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daisha-mochizuki · 1 month

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Wally, as he lay in bed beside Dick, couldn’t stop thinking.

Both of the boys had been unwilling to let the other sleep on the couch, so they had improvised by sharing the full-size bed in Dick’s small bedroom. Neither could sleep, but they chose to stay in silence for the time being.

Wally couldn’t stop the thoughts circling his brain.

Was he not good enough?

Yes, he knew he had been trapped for years, and that Artemis had probably not been able to wait for him, but… it still hurt.

Wally turned his back to Dick instead of when he had been laying out on his back across his half of the bed. Dick also rolled onto his side, but he faced Wally. Dick reached out a tentative hand, gently touching Wally’s bare and freckled arm to try and get his attention.

“Hey…”

Dick’s voice was low and raspy from his attempt at sleep, and he pulled Wally slightly to turn the other boy so they could look at each other. Dick’s cerulean eyes bore into Wally’s peridot-colored ones. Unspoken words passed between them as if they had a special connection. Which, in all fairness, they did, all before Wally had “died”. Nothing has seemed to change minus the time spent apart. A small smile crept across Wally’s face as a thought sparked.

“So…” he started, fully turning onto his side to face Dick. His little smile turned into a lopsided grin, and he reached out to run a hand through Dick’s raven locks in a joking manner as he spoke. “Barry’s told me there’s rumors about you and Zatanna-”

“No!” Dick squeaked, flushing slightly as he realized that with how quickly he had cut Wally off it might seem like he was just denying his feelings. He swallowed, sitting up slightly as he shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. We’re just…”

Both Dick and Wally paused. When Dick had sat up, Wally's hand had slipped from Dick’s hair and down to his bare chest, and neither boy had noticed up till now. Wally quickly pulled his hand back, smiling sheepishly.

“Oops.” Dick only chuckled, rolling his eyes at the speedster's antics. “As I was saying,” he sighed, shaking his head again which thus shook out his thick, dark hair, “we’re just friends. We’re close, sure, but it’s nothing more than that.”

Wally gave Dick a true smile, and this time he didn’t have his hand pressed against Dick’s chest. “I believe you, Rob.” Dick laughed, and it was barely a few seconds later that he pulled his little redhead close, snuggling up to him like a teddy bear.

“Of course, you’d believe me. I’d never lie to you unless it was for your own good.” The redhead huffed, grumbling and pretending to be annoyed, but he really just melted into the cuddles and enjoyed the warmth of his best friend.

Dick snorted upon seeing this, burying his face into Wally’s fluffy hair, but he sighed and squeezed Wally close. “I’m so sorry…”

“Sorry about what?” Wally could feel his heart sinking slightly at Dick’s apology. Whatever it was, Wally doubted it was Dick’s fault. Dick was perfect to him. The speedster clung to Dick, his chin resting on Dick’s chest as he tried to look at the younger boy. “What’s wrong?”

“I should’ve made you stop running. Barry and Bart would’ve had enough speed to stop it themselves. I should’ve done something.” Dick buried his face further into Wally’s hair, his body trembling softly as Wally could hear the slight cries coming from Dick. Wally pressed his face into Dick, the boys enveloping each other in a bout of platonic cuddles.

“Don’t blame yourself…” Wally mumbled into the taller boy’s chest, clinging almost for dear life to the other. “I could’ve stopped whenever I wanted. It’s my fault…” He hated how much Dick blamed himself for Wally’s death. It made him wonder if Dick had been thinking that way for the past seven years. It weighed down on his consciousness even more, now the guilt of losing Artemis and the pain of torturing Dick pressing down on him from all directions. Wally felt a few of his own tears slip down his face, some falling against Dick’s chest and others sliding along paths on his facial features before plopping down onto the sheets below them.

The boys cuddled close to each other for warmth, both ending up silently crying themselves to sleep in the other’s embrace. Wally fell into a light and fitful sleep quite a bit of time after Dick had passed out. He was too anxious and guilty to properly sleep. God, he needed a way to get this out.

“I would love to stay and get you further caught up with everything that’s happened, but I have a meeting that I can’t cancel.” Dick was pulling on his clothes as he and Wally sat in the kitchen, Wally crunching on some cereal as he watched and listened to Dick. He nodded, moving his gaze to his bowl and played with the cereal in the milk.

“…stay safe, okay?” Wally mumbled under his breath, but with the silence in the home, Dick could hear his words perfectly. Dick grinned, and he walked up to Wally to envelop the boy in a tight hug, burying his face into the red curls. He breathed in Wally’s smell, relaxing slightly as he nuzzled his cheek against the top of Wally’s head.

“We promised each other that we would never leave the other alone again. I won’t leave you.” Wally leaned into the taller boy’s embrace as he closed his eyes.

After a moment, Dick pulled back, smiling softly down at Wally. “I gotta go. I’ll be back, at the latest, for dinner. Make sure to take care of yourself and eat lunch; I don’t know if you ate anything when you were in wherever you were.” Dick ruffled Wally’s hair before grabbing his bag and ran out his apartment door. Wally’s gaze followed after Dick, and after hearing the door slam shut he sighed and got up to throw his cereal away. It had gotten soggy with how long it had sat. He then plopped back down into his seat at the kitchen table, sighing to himself as he buried his face into his folded arms that were crossed on the table. He was alone, and would be alone, for hours. He was stuck with only his thoughts, and his thoughts now weren’t happy and pleasant ones. Dark self-loathing thoughts swirled deep in the depths of his mind, and it all began to overwhelm him as he shrunk down on himself in his despair and guilt.

Suddenly, a voice Wally vaguely recognized called out.

“Big Bird! Didja get a new medkit that I could use?” Wally looked up, confusion on his face and slight tears in his eyes from his thoughts, right as two people came wandering into the kitchen in search of Dick. His green eyes widened as he was met with the sight of Roy, mechanical arm and all, practically carrying another man under his good arm. Roy practically dropped the man, and the man himself gasped loudly upon seeing Wally. Both males nearly screamed.

“WALLY?!!” They both launched themselves at Wally, who screeched and nearly fell out of his seat. Wally could barely breathe as he was being squeezed, and he squeaked slightly as the two surrounded him. Roy laughed, and the man he had recognized was hugging Wally while staring at him in awe.

“My God, Dick talked to me about you when I came back and was no longer killer, but fuck you’re different in person.” Wally squinted, and then he gasped.

“Jason?!”

Jason grinned, the really, really tall man nearly cradling Wally in his arms. “Guess I’m still as recognizable as I used to be.” He pretended to do a little hair flip, which made Wally giggle a little.

“Well, we came here to find Dick for a medkit, but we found something better instead,” Roy said, now sitting on the floor in front of Wally as Jason stood behind the speedster with his arms wrapped around him. “Where is Dick, by the way?”

“Oh, some meeting he wouldn’t tell me about,” Wally grumbled with a mock-annoyed look, but he couldn’t help but laugh and shove Jason’s face away as Jason was jokingly trying to smother Wally. Roy smirked as he watched Wally and Jason playing, rolling his eyes at the dorky behavior.

“I’ll be right back.” Roy got up and walked out of the kitchen, off on a search for the medkit. Wally leaned back and played with the white strands of Jason’s hair, Jason in turn laughing. “Big baby.”

“Tall child.”

“Speed demon.”

“Gun violence.”

Jason gasped, feigning hurt, before pushing Wally off of his chair and onto the floor. Wally grunted, sprawling out on the floor, and looked up at Jason with a scowl.

“Meanie.”

“I'm not mean. You’re just sensitive.”

Wally’s breath caught in his throat at that, and his heart squeezed with guilt and sadness, but he didn’t let it show. He didn’t want to prove that he was sensitive. He was about to say something when Roy came back, medkit in robotic hand, and placed his free hand on Jason’s shoulder.

“C’mon, Jay, we gotta go.” Roy then looked at Wally, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry to leave you, but we have missions to do.” Wally shrugged and tried to look unbothered.

“I’ll be fine.”

Jason smirked, and he followed after Roy as they both left from where they had come into the apartment. Wally sighed, his mask of an expression falling. He was lying. He wouldn’t be fine. He didn’t want to be alone. Was he really that sensitive? His brain began to think faster than he could fully process, leaving him feeling overwhelmed and in need of an output. His gaze flicked toward the knife board that was near the refrigerator. His eyes narrowed, sucking in a sharp breath. Should he? He wasn’t sensitive. He could prove it. He would prove it…

Dick came home, hours later, only to find Wally on his couch. He was desperately trying to rebandage his legs while panicking, and the bandages weren't going on properly with how fast he was trying to bandage them.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Dick dropped his bags and rushed over, pressing his hands over the spots that were slightly bandaged and trying to help stem the bleeding, ignoring the blood that dripped into his hands. “I thought I told you that you had to stay here!”

Wally sobbed, trembling as he sat and kept trying to bandage himself up. “I-I didn’t go anywhere…”

“Then what did you-?!”Dick cut himself up, and his eyes widened as he looked up at Wally’s face from where he was sitting on the floor. His blue eyes began pooling up with tears once the realization hit him. “Wally…”

“I didn’t realize the knife wasn’t serrated,” Wally choked out, his sobs catching in his throat as he panicked. “I didn't want this. I don’t want to die for real.”

Without further hesitation, Dick scooped Wally up into his arms, bolting out of his apartment and out to his car. “I’m getting you to the hospital! I’m not losing you again!” He strapped Wally’s pale and bleeding form into the front seat, and he got into the driver’s seat himself. He then began speeding off, trying not to go too much over the speed limit but was definitely crossing some boundaries in how fast he could go. The pair reached the hospital only a few minutes later, Dick scooping Wally back into his arms again and rushed to the emergency room. They checked Wally in, took him from Dick’s arms, and they wheeled him off into a different room. Dick was forced to sit in the waiting room, the man sitting impatiently in fear for his friend.

God, Wally, be okay… Dick had lost track of time, but some time later, a doctor came back with Wally, with Wally curling up into Dick’s lap as the doctor spoke quietly with Dick. They got to go home, and Dick made the ultimate decision to just carry Wally around the whole time. Wally didn’t speak, just staying curled against Dick in silence.

They didn’t even eat dinner. Both were too stressed with everything that had happened for food.

Dick held Wally against him as they lay in bed again, Wally having changed out of his blood-stained clothing. The younger male squeezed Wally, face pressed into the red hair as he took shaky breaths. He kept muttering under his breath, words of comfort and reassurance that Wally was okay.

He wasn’t dead.

He wasn’t losing Wally.

Wally felt guilty for scaring Dick, and Dick could tell, because he spoke to Wally instead of himself this time. “

You’re okay. Everyone gets overwhelmed sometimes,” Dick cooed, running his fingers through the back of Wally’s hair as Wally snuggled closer to him. He then sighed. “I'm bringing you to Dinah, though. In the morning.”

“But-” Wally started, but was cut off.

“No. It’s not just because of this you’re talking to her. It’s about everything.” Dick then grinned, tilting Wally’s head up to look into Wally’s eyes as he spoke. “We could get ice cream afterward.”

Wally gasped, acting dramatically as he tried to hide his small giggles, and was thankful for the topic change. “Ice cream? The frozen delicacy? My word!” Dick laughed and hugged Wally tight. Wally could feel the rumbles of Dick’s laughter through Dick’s chest.

“Go to sleep, Wally. I’ll be here.” And Wally did just that, falling asleep with a smile at the prospect of the childish prospect of ice cream. Being a child never hurts anybody though, right?

“One mint chocolate chip, and one vanilla chocolate swirl, please.” Dick tried not to break out laughing as he ordered, watching Wally bounce on the balls of his feet with his hands holding the rim of the serving counter, looking just like a little kid. He took the two cones as they were handed to him and handed Wally the vanilla and chocolate one.

They began a walk, their hands brushing as they strode along the tree-shaded path, enjoying the other’s company and their ice cream.

“You know, I’m proud of you for talking to Dinah,” Dick said, glancing at Wally as they walked. Wally looked up and smiled.

“Really?”

“Of course. I mean, I know Dinah’s pretty persuasive, but I don’t know if I could’ve talked to her.”

“Oh, I doubt that. You’re perfect,” Wally blurted, and then quickly shoved half of his cone into his mouth to shut himself up. Dick laughed softly, his hand brushing against Wally’s again as they walked along, a few leaves falling from the trees above and blowing around them.

“Eh, I wouldn’t call myself perfect. I mean, look, I just spent money for us to get ice cream,” he joked, playfully shoving Wally’s shoulder. Wally scoffed and shoved Dick back.

They both started play-fighting as they walked, ice cream finished, until they heard a voice behind them.

“Hey, Dick! Who’s your new friend?”

Wally paled. He knew that voice. He turned around to face the person, and they gasped loudly, a hand going up to their chest as their eyes widened.

“Wally…?”

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mid-nightowl · 7 months

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untitled lil fic #1 (jason todd and gotham war)

here's some gotham war rewrites i needed to get out of my head, the brainrot was killing me omg

warnings for violence, cursing, whatever the hell Bruce is doing (just Bruce as a full warning tag, the man is more unhinged than Joker in this)

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“Oh Jason. How I’ve missed you, my sweet boy.”

The words are sickeningly sweet, poison-saturated words falling from bloody red lips. Delivered with a crooked smile, Joker looks up at him, uncaring at his position. His fingers curl in the clown’s suit collar, lips curling with a snarl.

Jason punches him again, the clown’s jaw cracking and his body straining against the ferry railing. Joker merely giggles, head lolling around through the air before his mismatched eyes meet his mask.

“Shut the fuck up!” He snaps, unholstering his gun and digging the muzzle into Joker’s cheek.

His murderer raises his hands, waggling his fingers in surrender, grinning and smirking and smiling.

He hates it, he hates it, he hates it.

“I want you to think about this real carefully,” He digs his gun into his skin. “This could be the last joke you ever make, you understand? That’s what you want to go with?”

“You know,” His nightmare giggles, chuckles like a wind-up toy before he wipes the amusement off his face. The clown looks up at him, head tilted, pleased and patient and thoughtful. There’s not a single sliver of hate and destructive menace, or anger or disappointment or suspicion.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, he thinks. There’s something wrong here. There’s something wrong with Joker—and not in the usual way.

“The best jokes deliver a difficult truth, but hide it with a fun fiction,” Joker explains, smushed but coherent words strung together despite the gun halfway in his mouth. “Without humor all we have left is being mean and lying.”

“What?” He can’t stop the words before they stumble out of his mouth. He doesn’t let the gun go lax in his hand despite the way the clown’s words throw him off guard.

Off-kilter is a genuine feeling that digs into him, shocking him to the core. The clown does this, he knows it. He knows this is how he does things, how he worms his way out of every situation and every attempted manslaughter, he knows how the clown operates, intimately.

Jason knows him.

Joker, historically, has been so many things. But he’s always been a psychotic, impulsive mass-murderer. Someone without restraint, without limitation.

It’s why he’s always been Batman’s true nemesis. Bruce, he needs a fine-tuned control of everything and everyone. He is someone who has limits and restraint.

Controlled, focused, and without limitations—Jason is almost the happy medium to both of them.

Almost.

The three of them are similar, different, opposites and identical. It’s like walking in one of those mirror mazes where you can’t tell who the real you is.

Who is the real Bruce Wayne? The man who cherishes his children or the one who maims them?

Who is the real Joker? The cold, purposeful mass murderer or the dumped-in-acid man who can’t tell the difference?

Who is the real Jason Todd? The bloody crime lord or the declawed crowbar wielding vigilante?

Joker simply smiles and pats his arm, as if Jason’s not trying to kill him.

He slams the clown against the railing again, snarling.

“Enough games!” He growls and flips the safety off. The noise doesn’t even phase Joker, if anything he grins harder. His mismatched eyes—one red-brown, one green—flick above them before returning to his.

“Are you really going to use that big bad gun of yours with Daddy watching? He’ll be so mad at you.” His murderer grins, letting his head hang limply in his grasp.

“What? Batman-!” He jerks back, head snapping up to the ferry roof cover.

Empty. No looming monster demanding a painful compromise is here.

Joker’s hands push him back, and he grunts, stumbling into the ferry wall. The clown tumbles over the railing, disappearing from view. His laughter haunting the air.

“No!” He shouts, dashing to the railing.

The clown is gone under the waves and ice, sinking into the dark of Gotham Harbor.

He’s not dead. He can’t be dead, Jason thinks, gripping the ice-cold railing, I haven’t killed him yet.

He’s not dead.

But that was mean.

The last words Jason hears remind him of his grave.

No, not the one he was buried in. Six feet of dirt above him and smothered in satin, watched over by that stupid weeping angel.

There’s a memorial in the cave with his name. ‘Good soldier’ and nothing else but his name. Both of them: Jason Todd and Robin.

A monument to Bruce’s failure, his greatest mistake, a grave to his complicated teenage years, his love.

“You’ve always been a good soldier. Rest now.” Bruce told him, jabbing him in the neck with the needle.

A grave, a memorial, a monument. It makes him sick. The reminder that he will always be the dead Robin, the sad Robin, the angry Robin.

Dead, dead, dead.

The violence done to him, inflicted and imprinted into his skin and bones was more important. The guilt and the lesson were more important than his cries for justice, for his life’s blood.

The monument and altar, raised after his murder, were never for him, but for Bruce.

He was dead, why would he care?

The story Bruce will tell would never be the truth, just excuses and wrong-doings. He would take accountability after the fact, but not before.

Bruce would let his murderer walk and let him rot.

Maybe that was why he buried Jason six feet under, so he wouldn’t have to face the decay and decomposition. That he could keep this golden, blurry image of him as Robin, as the straight A student, the good son. And not a weightless body splinted a thousand different ways to look human.

But now that he’s resurrected—not in Bruce’s image, but as something broken and jagged, something lost and filled with dirt and green-green-green—Bruce refuses to acknowledge him. Refuses to believe this is who he is.

Refuses to believe that he remade (destroyed) himself from the ruins, from the broken bones and empty veins and black thread that mended his corpse back into the image of Jason Todd. Refuse to think that if a girl can come back as a soothsayer, that a boy can come back as a gun.

“Hnnng…Bruce,” Jason groans softly, heaving himself off the couch.

Batman turns to him, looming with his face mask in his hands. The fluorescent lights, a nauseous lime-yellow, cut over his figure, his face, his mask. Almost a green-green-green, almost a pool of rage, almost a pit of madness.

His mask crackles alive in Bruce’s hands, Selina’s voice wavering between annoyance and worry.

“Red Hood? Hood, please check in and let me kno-” Batman clicks his comm off.

The resounding silence smothers him.

His exhale comes out shaky, his heart beating too fast behind his bruised ribs, a chill crawling over his exposed skin.

Something’s wrong. Something is very wrong.

“...Batman? You…” He swallows roughly, mouth filled with dirt and blood and thread. “Wha…What did you do?”

“Nothing I’m proud of, Jason.”

His heart sinks and skips a beat at the same time, stomach twisting with anxiety and fingers trembling against the ugly brown couch cushions.

Inhale.

He pushed too much.

Taking Selina’s side?

He went too far.

Hood didn’t kill anyone?

Exhale.

“Hh! Ho…” Jason croaks, getting his boots on the ground. “Y-you…you..”

“Take deep breaths, Jason.” Batman turns back to the computer hub glowing behind him, ignoring his attempts to speak, to demand answers.

His arms shake as he holds himself upright, but when he tries to stand instead he chokes, falling to his knees in front of the couch. Gasping for air, he lays his palms flat against the cool tiles. His legs are quivering, heavy and unable to hold his weight.

His whole body trembles with it, this feeling unfolding through his blood and bones, engulfing his head and voice.

Fear, fear, fear.

“Years ago I created my backup personality, Zur, using techniques I learned from an old mentor and this machine that I built,” Batman starts, monitoring the screens in front of him with one hand on the keyboard and the other on his belt.

Bruce doesn’t turn to look at him, to face him, someone he calls son, someone he considers family, and explain what he’s done to Jason.

He never has.

“I can’t change your personality with it, Jason…” Batman sighs, low and quiet. “But I can add to it. A small thing: your failsafe.”

Failsafe. He slams the heel of his palm on the floor, cheeks tingling with his telltale sign of tears. A failsafe?!

Because Red Hood needs a failsafe instead of justice.

“What?!” He tries to snarl, to hiss and yell and scream his rage. But his voice fails him, anxiety chewing at his throat and tongue, voice tilting too high, too unsteady, too weak.

“Now when you have heightened adrenaline, when you’re about to do something dangerous, your fear kicks in,” Batman continues explaining. “It…I’m sorry Jason. But it’s the only way.” He clenches his eyes shut—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—and tries to ignore his rabbit heart battering against its cage, pounding to the frantic rhythm of fear, fear, fear.

“I love you.”

The words feel like gunshots, the knuckle prints on his skin after the two of them fought over Penguin, the smack of Selina’s whip against his fingers, the crowbar on his skull, his legs, his ribs, over and over and over.

“I love you, but you are a murderer,” Bruce condemns him, over and over again. “You’re a bull in a china shop and I go round after round with you, trying to figure out how to help make you a better man, to heal you.”

“H-heal me?” He whispers, rage cut off at the roots. “This isn’t…this isn’t you, Bruce.”

Batman, finally, turns to Jason. He looms, tall and foreboding, darkness dripping around him, drenching him in fear, fear, fear.

Batman takes a step forward and he crashes back against the couch, spine digging into the wooden frame painfully.

He can’t breathe. Batman moves and he knows it in his bones, knows it down to the scars Gotham and its guardian have left on him, that he’s not here to save him, to help him.

“I got you a new identity. A place in Metropolis.” Batman keeps walking forward, despite Jason’s growing hyperventilation, despite the way his blunted nails scratch at the floor. Despite the way he shakes, black stitches snapping apart, the pieces of him falling to the floor of this slaughterhouse, at the feet of his butcher.

“B-bat…Batman,” He whimpers, hand twisting into the fabric of his suit.

“You can live a normal life. Fall in love, do meaningful work. This isn’t punishment, Jason,” Batman kneels in front of him and removes the cowl. “I love you.” Jason shrinks back, shoulders back and legs curled to his chest. Bruce’s face is sharp and pale, with bags under his eyes and days old stubble on his jaw.

His eyes are dark with absolute rage.

Batman is going to hurt him. Batman is going to hurt him.

Bruce is going to hurt him again.

“This is a gift. Any way you look at it, you should be in prison for all the people you’ve killed,” He chokes at Bruce’s words, barely smothering the terrified cry in his throat. “This is me saving you from that. Save you from yourself.”

Jason can only stare at the man before him—the man who took him in, who raised and trained him, who loved him—does his best to bury him.

fear, fear, fear.

“Please..don’t…please,” Jason pleads, covering the girl with his frame, caging her in with his bruised and burnt arms.

“Let’s begin.” Scarecrow’s voice reverberates, it shakes through air to match his erratic breathing.

“P-please, I’ll do anything you want, anything,” He begs, fear, fear, fear burning in his veins. “Please. Just stay…stay away.”

Scarecrow closes the gap between them, rocking back and forth on his crooked, long legs. His mask distorts and mutates, a familiar green-green-green splashing over the darkened void of his gas mask.

“You’re going to die tonight. I know you know this,” Crane looms over him, green-green-green trickling out his eyes, gushing out like an open wound. “But we can still have fun, can’t we.”

The girl trembles underneath his chest and Jason tries to smother the whimper begging to pour out his lips. It’s gnawing at him—rabbit heart frantic in his chest, hands trembling from the burning pain and anxiety, smoke and ash gathering in his lungs—fear, fear, fear.

He can’t think of anything else.

“Those fools were right. Your terror…it’s real and it isn’t mine,” Scarecrow sneers, kneeling in front of him. “There is no thrill in driving terror into the heart of a baby bird.”

Scarecrow takes his jaw in his hand, needles tickling at his exposed skin, forcing Jason to look at him. He can’t help but jerk his head at Crane’s touch, needles pricking into his cheek when Crane holds him tighter, another inescapable cage around him.

His chest heaves with every shaky inhale-exhale, his anxious fear fanning over the rogue’s mask. Scarecrow leans in closer, the glass over his eyes gleaming, reflecting the fire roaring around them. Jason can hear the screams in them, watching the shadows morph around them and the straw on Crane’s shoulders wiggle.

“This is my moment of triumph, and it is snatched away from me by..by him?!” Scarecrow shakes Jason’s head in his hand, needles scratching into his skin but still not drawing blood.

Scarecrow lets his head drop, needles disappearing from his sight before they’re clawing at his throat, wet and cold against his clammy skin. Jason whimpers and clenches his eyes shut, unable to do anything but beg.

He knows praying for someone to help him is futile.

No one is coming to save him.

“Never let it be said Scarecrow has no pity,” Crane says, voice cutting in and out his head like radio static. “I will quickly finish what your daddy started.”

“Doesn’t mommy get a say?”

A voice slices through the flames licking at his skin and the fear smothering him. And when Jason’s gaze finds him, he can’t help the tears.

“Step away from the vigilante, pervert.” Joker grins, dark red lips stretched too wide, too thin. Ash rains down on his green-green-green umbrella, rolling down the crooked dark patches and shamrock-colored nylon.

“You’ve already killed him once. It’s time you learned to share, Clown.” Scarecrows speaks with thin, razor-sharp disdain, glaring over his shoulder at the newcomer.

“You should know this by now, Doc. I don’t play well with others.” The clown throws aside the umbrella, knife materializing from thin air as he descends upon Scarecrow.

“You’re not even really him, are you? Do you think I don’t know about you? Delusions and megalomania with-” Scarecrow baits and taunts the clown, before the two of them are ducking and weaving and slicing at each other with barely concealed rage and annoyance.

“Blah, blah, blah. Do you know why you’re always going to be a C-List villain, Johnny?” Joker jokes and Jason can imagine the sharp grin on his face. “Because doctors aren’t scary. They’re annoying.”

He ducks his head down and curls tighter around the girl. She cries underneath him, hiccups soft under the roar of flames closing in on them, the screech of metal on metal and creaking of deteriorating wood.

He can’t move. He can’t do anything but try to breathe. But all he tastes is smoke, choking him, billowing down his throat and in his lungs. His heartbeat is so loud, jumping under its bone-cage, a heady, heavy thing—badump-badump-badump-badump. It’s too fast, erratic, out of control.

“You’re a bull in a china shop and I go round after round with you, trying to figure out how to help make you a better man, to heal you-”

Always out of control. Jason whines, hands scrambling against the wood below him. It burns, seering through his fingertips. It hurts-it hurts-it hurts, he can’t do this. He can’t.

He can’t breathe.

“Ahhhh! Ack! Achhhhh!” Scarecrow screams, guttural and wobbly and when he looks up, Jason can only watch as Crane crashes through the fifth story window.

Tears continue to stream down his face, his heart trembling in his chest and the realization strikes him then, cracking down on his skull like a crowbar, over and over and over.

Joker saved him. Joker saved him. Joker saved him.

His murderer saved him.

“A-are you real?!” Jason cries out, fingers curling into the withering floorboards. “Is this real?!”

“Oh, don’t worry about him. I didn’t even give him a real dose of Joker Gas. I ran out. Heh!” Joker laughs, rubbing at his jaw. Blood and green-green-green stain the edges of his mouth, smeared down his chin and throat before disappearing under the orange sweatshirt he’s wearing.

“But now, it’s just you and me. And…your daughter? Did you have a daughter and not tell me?” The clown tilts his head in question, tucking away the green-green-green gun in his hand. He steps closer, uncaring of the flames licking over his pale skin.

Jason can’t tell if it's real or an illusion, can’t tell if his murderer is here and saving? rescuing? tricking? him. He can’t tell if this is just another nightmare he’s trapped himself in, or if this is the real punishment Bruce promised him.

“She’s just a kid. Please…don’t,” He pleads, the tears searing down his ash-stained cheeks.

Joker leans down, bringing his face close to Jason’s. His mismatched eyes—one green, one red-brown—bore into his and the clown smiles, too wide, too cracked and broken, too bloody and green-green-green.

He sobs, cracking under everything. He can’t do this, he can’t.

“My, my. Even like this you still think you’re the hero. Batman would be proud if he didn’t hate you,” His murderer says, before his bony hand is cupping Jason’s face, calloused fingers dancing over his skin.

Jason clenches his jaw when it threatens to wobble and tremble, but knows the fear is shining in his eyes. Knows the clown can see it, knows he recognizes it in his baby-blues. He’s been here before.

They’ve been here before, together.

“But don’t worry my sweet boy, I’ll find a way to fix you. Nobody is going to hurt you. I won’t let them. Because I need you.” His voice is honeyed and threatening, curling and clawing and cloying into his head like a sickness. Joker pets his hair, gentle and caring, and Jason knows he means it.

He’s going to fix him. He’s going to heal him.

He’s going to save Jason.

“Don’t worry, sweet boy. We’ll see each other soon,” Joker pats his cheek with a crooked green-green-green smile. “I promise.”

His heart beats frantic to the words—fear, fear, fear—eyes unable to look away from Joker.

Jason believes him.

#unholy screeching and too much caffeine #my writing #the brainrot was literally killing me i wish i was joking #havent been able to FOCUS on anything else #i just cant get over divorced batjokes playing tug-of-war with their murderous and highly traumatized kid (jason)#im not entirely sure if i like this? it feels very rough draft to me #but i really just needed to get it down and out of my head so i can focus on my other wips T-T #would also love to hear anyone's thoughts if they have any<3 #might have missed some grammar stuff and yadda yadda but im kind of tired of looking at this:))))#i do think i want to add to it thou--maybe a scene with selina another with the batkids #ill probably come back to this after the final issue for the actual event (which comes out next week!) and joker's comic #i just really wanted to write how jason was dealing with all this; how he might take the fact that joker is saving his ass rather than bruc #but im not sure if it came across the way i wanted it to??#jason todd #jason todd and bruce wayne #jason todd and joker #writing

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