hold out until I get home?”He spoke with the cigarette between his lips, sharply inhaling once he finished his question.

“Jason, you’re only-.”

Lifting his mother off the ground, he set her down a few feet to his left and opened his drawer. “Mom, I’ll be fine. Do you mind if I bum a pack of cigs off you for the trip?” Jason questioned. He started smoking again after he moved in with Sheila. She reached into her back pocket and placed the pack in his palm.“If anything happens, I can always call your brother in Maine. Right?”

“Be careful. These things’ll kill you,” Sheila joked as she reached for him, pulling him into a hug. “I just got you back.” Tensing in her arms, he fought the urge to pull away. It wasn’t the first time they’d had money trouble of that proportion. Her last boyfriend cleared her bank account, and Jason had to sell his car. That stung. It took him three months to bounce back. He wanted a mother more than a peaceful life. So, he swallowed all the trouble that came with knowing her.

"Passport and fake ID… Where is it, Mom?" Jason questioned.

"Jason, why can't you stay here and do all that?" Sheila asked.

"Mom, we talked about this. They know me here. No one's gonna let me race in this town. Nobody knows who I am in Gotham, Mom. I can get in and out with fewer problems there," Jason explained as he rummaged through his drawers. Jason glanced at his mother and the guilty look on her face. “Mom, give me my ID. Please. Please. PLEASE.” He grabbed her hands, holding them to his chest. “Mom, I have three months to make one hundred grand… Or they will kill us. Do you understand that? They’re not kidding. Did you forget that gun he held to your head two weeks ago?”

Sheila pulled away from him. “Let me go with you—.”

“I wish you could, but it’d be more trouble than we can handle right now, Mom. Now, give me my ID and passport. I have an hour to get on the road, or I’ll miss my boat,” Jason replied. She frowned. “Murder, Mom. They’re gonna kill us.”

Sheila frowned, reaching into her purse for Jason’s ID and passport. “I almost named you Michael, you know. I was so sure you’d be blonde. Michael Peter Todd,” Sheila wistfully smiled as she held his hand. “Your father didn’t like that name.”

Jason tensed up and pulled away. “Mom, I have to go,” Jason whispered.

“Call me as much as you can,” Sheila whispered. Jason nodded as he zipped up his backpack. Slinging his bag on his back, Jason headed for the living room and sat next to his suitcase. “Do you have your lunch for the boat?”

“Mom, I’m alright—.”

“Jason, take your lunch. Please,” Sheila interrupted, “You’re a big guy now. You have to keep your belly full.”

“Mom, I’ll—. Yes, ma’am,” Jason whispered as he put his cigarette in the ashtray. “Thank you.” Despite his frustration, he would’ve done anything for her.

“I love you, Jason. I guess—. I’m worried about you,” Sheila whispered as she reached to fix a stray hair in Jason’s face. “You look so tired.”

Jason took his lunch out of the fridge and kissed her forehead. “Love you, Mom. I’ll be back before the end of summer,” Jason whispered, “Okay? And I’ll drive safe to the docks, Mommy. I promise.” Mommy. The word carried the same sugary sweetness he had when they first met. It was genuine. His love for her was real.

As he slipped out the front door with his bags, his breath caught in his throat. He swallowed the lump in his throat, quietly joining his friend from school in the car. “Pô! I can’t believe you’re leaving São Tomé,” his friend shouted, hanging off Jason’s jacket. “I could weep!”

Jason laughed and pushed his friend off. “Efigenia, I’ll only be gone for the summer. Efi—.”

“I want to go with you. Think of all the pretty girls that you’re robbing me of meeting,” Efigenia whined. Jason took her car keys and shook his head.

“It’s not that great. I’m working,” Jason replied.

“Still… It’s amazing that your mom’s letting you go to America by yourself,” Efigenia half-exclaimed, “And in your own apartment. I bet you’ll have all sorts of—.”

Jason’s face reddened as he shook his head. “Oh, yeah… I forgot. You wanna be a man of virtue for the rest of your life,” Efigenia teased.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason asked.

“Come on. Girls here are practically throwing themselves at you. And you, in all your Catholic guilt, shrink away from women like they’ve got the plague,” Efigenia explained, “Unless—.”

“If I was gay, you’d be the first to know,” Jason replied.

Efigenia glanced at him, raising her brow. “So, are you gay?” Efigenia asked.

Jason turned his head and rolled down the window. “I’m gonna have one more smoke before I go,” Jason mumbled as he lit a cigarette. “Efi, can you look after my mom while I’m gone?”

“Uh-huh… Why?” Efi asked. Jason tightened his lips around the cigarette as he blew a smoke ring out the window. Jason managed to keep his friends at arm’s length about his past and current home life. All Efigenia knew about Jason was he liked cars and motorcycles, graduated a year early, and never missed a Sunday at church. Everything else was unnecessary and messy.

He didn’t want to make any waves. Jason and Sheila had only been in São Tomé for three months. Before that, they were in Australia for a year. He went by Michael at that time. Before that, they were in Venezuela for two weeks… And Italy for another year. But Ethiopia came first. They lived and breathed Ethiopia until it nearly killed Jason. He still couldn’t talk about it, even after Sheila begged him to say something. That’s when he started smoking again, but he never spoke one word of blame to her. It wasn’t in his nature to complain about his mother.

“Jason, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask you if you were gay—.”

“Oh, no. That’s not—. I’m nervous about—. I haven’t been to the States in a year. I don’t—. I don’t like traveling,” Jason replied, “I feel like an open wound, and every time I travel to another country, I feel like I’m bleeding out. I’m losing everything that makes me feel… Human.” Efigenia frowned.

“You never talk about traveling with your mom. I always thought you liked it because of how fast you pick up—. You adjust so fast,” she whispered.

“I love the destinations, but sometimes I feel like there’s no endpoint. Nothing feels like home,” Jason muttered as he took a long drag from his cigarette and blew out the window. He felt nauseous. Traveling always made him feel nauseous.

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gothamstodd · 8 months

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safety in numbers (2215 words) by gothamstodd Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon & Jason Todd Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Sleep Deprivation, Blood and Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd are Siblings, Jason Todd-centric, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, And He Gets One!, in spirit.., Bad Things Happen Bingo, Jason Todd Whump, Medical Inaccuracies Series: Part 5 of bad things happen bingo Summary: Jason is tired, but there's no rest when everyone in the alley is relying on him, when he can't relax into his bed because what if something happens or someone comes to hurt him and he's not alert to face it?

" Rough patrol?" Oracle's distorted voice comes through with just a touch of static in Jason's busted comm.

He forces back a childish whine of distaste, "What can I do for you, Oracle?" He asks instead, gingerly swinging his leg over the windowsill, stabilizing his swollen knee with a shaking hand, "In the market for some intel? You know it'll cost you." He doesn't bother holding back a hiss of discomfort as he drops down to the distressed hardwood of his safe house.

" Not quite. " Barbara says cautiously, " I'm checking in ."

"Checking in?" Jason asks, raising an incredulous eyebrow beneath his hood. He limps into the kitchen, dragging his useless leg behind himself.

" You've been out every night for the past six weeks. No breaks, sunset to sunrise. Are you even sleeping?"

Jason grits his teeth, tugging off the helmet and letting it clatter onto the counter in front of him. Since when do you care? He wants to say, I don't take breaks .

"Bats are nocturnal, you know that, Barbie." He goes for instead, forcing a false grin into his voice.

She makes a disapproving sound, " You took some hits tonight ."

#bad things happen bingo #bthb #jason todd #jason todd whump #hurt jason todd #prompt: sleep deprivation #sleep deprivation #blood #dc comics #dcu

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iriswords · 1 year

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Febuwhump Day 23 - “You’ll have to go through me”

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: blood and injury, canon-typical violence, past trauma, emotional whump, self hatred, graphic depiction of violence

Fandom: Batman

Words: 4062

The kid was still awake, looking up at Jason with half-lidded, panicked eyes as he choked on his blood, a hand grasping his slit throat and the other twitching faintly by his side.

Jason did the only thing he could think of. He fled.

The Lazarus haze dissipated slowly, like fog spreading and thinning until there was nothing left. The kid’s body lay at Jason’s feet, his blood pooling on the Tower’s floor from his cut throat. Jason could not move. Somewhere along the line, under the twisted influence of the Pit, ‘no more dead Robins’ had transformed into ‘no more Robins’, which in turn had changed to ‘kill Robin’.

The worst thing was, Jason remembered. He had not forgotten anything from when the Pit had taken over. Everything was tinged green in his memories, so much so it made him sick, but he remembered. From the stubborn raise of the kid’s chin to the frantic chase across the Tower, more game than difficulty for Jason. From Robin’s cold taunts to his frantic, broken pleas and even more broken screams.

The kid was still awake, looking up at Jason with half-lidded, panicked eyes as he choked on his blood, a hand grasping his slit throat and the other twitching faintly by his side.

Jason did the only thing he could think of. He fled.

The Lazarus Pit, that coward, did not come back while Jason broke down in his most secure safehouse. He had stumbled inside it and triple-checked every single lock in the apartment before his rightly-placed paranoia calmed down and allowed him to empty his stomach in the toilets. Jason’s knees gave out as he finished heaving, cracking hard on the tiled floor, and he nearly smashed his head open on the toilet boil.

He had killed a kid. He had tortured a kid. Robin or not, it didn’t matter. The kid was just that: a child who did not deserve what Jason had done to him, no matter how involved he was in the Bat’s affairs. He was not responsible for Jason’s death, and even if he had been, it wouldn’t have warranted what Jason had done to him. Nothing could.

Jason truly had steeped as low as the Joker. Taking his old name had been revenge against the clown, a taunt, a way of finally having the upper hand over his murderer. But now, he had become the very man he so hated.

He was still wearing his gear. He could not distinguish between what was dried blood and what was just the fabric’s color. It made him sick again, but he had nothing to throw up anymore, and he simply retched bile into the toilet boil as tears streamed down his face.

He stripped off his gear clumsily, his hands shaking hard, and threw it in his gear room without even switching the lights on. He didn’t think he could bear to see what was inside right now. All those weapons marked him as what he was: a child murderer.

He did not sleep a blink that night. He watched the windows for a familiar and dreaded shadow, but it never came. He waited three more days like that, curled up on his couch. He had no weapon near him to defend himself with if it came down to it. Jason didn’t think he wanted to defend himself. He did not eat, and he did not sleep. He drank, but only so he wouldn’t die of dehydration. That was an unworthy death; Jason deserved far worse.

No one came.

On the evening of the third day, Jason fell asleep and woke up screaming, his body blown apart by a bomb that had gone off years ago. He ate something and rendered it back nearly immediately. Finally, he opened the laptop he kept in this safehouse, and hacked into the Tower’s security system. He had disabled the Bat’s access to it while he was torturing Tim, but he had not disabled the security cameras. He wanted them to be able to watch, once his deed was done and he was long gone, how Robin had died.

Bile rose in Jason’s throat as he thought of how twisted that was, but he pushed it down and fast-forwarded the cameras to the time he had left the Tower. When Batman and Nightwing arrived barely two minutes later, the kid still twitched weakly on the floor. The puddle of blood under him had grown considerably, but he was still alive when he left the Tower bundled up in Bruce’s arms.

(Had Bruce held Jason like that, too, when he was dying? Jason smacked the thought away. He could not think about that right now.)

Jason hacked into the Cave’s security system. He had done it dozens of times before, and though it had improved since he had last been Robin, Jason’s hacking skills too had improved, courtesy of Talia’s merciless training. The cameras in the Cave’s medbay showed the kid on a cot, swarmed in blankets. Thick, white bandages circled his throat. He was unconscious, but Jason could see the regular pattern on the heart monitor beside him.

He was alive. Jason had not killed him.

It did not change what Jason had done, but it made him feel a little better. The kid would live, and he still had a family to help him heal. (Jason had longed for that while he drowned in the Lazarus Pit and when he trained in the League. He had left a brother in the League, perhaps the only one in Jason’s family who would understand Jason’s actions, but he had not had a family in a long time.)

For months, Jason barely moved from his safehouse. He made quick, careful trips to the grocery store not even a block away from his building, but he otherwise stayed holed up in the apartment. He did not take the Red Hood mantle again. He couldn’t even bear the thought of approaching the room where he stashed his gear, much less prowling the streets in it and painting his clothes blood-red again.

He knew the empire that had taken so much effort to build was crumbling down. He knew there were people who needed him, who maybe had counted on him, and whom he was abandoning. But he couldn’t.

Instead, Jason obsessively tracked down the kid—Tim. He checked in on him from the cameras in the Manor nearly every hour during his recovery. When, after two months of being cooped up in the Manor, Tim finally went out again, Jason worked himself into a panic attack before hacking into the city’s security camera and following him everywhere he went for two days straight.

He calmed down a little after that and checked only a couple of times a day that he was well and alive.

The Pit had seemingly deserted Jason. It had done its job of ruining his life a second time, and now it only haunted him during his nightmares or his lowest moments, whispering in his ear all the bad things Jason had done and all the bad things he should do. It hated him almost more than he hated himself and loved to remind him how big Bruce’s loathing for him was. Jason didn’t need a reminder. He was keenly aware that he had thoroughly shot any chance at being reintegrated into Bruce’s family. He told himself he didn’t care, that he didn’t want to be part of that fucked-up family anyway, but he knew it wasn’t true.

His longing was an open wound.

Five months after nearly killing Robin in the Titans Tower, Jason began designing new gear. He could not bear the thought of wallowing in his safehouse doing nothing, of letting people die in Crime Alley knowing he could help them.

He kept his gear simple but efficient and entirely black. He would blend into the shadows of Gotham, taking out those who disturbed Crime Alley without notice. Gone was his era of building a crime empire, his era of loud taunts and louder explosions. Jason had no name now. He was no one but yet another vigilante and this way, he could hope to stay out of the Bat’s radar.

Jason started from the ground up, using all his skills, learned under the Bat, and completed and honed in the League. He was silent and deadly, and in the streets of Crime Alley, he heard whispers of a mysterious vigilante no one could name or identify. It suited him. Many criminals, especially ones new to the scene, took him for nothing more than a rumor. They dismissed him. They did not often have the opportunity to make that mistake a second time.

Jason buried himself in work. He did not let himself think, though he still stayed carefully away from the gear room where he had thrown his bloodied gear that fateful night. He checked in on Tim with less regularity now, the daily basis decreasing to a mere weekly one. Some weeks, when the Pit pulsed painfully at the back of his mind, he checked more often. Some nights, he even tracked him during patrol. But most of the time, he was content with knowing him alive and relatively safe.

Nearly seven months after the Tower incident, Jason received a notification on his phone telling him Robin had entered the Titans Tower. He had set up the notification after he had spent nearly two weeks impulsively checking the Tower’s cameras. Coincidentally, he was currently in San Francisco, working on a trafficking ring.

An ominous feeling grew as he took note of the notification and he checked the Tower’s cameras. No one else than Robin seemed to be in the building, and there was no telling when someone would come. Jason didn’t like that.

He dressed up in civilian clothes, put a domino and his black half-mask in a backpack should he need them, and headed for the Tower. He would just check the Tower’s security was adequate, update it if he found it lacking, and leave. Nobody would even see him; he would pop in and pop right back out.

This time, Jason didn’t take the entrance. He knew for certain they had revoked his entry right after his attack, and he didn’t need to alert Tim he was trying to get in. Instead, he went for the back of the Tower, where he knew from his days as Robin there was a hole in the security. Back in his days, all the Titans knew about this airway that wasn’t covered by the alarms, and they had all used it to sneak out and back in at some point. No civilian could in theory reach it, for it took some training to get so high on the Tower, especially unseen, but to Jason, it had never been a problem.

As he scaled the Tower to get to the airway, he wondered if one of the Titans had signaled this flaw in the security. He hoped they had, but he knew it was unlikely. And indeed, he made his way inside the Tower without trouble and dropped directly into the control room.

A quick look at the security cameras told him the kid was in the training room, sweaty but looking healthy. Satisfied he wouldn’t be disturbed, Jason set to work on rewriting the alarms’ program. He quickly found the hole that skipped the airway and corrected it, and in less than half an hour he was finished. Just as he launched the program, he noticed someone dropping in the lounge room from the airways.

Two people, actually, their faces covered by a hood that extended in a cape. Jason immediately recognized their gear as belonging to the League, and his blood froze in his veins. They were not here for him; they couldn’t possibly have known he was here. That meant they were here for the only other person in the Tower.

Working on instinct, Jason sent a distress signal to the Cave, ran out of the control room, and headed for the training room where Tim was still supposed to be. He barged into it and stopped on the threshold. Tim startled violently and whipped around. As soon as he recognized Jason, whose face was uncovered, he flinched back and armed himself with his staff. Jason raised his hands slowly. He was unarmed, but he didn’t think the kid would believe him he if said so.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he began, but Tim cut him off with a choked snort.

“Right. Cut the bullshit and just get to it. You didn’t succeed in killing me last time so you’re here to finish the job. Took you long enough to try again, though I have to admit the laying-low strategy worked.”

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m sorry about last time, but—”

“You’re sorry? That’s what you have to say for yourself? That you’re sorry? Admitting this is even true, it doesn’t fucking fix anything.” The fear on Tim’s face morphed into fury. “You still slit my throat and left me to bleed out on the floor.”

Jason clenched his jaw. The Pit whispered viciously in his ear but he ignored it. “I know. I’m still sorry, and I’ll leave soon, but—”

“But nothing,” Tim cut him. “If you want to leave, then leave. No one’s stopping you.”

“Will you fucking listen to me?” snapped Jason, and regretted it when Tim recoiled back violently. His eyes widened in pure terror, and something in Jason broke when he saw it. He never wanted a kid to look at him with so much fear in their eyes.

“There’s someone in the building,” he said. “Two League assassins. I don’t know why they’re here, but it’s you they’re after and—” Near silent footsteps cut through his speech. Anyone else wouldn’t have heard them, but he had spent far too long in the League, and when you were in a place surrounded by sneaky assassins who would not hesitate to gut you, you learned to notice them coming no matter what.

He turned around and stepped back into the room until he was a foot away from Tim, shielding him with his own body. The two assassins stopped on the threshold just like Jason had. He recognized the first one’s face instantly. She was one of Ra’s favorites, and for some reason, she had never liked Jason. He didn’t know her name, but he had personally experienced how efficient she was at her job.

The other one stayed behind her, their face covered by the shadow of their hood. Jason didn’t recognize their silhouette, but it meant nothing in the League, where assassins were so numerous and secret. They came and went, and changed themselves and their bodies according to their needs and Ra’s desires. In the League, nobody truly knew anyone else.

The woman stared at Jason for a minute, her eyes shining with amused surprise.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, her voice soft but dangerous.

“What do you want?” barked Jason. He was acutely aware of the fact that he was weaponless. For all of his training, he didn’t think he would be a match to two of the League’s assassins, especially not when they were undoubtedly heavily armed and would not hesitate to use every trick in their bag to kill him.

“The one you failed to kill,” answered the assassin, and Jason flinched back. He had been right, then. For some reason he couldn't fathom, they wanted Tim. But Ra’s desires were flimsy and unknowable; it didn’t matter what he wanted Tim for or if he wanted him dead or alive. All that mattered was that he wanted him. Jason wouldn’t let him have the boy.

He moved into a fighting stance. That was enough of a declaration for the woman, whose lips curled into a dry smirk.

“If that’s what you want,” she said, “I’d be more than happy to watch you die at your own hands.” Her comment threw Jason aback and he could only stare as she stepped aside and the other assassin’s hood fell.

He stared at his own face blankly. Slowly, horror dawned on him.

“You cloned me,” he whispered eventually.

“We did. The illusion only holds as long as you don’t ask him to speak, but you’ll find he is at least as good as you when it comes to combat. I’ve tested him myself.” The same way she had tested Jason.

Were it anyone else from the League, Jason wouldn’t have trusted them not to get to Tim while he was busy fighting. But he knew her. She was too proud to use such methods. She would savor the amusement of watching Jason be beaten by his clone, and then she would hand his ass to him. Jason had no intention of letting that happen, and he lunged before his clone could.

The assassin had not lied. Jason’s clone was as good as him. They met each other’s blows with perfect parries, and he beat his clone just as much as his clone beat him. For a long time, neither had the upper hand. But Jason was at a disadvantage: he cared about Tim, whereas his clone had no other purpose than winning, and where his clone’s focus was flawless, Jason kept checking on Tim, who was huddled in a corner of the room, watching the fight with wide, wary eyes.

When his clone moved forward again, Jason waited for him and stabbed him in the chest. The clone gasped and staggered to his knees. Jason twisted the knife and pushed it a bit deeper in. He watched as blood trickled down the chin of his clone. He was certain he would have nightmares about this for weeks. Finally, he ripped off the dagger from the other’s chest, and the clone toppled to the side.

It was his distraction that cost him. He missed a well-aimed punch from his clone and fell to the ground, his jaw throbbing. He didn’t have time to get back to his feet before his clone stepped on his shoulder with all the strength he could muster. Jason howled in sudden pain as his shoulder broke under the clone’s foot.

He was given no time to recover. Heaving, he rolled away from a kick and struggled to his feet. He dodged a punch at the last minute and responded with a punch of his own, right on his clone’s sternum. The clone stumbled back, and Jason took the opportunity to lunge and rip the man’s knife from his belt.

Jason turned to the assassin, even as his shoulder throbbed violently. He was in no shape for this fight, and he knew it. But he had to. Maybe Tim could find an opening and flee the room. Hopefully, Batman would be here soon, and Jason wouldn’t have to worry about Tim anymore. He wouldn’t be able to flee the Tower, but at least Tim would be safe.

The assassin moved suddenly, her dagger drawn out. She was too fast for Jason’s tiring body, and he only half managed to dodge out of her way. His injured shoulder took the brunt of the impact, and Jason’s vision whitened out for a second. He couldn’t tell whether he screamed or not.

The assassin took the opportunity of his distraction and vulnerability to grab him by the hair and smash his head against the nearby wall. Jason crumpled to the ground immediately, and the assassin walked away toward Tim. Jason pushed himself up and took a second to aim before throwing his knife at the assassin. It caught her in the side as Jason had intended. She swore under her breath as her step faltered and turned back to Jason.

“You’re a pest,” she hissed at him. “Always coming back even though no one wants you.”

The words hurt more than Jason would’ve admitted, but he didn’t let that deter him. He pushed to his feet with difficulty and prepared himself for the impact. He didn’t have to best her. He didn’t even have to survive, though he was terrified at the idea of dying again. All he had to do was hold back until Batman arrived. Because he would come. He had to.

Blows rained on Jason��s body. He dodged what he could and endured the rest. In her anger, the assassin had forgotten her blade, and the one still embedded in her side disrupted her usual grace. Jason took the opportunity. Mustering the energy he had left, he dodged under her arm as she was about to punch him in the face, and tore the blade out of her flesh.

She let out a surprised scream of pain and whipped around, her hands flying to the dagger at her hip. Jason lunged and stabbed her in the neck before she could act. He drew back and watched as she fell back with a gruesome gurgle. The room spun dangerously around him. At his feet, in a darkly ironic rendering of Jason’s attack seven months ago, the assassin choked on her blood and died.

Batman arrived at the same time, because he always arrived when everything was done and there was no one to save anymore. Jason resented him for it. He saw the recognition in Batman’s eyes as they settled on his face, and he saw it morph into fury. He did not have time to react before the man who had once been his mentor threw himself at him and tackled him to the ground.

Jason could not hold back his scream of pain as he landed on his shoulder, but Batman did not care. He pinned Jason to the ground, and Jason’s brain stopped functioning. Panic took over instead, throwing him back to nine years ago when he was ten and so, so small, unable to defend himself in the face of older, bulkier men.

A litany of broken, breathless pleas left his mouth as he tried to get out of the hold. Finally, the weight lifted off him, and Jason, gathering all the energy he had left, scurried away until his back hit a wall.

Batman stared at him. Jason could not tell what he was thinking, but he knew this was a fight he would not win. Not injured and weaponless as he was. Tim walked over and came to stand by Batman’s side. He eyed Jason warily, but all that mattered was that he was alive and uninjured.

“Hood,” said Batman eventually, and Jason flinched away, hitting his head against the wall. His ears rang.

“It wasn’t me,” he tried weakly. “Not this time, I swear. I don’t— I’m sorry for last time, but I don’t know why Ra’s sent them.”

“You were in the Tower,” replied Batman accusingly. Jason closed his eyes. He just wanted to go to sleep.

“He protected me,” interjected Tim. “He tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen.”

Batman didn’t answer. The strange urge to burst into tears bubbled inside Jason. He was so tired. His body was one giant bruise, and he had just killed someone who looked exactly like him. He wanted to be left alone and go to sleep, but he knew that would not happen. Jason reopened his eyes. Batman, Tim, and Nightwing—whom Jason hadn’t noticed until now—were all staring at him, and only Tim wasn’t glowering.

Batman took a step forward, and Jason forced himself to hold still, despite the terror festering in his chest. He could do this. Batman didn’t kill.

Batman didn’t kill, but this didn’t mean he couldn’t send Jason to Arkham. Jason would not be able to handle Arkham, not when that fucking clown was there. Jason already heard him in his dreams and on his bad days; he didn’t need to hear him for real on a daily basis. His already fragile mental health would not survive it. He would not survive it.

“Not Arkham,” he begged despite himself. His words stopped Batman in his tracks. Behind him, Tim and Nightwing were in the midst of a whispered conversation.

“I wouldn’t put you in Arkham,” replied Batman. His tone was strangely gentle, and Jason didn’t know what to make of it. “We’re just— We’re going to take you to the Cave for now.”

Jason did not want to go to the Cave, but anything was better than Arkham, and he didn’t struggle when Batman handcuffed him or when he led him through the Tower and to the Zeta tube.

@febuwhump

#my writing #creative writing #fanfic #fanfiction #whump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday23 #dc #batman #batfamily #jason todd #hurt jason todd #jason todd whump #tim drake #hurt tim drake #tim drake whump #graphic depiction of violence

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loosepocketchange01 · 2 years

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Yes, this chapter is intentionally short. Yes, there will be multiple parts. No, I don’t know how to turn comments on. Yes, you can put in an ask for me to add you to my tag list for this story. Please, tell me how to turn comments on.

Warnings: mentions of trafficking (I swear nothing terrible happens)

Over and Under the Bazaar

The kingdom of Gotham was a cruel one. Crime was higher than any neighboring kingdom and the area so large that the King’s feeble attempts to stop it never made it past Bristole. Trash and human remains littered every sandy corner, only lingering there for a day before ‘grave robbers’ came in and snatched it up, another soon taking its place. Starvation was ever so common and took the lives of many civilians, most being children whose mothers could no longer feed them. Many fathers left after the mother died and their children were left to rot and fight to survive from ages as young as 6.

The hot air was almost never ending, only taking its break during the late night, when no sane soul would dare to step out.

It is for this reason that the night was the best time for any with malicious intent to strike. This fact was as well known as any, a common knowledge for any wishing to prevent the thievery of their market goods. Merchants would lock up shop and inventory the second the air turned too cool to sweat at. This time proved not only dangerous for anyone wishing to make a profit but also those at the bottom of the chain.

Thieves, street scum, prostitutes, and every other name you could think of for someone who had no other wish but survival. This was the unfortunate case for a young boy named Jason Todd, who walked with only his name and the clothes on his back.

Yet he walked with purpose, nearly bare feet not hesitating on the burning sand of the bazaar. Though it was still early in the day, he had prolonged his hunger for far too long and could not longer wait to snatch a meal, however small it would be. Sweat and grime dug into his skin, arms and legs wavering with heat and exhaustion.

He wished he could feel the cool air on his face, gently brushing through his tangled hair. Alas, the hood and robe he wore must not come off. If it were to show even the smallest sliver of his face, he’d be immediately caught by the king’s corrupt guard, and who knows what would happen then.

As people walked past him, he ducked between the stands selling fabric, the intricately woven cloth hiding his features from any wandering eyes. Before he moved on to duck through the next strand, he slipped a short square of cloth off the stand and tucked it into his waist band, unnoticed by the distracted merchant.

He passed through several more tables, not taking anything else but a ring from a jewelry stand which he could pawn later. He was focused and determined to reach his end goal. His eyes narrowed as he found the stand he was looking for.

It wasn’t much to anyone who looked with only their eyes. Nearly stale bread, apples needing to be sold before they rot, eggs with yolkes so pale you could mistake it for foggy glass. Overall, nothing to behold and instead something to quickly walk past before the merchant tried to talk to you.

However, Jason did not just look with his eyes but with his stomach also. The pale eggs seemed rich and golden to him, the apples seeming ever so ripe and perfect. He wanted ever so badly to just sprint there and start shoving things in his mouth. To just taste even a drop of the juicy apple or the thick yolk of the egg. Though, he knew he couldn’t. He’d be caught no sooner than he could swallow. He had to plan this out carefully.

Ever so gently, he stood to his feet from his position on the floor and walked innocently to the rotten stand. The merchant noticed him instantly and grinned, being so new to the market he couldn’t tell the difference between the appearance of a customer and that of a thief. The man spoke first, excitement at the thought of selling his stock seeping into his voice

“Well, hungry are you? I imagine you’ll find lots to want here, boy. Please, do take and look and consider your purchase.”

His smile was all rotten teeth, dark yellow and corroded from years of neglect and it took everything in Jason to not let the grimace show in his expression.

“I wasn’t looking to buy anything, sir.” The gotham drawl sunk deep into his voice, “just wanted to know if you’re the man people are talking about”

At this, the merchant was confused, making hand gestures that urged Jason to elaborate, so he did, continuing to speak with his eyes wide and innocent.

“Aren’t you the guy who’s wife has been with every woman in the market? I just saw her going off with the fresh fish merchant and I wanted to know if it was you”

The mans face immediately split into rage before he yelled his curses and stomped off, eager to find the man sleeping with his face. He absence left Jason the perfect opening to take what he wished from the stand. Any merchant worth his salt would have seen through the trick and called the king’s knights on him. But this man was new, so new that any other merchant that overheard dared not to interfere, not wanting to have any ties to the foolish man.

Jason stuffed his pockets full of old bread and cheese, slipping an apple into his mouth and biting into it to keep it in place. He took a handful of blueberries, the only perfect thing on the stand, and wrapped it in the cloth his stole earlier, slipping into his pocket.It would definitely hold him over for another week as long as he was careful to ration it.

Quickly after this, Jason safely departed to his hideout, ready to hide away the food until it was needed. His slipped the hood off his head and put a skip in his walk. Wasn’t it perfect today? Free food and he didn’t even get caught!

At this moment, Jason would like to go out and make a public statement that it was not his fault he jinxed himself and that he would like to publicly apologize to anyone who took his earlier celebration as a threat.

Currently, Jason was cornered between an alley wall and a gang of 5 burly men, each holding either a knife or net. Trafficking was unfortunately common in Crime Alley and apparently, these men saw Jason as the perfect fit for whatever they wanted from him. The apple had long since fallen out of his mouth when he began running from the men. He would have gone back to pick it up but the men were gaining on him and he was forced to keep running.

This worked against him though as his focus remained on his lost apple and he unknowingly cornered himself by running into an alleyway far from anyone that could help him. The men themselves were fairly large but also young, wearing thick, hooded cloaks that shielded their eyes from the harsh sun. The two men with the curved knives were moving in front of the others, arms outstretched to grab him as the men behind kept the net steady. Jason tensed, his tightened fists digging his nails into his palms.

“C’mere kid. You don’ gotta make this hard. If you’re one of ‘em lucky ones, you might even get a rich fella. Ain’t that nice?”

“Fuck you!” Jason snarled

The man Jason supposed to be their leader, strung in tattoos, barked out a laugh.

“Well, that wasn’t ‘ery kind, was it?”

“Neither is this!”

Wide blue eyes darted around the alley, searching for any possible way of escape as he racked his brain for ideas. When Jason came up empty, he swore under his breath and switched to the last thing he could think of. Was it stupid? Incredibly. Was it more likely to get him killed? Oh, absolutely. Was he gonna do it anyway? Of course he is.

“I don’t think you wanna do that, mister”

The man poorly crafted sincere expression crumbled into confusion before spreading into amusement, the other men following suit.

“Yeah? And why do ya say that, kid? What, you gonna call for your mommy? Gonna tell her to save ya from the big, bad man?”

They all split into laughter, some finding it so humorous that they nearly dropped onto the floor in a mix of laughter and coughing. Jason felt the dread rise into his throat, gripping his airways in a manner that made him want to claw at his chest until he could breathe normally again. Tears fought at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill as his voice suddenly felt too weak to form strong and confident sentences. His false bravado was gone and he could only do so much to salvage his escape attempt.

“Because my dad- is uh- my dad is the bat! Yeah, he’s Batman! So- unless you wanna- you wanna mess with him, you better leave me alone!”

It didn’t seem like it was possible for the men to be laughing any harder.

“Yeah, kid?” The man spoke between his wheezes “your papa gonna hurt us? The bat is your daddy, huh?”

This was it. Jason was going to be caught. He spent so long surviving on the streets just to get caught trying to eat breakfast.

What else could he do? They’d catch him, tie him down, and sell him to whatever buyer put a bid worthy of a dirty, street rat. No, he couldn’t. He- he didn’t want this, no

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

The voice came from above the alleyway, Jason and the men looking up to see who it came from. The voice light but firm all the same, laced in a facade of joy with a nearly blinding smile, something dark beneath it.

Nightwing, Bludhaven’s knight.

The men stuttered backward, only the foolish man in front standing ground.

“It’s none of ya business, ya damn bird. What, you tryin to meddle in our matters? Stay the hell out of it!” He barked, hands shaking despite his tone.

“I think it is seeing how that’s my brother you’re cornering”

The blue and black bat swept down and jumped straight into combat with the other men.

A bit of hope swelled in Jason’s heart before dying out as soon as it came.

Nightwing only hurt bad guys, like murderers and traffickers.

And thieves.

No, he was playing along-

Which meant that he was gonna take Jason too.

The people he would be sold would be terrible, vile in every way for even thinking about buying a child for personal pleasure, let alone actually doing it.

But Nightwing? He would play a show of being his brother to save him then take Jason for himself. All the bats were scary. They were also huge and could easily overpower him, not like that was hard to do.

Maybe

Maybe he could slip away while they fought? Find a way to climb onto the out-of-reach fire escape…

Jason could barely debate this before the fight was over, Nightwing victorious. The bat turned to Jason and approached cautiously, he stance held at a light crouch and relaxed, seemingly trying not to intimidate the young boy.

“Hey kid. You alright? Did they do anything? Where are your parents? Are they around here somewhere” the man looked around, as if attempting to search for them

Or checking for witnesses

The questions barely registered in his mind as the tears he’d been trying to hard to push down finally slipped out, streaming in waterfalls down his face. The heavy tears washed through the dirt on his face as Nightwing turned back and panicked.

“Woah, kid. It’s okay, they can’t hurt you anymore, I promise” the man kneeled down to Jason’s level and out his hands on the other’s shoulders, attempting to ground him “they’re, uh, asleep. You don’t have to cry”

The touch could barely make him flinch as the horror flashing across his face, every coherent thought turning into pleading babbles.

“Please-please, I’m sorry. What- whatever it is, im so sorry- no, no no - stop- please” his breath was coming in short gasps,“im sorry- sorry sorry- don’t do it- please - don’t you- don’t do it. I’ll leave and- and I’ll never come back”

It was like Nightwing’s face shuttered, flashing between so many different expressions before settling on one of sympathy.

“No, no kid. Nothing is going to happen, I-“ he took a deep breath. “Breathe for a second. What’s your name?”

His name?

His name. He wanted his name, he could do that.

“Jason”

“Jason, no one is going to hurt you, okay? No one will touch you. I’m just going to call some nice knights to find your parents okay? You’ll be back home in no time, I swear”

No, no.

Nightwing wasn’t going to take him for himself, he was going to hand him over.

To the corrupt knights of Gotham.

The ones who paid the kids on street corners and took them away for a night.

The ones who arrested innocents just for being good looking so they could get time with them.

The ones who had sold his mother the drugs that got her killed.

He couldn’t, no, he wouldn’t.

As soon as Nightwing got up and took his hands off him, Jason booked it across the alleyway, took a sharp turn, and ran.

Ran till he could hide from the ones whose eyes watched Gotham.

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miles2g0 · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Whumptober 2022, Hurt Jason Todd, Cave-In, Caves, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Whump Series: Part 6 of Whumptober 2022 Summary:

Ever since they were all children, Bruce had warned against venturing deeper into the Cave. Gotham’s natural subterranean network spanned miles and miles underground, after all—even Bruce didn’t know how far—so all Bruce could do was block off the tunnels in the Cave that led to the deeper, more perilous parts of the sprawl.

But Jason was a grown up now and he could do whatever he wanted.

#whumptober 2022 #no.12 #cave in #batman #fic #claustrophobia #jason todd #hurt jason todd #jason todd and bruce wayne #hurt/comfort #bruce wayne tries to be a good dad

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mindonmymoneyandmoneyonmymind · 2 months

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@demolisherspork on tiktok soo talented

#oh! woah #wow #hurtful #idk what 'why does everyone always look at you that way' sound on tiktok is soo idk it has soo much potential #jason todd #red hood #he doesnt deserve this #he doesnt deserve any of this #batfamily #pls go follow the creator on tiktok if you have it

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ao3statistics · 1 month

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This is self-made. Date of creation: 25.03.2024

I feel like this was long overdue. I'm gonna post my favourite Jason Todd tags soon.

Includes all tags directly connected to "Jason Todd".

Shiptags and character tags were NOT included.

Please note that "Good Older Sibling Jason Todd" is a subtag of "Jason Todd Has a Sibling" which is a subtag of both "Older Sibling Jason Todd" and "Good Sibling Jason Todd". The results for the subtags are therefore included in the two last mentioned tags but I decided to include them in the chart nonetheless.

I assume no guarantee or liability for the completeness, correctness and accuracy of this chart despite my best efforts.

Includes fanfictions in all languages available on Ao3, NOT English only.

More charts will follow. :)

Want to have a chart for different pairings, headcanons etc. in your favourite fandom? Send me an ask!

Mood:

Also, Thanksgiving with Jason I presume?:

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theforgottendaydreamer · 1 month

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#gotham war #batman 138 #jason todd #bruce wayne #zur en arrh #red hood #batman #dc #dc comics #batfam febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump #jason todd angst #hurt jason todd #jason todd whump #whump #angst

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arttuff · 13 days

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some robin 1 and 2 costume headcanons!!!

shorts on jason inspired by rillette on tumblr's amazing jason design. love this bug

imagine going to work at your henchman job and getting beaten up by a larval stage vigilante. i'd be mortified

#robin #dc robin #dick grayson #jason todd #batman #batfamily #batfam #nightwing #red hood #robin dick #robin jason #jason!robin #dick!robin #dc comics #dc #this is not continuity friendly im sorry fellow readers. i just want them to be cute and little #dick around 9 jason around 11 #the timeline changes in new 52 personally hurt me so im looking away

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deadsetobsessions · 3 months

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What Do You Have There?

A knife!

Danny plunked the butter knife in its pedestal of importance. The nice thing about having a billionaire vigilante for a... foster is the amount of money Danny was allowed to drop on his hobbies. For example, his extensive collection of souvenirs.

They're not just any old regular souvenirs. No, no, no. That would be so boring! No, these souvenirs, he obtained from the various muggings, knife fights, and various other situations he's been in ever since he was dropped ungraciously into Gotham.

The butter knife? Damian. Precocious, stabby Damian who he had startled into the stab instinct. A point of pride, really. Danny knew Damian was good at fighting! It was practically, in ghost terms, a super enthusiastic hello! Yes, the butter knife would be kept in the well lit part of the wall. Alfred had told him to stay home today to recuperate. He didn't need it, since the wound would heal in an hour or two, but he'd take staying at home any day.

A couple of hours later, well into the afternoon and right before what Danny knew to be their patrol hours, Danny had a visitor.

"Danny."

"Oh, hey, Damian! What's up?" Danny turned around to see Damian hovering awkwardly near the door.

"I am here to... check upon your wound. It is imperative that it gets proper treatment."

Ancients, Damian was exactly like those alley kids. He just ate a thesaurus instead of the drawling accent the alley kids picked up. Which meant Damian endeared himself to Danny pretty quickly. Like a little ghostling.

"Oh, I'm good. See? No blood is leaking out of the wound." Danny held up spotless bandages.

Danny watched Damian step into his haunt- his room- with a pleased hum. Damian inspected the bandages and stepped back with a sharp nod of approval. His eyes flicked to the wall that Danny was rearranging (again) and did a double take at the butter knife in the middle.

"Is that the butter knife I stabbed you with?"

"Why, yes, it is!" Danny beamed.

"Why on earth would you display that?"

"Because you stabbed me with it?"

"That makes absolutely no sense, you simpleton! When someone stabs you, stab them back!"

"That would be mean!"

Damian spluttered. Danny tugged the kid closer to the wall, cheering inwardly as Damian didn't shove him away. It might be because he was exaggeratedly wincing as he moved his "injured arm" but Danny has learned to take a win where he could find them, especially with ghosts. Not that Damian was a ghost, but he sure acted like one.

"Do you want to see my collection?"

"Your collection?"

"Yeah!" Without giving him time to answer, Danny barreled ahead. "So this is the knife you stabbed me with. Which, by the way, was an awesome show of strength and accuracy."

Damian grimaced. Danny continued blithely, secretly memorizing Damian's reactions to laugh at later.

"And this is the knife those guys stabbed me with that one time Cass found me. And this one is a bullet someone shot at me down by the docks. I think I interrupted some kind of meeting?"

Damian's jaw had a slight tick to it that would have been a baffled frown on anyone else.

"And when was this?"

"Oh, like a week ago."

"What? When did you go to the docks?!"

"At night. I couldn't sleep."

"And you went to the docks?! How did you even get there?!"

"Walked," Danny lied, like a lying liar. He floated, obviously, but none of them knew that. "Anyways, this is a law book! Someone threw it at my head!"

"Hey, guys! What're you doing?"

Danny and Damian turned around.

"Richard? Brown? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Bruce wanted me to come back for the weekend," Dick said. Danny knew it was code for "something's going down and we need back up." Man, he still couldn't believe they didn't know he knew they were crime fighting vigilantes.

"Same!" Stephanie said. Danny was glad to see that her wounds from "cartwheeling in the manor" were healed.

"I see. Danny was showing me his collection of... objects people have used as weapons against him."

"What?!"

"Yeah!" Danny beamed, completely innocent. "Come on! I'll show you!"

With that, Danny continued to ramble. He just knew that the way Dick's and Stephanie's smiles strained would give him a good laugh for weeks to come. "And this is the glass bottle a drunk tried to shank me with in Crime Alley, and this is a knife the Red Hood himself threw at me."

Dick interrupted, face stiff. "Hood threw a knife at you?!"

"Yeah, but that was because my kids broke into his safe house and I was trying to get them to stop looting the place. And he didn't know I was a kid too, so he aimed a gun at my head. He shot at me too, but I couldn't go back to get the bullet, or else it would have joined my collection." Danny grabbed a box and shook it, metal rattling inside.

Dick smiled sweetly, Stephanie and Damian inching away from it.

"Oh, wow, I see!"

----

In his apartment, Jason shuddered. He grabbed his guns.

"Something's wrong. I just know it," he muttered to himself.

----

Danny smiled innocently as he described the horrific, near death events he got his souvenirs from.

"This is my bullet box! Man, Gotham has a lot of gun fights. I got shot so many times!" Danny complained, shaking the box like a rattling toy.

"Did you know Danny snuck out to go to the bay?" Damian snitched immediately, like a snitch.

"The Bay?! Danny! You know that's where people dump bodies, right?!" Stephanie poked him in the arm.

"Yeah, but like... I wouldn't die. And besides! I missed my friends!"

"You mean the minions you made in Crime Alley?" Steph asked. Danny pouted, eyeing the way Dick's gaze roved over his souvenirs and paling the more he realized how often Danny "got hurt."

Damian bumped a shoulder against Dick's arm. Danny returned to the conversation.

"If anything, I'm their minion." He said, remembering the times the Alley kids sent him on food runs.

"Fear Danny, the overlord of street rats."

Danny snorted. And- "Oh! Yeah, there was like a weird owl looking guy? And then they stabbed me with a finger and I kept it because woah, cool talon looking thing, right? And then they threw a bunch of those tiny knives at me? And then they just kind of vanished? Gotham is so weird."

And now, with all of them pale and stressed out of their minds, Danny swung a devastating blow called guilt trip.

"And that's the batarangs!" Three heads swung over to the line of batarangs. "Those vigilantes kept throwing them at me! One of them even hit me in the arm. Those things are sharp, man."

"Uh. Which ones?" Stephanie asked.

"Hm?" Danny hummed obliviously.

"Do you know which vigilantes?"

"Oh, it was like... the purple one. And the sword one? And like the one with the yellow insignia in the middle. And... all of them, I think? Except for signal. That guy's cool."

Stephanie and Damian had matching veiled looks of guilt. Dick shot them a sharp look. Danny decided to deal the last bit of damage to Dick.

"I'm glad you guys are way less stabby than the general Gotham public though, butter knife incident aside. At least I don't have to worry about you guys getting into danger, right? If you guys got hurt like my family did... I don't know..."

Danny smiled-squinted at them, channeling Cujo at his cutest and saddest: when he doesn't get to eat off of Danny's plate. So, pretty sad and pathetic.

"Uh, yeah." Dick said, guilt splayed all over his face. "Alfred said dinner was almost ready."

"Yes," Damian cleared his throat, looking away. "We shall partake in Pennyworth's hard work."

"Ahaha!" Stephanie laughed, nervously. "Welp, let's go bother Tim!"

Falling into step behind them, Danny grinned.

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